Namjoon Angst - Tumblr Posts
Big Bad Wolf | KNJ (M)
🔴 Summary: Your mom has always warned you not to venture too deep into the forest, for legend has it, in it lives vicious, man eating wolves. You’ve always listened to her words until one day when your love of animals gets the better of you and you end up in the woods, chasing after a wounded cat. When you stumble across a secluded cottage in the middle of the forest and meet one of these “Big Bad Wolves,” you learn that maybe not everything is as it seems.
🔴 Pairing: Wolf Shapeshifter!Namjoon x Human Female!Reader
🔴 Genre/AU: Angst, fluff, smut, fantasy, strangers to lovers
🔴 Rating: 18+ | R
🔴 Warnings: profanity, non-descriptive talk of murder, mention of guns/a gunshot wound, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, knotting, marking
🔴 Words: 19.7k 🥴
🔴 Note: It’s finally here - my fic for @hobeemin’s Bangtan Grimm Event!! The fairytale my fic is inspired by is Little Red Riding Hood. Full disclosure here, this is my first half human/half animal fic so to anyone that reads this that is much more seasoned with hybrid-esque fics, it’s not the same as others you probably have read lol.
Thank you soooo much to @lavienjin for this amazing banner!! ❤️❤️ ENORMOUS thank you to @playmetheclassics for literally being my hero and beta reading this chonker of a fic in a few hours after I finished it 🥰🥰
This fic has been a journey to say the least. Writer’s block has had me in an absolute chokehold these past few months, but I’m so glad I was able to finally finish this! Please enjoy my longest fic to date 😂💖
Keep reading
Helpp!!
President Kim namjoon x secretary/ambassador/ lawyer/ politician reader
Ooof. HURTS SO GOOD 🥲 Asshole/Ex husband Joon is not something I thought I needed but here we are.
Love
Namjoon is your ex-husband, the man who committed when he didn't really want to. So why is he still hanging around now that you're over?
Pairing: Namjoon x f!reader
Rating: 18+
Word count: 2.2k
Genre: E2L
Warnings: Sex, mean Namjoon
Kim Namjoon thinks of himself as slow to react, more of an analytical overthinker than a knee-jerk reaction kind of guy.
But when he sees the man put his hand on his ex-wife’s shoulder, he’s stepped between them and steered her away without a second thought.
You look pretty with your hair down, he thinks to himself.
He doesn’t notice the way you’re frowning at him until you swat at his arm.
He realise he’s slipped it around your waist, holding you the way he always used to when you were married.
‘Mr Kim,’ you say, haughty, lifting your chin.
‘Why are you calling me that?’ he asks, hurt. ‘Joon-ah is just fine.’
‘I can’t call you Joon-ah,’ you reply. ‘That’s over familiar.’
Namjoon resists the very strong urge to remind you of all the times you’ve cried his name.
Joon. Joon-ah. Jagi. Baby.
You’re looking at him with a brow creased with concern. ‘Have you lost weight?’
‘Yes,’ he says, seeing an opportunity. ‘I don’t get your cooking anymore.’
‘Namjoon,’ you say, stern. ‘You can afford to eat anything you want.’
‘It doesn’t taste the same without you,’ Namjoon says. He flashes a dimple at you for good measure.
‘Stop trying to be cute,’ you chide. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
In all reality, Namjoon’s never thought of himself as cute, but you’ve always seemed to find him so.
He smiles, and he can see the corner of your mouth tugging upwards.
Then you sigh. ‘Come on then, let’s get you some food.’
Namjoon places a hand on your back as you leave the room together, enjoying the familiar feel of your back under his palm.
You arch a little, reminding him of a angry cat.
‘Namjoon,’ you say, warning.
‘Sorry baby,’ he murmurs, obedient.
You look at him, eyebrow raised, and he grins at you, cheeky.
You laugh. ‘Namjoon. Stop.’
Namjoon knows he’s in then. It’s never that hard to work his way into your good books.
***
The next morning he wakes to your naked back as you sit up.
‘Hey,’ you say.
He loves the warmth of your smile, especially when you’ve just woken up like this.
‘Hey,’ he says, shifting in the sheets, propping an arm behind his head.
He can see the way your eyes drop to his bicep.
‘I’ve been working out,’ he tells you.
You roll your eyes and get up, ignoring the way he’s openly ogling your ass.
Your back to him, you ask, ‘hey, want to get dinner later?’
Namjoon’s been watching you so closely he can see the way your whole body stills, just for a moment, as you wait for him to answer.
He doesn’t want to give you false hope.
You’re exes for a reason.
‘That’s not a good idea,’ he says.
Your voice comes out smooth, assured.
‘Of course,’ you say.
You’re fully dressed now, slipping into the heels you were wearing last night, picking up your clutch.
You turn to him.
‘See you around, Namjoon.’
Namjoon watches you walk to the door of the bedroom.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up to see you out.
You keep walking like you don’t expect him to.
***
The party Namjoon’s at is a drag, his date is beautiful but her friends are dull, uninteresting.
He’s considering pulling his date into a corner, a quiet alcove, a little light seduction, when you walk into the room.
You don’t see him at first, which is funny because he’s one of the tallest people in the room.
He drinks you in. You shine, you always have in his eyes, with the way you hold your head up, the way your eyes coolly survey the people around you.
The dress you have on makes his pants feel tight at the crotch.
You’re looking around, casual, and then your eyes meet his.
And freeze.
Namjoon drops the arm he’s still got loosely slung around his date.
The look in your eyes makes his heart squeeze. Then you look away, and when you meet his gaze again your expression is shuttered.
You wave a hand at him, casual, and turn to greet the couple who’ve approached you.
It’s a while before you’re unaccompanied.
Namjoon comes up to you, confident in the way he knows you find attractive.
You smile at him, cool, confident in your own way.
‘Nice dress,’ he says.
‘This old thing?’ you reply. You take a sip of wine, eye him over the glass.
‘Enjoying the party?’ Namjoon asks.
‘I am,’ you say. ‘You?’
‘More now,’ Namjoon says.
He moves so he’s closer to you. He’s always liked the way you have to look up at him.
You’re not looking at him, though. You’re facing away, and Namjoon realises you’re looking at his date, coming towards the both of you.
Hye Mi’s no fool. She takes in the way he’s standing, turned towards you, and she smiles sweetly at him.
‘Shall we get going, Joon?’
Namjoon allows himself to be led away. He looks back at you once, and you’re staring down at your wine like it’s fascinating.
There’s something about the line of your shoulders that speaks of emotion, held back.
He thinks, not for the first time, how beautiful you are.
***
Namjoon’s at the gym working with his personal trainer, when he sees your familiar ponytail.
You’re running, facing out at the floor to ceiling windows, ponytail bouncing, expression determined.
Namjoon sees an opportunity when the machine next to yours frees up.
He gets on, catches the way you look over casually then freeze when you see him.
You smile and then turn to face forward again.
He’s a patient man. He runs alongside you, slow, until you stop your machine and get off.
You’re out of breath, sweating, hair sticking to your face.
You’re beautiful.
You say, casually, ‘See you, Namjoon.’
‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Want to get a drink?’
***
He ends up buying you a beer at the sports bar a block down from the gym because ‘one drink, somewhere close’ is all you’ll agree to.
You’ve changed into a hoodie, baggy sweats, tied your hair back loosely.
You eye him over your beer. ‘All good with you, Mr Kim?’
‘All good, Mrs Kim,’ he replies automatically, because it’s what he used to say to you.
Your mouth twists into a grimace.
‘Yeah sorry ex Mrs Kim.’
Namjoon’s irrationally annoyed with you, like how he felt in the final stretch of your failed marriage.
You’d acted like you couldn’t stand him, looking through him, acting like you and he were in a race to check out.
One you were determined to win.
And now you’ve both lost.
A part of him wants you to pine after him the way he pined after you. He’s still butthurt about it, so sue him.
Namjoon looks up at his name being called.
Hye Mi’s walking towards you both, a furrow between her brows that gives him a tingle of discomfiture.
‘Hey,’ she says, voice sharp.
You look up, and Namjoon can see the way your back snaps straight.
‘What’s going on here, Namjoon?’ Hye Mi asks.
‘I’m having a drink with Y/N,’ Namjoon replies. He’s got just enough beer in him to not give a fuck about Hye Mi, he’s still got just enough residual anger with you to not care what you think, either.
Why does talking to you make him so angry sometimes?
‘You’re divorced, right?’
You look up, brow raised, that cold bitchy face on that makes Namjoon simultaneously aroused, scared and a tiny bit in love with you.
‘Yeah but we still fuck sometimes,’ you reply, brazen, shrugging with a calculated insouciance you only get when you’re angry.
Namjoon’s been on the receiving end enough times to recognise it, now.
Hye Mi looks at him, like she’s waiting for him to speak up.
Namjoon can’t muster up anything better than, ‘yeah, we do.’
You snort, Namjoon laughs, and Hye Mi storms away.
You chug the last of your beer and get up. ‘You’re an ass,’ you tell him. ‘She’s not gonna fuck you again.’
Namjoon shrugs. ‘That’s what you said when I moved out,’ he reminds you.
You laugh quietly. ‘You’re an asshole, Namjoon, no wonder our marriage didn’t last.’
‘Wait,’ Namjoon calls after you, as you turn and step away. ‘Aren’t we going to?’
You give him a once over, from his scuffed sneakers to his loose sweats to the chain between his collarbones.
‘Nah,’ you say. ‘I have plans.’
Namjoon watches you walk away.
***
Namjoon’s loading groceries into the back of his car when he sees you, walking briskly towards your car.
You walk fast, always like you have somewhere to be.
He’s about to call your name when you’re greeted by a tall man in a suit.
The way his hand slips under your elbow, helping you reach up to press a kiss to his cheek, rankles Namjoon.
It’s familiar, intimate.
Namjoon calls your name anyway.
You turn around, scanning for him. Namjoon notices then that you’ve got makeup on, that your hair is styled beautifully.
That the dress you’re wearing showcases your perfect ass the way it deserves to be shown.
You walk over, the tall man in tow.
Namjoon’s got no interest in a dick swinging contest when you spent the night riding his own dick two nights ago.
You’re introducing the tall man as Seojoon, and Namjoon works to hide the flicker of emotion across his face when you introduce him as Namjoon, your ex husband.
How well do you know this guy that you’re so open about the truth between you?
Seojoon nods very politely. ‘Shall we get going?’ He smiles at Namjoon, a clear dismissal, and Namjoon moves quickly.
He says your name, locks eyes with Seojoon over your head as you turn to him.
You’re looking up at Namjoon, curious.
‘Let me know if you need me,’ Namjoon says quietly, leaning down to speak close to your ear.
‘I’ll be fine,’ you reply just as quietly.
Namjoon watches, jaw set, as Seojoon cups your elbow and leads you away.
***
The buzzing at his door is insistent, like someone’s jabbing erratically at the call button.
Namjoon already knows it’s you.
He pulls open the door, scoops you into his arms and tosses you on the couch.
You’re looking up at him, lips stained from red wine, hair falling over one eye.
Namjoon cups himself over his loose sweats.
‘Get on your knees,’ he says, voice thick from the sleep you pulled him out of.
You’re already sliding down to the floor, head in front of his crotch.
Namjoon weaves a hand into your hair, grips tight.
‘Come on, finish what you started,’ he says, harsh.
You haven’t done anything but look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and Namjoon’s cock is already filling out.
‘Didn’t he fuck you well enough?’ Namjoon jeers.
He pulls your face against his hardening cock.
‘Why’d you come to me, ex-wife?’
‘I don’t know,’ you spit, defiant.
It’d be more convincing if you weren’t already burying your face against his crotch, mouthing over his erect cock.
‘I know,’ Namjoon says, voice velvety as you tug down his sweats. His cock jumps out, pokes you in the face, and you moan like you can’t wait for it.
He grabs your hair, tugs you up, slaps your hand away from where you’re trying to grab him.
‘Because no one fucks you like I do,’ he tells you.
His voice is quiet but stark in the silence of his apartment.
He pushes your legs apart, enters you, and the breath you suck in sounds like a sob.
He doesn’t want to see your face right now.
Namjoon stares at a point in the wall as he begins to move, concentrates on how your cunt feels around him.
You’re so quiet he wants to check on you but he can’t.
He doesn’t give a fuck but that’s not the whole story, because behind the wall he’s built he thinks that he still loves you so much he can’t face it.
And when you’re under him like this, the look in your eyes makes him want to cry.
Namjoon hisses because it’s snug, him being in you like this. He hits deep, rocking his hips against yours, stroking your clit until your breathing’s more of a steady pant against his neck.
‘Joon,’ you manage, high and sobbing, and Namjoon, against his better judgement, flicks his gaze to your face.
You’re beautiful, and he could fuck you forever if you’d let him.
‘Come on, come on,’ he grunts. He grasps your ass, pulls you against him, grinds his cock so deep he thinks he might pass out from the pleasure of it.
He thinks that your cunt pulsing around him is the single greatest sensation of his life.
‘Fuck,’ he groans.
You’re milking the cum out of him, and Namjoon needs to give you all of it.
Fuck, he needs to give you everything.
There’s a beat of absolute stillness at the peak of his orgasm as the world stops.
And then it all comes rushing back.
He floats for a while then, relishing the scent and feel of you.
Your voice sounds out in the darkness.
‘You’re right, Namjoon, no one fucks me like you do.’
Your voice is completely neutral, a cover for the shades of meaning underneath.
‘I know, baby,’ Namjoon says.
His tears mingle with yours.
He knows he should get up, but for now, he can’t seem to let you go.
©hamsterclaw 2023
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHBHHHHHHHHHH
“There’s nobody else I’d ever love like this.”
And
“I’m sorry.” / “For what exactly? Breaking my trust, and in turn my fragile heart? Or do you only mean that you got caught?”
Go on break my heart. Grind it into pieces.
Happily Ever After - KNJ ft. JHS
Pairing: Kim Namjoon X Reader, Jung Hoseok X Reader
Theme: Angst
Warnings: Cheating, infedility
Word count: 678
Prompt: “There’s nobody else I’d ever love like this.” & “I’m sorry.” / “For what exactly? Breaking my trust, and in turn my fragile heart? Or do you only mean that you got caught?” from the prompt list.
A/N: @phenomenalgirl9 did I grind on your heart well, darling? 👀
✨✨✨✨
“Mum, it’s heavy.” you whine.
“Y/N! Stop whining! It’s your wedding for God's sake. You can’t really attend the ceremony in your shorts and tshirts.” Your mum scolds you as she sits you down on the overly decorated couch of the waiting room.
You really are getting married, it feels unreal. Exactly two years ago, the same day, your heart broke into ten thousand pieces. Right then you swore you would never ever give into the temptation of love, relationship and the non-existent “happily-ever-after”. But time changed, so did you, and your heart and that is what brings you here today, only a few minutes away from taking wedding vows with your lovely would-be husband, aka the man of your dreams.
“I gotta go. You start counting minutes, darling.” your mum says as she places a kiss on the top of your head and proceeds to leave you alone in the room. You smile to yourself, you smile at your triumph. Even though you thought you would never be happy just because a man chose to break your heart, you won, you eventually found your happiness. You are proud of yourself, proud of the person you have become after he chose to wreck your soul. Proud to be here with someone who truly deserves you.
A knock rings on the heavy wooden door of the room and you grant them permission to enter without spearing much of a thought. But as soon as the guest enters, your blood starts boiling.
“What are you doing here?” You abruptly stand from the couch, fury and confusion oozing through your voice.
“Two years, Y/N. It’s been exactly two years since I saw you for the last time. And it’s your big day. I had to see you once.” Namjoon says with a small smile. He is still as handsome as he used to be, if not more. The fitted suit adores his buff body. That small smile that once used to light up your day, makes bile rise up to your throat.
“Do you realize, Namjoon, that you just ruined my big day by showing me your face?” You spit venom at him.
Namjoon’s expression wasn’t bright enough to begin with but after you throw your words at him, he gets visibly dimmer.
“Y/N, please. You never received my calls or answered my texts after that day. You never did let me explain.”
“Explain exactly what, Namjoon? Explain how your so-called colleague ended up fucking herself on your dick on our matress? If yes then I have seen enough. And I never required any explanation. So, there was no reason to receive your calls and reply to your texts.”
“I just wanted to apologize, Y/N. I just-" Namjoon sighs heavily “I’m sorry”.
“For what exactly? Breaking my trust, and in turn my fragile heart? Or do you only mean that you got caught?”
“No, Y/N. I regretted it. I was-” just when Namjoon starts to march towards you, the door opens again.
“Y/N, baby, the photographers want to click some photos before the ceremony starts- oh.” Hoseok stops in his tracks as his eyes find Namjoon looking like a huge mess. Then he looks at you, you look angry and furious. He understands what is happening.
“Okay, take your time.” Hoseok says but you cut him off.
“No. I don’t want to waste my time anymore Hoseok. I have had enough.” you reply as you walk towards your soon-to-be husband.
Intertwining your fingers with Hoseok’s you smile at him, “Hobi, I want you to know that There’s nobody else I’d ever love like this. Because there is nobody else who has ever loved me as much as you do. Thanks for choosing me.”
“I love you wifey. Let’s go.” Hoseok giggles so do you, as he pulls you off with him but not before throwing a, “Bye, Namjoon. Make sure to eat before you leave.” to the other man.
Namjoon stands in the room, thinking how all of this could have been his hadn’t he fucked up that night.
Namjoon x Reader: Ghost of You
⚠️ Warning: This is just despair and goes spiralling down. Major character death, indication of bad mental health, depression and suicide. Read at your own discretion.
Summary: He thought you were doing well. Maybe he was too busy to see through the facade you built for the world, or maybe you were too good at doing it.
A/n: This is just a coping mechanism of the blow to the heart that I received today.
W/c: 2.1k
_____________________________________
"Young blood thinks there's always tomorrow"
The songs resonated through the little mikrokosmos speaker that Namjoon had bought the mood light set to the specific light that you loved. He sat on your high back chair that you always sit on, smiling at the ceiling watching the lights move. He closed his eyes..
_____________________________________
10 months Ago
There you were sitting on the bed hair messy, your specs rested right on the bridge of your nose. You intently looked at the screen eyebrows in a frown. "Hey baby" Namjoon cooed, but there was no response, as he walked closer he realised why, he noticed the little bobs of your head as music played through your airpods. He slowly walked behind you and hugged your back. "Fuck!" You exclaimed on being startled but immediately eased at the familiar feeling and the warmth creeping onto you from him. "How long were you here?" You asked him, pulling out one of the earbuds. "Not that long" he said, pulling you into him, you turned yourself in an angle so that you could rest your head on his chest.
"How much longer would you need?" He asked. "Not much, just 20 minutes and I'll be done" you said. "Then complete it, I'll order some food and set up the couch and we can watch a movie" he said and you nodded.
_____________________________________
8 months ago
"You look tired, aren't you sleeping well?" He asked when you yawn for the 4th time in the past 5 minutes. "No, I just had a lot of work to do, it's okay I'll catch some sleep later, you'll spend the night at the studio right?" You said pouting. And he nodded, "Yoongi hyung said we'll need to complete the tracks today itself". "It's okay baby" you said, snuggling further into him. "I'll be busy for the next week too" he said "If we could just you know-" he stopped in the mid way, you knew what he was talking about. "I've told you Joon, that we can't move in yet, you still stay at the dorm. You do know that my sister and Yuki both come to my house often, what will I tell them if we move in? I can't hide your existence from your house" you scolded him and it's his turn to pout. You and Namjoon have been in a relationship since the past 3 years, and it was strictly prohibited by the company that Nobody, not even your friends or family could know. So half of your friends think this whole boyfriend may be made up, and the rest suspect you are dating a ghost. But, you didn't mind as long as you had Namjoon by your side. The only down hill was that Namjoon wanted you to move in with him, but you couldn't because it would complicate things. That was the last thing you wanted to happen between Namjoon and you.
_____________________________________
6 months ago
You were startled by a knock on your door, you looked at the time and it was 11:00pm. You splashed your face with water and were wiping it, while contemplating if you should open the door at this hour. That was when you received a text from Namjoon to open the door and you realised it was your boyfriend at the door.
You opened the door and he walked in and hugged you, placing a kiss on your lips and forehead. "I thought it was some creep knocking on my door at 11 at night" you joked and he hugged you tighter. "Tired?" You asked and he groaned. He has been promoting and practicing non-stop for the next BTS world tour. The tour's gonna be bigger this time round. "I wish you could just come with me" he groaned again into your shoulder. "I wish I could but I can't, I can't explain to my mom why I will be touring the world for 3 months with this boyfriend whom she hasn't even seen" you laughed, patting his head. And he held you tighter.
_____________________________________
4 months ago
"Are you sure you're okay?" Namjoon asked and you nodded. "Yeah Joon, I just don't want to go out" you said, and he nodded his head in understanding. "It's okay, let's order in" he said and sighed as you cuddled deeper into him.
_____________________________________
Another day 4 months ago
"Did you eat lunch?" He asked through the phone, "yeah~" you said. The tone seemed different, and Namjoon knew you were lying. "Y/n?" He called your name and you knew you were caught. You could never lie to him. "I wasn't that hungry, I'll eat something in a bit" you promised.
_____________________________________
3 months ago
"I'm always a call away" he said and kissed your forehead. He was on his way to the airport but he made a quick stop at your place. You nodded and sniffed trying to keep the tears at bay. "Eat well and sleep well" he said and you nodded. "You too, take care and don't overwork yourself" you said "take care of the boys as well" you said as the two of you kissed. Him leaving for tours has been a common thing by now, but this time it all felt too difficult. He just couldn't bring himself to let you go. "Joon? Your phone is ringing" you said, and pulled it out to see Jin's name flashing. "You have to go," you said, almost snatching the words from his mouth. He nodded, he kissed you for the last time and hugged you tight.
"I'll see you the moment I get back, okay?" He said. And you nodded and waved him bye.
_____________________________________
2 weeks into the tour
Namjoon has never regretted anything in his life as much as his decisions. He couldn't shake off this feeling that something is wrong back there, with you. You've been so out of it recently. Barely answering his calls, you've been avoiding his video calls with various excuses and he keeps feeling this dread.
"Maybe you're overthinking?" Hoseok suggested and Namjoon shrugged. "I hope so," Namjoon said. "Try to call her often, if she doesn't want to video call try to get her on it but don't force her give her time" Yoongi said. Yeah, only BTS themselves were acquainted with you. They are all concerned because they all knew you, growing up with troubles you've always had lots of struggles. But with the help of your surroundings and Namjoon you were doing much better.
Namjoon just regretted leaving you alone back there, he wished he would have tried to make some arrangement with the company to bring you on tour. It didn't help that he missed you like crazy.
_____________________________________
3 weeks into tour
"Finally, you accepted my video call," he said, and you smiled. "I miss you, I've been really busy, I barely had time" you said, "I miss you too, are you wearing make-up?" He asked. You nodded and said "I'm going out with Yuri, she'll be here soon" you said and smiled. "At Least you found some time to show me your face," he said, showing his dimples. "I wanted to say that I love you Joon, so so much and you must take care of yourself and don't worry, okay. Everything will be fine. I love you" you said. "I love you too, babe. Please take care" he said. "Yuri must almost be here. I'll hang up, take care. Always remember I am always with you, I love you, Kim Namjoon" you said and waved and hung up. Namjoon felt glad to finally see you but your words were stuck in his mind.
The next day he texted you and waited for your text, which never came. He thought you were probably out till late and slept, or tired or busy.
"She must just be busy, she'll surely reply to you" Hoseok assured him. Even Namjoon himself was dead tired, doing shows in different cities and more schedules.
_____________________________________
2 months ago (2nd week)
It's been a week since he last spoke to you or even got the time to text you. He's been on schedules and concerts non-stop. Now when he realised, he felt extremely guilty. You didn't pick up his calls or reply to his texts, maybe you were angry. He will make it up to you for sure, once he goes back.
"I need more time, but time can't be borrowed"
_____________________________________
2 months ago (3rd week)
"It's been more than a week hyung. She still hasn't replied" he said. "She's probably angry and busy" Jin said and shrugged. "It's fine, don't you have anybody else's number?" Hoseok asked gulping his sprite and Namjoon shook his head a No. "You dated for 3 years and you don't have any of her friend's or family's number?" Jimin asked in shock. "Nobody was supposed to know, so she never told anyone. And I never got the chance. The only people who know are the pr team, Hitman Bang and you guys" he said and they all frowned.
_____________________________________
2 months ago (4th week)
Still no reply.
Your only social media, Instagram, had no activity. Namjoon was now desperate, he even asked Hitman Bang to send someone to your flat but your neighbor said, they haven't seen you in days and your apartment was locked from outside.
Namjoon kept trying to contact you, but to No avail. He has to wait 2 more weeks until he can reach Korea. He'll first go home, he remembered he had a package from you once and you sent it from you home, it might have your address if he can find the box. He'll immediately go to find you, it was his (and even the rest of BTS who promised to help him) topmost mission.
_____________________________________
1 month ago
He reached the dorm, and checked he had mail. One box caught his eye and he picked it.
"To Joon" the box said and he knew the handwriting like second nature. He dropped his bags as the other members piled in and went to their respective rooms. Namjoon dropped his bags and rushed to his room. He ripped the package open, it had your favourite plushie inside it and a journal, your old journal that you had stopped writing for a while, or so he thought. Dread filled every sense of his and overflowed. His hands shook as he picked the notebook and found a page marked, tears brimming his eyes, as he read page after page of entries. The page was marked at 6 months ago, the previous ones were much much older. The words crushed him, how he failed to notice all the pressure that was piling up on you. How he failed to notice the tears that you hid from him, the sleepless nights you passed up saying you were working. The spiral you tried so hard to come out of slowly pulling you back into it. All the small triggers that added on and on until you were back to square one. But this time around you hid all of it.
He dropped on the ground when he realised how his absence overweighed on all those pressure. The self doubt and hate you were goin through. Your pain. The last page has one entry, "don't tell them, it won't do any good. And don't even dare to blame yourself. THIS is all on me."
As if on cue Hoseok rushed into the room with his tablet a news article in hand, he noticed the notebook, the plushie and Namjoon tear filled eyes on the ground. "Oh no Namjoona, I'm so sorry" he said and hugged his mate.
Namjoon shook his head and read the article it was almost 1 month old, "Y/n L/n a resident of ABC complex, fell from the 15th floor passed away on spot. An investigation was held but upon seeing the fact that she was wearing make up, was well dressed and lack of any sucide note, the case was ruled out as an accident……" he couldn't read anymore. He sobbed out loud in Hoseok's arms.
_____________________________________
The others had pulled some string and found out where you were buried and they all had visited you. They all shed tears that day except Namjoon. He was sad and angry at himself and you. You always tried to take on everything on your own, even though he had told you not to.
He now realised all the hidden messages between the things you said. And what you said, that day.
"Always remember I am always with you, I love you, Kim Namjoon"
_____________________________________
"I know you crossed a bridge that I can't follow"
He opened his eyes as a tear slipped his eye. He glanced at the clock it said 12.00am. "Happy Birthday Y/n" he whispered in the air.
_____________________________________
Masterlist
Taglist: @bbl32 @back2bluesidex @cherryblossom-2004
Namjoon x Reader: Ghost of You
⚠️ Warning: This is just despair and goes spiralling down. Major character death, indication of bad mental health, depression and suicide. Read at your own discretion.
Summary: He thought you were doing well. Maybe he was too busy to see through the facade you built for the world, or maybe you were too good at doing it.
A/n: This is just a coping mechanism of the blow to the heart that I received today.
W/c: 2.1k
_____________________________________
"Young blood thinks there's always tomorrow"
The songs resonated through the little mikrokosmos speaker that Namjoon had bought the mood light set to the specific light that you loved. He sat on your high back chair that you always sit on, smiling at the ceiling watching the lights move. He closed his eyes..
_____________________________________
10 months Ago
There you were sitting on the bed hair messy, your specs rested right on the bridge of your nose. You intently looked at the screen eyebrows in a frown. "Hey baby" Namjoon cooed, but there was no response, as he walked closer he realised why, he noticed the little bobs of your head as music played through your airpods. He slowly walked behind you and hugged your back. "Fuck!" You exclaimed on being startled but immediately eased at the familiar feeling and the warmth creeping onto you from him. "How long were you here?" You asked him, pulling out one of the earbuds. "Not that long" he said, pulling you into him, you turned yourself in an angle so that you could rest your head on his chest.
"How much longer would you need?" He asked. "Not much, just 20 minutes and I'll be done" you said. "Then complete it, I'll order some food and set up the couch and we can watch a movie" he said and you nodded.
_____________________________________
8 months ago
"You look tired, aren't you sleeping well?" He asked when you yawn for the 4th time in the past 5 minutes. "No, I just had a lot of work to do, it's okay I'll catch some sleep later, you'll spend the night at the studio right?" You said pouting. And he nodded, "Yoongi hyung said we'll need to complete the tracks today itself". "It's okay baby" you said, snuggling further into him. "I'll be busy for the next week too" he said "If we could just you know-" he stopped in the mid way, you knew what he was talking about. "I've told you Joon, that we can't move in yet, you still stay at the dorm. You do know that my sister and Yuki both come to my house often, what will I tell them if we move in? I can't hide your existence from your house" you scolded him and it's his turn to pout. You and Namjoon have been in a relationship since the past 3 years, and it was strictly prohibited by the company that Nobody, not even your friends or family could know. So half of your friends think this whole boyfriend may be made up, and the rest suspect you are dating a ghost. But, you didn't mind as long as you had Namjoon by your side. The only down hill was that Namjoon wanted you to move in with him, but you couldn't because it would complicate things. That was the last thing you wanted to happen between Namjoon and you.
_____________________________________
6 months ago
You were startled by a knock on your door, you looked at the time and it was 11:00pm. You splashed your face with water and were wiping it, while contemplating if you should open the door at this hour. That was when you received a text from Namjoon to open the door and you realised it was your boyfriend at the door.
You opened the door and he walked in and hugged you, placing a kiss on your lips and forehead. "I thought it was some creep knocking on my door at 11 at night" you joked and he hugged you tighter. "Tired?" You asked and he groaned. He has been promoting and practicing non-stop for the next BTS world tour. The tour's gonna be bigger this time round. "I wish you could just come with me" he groaned again into your shoulder. "I wish I could but I can't, I can't explain to my mom why I will be touring the world for 3 months with this boyfriend whom she hasn't even seen" you laughed, patting his head. And he held you tighter.
_____________________________________
4 months ago
"Are you sure you're okay?" Namjoon asked and you nodded. "Yeah Joon, I just don't want to go out" you said, and he nodded his head in understanding. "It's okay, let's order in" he said and sighed as you cuddled deeper into him.
_____________________________________
Another day 4 months ago
"Did you eat lunch?" He asked through the phone, "yeah~" you said. The tone seemed different, and Namjoon knew you were lying. "Y/n?" He called your name and you knew you were caught. You could never lie to him. "I wasn't that hungry, I'll eat something in a bit" you promised.
_____________________________________
3 months ago
"I'm always a call away" he said and kissed your forehead. He was on his way to the airport but he made a quick stop at your place. You nodded and sniffed trying to keep the tears at bay. "Eat well and sleep well" he said and you nodded. "You too, take care and don't overwork yourself" you said "take care of the boys as well" you said as the two of you kissed. Him leaving for tours has been a common thing by now, but this time it all felt too difficult. He just couldn't bring himself to let you go. "Joon? Your phone is ringing" you said, and pulled it out to see Jin's name flashing. "You have to go," you said, almost snatching the words from his mouth. He nodded, he kissed you for the last time and hugged you tight.
"I'll see you the moment I get back, okay?" He said. And you nodded and waved him bye.
_____________________________________
2 weeks into the tour
Namjoon has never regretted anything in his life as much as his decisions. He couldn't shake off this feeling that something is wrong back there, with you. You've been so out of it recently. Barely answering his calls, you've been avoiding his video calls with various excuses and he keeps feeling this dread.
"Maybe you're overthinking?" Hoseok suggested and Namjoon shrugged. "I hope so," Namjoon said. "Try to call her often, if she doesn't want to video call try to get her on it but don't force her give her time" Yoongi said. Yeah, only BTS themselves were acquainted with you. They are all concerned because they all knew you, growing up with troubles you've always had lots of struggles. But with the help of your surroundings and Namjoon you were doing much better.
Namjoon just regretted leaving you alone back there, he wished he would have tried to make some arrangement with the company to bring you on tour. It didn't help that he missed you like crazy.
_____________________________________
3 weeks into tour
"Finally, you accepted my video call," he said, and you smiled. "I miss you, I've been really busy, I barely had time" you said, "I miss you too, are you wearing make-up?" He asked. You nodded and said "I'm going out with Yuri, she'll be here soon" you said and smiled. "At Least you found some time to show me your face," he said, showing his dimples. "I wanted to say that I love you Joon, so so much and you must take care of yourself and don't worry, okay. Everything will be fine. I love you" you said. "I love you too, babe. Please take care" he said. "Yuri must almost be here. I'll hang up, take care. Always remember I am always with you, I love you, Kim Namjoon" you said and waved and hung up. Namjoon felt glad to finally see you but your words were stuck in his mind.
The next day he texted you and waited for your text, which never came. He thought you were probably out till late and slept, or tired or busy.
"She must just be busy, she'll surely reply to you" Hoseok assured him. Even Namjoon himself was dead tired, doing shows in different cities and more schedules.
_____________________________________
2 months ago (2nd week)
It's been a week since he last spoke to you or even got the time to text you. He's been on schedules and concerts non-stop. Now when he realised, he felt extremely guilty. You didn't pick up his calls or reply to his texts, maybe you were angry. He will make it up to you for sure, once he goes back.
"I need more time, but time can't be borrowed"
_____________________________________
2 months ago (3rd week)
"It's been more than a week hyung. She still hasn't replied" he said. "She's probably angry and busy" Jin said and shrugged. "It's fine, don't you have anybody else's number?" Hoseok asked gulping his sprite and Namjoon shook his head a No. "You dated for 3 years and you don't have any of her friend's or family's number?" Jimin asked in shock. "Nobody was supposed to know, so she never told anyone. And I never got the chance. The only people who know are the pr team, Hitman Bang and you guys" he said and they all frowned.
_____________________________________
2 months ago (4th week)
Still no reply.
Your only social media, Instagram, had no activity. Namjoon was now desperate, he even asked Hitman Bang to send someone to your flat but your neighbor said, they haven't seen you in days and your apartment was locked from outside.
Namjoon kept trying to contact you, but to No avail. He has to wait 2 more weeks until he can reach Korea. He'll first go home, he remembered he had a package from you once and you sent it from you home, it might have your address if he can find the box. He'll immediately go to find you, it was his (and even the rest of BTS who promised to help him) topmost mission.
_____________________________________
1 month ago
He reached the dorm, and checked he had mail. One box caught his eye and he picked it.
"To Joon" the box said and he knew the handwriting like second nature. He dropped his bags as the other members piled in and went to their respective rooms. Namjoon dropped his bags and rushed to his room. He ripped the package open, it had your favourite plushie inside it and a journal, your old journal that you had stopped writing for a while, or so he thought. Dread filled every sense of his and overflowed. His hands shook as he picked the notebook and found a page marked, tears brimming his eyes, as he read page after page of entries. The page was marked at 6 months ago, the previous ones were much much older. The words crushed him, how he failed to notice all the pressure that was piling up on you. How he failed to notice the tears that you hid from him, the sleepless nights you passed up saying you were working. The spiral you tried so hard to come out of slowly pulling you back into it. All the small triggers that added on and on until you were back to square one. But this time around you hid all of it.
He dropped on the ground when he realised how his absence overweighed on all those pressure. The self doubt and hate you were goin through. Your pain. The last page has one entry, "don't tell them, it won't do any good. And don't even dare to blame yourself. THIS is all on me."
As if on cue Hoseok rushed into the room with his tablet a news article in hand, he noticed the notebook, the plushie and Namjoon tear filled eyes on the ground. "Oh no Namjoona, I'm so sorry" he said and hugged his mate.
Namjoon shook his head and read the article it was almost 1 month old, "Y/n L/n a resident of ABC complex, fell from the 15th floor passed away on spot. An investigation was held but upon seeing the fact that she was wearing make up, was well dressed and lack of any sucide note, the case was ruled out as an accident……" he couldn't read anymore. He sobbed out loud in Hoseok's arms.
_____________________________________
The others had pulled some string and found out where you were buried and they all had visited you. They all shed tears that day except Namjoon. He was sad and angry at himself and you. You always tried to take on everything on your own, even though he had told you not to.
He now realised all the hidden messages between the things you said. And what you said, that day.
"Always remember I am always with you, I love you, Kim Namjoon"
_____________________________________
"I know you crossed a bridge that I can't follow"
He opened his eyes as a tear slipped his eye. He glanced at the clock it said 12.00am. "Happy Birthday Y/n" he whispered in the air.
_____________________________________
Masterlist
Taglist: @bbl32 @back2bluesidex @cherryblossom-2004
Who Are You -Namjoon x reader-
Namjoon x reader
Category- Angst no fluff
warnings- none, just some angst, if you don't like angst please don't read :) not proof read, so sorry if there are any typos!
Authors note: This really hurt me writing this tbh. But every time I listen to "who" by Lauv ft. BTS, I get ideas about writing something, and since Namjoon is my bias I had to write something with him in it. Don't worry all my Namjoon lovers!! I'll make it up to all of you!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
You and Namjoon had grown up together and were practically inseparable. But that was years and years ago, now you two never talk. When you do, it is always work related. Something had happened, you're not sure what, but something in him changed. You had confronted him about it one day, but he brushed you off.
*Several years ago*
“Namjoon, what the hell?” you said annoyed. It was the tenth day in a row he had ignored all of your calls and texts. Namjoon looked at you, but chose to ignore you, making it seem like you weren't even there. “Kim Namjoon, if you don't at least say something to me, I’m going to be pissed.” you threatened. Still though, he said nothing. “Please, Joon. I just want to know what has happened. What's changed?” you tried speaking softer, but still, he chose to ignore your presence.
*three years later*
Namjoon was still ignoring you, you had tried over and over again to talk to him but he never listened. One day though, Namjoon came up to you during work. You worked at Hybe Corporation, and helped to form new k-pop groups. You were currently in the middle of packing for a trip. You would be a judge on the show I-LAND. You had been looking forward to it all month. You had been given information about the boys trying out prior to the day. You had even picked out two boys you hoped would do great. You picked Ri-ki or more commonly known as Ta-ki, and Nishamura Ri-ki also known as Ni-ki. You were in your office, you had to stop here before your flight because you had left something that you needed. Namjoon knocked on your door. “Come in,” you said, not paying attention to who it was, trying to look for that one important thing.
Namjoon walked into the room, he smiled when he saw you, his heart breaking slightly at how cold he had been to you the past few years. He truly regretted everything, but it wasn’t his fault truly! People had started dating rumors about him and another idol. Hybe threatened to put him on Hiatus if he didn't get cleared up soon. So Namjoon was forced to act as if you didn’t exist. These dating rumors though, there was some truth in them. Namjoon had given you a promise ring many years ago when he first found out you both had feelings for one another. He had promised you that one day you would be together, just not now. His career was just kicking off, plus, if Hybe found out he was dating someone, he could be forced to leave BTS.
Neither of you wanted that for him, so you thought it best to put off your relationship until he could work some things with Hybe out. Try to see if there was a way he could date someone without being let go. So far he hasn't been able to find a way. That was until today. Today he had talked to Hybe again, and they told him that since all of the rumors of him dating someone had left, fans had truly wanted to see him with someone. This person was someone who he was constantly with, and who would it be other than you!
Namjoon cleared his throat. You picked your head up, smiling at the person before your brain registered who it was. The color drained from your face, and your eyes went wide. You quickly pulled yourself together. “Hello Nam-RM,” you quickly corrected yourself, you didn't feel the need to call him that anymore with how he’s treated you the past couple of years. You saw Namjoon flinch slightly at the name correction. “How can I help you? It has to be quick, as you probably know already, I am getting ready to leave for I-LAND.” you said. Namjoon cleared his throat again, “I-I, um,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve treated you these past few years. I want to explain myself-” you cut him off with a scoff before you spoke, “tch, it's been how many years since you started ignoring me? Three? Four now? To be honest, I’ve lost count. I tried talking to you every damn day, but you chose to ignore me. Namj-RM, you looked right at me so many fucking times, and just ignored my existence. Now you expect me to sit around and listen to you ‘explain yourself’” you air quoted him. “Your stupid if you think I’ve waited all these years for you.”
That’s not true. You did wait for him. You kept the promise ring he gave you so many years ago, but your pride and anger wouldn’t let you admit that to him or yourself. It's funny because the thing you're currently looking for is the promise ring. You had placed it down when you had to do a monthly check up on BTS during their dance practice as well as vocal practice, when you got back to your office, you couldn’t find it to save your life. It had scared you, you couldn’t lose the one thing you still kept so dear to you.
“Please baby-”
“Don't call me that. You lost the right to call me that three years ago.” “I’m sorry, y/n please, just listen to me. I swear I never wanted to ignore you, but Hybe had threatened to put me on Hiatus because there were dating rumors about me and some other idol flying around. They weren’t good ones either, it was negative about me. ARMY tried to back me up with it, and somehow they were able to convince Hybe that I could date someone. It created a lot of positive buzz with the good side of ARMY, Hybe will let me date a person of my choosing! Plus!!! ARMY already knows about you, you’ve been in so many of our past Vlives, and vlogs, plus, they’ve seen you in some when you come in to do the monthly reports on vocals and dance! They want us to be together!” he told you, a smile on his face towards the end, before it went away, being replaced with a look of seriousness. “So please, y/n” he walked closer to you, you took a step back but he continued forward. You hit the front of your oak wood deck, and Namjoon was right in front of you. He took your small hands in his larger ones and looked you in the eyes, “please y/n, give me another chance. I swear to you I won’t fuck it up like I did last time.”
You shook your head, “no, Joon, you can't do this. You can't treat me like that then one day decide you missed me and come running back and think I’ve waited for you the entire time. I don't even know who you are anymore. Who are you? Are you Kim Namjoon, the man I fell in love with, or are you RM of BTS, the man that chose his career over his relationship? I need to know. ‘Cause you're not the guy I fell in love with. Something has clearly changed Joon, because you’re not the same, and if I’m being honest…” You paused for a second taking a deep breath to stop from letting tears fall before you continued again. “I really hate it. I’m sick and tired of waiting for you. And now I know that you're not the right one for me.” you felt tears in your eyes before you quickly blinked them away. You looked at the clock hanging above your door. You pulled your hands from him, “look, I have to go or I’m going to miss the taxi taking me to the airport.” You walked to the door, turning back to look at him one last time. He was just as handsome as the last time you saw him, when you were both on speaking terms with one another. “Thank you,” you started, “for coming to see me today, it means a lot. Thank you for telling me this, but just know, we” you motioned to you and him, “we wouldn’t be able to make it out there,” you pointed outside your office door. “I’m sorry RM, I truly am, maybe in another life where you are not an idol and I don't work for your company. In a life where you’re just a normal person, and we met on normal terms. But that won't be us anytime soon. So again, I’m sorry, but we can’t be anything.” and with that, you left, closing your office door on the way out.
Namjoon was left standing there alone. He felt tears form in his eyes before they fell down his cheeks. He walked over to the door and locked it, sliding down it after. In here he was just Namjoon, he didn’t have to deal with the outside world, being an idol, the rumors or anything. He placed a hand over his eyes as he looked up, tears spilling from his eyes. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He ruined something so beautiful just to try to keep that beautiful thing. He had ruined your relationship, the promise ring he gave you so many years ago meaning nothing anymore except for the empty promise he made. He truly fucked up, now he could never make it up.
*present*
You and Namjoon still don't talk, you had blocked his contact information, and you chose to work with a different group within Hybe. They let you work with ENHYPEN. You had hoped Ni-ki would get in and thankfully he did! He did such a great job too! You had also worked with Tomorrow x Together, you enjoyed working with them. A lot of this helped you forget about Namjoon, but part of you still longed to be with him. But you knew it was better this way. You could focus on work, and he could focus on making great music for his fans and the company. Namjoon however still longed to be with you, but he also knew better. He tried to contact you, but you had blocked him. So to ease his ever aching heart, he listened to your old voicemails and read over the old text messages you would send back and forth. He missed you deeply, but he knew he could never be with you, he wanted you so bad it hurt. But you could never be, you had said that exact same thing years ago, and now he believes it.
ghoul. — (rhapsodies)
[SPECIAL INSTALMENT: (CHRISTMAS) RHAPSODIES]
pairing: ot7 x reader
rating: 13+
genre: tokyo ghoul au, soulmate au, fluff
disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction. descriptions of the BTS members in this story does not reflect nor portray them in real life. everything in this story only fits in imagination and does not apply outside of imagination.
warning: nothing much, just; domestic yoongi, domestic jin, lots of soft kisses, hugging, an emotional and sentimental moment with yoongi and his first love, cannibalism joke (just once from tae). japanese terms of endearment are used in this by jin and tae.
word count:
lexicon & profiles | masterpost | masterlist | navigation
note from winter 💌:
this is my first christmas fic - yeayy!! also this is just my poor excuse to be extra emotional and sentimental idk idk i want to give a nice scene for my ghoul babies bcs ik they wont hv a nice scene for some time in normal ver ha ah ha ah…
this instalment is the softest I've ever written...
its been a long time since I write a story based on a song. the last time was winter flower by younha ft rm, a story about a girl healing from depression but reached a point where she couldn't handle it anymore, suddenly wanting to end everything. it was a open ending story tho :) anddd now rhapsodies joins as the second story that is based on a song.
also, just a friendly reminder that rhapsodies is not sharing the same timeline as the released chapters of ghoul. if possible, its a future story but whatever information (such as relationship, places, etc...) in this instalment is valid for the alt story and main story :D
ok so i don’t really celebrate christmas but i think i kind of know the feeling (not 100% because i would love to celebrate holiday season with snow ;-;) because i have gone through it with my maternal relatives - i joined them during 2019’s christmas! 🫶🏻
I HOPE IT ISNT TOO LATE FOR A CHRISTMAS GIFT 🥹 (be nice w me this is the first time i've ever written a full fluff)
💌 what is winter listening to? : first love by bts (suga) & piano ver by smyang piano, first love by hikaru utada, christmas tree by v, my dearest by amalee (original by supercell).
📝 if you want to know more about this au, you can refer to lexicon & profiles. any other questions you can refer to me !!
dedication: to my first love.
Snow has been falling for days now, piling into a thick layer of what looked like shaved ice on almost everything. It was a special evening today; your squad, the Q squad was preparing to celebrate Christmas. You and Yoongi had invited the others; Taehyung, Jungkook, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin – your and Yoongi's soulmates, - Rosé, Mingyu, Minghao and Sunoo.
You sat comfortably and warmly in the company of the fireplace and your members, Jisoo, and Lisa, as the three of you decorated the Christmas tree. The pine tree that stood mightily in front of you was a real deal, all thanks to Namjoon.
When you told him you have always celebrated with the artificial one with your loyal friend, Somi, during your days in the Jeon Quarter, he immediately told you he would buy the real one just for you. He had done the same thing for Jungkook back then because unlike you, Jungkook couldn't even celebrate the festive season during his childhood.
You could've disagreed and told him to get the artificial one, but all your soulmates agreed with Namjoon before you could even voice your opinion and defeatedly accepted his decision. You couldn't stop him from doing things his way – The strong-headed Kim Namjoon.
The crackling fire sound was soothing to your ears. The warmth of the fire was very inviting for you to jump to the couch and wrap yourself with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate providing extra warmth in your palm.
Curling into a ball, basking in the heavenly warmth on this cold day; you could always do that any other time. As you and your friends decorated the tree in meaningful silence, the doorbell rang, disrupting the silence.
"Can someone go get the door?" Jin yelled out the request from the kitchen.
Jisoo immediately got on her feet as she volunteered with a cheery smile, "On it!" But her smile was quick to fade once she reached the door and opened it as she mumbled in a boring tone. "Oh, it's you…"
Greeting with an equally boring tone, "Save the disappointment for another day, 'lil sis," Taehyung rolled his eyes. "I'm here for my lovers anyways."
"Who's at the door, Soo-ya?" You asked, making your way towards the door. Once you've seen the invited guest, you beamed, "Oh–! Hi, V."
"Hi, hime," he opened his arms as an invitation for you to slot in and you did. He smooched the crown of your head lovingly as the lovely nickname spilt from his lips warmed your cheeks.
"Come in," you broke the hug and ushered him to step in. "Jin's in the kitchen preparing food for tonight, and Yoongi's in his room."
"(Y/N)!" Jin called for you. "Can you help me here?"
"Be there in a second!" You responded and turned back to your soulmate with a welcoming smile, you told him, "Make yourself at home, Tae."
Once you were completely out of their vision, the silence was loud, "Don't get too comfortable," Jisoo narrowed her eyes at her brother.
"Stop being so hostile," he sighed deeply. "It's Christmas, for God's sake."
"Hostility is subjective," she retorted.
"It will be objective today or I'll have your half-human flesh as dinner tonight."
"Obscene!" She gasped out loud as her hand reached out to slap Taehyung's shoulder, offended.
"Jisoo, the Christmas tree isn't going to decorate itself!" Lisa shouted from the living room.
"Of course it won't, Lisa!" She huffed but obliged either way as she turned towards to living room, continuing decorating the Christmas tree.
The kitchen was filled with the heavenly and divine smell of delicious meals being cooked. Jin multitasked his way through the kitchen since the afternoon. Yoongi has been helping him but he retreated to his room after some time now.
"Hey, kareshi," your arms snaked around his waist as you hugged him from the back, chin resting on his shoulder as you asked, "What do you need help with?"
"Hello, kanojo," his thumb brushed across the skin of your hand that was wrapped around his waist lovingly and softly. "Who was that?"
"It's Taehyung," you told him.
"He's early," he mused to himself. He turned around to face you as he rested his arms on your shoulders, lazily slinging them around you. "Can you help me with the chicken?"
"Of course," you smiled.
Jin lowered his face, killing the distance between your face and his as he placed a quick kiss on your lips. It was a short moment of two lips having contacted but the heat still flared up to your cheeks and your stomach filled with butterflies.
"It won't be long; you can check on Yoongi in his room after you're done."
You stifled a giggle with a frown, "I didn't even tell you I was going to check on him."
"Soulmate instinct," he winked at you and stole yet another kiss from you. This time he remained a bit longer. No tongues were involved as it was purely lips-to-lips interaction but were enough to be a very meaningful kiss.
A frown on his temple, fingers cupping his chin as Jungkook pondered. He and Namjoon were on their way to Yoongi's squad apartment but decided to stop by the 5th ward mall because Jungkook decided to buy a present for you. He knew you had told all of them to not buy you anything, but he was never the one to listen, so here he was.
"What should I give (Y/N) for Christmas?" Jungkook asked his companion as they walked into the mall. The mall was decorated with Christmas lights, trees, and all other related decorations. The branded stores also decorated up to the session and released brand new items to fit into the festive session.
"A lingerie?" Namjoon suggested mindlessly.
"What the fuck, hyung." Again, a deep frown found its place on Jungkook's forehead at his soulmate's idea.
"It's a suggestion." He shrugged.
"Well, what do I buy her lingerie for?" The younger cast cursory glances at the stores. Feet had their own mind as Jungkook walked to wherever his feet took him, and Namjoon followed suit.
Having a late realisation, Jungkook's eyes widened, "Are you hinting I should fuck her tonight? At Yoongi's apartment?"
Namjoon gave his soulmate a side glance, "Not a bad idea?" then he shrugged, "I would prefer calling it love making though, since it's Christmas."
Jungkook let silence be the language between them as they continued to stroll around the mall until there was nothing to be explored but as if the brain had relied on the conversation they just shared, their feet stopped in front of a lingerie store.
"Maybe it's not a bad idea after all."
"Told you." And Namjoon walked into the store with Jungkook trailing behind.
"Jimin put that down."
Hoseok's deep voice burst Jimin's little bubble of fantasy as he glared at the younger. "What? Hyung, no," he flashed his soulmate the white fluffy tail butt plug and a pair of white fur cat ears. "This is cute!"
The other only gave him a dirty look, "You're just kinky."
Jimin had heard that almost every time, he was shameless and immune to it. 'Kinky' has probably become a compliment for him now. He would be more than proud if someone called him so.
"You would like it if it's on (Y/N)," you would definitely look cute in this, no doubt.
The tail-like butt plug inserted in your arsehole, leaving your pussy dripping with wetness, and the cute cat ears to match the tail. You'd look so pliant and submissive, and with that costume, it would give an extra hardness, extra adrenaline rush, blood rush down to their cocks–
"Or unless you'd like it on you?"
Flabbergasted, heat rushed to Hoseok's face both from embarrassment (for thinking about you in a public setting and popping a boner) and humiliation (from Jimin's sexual innuendo), "Hah – whatthefuck, shut up Jimin!"
"That's what I thought," he has a smug grin tugging on his lips.
"Thank you for purchasing!"
What.
"Jimin!" No way he actually bought it.
Well, you'd look cute either way.
Yoongi wasn't in his room.
And when that happened, he could only be in one place. You stood in front of the door – the door to the space where he found solace at any time given.
You have been in there with him occasionally. The two of you would sit in silence, content with just the presence of each other as the bright stars in the dark sky became the only source of entertainment most of the time you and him were in the room.
On rare occasions, Yoongi would sit on the brown piano, you next to him and play you a piece that never told you the name of it even when you had asked about it. He would brush the question away with a kiss on your temple and the same word "Untitled".
And right before you, the sound of the 'Untitled' piece was playing. Your hand reached to knock on the door, "Yoongi?"
"Kitten," his voice was mellow as he answered you. "Come in."
Stepping in, you took in your surroundings. It was the same as when you last saw it. There wasn't much to keep a tab on the room except for the brown piano that settled on one side of the corner, the only furniture in this spacious room of nostalgia – as Yoongi would call it. "What are you doing here alone?"
"I'm not alone," he told you. He was sitting on the piano stool as his fingers rested in between the keys. "I'm with my first love." He looked at the piano fondly before he brought his gaze to you with equal, or if could, greater fondness.
"First love?" You asked as you approached him. The room was dark with no source of light except for the sun outside. The sun was slipping, creating a glorious conflagration that blazed fiery colours. They appeared silky, smooth combinations of red, yellow, and blue in the sky that illuminated the room, colouring it like the sky.
"The piano," his hand reached out to take yours in his, guiding you towards the seat next to him. "The first thing I learn to love."
Placing your fingers delicately on the piano keys, you pressed the keys of Yoongi's favourite piece, the one he named 'Untitled'. You didn't play it until the end although you did remember the whole piece just from listening to him playing it. Reaching the last note of the piece, your fingers retreated from the keys. "Do you want to tell me about your first love story?"
Your voice has always been so soft, delicate, and mellow. Who was Yoongi to reject your request? Maybe it was the time you knew the meaning behind the piece you had just played that you learned by heart from him. Chuckling, his fingers started to move around the keys as he silently answered your request.
"From the corner of my memory, in the corner of my childhood house," fingers leisurely hit the keys. "A piano was there."
"Hmm?" Your fingers joined his on the keys, as you played to harmonise with him. "What colour was it?"
"Brown," he breathed out. "A brown piano settled on one side."
He continued, "I remember that moment, where I was barely any taller than the brown piano. I looked up to it, because of my height but also because I was in awe. I yearned for it the moment I had touched it my little fingers."
"It felt nice, I told my mom." His fingers pressed on the last notes before changing to another key. "I was content. Just from looking at it. It felt so nice that I played, however, my fingers wanted and even then, I still didn't know its significance."
"It's nice that you know your first love even as a child."
"What's your first love, kitten?" He asked, fingers still on the keys.
Yours too, on the white jade-like keys, as you answered him, eyes closed. "Us."
You continued, "I didn't understand the concept of first love back then, but my parents could easily be my first love, but I know I love them from the moment I was brought to this world. I didn't learn to love them because by default, I have already loved them. They were my unconditional love."
Your fingers paused mid-air, "First love," resumed, "It can be interpreted in many ways,"
The first time you learn how to truly love,
The first time you love,
The first time you felt truly loved,
The first time you are loved,
The first time experiencing the true definition of love.
"But it will always have the same impact; unforgettable and irreplaceable."
"True," Yoongi agreed softly, the soulful melody still filling the room.
The mellow sound that came from the graceful movements of Yoongi's fingers on the piano continued to become honey to your ears. Your fingers were now placed on your lap as you let your lover play the black and whites on his own.
You turned to look at him, to take in his beautiful side profile. His skin was glowing. His eyes were closed as he focused on letting his digits work their wonders on the eighty-eight.
He looked stunning.
Sometimes, less was more, and you didn't need to elaborate more on Yoongi's majestic presence.
Ethereal.
"First love isn't always sunshine and rainbows," he told you once he finally opened his eyes, his fingers had stopped, leaving the last note he had pressed echoing around the room. "Back then during my elementary school days, I remember, I was finally taller than the piano."
"But dust was piling on top of the white jade-like keys. I neglected it when I yearned for it so much. I still failed to see its significance," his fingers were like a feather as he ghosted his fingertips on the keys.
Melancholy as he continued, "Until a day came that marked the last day of the piano."
"Don't feel sorry for not recognising the significance or recognising it late," you told him.
Your fingers raised in the air and were softly placed on the right keys as you pressed. Fingers had their own mind as they danced on the black and whites, continuing where he had left. "Don't worry even if I leave. You will do well on your own. Though it is an end to our relationship, greet me happily when we meet again, no matter in what form."
Yoongi looked at you with acute nostalgia. One hand of yours left the bar of whites and blacks as you reached for his hand, "Let's give a proper greeting to your first love."
The brown piano that stood mightily in front of you was the exact brand of piano Yoongi had back then. It might not be the original form of his first love, but in whatever form a piano could be, it will still be the first love of Yoongi.
"Let's finish this piece together."
Even though I was gone for a long time,
Without repulsion,
You accepted me.
His fingers picked up where they had left as he confessed, "You may not be my first love, but you and the others will always be my eternal love. The people I loved, love and will love for eternity."
Even when I pushed you away,
Even when I resented meeting you,
You were firmly by my side.
"I wish to love you the way of my first love, I want to love you every day."
So don't ever let go of my hand.
I won't let you go ever again either.
"If there comes a day where we have to end everything the eight of us share, I wish to continue loving you, every day until my days end."
The two of you hit the last keys, and as if feathers, fingers were lifted slowly and smoothly from the keys. The piece came to an end. It came to a meaningful end. An end that filled with so many emotions. Conflicted at first but harmonised in the end.
"I love you, (Y/N)."
"I love you too, with all of me."
The sun slipped completely away from the horizon as the light on the sky was then replaced with clouds of dust of bright, shining stars;
A kiss sealed the vow.
–
The food was almost done by the time you entered the kitchen with Yoongi. Jin was preparing the plates and utensils along with the dishes to be put on the table with the help of his younger sister and Lisa. You and Yoongi joined them to help but Jin shook his head and said that everything was almost done and asked the two of you to accompany Taehyung into the living room.
When your feet strode towards the living room, the doorbell suddenly rang again, making you halt in your steps along with Yoongi as you looked at him, "I think that's the remaining guests," you motioned him to sit with Taehyung as you walked towards the door. "Let me get the door."
Once you twisted the doorknob to open, you were greeted with two figures, both having muscular build and cute faces, carrying almost the same aura had you not known these guys like the back of your hand.
Namjoon was the first to greet you as he pulled you into a hug, "Merry Christmas, princess," he kissed your cheeks before going for your lips. You savoured the feeling of his plush lips on yours.
He pulled back and said, "Apologies for our delay."
Jungkook was quick to lock you into a tight hug and cradle your head in his arms. You returned his hug with equal enthusiasm before replying to Namjoon, "No, don't worry. You guys are not late at all," you broke the hug, much to Jungkook's displeasure as he whined at the loss of warm contact.
"Plus, Jinnie just finished cooking," you added.
The sound of a car's nearing the neighbourhood made Jungkook whip his head towards that direction. Recognising the car and the wild skill of driving (no value for both life and the car; Jimin), he said, "I think that's Jimin and Hoseok."
The three of you watched as Jimin safely and perfectly parallel-parked his car next to Taehyung's. Hoseok got out of the car and appeared to be nagging about something as his mouth danced at a fast pace with a frown etched on his forehead.
Probably nagging at Jimin, again, for his reckless driving.
When Hoseok neared the entrance where you, Namjoon, and Jungkook stood, his eyes shone with bright felicity as he waved enthusiastically in your direction. His lips could practically be seen as a lovely heart shape with perfectly aligned teeth to complement his charming look.
"My lady," He reached for your hand to kiss your knuckles. "Hello, lovely ladybug."
"Hello, Hobi," you gave his cheek a quick peck before he moved on to greet his other soulmates with the same gesture.
"Doll," Jimin was like a wind as one second, he was right behind Hoseok and the next second, he was already in front of you while his arms snaked around your waist, locking them to leave no room for space between you and him. His nose caressed yours before his pillowy lips lowered down to seal a kiss with your lips.
Pulling away at a small distance, breath mingled with his as you wished him, "Merry Christmas, prince charming," and he took your lips on his again. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
After some moment, you pulled away – because you knew he wouldn't – to let him greet his other soulmates. Just like Hoseok, Jimin was a fair and equal person as he kissed the others as well. When you thought no one else was coming, a female figure was approaching, and it was a figure you knew so well.
"Rosie, my favourite flower!" You ran towards her with a gleeful smile. Arms opened as an invitation for her to intertwine and exchange body heat with you.
Finally reaching you, she wrapped you with her winter coat, "(Y/N), my favourite person!"
"You walked here?"
She nodded, "The distance between R squad house and Q's is not that far, you know that!"
Giggling, you broke the hug and walked her towards the door where all your soulmates have been watching your interaction with Jimin's younger sister. Once you reached them, Jimin snatched– pulled you to his side – to which Rosie rolled her eyes at her brother's unspoken possessive act.
"Ahem," a voice interrupted.
"Gyu!" A gasp escaped your throat once your eyes landed on the newcomer – or newcomers, plural because he wasn't alone. "I thought you wouldn't come."
Another figure approached your crowd, and you couldn't help but smile once you saw who it was. It has been so long since you've seen them because Gyu's squad was assigned to a mission in China. Minghao reached out to you for a greeting hug as jested on his soulmate, "He? Wouldn't come? He was literally so excited when you sent us the invitation."
"Of course, I would come, lotus," Mingyu rolled his eyes at him and come to join your hug with Minghao. "I'm your life-time partner."
"We are partners," Minghao italicised. He then directed his full attention on you as he nuzzled his face in your neck. "I miss you, dainty lotus." Although the hug didn't last long because you were pulled away by none other than Jimin. Minghao was bewildered at the sudden loss of warmth, but Rosie patted his shoulder with a shake of her head, "Don't mind it."
Another voice entered the scene with sassiness, "Are you guys done yet?"
Sunoo walked to the door of the house. He had arrived shortly after Taehyung and helped Jin in the kitchen. He crossed his arms as he said, "Close the door because it's so freaking cold outside."
"Jeez, Sunoo," Minghao slung his arms around the younger's shoulders. "Cut that sassiness, it's Christmas!"
Rosé jumped on the duo cheerfully, "Right? Chill a bit," she said with a light tone.
"I am chill," he slapped Minghao's chest playfully. "Just close the door and get it you guys. It's freezing outside."
You chuckled before urging them to get warm inside. Jimin was still by your side as all of them walked towards the living room until he saw Taehyung on the couch. All your soulmates that have just newly come immediately greeted him. Jimin hogged him and smothered him with kisses on the face and one deep kiss on the lips. You watched the duo fondly. The eight of you might have shared a deep bond but maybe Jimin and Taehyung shared an even deeper bond with each other, and you admired it.
You saw Yoongi already making his way towards you and with expectant arms, you welcomed him into your embrace as he slotted in perfectly by your side. It brought back old memories where you had always thought Yoongi was a person that hates physical touch, though it was true to an extent because he was only touchy with his soulmates and especially with you but loathed having skin contact even the slightest with other than listed.
"Merry Christmas, guys," Jin walked into the living space as he greeted them one by one including your friends. The apron that he has been stuck with has finally been removed from his body and his clothes have changed. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."
You let yourself be situated in between Namjoon and Hoseok at the dining table and enjoyed the food Jin had cooked with so much love – helped by your members and Sunoo as well – The room was filled with chatter and laughter as the food goes down into everyone's stomach. They went from KCCG matters, as you asked Mingyu and Minghao about their mission in China – you knew they wouldn't have a difficult time in China given that Minghao knew the way around the country – to some random topic to not let an awkward silence fill in the room.
Before Christmas, all of them including you had made an astounding achievement that you would like to consider this Christmas celebration as a celebration not just for the festive season but also for them. Rosé and Tae's squads joined hands in the 2nd Wipe Out Operation conducted by Namjoon, S2 Squad; you, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin and Yoongi, was successful during the Owl Suppression Operation that was led by Hoseok, and the latest; Mingyu and Minghao's mission in China.
It has been a tough, hectic weeks, but everything was successful and everyone was safe as they returned in one piece. You were glad your soulmates were willing to celebrate Christmas along with your friends – especially Mingyu and Minghao. You knew your soulmates would very much want to celebrate this festive season with the company of eight, and that was why you were glad they had agreed to celebrate it together.
Also given that it was the first Christmas you got to celebrate with your soulmates.
The first Christmas where you get to celebrate with your loved ones, your first love.
The first Christmas you get to create lots of memorable memories with your loved ones.
It was the very first true Christmas you celebrated after your parents' death.
All rights reserved © 2022 kthyg. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost without permission. Feedback is very much appreciated. It keeps me motivated! Send me an ask !!
detention - KNJ
↣ Namjoon wants to believe that he’s not a bad guy, but you’re unafraid of acting on your desires.
pairing — namjoon x reader
genre/rating — R | smut, slight angst
word count — 4K
play — detention by melanie martinez
warnings/tags — math teacher!joon, high school au, legal age gap (reader is 18), strong language, infidelity, sir kink, y/n is…kinda twisted, scent kink, explicit smut — edging, oral (f), face riding, clit biting, cum eating, biting/scratching, multiple orgasms, fingering, panty stuffing (in mouth?), dirty talk, bit of degradation, spanking, protected sex, cowgirl, slight dacryphilia
a/n — throwback to 2019 when I was obsessed with the K-12 album
∞
It’s not like you care. The scowls from the prissy girls sitting a foot away from your irascible teacher’s desk makes you laugh to yourself, pissing them off further when you give them the finger, their faces scrunch up in repulsion, whispers no doubt filled with the talk of your platform boots that are crossed over your boyfriend’s lap.
A smile graces your face when you hear your name being boomed out into the sterilized room, having expected his early admonishment.
He points to your shoes and Jungkook lets your calves go reluctantly, pulling the seat of his chair in closer to his desk. You scoff. What can a sexually deprived, under-paid man do other than hand you a detention slip?
Keep reading
Scent of a Woman {KNJ romance}
Pairing: leopard hybrid parfumerie boss!Namjoon x female reader!employee
Genre: Hybrid AU. Romance. Smut. Pining. Slow burn. Angst. strong father themes. NOT DADDY-type themes. EXPLICIT 🔞🔞🔞
Warnings: super super eemootiionaaal sex- is that a warning? No breed-you-with-my-pups here. Leopard-style sex, which just means, really, he comes in from the back ( I watched Nat Geo to make sure LOL). Mirror sex (so that they can look at each other @ralypenny this is part of your ask that I finally fulfilled).
Summary: In this hybrid AU, hybrids are rich and powerful. You are fully human in form and in weakness. Too bad you’re falling for your hybrid boss. And mayhaps he’s falling for you.
Word count: 10k
Special thanks: @hobi-gif for being a kick-ass beta reader with 56 edits that I never knew I needed. You read this while you were so tired, and took the time to encourage me. I'm so grateful.
Much appreciation to the following who have read it in some point of draft form and encouraged me: @httpnamjoonie94reads @jinfizz, @bonvoyagenoona @bangtanmademedoit @lcksndkys @xjoonchildx
——————————
“Stupid human,
Homo sapien
Little Alien
Tiny Cranium
Eat uranium
Poop Titanium
Homo sapien
Stupid human.”
You know the chant by heart.
Even now, more than twenty years later, the tune, the cadence, the leering faces that surrounded you are hauntingly familiar.
One glance at your comparatively smaller build, your simple clothes, your plain, singular-species face was obvious enough to announce to anyone that you’re fully human.
The hybrids of your time are often part of the super-rich. It’s no surprise considering their survival instincts for attracting the richest, biggest, smartest, and fastest mates are well-honed from centuries of evolution.
Imbued with stronger genes than full-blooded humans, the hybrids live longer, look prettier, work faster, breed better, and probably fuck harder too.
So you were expected to count yourself lucky your mother worked as a live-in housekeeper for a rich hybrid family. And you were expected to count yourself lucky that their residential address allowed you to benefit from the most exclusive school districts in the country full of wealthy hybrids.
But you weren’t lucky.
Everyone knew you as the housekeeper’s daughter, as if that were more dignified than your name. Everyone made fun of you for being smaller, slower, shorter. More human.
And every day, you trudged to school, walking down the halls feeling like prey waiting to be fed to a room full of predators.
So you suffered alone through elementary, middle, and high school, always as the housekeeper’s daughter, always the butt of their jokes, always ready with fingers curled into hard fists to fend for yourself.
With each passing year, three things became clear to you:
You could never work for a hybrid.
You would never date a hybrid.
You should never, ever fuck a hybrid.
(Unless he was really good looking.)
————————
Kim Namjoon feels a little disconcerted.
He’s always been uber confident in his decisions, single-minded in his pursuit to establish the city’s most sought after bespoke parfumerie.
But lately, he’s doubting his choice to hire you as his shop assistant.
Your presence in his parfumerie disorients him. At first, it’s how the shop’s minimalist decor was suddenly disrupted by a burst of colour when you snuck in an inelegant bunch of flowers and placed them in a little jar of water, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner.
The old florist at the corner couldn’t sell this yesterday was your excuse. The petals were starting to droop, leaves yellowing with age, stems weak and insipid. And though the red gerberas clashed with the pathetic little violets, they held his gaze whenever he passed by.
Every day, a new bunch of sad-looking flowers would sit in the same jar, in different leftover color combinations. And every day, he found himself looking forward to them. Today it’s bright pink carnations mixed with orange marigolds, vulgar in their color but intriguing in their scent. Yesterday, it was half-dead roses mixed with a bright yellow peony.
He’s used to perfection— precision even —not this explosive mess of color and smells. By his standards, he should not even think these haphazard flowers are pretty. But here he is, admiring the furl of the carnation petal, thinking how silky smooth it feels despite its ragged edge. It’s almost… beautiful, nevermind the little brown flecks from its over exposure in the sun.
He doesn’t know why he quietly lets you bring this visual chaos into the calm monochrome of his shop. Or why he stops breathing a little when you brush past him to dust the corner of the shelf. (The shop has never been cleaner since you arrived.)
He can’t fathom why it’s suddenly hard to finalize the top notes of a perfume for one of his most important clients. Or why he finds himself wondering about the shampoo you’re using because the fragrance is driving him insane with curiosity.
But here you are, tying your buttery yellow hair ribbon on the door handle because it looks pretty like that and you heard an old country song on the way here and there’s no old oak tree to tie that around so the door will have to do.
He grimaces a little at your prattling, not trusting himself to speak. Because, truth be told, he wants nothing more than to rip off that ribbon and let his nose linger all over the satin fabric. He wants to, no, needs to, break down the entire fragrance profile which teases him every time you’re near.
It’s only logical since he’s in the perfume business.
At least, this is what he tells himself as he clenches his knuckles white to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.
Only logical.
----------------------------------
Sometimes, you wonder what it’s like to be thoroughly fucked by the Kim Namjoon.
But of course, as your boss, he’s off limits like everyone else you’ve been attracted to. Let’s see… there was your brother’s best friend, your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, your science lab partner whom you later found out was gay and actually pining for the guy across the aisle.
You have a niggling feeling that you’re living in a strange fanfic universe full of well-trodden tropes but you banish those thoughts just like you banish your thoughts about Mr. Kim.
You remind yourself you are just a shop assistant and you desperately need this salary. That you have three rules regarding hybrids: one which you’ve already broken, two which you wish you could break, and all three with Kim Namjoon.
Sigh. If only you didn’t need this job, then there would be no rules to break. Your degree in art was a total waste of money in terms of finding a job after graduation. And when you walked by the swanky, modern storefront which advertised for a shop assistant six months ago, you ventured in without hesitation, desperate to pay off your college loan after another failed interview.
Entering the elegant interior, you went quiet for a moment as you spied a man suited impeccably in black, his gaze intent on the glass beakers of oils set on the counter.
It really had been too long since you studied a man who was not Cezanne or Matisse. With his sleek, sinewy build paired with a breathtaking side profile, he looked like a very tall, and very delicious glass of dark rum and Coke: sweet, smooth, and altogether dangerous.
Suddenly remembering you were here for a job opening, you were determined to make a first good impression.
“Hi—” you try your brightest, chirpiest voice.
“You’re hired,” he declared, without looking up.
“Excuse me? Wait. What?” you asked, heart racing.
“You’re obviously not here to buy perfume, so you must be here for the job opening. You’re hired. Starting today.”
You glanced at your plain black and white office attire that you’ve worn to hundreds of interviews. This was a high-end boutique but you didn’t think you looked that poor.
“If you really want to know, it’s not the outfit, it’s the desperation,” he said, eyes still focused on each drop of amber liquid he’s releasing into the glass beaker from an oil dropper.
“D-desperation?”
“I smelled it. Heard it in the thudding of your heart the moment you’d walked in.” He said it like he was talking about his coffee order (iced Americano, venti). “You’re desperate. And I need someone. Don’t usually take a full-blooded human. But I’ll take you.”
He finally lifted his eyes and you saw their slight but unmistakable fiery glow.
He’s one of the big-cat hybrids. They always seem so sleek and sophisticated, so sure of themselves and well, confident. It’s the money, it’s the superior genes, it’s everything... you’re not.
“Um, yes. I’m desperate for a job. Mister...?” You were nervous as hell. He was making you nervous as hell. Perhaps he was toying with you, like how a cat likes to play with a mouse.
“Kim. But call me Namjoon.”
That Kim Namjoon. The one in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m the right candidate for this position. I’ll just see myself ou—”
“Wait. You don’t have to worry about that. My hybrid interests are rather, you might say, specific.” He smirked, as if he would ever be interested in you, full-blooded in human form and human weakness.
Okay. You’re not his type. Got the message loud and clear. “Uh, the monthly salary?”
Lips curled in a triumphant grin, he announced, “5 million won.”
Holy shit.
And so that’s how you find yourself here, days peacefully filled with dusting between crystal flasks and glass beakers, fetching blotters and flacons for Mr. Kim, sweeping the shop floor and making everything sparkle.
Your daily tasks also involve decanting perfume oils according to your boss’ specifications for sampling. By now, you’re used to arranging the vials of oil on a little movable bar cart for his signature bespoke sessions with each client; always paired with a glass of bubbly for Miss or Madam.
Cleaning, dusting, decanting are all easy parts of this job.
The hard part is dealing with the disdain, and sometimes, even disgust, you get from his clients—all female hybrids of some variety. They flock to this boutique because for the longest time, it’s been taboo among the female upper class hybrids to carry the scent of their hybrid ancestry.
You feel like you should pity them; after all, they can’t help it if they smell like horse and hay, like wild game or cat piss.
But it’s difficult when they never grace you with a second glance when they enter the shop; harder still when they brush off invisible dirt from being infected by your presence when they leave.
With their impossibly high cheekbones, noses yet higher in the air, they show not an iota of kindness. To them, you’re just staff. And well, you of all people know the hybrids are used to treating their staff a certain way.
You remind yourself the salary is worth the dismissive tone, the scornful glances.
That you can and you will carry yourself with dignity even though you weren’t born into money like them.
That the only difference between you and them is that they’ve held the attention of Kim Namjoon for hours at a time.
That he has listened to each one talk about her favorite childhood memories, her favorite meal, her hopes and dreams to get a feel of what she’d like in a personal fragrance.
That when he works on a new fragrance for a client, she’s all he thinks about, always quietly brooding about the fragrance profile until a rare smile breaks across his face because he’s got it.
That he’ll smell the inside of her wrists, inhale a breath behind her ears to see if the scent combination worked with her skin. The top note. The heart note. The base note.
He’s just doing his job. You tell yourself.
It’s not a big deal. Not at all.
Then why do you wish that you could just be one for them, just for one day?
--------------------------------------------
Kim Namjoon just can’t get this right.
He’s been building Eau de Parfum No. 1071 for a client for some time now. The complex fragrance was going well with its symphony of sandalwood, vetiver, oud and oakmoss. The top notes of orange flow like a kind, generous invitation, the base notes carried mainly by oakmoss and sandalwood are strong and supportive, but the heart note, the heart was missing.
On a whim he tries a bit of vanilla. Too flighty.
Maybe a bit of neroli. Too serious.
He thinks for a moment and then looks over his files on this client. Perhaps something floral. Or fig?
It’s here where he works his hardest, commanding oils to mix and mesh, to meld into a message. Sometimes it’s longing, other times, it’s innocence. This client wants sophistication, and Kim Namjoon always delivers.
Yet, something about this fragrance profile of No. 1071 puzzles him. It seems a little too masculine for the client in question.
Perturbed, he approaches you. He almost never asks for a second opinion, but he can’t stop his feet from stalking quietly out of his private office and onto the shop floor.
Nowadays, he finds himself relishing the split second before you sense his presence.
It’s when he can breathe in your entirety, undisturbed. He misses nothing, not the perpetual slight tilt of your head like you’re listening to some invisible music of the spheres, not the impish grin of your lips like you’re in cahoots with those god-awful flowers you bring in everyday. There’s the serious eyes, the sometimes sassy mouth. Smart and sexy like a mix of heaven and hell.
It’s a while before you notice him, and his heart skips a beat when you ask in that quiet, serious way of yours, “Yes, Mr. Kim?”
“I need you to smell this and tell me what you think,” he says, voice a little crackly.
“Well, Mr. Kim, that would be an extra twenty thousand won per hour,” you quip, a little smile peeking below your serious eyes. “But, honestly, I don’t know much about the accords and notes and...”
“Just use your instincts. Just feel.”
He holds out the testing strip to you, thinking himself a little stupid for asking for help.
He looks carefully at how your hand moves closer and closer to his. How the inches, then centimeters bring you nearer to him; fingers almost touching.
Shit, Namjoon sees a slight tremble in his hand. He’s sure you see it too. Why the hell is he so nervous?
He expects you to take the tester from him. But, eyes closed, you lean in to take a whiff. He wonders fleetingly if you look like this when you kiss. You’re quiet, nose hovering just above the tester, just over his fingers, the light touch of the in-and-out of your breathing feathering his skin.
Fighting to hold still, he focuses on you as the scent begins to hit you in different ways. A look of complete and utter longing flits across your features, and he sees you’ve surrendered completely to the heart of the fragrance. “What does it smell like?” He’s desperate to know.
For a long while, you can’t answer him.
“It smells like...” you murmur, “like my dad. My dad.”
Your father would twirl you round and round under the orange tree in the greenhouse at sunset when his day’s work was done; your nose buried in his plain cotton shirt, every warp and weft woven with the fragrance of the flowers he grew. The hands that lifted you and tossed you in the air were hands that carried the smell of the earth, rich with moss.
He was a gardener for the wealthy, and while he grew flowers, he raised you until… until you were not old enough.
“I miss him. He left too soon.”
Kim Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. Words like I’m sorry; words like I’m sure he’s proud of you; those words are not enough. He wishes he could touch you, pull you into him, shelter you with an umbrella against the grey sky of grief until light breaks through.
But he’s your boss. He can’t.
Wordlessly, he hands you a tissue.
“Thanks, I’m fine, really,” you sniff. “I’ll get back to work now, Mr. Kim.”
Namjoon hears the steely strength in your voice even though your breath is shaky. “The shelves don’t mean anything, Y/N. Not today. If you need time…”
“I’m okay. I miss him. That’s all.” Squaring your shoulders, you go back to wiping down the shelves.
But the sudden thought of the paper tester cradling the scent of your dad in its pores dumped unceremoniously in the trash stops you. “Mr, Kim, if you don’t want the testing strip anymore, could I have it please?”
“Of course.” Namjoon leaves the strip on the edge of the counter, careful not to contaminate the part holding the fragrance.
Back in his office, Kim Namjoon sits down and opens his leather-bound ledger. It’s where he records every perfume he has created for clients over the years. A new fragrance will be entered in its pages today. The sample vial sits quietly on his mirrored desk, waiting to be named.
When he’s done, he slips quietly into the backroom where you keep your bag and places the tiny bottle of perfume oil beside it.
Written on the label is his small neat script:
Dad. For Y/N.
Eau De Parfum No. 1072
By KNJ
No. 1072 will forever be yours now.
-------------------
You’re so embarrassed.
You’ve never been late before. Not for work. Not for school. Not even for your expected date of birth, arriving right on the dot at the stroke of midnight, quietly triumphant of your punctuality even as a little babe.
You shudder at the confluence of all the bad luck that happened today.
The one day you forget your umbrella is when a sudden burst of rain catches you unprepared. Traffic was snarling as the slippery roads caused a car accident along the way.
As the rain wreaks havoc on your dress, you scold yourself for wearing your glasses today instead of contacts. You can hardly see a thing as you hurry up the path to the shop from the bus-stop. And what a stupid choice of an outfit today. A fitted white linen dress? You might as well be wearing nothing at this rate that you’re getting wet. Even the flower seller by the corner knew better than to put out her bouquets at the shop front this morning. You better hurry. You’re so late.
Without warning, you find yourself lurching forward over the cobblestones, balance completely fucked as your last coherent thought mocks you: you should not have worn your stupid pair of wedges today with the shitty grip. Bracing your arms out in front of you for the impact to come, you’re surprised when you find yourself in the strong, safe grasp of… your boss.
“Easy there,” he murmurs. Kim Namjoon must be a leopard hybrid of the highest order. You neither heard nor saw him a second ago. And now, he’s steadying you with his arm around your waist, his umbrella over you.
God. He’s so close.
Namjoon knows he held you for a second longer than he probably should, but it’s a second that he will cherish and play over and over again in his mind later. “You should remember your umbrella next time,” he says, trying to distract himself from petrichor, the smell of rain, mingled with the scent of a woman— your scent.
“I should,” was all you can reply, too affected by how your shoulders and elbows are bumping against each other underneath the umbrella to say more. Were you imagining the reluctance in his fingers when he let go of your waist just now? You shiver at the thought. It can’t be.
Namjoon sees it and thinks you’re cold, the wind picking up speed now. He wonders if he should take off his suit jacket and drape it around you temporarily; at least until you get to the shelter of the shop. But then his jacket would smell like you and he’s not sure if he would be able to concentrate for the rest of the day after that.
His own instinct for survival kicks in and overtakes his heart. No, his jacket stays on.
“Glad I went out to get a coffee earlier or I wouldn’t have seen you.” He’s trying to explain why he’s here, beside you; trying to hide the fact that he saw your lithe figure struggling up the hill, and how he worried when he spied you without an umbrella.
He can’t believe he’s lying.
So he doesn’t say anymore, just gives you his arm to hold while you negotiate the slippery sidewalk. It’s wiser than holding you; letting go of you for the second time would prove to be difficult.
You’re quiet, rendered blind by your rapidly fogging up glasses, deaf by the drumming of raindrops, mute by the closeness of his presence, and crippled by your stupid, stupid shoes.
But you can smell, and you can feel.
And, dear reader, he smells amazing. Like strength and trust. And somehow, it makes you feel quite, quite safe.
----------------------------------
Inside the shop, he grabs a towel from the back and gives it to you. You murmur a word of thanks as you quickly fumble open your satchel to take out a sketchbook, groaning when you see that the rain has soaked through the pages of the book. You try to dab away the damp pages with the towel, but the water damage is already extensive.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, could I lay these out on the counter? I know they don’t look like much, just pencil sketches really, but I hope I could dry out each page before they stick to each other. It’s just—I spent so many hours on—"
“Go on.” It amuses him that you didn’t even bother to dry your dripping hair, nor the soaked dress wrapped around your body.
You carefully take out each sketch and lay it across the glossy surface, every art piece precious, every penciled stroke so intimately a part of you that you know its when, where, and why.
It feels like you’re laying bare yourself to a stranger. You wish he weren’t here, wish his prying eyes weren’t raking over the drawings.
But for the sake of your sketches, you soldier on, murmuring an apology to each naked sketch, unpainted and unfinished, as you thrust it on the cold glass of the counter.
Namjoon loses count of exactly how many drawings there are, every picture inviting him to see the world through your eyes.
The ladybird, quiet and brooding with the weight of the world on her shoulders as she considers a leaf.
The field of daffodils like a class of eager children waving their stretched hands to answer an easy question from the sun.
“When do you find time to draw?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the sketches, moving slowly along the counter to admire each one. He knows if he looks at you, he might do something fucking stupid after catching a glimpse of your body under the sheer, translucent dress.
“Here and there. Sometimes after I finish dusting here at the shop. Sometimes when I go home. Or even on the bus.”
He senses your apprehension with the last pages of your sketchbook that you’re clutching to your bosom. “Don’t hide them from me. They’re beautiful,” he says gesturing to the rest of your pictures. “Let me see, please.”
At his request, you offer the last two pieces to him. His gaze is intense as he zeroes in on the clever curve of the leopard’s tail on your paper. He stares at it, instantly recognizing his own steely gaze in the big cat, the signature scowl on the left side of his jaw drawn to perfection.
And then, there’s the picture of the fig tree—its trunk, leaf, and flower etched as if by the hand of god. Lost in his thoughts, he’s clutching on the two sketches a little too tightly than you like.
“Mr Kim. Mr. Kim. Um, could I have it back please?” Any moment now and he might tear it. It might be just a sketch but it’s still a piece of work that you treasure.
He snaps back to reality and finally notices his fingers are almost ready to crumple the flimsy paper bearing your sketch. “Shit. I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he apologizes. “Here. Don’t stop drawing. They’re perfect. Just, uh… don’t stop. I’ll be in my office. Let me know when my ten o’clock arrives.”
You nod quietly, glad to have some time to clean up and get dry, but also a little puzzled as to what came over your boss.
————----------------------------
Namjoon bursts out into his office, glad to sink into his chair, comforted by the familiarity of his desk and surrounded by his array of pipettes, testing strips, glass bottles, and vials. They are uncomplicated things, precise and emotionless. Dependable. Predictable.
For a cat hybrid, he is more a lone wolf than anything, preferring the solace of his own company, the solitude of his thoughts. The memories of his dad had almost suffocated him out there on the shop floor. Emotions are not his forte.
The picture you drew ushered the smell of figs to him, bringing him back immediately to that fateful evening where a plate of freshly cut figs lay ignored on his father’s mahogany desk.
“Son, it’s time to stop the fucking around and take your place in the company.”
“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no. It’s just not me. I can’t report to a dozen board members, to thousands of shareholders.” And most of all, if he cared to admit it, he couldn’t report to his overbearing father.
When will his father ever understand he prefers the calm of sandalwood to the clamor of the boardroom? That he loves the complexities of jasmine, and fucking hates the backstabbing in the corporate world? Even with his fancy Sloan School MBA which his father had insisted on, his interests surely lie more in perfume than price projections for the quarterly report.
“Namjoon, walk out of here and you will amount to nothing. You hear? Nothing. Your duty is here. Your legacy is here. Your future is here. I’ve planned it out for you. It’s yours for the taking. Stay here. Stay home.”
He remembers how he took the house key out of his pocket and placed it next to the plate of figs. How he felt free when he turned and started for the doors. His dad did not follow him nor call after him, but it was the scent of fig which pursued him, saturating his pores, tempting him to walk out of paradise with shame and regret like the first sinner in the family.
But no, he had stalked out of there, head held high, finally a master of his own destiny.
Namjoon wishes he didn’t have to revisit these memories brought on by your drawings. But oh god—your drawings.
Who knew his pretty little assistant could draw so well?
Your style is a little raw, a little wild; unrestrained yes, but also, lively. He’s intrigued. He wants to find out more—because, he tells himself, because, he’s an art collector. His interests are purely business.
Really.
----------------------------------
The next day you arrive at the store to set up for the day’s clients when you notice a stack of Strathmore sketch pads of thick, heavy paper and Caran D'ache sketch pencils wrapped in satin blue ribbon. Written simply on the card, were the words Don’t stop.
It looks expensive as hell and you know it’s meant for you, but there’s no way you can accept it. Better your one-dollar pencil on recycled paper than a debt owed to a hybrid family you cannot repay.
And so you leave it at the corner of the glass counter, its shiny mirrored surface mocking you for your prudishness for not accepting his gift every time you glance in that direction.
Oh but fuck, how your hands itch to test the glide of smooth graphite on the cream of the paper. You know you cannot. You know you must not. Your mama has taught you never to be indebted to anyone or anything. There’s danger written all over that gift. The sample vial of perfume was different. That was something he would have thrown away. But this—this is different.
With a sigh, you take out the polishing cloth, determined to finally deep-clean his desk and office chair before he comes in. He’s usually in by this time, already hard at work in his private office. It’s a good thing you can give it a go today.
Mixed in the grain of the dark, rich leather chair, you catch a whiff of his scent. It smells of power, tempered with a softness you’re surprised to detect. You can’t help but press your nose into its plush cushioned back a little more.
It reminds you a little of the sweetness of hay mixed with the musk of the stable horses on your grandparents’ farm. You rub the polishing cloth all over the leather chair, dreaming of those carefree days. How good it felt to go barefoot in the soft earth, dandelions spread across the carpet of grass like rich, yellow butter.
Next, his black mirrored desk.
You use the special glass polish for this, making sure not to smudge the desk with your fingers.
The mirrored surface is unforgiving, and you see the tiny scar above your lip, the one the bully gave you at the playground (for which you returned a black eye) when you were six.
And there there’s your non-hybrid eyes, looking entirely plain, and completely uninteresting. You sigh. If only to be born a hybrid. Imagine the riches, the privilege, the—
you catch his eyes in the mirror of the desk.
“Mr. Kim!” you gasp, “Shit, you scared me!”
“Sorry. Didn’t expect you here. You’re usually out at the front,” he says.
“I—I just wanted to give it a clean,” you say. “I apologize—”
“No, it's fine. I’ll just head out and come back later—” he says.
“I’m actually done here,” you offer.
“Great. Thanks.” He watches as you gather the cleaning supplies and leave, his gaze never intrusive, but never leaving your retreating form.
“About the pencils and paper—” he begins.
“I’m sorry, I can’t accept such a gift,” you apologize.
“Well, what if I say, I want you to draw whatever inspires you in the shop and we can consider which ones to put around the shop or use as graphics for new labels for the perfumes?”
He senses your hesitation, so he ploughs on, “I’ll put it in your job description so it’s not like you’ll have a choice.”
Draw? As part of your job?
“Mr. Kim. I may be a poor employee, but I always have a choice,” you say quietly.
He takes a moment to savor the shape of your words and their quiet dignity. “Well damn. I apologize for being out of line. I hope by now, you know you are anything but a poor employee to me.”
He doesn’t know what the hell he means by that. It just slipped out. “Just… do whatever you wish. You should know by now that I trust you. If the daily duties are done, you’re free to use the time as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kim. I appreciate it.”
“For the hundredth time, it’s Namjoon.”
“Certainly, Mr. Kim,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting into a wry smile. You’ve never called him Namjoon and never will. He should know that by now.
He smiles back, genuinely, dimples winking as he breaks into a little laugh.
The tension subsides between the both of you and somehow the air in the shop feels a little lighter than before.
———————————————-
Soon after, you begin to realize that you have less to do in the day. The perfume oils for sampling by each day’s clients are already decanted into the little vials when you arrive for work. And then, the black marble floors seem to look effortlessly clean. Plus little corners of the shop shelves seem to have had a dusting before you could get to it.
All of a sudden, you have so much more time to spend on your drawings (though you’re still not using any of the art materials he bought).
What the hell is going on?
You have a theory, and to test it, you decide to deliberately leave your scarf behind when you head out of the shop after work.
Twenty minutes later, you return to the shop. Through the glass windows, you spy the back outline of his form, mopping the floor as elegantly as a leopard hybrid would.
You hurry to unlock the door with your key and step onto the shop floor.
“Mr. Kim. What are you doing?” you ask, voice trembling. “Did I not do a good job?”
He turns to face you and actually looks guilty.
“No. No. I, uh, I just wasn’t hungry for dinner yet, so I thought I’d work on the floor,” he says. For all the confidence he exudes, he looks like a little schoolboy right now, hand caught in the cookie jar.
“You’re not very good at lying,” you say quietly. “Are you doing this so I have time to draw?”
Kim Namjoon wishes he doesn’t have to answer this but you’re staring at him and staring at him and suddenly he feels a little weak. “So, why are you back?” he asks, hoping to gain back some control over the rapid unravelling of the evening.
“I—I, ah, forgot my scarf.” God, that sounded pathetic.
“You’re not that convincing either,” he muses.
And then you’re looking at him and he’s gazing at you, and you wait for words that always come so easily to you but none arrive.
“Listen. It’s getting late. I know this little cafe two streets over. Do you...”
“Mr. Kim.” God. Why do you sound so needy? With great difficulty, you pluck the words one by one from your mind instead of letting them flow from your heart. “You’re right. It’s late. I—I better go.”
You turn quickly to go before you stop yourself. Any moment longer and you might actually say something stupid.
As you step out into the cold, you remind yourself that he’s part of the hybrid ruling class. Hybrids that look at you scornfully when they walk in. Hybrids that speak to you like you’re stupid. Hybrids that use a sanitizing wipe for their hands after you hand them their bottle of bespoke fragrance.
And lest you forget: you’re not his type.
He’d said so himself.
Didn’t he?
—————————————
After a while you get used to sketching and slowly move on to watercolors when it gets quiet at the shop, drawing inspiration from the scents around. The oud smells of longing, the geranium of innocence and wonder, ambergris reminds you of regret, while the coriander reminds you of mayhem and mischief.
Namjoon sees how the lines on your sketches are bolder, stronger. Your play with the color palette has become more adventurous, brushstrokes surer than before.
Just earlier today, he complimented you on the color blending, said your little painting reminded him of Sargent’s work. You blushed, proud that the wet washes and sponging you used caught his attention in the best way possible.
When you return to the shop, you’re surprised to hear an unfamiliar male voice coming from his office, the door uncharacteristically open.
“Namjoon, don’t you think it’s time to end this charade of yours? You are our only son. Come home and do the right thing.”
“Come home to marry someone I haven’t even met? For the sake of the family company? Like I’m part of a business deal? I’m done with that shit.”
“Is there someone else?”
“I’m not going to even answer that question.”
“So there is someone. She better be a hybrid. You’re going to regret this. What will this shop amount to? Nothing. What will you, on your own, amount to? Nothing. But come home and I guarantee you will have everything you want.”
“Everything I want? You can’t even give me the one thing I need.”
You know you should not eavesdrop. That this is a private matter between your boss and his father. You’re just about to turn around to leave when the elder Mr. Kim steps out of the office and saunters to the front doors, pointedly ignoring you.
When he finally reaches the entrance, he turns and gives you a disdainful once-over which makes you feel uncomfortable as hell. You feel like a piece of meat he’s inspecting, one he finds terribly lacking. But, still he waits. Then you understand he’s not going to open the doors himself to exit the shop.
In an exaggerated show of duty, you rush there and hold the door open, bowing deeply as he makes his departure.
“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, making sure he hears you before you quickly close and lock the door behind him. The elder Kim looks back and glares through the glass panel. You return the glare with an indifferent shrug only to turn around and bump right into your boss.
“I heard that.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I couldn’t resist.” You’re not sure if you’re truly sorry, but it just felt like the polite thing to say to your boss after he catches you swearing at his own father.
“I was never good enough for him, you know,” he says quietly. “I went to the best schools, topped the class, graduated with summas, but still, he was never satisfied. And when I took over operations and turned it around, it was still not good enough. I had to walk away.”
There’s a glimmer of hurt in his eyes, a little catch in his throat. You wonder if you could comfort him with a hug. Whether his chin might press on the top of your head. Would you pull away first or would he?
He, surely. He’ll never see anything in you.
“Sometimes, walking away is the best thing we can do ourselves.” You’re about to reach for his arm to give a short, comforting squeeze but you decide against it at the last second, bringing your hand up awkwardly to smooth your hair.
Namjoon noticed how your hand lingered for a split second over his and swallows hard, not knowing why he even held his breath.
“You share the same name, Mr. Kim. But—but your heart is different. You’re not him.” It’s hard for you to walk away, yet you must.
As he watches the back of your silhouette disappear into the stockroom, he wishes he had the courage to ask you to stay to talk, just for a while. He wants you to reassure him again.
But he’s been a loner for so long that those words can’t come to him anymore.
At night, in the darkness of his shop, he sits alone in his office chair and weeps.
----------------------------------------------
It’s 8 p.m., closing time, and you’re rearranging the last row of crystal flasks of perfume when the door flings open violently, a gust of cold air blowing into the warmth of the darkened shop.
“Where is he?” the icy voice demands.
You recognize the face. A newish client, she’s absurdly beautiful, golden eyes, long-limbed, and perky in all the right places except in her demeanor. You remember how she was late for her own appointment and was extra demanding. Bitch would be completely inappropriate since she is a cat hybrid.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re closed now. Could I pencil you for an appointment with Mr. Kim tomorrow?” You keep your voice low, respectful.
“I want to see him. Now.” She strides towards his office at the back of the shop. You hurry to keep her from barging into his office.
“I’m so sorry. He’s not available at the moment. Perhaps I could offer some assistance?”
She looks you up and down with disdain. “And what do you think you can offer me?” quiet scorn dripping over each word.
“I am his assistant. Mr. Kim has deemed me fit to assist you,” you say, just as quiet, just as lethal. She backs you into the door of his office, eyes flashing with anger. Like hell you’ll give in to this self-entitled hybrid trash.
“I know what people like you want.” She reaches into her bag and pinches out a crisp fifty thousand won note between her delicate fingers, perfectly manicured. “You’re all the same.” Sliding the corner of the note to your cheek, she snaps it, each lightning quick thwack eager to remind you of your poverty. “I want. your. boss.”
“That’s enough,” his voice, dark and thick, slices in. The heat of his body is suddenly behind you, and you feel a measure of comfort that he’s now here.
“Namjoon—” she purrs, a smile, sweet and sickening, consumes her entire face.
“It’s Mr. Kim,” he says.
“Namjoon, this… this thing—" she points at you “—said you weren’t available. But you prrromised I can come to you anytime.”
“It’s Mr. Kim, and yes, anytime within office hours. Unfortunately, office hours are over, as are my services for you from now on.”
“My, my. So prrrrrotective over a little staff?”
“Out. Now.”
The tight clench of his jaw is unmistakable.
“Jooooonieeee, you know I didn’t mean it. I can play nice,” she purrs, suddenly playful.
“Out,” he says, resolute.
“It’s true then,” she smirks with a triumphant smile. “Daddy says your father told everyone this shop won’t amount to anything. That you won’t amount to anything. That you never know a good deal even if it were right in front of you.” She sighs airily, “Pity. I did like those samples.”
“I’m glad you did. You sure took enough,” you retort.
She turns to you, glaring. “Pity about the face.” With lighting reflexes, she raises her hand and scratches the side of your cheek with a single, freshly manicured nail.
The sting of her nail barely registers as you start to throw a punch back at her, but suddenly remembering your own dignity, you thought better of it, lowering your fist as fast as you raised it. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.
“OUT.” The snarl he emits reverberates within the shop and she flinches. Actually flinches.
Slinking off, she saunters toward the door, swaying her hips, pert nose in the air, sure that he’s watching her. “Get her trained prrrroperly,” she announces before slamming the door behind.
Namjoon turns to look at you.
You’re burning with anger, shame, disgusted with her and with yourself. You’ve never raised your hand against someone after the playground incident so many years ago. Today, you'd almost lost control.
A single drop of crimson slides down your cheek.
“Fuck. She hurt you,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek.
“I’m okay. Really.” You’re flustered by his tenderness, suddenly so close to him.
With something that can only be blamed on animal instinct, he leans into you, and licks up the side of your cheek, catching the bead of blood on the tip of his tongue.
He feels warm, wet, and just the tiniest bit rough and you moan on reflex, tilting your head back, not knowing why or how as you bare the smooth expanse of your neck to him.
“Mr. K—Kim.”
Namjoon does not hesitate often. But he does for a split second. “It’s Namjoon. It’s always Namjoon with you.” He’s breathing so hard, nostrils flaring from effort to not devour you completely. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Oh shit. This is just like in a fanfic.
You take a deep breath and say the word which dances across your dreams at night, the name which you forbid yourself to say in the day. “Namjoon.”
He’s no longer Mr. Kim. He’s Namjoon to your Y/N. Everything in him is fully awake, completely alert. He leans in and licks the little cut on your cheek again, but this time, he doesn’t just stop there. This time, he continues to trail his tongue down the curve of your jaw, and up the other side. “Need you,” he whispers by your ear, arms curling lightly around your shoulder to anchor his hands that want to run all over your body.
You tell yourself you don’t need him; no, not the way he needs you. You only want him. And wants come and go. Wants don’t always get fulfilled. You of all people should know that by now. Today, you’ll have your fill. And that’s enough.
“Just for today,” you whisper. “Only today.” You repeat it again, for yourself, because there won’t be a tomorrow of this anymore. There’s no way he would need you again.
“Only today,” he echoes, lying to you and to himself.
He licks your earlobe, sending thrills across your spine, teeth nipping lightly against your skin. He’s eager to mark you, the leopard instincts from his hybrid heritage returning in full force. He noses your clothed shoulder, fingers deftly working off the buttons on the front of your prim, starched shirt.
Feeling shy, you're sure that you can’t compete with the models he must have dated. Clutching tightly to the two open halves of your shirt, you’re afraid to disappoint him.
“Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful. Let me see, please.”
With shaky fingers you let the halves of your shirt part, revealing the curves of your breasts to him.
Beautiful. Slowly, he lifts your chin with a finger. “Look at me.”
You’ve always shied away from meeting his gaze straight on, always wary that you hunger for more than just the touch of his eyes.
But now, at the command of his voice, you can only obey.
“You're beautiful. And you're strong, stronger than anyone I know. You’re strong for me. And—" Namjoon swallows. Growing up, his father had always stressed the Kim motto: Always First. Always Strong. Always Right.
“—and I’m weak for you,” he finishes, the realization finally out in the open.
“Just for today,” you remind him, trying to blink back tears. “Be weak for me. Only today.” It’s better this way, with no hope of tomorrow to disappoint.
Namjoon knows he will be weak for you today and tomorrow and every day after. He takes you to his desk, the place he finds himself daily, because he knows he’s going to want to remember this every fucking day for the rest of his life.
Gently, he sits you on the mirrored surface, marking the curve of your shoulder with his kisses as he eases off your shirt. Laving at your skin, he nips against your collarbone, trailing his tongue lower and lower to your covered breasts, easing the cup of your bra to the side as he licks the soft, full flesh there. “Can’t stop tasting you,” he murmurs against your skin.
He inhales the scent between the valley of your breasts, trapping his nose between the smooth curves of silky skin as he draws a low moan from you. Fingers roaming your back, he unhooks your bra to tongue gently at your nipples. You press his head closer, arching your back towards him, wanting more of his mouth on the tight, tender flesh. He complies, and angles you back a little more, crying out with pleasure each time you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth on your breast.
“Feels so good. Oh god.” Panting with want and lust, you plead, “Let me touch you too.”
“Go on then. Touch me.” Namjoon steels himself not to move as you explore him, fingers outlining the sides of his face, his jawline that’s so familiar by sight, yet strangely unfamiliar by touch. You’re wondering if he feels this hard, this strong everywhere.
Seared by the heat of your hand cradling his face, Namjoon noses the inside of your wrist immediately. He wants to breathe this in too. Wants the scent from your wrist all over his body, your fingers everywhere on his skin.
But your fingers are already going over each button, helping him shrug off his shirt, tracing the faintest of leopard markings under the skin of his torso. It’s a mesmerizing pattern. You brush your fingers over his pecs, around the dusky disc of his nipples, down the line of his abs.
Your artist’s eye sees his beautiful, sleek proportions, heavy with muscle and sinew.
Uncertainly, your fingers hover over his belt, the dark bulge of his pants a strangely erotic sight. There’s no turning back once you go there.
“Don’t you stop now,” he whispers. “Don’t give up on me.”
His words give you the confidence to continue. When you finally undress him, pants and boxers pooling around his feet, you’re overwhelmed at his naked vulnerability. “Should I—Can I?” you ask.
Namjoon almost chokes at the way you stare at him with innocent wonder. “Just use your instincts. Just feel.” All other words are impossible the moment you wrap your fingers around his flesh. He braces his hands against the desk on either side of you lest he comes apart too soon, allowing you full access to explore him. He grunts tightly as you stroke him, circling the sensitive opening at the tip.
Instinct says taste. You drop down to your knees. Palming his throbbing length, you lick the liquid beading around the head of his flesh.
“What are you doing?” His fingernails are digging desperately into the unforgiving surface of the glass desk, but there is no relief to be found. “Oh god. Please. Please, take me in.” He remembers how he’d found you kneeling before his chair, putting your nose in the leather as you cleaned it, how for a fleeting moment, he’d pictured you just like this, rosebud lips wrapped around his cock.
On your knees, you feel powerful, making this man speechless and wordless; your tongue, throat, and hollowed cheeks rendering him breathless with desire.
His large hand is warm and soft against your face as you slide his length into your mouth again and again. “No more,” he gasps, “not for our first time.”
Supporting you in his arms, he pulls you up to meet his gaze and you swear his hooded eyes flash a brighter yellow for just a second.
“Am... am I doing something wrong?”
Bringing his lips right against yours, he confesses quietly, “I am. I’m doing everything wrong.” With slow brushes of his lower lip between yours, he urges yours apart. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your lips with his tongue. “But I am.” The kiss is long and languorous. He takes his time, lets you explore him, noses bumping as you taste him and he drinks you.
“Shouldn’t undress you.” He reaches for the back button of your skirt, and unzips you, easing the material down. Unhooking the bra to let it fall off softly, he fingers the waistband of your panties, eyes questioning if it’s okay. Silently, you place your hand over his to slide it down your thighs. “But I am,” he says, eyes trailing down your entire naked expanse.
“Most of all, I shouldn’t fuck you here at my desk. But—”
“But I want you to.” Pressing your naked flesh against his, you curl your arms around his neck, face hiding in his chest in your desperation. “I want you to.”
This time, there’s no more rain to give him an excuse to hold you, no more umbrella to pretend he wants you close. He pulls you into him; moulding you to him, melding him into you. With flesh against flesh, there’s no denying now the liquid heat between your legs. “You’re so wet. How is it you want me? A man who will not amount to anything?”
It’s there again. The hurt. Unlike the cut on your face, his wound is much, much deeper. “That’s him. That’s not you.” Still pulled flushed against him, you place your palm over his pounding heart. “You’re different. Here.”
Namjoon shuts his eyes at your words. “Say that again.”
“You’re different from him.”
He is not his father.
A great relief washes over him. It’s something he couldn't say to himself until you said it. He is not his father. He is not his father. He is not his father!
He kisses the top of your head, grateful for the day you stumbled into his shop, grateful that you want him like this. The fragrance he cannot have enough of fills his senses. There’s ylang ylang. There’s jasmine. A hint of bergamot. He inhales deeply, sighing, “How are you so good for me?” Sliding one hand down your thigh, he lifts it up to his hip so that you feel the hardness of his cock against you. “Let me be good for you.”
“Please. Please don’t let me wait anymore.” A dull ache throbs within you, and the searing of his skin against yours has steadily pooled arousal in the apex of your thighs.
“I won’t let you wait. I’ve waited long enough. Turn around.” Reluctantly, he unhooks your leg from him and stands behind you. “We are going to do this the proper way.”
Bracing a strong arm around your waist, he bends you over his mirrored desk, your nipples hardening even more when they brush across the cool surface of his desk. “So sensitive,” he whispers against the back of your neck, “I saw that.”
A shower of sparks shoot down your spine as he kisses the back of your neck, the other hand fondling over your breasts; the front of your body on full display in your reflection. You lean your head into him, writhing at every slow lick and hot breath and soft kiss on your neck.
His hands dip between your legs, easing them apart. “Let me prep you. I bet you’re so tight, bet I can’t even put in a finger.” He’s probably right. You know you’re wet, embarrassingly so, but it’s been so long since you’d been with someone else.
“N-Namjoon, please go slow. It’s—it’s been a while.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. Never. Can you trust me?”
You nod, too overtaken by the sensations of his fingers playing along your folds to speak.
“Just use your instincts,” he murmurs again into the shell of your ear.
Instinct says to feel.
With teasing fingers, he continues to draw low whimpers from you, before he goes on to circle your clit gently. Sliding a finger in, he feels you shudder. “Easy there. Breathe for me.” He feels your legs clamping around his fingers like a vise, the tremors beneath your skin as your breath gets shorter and harder.
You’re dripping a little now, making a mess between your legs. It’s getting harder to stand as he hooks two fingers into you, rubbing softly. “Oh my god.”
“You getting there?”
“Y-yeah. Hold me. Hold me.”
Namjoon feels a surge of pride that he gets to hear you like this, gets to feel you come apart just from his fingers. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
The orgasm blooms through you—shakes you at your core, curls your toes—as you arch back into him. He’s as good as his promise, lending you his strength, supporting you completely as you fall into him.
He takes the opportunity to nuzzle into your hair again, alternating with kissing you along the nape of your neck, and catching a whiff of your scent behind your ear. “Can’t stop smelling you.”
Flushed and euphoric from your high, you don’t stop yourself from asking, “Tell me… tell me what do I smell like?” Your gaze shyly meets his in the reflection of the mirrored surface.
With his nose pressed behind your ear, the answer is clear to him. “Home,” he breathes, “You smell like home.”
His answer shouldn’t make you cry. But it does. “Then make your home in me,” you whisper. “Just today.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He nudges your legs apart with a muscled thigh, groaning with satisfaction as he feels you wet arousal on him. “Coming in,” he murmurs, angling you lower so he can help you adjust to the intrusion of his cock into your core. You gasp at how thick and hot he is, how just a little bit of him inside you already feels so good.
“Goddamn. You’re tight.” He groans as he tells himself to slow down. He’s not going to rush this if he can help it. Breathing hard, he waits for you to accommodate him, stroking your back lightly and then your hips to reassure you.
You want more, and you push back tentatively, longing to feel completely full of him, but a little fearful if you can take a hybrid without falling apart. Grimacing at the inviting way you slide your ass backward into him, he thrusts shallowly, a gentle finger on your clit, coaxing you to take more of him.
Instinct says to meet him.
This time, you slide back to meet his thrusts, delighting in his thick girth filling you. “Feels good. So good,” you sigh.
Namjoon sees you’re ready and doesn’t hold back anymore. “You’re wrong. Nobody goes home for just one day,” he says with ragged breath against your ear as he surges fully into you. “They go home every day.” He pulls himself back a little, feeling the tightness of your slick walls squeezing around him to stop him from pulling out completely.
Shielding your entire back with his own body, he thrusts in once more, eager to bury himself inside your warmth. Bringing his face next to yours from behind, he says it again, “Every day.”
“Every day,” you whimper back.
He loves seeing your face in the mirrored reflection, how it twists with yearning when he’s all the way inside you. He relishes the arch of your neck into him, sweet mouth open and moaning for him at every thrust, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” you cry. “Don’t stop, don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”
The words from him are now echoed back into his ears. Namjoon doesn’t stop. He won’t. He can’t. Thrusting into you, he feels a surge of power ripping through him. He wants to give you all his strength, wants to take all your softness for himself.
In the quiet of his office, your combined moans reverberate around the stark walls, the rhythmic push and pull of your bodies are the only other sounds that fill your senses as you focus on offering yourself to him.
“Look at me when I come,” he commands, his chin pressing on your shoulder. “Open your eyes, and see what you do to me.”
You open your eyes, and can hardly recognize yourself in the reflection on his desk. The little scar on your lip, the wound from just now, the plain face that you’ve always wished were more exotic are now inconsequential. There’s tenderness in the way he looks at you, a softness and desperation no one has ever looked at you with.
“Namjoon.” You feel a little pathetic at how much you want him, at how good his name feels on your tongue. You whisper it again because tomorrow, he’ll be Mr. Kim once more.
“I’m close. So close,” he moans now, dying to hold on this feeling as long as he can. He pants with effort as he fights to keep his thrusts slow and long and hard, before his instincts take over and he loses control. When you clench harder around him, meeting his eyes in your combined reflection, Namjoon feels a last surge of raw need rip through him, and he comes with a low roar, hips stuttering wildly into you.
You feel the hot spurt of his seed inside you, his deep groan of satisfaction thrilling you immensely. He’s kissing the back of your neck, across your shoulders, hands lazily playing with the globes of your breasts. He’s quiet as he pulls out, enjoying the sight of his cum and yours leaking down the inside of your thighs.
“You’re wonderful. Want you again,” he teases your earlobe, nuzzling the plump flesh there.
“Now?”
“Not now,” he laughs. “Give me a few minutes. But only if you do. Are you sore?”
How can I, when I’m wrapped under you? No, not today. Tomorrow, my heart will be.
“No. Not at all.” You’re strong. And greedy. You want him as much as he will want you today.
“Let’s go back to my place. I want to wake up next to you tomorrow.”
You feel vulnerable because god, you want it too. But if he wants tomorrow with you, you have to ask. “When your father asked you… if there’s someone else, and you didn’t answer him…”
“It’s none of his business,” he replies curtly. “But it is yours.” Taking a deep breath, he tells you the truth, “Because there’s been no one else. Not for a long while. And when you walked in that day with those flowers, there couldn’t be anyone else.”
And so, dear reader, there was tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after the day after tomorrow.
And of course, you broke all your rules about hybrids because you still worked with him after you were made partner. And you went on many, many dates with him. And you fucked him many, many, many times.
But you’re okay with it.
After all, your Dad had also said:
Rules are meant to be broken.
~The End~
-----------------------------------
Posted on June 30, 2021 by sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2021 @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content on to any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.
Author's Note:
Dear reader,
How are you?
According to my therapist, one important thing fathers and parents can do for their children is to help them believe a) You are loved and are worthy of love. b) You are capable - you have what it takes!
My own father was too busy to help me with these things. I grew up constantly insecure, seeking affirmation and love with many different people and relationships, in many different avenues and endeavors, made many, many stupid decisions in the process just because I was craving and craving and craving.
Today, I've found genuine friends who, every day, in various ways, affirm these truths for me, as I also try to do for them.
And while some days, I can only see the broken, needy parts inside; more and more, I see parts of me which are healing and mending slowly but surely with these friends.
This Father's Day, whether you grew up with a father or parent who was good and kind and true, or someone entirely different, I hope you believe that you are worthy of love, and you have what it takes.
Truly,
Sam.
P/S if you haven't, pls check out the samsung parfumerie ad. Jimin and Namjoon are.... chef's kiss
kim namjoon fic rec list (Ⅰ)
here’s a list of my favourite namjoon fics, please show lots of love and support to these wonderful authors and their blogs, some of these fics contain smut so no minors allowed ♡
a- angst s- smut f- fluff ❣- ultimate favourite
july kiss by @personasintro f s (dilf namjoon idiots to lovers au) ❣
prohibido by @personasintro f s a (brother’s best friend au) ❣
fool for you by @cutechim s a (rebound au hospital au unrequited love au)
try again by @bangtanfancamp f s (roommate au best friend to lovers au)
it’s december (and I still want) by @smoochkooks f s a (ex husband au)
more than anything else by @seokkgenie f s a (CEO au)
there was a bug @kimnjss f s a (roommate au best friend to lovers au) ❣
nothing like us by @jiminimoon s a (ex boyfriend namjoon) ft. fuck boy jungkook ❣
the rich man’s crochet club by @kpopfanfictrash s (virgin au college au) ❣
spilling coffee by @bts-roses f a (idol au intern reader)
dizzy by @joonessence f s (friends to lovers au) ❣
promise by @joheun-saram f s a (college au roommate au enemies to friends to lovers au) ❣
to make a power couple by @joheunsaram f s a (idol au ceo reader) ❣
daisies and dinosaurs by @dark-muse-iris f s a (single father au)
intro: her by @jamaisjoons f s a (single dad au strangers to friends to lovers au) ❣
a sight for sore eyes by @siderealmyg f s (established relationship au)
good to me by @httpjeon f s a (dating service au)
what are friends for by @kookdiaries s (best friends au friends to lovers au)
out of my league by @ppersonna f s a (office au) ❣
promises by @jeonsweetheart f s a (marriage au infidelity au idol au) ❣
the bodyguard by @rmnamjoons f s a (bodyguard au fake dating/marriage au) ❣
the father, the son and the holy whore by @taesinferno s (dilf namjoon infidelity au) ❣
nice guys finish last by @ktheist f s a (arranged marriage au) ft. Ex fiance Yoongi
cyanide on my bedsheets by @jimilter s a (friends with benefits au unrequited love) ❣
partners by @btssmutgalore s a (friends to lovers au slow burn) ❣
dimples by @sweetmisery f s (idol au friends with benefits friends to lovers au) ❣
after rain by @rmverse f s a (patient namjoon patient reader)
once upon an us by @yoonia f s a (inspired by the movie sweet home alabama past lovers au exes to lovers au established relationship) ❣
bothered by @lavienjin f s a (brother’s best friend)
sincerely, but no longer yours by @ttttaehyungie s a (exes au) ❣
lavender honey by @oftenderweapons f s a (chaebol au friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers au)
2AM by @xpeachesncream f s (college au) ❣
black swan by @helenazbmrskai s a (co-workers to friends to lovers tattoo artist joon) ❣
love is blind by @helenazbmrskai f s a (best friends brother au college au enemies to lovers au) ❣
ramen? by @solarwonux f s ❣
only a lifetime by @dopejk f s (dilf joon marriage au pregnancy au) ❣
emerald by @dewykth s a (bodyguard au)
love bytes by @stutterfly f s a (friends to lovers au slow burn)
spice by @breakiebunny f s a (enemies to lovers au chef joon)
new parent syndrome by @1kook f s (dilf joon husband au parents au) ❣
the perfect date by @suhdays f s (established relationship au)
flower cloud by @suhdays f a (soulmate au friends to lovers au college au)
hammer it home by @gukslut f s a (domestic au) ft. Jimin ❣
nailed it by @gukslut f s (hammer it home couple) ft. Jimin ❣
feels like home by @gukslut f s (hammer it home couple) ❣
a wrench in the plan by @gukslut f s (hammer it home couple) ❣
totally screwed by @gukslut f s (hammer it home couple) ❣
obligated by @underthejoon s (arranged marriage au) ❣
bass and strings by @jimlingss f (slow burn au slice of life college au music au)
letting go by @bangtan-babe f a (doctor au) ft. Jimin
masterlist.
— my name is flo. ✿ ׄ ۪
i write for fun. namjoon is my muse :) i hope u enjoy reading & i would appreciate if u let me know what u think!
i do not take requests but if you'd like to send any ideas or suggestions my inbox is open <3
a lot of my works include smut, or sexually suggestive content. please do not interact if you’re under the age of 18!
© petaljoons / i do not allow reposting, translating, or modifying any of my works on any platforms. please do not claim them as yours.
f - fluff / s - smut / a - angst
— tease (s) 0.5k
summary: in which namjoon loves to tease you
— meet me at midnight (f) 0.8k
summary: in which late at midnight, you meet at your favorite spot. the gazebo at the furthest point from the trail, where no one could see you.
— ardor (s) 1.5k
summary: just smut lol
— the morning after (f, s) 3k
summary: in which namjoon loves waking up to you.
— labyrinth (a,f) 3.3k
summary: in which you try to save your relationship with namjoon
— look here (f) 1.3k
summary: in which you discover one of namjoon’s cute habits
— better days (a, f) 1.5k
summary: in which namjoon grows frantic after you don’t respond to his texts or calls. as he rounds the corner to your apartment, he finally finds you but not in the way that he expected.
— redamancy (a, f) 0.6k
summary: in which you've gotten into an argument. namjoon has already gone to bed without resolving it, but you still whisper ''i love you'' before crawling into bed because it's something you always do before going to sleep.
Lavender Honey | KNJ | Part 1
A Sons of Midas story
Pairing: Chaebol!Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Honey)
Wordcount: 19.1k
Genre: angst, smut, fluff. Childhood friends turned fwb turned enemies turned (eventually, potentially, hopefully) lovers. Also, everybody is pretty much filthy rich.
Rating: 18+
Synopsis: Namjoon — man of many women, successful businessman is nothing but a rotten piece of soul living in memories and what-ifs. His life is nothing but completing his endless tasks fast enough to hide himself in a sweet scent from the past. What happens when the gentle perfume waltzes back into his present together with the only one he ever loved?
One large disclaimer and a smaller rant. I've recently seen a very popular bts gif blog accusing a writer of being toxic simply because they depicted one of the boys as a "fuckboy", and proceded with slutshaming the writer for writing smut. Now, if you can't understand the difference between a character from a work of fiction and a real person, that is probably a very good reason for you not to read this piece of fiction. I do not condone any of the behaviour in this fic: I am but a mere narrator.
Trigger warnings: both Namjoon and Honey engage in extremely disreputable anthics. Namjoon is depicted as a selfish womanizer, therefore if this bothers you, please do not read any further. Namjoon has also blatant issues with alcohol and anxiety. Again, if this makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away now. I repeat, I do not condone alcoholism; it was vaguely hinted through the fic since I didn't want it to become an unbearably heavy theme for myself and other more sensitive readers. In terms of smut, we have several hints at oral sex (m&f receiving), public sex and public masturbation, hate sex. There is mention of cheating (just a kiss). Mentions of threesome and foursome. Biting and marking. Borderline fetishism (perfume). Swearing and obviously consumption of Alcohol.
Acknowledgements: all the ladies involved in this collab, starting from @joheunsaram. Mars, my beta, my love. Thank you for everything. @taegularities, too precious for this world. @honeyj00ns, thank you for your kind affection. @biaswreckme, my newest friend. @hobiandsprite, my strongest possum, and an honorary mention to @aroseforyoongi, unspeakably precious.
The link to my masterlist can be found here
The Spotify playlist can be found here
Enjoy 💜✨
A laugh echoed through the final swirls of sleep before the alarm swept into his dream and washed it away.
Reality was bitter on his tongue while the scent lingering in his nostrils was anything but.
He stretched his arms above his head, his pectorals softly aching with the best remnant of effort. He remembered the leggy blonde from Friday night. And the sweet, kinky best friends from Saturday — and a good part of Sunday.
His grin disappeared slowly as he stood, feeling a slight headache.
Any sort of lightness evaporated once he saw the agenda for the day.
The Royal Garden — meeting at 10.
He sunk back into the mattress. He decided to send an email to Milla, his assistant, and tell her he would be working from home until the meeting.
He felt too raw to be in public. He simply got up and headed to the shower.
He hated everything for a few seconds.
He hated himself more than everything.
And then he remembered it was not his fault.
He was alone, but it was not his fault. It was not his choice.
He checked himself in the mirror.
He was young. Hot. Rich. Not that young anymore, actually. But that added to the charms.
He didn’t bother brushing his teeth and went for breakfast. The day was already too upsetting to go for fresh fruit and muesli and unsugared yogurt.
He threw everything away and stretched all the way to the top shelf, finding his priced stash of heavily sugary breakfast treats. Nutella. Lucky charms.
He grinned and filled himself to the brim with artificial sweeteners, until it almost made him numb, too energised to be bothered with minor inconveniences such as The Royal Garden.
He tried to work, and then he tried harder; still, he already knew he would remain unfocused until that unfortunate investment would be one of his little pastimes, nothing more.
He wasn’t too heavily involved with it anyway, but whenever the name appeared in his agenda, his stomach would unsettle, his legs would shake and his soul would turn into a black hole, dragging in everything light and happy.
He would splurge on sugar and alcohol and women. So many women…
Too many.
He managed to waste time, lost in his mind, staring at the documents he was pretending to read. Luckily, he managed to come back to earth in time to get properly dressed and get his driver’s call.
The Cho Beauty Industry was as usual busy, incredibly animated. Namjoon strolled through the lobby coolly, unbothered, Milla greeting him in front of the meeting room.
“Do you need me to take notes?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Milla.”
“Don’t worry. I got you.” The secretary touched his shoulder with a kind smile. “Did you sleep?”
He nodded absentmindedly, refusing to expose just how exhausted he made himself before he managed to sleep like a baby.
“How was your weekend?” He asked, sitting down beside her in the large room.
“Nara came over. It was a good weekend.”
Namjoon nodded. “Good for you.” He took his tablet, already setting up the layout for some notes, sadly knowing he wouldn’t be able to take any.
The man standing beside the projection screen bowed in acknowledgment before Namjoon bowed even deeper.
The meeting started without ceremonies, diving deep into discussion of the several points. Mr Cho was an organised, straightforward man, characteristics that Namjoon had learnt to love through the years but that left an unpleasant feeling in his heart. He detached himself from that.
He detached himself from the unsettling sensation of Mr Cho’s eyes staring at him. He suddenly felt sad. Lonelier. Observed and judged.
He was far from heaven — probably the farthest he’d ever been — but he didn’t care. He didn’t believe in heaven. Although in hindsight, he knew he had known heaven once. He’d been there too.
The shape and colour, and vibrant, steady and calm determination of those eyes reminded him every single time.
Mr Cho’s cool voice came like an unintended shot in the dark. A bullet with an unexpected trajectory.
“After careful thinking and planning we are discontinuing The Princess.”
Milla’s eyes immediately went to Namjoon’s face, Mr Cho staring at the young man, feeling extremely sorry that Namjoon had avoided all the emails and calls and attempted meetings when he’d tried to break the news to him in a delicate, heartfelt way.
Mr Cho already knew the man would give him a hard facade and then go home, disappear from everything and everyone for a few days, only to come back with one more wrinkle on his face and one more notch on the bedpost. Or maybe seven.
A boy he’d raised almost as his own was wasting away and he couldn’t do anything. He was one of the most remarkable businessmen in the city — actually in the whole country, and then some — and he’d landed some of the most important achievements in the history of his firm before turning thirty. He was slowly coming undone, but there was no actual proof of the inner decay he had been undergoing for a few years now.
Namjoon’s face was indecipherable, completely impassive in some sort of indifference he’d mastered ages ago.
Inside, he was the opposite.
Inside he was feeling his memories fade away. Lavender flowers, stretching out for metres and metres in a long line. A gentle smile. Honest, fearless eyes rolling shut in bliss. The sweet feeling of soft hair wrapped around his fingers. Tender lips against his neck. Giggles echoing in an empty room. The sound of a breathing body laying beside him in the sun. Moonlight reflected on the lake. Gingham dresses. Sunlight coming in through lace curtains. Cherries. The taste of almond lip balm. Moans echoing in the lake house. Bubble baths. Candles. Lavender. Picnic baskets. Honey. The sound of water against the row boat.
Namjoon inhaled.
Lavender honey filled his lungs.
And disappeared.
“I oppose.”
Many people in the room went quiet.
“It’s a line that needs to be renovated. It’s old.”
“Then redo the packaging.” Namjoon felt his heart beat twice as fast while his entire being slipped in criminal coldness.
“We intend to discontinue the line.” Mr Cho repeated, trying to be as clear but also as tactful as possible.
“It’s a bestseller.”
“We intend to invest in new products.”
“Why give up on a product that made your brand? It’s a sure source of income. Working on new fragrances will take time, and you’ll have to build a new target customer. It will be expensive. Too expensive, in my opinion,” Namjoon crossed his arms, his jaw flexing in a way that made his teeth hurt.
“The Princess is old by now. We need to make way for a new concept. New flowers in our garden.”
Namjoon froze at the secret meaning of the sentence.
The rest of the meeting went on without a hitch, Namjoon so tuned out that he didn’t realise the event was over.
Mr Cho politely fretted through greetings and goodbyes, refusing lunch invitations and all those formalities to try and reach Namjoon before he left.
Milla met Cho’s gaze and hesitated before calling her boss back to reality.
“Namjoon, boy. I tried to warn you—”
He looked up at the man as he felt his shoulder being touched. “It’s okay.”
“I really wanted—”
“I’m not a child anymore, I can handle it. I’m just considering if I’m interested in this project anymore.”
Mr Cho felt his heart sink. He had always known that the tie between Namjoon and The Royal Garden was something fickle and nostalgic, but at the same time something that ran too deep to be forgotten.
“You’re not interested in The Knight?”
“I don’t want The Knight. You know it.” Namjoon’s eyes were filled with freezing rage. “What’s the next flower?”
“Namjoon—”
“Give me The Princess,” his eyes were softening in a way Cho hadn’t seen in almost two decades. Actually there was a night he’d seen them from very up close, but he didn’t like remembering it.
He could still see the young man dragging his feet up the stairs, ricocheting between the wall and the railing as he climbed up, stumbling, barely upright until he crawled to the room he knew like his own, crying his lungs out, balled up on the carpet like an abandoned child, mourning for an unphysical loss that shouldn't have made him feel like his guts had been clawed out.
“Give me The Princess,” Namjoon’s voice broke. “Please.”
Cho rubbed the man’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Milla hinted at greetings. “Need me to call someone?” She asked as the young man grabbed a small bottle from a slot in the car door.
The smell of gin filled the car quickly.
Milla did not judge. She already knew what was coming.
“Call Nina.” Namjoon took a large sip. “And Lia. I’m out for the day.”
“My child! My flower! She is home! Finally!” Your father’s arms welcomed you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.
“Dad!”
“Quiet, my baby is back!” He shushed you, pressing your cheek to his. “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” you confirmed, holding your dad close and welcoming the sweet comfort his arms offered. He had a question he was dying to ask, but he would hold himself back, at least for a while.
“Your friends will be so eager to see you!” He hinted, giving you a meaningful stare.
“Sure, they already know I’m back. We’ll have a reunion soon. I was considering dinner. Something relaxed, like barbecue. I missed it!” You smiled, trying to make your way out of the dangerous topic. There was only one friend your dad could be referring to, but you had no intention of discussing that already.
“Your room is still the same!” He said enthusiastically but also softly.
“I was scared you had turned it into Lola and Lars’ playroom,” you commented, watching the two dogs sniffing at you, especially since you were almost a stranger to them.
Spending nine years abroad meant many things, like your mother getting dogs to find someone else to coddle and spoil and spend time with, but also losing ties with anyone, feeling like a plant suddenly changed of environment, the new soil filled with nutrients, new occasions, but also awfully unfamiliar.
All you knew was that the moment you entered the room, you felt a punch in the guts. There were signs, everywhere, like claw marks spread across the room.
It wasn’t your bedroom anymore. It felt like a crime scene.
You stepped in it carefully, watching films unfold everywhere. It was a call for disaster.
Scenes started unfurling in your head, old ghosts coming for you, crawling like fog from pictures, dried flowers, books—
“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“May I take the guest room?”
Your father felt silence capture his mind. “Sure thing, my flower.”
Once in the pristine room, you laid your suitcase on the floor. “Your things will be arriving in a few days,” your dad announced. “Just tell me where you want me to put those.”
You were still too unsettled to choose. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”
He nodded. “I don’t know what happened but—”
“Nothing.” And it was true. Nothing had happened. That’s precisely how everything had come undone.
“He’s—”
“I’m sorry, dad, but the trip was long and I’d like to rest,” you admitted, energies drained.
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s nothing,” you repeated, already opening your case and finding your pyjamas.
“Would you like me to keep you company?” He asked, lifting the sheets to get the bed ready.
“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked with a knowing smile.
“I’ll bring my laptop. I know the sound of typing relaxes you. You’re still my daughter.”
You smiled and nodded. “That I am.”
“It’s good to know you’re back,” Swan gave you a warm look and you felt infinitely better. Four friends, a few bottles of soju and the heavy smell of roasted pork meat was the best feeling in the world.
“Hard times, I tell you.”
Candy looked at you fondly from the other side of the table. It was truly good to have you back. Maybe some old balances would be refound — maybe the guys would find again the two pieces they lost the day you left. She was hopeful all at once, forgetting about how hopeless her situation was.
“I still can’t believe you pulled that trick on all of us,” Peach added. “Out of the blue. Puff, you were gone. And now puff, you’re here!” She laughed cheerfully. “You missed out so much.”
“Like what?” You asked with a mischievous grin.
“First. Taehyung became a heartthrob.”
“A what?” You exclaimed, remembering only the sweet face of a seventeen year old with ruffled hair.
“A heartthrob. A gentleman. A Casanova. A ladies’ man. And what a man,” Peach commented, wide eyed and swooning.
Candy wheezed and shook her head. “Come on, it’s not like that…”
“Our Taehyungie?” You asked, almost pouting at Swan, giving her a questioning look.
She blushed to her ears, looking at the other woman with mild discomfort in her eyes. “He’s a very good looking young man. You and I both know he isn’t difficult to love.”
Swan admitted.
“Well, if he takes after his brother… By the way, the female population of Seoul would like to offer you their gratitude and give you an honorary medal,” Peach hinted, making you look down with a blush on your cheeks.
“I didn’t do much—”
“You trained a beast!” She remarked.
“Peach,” Candy hissed with a concerned stare.
“Hey, don’t worry,” you reassured her, touching her forearm. Your conversation with Peach about Namjoon was very old business. She had slept with him and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. It was just the umpteenth demonstration that you had lost all feelings for him.
“You don’t want to know about him?” Peach asked, trying to insinuate doubt in your mind.
You ceased. “How is he.”
“Rich as filth. Successful like no man his age. But cold to the bone.”
Swan looked away just as Candy pursed her lips. She was not okay with how you looked. She felt like she was still failing you, somehow; which of course wasn’t true. Your faith in Candy was unbreakable.
“He keeps binging on girls and alcohol. But he’s a ghost, babe. A hot ghost though, I’m not going to lie about that.” Peach explained, knowing that there was no reason to butter things up with you. “I can’t believe you kept up with him.”
Candy would have snapped if she didn’t know she could trust Peach, that the two of you had your own terms and agreements to talk about Namjoon.
Your smile was bitter. “We were just dumb kids.” But you’d been the dumbest of the two.
All about the night unsettled you. The crowd walking through the corridors, the white walls and the pretentious paintings, the stupid artists wearing stupid clothes that were supposed to give them a certain 'je-ne-sais-quoi', as some of them called it with their preposterous accents and ignorant mannerisms.
Fortunately, you had found the ones you actually appreciated, taking your time talking to them while they greeted your mother, glittering at your arm like a precious jewel, while you stood at her side gently and shyly, clad in pastel tones and a watery scent. It was nothing like the heavy perfumes most of the ladies were wearing, mixing in the room and creating a cloud of disturbing, clashing fragrances.
You were getting a headache. Still you stood at your mother's side, faithful as your role required you to be, avoiding the several questions about your mysterious disappearance and your prodigious return.
The night was like too many before, too suitable for hard reminiscing and crying yourself to sleep.
You remembered when the same night had felt like champagne bubbles nine years ago, bare feet on the grass and sticky hair and pants echoing across the wooden walls of the boathouse.
You stared at the painting in front of you as tears welled up in your eyes. At least it was a painting you could genuinely feel emotional about.
With cold determination, you rebuilt yourself. Like you would need to do a million more times.
⫷ ⁛ ⫸
Namjoon liked this sort of gatherings. They were the easiest.
Lots of beautiful women, lots of wine, lots of chances to show off his flawless social skills and charm dreamy, naive girls through his knowledge of art and his relationships with artists. He didn't even need to show his wealth: the Rolex at his wrist did that for him and, in case he needed extra support, he would introduce the girl to the artists he had commissioned a piece or two from.
However, tonight he would not play that game. Tonight he would be his mother's chaperon, make her proud with a dimpled grin, gentle, impeccable manners and a strict no-alcohol rule. He would smile, make conversation when invited to and redeem himself from the heart breaker, womaniser image he had made for himself.
And everything went according to plan before he spotted a leggy little thing across the room, nape and shoulders invitingly exposed, her dress so simple and delicate that Namjoon knew only a stunner would feel comfortable wearing such a plain thing to an event so important.
Mrs Kim immediately noticed her child's attention shifting, subtly changing the direction of her path as she continued to observe the pictures.
Namjoon looked at his mother with a suspicious glance before she grinned at him with that familiar smile that was just like his own.
“Mother.”
“My treasure.”
“I believe this is not the correct order of exhibition.”
“I believe you are mistaken,” she parroted him jokingly. “There is no order of exhibition.”
Namjoon gave her a small smile before continuing his sonly duties, doing so impeccably until a familiar whiff caught his nose.
He grew more attentive, closing his eyes as vision interfered with his sense of smell. That was it. The chances of the perfume being anything but his most prized one were too slim. At the same time, the chances of it belonging to one of the old ladies were too high, although he assumed no one would dare wear it before the creator's wife, especially knowing the meaning it carried.
A sick part of him wished it was the plain stunner. It seemed to suit her, conceptually. His brain was already thinking how easy it would be to pretend.
He disgusted himself for a second, but it passed quickly.
“Eunyeong?” His mother addressed the older woman at the Stunner’s side.
Namjoon felt himself die and be reborn in a millisecond. It gave his soul whiplash.
That name meant only one thing.
“Oh, my prayers! The Princess has returned?” His mother exclaimed before joining her hands before her stomach, excitement overwhelming her.
The plain stunner bent deeply. “Hello, auntie.”
Namjoon's veins iced over. He was not alive anymore. Could he be getting a stroke? He felt his left arm tickling before his mother tugged him down in a bow to Cho EunYeong. “Such a special circumstance! Namjoon, aren't you glad?”
He was glad. He was also extremely stupid, highly malfunctioning and infinitely unfortunate. Staring deep into your eyes, he spoke the only words he could muster. “Hello, Honey.”
The greeting felt old and unused on his tongue. He missed the way it used to roll off of it, the way it was second nature once to pronounce the word even when it was practically unneeded and unnecessary.
“Oh, come here, sweetie, let me hug you! Look at you, you're a stunning young woman, isn't she, Namjoon?” His mother spurred him on.
“She's always been a pretty girl. There was no way she would become any less,” he offered back coolly.
“Don't listen to him, darling, you're absolutely lovely, come here,” she exclaimed, hugging you, earning the envy of the other ladies in the room. It was clear you had a special friendship with the Kims, and the bond between such two powerful families was making everyone snobbish.
“You've been missed oh-so-dearly, Princess. I can't believe you never came back home in nine years.”
Apparently she was busy adding flowers to the garden, Namjoon thought harshly, forgetting about the poppy field he had made for himself — overpopulated and filled with extremely short lived blossoms.
“I was very busy, auntie. And I took a chance to spend time with the American branch of the family.”
Namjoon felt his chest cave.
You were so beautiful. You had always been, and he’d always fallen for it. He felt too young for the way his heart stopped and started beating twenty times faster, his whole chest fluttering with it. He breathed in slowly.
Lavender. Soothing, calming, slightly balsamic.
“Hello, Namjoon.”
It had been ages since your tongue had to wrap around the syllables of his name. It was painful and so familiar, like finally entering your home barefoot, but with shards of glass disseminated across the floor.
Namjoon didn’t accept the way excitement filled him, fireworks going off in his mind. What would he not give to touch you, to feel the sharpness of your jaw against his lips, to feel your hands on his chest, in his hair. He looked down, knowing just how easily you could still read him. He could read you just the same.
Truth is you had learnt to read together. You had been each other’s first experiment. You had been each other’s first everything, each other’s beginning. And now you were there, so close, so apart. And still the call was there, magnificent, like magnets, hands shaking with need, and a craving so primal it was hard not to answer.
He had become way more majestic and intimidating than once. The shy, soft guy that stood about a head taller than you now seemed to dominate the room, carrying himself so proudly and classily, like he owned the whole world and then some.
From what you had been told, he had each and every right to stroll around like a panther, sleek and lethal, but you didn’t allow much privilege to him: you knew he was still a scared kitten somewhere inside him. He had always had a talent for dissimulating just how much fear and insecurity he had in him.
Your eyes met his. “You’re back,” he said plainly.
“Apparently.”
The calm, warm smile you gave him made him remember too many things at once, like a supercut of eighteen years lived together, side by side, like the world would dissolve the moment the two of you would, like you were the center of the universe and its birth and its death. He could remember it in the cold light of the library, in the neon glittering effects of a club, under the verdant foliage of a summer afternoon, glimmering with water, your hair wet, your white dress sticking to your skin, and then under the grey winter skies, lips dry and broken with the cold, nose red, eyes excited at the first snowflakes falling.
He felt like a haunted house covered in blooming ivy. He had missed you.
You were right in front of him and he still missed you.
Etiquette told him he should stand at his mother’s side, like a pillar. Still, he was but a pillar of sand, eroded by your calm, cold abyss.
“May I be excused?” he said, not even waiting for his mother’s reply as he felt salt in his throat, his shirt and jacket too tight, his face too hot.
He found the closest door and headed for the garden.
“Please, excuse him. I believe you know the situation wasn’t easy on him,” Aeri, his mother, spoke softly, simply, making you suck at your lips, swallowing heavily before straightening your back, squaring up for whatever fight you had to face.
“There was no easy side to pick.”
“Maybe you could use some time to talk. Say all those unsaid words,” your mother suggested.
“I have said everything I could. The moment he’ll have something to say, I’ll wait with arms open. Now if you don’t mind, the punch looks very appealing. Mother?”
She shook her head. “Just go,” she encouraged you, waiting for you to turn before sending a stern look to her lifelong friend.
“I’m sorry, Eunyeong,” Namjoon’s mother gave an apologetic pucker of her lips.
“She’s still not there,” your mom replied drily. “I don’t know what happened. I’m still so confused. She refuses to talk, she avoids the subject like the plague and— I really don’t know. I’m so sorry about your son.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. He had all the tools to be more balanced. We already talked about this, Yeongah. Not her fault. Not his either. We just missed a bit in the equation. It doesn’t make sense to us, but apparently it does to them. Let’s just hope it will heal someday.”
Your mother nodded. “I don’t think it will.”
Aeri sadly had to agree.
⫷ ⁛ ⫸
The garden was relatively empty. You already knew why you were there. You knew it because you had walked down that path so many times in your head, the Japanese dome so inviting near the pond, among the maple trees. You already knew he would be there. Water and plants naturally called to his meditative self.
“You’re here,” you spoke softly, standing a few steps behind him while he leaned against the railing, elbows propped on it.
“I needed to think.”
You nodded, looking away, pacing back and forth. “What are you thinking about?”
“About the last nine years.”
You nodded. “I… I’m—”
You felt something snake in where body and soul become one. Nostalgia so deep it hurt.
“Don’t apologise. You chose your path. You thought about yourself.” He sniffled.
Your jaw clenched.
“I wish I’d been that smart.” He snickered, sarcastic and cold. “I had to play catch up for a bit. I guess we both know who won.”
“It’s not a matter of who suffered more or who became more successful,” you replied with a sneer. “It’s not a competition.”
“You only say that because you’re the winner, Honey. Thought you’d be smarter than that. I guess we really do become duller with age.”
You felt tears well in your eyes. “I guess you really became meaner. Don’t think I didn’t keep tags on you, mister Dorian Gray. Wicked and corrupted to the bone.”
“Did they also tell you about The Princess?”
You looked away. “No use to keep the dead living.”
“Was it your choice?” He asked, turning around, face drenched in tears.
He felt slightly relieved when he noticed you had matching wet lines down your face. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m older. I’m different.”
“You’re wearing it tonight.”
“My mother insisted. She’s wearing The Queen. You still have The Knight.”
“It’s my place.” He swallowed, trying not to sob. It was too difficult. He gave up. “Let The Princess be, please.”
You shook your head. “Don’t let that haunt you. It’s the best for both of us.” You tried to fix your makeup.
“Have you forgotten it entirely? How it was?” His voice was like a quiet whisper of the wind.
You blinked rapidly. “Joonie—”
“Tell me you still remember how good it was to have each other.”
For a second you thought about lying, but lying to him would be lying to yourself. You found all your strength and nodded. “I remember everything.”
He looked at you, taking a small step towards you. “You do?”
You nodded as you felt your lip wobble. “That's why we need to let it go.”
He wanted to come back home. He had wanted to for so long. Hopeless and helpless, he strode towards you before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to him, his eyes rolling shut as relief swallowed him whole.
Lavender. Pitch black nights and starry skies. Comfort. Sleep.
You held him as you felt him inhale. “Namjoon,” you called, rubbing his back. “We have to go.”
“Just one more more minute. It's been nine years,” he whispered, feeling your body under his palms. “Why did you leave?”
“I needed to.” Still, it hadn't worked.
“How long will you stay here?” He asked, his eyes studying your face.
“I don't know yet. It depends on the plans. I don't have any so far.”
He stared into the void for a bit. “Aren't you going to work in the company?”
You shrugged. "Maybe.”
He felt you shiver. “We should go inside.”
You smiled timidly. “How's my make up?”
He took his kerchief from the pocket, painfully remembering how many times he had fixed your mascara for entirely different reasons. He dried your face, dabbing at it delicately. “Nice and pretty,” he said with a smile. “Let's go.”
You both knew you stood on precarious ground, and you also knew there was a pages-long list of reasons you should stay away from him; nevertheless, you had to admit you loved being back in his arms. Just like all his other women did.
Daydreaming about the fine man Kim Namjoon had become was turning into a daily activity you despised and slipped into on a daily basis.
Everytime you did think about him sweeping you off your feet, you calmed down by making a probably incomplete mental list of all the women he’d been with, even uttering their names out loud when the thoughts about him got you to blush and hyperventilate.
It was inevitable that through the summer you would meet again, during one of the several events your families expected you to attend.
The Kang Foundation event was just the first of many, your father and your mother unfortunately busy with your grandparents so that they had to send you alone, not even a chaperon at your side — which was already in itself a recipe named disaster, further magnified the moment Kim Namjoon appeared in deep blue slacks and a thin linen shirt with fine silver swirls embroidered all over it.
You doubted a man could look elegant and properly dressed for a soirée without a jacket on, still he managed to pull it off effortlessly.
The event was notoriously on the cocktail side rather than the formal one, mostly attended by the new generation of business people — and usually the most influential one. You eventually spotted some familiar faces here and there, with their warm smiles and cold composure. Eventually all faces turned towards you at some point or another. You simply arched your eyebrows and looked into the only eyes that held the kind of courage you wished you had.
Namjoon stood still, straight like a column, trying to be as strong as he needed you to be, watching you walk to the counter of the bar, ordering something as everyone stared at you, at your cute, puffy gingham dress, at the way your skin gleamed under the mild lights.
He could notice some gossipers already running to you; they would surely ask you about the time abroad — or more specifically, what had led you away, and what had brought you back. For a second, he considered rescuing you before realising you could perfectly handle it by yourself. Moreover, he reminded himself who you were.
She left you, Namjoon. Without telling you a word. Without texting. One moment she was there and three days later she was on a plane taking her eight time zones away. She didn’t answer your calls. She let you waste away. She left you alone. Hurt. With no one to count on. She broke your heart. Fuck her.
No. No fucking, he reminded himself.
Too late.
His brain was already half gone, careening into all those memories of lace and bliss, of laughs and moans and childish tickles. He was still attracted to you. He would always be, he realised.
Memories became more painful as he noticed you float around the room in your ethereal dress, stopping here and there to say hi to old classmates and potential future business associates. He felt a bit wilder when he noticed the little mother of pearl accessory in your hair.
And then his heart entirely exploded at the view of your necklace. The fine choker looked absolutely poised and refined around your throat, still he was far from not noticing the pendant right in the middle.
The tiny cherries dangled right over the hollow between your collarbones, and within a second he knew he wasn't yet entirely forgotten: he was too deep in your roots for you to spit him out and throw him away. No matter how hard you wanted to move on, there were so many pieces of him with you that you could never get rid of them all.
The gift had been a fickle, stupid one, yet that summer he had felt like he owed you. He wanted to give you way more expensive things. He wanted to confess and give you a ring, wait until you graduated from university to substitute it with an actual ring — an engagement one — and then with a thin golden band, a year or so later. A classy, chic ceremony with one hundred guests maximum. A honeymoon in Nicaragua. A pretty house with all the special kitchenware to make jams and cook all those strange dishes you loved so much.
The only thing he gave you was a cherry pendant, because it was your favourite fruit, he had told you — but actually, because even though you had gifted him your innocence, you would forever stay pure in his eyes. You would forever be the summer child he had fallen in love with, and the melancholic winter fairy he wished to keep warm when snow fell.
“Namjoon,” you called, approaching him, glad that you had someone you could actually count on.
“Honey,” he replied coolly, glad for the slight background noise while his heartbeat accelerated. You were still so painstakingly beautiful. He wanted to kneel and hug your legs and rest his face against your lap. He wanted to worship you but also bite you, kiss you, devour you until he was the only one who would have you.
“Would you lend me a minute?” you asked, pointing to the terrace.
He already started walking out without waiting for you to join.
“What brings you to this humble servant?” he asked half teasingly.
You chuckled. You had always appreciated his vocabulary and his skills in rhetoric. “Business.” You went straight to the bone, trying to keep yourself as far away from him as possible. Your whole brain was very aware of how dangerous this game could become.
He arched his eyebrows and stared into the skyline expanding all around the terrace. “Not a chance of emotions. They called you Princess, but dammit, you’re an ice queen, Honey.”
You clicked your tongue. “I’m just on an errand on my father’s account. He wanted to make sure he could keep counting on you for The Royal Garden. Just business, you know.”
Namjoon nodded, frowning before bringing a fist to his lips, pondering whether to attack or let it be. He chose the stinging solution. “You know, maybe your father is used to the inconsistent side of our generation. I’m steady, reliable. And when I’m going to drop out, I say it beforehand. I hand in a notice. I communicate. Negotiate. Do you know what that is, Honey?”
“In which language do you need me to define it,” you asked sarcastically, spitting venom right back at him as you rolled your eyes.
“Still impossible, I see. Some things never change,” he mused. He looked around as you leaned against the railing, right beside him. There was no one in the terrace, mostly due to the fact that nobody was interested in missing out on the alcohol or losing their seats or their chances at socialising.
“Do you negotiate with all the girls you fuck too?” you asked, refusing to let him go unpunished.
“Jealous?” he provoked you.
“Just wondering if you still lose it after two strokes.” Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.
“Maybe you should test your theory yourself,” he suggested, looking at you from the corner of his eye.
You chuckled. “I’m your typical easy prey. We can’t have that happening, Namjoon.”
His hand landed atop yours, his body turned towards you as his fingers traced a light line up, to your elbow. “Why not?” he mused. “Why not?” he asked again, his eyes locking with yours. His nose caught a whiff of your perfume. “For old times’ sake. Just to get it out of our system. I know you feel it just as I do.”
You closed your eyes. The featherlight touch of all those years ago had survived. You almost expected hard tugs and bruising grips from the man who was so used to taking everything he wanted; yet, he caressed you tenderly, like a devoted boy. “Joon. We’re older. Smarter.”
“Are we really?” His arm slid around your waist, gently inviting you closer. “We’ve seen just how many things haven’t changed at all. Just like the fact that you’re wearing my necklace tonight.”
You bit your lip. “I forgot it was yours. It was in my drawer after all.”
“Don’t act smart with me. You know what I mean,” he scolded you as he skilfully sandwiched your body between his own and the railing. “And even if you forgot about it, you’re still wearing The Princess.”
“I didn’t notice,” you mumbled. “I guess it’s just the dress.”
He snickered and dipped his face to the crook of your neck. “Is it really, Honey? Don’t lie to me,” he growled against the shell of your ear.
“The dress, I told you.”
Your brain was calling you an idiot. The wetness between your thighs was heartfeltly singing your praises. “Let’s shut your lying mouth.”
And like that his lips glued to yours needily.
He was all set on making you pay for it.
Make you pay for it all.
Hunger deep, visceral and unending devoured you both, dragging you under in an abyss of longing and desperation. You had missed it. You felt stupid but you had missed it, you had missed him and the feeling of his large palms around your waist, his chest underneath your fingers, his smooth, silk tongue claiming you endlessly with the laziest, most possessive strokes.
“Doesn't it feel good, Honey? Didn't you miss it?” he asked, almost making your thoughts emerge into reality. “I can still make you feel so good, uh?” He hid his face into the crook of your neck, body falling limp as he felt you engulf him further in your flowery embrace.
“You still turn me on so bad, Honey. You still smell so fucking divine,” he growled, grabbing your ass, making sure that not an inch of his need was lost on you. You could feel all of it. “Please, make me feel good, Honey. That's all I want.”
You wanted to hear him beg. But you also wanted to sate him and soothe him and finally cut this preternatural bond that held the two of you together.
“Say it. Say what you want. Beg for it. Make it worthy of my time. Worthy of the nine years we were apart. Of all the years to come. Make it grandiose. Magniloquent. Use those pretty words and that silver tongue of yours,” you seethed at him, his eyes already falling shut as your palm landed on his crotch, stroking him through his trousers. “I deserve to hear you beg, don't I?”
He pushed into you, pleasure getting too strong a hold of him. “Please. I'll beg. You smell so good, Honey. Just…” He groaned, feeling your hand grab his balls, massaging him just a tiny bit too aggressively.
In the meanwhile you tried looking around, just to make sure no one could catch the two of you in such an inappropriate situation; however, all that could be seen was a man standing in the corner of the terrace, looking at the skyline. You were barely visible behind him — only your legs appearing between his parted ones could give you away — and then again, you would simply pass as a couple making out or romancing in front of one of the most beautiful views of the city.
“Please. Just once, I wanna… I promise I'll make you feel so fine, Honey. Please,” Namjoon begged, so lovely you wished you could kiss his lips and comb his hair and have him in a bed to spoil him for hours, to properly get you out of his system, to fulfill all his wishes so you could finally move on and he could finally build his own life without the need to destroy himself.
Sometimes you thought he felt guilty for your departure, however you knew he was far from being that sensitive now. If he had been hurt, that was your fault. If he was a dickhead, that was entirely his fault.
Nevertheless, poor you, you were undoing the dickhead's belt, hand sliding into his trousers.
“Goodness, fuck, Honey, you're glorious, darling. Just there, babe. Keep doing that,” he murmured as he felt your fingers squeeze around him deliciously.
“Sorry, my hand is dry,” you murmured, sincerely apologetic, your other hand cupping his nape, stroking his hair, still clad in hairspray like all those nights you escaped formal meetings to get lost in each other's arms.
“Don't worry, Hon. It's okay, just keep going,” he purred, breathing heavily, completely uninterested in the fact that he would mess up his underwear and feel uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.
“Does it still feel good?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Better than the last time,” he managed to say before moaning softly. “Missed you so much,” he whispered, his hands diving underneath your dress, touching the bare back of your thighs. “I hate you so much for leaving. I hate you so fucking much, Honey.”
You knew how he felt. Because you felt just the same: you had missed him dearly, even though the man he was now was miles away from the one you used to love. And though you hated him and everything he had become, you still managed to feel the unsettling, vibrating feeling in your stomach and the calm relaxation he brought to your mind. He was the only one who could make you feel so calm, and though you felt a tornado of emotions all around you, you were in the serene eye of the storm. And there he was, standing right at your side, where he had always been before you tried to push him away.
As giggles erupted in the terrace, your quiet focus broke, the sudden presence of another couple making you stop. Mercifully, the music coming from the party was loud enough to cover Namjoon's sounds; however, the moment was now entirely ruined.
“Joon, we're not alone,” you warned him, trying to hide into him to escape prying eyes.
He exhaled, frustration clear in his voice. “They won't know.”
Still, you got out of your sinful predicament and tried to recompose yourself. “We should go inside.”
“Let's go to my place instead.”
You shook your head. “No, Joonie.”
He rolled his eyes. “We said to get out of each other's system. One more time! For old times' sake!” He hissed.
You shook your head, making sure that your hand wasn't actually dirty as you started thinking about the closest bathroom. “I think we should be smart enough to keep the distance.”
Namjoon shook his head. He had already begged once. It was more than enough. “Fine. Then, goodnight, I guess.”
“Goodnight, Namjoon.”
And just like that, you made your way to the restroom.
⫷ ⁛ ⫸
The rest of the evening was uneventful, your brain disconnected. You didn’t care anymore about the wetness between your legs, you didn’t care about the insecurity making its way into your reason, like a rattlesnake emitting a menacing buzz that killed all the noise in the room. You were lost and confused, standing in the outskirts of every social circle, glad for the half unknown faces surrounding you as a familiar linen shirt appeared at the opposite side of the room, almost as if you had summoned its bearer with your thoughts.
What you hadn’t summoned was the woman at his side, definitely too close to be a casual acquaintance, his hand too familiar with her large breasts, his lips too near to her ear while his eyes pinned yours in place, almost physically forcing you to watch as she giggled and grabbed his arm, turning to strategically slot it against the naked crevasse of her breasts.
You kept a stoic, indifferent expression, catching every detail, smiling at him as he smirked and arched an eyebrow cockily. You raised your champagne flûte at him in a congratulatory fashion before turning away.
They left a few minutes later.
You resisted twenty minutes before heading back home.
Entering your room, you stared at the carpet. On your earliest days abroad, your father had attempted to bring you back home by telling you about a drunken, sobbing Namjoon knocking at the door at three am, crawling upstairs to sleep in your room.
It was almost absurd to imagine his long legs balled up to fit underneath your covers.
You stared at your room some more, turning the light on and listening carefully to all the voices that called you.
A picture of you and him for your first public event. Another picture, this time of a baby you and a baby Namjoon sharing a bathtub, playing with rubber ducks, a pile of bubbles atop his head. He was playing magician while you lifted the ducks with your hands, as if he were making them levitate. Namjoon riding a bike while you classily sat in the back, your thighs placed across the small carrier instead of astride, your knees pressed together underneath the white sundress.
And then a way more intimate picture. It was half blurry, your body clad in frilly underwear and an oversized white shirt as you emerged from a pool at twilight.
You still remembered the smell of chlorine, how hot Namjoon’s chest had felt against your wet skin, the early June dawn way too cold for you to appreciate the five am dive.
It was the night after your last test. You had drunk champagne, eaten cake from wine glasses, stayed up all night doing stupid stuff, watching Friends, revisiting all your inside jokes, talking about the plans and dreams he was always too reluctant to share. And at dawn, when he feared the best night of his life was coming to an end, he had kissed you.
The picture had been taken a few seconds before the kiss, before he placed his phone down and walked to you and caught you in his arms and pressed his lips to yours.
It was all so far away now.
You turned your back to the picture, closed the lights and exited the room, shutting the door.
Pictures were all that was left of the Namjoon you had loved like the Moon.
Another stupid party.
More stupid people.
Exhausting strangers asking you about the future of your father’s firm. Whether you intended to stay or to go. If you already had valuable suitors.
You fixed your chiffon dress around you, making sure no one would step on the gown. You felt slightly naked under the sheer, sparkly organza of the loose jacket you wore to hide how revealing the top half of the dress was.
The garden party was overblown but pleasantly classy, as it had always been, women being futile and men being futile and vacuous.
Lanterns lit the way as you walked down the path to the main glasshouse the Kims had hired for the night. Your parents followed you, still you knew they would stay around for an hour or so, perform their social duties and head back home to their quiet.
You felt glad you recognised more people, your parents stopping by every now and then to greet some friends or business partners and reintroduce you to them; you rarely felt uncomfortable, especially under your father’s proud and loving gaze. You were almost glad to interact with the other guests a few times, especially with an art history teacher that regularly cooperated with the auction house that was part of the Kims’ business.
It was easy to stay distracted as long as your parents acted as gatekeepers; you felt safe when your dad courteously dismissed inappropriate, rude allusions and assumptions, and when he managed to serve eluding, vague replies that kept you just out of reach.
Your parents managed to extend their stay by half an hour, just enough to greet everyone, make small talk, and most importantly meet the hosts.
There stood your most recent nightmare.
Your smile to him was more a baring of teeth, a warning that your claws were out and all your weapons were on you.
“Hello.”
You rolled your eyes and went on, back straight and shoulders rolled back.
You were officially ready for a war.
You didn’t quite know what had furtherly set your ire aflame towards him; nevertheless, your hatred towards Namjoon had been renowned and strengthened.
Your eyes turned to his mother, your expression to her just as sweet as it had been sour to her eldest son.
“Hello, Princess!” She said, looking at you affectionately as you gave a small bow. “I can’t believe our most beautiful flower is walking among us tonight.”
You blushed and averted your gaze. “Your gaze is biased, auntie. How have you been doing?” you asked politely, engaging in a conversation that only felt uncomfortable when you were reminded of Namjoon standing close by, making similar small talk with your parents — especially your father.
“I hope Namjoon hasn’t been too hard on you. He told me the two of you talked,” she began, exhaling heavily once she felt her sentence had come to an end.
Curious how he had carefully selected which parts to tell her, ignoring the small detail about him asking you to tumble with him in his sheets and subsequently, promptly substituting you.
“Yes, we talked.”
She nodded, not entirely content as she noticed your neutral expression. “It will take time, but eventually you’ll manage to be close once more. It would make me immensely happy. Maybe he will find some peace with you again at his side.”
“I believe his tastes have changed.” Your reply was lapidary, your stare drifting away as you noticed an old friend. “Oh, I… I really have to go,” you said, not letting your godmother reply as you followed that half known face. “Tae?”
The man that looked at you was far from being your best friend’s little brother.
Beautiful.
You couldn’t find other words.
He looked so ineffably gracious and manly, so ethereal in his baby blue suit. “Princess!” he replied, greeting you with a hug and a smile. “Hi!” He squished you to him, completely oblivious to etiquette and all of that, your friendship too old and visceral to bother with skinship rules of any sort. “It’s been so long! You haven’t aged a day.”
“You’re all grown up instead,” you replied with a small laugh. You weren’t sure the opaqueness of his presence was due to maturity or some state of upsetting, but the way his gaze drifted away told you he was hiding something. “How are you doing?” You fixed your jacket around you and gave him a small, apprehensive smile. He was like the little brother you had never been given.
He tried to look happy, you noticed it, but the way his eyes fell to the lower left corner told you he was lying. “Oh, I’ve been really busy with my job lately. It keeps me occupied for sure,” he gave a mirthless smile. “What about you? I’ve heard about your dad releasing a new perfume after years. I can’t believe he went back to creating. Is the garden expanding?” he questioned, genuinely curious.
“No, not on my behalf at least,” you gave a gentle chuckle. “I heard you were given a new market. And I heard about your little acquisition recently!” You alluded to the news of him getting a quite prestigious flute.
“Oh,” his gaze turned sad. Infinitely sad. Misery fell upon him like a heavy cloak. “Yes. Yes. I was lucky.” You saw him shrink in size, his lithe body almost withering before you as his shoulders curved in.
“Is everything alright?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, your gaze apprehensive.
“Yes. I’m just… It was a stressful week, so I was hoping I could spend the weekend in a less straining environment.” His lips strained to a tired smile.
“If you want I can let them know you weren’t feeling well,” your hand caressed his hair, the styled look by now significantly dishevelled.
When his eyes opened, they were lined in silver. “Would you really?”
“Yes, Tae. You know you’re like a brother to me.”
He nodded and touched your shoulder. “Thank you.” His voice was too deep and too quiet to be heard.
“It’s okay. My number has changed but you know how to find me, right?”
He nodded, lips sucked in his mouth as he tried to hold himself together.
“Go,” you told him with a tender expression, watching him give a little bow before he strode away.
You stretched your neck when you felt a shadow hovering over you. The private niche in the back of the glasshouse was half in the dark. You were suddenly aware you wouldn’t get a way out tonight.
“Honey.”
You shook your head, psychologically squaring up before you turned. “Hey.”
“I saw my brother leave. What’s going on?”
You looked at him. “Surprisingly, you can’t recognise heartbreak when you see it. Keep an eye on him.”
You tried to slide through the small space between Namjoon’s frame and the green, vegetal walls encasing you in a way too small, way too intimate place.
There was no way anyone would stumble there. It was so blatantly made for lovers to be swayed: the niche made of concrete, the small bench, the plants concealing it from the main room. The darkness and the night did the rest.
“Honey,” he called again, this time grabbing your wrist.
“My parents will be looking for me.” Your reply was dry and cold.
“They have left. I told them I would have you sent home with our driver.”
You looked lost, your eyes wandering around, hoping to find a way out.
“Hey. What’s going on?” He noticed the alarm in your eyes.
You shook your head. “I’d like to be elsewhere.”
His breath stopped. He let go of your wrist. “Do you want to leave?”
He made it hard to want anything else but him, his touch, his reassuring closeness, the feeling of his breath running down your spine—
No. You had to be strong.
“I think I should go home.”
“Is it my fault?” His voice betrayed only a sliver of panic before he cleared it.
“No. Just me.”
He looked at the floor. “You'd leave me here, all alone?” When he looked up, he used the strongest weapon of his collection. His head still bent down, he looked at you from below his lashes, eyes glimmering and imploring.
Biting your tongue, you sat on the bench, getting a coy smile from him. He was still your favourite rollercoaster. “You should thank me.”
“Thank you, Honey,” he cooed, sitting at your side.
“Did you have fun with the girl from the party?” You looked away, sneakily announcing the matter of your warmongering mood.
“Which one?”
You rolled your eyes and stood up, his hands reaching your waist and pulling you to him. “I was joking, Honey, come on sweets.”
He wasn't joking and you knew it, still you let yourself fall on his lap, trying to triplicate your weight in an attempt to castrate him.
It worked only partially, causing him to hiss against your ear. “Were you jealous?”
You shook your head no, his hands still wrapped around your waist. “Of her? Why?” you acted indifferent.
“I thought about you all night,” he murmured in your ear. “Till dawn. And then some.”
“You know how it works, Joon.”
“How does it work for you, Honey?” he asked softly. “Is it still the same as before?”
You shook your head again, turning slightly so you sat across his thighs. “No. I would never let a man treat me the way you do with all those girls.”
He looked at the curve of your neck. He couldn't believe he had a thing for such a stupid detail. Maybe it was because of the sweet and soothing scent coming from it.
Even in the smell of damp soil and plants, he could feel it, bringing him to life. “You're not like the others. I would respect you.” I would love you, he thought, the cruelty of his situation making his brain halt. He couldn't think clearly.
“I think you lost the notion of respect a long time ago.” Your reply was curt, as polite as you could be at this point. “Do they all hope to redeem you? To save you?”
“They just come for what I have to offer.” His hands parted from your waist and started fidgeting with your jacket, toying with the hem.
“What can you offer?” Your eyes met his, sparks flying like two swords clashing together.
“Would you like a reminder?” His gaze was powerful and sultry. You knew you would never resist it in a million years.
You didn't expect him to kiss your shoulder as his eyes rolled shut. “I believe my memories are still pretty vivid.”
He bent forward, leaning his head closer to your neck. Your arm naturally snaked behind his shoulders, letting him close. He basked in the reprieve you were offering him; all the tension, the fear, the anger melted away. “You don’t know how much it soothes me,” he whispered, reaching closer to your chest, almost feeling like when he was allowed to rest his head on top of it, your skin naked, clammy and warm against his cheek. It felt like millennia ago. He took in your scent, which seemed to have a unique way to resonate with your personal perfume. “Promise me you’ll leave The Princess to me. At least that.”
You shook your head, looking around before doing — arguably — the most stupid thing in your life, twisting all the way till you could straddle his lap, his hands helping you shift your gown around you till he could run his fingertips on your naked thighs. “I’ll let you have me now if you give up on it,” you tried to bargain, looking at the top button of his shirt.
“What if I wanted both?” he replied, his hands undoing the buttons of your see-through jacket and prying it open so he could feel your chest bare against his face. Your heartbeat was wild and he grinned for it.
“You can’t always get what you want,” you hummed, smiling at him and slipping your fingers into the neckline of his shirt.
“But sometimes you do get what you need,” he paraphrased, hiking your skirt further up and looking into your eyes. “And I need you. Just once.”
You fought against your better judgement. As much as you needed a loyal man at your side, a steady and reliable partner, you also needed to have him one final time, once and for all, just to remind yourself he wasn’t at all extraordinary and you’d be able to find something way better with someone else. You could kill two birds with one stone: namely, Namjoon and the scent that would always take you back to him. “Give up The Princess.”
He took a pause.
And he nodded.
“Say it.”
Obediently, he stared into your eyes with ardent devotion. “I give up on The Princess.”
You smiled and started unbuckling his belt.
He tutted at it, without truly opposing. “Well, at least you could have brought me to a nice place, with a bed. You didn’t even offer me dinner.” His teasing lasted little as you licked your hand lewdly, sensually before bringing it between his legs, grabbing his half hard cock and pushing it out of his trousers and underwear.
“No need for dinner, you’ll get to feast on me, darling.”
For a second Namjoon genuinely thought he had you back. Grinning, he let his head fall back heavy against the concrete wall behind him, his hand held your waist, feeling you while he forced his eyes to open so he could take in your expression once you would lower yourself on him.
“Condom,” you ordered, harsh and unforgiving.
He looked at you like you had slapped him. “I always use it. It’s us. We can—”
“It’s not about you. This is about me. My safety. Give me a condom or get gone.”
He nodded and rummaged in the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn’t surprise you he had one on him.
You took the package from him, ripping it open easily and handing back the foil to him, quickly stretching the latex on him. “See, that didn’t kill you.”
He hummed and kissed your chest, nuzzling against it. There had been a time when he could enter you naked and feel you warm and tight and so welcoming around him. He tried to nuzzle closer for the intimacy and privilege he had once had but now no longer.
Meanwhile, you tried to use his dick to push your panties aside, twice as happy for the loose fit that kept you fresh on the humid summer night. You didn’t waste any time, getting his tip inside straight away.
“Careful, Honey,” he whined. “Stretch, sweetie.” Goodness, you were so eager, so needy and so determined. He felt like he was dreaming.
You were wet, drenched, incredibly, unexpectedly so. “Joonie,” you called, hoping to give him what he wanted once and for all.
“Oh, damn. Baby — God!” He grunted as you sunk on him to the base. “Honey, fuck. Yes.”
“My game still good?” you murmured with a chuckle, your hips beginning to twirl on him.
He nodded, bringing himself to open his eyes to study the vision of you riding him, eyes barely open, lower lip caught between your teeth, breasts moving gently in a barely-there bounce as your heavy breathing and the up-and-down motion started to mix. He stretched to touch his lips with yours. “Your game is fucking phenomenal, Honey. Always been,” he said before biting your lip himself, causing you to moan as he sucked it into his mouth.
As he grew increasingly busy with the movements, swirls and twirls and strokes mixing together, he tried to play his trick. “Stop this idiocy with The Princess.”
You kept going for a couple seconds before processing his request. “No.”
He gripped your ass punishingly. “It's a dumb move. Fucking stupid.”
You tutted and pushed him away from your face, depriving him of your lips and kisses. “The Princess is dead.”
He fought you, strong enough to bring you to him, shushing you by swallowing your lips, suddenly completely possessed by his as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.
You let him.
Even if you wanted to shut him out, he had a passepartout to your body. It would always unlock for him.
“She is very much alive,” he murmured, pressing his mouth below your ear. “She's here. Eager to be fucked. Like all those years ago.”
You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, jacket shoved aside, his crisp white shirt creasing under your grasp. “You should be thanking me.”
Namjoon felt your sweet scent linger on your neck and float all the way to his nostrils.
He pushed into you from below, feeling the smooth ease of slipping inside you. “I'd thank you if you stayed quiet, you're going to get us caught.”
“It's not like you're super quiet,” you replied, grabbing his face and pulling him away. Still he resisted you, stubbornly diving back for your neck.
He couldn't stay quiet. He couldn’t give a damn about getting caught: you were the only woman he wanted to be in a scandal with, letting everyone associate you to him, your names tied together for anyone who read those dumb magazines. If he couldn’t get you to have his surname, he might as well claim you through gossip and rumors.
But right now his priority was getting you to talk, even if you spit poison all over him, he would make you talk, maybe even snicker, maybe even laugh.
He missed your laughter.
He missed the sound hitting the crook of his shoulder, the small giggles, the light breathlessness that followed. He missed it like air, like redemption, like peace.
He was a man starved.
So he banqueted.
His hands gripped your ass tighter while his mouth pressed against your neck to try and shut himself up while his thrusts became faster, needier, almost as if he were trying to hide into you.
You were a stupid woman.
You held him closer, offering him your sweet embrace as bliss finally caught him and swept him away, your mind too caught up in cruel reality to follow him.
All you could do was hold him to you and wait for him to be done. Soon hostility and regret would come, so you simply hugged him tighter and waited for the end.
His hair was covered in hairspray, holding it perfectly still, like the night of your mother's gala all those years ago, running to the boat house, giggling in the dark, hiding under the sheets as he kissed your breasts and murmured name of pretentious paintings on his way down.
You were far from heaven still.
Maybe farther now.
Namjoon allowed himself to press just one kiss below your jaw, murmuring a 'thank you' before he slipped out. You un-straddled him and allowed him some space to slip off the condom, tie it up and wrap it haphazardly in its foil.
“The Princess is all yours to kill.” He tucked himself back and tried to muster some nerves. “I'll go first,” he whispered before recomposing the perfect gentleman image, walking to a small basin nearby and opening the tap, washing his hands. He didn’t even turn before he spoke. “Can't you say something?”
“Just go.”
He averted his gaze, looking at his hands as he dried them. They were so dirty.
He allowed himself to stare at you just one more time before leaving the alcove.
Once he was far enough, you allowed yourself to cry. Only for a minute, you told yourself.
You cried for the boy you had loved, and that you probably loved still, hiding far away from the man he had become. You cried for the princess, for the home you had dreamed with him, for all the years together, for all the stupid plans and expectations.
Lastly, you cried for yourself, for what you had hoped to become at his side.
Ready to nurse your tears induced headache — or rather, outdo it — you headed for the bar, hoping to emanate as many hostile vibes as you could so no one would approach you.
You didn’t count on hostility made person to approach you with a glass in hand.
“You look like you could use a drink,” the quiet distinguished rascal spoke.
You smiled. “I hope you spiced it and are gonna drag me home afterwards.”
The woman grinned like the devil. “I wouldn't need to spice it, Princess.”
“Right back at you, Candy. Looks like you’re already deep in the party,” you assumed out loud, looking at her flushed cheeks and nose.
“A girl gotta have distractions. And in terms of proportions your distraction needs to be humongous. Maybe thrice the usual,” she said before looking right behind you.
“Am I gonna see the lame beginning of a threesome right behind me?” You asked, downing the glass in a go before looking over your shoulder.
You couldn’t even be surprised by what you saw: Namjoon, looking like a god, freshly fucked, with that laid back, sexy allure all over him. You couldn’t blame the three girls around him, hoping to get his undivided attention, trying to touch him, or to be touched as he gracefully gesticulated.
“Fuck, you could have said they were three. Foursome it is,” you sneered before cocking an eyebrow. You would never even remotely consider such a thing.
“I said: thrice the usual. I’m half drunk, I can’t maths, Princess,” Candy threw an arm around your shoulders. “Choose your weapon.”
“Whisky?”
She nodded. “If it were me I’d pick the brunette,” she commented staring behind you. “She looks subby as fuck.”
You were glad for the laugh she got out of you.
“Which one would you go for?”
You gave a look at the three of them. “The small one with blonde hair. She seems sweet. Now please, let’s get rip roaring drunk.”
Candy bowed deeply, almost losing balance as you caught her, making the two of you explode in giggles. “My pleasure.”
Turning around, you smiled at Namjoon and waved.
From tonight, he was just a memory.
And from tomorrow, The Princess will be free to disappear.
From the moment Namjoon’s eyes met yours, he immediately recognised fear, insecurity and worry.
“Honey.”
He hadn’t seen you for a whole month. One entire month.
The day after your hookup at his party, he had sent a formal email to your father, and to you as a carbon copy, where he formally gave up on his claims on The Princess, confirming that he indeed was okay with the production to be discontinued without it impacting on his participation in The Royal Garden.
Namjoon had managed to resist for four whole days with unscented sheets before he sent his assistant, his driver and his cleaning lady to raid the city for any single item scented as The Princess. Maybe he could accumulate just enough for the collection to last a few years. Maybe he could convince your father to keep making at least the fabric wash just for his personal use.
Nevertheless, he was desperate. And as more and more time passed since your last encounter, the more he felt hollow. After that night, for some reason or another, he could no longer feel the need to get lost in other girls.
He wanted to be alone, because that night reminded him exactly why he drank himself to a stupor on Jackson’s birthday the first time he had sex with someone who wasn’t you. And even that night in the greenhouse, it was far from what it used to be. He had got his pleasure and got rid of you. It was nothing but a transaction — he didn’t owe you love or bliss or feelings.
The Princess for one last chance at a temporary heaven.
And now he knew that it had been the last chance indeed.
You were afraid of him and in a few seconds he perfectly understood why.
A hand appeared at your waist, holding it with surety and affection.
“Hi there, I’m Christopher, nice to meet you!”
Namjoon’s eyes scanned the stranger quickly.
He wasn’t a stranger at all. He was simply the heir to one of Seoul’s most influential plastic surgery clinics. Namjoon knew him because after all, most of the girls he had dated had somehow a connection with that place — or at least, the wealthiest ones.
The man was tall, muscular and disturbingly kind. He had a pretty face.
A handsome face.
Dimpled one.
Maybe one of the prestigious doctors there had worked their magic on him too.
Namjoon kept studying him as he introduced himself, Christopher being incredibly polite right from the start even though Namjoon acted laconic and stern. The young man fit you. He was genuinely courteous to you — though a bit handsy.
Namjoon thought that he would have been the very same had he been in the other’s shoes. He also thought that he could never compete with Christopher’s clean face and genuine ways. He looked so handsome and angelic.
Namjoon was anything but.
For the whole night, he kept interactions to a minimum, too busy observing the two of you. He seemed to reassure you just enough for you to be comfortable talking to strangers as his arm stayed around your shoulders, or draped respectfully around your waist, your pinkies locked together when you stood a bit more apart.
Namjoon wanted to act as your best friend. He really wanted to. He wanted to support you dating a good person who could assure you a solid future, a house, a family, who would spoil you and grant you financial safety. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be your best friend.
All he could see was how handsome the almost-stranger looked, how bright his smiles for you were, how polished he seemed — and how ugly and rotten Namjoon felt.
No wonder you hadn’t come back for him. You had something better — someone better.
He tortured himself with questions like how long the two of you had been dating, how much intimacy you had allowed him, if you had kissed yet, if he’d tested the smoothness of your hair, the warmth and tenderness of your skin… of your flesh.
As soon as Christopher was busy with one of his friends you asked to be excused. You really needed to talk to Namjoon and clear a few things up.
You actually just wanted his approval.
You found it absurd that after all these years you still needed his opinion before taking a decision.
You found him lingering by the balcony and quickly asked him to accompany you outside; you wanted away from the crowd, where you could talk without having to shout to each other.
“Hey,” you began, leaning against the wall.
“Hi.” His reply was tense.
“How is it going?”
He shrugged. “Not my ideal type of night.”
You could only imagine what his ideal night looked like. You thought of three girls, a jacuzzi and a light buzz.
He actually meant curled up on a sofa with you, a cosy, handmade woolen blanket thrown over the two of you, a fire crackling quietly from the fireplace while he read a book and you napped on top of him.
“What do you think of Chris?” you asked, no longer capable of holding back your insecurities.
“Nice dude. Polite. Good looking. Sweet. Rich. He has it all, hasn’t he?” His reply would be almost reassuring if it weren’t for the vitriolic undertone.
“Namjoon.”
He inhaled and leaned against the wall right at your side. “Sorry. He really seems like an excellent person. And he looks very considerate.” He looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not surprised.” His jaw clenched. “What happened to us, Honey? Once you would have told me the second he texted you.”
The back of his hand brushed against yours. “I know. I wished we could go back sometimes, but there’s just so much distance from then to now. And from what we used to be to what we are. We’re not safe for each other, Joonie.”
He nodded. “Has he kissed you yet?”
You hesitated, “Mh.”
Again, he nodded. “Is he a good kisser?”
“A decent one. There’s room for improvement.”
“You deserved to be kissed excellently.” Namjoon looked in the distance. “You’re an excellent kisser. I’m sure you’ll train him well.”
You chuckled. “I had a good teacher. Plenty of practice.”
His laughter mixed with yours. “Plenty of plenties.”
“In another life—”
Namjoon had to interrupt you. He couldn’t stand the thought of that sentence being completed. “So, did you interrupt The Princess already?” he asked, babbling out the first thing he could come up with.
You inhaled and leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt so natural you could cry. “I know you’ve been hoarding a small fortune in The Princess’ products.”
Namjoon snickered. “Who told you?”
“Your mom told my mom. Who told me.”
“They still want us to be friends.” Namjoon moved his arm so that he could cup the back of your head.
You closed your eyes and felt how familiar it still was to you. Nothing could ever feel like that, no matter how right and proper Christopher felt — with him everything sounded and looked clumsy, uncomfortable, a bit made up. You already knew in whose arms you were meant to be. You stopped yourself from imagining.
“Don’t you have anyone, Joonie? What about the guys? Candy? Tae? How haven’t you found a girl yet? You’re such an excellent candidate! Sure, you might have a bit of history going around, but hey, that adds to the charms.” You hid your face from him. You knew he could read you so easily and he wouldn’t dance around your lie.
If I’m an excellent candidate, then why haven’t you picked me? Namjoon ignored the thought. “You know how it works. I was raised on filet mignon and now I can only see breadsticks around me. They don’t sate me, Honey. They never do.”
“You just need to get used to the taste.”
He inhaled, holding in his breath, his emotions, every confession and every tear. “I don’t want to.”
You didn’t let him dwell on the topic. “You can’t give me what I need. We know it. And I can’t give you what you need, either.”
“What is it that you want?” He chuckled. “You’ve never known it. For your entire life, you’ve never known.”
“Marriage. Family. Children. A dog.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “The same girl who left everything for education and ambition wants to be a lowly housewife? Come on, Honey…”
You bit your lip, feeling ready to spit at him. How dare he speak about what you wanted when he’d literally set it all on fire till it was nothing but ash? You genuinely wanted those things. Once upon a time you had wanted them with him.
Fuck it, you still wanted them with him.
You loved him. You love him.
Actually, you loved the boy he used to be.
“I need to go.” Your reply was icy. “And there’s nothing lowly in being a housewife.”
“Honey,” he begged, regretting his words immediately.
“No.”
“Please,” he whispered, and you hated him, you hated him with everything you could find within you.
Yet your heart could never come to even remotely dislike him. Your mind despised him twice more just because of that.
Namjoon saw a tall man stand in the doorway.
And though all his wits told him not to, he did the most hurtful thing he could muster.
With his hand on your cheek, he bent down. His lips met yours.
Your first reaction was to shove your fists as hard as you could against his chest.
It wasn’t the first time.
It was just an old anthem. A dance the two of you could dance with your eyes closed and your hands tied in a burning room.
You fought. You made up. You kissed, you tumbled back into each other, you tangled up in each other’s arms and legs and hair and it was always so familiar and so passionate and so loving, no matter how much anger you put into it, bites becoming a way to claim rather than a way to hurt, hands gripping flesh, holding on, praying for the tide to wash out, away, to finally be unpossessed, only to come back for more because once you experience the fullness everything else feels a ridicule, desperate imitation, a surrogate that will never suffice or sate.
Your legs grew wobbly.
Namjoon held you.
He moaned.
You swallowed his sounds.
He gripped your waist.
You tugged at his hair.
You whimpered.
He growled.
It was like that and it would always be like that. There was no other way it could ever be.
“Sweetheart.”
There were ways it needed to become.
With a deep inhale, you parted from Namjoon and turned.
There, Christopher. So handsome. So confused.
So hurt.
“I— I think we should go.” Christopher’s voice was frayed.
“I think you can. Honey can choose for herself.”
“Let’s go,” you replied immediately, leaving Namjoon behind as Christopher reached for your hand.
Namjoon observed the scene. He felt his jaw flex and his eyes well up. He let just one tear roll down before drying it up.
The way he needed to hear you say you loved him — that you still love him…
However, that was the Prince, while he would forever be just a knight, standing on the sideline, reaching for the Moon.
There wasn’t much you could recall from your discussion with Christopher, still it was all you could think about as you headed to your next — and hopefully final — event that entailed Namjoon’s presence.
The yacht already felt disturbing from afar, even more disturbing than the paparazzi that had snapped pictures of you at the dock.
You rolled your shoulders, feeling like a boxer squaring up for the ring. Just one final stunt, one final trick and you’ll be done with this forever.
Moving from the taxi boat to the yacht was a complicated ordeal, finding yourself grateful that you hadn’t fallen into the cold, deep blue sea.
The music was already disturbing, and it got worse once it started mixing with the chit chat.
You had arrived late, and you planned on leaving early, your focus on finding Jungkook, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging out with Swan and Candy, faking a headache and finally up and leaving.
Of course your mission was infinitely more complicated.
Hyuna started chatting you up about your latest rumor with Namjoon, apparently forgetful of all her past foul plays, describing in detail what people had seen during the latest party, and the rumors about the soirée at the botanic garden. Next, she had the brilliant idea of asking about The Princess, what you intended to do with the family business and if Christopher was once again free territory.
Your patience already running thin, you stumbled upon the last conversation you hoped to ever testify.
“You finally got your hands on her, uh?”
“Of course. I want it, I got it. Fuck, she’s so needy. She never had enough!”
The laugh that followed made blood curdle in your veins.
“She got used to getting it nice and dirty, no wonder the pretty prince couldn’t do her right. No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.” Namjoon’s cruel, acidic chuckle made you nauseous.
“You ruined another one, mate!”
You inhaled. You finally felt that bond snap as his words reached your ears. “Yeah, maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him! Anyway, time to move on, maybe I’ll find the next one tonight. Or the next four, who knows!” His fake laugh didn’t make you feel anything. You felt too drained, like standing in the eye of a storm.
Without even knowing what you were doing, you walked to him, cold and rigid as a statue as you stood right before his eyes.
You wanted to be violent. You wanted to be aggressive because, after all, anger and violence and hate felt better than the quiet, the nothingness that overwhelmed you.
"I'm not your toy, you fucking bastard,” you whispered before you poured your drink down the front of his trousers.
From the look in his eyes, you could tell he was half hazy already. You felt disgusted by him, so deeply, so disturbingly. "I’m disappointed in you. I had one good thing and you took it from me, like you always do. That’s why you are despicable and unlovable. Enjoy your disgusting, lowly, miserable life."
You turned, placed your glass on a tray and made your way to the back of the yacht, your escape interrupted by the lack of a taxi.
The only way you could save yourself was finding a private room and praying the heavens you could hide there possibly forever.
Just as you tried to close the door, Namjoon tried to get in. “Honey?”
You shook your head. This time you had had enough. For real. “Get the fuck out.”
“Honey. Let me in,” he growled, grabbing the door and shoving it open, locking it behind him once he was in.
“Who the hell do you think you are? ‘No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.’ You dumb fucker!” you growled, hurt, angry, shoving him away by his shoulders. Finally, you were exploding. “You asshole! Acting so fucking patronising. ‘Maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him.’ You stupid, patronising, mysoginistic pig. You think it’s cool? To use women—”
“I have never used anyone. I’ve always been clear. No strings attached. They knew what they wanted—”
“You said you would respect me!” Tears started falling, Namjoon half furious and half terrified.
“Didn’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. ‘She’s so needy. She never had enough.’ You said it, Namjoon. Your words. Are those respectful?” you screeched, turning away from him. “I’m not your sex toy, you prick. I’m a human being—”
“Was I a human being to you when you fucked me to get the greenlight on cancelling The Princess? Didn’t you think about my emotions? No. You never do.”
“I was building something good, Namjoon. I was finally getting away from you and you ruined everything!”
“I ruined it? Me? No, no no, Honey. You did it, with your own hands. You came to me, time after time. And now you don’t need me anymore and you throw me away. How typical!” He pressed a fingertip against your chest. “You? You like calling the shots. You like saying yes and no and you like saying it’s someone else’s fault when you don’t like the consequences. And right now you’re saying it’s my fault you can’t be in a relationship when it’s you being fucked up.”
You bit your lip. You had always known there needed to be something wrong with you as you refused to love anyone but him. You hated him for stabbing you right in your weakest spot. “Oh, but you’re not fucked up? Mister ‘I sleep with girl after girl after girl because I can’t keep it in my pants’. You’re disgusting.”
“And you keep coming back to this disgusting man.” His words were dead quiet. “At least I know devotion. Faith. Trust. Love. I don’t abandon the people who love me.”
You looked into his eyes. There was so much pain. You didn’t let it get to you. “You have no right to pull the love card.”
“I do, you stupid, pathetic, self-righteous bitch, I’ve loved you since I was twelve. I didn’t know life without you. We’ve been together since the day you were born. You were my peace, the only one who could calm me down and listen to me. You were the only one I wanted to be loved by. I lived to make you smile. I bent over backwards to get your attention.” He swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing as tears started streaming down his face. “You were my sun. And my moon. And all of the stars. I’m so helplessly in love with you and it doesn't stop. It never stops.”
You leaned against the closest surface you could find, hoping to find something to keep you on your feet. He was just using words to manipulate you. There was no way he was true. “You don’t love people and say that shit.”
“You do once they stab you in the back. Wanna know how it went since you’re too dumb to see it? I loved you that summer, when I told you I had never slept with anyone because I wanted to do it with you. And I loved you when you fucked me and used me while I made love to you. I loved you when I first kissed you, I loved you when we ran from your mother’s gala and made love in the boathouse and when I kissed you by the lake at dawn, watching the sunrise. I loved you when you left your lakehouse out of the blue and I still loved you when you changed your phone number after you left the country. I loved you when I was drunk at three am, knocking at your parents’ door to sleep in your room, weeping like a baby curled up in your bed. I loved you every day after that, for nine years, with your perfume on my sheets because I missed you, I missed my home, my partner, my confidante, my lover, my peace, my biggest, wildest dream. I had no one but you to count on. You were my strength, Honey. You were the only one I could be weak and young and afraid with. You were my guardian. You were all I had. And you left me alone. And then you came back and fuck it! Fuck me! I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to break you like you had broken me. But I forgot I can’t hurt you because you’re a cold-hearted bitch who doesn’t give a shit about me!” He caught his breath after the long tirade.
“This doesn’t excuse the insulting things you said. The things you've done to me.”
Namjoon sneered. “You know I was angry. I am angry. And I hated seeing you with him. My whole soul hated it.”
You shook your head. “Don’t use that excuse on me. It’s a pattern. Wanna know my side of the story? The night before I left, at the boathouse — the one where you say you made love to me, I found you talking shit. Just like two minutes ago. You said I was just a boring ride. You told her you only did me because you wanted to keep the connection between our families.” Your world crumbled. “That night. At the boat house. You— You told her— You said I was a means to an end. That—” a sob left your lips, “—that you couldn’t wait for university to find someone less boring and plain and inexperienced and… and needy. You called ten thousand times after I left. I picked up, one night, only one time. And it was her. She sent me pictures of the two of you. Pictures of her, in your bed, you at her side.”
Namjoon didn't know what you were talking about. And then, the conversation dashed through his brain. “Honey. I was talking to Hyuna. She wanted to use you. To hurt you. She was going to hurt you so she could hurt me for not liking her back.”
“She was kissing you. I saw you!” you murmured through the tears. You didn’t even know when you had started crying.
“She kissed me and I was confused and I pushed her away,” he explained, the events so clear in his mind. He had felt so panicked that night. He only wanted to keep you safe.
“You slept with her, after I was gone.” You looked away. “She called me from your phone to say so. She sent me pictures. That's why I changed my number.”
Namjoon felt ice freeze in his veins.
“That's why you changed it?”
“I needed to stop letting you hurt me.” He seemed shattered. The last nine years of his life were suddenly being rewritten from another perspective.
“But you picked up the call that night?” He rubbed his face with his hands. Why, why that one time.
“I had realised I had to have misheard or misinterpreted the situation. Her voice from your phone told me just how much I hadn't. Maybe, after all, you liked her more. Maybe you wanted her.”
“I was drunk off my ass.” He confessed. “Because every time I got drunk, I could pretend they were you.”
You shook your head. “I cannot trust you anymore.”
Namjoon looked at your face. All of a sudden, he knew this fight wouldn't be like the previous one. There would be no return from this.
“All those lowly housewife dreams were exactly what I wanted with you. A husband, kids, a pretty house, a dog. It went all to hell! Fuck me, regretting not giving you a chance to talk it through, discuss, clarify. There’s nothing to clarify.”
Namjoon had frozen a couple sentences before. “A husband?”
You nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying you. Living at the lakehouse. Having three kids and a golden retriever. And love you, only you, till I would be just dust in the wind.” You grimaced and shook your head, drying your face.
Namjoon inhaled painfully, his body feeling too heavy. He let go and slowly sat on the floor. He felt too unstable to stand. “That sounds beautiful, Honey. That sounds like a dream, love.”
You nodded, looking away, the first tear streaming down your face. You let that dream out, once and for all. It was time for it to fade. “I’ve dreamed about us for so long. And I went away because I was hurt and all the time I thought… I thought it was my fault. That I should have given you a chance to explain.”
Namjoon rose to his knees, placing his hand on your waist. His heart felt like a field of poppies. “You were hurt, love,” he murmured, stretching to touch your face before you kneeled in front of him. He didn’t care how much he’d suffered: he could have you back. Finally the equation had been solved. Your paths had crossed again, and he could hold you.
He could hold you.
How could he make you believe him? “That night was a drunken mistake. And earlier, I don’t know why I said those things. I was sour. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry, Honey. But please, give me a chance. Just one. I love you, Honey. I love you so much that it hurts me. We can start from here. We can heal. Together.”
You knew he was an instinctive man, who spoke before thinking, hurt, damaged. But you also reminded yourself that it wasn’t your duty to fix him. The hope in his voice broke you, the look in his eyes, of trust, and love and admiration, of vulnerability and deep, bottomless faith was your undoing. One part of your brain reminded you that if he had started down that spiral of debauchery, it was all because of your silent, mysterious departure, and you refusing a confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Joonie. I apologise to you.” You said through gasps.
His voice spoke through a smile. “We’re here now. We can—”
You shook your head. “I cannot. I— You hurt me, Namjoon. And I don’t mean back then. I mean in the last three months. You’ve become a man I despise. Wholeheartedly. I desperately clung to the parts that made me hope for the boy I had known so deeply and fondly. But I have no hope left. You have disrespected me, used me, insulted me and acted against my well-being.”
Namjoon felt very cold. And then very hot, all at once. He shook his head. “Honey.”
“I kept coming back for you. And I used you too.” You tried to take a breath. “I recognise I abandoned you and hurt you, but that does not allow you to let yourself rot away. Nor speak of me in those terms. No amount of anger could ever excuse the hateful words you spoke against me.”
Namjoon started shaking his head, grabbing your hands, bringing them to his face. “I apologise with my whole heart, Honey. You know I’m not what you saw. I was just acting up, please. Please, stay at my side. Help me, please. I’ll be the man you’ve always dreamed me to be, Honey. I promise, love. I will change.”
“We’re a curse to each other. You will not change and we both know it.” You let yourself touch his face. He was crumbling, slowly.
He shook his head harder. “With you at my side I can do anything. Please.”
“I promise I will not come back this time. I will let you heal.”
He slammed his fist against the floor. “No. No, Honey. No.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt as he felt like he was suffocating. “Please stay. Haunt me. Please.” He bowed with his head to the floor, his hands on your knees. “Please,” he whispered tentatively around an earthquake of sobs.
“I know I’ll have to drink myself to a stupor to stomach this decision but I need to fix myself and you need to fix yourself, Joonie. We cannot keep playing this game of who hurts the other the most.”
“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered. “I need your help.”
From knowing how proud he was, you realised how desperate he must have been to ask for your assistance.
You stood up, only for him to wrap his arms around your lap, placing his head on your belly. “I will love you. Forever. And I’ll love only you.”
You caressed his hair. “You will find someone who can accept you for the man you are.”
“I still love you,” he spoke through wobbly lips. “I still want you.”
You took a long breath and detached yourself from him, exiting the room without looking back. Walking down the corridor, you snatched a bottle before entering a semi-dark room. You were ready to settle yourself before noticing a woman was already sitting on the loveseat in the corner, a small lamp lighting her glass. “Uhm, hi there? Are you okay?”
The woman vaguely startled, her eyes focusing on you. “Oh, hello. Yes, I’m fine, just taking a moment to myself. It’s a bit chaotic outside, don’t you think?” She looked confused.
You felt like she was calm and aloof enough that you could at least exchange a few words. Plus, being in front of a stranger somehow forced you to maintain some sort of composure. “Oh, I agree. Would you like to be on your own?” Maybe she wanted to be left alone?
The stranger’s eyes widened before she shook her head briskly. “No, that’s alright! I wouldn’t mind some company.”
You forced your lips into a tight line that could vaguely resemble a smile before taking a few steps closer to the sofa. Once you sat beside her, you were close enough to notice her facial features.“You’re Seokjin’s, aren’t you?”
The young woman tensed. “Depends what you mean by Seokjin’s, honestly.”
You grimaced as you realised how rude it must have sounded. Same old you, after all. “Sorry, I was being abrupt. I mean, I’ve seen you with Seokjin a few times? I recall?” You huffed out a stressed breath. “I might be mistaken, sorry.”
The woman seemed to read your neurotic laugh as a sign of stress and immediately looked apologetic. “Oh, there’s no need to apologise! Yes, I came with Seokjin tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours by now. We caused quite the stir coming together.”
You bit your lower lip and shook your head. “I haven’t been in the rumor mill for a while. I hate those. Ran away from those a long time ago.” You eyed your bottle meditatively, noticing a set of glasses on the small table beside you, but avoiding them entirely. You simply decided to take a sip, scrunching your face at the burn of the alcohol — you’d never been a drinker. “Just people running their mouth ‘cause they’re too selfish to care about someone else’s wellbeing.”
The woman smirked and lifted her glass. “True that. Unfortunately, when you come to a highly publicised event such as tonight on the arm of your ex boss, people talk, point fingers, and stare at you for ‘seducing’ your boss. Absolute bullshit, in my opinion. Sorry, I tend to swear more when I drink.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking vaguely ashamed before you waved your hand.
“As you said, no need to apologise. My best friend swears a lot,” for a second you wondered when exactly Candy had replaced Namjoon under the ‘best friend’ label. Your brain was too hazy to think. “People should just mind their own business. Plus, from the way he looks at you, I don’t think there was much seducing to do. One look at him and any smart individual could tell he adores you.”
The other snorted. “Smart, you say? So you’re saying over three-quarters of the people on this oversized boat are dumb, huh?”
You grinned before you could voice your idea. “Money can’t buy neurons, apparently. I hate these places. So many dumb— no, not dumb. Just… Ignorant. They ignore everyone who doesn’t fit their stupid, fickle standards. And they’re up for conversation only when they want something out of you. But I’m digressing here,” you let the sentence fall before letting a small laugh out. Apparently, one third of the bottle had been enough to pick up your spirits.
Your friend — friend? — joined you in your chuckle. “They think money speaks for itself. Which, it does, but oftentimes it’s the opposite of what you think. Nothing says ‘I’m a right pompous git’ like fat wads of cash sealed up in the secret vault behind the not-so-subtle gilded book on great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s shelf. Speaking of money, that’s a very pretty outfit you have on. Don’t get me wrong — I’m greatly enjoying your company — but shouldn’t you be schmoozing? I know that’s what Seokjin came here to do.”
You frowned and took another sip. The heat in your veins felt welcome “Schmoozing,” irony possessed you. “I think I had my fill of social interactions until my funeral.” You paused for a second. “I guess I’m not good at that. I’ve never been, truly.”
The woman seemed happy to be given a chance to rant. “Now isn’t that a shame? I sincerely hope for your sake that you have someone on your side who won’t let anyone hurt you. If you’ll allow me to be somewhat candid, many people of your social status live to knock down anyone they deem unworthy of their stupid, fickle standards, as you so aptly put. You’re a rare gem, and it’s refreshing to know that there are still people in the upper echelons of society that have their head screwed on correctly.” She looked so elegant as she sipped her drink, nothing like your messy sucking at the bottle. She looked classier than people with a thousand times her money.
Suddenly, you trusted this unnamed woman. You trusted her enough to reveal fears you’d never voiced out loud. “Most people would say I’m the odd one out. That’s why I’m on the solitary side, I guess.” That was enough for now. “Anyway, what do you think, should we stay here until the ruckus dies down?”
The woman — did Seokjin call her Beauty in the group chat? — swirled her glass — wow, so classy, you thought, amused — and peered at the contents. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Seems like I’m fresh out of alcohol, though. Shame.” She pursed her lips in disappointment. “I need a lot more if I’m to stay on this oversized flotation device without going crazy.”
You laughed very loudly, a few snorts peppered in between, signalling that you were nearing hurricane drunk. “Lemme check.” Standing seemed a very complicated task, becoming even more challenging as you looked around the room. “Homo Expensivus keeps their stashes in selected locations, usually to optimise the obstentation of wealth… which leads me… Right… Here!” You sort of stumbled through the room, only to find a see-through cabinet where some bottles were kept. “I won!” you called with a giggle before crashing back on the sofa, gin bottle in hand.
“Great find! Princess, was it?”
You lifted your head and looked at her funny, startled by the nickname. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to call me, yes,” your chuckle was gleeful, but awfully short lived as your voice slipped into sarcasm. “Did Seokjin tell you everything about how I ran away and broke his best friend’s heart?”
Beauty seemed unbothered as she calmly kept pouring a generous amount of gin into her glass. “Not in that many words, but yes, he did hint at it. Of course, if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine by me, too. Something tells me you didn’t sniff out which room I was in to talk to a near stranger,” she spoke, half sarcastically half drily, holding up the bottle to the light to peer at its contents, “so you must have been looking to escape from something or someone.”
You nodded. It seemed easy to explain to her. “Well, this boat is a ticking time bomb for past-me. Lots of people who’d like to see me out of the picture. And I guess his friends — or ex-friends? I don’t think he’s keeping up with them — would all love to have a very heartfelt talk about how I should have thought about him before I flew out of the country like a criminal, maybe drop a hint, or prepare him or them for the hurricane I would cause.” You huffed out, taking another sip. Halfway. “And now I broke his heart again — not that he didn’t deserve it because who basically calls their soulmate a kinky slut in front of everyone? Come on!” You accidentally swung your bottle very dangerously as you gesticulated, causing Beauty to lean away and hug her gin bottle to protect it.
“Well,” the other replied, placing the bottle firmly on the ground next to the sofa, out of danger, “you talked a lot about what his friends think. Which, I assure you, Seokjin does not blame you for, but what do your friends think? I’m sure Candy would have a few choice words for you if she heard you talking down about yourself, wouldn’t she?”
The way she looked at you made you hide your head between your shoulders, her inquisitorial glance disappearing as she grimaced at the taste of pure alcohol.
“I guess I haven’t really been thinking about that. It’s been hard to think since he came back into my life.” Do not get sad drunk. Do not... “But I don’t think it’ll be easier either now that he’s gone.”
Beauty seemed to notice your emotional difficulties. “H-hey, it’s gonna be alright. Do you…” She started looking around in a way that made your head ache. “Do you want to watch videos of Cookie? Candy’s puppy? I have a few that are pretty cute.”
Your reply was a loud, endeared ‘aw’. “I love Cookie, Yes, please?”
Beauty was endeared by your large sparkly eyes, grinning as she found a way to lighten your mood. “Here, I’ll send you Cookie’s private instagram page later,” she mumbled, scrolling through the picture. “Did you hear the story about Cookie’s name?”
Your heart warmed. That was your family. “Yeah, I kinda was on the phone with her when she chose it…” you mumbled, the conversation with Beauty flowing out easily, relaxedly. You didn’t even notice it was time for you to head home.
⫷ ⁛ ⫸
By the time the party was over, Namjoon had sobered up, found a change of clothes and made himself look decent again. He was sitting on the bench near where the taxi boat would moor in hope he could find you. The chases of you having already left were high, but he needed to be one hundred percent sure you weren't still on board. He was vaguely surprised to see you arrive haphazardly, your body leaning heavily against Seokjin's assistant as she accompanied you to a taxi boat.
“Hand her over, I’ll take her home,” he said, looking at you and Beauty in miserable conditions.
With the way your arms reached for him, Beauty did not hesitate leaving you to him, not without granting he wouldn't make a move on you. “I know your secrets, so don’t try anything with her.” Namjoon frowned confusedly at the slurred threat.
“One wrong move and you’re over.” she continued, slightly more clearly as she pointed a finger to his chest.
Namjoon arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I’ve taken care of her since she got drunk with champagne at sixteen.”
“Bang up job you’ve done taking care of her then, she’s been wobbling around drunk half the night on the verge of tears,” she hissed.
Beauty was right. Namjoon deserved a scolding. He deserved far worse. “I'll accompany her to her parents' house.”
The woman waved noncommittally to the taxi, dismissing him self-sufficiently.
“Beauty, do you want to come with us? Will you be okay?”
She seemed to be confused by the question. “I think I will.”
He fixed an arm around your waist, leading you safely on the taxi boat. “Come on, I’m driving you to your parents’.”
You shook your head. “Don’t let them see me like this,” you whined, slapping his chest as you tried to stand by yourself. He let you stumble and almost fall before he caught you.
“I have to drive you home, Honey,” he reminded you. “Your parents won’t be home. I promise.”
He watched you as your lip turned wobbly. “I don’t wanna be alone. I’m always so lonely. Why the hell did you change! We used to be so close!”
He bit his lip and shook his head. He thanked the heavens when the taxi boat docked to a quiet, empty side of the port, away from photographers and similar. He noticed his car and wrapped his arm tightly around your waist as he hurried towards it. He had never, ever seen you half that drunk. He stopped right before the car. “Honey, baby. Do you need to throw up, love?”
You shook your head and punched him relatively hard for the amount of alcohol in your blood. “Don’t call me that. Bastard!”
He gathered all his patience and opened the door, ushering* you in. “I’m so sorry, Milla,” he apologised to his assistant. “I will pay you extra, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he repeated again, and he wanted to apologise to the whole universe, to his family, to your family, to you and all your shattered dreams and burned letters and dried flowers.
He felt miserable, but at least he could take care of you, even though he knew this would be the last time he would be able to.
“It’s okay,” Milla replied from the driver’s seat. “Is she okay?”
“We’re driving her home. She’s the princess,” he said dryly, sitting at your side and making you lean into him, holding you upright.
Milla’s eyes gleamed in surprise and understanding. “Tell me where to drive you.”
He gave her your address and held you close, looking for anything that could save his car were you to throw up.
Mercifully you made it to your house, Milla looking at Namjoon as you fought him about your passcode.
“We fought. She’s gonna hate me every day from tomorrow. I swear I have only good intentions,” he explained, Milla sweet-talking you into giving her the passcode, which she inserted quickly as Namjoon tried to keep you calm and standing.
“I’ll go, then,” Milla informed curtly, Namjoon nodding.
“You’re getting three extras. And dinner for you and Nara. Choose the place.”
She grinned and turned, giving a small wave before leaving.
“Honey. The stairs, love,” he murmured, picking you up and taking you upstairs. He naturally headed to your room.
“Not here!” you screeched.
“It’s your room.”
“Guest room. I hate my room. It’s not my room. Away!” you managed to use your legs as leverage to push yourself away from the door.
“You hate it?”
“I know you slept there. When I was gone. You’re everywhere. It hurts.” You whined. “Away. I want my pjs. Joonie. Pjs,” you ordered as he sat you on the bed in the guest room.
“Can you shower? By yourself?” he asked, kneeling and removing your shoes. “You need a shower—”
“I’m not feeling well,” you mumbled, just in time for him to grab the bin and place it under your mouth.
For the following half hour, he held your hair as you stayed bent over the toilet, letting out everything you had forced in. And every time it would subside, he would tear a piece of paper and clean your mouth, letting you rinse it before he'd grab a wet cloth and press it to your heated face, letting you rest your head against his chest, eyes closed while his arms held you. You allowed yourself to believe in it until the sickness subsided and you were left alone to wash yourself.
Soon he would become an exile, he realised. No longer your knight. No longer your prince. Just a stranger.
Once you reappeared, clad in a terry cloth pyjamas set, he managed to take one last look at you, eyes red and puffy with tears, hair wet, no makeup, knees weak.
Had he been a smarter man, a better man, you wouldn’t have been feeling miserable right then, and he would be your husband, your spouse by now, not only allowed, but even entitled to take care of you.
You settled underneath the sheets. “We’ll be strangers from tomorrow,” you said, and it sounded like all your love had been shut in a tomb forever. “Stay until I fall asleep for today.”
He nodded, sitting at your side on the bed and petting your hair. “I know it won’t change a thing, but I need you to know you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”
You nodded with your eyes closed. “I wish you had loved yourself more while I was gone,” you grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his palm. “If I left, It’s also because I needed you to learn. I needed to make sure you could survive without me. At the beginning I was angry, but then I realised I wanted you to learn to fly with your own wings. You simply… fell.”
He dried a tear. “You were my wings.”
“An angel should never borrow wings, Joonie.”
Tagging: @thejooncrew @ggukkieland @luvaffaire @bluesharksandfish (sending this through dm since tag does not work)
this is like the saddest shit I ever read.....
I FUCKING LOVE IT
Cut
Namjoon always hated soulmates
Namjoon had always believed soulmates were the dumbest thing this world ever came up with. He remembers when he first learned the concept in fifth grade - his teacher was gushing about how perfect soulmates were for each other, how no one could understand someone like their fated mate, how utterly amazing the gift of soulmates were.
As a ten-year-old, Namjoon sat at his desk nearly gagging over his teacher’s words.
How could being forced to love someone be a gift? How is having your freedom stripped away from you a blessing?
He didn’t understand it then and as he grew older, Namjoon only became more convinced soulmates were a nightmare disguised as a daydream. It all seemed so fake, so artificial that he couldn’t help but speak out about it every chance he got.
While a majority of people looked at him like he was crazy, there were a handful who agreed with his positions, causing the young adult to form a close-knit bond with them. The small group often went to Chosen parties - secret meetings of other nonbelievers - and discussed their beliefs, frequently hooking up with people they found attractive.
The sex was a thrill in itself, but the taboo nature of it was what really drove Namjoon wild. There was something so free about being entangled within the throes of passion with someone he’ll never see again. It was a fresh start every time - a new beginning.
He couldn’t comprehend how someone could be satisfied with one person for the entirety of their life. It would get so repetitive, so bland.
No, his way was certainly the way to go.
It was because of one of these hookups he stumbled into class late one day, hair in a bird’s nest and clothes wrinkled beyond reason. Snickers had broken out as soon as he stepped foot into the lecture room, but he hadn’t paid it any attention, more worried about his professor’s reaction to his tardiness.
This particular professor was pretty laid back, so she simply raised an eyebrow before telling him to take his seat.
His usual spot had been taken so he lumbered to a chair in the back of the large room, plopping his bag down by a girl he’d never seen before.
She laughed slightly at his appearance to which Namjoon glared slightly.
“Looks like someone’s soulmate is a bit wild,” she said lowly, smiling at him kindly.
At this, Namjoon rolled his eyes.
“I wouldn’t know. Never met her,” he replied coolly, watching as realization dawned on the girl’s face.
“Oh,” she replied, looking a bit like she didn’t know what to say to that.
“Got a problem?” Namjoon snaps.
He was much too worn out to be judged.
The girl shook her head.
“No. I was just a bit caught off guard is all. But anyway, you didn’t miss much. If you read the first few pages of chapter twelve, you’ll be all caught up,” she said, smiling politely before turning her attention back on the teacher.
And thus began an interesting friendship. The girl, YN her name was, turned out to be a devout believer in the supposed magic that was soulmates. But instead of Namjoon’s intense hatred of the concept making her uncomfortable, she allowed him to rant as often as he wanted to.
YN was always open and happy, balancing out Namjoon’s more somber personality. They could read each other well, always being able to tell when something was wrong with the other.
Weeks turned into months and friendship turned into a crush, Namjoon growing to like YN more and more each day.
It terrified him. He’d never held any other emotion but lust for a girl. The man never slid into fantasies about holding hands or going on cute dates, about snuggling up for a movie or coming home to her smiling face after a long day.
His fear only deepened knotting day approached. The day occurred once a year and marked the arrival of the soulmate strings. Every pair of soulmates who had met in the last year would find themselves tied to their partner with a thin red string.
Namjoon was worried that YN had met her match, that she’d be mated and his silly dreams would shatter around him as she waltzed off with whatever lucky bastard she’d been destined for.
It made him angry, so angry he forced himself to go to another Chosen party on Knotting Eve, ignoring YN’s request to wait for the clock to hit midnight together.
At midnight, Namjoon was lost in the haze of some leggy redhead he’d barely met.
At midnight, Namjoon failed to notice the pesky little string tying itself around his pinky.
Half past midnight, YN’s excitement over meeting her soulmate turned to bitter dread as her string led her to the familiar door of Namjoon’s small apartment. Her heart cracked in half when soft moaning could be heard wafting through the thin walls as Namjoon groaned out the name of some girl who certainly wasn’t her.
It was like she couldn’t breathe. YN’s head swam as the night blurred together, the girl staggering and nearly falling to the ground.
She barely made it to her house as tears blinded her, her lungs unable to take in enough air to breathe.
Out of all the people in the world, it had to be Namjoon. Namjoon, who hated his soulmate for existing. Namjoon, who always teased her for her rose-colored view of the world. Namjoon, who had more lovers than she could count on both hands.
Two hours of crying and she knew what she had to do.
The only way he’d ever be happy was if she was gone. Completely out of the picture.
With strong resolve, YN makes her decision.
The next morning, Namjoon wakes up to an empty bed and a text from YN.
Dear Joonie,
I am so sorry. A million years could go by and I’d never be able to tell you how sorry I am. These last few months of getting to know you have truly been a blessing, my own little slice of paradise. Even though we were fire and ice, I’ve always been so glad I met you. I’m sorry you’re stuck in a system you hate so much, but the good thing is you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Consider it a gift.
I know this is all you’ve ever wanted. I’m glad I can give it to you!
Happy Knotting Day, Namjoon! Mark it as the day you truly received your freedom!
With love,
Your soulmate,
YN
It’s only then the man notices the limp grey string dangling haplessly from his finger, the end curled and frayed.
belated love letter - k.nj.
genre: angst (2.5k)
summary: a love letter that he’s been writing only gets delivered, because namjoon has a lot to say even after you’ve broken up.
a/n: i made myself cry with this one.
masterlist
namjoon, a person who seemingly has answers to everything, never got the answer as to why you both drifted off.
did you both grow out of love? no, it was evident in the quivering lips and glassy eyes when you saw each other for the last time that love indeed still persisted between you two.
did you grow out of each other? no, namjoon still strongly believes that you’re the most fascinating person he’s met and he remembers how you found his mind to be the brightest of them all.
maybe the love became too much at some point. maybe love just wasn’t enough.
he’ll never know.
but something went wrong.
and it went wrong very quickly, so quickly that namjoon couldn’t even give you the one thing he promised you he would.
a love letter.
“you know, for a world-renowned lyricist, and as that lyricist’s girlfriend, i’ve never gotten a letter from you” you teased him one rainy day and he remembers the breathless chuckle that left his lips.
“do you want one?” he fiddled with your fingers that were held in his hand.
“a letter from the kim namjoon? there’s nothing else i want more” and even as the sky crackled behind the windows, and rain continuously beat them, you both could only look at each other. you looked at each other like ‘damn the rest of the world, i only have eyes for you’.
and that’s when namjoon decided that he was going to write you a letter alright, he was going to write you the best letter ever.
namjoon stared blankly at the words scribbled on the page, frowning every so often, his words were, to put it in one way, powerful. he didn’t know he was capable of feeling such strong emotions but he did know that you brought out the best in him. and the best of him was spilled on this one page that was still half empty.
namjoon felt just as empty.
he wasn’t near breaking down or crying himself to sleep, but namjoon wasn’t happy, he couldn’t deny this hollowness in his chest that’s been lingering for days now and he doesn’t need anyone else to tell him that it was because of you, he knows it. namjoon knows it all except, like mentioned before, why you both ended it but it was an unwritten realization, that it was for the best.
another thing namjoon doesn’t know is why he grabs his favorite pen, the pen he uses to write his famous lyrics, he got a new one for the album they’re working on now and starts filling in the empty space, almost feeling like he was filling himself with the emotions that he misses so dearly.
namjoon was going to give you that letter.
even if you might not want it anymore.
-
it’s been almost a year since you’ve seen namjoon and it felt like time was cruel enough to make that year feel like an eternity. it both felt like just yesterday that you and namjoon were visiting museums together and also like forever since you’ve both cuddled in whenever the weather got worse.
and you don’t know if it was good or bad that you still remember everything.
you remember how he carefully used to handle things that belonged to you because he knew you cherished them, he still broke a few but it’s the effort that counts, how you used to nap in his studio whenever it got too long and always woke up with a blanket wrapped around you, how you both used to skip around parks and also the time namjoon taught you how to finally ride a bike.
you stupidly remember it all.
you were quite sure namjoon had forgotten about you and moved on because you were just a chapter in his story that still had a long way to go. you didn’t blame him, you were trying to forget him as well, it’s just he was probably successful in forgetting you and you weren’t as successful as you’d like to be.
but to your surprise, you came home to a letter in your mailbox. you never get letters, so this left you more than a little curious as you turned the dainty lilac-colored envelope in your hand to reveal an all too familiar handwriting scribbled on top.
‘from: kim namjoon’
you expected a lot of things from namjoon but none of them came close to the letter that you held in your hand. and you couldn’t help the way your heart seemed to skip a beat only to shatter on the ground a minute later. it dawned on you that it could be a goodbye letter, and you hated goodbyes. but namjoon had never liked loose ends, he liked his endings to make just as sense as the beginnings, so you probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that he sent it.
you slowly set down your belongings and walked into your house, placing the letter on table, staring at it for a little, wondering if opening it will only hurt you more or not.
but did you even care if it will hurt?
all you’ve been this year, is hurt.
all you’ve felt this year, is hurt.
so, what’s one more letter? and he bothered enough to send it all the way to where you’ve moved. so yeah, you will read it. you could feel goosebumps rising on your skin as your fingers lightly grazed the paper, admiring his handwriting, namjoon has always had such beautiful writing.
you hastily tore open the envelope and turned it upside down, a single piece of paper, which was neatly folded fell out on the ground, you sat down next to it and with shaky fingers, you started reading the words of the man you used to love, you still love, so much.
to the love of my life, (you still are)
9/10/19
today, with beaming eyes and a happy smile on your face, you jokingly asked me for a letter and who am i to deny you? even with the breaking sky above us, you managed to make me feel like the lightest cloud floating in it and with that, i start this letter, a bare heart and with a hope that my pen doesn’t run out and also that you won’t find it, this is my little surprise to you. i will write it, day-by-day, on days i especially thank the world for giving me you so i hope as the girlfriend of world-renowned lyricist kim namjoon, that you find this satisfactory.
i love you.
19/10/19
i came back to this paper after promising that i will wait for a bit to finish it but you have me breaking all of the promises i’ve made for myself, one of them being don’t fall in love until you’re ready and i was never ready for you and the stars you’ve aligned for us.
but i’m still in love, and i don’t mind it at all.
you woke me up just in time for me to make it to work and because i was in such a hurry, you took over the one duty that i have, breakfast.
at first, i felt guilty that even if you were rushing to get to work, you still didn’t get mad at me for not waking up earlier, you just gave me a sleepy grin when i thanked you. and then i tried looking at it in a more positive light, you work hard for yourself and me and i’m grateful.
i’m grateful to you, even if it is something as simple as breakfast, i’m grateful. and i will start waking up earlier, i want to do more for you.
i love you.
11/11/19
today, we went to pottery together!
and we didn’t manage to make anything and it wasn’t a surprise to either of us because our pots broke even before they could get toasted in the oven. it was just us, a private class in the middle of a forest and there was a mild drizzle of rain from the sky. and now as i write this, i realize whenever it rains, i fall more in love with you, the idea of you and everything about you.
i decided to write again today because it was a wonderful day, we laughed a lot and we smeared a lot of clay on our face and you had the nerve to call my pot a masterpiece.
y/n, as much as i appreciate your kind soul, my pot literally looked like shit.
and you laughing right after you said that it was a masterpiece, kind of gave away the fact that you didn’t mean it.
but i’ll let it go because you looked cute. you always look cute.
and oh look, you’re calling me for dinner, i will come back to this again.
i love you.
22/1/20
you weren’t yourself today but that’s okay, we all have our days, it did hurt when you didn’t let me hug you but again, i understand. you had a difficult day and i wish i could take all your pain away, all your troubles, i wish i could burn them to the ground and not even let the ashes remain.
but i can’t do that.
i can only watch you lie to me that you aren’t crying, that you are okay.
i hope you know that you don’t have to lie, never to me.
i can see the tears on your face, i’m sorry i’m not strong enough to come and wipe them away, i’m scared that you’ll only go further away from me. and to me, you’re lost today. i hope you find your way back to me. i will wait with open arms.
i love you.
22/2/20
love is as deep as a sea, i remember reading that in a book. and i didn’t fully realize the meaning till i met you.
everything has made sense since i’ve met you. and it’s true, love is like a sea, i keep discovering new things about it every day, i keep discovering all these habits of yours, i’ve started speaking in the way you do and even the members have noticed, they haven’t stopped teasing me since this afternoon, even right now, they’re hovering around me and trying to read this letter but don’t worry, i have it out of their view, this is only our little secret.
you came to the studio, you brought all of us food and drinks with that grin on your face that i love so much, the members immediately bounced to you and that is when i saw how perfectly fit in my life, from my view, you, and the members, are my family. and my family is so lovely.
what did i ever do in my life to have all of you in it?
okay jungkook’s getting nosy, let me stop here.
i love you.
16/4/21
so, it really is over.
i don’t have it in me to say it’s okay or it’s all right.
because it’s not.
i’ve never been a good liar, i couldn’t hide about how i felt about you then and i can’t do it now.
y/n, i’m exhausted, your face used to be the first thing i saw every day when i woke up and somehow, even on the worst days, that was enough for me to pull through because i could fall asleep next to it.
i can’t do that anymore, and even if it’s been a year, it’s just sinking in for me now.
but i’m dealing. i feel empty but i am not totally miserable. the members don’t say it but they miss you too, they keep looking at me sadly but they’re also cheering me up, don’t worry about them or me too much.
i’m sending you this because i couldn’t keep a promise even if i tried when we were together so i want to make up for it, i’m keeping this one promise, i hope it’s worth it.
sad to say this, but my pen did run out, this is a new pen, it’s a little gritty but it works, and i don’t know why i’m telling you this but the pen i started the letter with lasted just as long as we did, so now, i see that as our hourglass, i just wish it hadn’t run out so quickly. i hope i got to say i love you to you one last time before it ran out. it’s all useless now anyway.
but even if it hurts, even if i haven’t moved on, i’m happy.
i’m happy i got to know someone with a mind as beautiful as yours.
i’m happy i spent my days loving you. because loving you is bigger than any award i’ll hold.
i hope you look back at us with fondness and not regret.
and i hope you move on and someone else loves you, maybe love you better than i did because you deserve it, you deserve all the good in the world. i’m sorry i couldn’t give it to you.
but remember me, yeah?
i love you. i will always love you.
the end,
from your world-renowned-lyricist kim namjoon.
the letter has smudged ink near the end, from both his and your tears and you desperately re-read the letter again, like you were grasping to any pieces that were left of you two. it slightly crumbles from how tight your grip was on it.
and this isn’t the story in which you run after him to get back with him after you read this, you don’t go knocking on his door waiting for him to answer and then finally fall into his arms to end your pain and his.
no, this is the story in which you clutch the cream-colored paper to your heart and silently cry your eyes out because the worst realization of reaching the end of it was, both that it was the last words that you’ll ever hear from namjoon and also that no one would love you like he did.
he will remain as that one beautiful chapter in your story that you’ll go back to visit every now and then, only to cry at the ending.
and you feel a bitter gratefulness that you got to experience a part of your life with him so you don’t mind that it hurts, you’ll kiss this chapter a sweet goodbye.
but you have your own loose ends; you have your own feelings that need to be spilled. you feel like you will explode if you don’t close this chapter in your story. you might just never finish moving on to the next one if you don’t. you too, have a lot to say even if you two are over.
so, you grab a pen, hover over your desk with a faint dangling light above you, a small smile dances on your lips and you start writing to him,
a belated love letter.
i can fix them (no really, i can't) (m.list)
summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader.
content. cursing words, angst, suffering, slow burn, eventual-really eventual fluff, mature themes such as drugs and violence. every chapter will have their own warnings at the very top.
a/n. this is the first bts related fic i've ever posted and i hope for the best!! ofc this is inspired by i can fix him by taylor swift in case you were wondering. and this story wasn't really planned (no news for me), but it's all i've been thinking and writing about all this week, so i decided to post it! the chapters list will be posted as soon as i can! love you all and thank u for the support!
bts masterlist
chapter list.
i. absence
ii. coincidence!
iii. injustice
iv. intrusive
v. remorse
vi. coming soon...
updates will be weekly or biweekly, depending on the progress of each chapter.
bts masterlist
angst (a) fluff (f) smut (s) ongoing (*) masterpost
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ot7
i can fix them (no really, i can't)* series ongoing
the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
more to come...
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ jeon jungkook
throne's for two series in process
y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when she had known the Crown Prince, Jeon Jungkook, for as long as she could remember. Doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. Who would have thought that loving would come at such a high price…
once i fix me, he's gonna miss me one-shot in process
seeing Jeon Jungkook come back crawling was satisfying.
more to come...
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ series
bang-tan university: the series implied: jungkook x f!reader ; yoongi x f!reader ; taehyung x f!reader in progress
dealing with college life was tough, but add to that having to put up with the idiot captain of the soccer team and his group of mean friends…
more to come...
coincidence! (2)
series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)
series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next
“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!”
“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?”
“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!”
“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”
“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”
It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.
When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy.
Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand.
Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly.
Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier.
“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news.
“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?
“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted.
“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.”
“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.”
Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business.
“Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look.
Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!”
“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.”
“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.”
“Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”
“Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair.
“y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.”
“Ow, my poor baby.”
“I told you not to say that to anyone!”
“I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!”
“This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!”
“Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.”
“You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!”
“It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!”
God. It was going to be a long day.
-
Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run.
“Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?”
“Maybe.”
Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions.
“Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?”
The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare.
Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.
You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return.
You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart.
“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew.
“How did all this happen?”
“Why do you think I have an answer for that?”
Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity.
“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.”
“It's…complicated.”
“I don't think so. Tell me.”
Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much.
“It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.”
“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.”
Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile.
“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.
“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?”
Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva.
“Oh?”
Play fucking dumb.
“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.”
Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed.
One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung.
“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”
“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.”
Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day.
“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.”
Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar.
“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.”
“Whaaaat?”
“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”
“That has nothing to do with…”
“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.”
“What does that have to do…?”
“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.”
“…”
At what fucking moment?
“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?”
“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.”
Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends.
Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town.
They seemed to have disappeared from the planet.
Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you.
That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present.
“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.”
You were probably as white as a sheet of paper.
“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.”
God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous.
“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?”
“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.”
“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!”
You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you.
“Don't tell my mom I said that.”
You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left.
The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait.
Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste.
Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably.
-
a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!
tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592
bts masterlist
angst (a) fluff (f) smut (s) ongoing (*) masterpost
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ot7
i can fix them (no really, i can) series ongoing
the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
more to come...
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ jeon jungkook
throne for two series in process
y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when she had known the Crown Prince, Jeon Jungkook, for as long as she could remember. Doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. Who would have thought that loving would come at such a high price…
once i fix me, he's gonna miss me one-shot in process
seeing Jeon Jungkook come back crawling was satisfying.
more to come...
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ series
bang-tan university: the series implied: jungkook x f!reader ; yoongi x f!reader ; taehyung f!reader in progress
dealing with college life was tough, but add to that having to put up with the idiot captain of the soccer team and his group of mean friends…
more to come...