Will Pt 3 Of What Fate Decides Ever Be Posted Or Will It Be Patreon/paid Exclusive?

will pt 3 of what fate decides ever be posted or will it be patreon/paid exclusive?

hi! it'll be posted on tumblr, don't worry <3 i just started it on kofi, which is why all the chapters are posted there :)

wilf (wip i’d like to finish)

omg nooo your vibes are so cute! and I love there's several members ahhh. I think I got a bunch of summer vibes haha, probably was looking up too many aesthetics for my novel 🤍

tagging: @catharticallysarcastic @mschvs @maguayans @anjaspace @writingbyricochet (and anyone else!)

🦋 THE FIRST 9 PICS FROM PINTEREST ARE YOUR VIBES

what is going on why is half of this jihoon ??!???!???

(thanks for the tag bae @ravenori <3333 )

tagging ; @lustfulpjm @koostarcandy @too-many-fandom @twilightau @fairyofhee & anyone else who wants to do it!!

day to dusk

scenic route [kim namjoon]

was I also inspired by photos of namjoon going around? yes. was I also inspired by twenty five twenty one? yes. this man needs to be appreciated more <3 i also need to watch more kdramas if this is the result lmao.

drabble count: 8

tag list | masterlist | ko-fi previous | next drabble

part 1 | part 2

summary: In which you fall in love with Kim Namjoon, only to find out he's more than just the guy you've been rooming with for the past few months. Now, you're determined to cut ties with him, and he's determined to have you fall for him.

chapter tags/warnings: flips between past and present, au where ig namjoon is kinda sorta poor, uhhhh

Past 

You meet him on the train. 

Backpack beside him, he glances at the woman strolling the cart of beverages with ferocious hunger—it doesn’t help that his stomach grumbled on cue when she passes by your station. 

Okay. You don’t mean to be nosy, but the way he crumples the train ticket in his hand draws your attention to him. His shirt, a faded blue, have specks of dirt on it, and his sneakers are worn out. 

Did he get kicked out? No, this is the countryside, and he has the image of a city kid. The clothes of a traveler, too. Carries himself like a firstborn—you know because he didn’t lay his pride down yet and ask for money. Mouth set in grim determination, his face resembled yours when you received your sister’s invitation to her wedding: a person with a plan got wrong. 

Korean, you think, with the mutters under his breath. Mostly berating himself as his leg bounces up and down in anxiety. 

It’s not like he is in a crisis. This is the train heading back to the city, so if he sticks it out for a few more hours and enjoys the scenery, he’ll survive. 

Unless there’s no one waiting for him there. Though you’re in the table across from him, he didn’t glance in your direction once, thank God. Just trailed after the lady as she walked alongside him several times. 

Huh. Did he really get kicked out? 

If someone told you that you’ve never done a good thing in your life ever again… 

“Miss,” you reluctantly wave her over, and point at him. “Can you give him some snacks and drinks? I’ll pay for whatever he eats.” 

Surprised is an understatement of your reaction when he shoots up and waves his hands frantically, stumbling out of his seat into the crammed aisle with the employee. “No, I really don’t need anything—”

“You’ve been staring at her for what feels like the past hour.” 

“Excuse me?” Now his cheeks heat. Curse your bluntness, but you keep going anyways. 

“Unless you want to grab her number.” Shifting, you stare at him dead in the eye. “Was I wrong?” 

It doesn’t even take him a minute to fall to your demands. You close your book and dig into your pockets to take out a wad of cash, too lazy to take out your card, which is inside your purse. 

He orders a water and chugs it like it is the last bottle on Earth. Then he orders some banana bread. 

“I’ll repay you,” he says in between mouthfuls. “It may not be much, since I don’t have much money right now, but I promise I will. You can trust me.”

Famous last words. And he really must be poor. 

Nose crinkling in pity, you nod. Here you thought that he was old enough to know better, but guess not. If he had money, he should be spending it on some clothes and a house, instead of doing whatever he is right now. 

“Can you give me your number? I’ll contact you once I get enough.” 

“Sure,” you reply, opening your book once again. “When the train stops. Too exhausted to grab my pen right now.”

“I have one!” He volunteers, dashing across the aisle and nearly tripping once again. On air. Though no one offers him a seat across from you, the mysterious stranger slides in anyways. “What book are you reading?” 

You almost bite back the, “Why do you have a pen but not money?” remark, instead opting for, “Just a fantasy book.” 

“Six…” 

“Give me your hand.” The book slams shut once again, and your eyebrows knit together. God help you, you bought this train ticket which is past your budget in order to escape from annoying beings, only to get tangled with another one. 

Snatching his wrist and taking off the cap of the marker—you have no idea why he thinks this is a pen, but it must be some language barrier you were unfamiliar with—you scribble a fake number on his arm. 

“This is me,” you grunt. The stranger stares at it, and when you attempt to pull away, his fingers latch onto yours. 

They’re slightly calloused—not like yours, which is covered in old paper cuts and filled with memories of you crouching down and getting dirty for money. They’re long and slender, too, practically engulfing yours. 

You don’t like the feeling that arises when he rubs a thumb over your palm. Jealously? Inferiority? 

Well, whatever it is, you shoot him a glare and flip to a random page, covering your face with the book. You don’t know whether the sound that comes out from him is one of amusement or frustration, but the booth creaks across from you. 

“My name’s Namjoon, he says. 

The train slightly rattles, but other than that, the rhythmic clunking of its wheels on the rails return when he goes to sit back down. 

And until the vehicle halts, you can’t help but sneak peeks of him as he falls into a slumber. Arms crossed, head against the window, legs stretched out, he retreats into his own world.

What you should’ve done is not get entangled with him in the first place. 

Present

“You’re shitting me.” Kaia abruptly falls on her rear, staring at you with wide eyes. You hum, plucking another thorn off her rose. The weather is nice today, the skies clear and sun hidden by the clouds—did you really have to do this inside? 

Though, the flowers are better company than your friend here, nagging you. There are bundles of roses in front of you, but you’re the only one working. Yeah, she has her hands on her knees, leaning in closer with interest. 

“Is this my flower store or yours?” 

“You’re saying the part-time hire that I took in for a few months on your request? Joonie? Our Joonie? He’s actually not poor?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You retort. 

“The kid that barely had a week’s worth of clothing? That one?” 

Snip. You move onto the next flower. He has plenty of clothes now, so it’s not like you need to worry anymore. 

“The one that ate like a pig and he’s been starving for a whole good year or so? The one that scrapbooked the whole town here and went around taking photos?”

You sigh.

“The one that you kissed?”

“He kissed me,” you snap. Stop when you see the grin on her face growing. “And stop talking about him. He returned to his world, like I returned to mine. It’s better this way.”

“Is this a firstborn disease, I wonder? Pretending that everything’s fine?”

“If you’re going to act like I’m not here, I’m leaving.” 

Kaia claps when you move to stand up. “I meant to say that he’s so, so forgettable and we shouldn’t talk about him anymore. Ever. Since none of us remember him.”

A smile curls up your lips, and you throw the now thornless rose at her. “Sorry for making you all uncomfortable. I know you guys loved him.” 

“Well, that’s part of his charm, isn’t it?” 

Yeah. It is. 

But just because someone is charming, doesn’t mean he’s hard to erase. 

Past 

“You what? Did you follow me?” 

“To follow someone is to appear to them directly. And I didn’t even know you’d be here.” He—Namjoon—scratches the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “Though I suppose I should apologize, since I still don’t have the money to pay you back. Or I do, but I think I need to use it to get some food, a place to stay, and a job.” 

“You’re not going to find it here.” You motion to the bench, where your things are. Here you are wanting some quiet time away from the grandparents who wanted to you to finish their chores for them. As endearing as they can be, you know that they can be just as manipulating, too. Just cast the “my back really hurts and I’ll give you an endless supply of side dishes” glance with the eyes, and you’re under their spell. 

“I heard there was a small town around here…”

“Not a place to stay,” you tell him. “Residents only, since we don’t often have visitors.”

“Why? Because it’s so far away?” He inches closer to the railing. Where you are looks over the city—is half an hour away from it, actually, so not too far out. The area is surrounded by hills and an endless amount of the color green. You peer over with him, catching sight of the ocean far below and more fields. 

“Are you sure you’re not following me? What are you doing here, anyways?” Namjoon smiles, and dimples appear, a feature you didn’t notice last time. 

“I live in the town you’re talking about.” You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. At least he looks freshened up this time, in a better shirt—still blue—and much cleaner shoes. Even his hair isn’t greasy, which is a nice bonus and in for the grandparents to adore him. “Come on. I’ll take you there.” 

“Seriously? That’d be awesome.” He follows. God. How gullible. “Can you get me a job, too?”

“That’s not for me to interfere with. Ask around, and maybe you’ll get one.”

“And, uh…” 

“And what?” You spin on your heel—maybe a little too quickly. Your knee bends, and your arms fly out.

Reaching Namjoon’s. 

He hoists you up easily, and you clear your throat. He’s tall. Uh. Very tall, hovering over you. And not all that useless. He does have some muscles, it seems. Actually, he’s like some doberman. 

Other than that, your mind is blank. But the subject needs to be changed desperately. 

Is it too late to jump off the railing? Embrace the waters below? 

His dimples make a return, and he tilts his head down. “I was going to ask if I can find a place to stay, but maybe it’s a little to early for that.” 

That’s it. You gape at him, wondering if he can take a hit in the head. By your fist.

Namjoon waves to the right—the direction you’re going in. “After you.” 

Past

“Is there anything I should know about you?” You press an index finger to his chest, ignoring how he doesn’t budge. “Did you get here because you’re charged with murder? Arson? Something along those lines?”

Namjoon holds his hands up. “I promise I’m a responsible citizen, only needing a temporary place to stay.” 

He isn’t lying. At least, you don’t think he’s the type to. But he is hiding something.

Seeing as it isn’t life threatening, though, you take him up the cobblestone path, pointing to the yellow building with the rusty sign. Most of the buildings here need a serious paint job, but none of you ever get to it, thinking it adds its own unique quality to the area. 

Plus, as long as the inside is clean, none of you see the issue why an area should be judged for its exterior. 

“Halmuni!” You shout when you walk into the restaurant with Namjoon. It’s a little ironic, how she named it, You Can Eat Anything, but gives the locals what she wants to make for the day. 

Well, at least the side dishes are consistent. And anything she makes tastes amazing, not to mention you all love her to say otherwise. 

Kaia is there, one leg crossed over another, soju bottle in front of her. Her head resting on the palm of her hand, she groans when you enter. 

“Halmuni,” she whines. “Kick her out. She’s going to make me go back to work.”

“As you should,” the elder scolds back, flicking her forehead and leaning on the counter. “You’re the owner. What are you doing playing hooky in another person’s store?” 

Hooky. You snort.

“There aren’t any customers.” Your friend mutters under her breath, and takes another sip of alcohol. 

“And you.” The woman’s finger turns to focus on you. “Isn’t she paying you? Why are you off with some man having a literal hook-up?”

Kaia stares at Namjoon, who, behind you, bows to Halmuni. 

“There’s no way that’s her one night stand. Or boyfriend. It’s probably some traveler she picked up on the side of the road.” 

The comment is insulting and comforting at the same time. 

“She’s right,” you murmur. “This is Namjoon. He needs a place to stay and work. I was planning to take him to yours after feeding him, but I guess you can assess him now.” You shove the kid forward. 

“Ya.” Halmuni declares. “Don’t push him around like that.” 

Placing her hands on her hips, she stares him down. “I’m selling kimchi-jigae today. Take it or leave it.”

“I, ah, I’ll eat it well,” he stumbles out, wiping his hands on his shorts.

“Say that when it’s served to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Come here, come here,” Kaia interjects, waving him forward, and motioning to the seat in front of her. “Sit.” 

You almost feel bad that you’re all treating him harshly. Almost, because he’ll adapt. You see the determination in his eyes, the way he takes in a deep breath before going forward.

If he’s determined to stay and make it happen, you’ll let him. And if he can deal with the crass way everyone speaks here, he’ll be accepted in a community that’ll have his back—one that’ll even bury a body for him. 

You didn’t come here on awful terms like Namjoon did—just for escape a few years back. But you’re glad, because this is your home now. 

“Hello,” he bows again. “Kim Namjoon. I’m, uh, 24.” 

“Out of college, huh? Or…” 

“Yes. Seoul University. In business.” 

“Mhm. Top of the class?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit.” This causes her to put the bottle down. “Really? So you’re actually smart? I thought most people coasted by once they got into college.”

“That’s just you,” you remark, smirking. When she sticks her tongue out, you laugh and make your way around the counter to start loading some kimchi onto a plate. And some radish, along with seasoned spinach, and some other side dishes. 

“I, ah. Academics are important.” 

“Not here.” Kaia tilts her head to the side. “How’s your sense of fashion? Or interior design. This place is tacky, don’t you think? Too yellow. It’s kind of hideous. I feel like I’m looking at a golden pig’s skin.”

This time, you muffle your laughter so that Halmuni can’t hear your agreement with her comment. Like the outside, the inside is yellow, too, and the wallpaper draws attention more than the wooden tables and silver counter does. Not to mention, the paper slammed on the middle of the wall containing an indiscernible scribble of the menu of the day. 

It adds character, though. 

“Is that… bad?” Namjoon resembles a fish out of water. Quite literally. 

She blinks. “So you need glasses. That’s okay. Can you do simple tasks like putting bouquets together and cutting thorns off roses? Working with me means more than dealing with flowers. You’ll probably be living mostly in restaurants, helping the grandpas and grandmas around here.”

“I can do that.” His shoulders sag in relief. 

“And you can take photos? I have—”

“Oh, do your own social media stuff.” You bring the side dishes down harder than you expect, but appear unfazed nonetheless. 

“Fine.” Kaia pouts. “You’re hired. I can’t pay much, but I’m a fair boss. And as for sleeping arrangements.” She points to you. “She has two rooms. Take up her offer on that.”

Present

It’s the deep voice calling your name, heard like a whisper in the wind, that makes you freeze. Turn. 

“So it is you,” he murmurs, casting his eyes down to the concrete road. With the way he’s behind you, it reminds you of the time he followed you up a different path. He must be thinking the same, with the way his shoes—clean, untouched sneakers—kick a rock. Namjoon’s hands are in his pockets, and the way he carries himself doesn’t match the sleek black and white suit he has on. 

Frankly, seeing him like this is unbearable.

Thank God this is Seoul—vast enough so that you don’t have to run into him again. Especially since you’re moving here now that you got a new job as an editor. 

“So you’re going to leave without saying anything?” Hurt is laced into his voice. “You won’t let me explain, after everything we’ve been together?” 

“I’ve been through a lot with Kim Namjoon, the guy I met in the train,” you say. “Not Kim Namjoon, the businessman.”

And like you described, the businessman is ruthless at giving you heartbreak. It’s stupid, why you decided to go the path that will pass by Kim Tech Industries—you were practically asking for punishment. And yet, here he is, too, leaning against the entrance of the building, like he’s been waiting for you this whole time. 

“You look beautiful,” the words fall out of his lips like he’s said it a thousand times, because he has. Only this time, he can’t accompany the words by caressing your cheek, or by placing his hands in yours. “Is the restaurant doing okay? What about the paint? Has it faded yet? Did some rascal put his foot on the new color?” 

“Don’t—” Your facade cracks. “Don’t ask me about these things, Namjoon. I can’t answer them.” 

“Why can’t they be the same person? Why can’t—I told you that I was there for a reason, right? And I told you I had to go.”

Like you could ever forget the moment. It felt like waking up from a nightmare, and realize that you’ve twisted all the bad into the good. 

“Is it that hard for you to look at me? Talk to me? Think about me?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, and watch his face crumple. It takes one look at his face to now know he belongs in a vastly different world. One you don’t have control over. 

He’s the man who doesn’t even has a 9-5, because he’s that rich. A bachelor, combined with the other six he hangs out with. 

You should’ve read the news about his mysterious disappearance. Kaia—the social media fanatic—should have. 

Except you all missed it. And now, you had to step on your own heart. 

“What if—”

“There is not ‘what if’s’ anymore. Only now.”

You deliver the final blow. To you and him. 

“I’ll be going… Namjoon ssi.” 

Present

“Come on, Halmuni. You can’t act like they weren’t in love. They were practically all over each other, it was disgusting to watch.” 

Halmuni sighs. “Yes, but I’m not tactless enough to say that in front of someone who’s grieving.” 

“I am over him,” you mumble, and set the chicken skewers down. “But you talking about him makes my appetite disappear.” 

“Namjoon. What if I decided to go abroad? To America?”

“Then I would follow you in a heartbeat.”

“Namjoon. What if…”

“Again with this?” 

“Yes. What if I messed up? Like I did something really bad?”

“Like, cheat on me?”

“No, stupid. Like I said hurtful things but I didn’t mean it. You know how I can run my mouth sometimes. What if I said something without meaning it?”

“Then I would forgive you in a heartbeat, too.”

“Namjoon. What if I stopped loving you?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“… Whether you stop loving me or not, that won’t change my love for you.”

Every word with him, every ‘what if,’ haunts you. But what still lingers are the words he said when you turned to leave: “I still love you. And if your stubborn ass chooses to pretend like you don’t love me, my stubborn ass will spend the rest of my life making sure you actually fall in love with me. Properly.” 

taglist: @decamilue @theblueslytherin @tatyhend @midnightsora @cupcakesxdomjoon @likeshatteredrainbowglass @scuzmunkie @xjiminsthighsx @dreadity @lovelytaes-blog @noooodlllleeee @ggukkieland @namjoonshug @angelarin @jaiuneamesolitaiire @acsycharm @hollyweird0 @jiminie-08