Rm Fic - Tumblr Posts

Roller coaster of feeling I got whn read this o e

IX. Heedless and Willful || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Things accelerate between you and Namjoon, but complications linger.

Section Warnings: language, kissing, groping, breast play/nip stim, fingering, protected sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms (f. receiving), multiple rounds

WC: 8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday December 1st

The weekend brings with it a deluge of rain, a slow-moving weather system that has the streets holding inches of water, the road-side drains overflowing. 

You stay inside all day, and so does Namjoon, but you largely orbit around each other, working on your own things, leaving the other alone.

Things had accelerated so suddenly between you that now you feel like you had slammed on a brake, inertia carrying you to teeter dangerously over an edge. You’re not sure if Namjoon is feeling the same way, but you think it’s probable. 

You kind of want to tip over the edge, is the thing. 

You work in your room, sitting at your desk, your bedroom door wide open. You’re kind of working, kind of watching water rush down the road below the apartment. It’s well after dinner, pitch black outside, but the streetlights illuminate the flow as the rainwater moves along beneath you. You’re having trouble focusing because of the rain - it lulls you to sleep, tricks you into thinking it’s bedtime. You can’t remember ever seeing rain like this, and the sound is all-encompassing, like you could wrap yourself up and exist within it.

You’ve just given up on focusing and closed your laptop for the night when there’s suddenly a huge boom from outside, loud and close enough that the floor shakes beneath your feet, and everything goes black around you. You scream, startled, and jump to your feet, knocking your desk chair over behind you with a loud clatter. That startles you a second time, and you scream again, clutching at your chest and backing yourself against your bedroom wall, heart pounding. 

Across the apartment, Namjoon shouts your name, his voice deep and commanding, clearly alarmed.

The dark presses in around you, little fingers on your ankles and arms. You can’t see anything - not your bed, not the chair on the floor, not your hand in front of your own face. The silence is suddenly so loud it throbs around you - the sudden lack of normal noise toying with your senses. You’ve never been in quiet like this - no hum from the refrigerator, the central air system, your devices. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears, the angry, relentless sound of rain, and the echo of Namjoon’s voice calling your name, playing back and looping through your mind so loudly that it’s almost like you’re hearing it again.

You are hearing it again - his alarmed voice cuts through the darkness, calling your name with a little bit of an edge, a tinge of fear this time.

“I’m here,” you manage, your voice coming out like a gasp.

From the living room, you can see a small point of light coming rapidly closer, and then Namjoon appears in your doorway, guided by his cell phone’s flashlight. He seems a little out of breath as he pauses in the doorway, taking in the scene before him - you pressed against the wall, a hand still pressed to your racing heart, the chair askew on the floor, the rain pelting the window like it wants to break the glass.

Once he can see that you’re unharmed, Namjoon clicks his phone off, and you both let your eyes adjust. In the dark, everything various shades of black, his shape seems so large, taking up so much of your vision. He steps around the chair, not bothering to right it, and stops about two feet from you. 

“I think a transformer blew out there,” he says, his voice odd, like most of his brain isn’t even aware that he’s speaking.

Two feet from him, your hands itch to reach out and touch him. Your feet beg to close the space between you. Your heart continues to throw itself against your ribcage, furious and demanding to be heard. The darkness takes its tiny fingers off your limbs, presses guiding fingertips to your back instead, nudging you forward. 

If you’re going over the edge anyway, isn’t it better to jump than to fall?

Two feet from him, in the most profound darkness and silence you’ve ever experienced in your life, you find yourself nearly gasping for each breath as you fight your body’s every urge.

A line of St. Vincent Millay’s poetry leaps into your head, unbidden:

in me alone survive the unregenerate passions of a day when treacherous queens, with death upon the tread heedless and willful, took their knights to bed

Heedless and willful, you jump, crossing the space in a single stride. Namjoon’s hands coming to your waist like he was waiting for you. 

He can kiss you only for a moment before he’s interrupted by you tugging his shirt up; he breaks away from you to pull it the rest of the way off and tosses it behind him, coming back to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking and kissing a line down to your collarbone. You run your hands along his chest, over his pecs, down his stomach, up his sides, your head thrown back to make room for him as he nips and soothes at your throat. 

He groans happily as you dip your fingers towards the waistband of his jeans, then tugs bossily at your own shirt. You peel it off, dropping it to your feet, and move to kiss him again, but he’s busy reaching around your back and deftly pinching the clasp of your bra. It falls away, and you shake the straps loose from your arms, hearing it hit the ground. Cold air assaults your chest only a second before Namjoon’s large hands cup you, his mouth searing against yours out of nowhere.

Everything’s heightened in this total dark, total silence. You can hear every hitch of his breath, the thud of your own pulse, can feel every tiny movement of his hands, of his mouth. He toys lightly with your nipples, running his fingers in circles around them before plucking at them lightly, then abandoning your chest to run his hands over all the newly uncovered skin - your stomach, your back, your arms. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I’ve thought so the whole fucking time, you’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t think straight sometimes.”

“Namjoon,” you gasp quietly, half a reaction to his words and half a reaction to him gripping the waistband of your joggers and pulling them down over your ass in one motion. You kick them off and he walks you backwards to your bed, pushing at your shoulders until you fall backwards. You hear his zipper as he removes his jeans, and when he climbs up next to you on the bed you can feel but not see him straining against his boxer-briefs. 

He brings his mouth to a nipple without warning, giving it one experimental lick and taking it between his lips when you whine in appreciation. You can feel yourself getting impossibly wet as he alternates licking and sucking, and his spare hand rubs circles down your body until he reaches the lace edge of your underwear, and he pauses. It’s the first time tonight he’s shown any hesitation. 

He removes his mouth from your breast and moves back up where he can kiss you. His fingers skim the lace, a ghost of a touch, barely there.

“You good, baby?” he murmurs, so low, and you feel yourself clench - over the timbre of his voice or his cocky use of the pet name, you’re not sure. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Touch me. Please.”

It’s wild how dark it is, how you can’t see anything on his face, can’t see which way he’s moving; the dark seems like it’s pressing in around you, like it’s the very thing shielding you from the onslaught of rain that you can still hear loud and clear. 

Namjoon’s fingers skim over your slit so lightly it almost tickles, and you squirm, needing more. He presses harder on his second pass through, pressing the lace against your entrance. He moans when he feels how wet you are even through your panties, pressing himself harder against your leg as he swipes his fingers through again. Then he’s hooking his thumbs under the waistband and pulling your panties down your legs, cupping your sex with his whole hand.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers hoarsely, and presses his middle finger into your heat up to the last knuckle. You suck in a breath, fingers curling in your bedspread, as he fucks you that way - middle finger only - for the barest of minutes before adding a second digit.

“God,” you groan, feeling yourself stretch to accommodate it. “Damn it.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You’re so wet, what the fuck.” He’s right - you can hear it each time he pushes back into you. Your back arches, your body trying to press his fingers even deeper. When his thumb grazes your clit, you gasp out loud. 

He swallows the rest of your noises with a kiss as he continues, and when the crest of your orgasm snaps a few minutes later you moan messily into his mouth as his fingers fuck you through it, steady and unyielding. 

“Holy shit,” he groans when you clench around his fingers as the waves hit you. “That’s right, baby, fuck.”

You’re reaching for his briefs the second you’re back in your body, down from your high, and he pulls his fingers from you gently to help wiggle them over his hips and off his body. You slide your hand over him lightly and he hisses through his teeth as you wrap your fingers around him and rub him base to tip, sliding your palm over the wet head of his cock, using his own pre-cum to slick up your hand as you continue. 

He’s hot in your hand, bigger than you’d expected, and you revel in listening to his light moans turn breathy as you toy with him. Finally, he grabs your wrist, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Should I go get a condom?” he asks, voice so low it’s almost a growl. 

“I have some,” you tell him, rolling away from him and sliding your nightstand drawer open. You lay on your stomach so you can use both hands to rip a new one from the strip, and Namjoon rises to his knees behind you, one hand tracing the curve of your ass.

You reach over your shoulder to hand him the foil packet, and you’re startled by his phone light again when he turns it on so he can see what he’s doing. His phone lays on the bed, illuminating him from below, and you take a minute to take in how good he looks. You’d had no idea he had that body under his sweaters and baggy t-shirts. 

He turns the light off again, the darkness surprising you with its intensity all over again. Your eyes are so busy trying to adjust again that you miss him moving until you feel his hands guiding you to lay back, his legs stretching between yours, his tip prodding your entrance as his lips find yours again.

“You’re okay?” he checks in a whisper, reaching down and squeezing himself at the base. 

You kiss him in answer, pressing your core against him, letting your body tell him yes, I’m fine, yes, I’m ready.

He rocks into you slowly, an inch at a time, and the sensation tears a low, long groan from you. It mingles with his own; he breathes through his mouth in short pants, tinged with half-formed moans, until he bottoms out and he stills. 

“Give me just a second,” you request, whispering, and he nods, running a hand reverently down your face, down your side, coming to rest under your ass, hitching you up slightly as he adjusts. You hiss as the movement forces him just a touch deeper as you struggle to relax. 

He kisses you again, deeply and sweetly, and as you grip his shoulders and feel yourself relax, you start to move, little bits at a time.

“Okay,” you whisper, when you’re ready. “Thanks.”

He scoffs, like it’s ridiculous of you to be thanking him, but he starts to move. It’s slow, and even though you can barely see him you get the feeling that his eyes are on you. In the amplified silence, each breath seems to echo between you, each tiny moan or hitch of breath coming through loud and clear. You kiss sloppily, your hands exploring as he keeps the slow rhythm. His cockhead drags against you, the feeling agonizingly sweet, and you arch against him, trying to bring him closer.

The rain beats against the windows in waves as he fucks you slowly, like it wants in, like it has a score to settle. You press fingertips gently to Namjoon’s face, blindly feeling your way to the flat of his cheekbone, down to his jaw. Everything feels so intense, your fingers shake a little as they trace his jawline, reverent. 

“Namjoon,” you whisper, and he answers you by sheathing himself completely, pressing his mouth to yours, and doubling the pace. He’s so large, it feels like he’s everywhere - inside you, around you, above you, everywhere. 

You cry out when he finds an angle that has you seeing stars with each stroke, and he grunts, working hard to keep hitting it the same way. You lock your legs around the back of his thighs, trying to keep him close. You cling to his shoulder with one hand and tangle the other in his hair, holding tight as he pounds into you. When he feels you start to pulse around him, the beginning of an orgasm starting to build up, he actually laughs, once.

“Close, baby?” he asks, reaching down to press his thumb against your clit.

“Y-yeah,” you gasp, the feeling of electricity racing clear down to your toes. “Joon, please, oh - god -.”

He hums, pleased, and shifts you so he’s holding you up by the hips, the angle changing just slightly.

“Ohmygod, yes,” you cry, and the circles he’s been rubbing into your clit suddenly send you flying, your eyes screwing shut, a single, wordless wail leaving you as every muscle in your body goes taut.

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses as you squeeze around him, dropping his forehead onto yours and gasping your name as he spills into the condom inside you. He pumps into you a few more times as your muscles relax by degrees, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

You lay tangled together for a few minutes, both breathing hard. Namjoon slips out of you gingerly and shifts like he’s going to get up. You kiss him quickly, before he can get too far, and he stills, letting you.

When you’re content, he disappears into the bathroom, dealing with the condom and cleaning up. He returns with a damp cloth for you, turning the light on his phone back off again when you’re done.

In the total darkness, he pulls you close. You rest your head against his chest, his arms around you, and listen to his heart. Despite the storm and the power-outage, you’ve never felt so safe. You can’t imagine ever feeling anything else while he’s wrapped around you like this.

“You called me baby,” you tease after a little while, and he snickers.

“It just slips out,” he laments, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Sex makes me… affectionate. I have trouble untangling the two.”

You hum against him. “I think I like that,” you observe, and he hugs you a little tighter.

You’re starting to drift off when he says your name again. 

“Hm?”

“I promise this isn’t the post-sex chemicals talking,” he says carefully. “But I wanted you to know. I think… I’m really falling for you.”

You press your lips together, wrap an arm around his middle and hold him close. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your eyes suddenly burn, you can’t inhale.

Because you’ve felt it, too. And you don’t know what to do with it.

He takes your silence the wrong way. “You don’t have to - don’t feel pressure to say anything -.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I promise, it’s very much not that. I’ve… maybe been thinking the same thing. It’s just… scary. You know?”

He presses his lips to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he says. “It can be. But I’m here. We’re in it together, okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, tangling your feet in his legs, searching for a warm spot for your chilly toes. “Okay.”

Sunday December 2nd

The lights come on hours before dawn, your lamp illuminating the room in a yellow glow, your laptop dinging as it starts to receive charge again, your alarm clock numbers flashing 12:00 over and over again. You lay there, still, coming to your senses by degrees. 

Namjoon is still in bed with you; you can feel his body, warm and solid, behind you. Minutes pass and it becomes clear by his steady deep breathing that the lights aren’t going to wake him up. You roll slowly, trying not to disturb him. He’s sleeping on his back, his face turned away from you, one arm flung up over his head. You feel yourself smile as you look at him. 

There’s not a doubt in your mind that you want this, that you want him - wholly, completely, without boundaries or limitations. There’s not a doubt in your mind that the way he treats you - the way he gives you such openness and understanding, the way he listens and asks questions, the way he hears you and cares for you - is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. When you’re with him, you feel like he’s by your side, like he’s got you. 

And while Taehyung had been physically next to you for the last seventeen or so years of your life, it’s never felt like this. 

You scoot closer, lining your body up against his side, and reach an arm over his stomach, pulling yourself as tight to him as you can and laying your head on his chest. In his sleep, he shifts, sensing the difference, the arm that was over his head coming down over your back and pulling you in. Then his head lolls back to your side, his eyelids fluttering. He reaches to press a kiss to the top of your head, and then flops back down against your pillow.

“Lights’re back?” he tries to ask, the words slurring together with sleep.

“Mhm,” you answer. “Do you want me to get up and turn the lamp off?”

“No,” he says, voice low and scratchy. “Stay.” Then he reaches over, guiding your chin up gently so he can lean down and kiss you again. 

You open for him immediately, leaning up on an elbow to reach him better. It’s different this time - slow and sensual, explorative, relaxed. There’s no rush, no pressure for it to go further. His fingers run through your hair once, twice, then release it, skimming down your bare back instead. You realize with a shiver that you hadn’t gotten up to find pajamas in the dark. 

He keeps you warm anyway, his hands roaming your back, your arms, your ass, your back again. You have a lot of things you want to tell him, but you save them, store them for later, as your body responds to his touch and you give yourself to him again. When he pants your name against your lips you feel the words bubbling up inside you, beating against doors to be let out, but you lose them along with your senses when he tips you over the edge again.

You clean up better after this time, waddling to the bathroom to pee and then stopping at your dresser to pull out pajamas. Namjoon hovers near your bed, clearly unsure if he should head to his own side of the apartment or not.

You scoff at him, like he should know better. “Get back in that bed,” you demand teasingly, and he listens, running a hand through his messy hair and looking around like he’s a little dazed, a little unsure of how he got here. 

You click the lamp off and make your way back to him. 

He wraps his arms around you immediately, and you eventually fall asleep matching your breaths to his slow ones.

Wednesday December 5th

I know my many failings I just can’t be the girl I should But I hope you know despite this In my life, you’re everything good

It’s certainly not good writing, and you have zero intention of turning this in for anything - zero intention of another living soul ever seeing it. But it feels good to put the words to paper.

You close the notebook when Gloria and another girl from class join your table. You’ve been assigned the task of workshopping your classmates’ portfolios as the semester crawls to a close, and today you’re meant to sit around and talk through your notes with each other.

“I want to go first,” you say immediately. “Gloria, you are out of your mind.”

Gloria beams, knowing exactly what you’re referring to.

“Catch me up?” the third girl, Sharmin, asks.

“Gloria’s entire portfolio is in iambic pentameter,” you tell her dryly. “Honestly, Gloria, I’ve got to know why.”

Gloria giggles. “Okay, okay - it really was just for the challenge. Like, it’s super great that poetry is all no rules but sometimes the challenge of saying what you’re trying to say within the framework of existing rules is… kind of fun?” 

“I shall call you The Bard. Or maybe Bardess,” you joke. 

The three of you move on to discuss the actual content of Gloria’s portfolio and then Sharmin’s - asking questions, noting lines you really liked, pointing out patterns and themes and hedging guesses on their meanings.

Finally, it’s your turn. 

“Your voice is really sharp,” Sharmin compliments you. “I mean… maybe I don’t mean sharp. Clear? Crisp? Something like that.”

“I thought so too,” Gloria agrees. She pulls up a document on her laptop, referring to some notes she took. “I also noticed - and really liked - that while your topics were all different from each other, you had this recurring theme of life and death.”

You stare at her blankly. “I do?”

She gives you a sideways smile; it’s not uncommon for you two to pick things up in each other’s writing that you hadn’t noticed.

“Sure,” she says, and her finger goes to her screen as she reads a few examples, “Who would try to fight the tide, / the dark, the depth, the chill? That’s from your first one. 

“Then, the second one: On Sundays I leave stones / atop marble markers to memorialize / those that you and I chose / to leave unturned. That whole entire poem is about a graveyard, so, yeah.”

“Oh! And your latest one!” Sharmin adds. “Where you’re, like, growing bones in your chest?”

You cover your face. “It sounds so dumb like that.”

But even as you’re speaking, other lines spring into your head:

Autumn leaves me hollow.

but my feet itch and beg to go, / into the night where the wolfpack hunts, / into the storm of wind and snow.

Nothing grows here that isn’t dead.

Gloria’s right. You do have a recurring theme about death.

You hadn’t realized. You hadn’t known you were weaving this single thread through everything you put to paper.

What you did know, the part you were aware of was that every one of those poems was about Taehyung.

You press your fingers over your mouth and take a slow, steadying breath. Somehow, everything hurts. It feels like you’re coming apart. It feels like your sutures have been cut too soon as you wrestle with this truth laid out for you:

Every metaphor you ever wrote with Taehyung in mind was somehow connected to death.

Like something inside you knew, long before you did, that whatever was between you was dead before it started. 

Like something inside you knew that no matter how many words you devoted to him, you could never breathe life into it. 

Like something in you knew the situation had a failure to thrive from the very beginning. 

“And life?” you finally manage to ask through your fingers. But you already know every line you wrote about what comes next, about moving forward, about better possibilities.

If autumn can’t make me happy, / I wonder if winter might.

I know despite the dangers, / I can’t afford to stay inside.

This one, they say, will live.

And, most recently - that the girls hadn’t even seen, in my life, you’re everything good.

You didn’t need someone to point these lines out to you. You knew exactly what you’d been writing about - Namjoon, and the way his very presence seemed to represent the promise of something better. 

–

You hustle home after class, walking so fast that you actually get your heart-rate up. Inside, you drop your bag on the ground and call Namjoon’s name, crossing the living room.

“Yeah?” he calls back, turning at his desk, but you’ve already entered his room, approaching him at a clip.

He’s got about a hundredth of a second to look surprised before you’re kissing him, hands coming up to cup his face firmly. He leans up to meet you, grunting with happy surprise, his hands coming to rest on your forearms.

When you break away, he smiles at you quizzically. “What was that for?”

You shake your head, indicating that you know your reasons are silly. “Because I wanted to,” you tell him truthfully. “Because I like you, and I missed you today, and….”

And you’re everything good.

“And I’m just… happy to be with you,” you finish lamely, nibbling with your bottom lip, a nervous habit.

He slides one hand down your arm and takes your hand. His smile softens from something teasing into something sweet, those dimples winking at you.

“Well,” he says, looking up at you, “speaking of how much you like me… you don’t have class on Friday, right? What about work?”

Friday is a day off at the university - some kind of training day for staff. 

“Nope,” you say. “Kris is on, not me. Why, what’s happening?”

Namjoon’s hand goes to the back of his neck. “I, uh,” he says, a little bashfully, “I wanted to take you out. Like, for the day. On a date. I had some ideas.”

You press your lips together, trying to fight back the smile that’s breaking across your face. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice coming out small. “That sounds really nice. On Friday?”

“Mhm,” he says, his smile growing cockier now that you’ve said yes. “Wear comfortable shoes. And something warm - it’s supposed to snow a little.”

You’re still practically fighting the pleased smile off your face with a broom. “Okay, I will,” you tell him. You feel like you need to get out of there so you can squeal and hop around and maybe text Kris. “I’m gonna go change. Come hang out if you want?”

You tap his wall twice in goodbye and head to your room, closing the door while you change into sweatpants and a hoodie. You’re aware that he’s seen you naked now, but it still feels necessary. You text Kris as you change, and they send you back a row of exclamation points and a “#TeamDimples!”. You send them back an eye-roll and head to the living room couch. 

–

[5:22 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m going into the city friday to do some holiday shopping [5:22 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you in? [5:23 PM] You: i have plans already :( i’m sorry [5:25 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: we could come back early [5:26 PM] You: my thing’s all day :(  [5:29 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ok [5:30 PM] You: sorry tete :(  [5:34 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: it’s fine. dinner tonight? [5:35 PM] You: only if i dont have to walk my ass back to campus… [5:37 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: youre such a complainer 🙄 [5:37 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’ll pick you up

You chew on your pinky nail, staring at your phone screen. Do you need to see if Namjoon has dinner plans? Do you need his permission to go eat with Taehyung?

You don’t know the rules to this middle-ground you’re in. 

But in light of everything you figured out today, you err on the safe side.

Namjoon’s in the kitchen, opening a beer by the sound of it. When he wanders back through the living room, you catch his eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately. You must look worried. 

“Is it… um… Taehyung wants to grab dinner on campus. Are you - can - ?”

Understanding dawns on Namjoon’s face, and he comes over, sitting on the couch next to you and setting his beer on the coffee table. 

“You don’t need to ask me before you spend time with your friends,” he says seriously. “Even that friend. You said you’re in this… so, I trust you.”

It’s such a simple thing, but it almost chokes you up. “Okay,” you whisper, so your voice won’t break. “And you’ll be okay? You can order or something?”

“I fed myself for years before we lived together,” he reminds you gently. 

“Yeah, okay,” you say, feeling a little foolish. “So, I’ll see you after dinner?”

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be here,” he promises.

–

At dinner, surrounded by noisy groups of other students, you and Taehyung each pick at your plates, chatting in between bites. 

Finally, as you scrape some sauce absently around your plate, he shoots you a baleful look. “I’ve really missed you lately,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach sinks. “I’ve been here, Taehyung,” you protest. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I know,” he says. “I know that. It just feels like we don’t talk as much anymore.”

You twist your lips to the side. There’s truth to what he’s saying, and you know it. 

“If you want to talk to me, talk to me,” you insist. “Nothing’s different.”

He looks at you flatly. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I love you, Tete,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you’ve said it to him without feeling like you’re hiding layers, slipping secrets between the vowels. “I’m right here. I promise.”

He purses his lips, looks away from you. “What’s new with you?” he asks, finally. He must have been thinking about how little he’s asked you that, over the past few months, how happy he was to let you exist just outside his orbit. “Have you heard from Lin lately?”

You fill him in on what you can - Lin, Kris and the bookstore, even finally telling him a bit about your thesis work on St. Vincent Millay’s anthology. He tells you about a fight he had with Jimin, about how he almost failed a required biology class this semester, how his mom had the flu last week but is doing better now.

He doesn’t mention dating, so neither do you.

The guilt eats at you all night long, even after you’ve gone to bed. You lay in the dark, your stomach hurting with it.

You’re not sure if you feel bad because you and Taehyung aren’t supposed to keep secrets, or if it’s because you know you’ve done Namjoon wrong by keeping quiet.

Both, you decide sometime around two in the morning. You text Namjoon, “are you asleep?” He answers almost immediately, “almost. you ok?”

You brace yourself and send, “can i come over there?”

When he sends back, “please do” you grab your phone charger and make your way across the dark living room, lit only by the streetlights outside. You make your way into Namjoon’s room, into his bed, into his embrace. You fall asleep between his arms, feeling entirely like the least deserving person alive. 

Friday December 7th

You follow Namjoon’s directions on Friday, wearing something warm, and sneakers. But when you head for the kitchen in the morning - he’d told you to be ready early - there’s no Namjoon in sight.

“Namjoon?” you call through the quiet apartment. “Hello?”

There’s no answer. You pull out your phone, ready to text him, when you hear footsteps and then the jangle of keys outside the front door. 

Namjoon comes in sideways, shouldering the door open, a tray with two coffees in his hand.

“I tried to get back before you were up,” he says sheepishly.

“We have coffee here,” you say in answer, trying to catch up to whatever is going on.

He gives you a mischievous smile. “We have a train to catch. We needed them to be to-go. You ready?”

It’s cold out; you’re immediately glad for your big puffy coat and the scarf around your neck. You walk with your hot coffee in one hand and Namjoon’s hand in your other. The walk to the train station is only minutes, and soon you’re standing on the platform, peering in the direction that the train should come in from. When the wind picks up, you scoot closer to Namjoon, scavenging for body heat. He smiles down at you and gives your hand a squeeze.

When the train rushes in and the doors slide open, Namjoon lets you go first as you step out of the cold and head down the corridor, looking for two empty seats. You find one in the second car you walk through, and you slide over to the window seat. You both settle in, rearranging heavy coats and coffee cups.

“How long are we on for?” you ask Namjoon. He’s refused to tell you anything about the day, wanting it to all be a surprise. 

“Around half an hour,” he tells you, and offers you an earpod. Quiet beats fill your ear as the train starts to move, buildings rushing past faster and faster until they give way to the browns and greens of less urban areas. 

Namjoon taps your thigh when your stop comes, and you slide out and follow him towards the doors and back into the sharp, December air. 

“Where are we?” you ask, as the train pulls away. Namjoon waves a hand at the train station’s sign, which reads the name of a quiet town west of your university. You’ve never been here before, but you know of it. 

Namjoon leads you by the hand away from the train station and towards town. You spend the morning ducking in and out of little niche shops, a few art galleries, and one extremely cluttered antique store just for the hell of it. You talk the whole time - pointing out funny items, telling stories when something sparks a memory, joking and laughing quietly.

Around lunchtime, you stop on the sidewalk. Snow flurries drift down around you; not enough to stick, just enough to get caught in hair and eyelashes.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asks you, blowing on his fingers to warm them. “There are actually a lot of decent options along here.”

“Somewhere warm,” you joke, and he gives you an indulgent smile. Then he wraps an arm around your shoulders as you continue up the street, reading a few menus until you settle on a little cafe. You share a hot meal, watching the snow fall lazily outside. 

“What else do you have planned?” you ask curiously, as you finish up eating.

“One more stop,” he says. “It’s the piece de resistance of the day.”

“Ooh,” you say, eyes wide. “Can’t wait.”

Namjoon pays and you zip yourselves back into your coats, heading back into the snow. He leads you, to your surprise, off the main strip and down a narrow side-street. A weathered sign swings in the winter wind, the paint so chipped and peeled that you can’t read it anymore.

He pulls the door open and holds it for you as you step through the threshold of the most beautiful antique bookstore you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my gosh,” you whisper, reverent, eyes scanning the walls of shelves, the tables, the stuffed armchairs. 

“I know you love books as much as I do,” Namjoon’s low voice says, close to your ear. “I wasn’t sure if you love old books as much as I do.”

“I do,” you breathe, running a hand just above the covers of the displayed novels to your right. 

You walk together through the display tables, deeper into the belly of the shop. The register is currently unmanned, a little bell on the counter meant to summon whoever operates it. 

“I have an idea,” you say to Namjoon, looking over your shoulder to smile up at him. “Let’s play a game?”

One of his eyebrows jumps. “What kind of game?”

A giggle erupts from you, and you try to stifle it. “Not that kind. Let’s shop alone. I’ll pick out three for you, you pick out three for me. Then we can meet back here in… twenty minutes? Or so? Then we can swap.”

Namjoon’s smile is open and wide, practically taking up his whole face. “I like it. Twenty minutes? I’ll set a timer on my phone.”

You go in separate directions as you browse. At one point you have six books in your arms, and you stop and set them down, examining their spines for which you should keep and which you should put back. The smell of old pages permeates the air, along with something Christmas-y - pine, maybe a touch of peppermint. You make your way further into the store, climbing a set of open, metal stairs that lead to a balcony of sorts, with more shelves at the top. 

You can see Namjoon down below, crouching next to a shelf, his finger tracing the spines of the books on the bottom shelf, clearly looking for something specific. You smile softly, watching him. Then you bustle on to the next section you’re interested in.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket that your twenty minutes are up, you make your way back down to the spot you’d chosen to meet back up. You hold the books behind your back, smiling. 

He does the same. “Trade on three?” he asks. “One… two… three!”

You hand him the stack and he hands his books over to you. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you read the titles. You’d both done the same thing without knowing - one fiction, one non-fiction, one poetry. 

“I think we spend too much time together,” Namjoon jokes, faking solemnity. 

“Agreed,” you say, grinning up at him. “What do you say we buy what we want to buy and go across to that coffee shop to read?” You point out the window, eyeing the coffee shop across the street. 

“I like this plan,” he tells you happily, and takes your hand to lead you to the register. 

The coffee shop is a good choice - it’s got a fireplace on one wall, and you and Namjoon manage to score a small table not too far from the circle of warmth. Just as he had on the train, he hands you an earpod, and you spend several hours easily - chatting some, reading, watching the snow out the window.

You haven’t felt this at peace, this understood by somebody, perhaps ever in your life.

It gets dark early, making it feel late at night when it’s still early evening. Namjoon holds you close as you walk back down main street, back in the direction of the train station. Halfway down the block he stops, looking down at you, something warm in his gaze.

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

He doesn’t answer, just leans down to kiss you sweetly, his thumb stroking your jaw whisper-soft. 

You’re sleepy the second you sit down on the train. You lean against Namjoon’s shoulder, eyes heavy. You’re not sure if you actually drift off or not, when Namjoon gasps beside you.

“What?” you ask, sitting back up. He looks back at you, eyes wide, clearly horrified. “What? What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, eyes flashing to his phone and then back to you. The panic in his voice is evident. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” you repeat, feeling your own nerves start to tingle. 

“I texted the wrong group chat…” he says quietly, still sounding horrified. “Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so sorry. I thought it was the one with only Yoongi and Hobi…”

He turns his screen to show you. The groupchat is clearly the one with all the guys, the bubbles at the top numerous. 

[6:02 PM] Hoseok: Namjoon you’ve been quiet all day

[6:03 PM] Hoseok: what’s the story?

[6:05 PM] Namjoon: took y/n on a date today to that antique bookstore 😊

[6:09 PM] Seokjin: wait….. taehyung’s y/n?

[6:09 PM] Jungkook: OOP-

Your stomach sinks. “Oh, my god,” you say, eyes on his phone screen. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, sounding pained.

“No, it’s okay,” you say automatically, even though it probably isn’t. You take a deep breath, rub a hand over your face. “He was going to find out eventually. And, honestly, I didn’t want it to be a secret forever, you know? This isn’t… this is real, it’s not a stupid friends-with-benefits thing, it deserves to… be.”

You trail off, not sure what you mean, but Namjoon leans forward, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. 

“I’m still sorry,” he murmurs into your hair.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “It really is.”

On your lap, your phone buzzes.

[6:12 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: wow.

Sunday December 9th

You try for two days to get Taehyung to answer you. He ignores text after text, call after call.

On the first day, you feel terrible. You’re sure he’s feeling betrayed, confused, hurt.

By the second day, you’re pissed. 

[9:57 PM] You: taehyung, please talk to me

[11:08 PM] You: tete. please?

[12:33 AM] You: seriously, can you answer?

[9:41 AM] You: morning. Can we talk today please?

[2:12 PM] You: the silent treatment’s getting old. Pick up.

[5:57 PM] You: i’d LIKE to apologize to you in person but its kind of hard when you’re ignoring me!!!

[8:49 PM] You: fine, i’ll do it this way [8:54 PM] You: i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you found out that way. [8:56 PM] You: for what it’s worth, we aren’t like…… officially official or anything [8:57 PM] You: it’s been heading that way, yeah, but…. not yet [8:59 PM] You: i think… telling you would have made it realer, and i didn’t know if it was real enough for that yet [9:03 PM] You: and if i’m being honest… i didn’t know how to tell you

[9:32 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: can i come over

Relief floods through you so heavy that you exhale everything inside you, eyes closing, head sagging towards your chest, the hand holding your phone going limp. Namjoon looks over at you from his side of the couch. 

“He answered?” he asks. 

“He’s coming over,” you confirm, typing in an answer to Taehyung. “You don’t mind, right? I owe him some answers.”

“No,” he says evenly. “I don’t mind. Do you want me to… I mean, I’m just thinking of when I talked with Elyse. Would me being there… help? Or make it worse?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It’d help me tremendously,” you admit. “But I think it’d make it worse for him. Thank you, though. I appreciate the thought.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, and reaches out to give your hand a squeeze. “Well, you know where to find me.”

Outside, the December night is cold, but dry, the air tickling your throat on its way to and from your lungs. 

“Listen,” you say softly. You and Taehyung are sitting side by side, a foot apart, on the stairs in front of your apartment. The stone step feels like a slab of absolute ice underneath you, but you can’t care about that right now. “I’m sorry it happened like this. I was trying… I was trying not to let anything change between us.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, just stares at the road. From the side, you can see the tightness in his face, the clench of his jaw, the movement of his throat as he swallows. You’ve known him almost your whole life. You can read him like a book.

He’s hurting.

He’s trying to pretend he’s not.

“I mean,” you continue, your heart aching, “you never tell me about your girls.”

“That’s different,” he croaks. 

“How?” you ask softly. “How is this different?”

“I wasn’t actually dating any of them,” he says.

It’s not the whole reason, and you both know it. 

“So, what is this?” he asks. “Is he your boyfriend now?” He positively sneers the word.

This stops you. You don’t know how to answer. Technically, no. But essentially… yes. You just hadn’t talked it through yet. “He… I…”

Taehyung stands suddenly, shoves his hands in his pockets, paces to the curb and back. “Well?” he demands, facing you. The hurt is practically dropping from him, and you’re reeling to fight the instinct to make it better, reeling trying to determine at lightning speed if you’ve actually done something wrong.

“Not technically,” you whisper. 

He stands there, surrounded by the dark, staring you down, his face more serious than you’ve ever seen it. You stand too, taking a few steps to stop before him. 

“What does this mean for us?” Taehyung asks. His voice breaks on ‘us’. “What are we now?”

You reach out, fingers skimming along his arm, wanting to comfort. “Taehyung, it doesn’t mean anything for us. We’ll be the same as we’ve always been.”

You watch it cross his face as he decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found. 

–

Upstairs, Namjoon can’t let go of the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He can’t get that day with Elyse out of his head - how his eyes had found yours and he’d felt steady, had literally felt the fist of anxiety loosen on his lungs. What if you needed him out there? Finally, he can’t take it anymore. He crosses the living room and peeks out the window, just to gauge how it’s going - he’s sure he can read your expression or your body language enough to tell if you’re okay or not.

He leans over, looking out, and the blood in his arms and legs turns in an instant to ice.

Outside on the sidewalk, you’re kissing Taehyung. His dark hair hangs over your face, where one of his hands rests. Your bodies are impossibly close together, seeming to meld into one in the shadows.

He stumbles away from the window, trying to get away from it, but the image burns in his brain. He makes his way blindly back towards his bedroom. His heart pounds, and he finds himself nauseous, his eyes suddenly burning like he’s walked through smoke. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, punching his doorframe. Then he slams his door shut, and locks it for good measure. 

He should’ve known, he thinks. He should’ve seen this coming from day one. 

Elyse had made him feel stupid, yeah. 

But it was nothing like this.

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I'M GOING INTO HIDING BYE!!!!!!! <3

love y'all thanks for reading!!!

Hello! (I’m not sure but I think my ask got cut out in half) Can you please write a Namjoon Drabble where he is really really in love with kinda insecure reader, and one time a random man makes a random disrespectful/mean comment about her and Namjoon gets angry and really protective? He then would comfort or reassure her! Sorry this isn’t smutty, I just wanna read some fluffy domestic stuff so bad 🤣

It was probably the sixth time that week when he went to that library, the sixth book he read that week, the sixth bottle of orange juice he bought from the jukebox in the corner of the full of book shelfs room.

What was the reason of all of these? You. You were working there. You, the shy girl no one usually notices, with your cute and simple outfits, with your cute round glasses you used to wear when you were reading or typing on your white computer, you, the simple, yet so kind and heartful girl. You, his secret crush.

He first saw you when his friends took him in that library, weeks ago, because they were in urgent need for materials, for finishing a project for the Chemistry class with Miss Green. Namjoon had already finished his project, of course, he was such a smart and hard working boy, but there he was. Sitting at a table, in the quiet place, filled up with shelfs, the smell of ancient books and dust, watching their friends, murmuring, in what it looked like being a useless try of finding the right materials.

Namjoon was honestly asking himself what is he doing there. It was not like he wasn't a fan of libraries, or books, in fact, he was spending most of his time in the library from beside his block, but that day he really didn't want to be there, when he could do something else, like writing some lyrics he would lately put into a song, somehow.

Holding his notebook, full of random thoughts and some lyrics, he got up, ready to leave, but while he was careful to sneak out, without his friends noticing, he bumped into someone, his note book, flying from his hand, his nose being hitten by a forhead, almost making it bleed.

"I-I am so sorry!" You sttutered, half bending, into a bow, glasses falling from your face, right on top of his note book, making your cheeks heat up even more. Namjoon picked up your glasses, handing them to you, his heart beating faster when he catched a glimpse of your flushed face, a shiver running through his body, when your delicate fingers touched his.

You picked up his notebook, as well and gave it to him, eyes avoiding his. He wanted to thank you, but you turned around, heading to your desk, where you took a nouvel and started to read it.

That's exactly the book he finished reading today, in hope he would finally gather the courage to talk to you, that book looking like a good subject to start with, the other books he read that week following, moving his usual place from his usual library to this one, your work place. He didn't usually read romance or fantasy, but now, because that was your favourite type of books, he ended up accepting it. Taking his heart in his hands, he rose up from his seat, eyes fixed on your figure, who were busy talking to a costumer.

The library was empty, you two being the only three left. Namjoon sighed, ready to turn around and leave, calling it another day, when he heard you whimpering in pain. He turned around faster than ever, glare fixed on you and the man beside you, who was gripping your wrist tightly, pressing you harshly against a shelf, his figure covering yours, dangerously.

"Who are you trying to fool with your round glasses and grandma like outfits, huh? You are a whore, we all know that!" The man almost barcked in your way, making tears run down your cheeks. Namjoon fist colided with his jaw, making the man fall off of you, into the floor.

"What the- "

But Namjoon kicked him again, this time right into his nose, breaking it. "No one can touch her or talk to her like that!" He almost growled

"Do you understand, you piece of shit?!" He hissed, between greethed teeth, making the man curse, holding his bleeding nose and leaving the library, leaving you two alone.

Namjoon turned around, staring at you, concern ridden on his beautiful face, his heart breaking seeing your cheeks wet of tears. His hand moves its own way to your cheek and reaching for it, he wiped away the tears, making you slightly jump, staring at him.

Namjoon couldn't resist anymore and taking your wrist in his hand, gently, not like that guy, he pulled you to him, embracing you into a warm, bear hug, one of his big hands resting against your back, rubbing circles on it, the other one gently caressing your hair, keeping your face burried into his neck.

"Y/N... you are so gorgeous, so smart, so kind, so sweet, such a well educated girl, don't listen to that jerk. I know you probably don't know me, but I came here every day to see you. Wanted to talk to you the whole time... I really find you amazing, Y/N" he said, hugging your smaller frame closer and tighter to his firm chest.

"I actually didn't like these books, but they were your favourite ones, couldn't stop thinking about you, I literally like everything in you and I know you probably don't- ...."

"I like you too, Namjoon." You said, making him pause, his eyes widening in shook, causing you to let out a giggle who almost made him drop into his knees.

"I also spied you." You said, wrapping your arms around him, making his heart beats grow faster and a huge, bright smile to rise on his face.

Author's note: love, sorry for waiting that much! Hope you liked it!🥺

HEAVEN-SENT | knj

pairing: idol!friend!namjoon x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.8k

summary: when a certain bad experience with a guy makes you run to namjoon, he heals you and changes you once and for all.

warnings: lack of willful consent in a way, crying, religion, smoking (namjoon smokes a cig, reader vapes), the context of this fic is of sexual relations though none are described, heavy daddy issues.

note: after i sat down to write last chapter of berries, i discovered that i simply couldn't because of what happened to me this week. there was nothing left for me to do, but to run to namjoon in my head and let him heal me. yes, unfortunately, the events that i wrote about in this fic happened to me. the dream, i had it last night. and the consolation in the form of words in the fic, i constructed it from everything my friends told me. to be honest, i feel deeply healed. i finished it in two hours or so and i feel so much better. now, like the reader i put myself into, i'm gonna take a shower and wash everything away. i'll be able to write berries after that. i love you, guys. sorry, if this is triggering in any way. i just needed to get it out.

“I think I heard… God in that dream.” 

Your words create a wisp of tenderness in the air. Saddened, moist with the tears that sting in the back of your eyes. The sun of the summer has descended, hid beneath the city—and you feel as though the same occurred in your life, despite the fact you’re being held by someone who holds the skyscrapers and the manufactured greenery in between like a burden on his shoulders and could easily stop its departure if only he looked up to the heavens with puppy eyes. 

God would’ve nodded. Flicked his fingers. The source of light and warmth would’ve paused, stared down on you, shone a little more mercifully. Beckon you out to breath in the fresh air, breathe in the protectiveness you find yourself to be in the middle of. 

God protected you from a boy who had different intentions from you, led you into the arms of a man who’s able to take your pain and transform it into an eternal artwork of beauty and importance. A harmonious poetry, mixed with English and Korean, flooded with colors akin to the ones your eyes would stumble across on a field of wildflowers. 

It’s where you are right now. No blanket, just the soil, the blossoms, the warmth from Namjoon’s body, your bruised knees and rawly abraded elbows—your injury from earlier that the boy feignedly kissed, but didn’t care much about. A means to get you into bed, nothing else. A banana vape in your fist while Namjoon holds his cigarette backwards, shielding the smoke with his palm, even though you’ve told him multiple times that you didn’t mind it. 

You smoked so much of them with him within the hours you spent here and didn’t receive any sort of alleviation from it that you grew a certain distaste for it in your mouth. Settled for the sweetness of your vape. Enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed Namjoon’s closeness and a sense of safety that he radiated as he let you rest your head on his clavicle, leaning his entire weight on just one hand, and nothing else. 

So unlike the boy, who would’ve kissed your feet if you let him take the endeavor further like he wanted. 

You were on a first date with a boy you didn’t even know for a week. With a boy who stuck his tongue down your throat. Almost fondled the most private parts of your body, had you not stopped him. And who didn’t drive you home after. 

The prose of the shallow, insolent face of a young male, who didn’t want to be provided with your love and empathy, who kissed you to shut you up, in fact. And the demons of your brokenness, conspired with your father complex, manipulated you into believing that he was moved by it, rather than repulsed by it as his only objective was getting you comfortable enough so you willingly give over something that doesn’t belong to him. 

Your purity. Your private parts. Your femininity. 

Two days later after the date, you had a dream. While you slept beside your best friends who spent the night smoking with you on the stairs outside of their apartment, helping you realize the truth—popping your bubble of pink vapor gained from the kiss and the male attention you’ve always had so little of. Many dreams swam past your sleeping consciousness, but only one resurfaced upon waking up. 

A large beige room; a man standing in the middle of it as he made your bed while you stood clutching your pajamas to your broken, dejected form. You were looking at him, regarding him from head to toe. From his shortly cut, blond hair, to his broad shoulders and toned, muscular arms that would lift you without blinking. From the tank top he wore, to the dark shorts. And once you viewed the same bruises on his body that were on yours, concealed from his sight and awareness, you heard a gentle voice inside your heart. A voice, entwined with the purest form of love, which told you that this was the man you were supposed to be with, not the boy you were seeing. 

You listened to the voice, obeyed it in a way that you didn’t quite understand—silently, tenderly. While you internally quivered in fear in regards to the male species. You were frightened of the man who was taking care of you—not because of who he was or what he potentially had done or would have done, but because of a very simple reason. 

He was a man. 

And you didn’t trust them. 

Not anymore. 

Namjoon was different. Namjoon was a man who was your friend for the longest time. A poet who nurtured his life. Who viewed the world’s secret poetry and sought it in every way he could. He was as much like you as you were like him. But you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. 

It wasn’t written in the prosaic constitution of this wretched world; and never will be. 

He’s not the man in the dream. 

He never made your bed, although he would if you needed it. But his heart doesn’t belong to love. It is tied to the arts; tied to the people he takes care of, works hard for. His heart belongs to his voice. 

And his voice was silenced in deep indignation when you told him what happened to you. He’s known you for years; he’s known of your lack of manliness in your life—has supported it for as long as he’s walked beside you. Wrote you poems about how perhaps that’s what life is. Aloneness and the arts, the heartbreak if it crawls inside and what you do with it after. You’ve read them, worshiped them, obeyed them, even though your need for love always persisted within you. 

And it led you here. Back to him, needing his poems, although now your deeper brokenness asks for his recitation. 

But he’s still silent. 

Not silent to your pain, however. Not silent to the tornado in your sternum that makes you pause between your words due to its intensity. That makes you look at the leaves of the grass instead of the earth within the pools of his eyes. But you can feel the strength of his indignation that is mightier than the whirlwind in your bones. And it’s warm, so terribly warm, growing warmer the longer he looks at you, in spite of the lowering of the heat of the sun and the evening sweeping past the field, the coldness of the soil as if it never had been touched by that heat. 

Like you, almost. 

“I think it was him who told me that,” you continue, brushing your thumb over your yellowing bruise upon your knee from your injury. “It’s why I remember the dream so vividly. Why it made me never want to see the guy again. Why it suddenly made me understand why my friends reacted the way they did when I told them what happened.” 

You believe it, and nothing could cover your belief due to its force—its quiet, tender force that graces you with a little bit of strength to be here with him, to be able to share it with him with the said understanding and calmness, calmness so akin to nothingness. 

How delightful it is, that state of emotions. 

You feel as though you’re telling the story of another person. Perhaps Namjoon has done it in you by letting you talk without interrupting like your friends did. They outburst so colorfully and it made you feel so small and so stupid. Namjoon did no such thing—through his silence he put great meaning into your story. 

And it feels nice. More than nice. You appreciate it with the little you’re able to feel towards a man. 

“Why did you let him kiss you again?” Namjoon asks, softly, breaking that nearly long season of his silence with the kind of gentleness that only he’s capable of. 

He must be a different breed, you conclude. One you’ll never have the opportunity to know, intimately. 

Your mouth rounds in a faint pout because you know your answer, and sheepishly you camouflage it by taking a puff of your vape, expecting the banana flavor to give you the courage you need in order to say it. 

You hear Namjoon follow you suit, sucking on the bud of his cigarette before he puts it out in yours and his makeshift ashtray—a bottle of water that you both drank. The hiss and the dying out drives you quicken your scrambling of bravery and you don’t really know where that vague sense of impatience comes from. 

Namjoon is anything but impatient. 

You sigh, taking another puff, blowing it into the wind, watching it where it takes it to. Wish you were taken elsewhere, too. By an invisible hand that means well. Take you to a place of joy and respect, of devotion and care. 

You wonder if a place like this exists, at all. 

“Because…” you trail off, the tornado in you thickening, threatening your calmness and you can’t stop the blooming of your pout, the deepening of it, either. “Because it was my first real kiss with a guy and I wanted experiences like that. I wanted to live. I wanted to have what everyone else has so easily.” 

A beat of silence. The tornado enlarges. And you feel as though you were in the middle of it, not the other way around. The raw truth, you’ve said it. Thank God you said it to a person that knows he must handle it with care. It’s the reason why you ran to him. Why you invariably do. 

“But he didn’t have your consent. He didn’t ask for it, so he didn’t have it. He just grabbed your head and kissed you. And because you wanted experiences doesn’t mean he had your consent.” 

You furrow your brows, out of step with him. “It was me who kissed him at one point. I even bit his lip.” 

For some reason, your uttered words cause you to look at him. With his arms wrapped around his knees and hands interlocked, he scowls. His scrunched brows cast a shadow upon his marble face, upon the thin line of his tightly pressed lips, and you fear you did something wrong. 

“Did you kiss him because you wanted to kiss him or did you kiss him because you wanted experiences?” 

That question shocks you and you can’t speak. You swivel your head back in shame, tipping it, and you twiddle your thumbs, the answer raw and obvious, out in the open without needing any transportation of words.

You felt comfortable with the guy. Had chemistry with him that would run deeper if you were on the same page as him. But there was something about him, which you still can’t pinpoint, that built a translucent wall between your heart and him. You didn’t find him attractive enough to kiss. You didn’t expect to be kissed either by the end of the date. But you went on with it for one sole reason. 

The tornado explodes through you and Namjoon can feel it. 

He places a hand on your shoulder. Makes you look at him with that singular gesture and your eyes well with tears, the residue and effect of the explosion. 

“Never, and I mean never, do that again. Never do things that you aren’t innately hungry for and never do them in order to live a life you think you should,” he says and it’s a proverb that must be written in the book that had opened within your dream. “I don’t believe in God, but I do believe that you were protected from that piece of shit, who had the audacity to put his hands on you.” 

And there it is, the recitation of a different poem, one you didn’t quite want, but find yourself to be in need of. Your tears flow without direction, dripping onto the petals of the violet and pink wildflowers that brush against your legs with every breath of the wind. 

And you nod. 

Maybe they needed it, too. Maybe that’s why you’re here, why God put that lesson in your life that made you run to Namjoon. He took your hand and gave you a role. 

To be a helper of his. 

Quench the thirst of the flowers and quench yours, too, through that work. 

“No one is allowed to think they can touch you like that on the first date. I know how guys think. They think that because they paid for you, they paid for your body—and I’d kill them for that if I could,” he breathes out, waggling your shoulder to emphasize the importance of his words. And you breathe them in, consider them the scolding of a father, one that is done out of love and care and one that is good for you. Not meant to harm, not meant to express the voice of his upper hand. It’s meant for you. For your well-being. “He was dead to me the moment you told me you had to stop his hand from going further down. And the moment you told me he didn’t drive you home at night. That’s not someone you experience life with. That’s someone you walk past.” 

You nod and you sob, weaving your way into his step, believing his words—the depth of them, the meaning of them, the end to the sentence piercing your heart because that’s how you met the guy. He stopped you on the street and chatted you up. Gave you a false sense of comfort and safety.

Namjoon kisses your worth over and over again, clutches your brokenness and puts it together with his gentle touch—all through his grip on your shoulder, through the verses of his poem. 

He doesn’t dare to go further. Because he’s respectful, because he’s older, because he cares for you, regards you as human and not a piece of meat meant for satisfactory purposes. Thrown away after the deed is done. 

You take mental notes of those attributes. Write them somewhere upon your flesh to remember later on. 

Respectful. Older. Caring. 

The antonyms of the boy you were seeing. 

“Someone will come along who will serve life to you on a silver platter. He will find you and he will respect you. Will be afraid to touch you because of how golden you are; afraid to stain you. He will love you and only then will you love him back. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one. He’ll love you first,” Namjoon recites on, your tears dropping onto the back of his hand and trickling down his fingers. He grasps your hand and you feel the liquid of your understanding on his skin. Somehow it locks it in. “He’ll wait before he kisses you. And you’ll be filled with so much longing to kiss him that you’ll feel like bursting. That’s how it should be.” 

You nod for the last time, overwhelmed, but changed. You believe the tornado won’t find you for a long time—for as long as Namjoon is here. 

“Don’t rush. Do what you love to do, your hobbies. Read. You’re not missing out. You’re living already. You’re alive. You’re experiencing life, even if it means you’re doing it in the company of your friends, in a platonic realm. It counts.” 

The last stanza. 

He hugs you. Grateful, healed, reassured—he seeps those new attributes in you by giving names to them as he wraps his arms around you and you perceive that’s precisely what you’re feeling. 

Grateful. Healed. Reassured. 

And you perceive he showed you how love is meant to be expressed. The man does it first. 

And when a storm rolls in and the wildflowers startle against your skin, Namjoon walks you home. Doesn’t leave until he knows you’re safe inside. 

Heals what he didn’t break. Reteaches what you’ve been wrongly taught. 

You’re living. You’re alive. You repeat those words to yourself as you undress yourself and wash away the wrong touch from your body, this time with great consciousness and will. And the vapor from the water, different from the one that was conjured from your madness of falsely living, seals in Namjoon’s touch on your skin, writes upon it the stanzas of his proverb. 

You’ll remember them the next time. 

And there will be a next time because you’re living. You’re alive. 

Namjoon is a different breed because he must be an angel, dressed in white as he was. A helper just like you, ordained by God he doesn’t believe in for you. 

Otherwise he wouldn’t be in your life at all because while you quenched your thirst, he filled up your hungry belly. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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this how i think bts would be if they was your husband

namjoon:

you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves

evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything

you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it

sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something

loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom

consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line

the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it

uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes

would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it

you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out

seokjin:

draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub

loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk

every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined

not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced

insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often

if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together

tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea

official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)

even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives

the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you

yoongi:

after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included

warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield

every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it

sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention

untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free

likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do

sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him

if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on

never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on

is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified

hoseok:

all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.

sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so

some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!

y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together

at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes

you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.

you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself

wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said

y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought

never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always

jimin:

intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other

would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep

sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries

loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same

he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call

doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”

still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation

you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there

knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case

the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible

taehyung:

the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway

would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles

sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him

knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him

if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his

you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go

you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together

there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you

a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being

loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were

jungkook:

every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you

you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway

has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to

watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair

follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week

comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off

traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep

if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you

an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down

whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping

a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏

Kim Namjoon Drabble Masterlist 📝

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

Genre: Fluff 💜, Angst ☔️, Crack 💀, Horror 👻

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

Pink In The Night ☔️ (internal angst)

Birthday Present

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: Smut

Rating: M - nsfw

Warnings: Implied committed relationship, adult situations

Word Count: 905

Disclaimers: this is just fiction

Summary: It’s Namjoon’s birthday and you know exactly what to get him.

Keep reading

Like No One’s Watching

✧.*Joon fucks you at the park

✧.*Joon fucks you at the library (fan fav)

✧.*Joon fucks you at the museum

✧.*Joon fucks you at his apartment

✧.*Joon fucks you in his studio, on camera (new)

Tags/Warnings: SMUT, exhibitionism, public sex, outdoor sex, pwp, oops_ sometimes plot, rough sex, edging, clothed sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, feelings, dating, secrets, multiple orgasms, canon compliant, bonding over art, serial fics.

BTS Writing Masterlist

BTS Reactions

Original bias was: Jin, Suga, JHope, RM, Jimin, V, JK

Being romanced A-Z by: Suga, JHope, RM, Jin

Taller than him

Too short to reach his cupboards

Find out about your terrible ex-boyfriend

Bloated on your period

You’re feeling really sad

You've never been kissed

They're going to be a father

You've gained weight

They see you without makeup and you have acne

You love trashy reality TV

You fall asleep during a movie

You've had a long, hard week at work

You keep being disappointed in bad dates and they are your best friend and secretly want to date you

BTS Slice of life/drabbles

Domestic Dinner with Jin

Put Down Your Roots - Hoseok

Too Much of a Soulmate - Hoseok (contains smut)

My Universe series - oneshots for each member based on their lines in My Universe

Jungkook - Is It Just A Dream?

Taehyung - Easier to Keep in in the Dark?

RM - Day-Late Friends

Jimin - Is the grass greener?

Jin - The Social Butterfly

Other series

Life With Yoongi

Chapters: One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven

Smut drabbles

JHope’s different sides as a lover

Fuck me, Yoongi

Each member’s favorite body part on you

BTS Kinks

This is EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED

Hope you get blessed with clear skin

XOXO♡♡

Repercussions

A Hoseok x Namjoon x Reader Fanfiction

Summer madness 7/32 Y/N is fed up of not being the center of attention because Namjoon and Hoseok are busy. But can she handle it when bratting gets her EXACTLY what she asked for? Degradation, name-calling, fem oral, Dom/sub

"I'm kinda busy here sweetheart." Namjoon dismisses you.

The rapper is bent over his mixing boards, hard at work on what is sure to be the next big thing on the Korean music scene. Too bad you didn't really care all that much, the South Korean public had monopolised more than enough of his time, especially with enlistment coming up. It left you feeling particularly sour about the lack of attention you had been receiving of late, both from Namjoon and Hoseok.

You drape yourself over Namjoon's shoulders and sigh dramatically. He rolls his eyes but continues with his work, largely ignoring you in favour of his new album.

You walk your fingers along his arm, tracing the veins that stick out along his biceps.

"Love we can play later." He says shrugging you off.

"But I want to play now." You whine in the most petulant voice you can muster.

He looks up at you finally, but it's not the look of defeat you'd been hoping for. His tongue is buried in his cheek, one eyebrow raised. It's a look that tells you he is not in the mood for you to be bratty right now...

It's a look that might've worked on you ordinarily, sent you whimpering off with your tail between your legs to wait for him on his terms. Except he has told you later twice this week and fallen asleep before later ever arrived. This time you weren't willing to back down.

"That look has never been followed by anything good." You tease.

You make yourself comfortable on his sofa as he watches. You make a point of laying against the arm and arching your back in a way you know accentuates your curves, a pose he wouldn't normally refuse. You close your eyes and run your hands down your body, groaning as you ghost over your breasts. They continue down past your belly button, hovering at the tops of your thighs.

You open one eye to glance at him, to make sure your audience is truly captive. His knuckles are turning white from holding on to his knees too tightly.

"Y/N..." It's a warning, his voice low and gravelly.

"What? If you don't want to play I might as well make myself comfortable."

Your hands continue. You let your skirt fall upwards exposing your thighs properly. You dig your nails into the unmarred flesh leaving red marks in your wake.

"Y/N stop." He commands, but you've gone too far to listen.

You play with the seem of your panties. Your finger dips across the growing wet patch in the middle of the fabric, the coolness of your hand making you shiver. A hand reaches out and covers yours and you think you've won.

You open both your eyes to look at Namjoon but your triumph is quickly replaced with dread when you meet his eyes.

"Y/N I love you so much, but right now you are testing the limits of that love."

Your stomach drops and immediately you sit upright. He brings his hand up to your face and caresses your cheek as you whimper under his touch.

"I said later, sweetheart."

You nod this time and he releases your face. He turns back to his work and it is clear that is all that will be said on the matter for now.

You decide to go in search of Hobi. His mood hadn't been particularly cheery this morning, but perhaps he might be easier to sway than Namjoon.

You find the man in your 'everything room'. A spare bedroom that you had converted for use as a dance studio, gym, movie theatre, and other recreational activities. Your favourite feature happened to be the closet that turned around to reveal Hobi's favourite toys. It fills you with hope when you see him standing near the door only to find it facing the other way and filled with boring things like ankle weights and sweat towels.

You loiter in the doorway watching him wipe away the sweat that accumulated along his collar bones. He doesn't seem to notice your presence, or at least he ignores you if he does. He tosses the used towel across the room towards the hamper and presses play on his phone.

A song from his latest album blares across the speakers and like clockwork his body springs into the routine he has been practising for days. He moves harshly in time to the beat, meeting each step with perfect timing any mistakes he makes are completely imperceptible to the untrained eye. But he sees them. And you can see each one on his face as he becomes more annoyed with himself.

As the song comes to an end he grumbles to himself and finally turns to look at you.

"What's wrong Jagiya?" He asks.

"Missed you." You pout.

You jut your bottom lip out hoping to goad him into kissing you. It fails.

"I need to get this perfect before the weekend Y/N... How about we spend the evening together?" He suggests.

"But I'm lonely now..." You groan.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me." He rolls his eyes "You know that only works on Joonie."

"Not today apparently." You grumble under your breath.

He catches it anyway.

"OH! So I'm not even your first choice today? Silly Brat couldn't take no for an answer?" His voice turns cold.

You stammer for a response but he raises his hand to stop you.

"I want you to go to our room and stay there until I come and get you. Don't ask for things you've already been told you can't have Y/N you know better than that." He chastises.

You want to protest, not ready to give up on your endeavour. You're certain if you could just try for a little longer he will give you exactly what you want.

"But Hobi..." You pout, fake tears threatening your waterline.

"Don't. I've given you your orders, I'll deal with you later. Now go." He waves you away and starts his music again.

You huff loudly as you leave ensuring he hears your displeasure.

You glance at Namjoon's closed studio door one more time but decide better of it. And so you sulk for the rest of the afternoon, lounging on your shared bed and flipping through different shows on Netflix.

______________

Almost five hours later the door opens to reveal an irate-looking Hoseok. He flicks on the lights and unplugs the TV.

"You're so annoying. Did you know that?" He pauses like he expects a response.

But you know better than to give one.

"You think you'd be grateful, you know? So many others would kill for the life we've given you, yet you take it for granted..."

You whimper as he stalks closer to the bed, scrambling against the headboard.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe we haven't been indulging you enough. Maybe the unlimited credit cards and a beautiful apartment aren't enough for you? Maybe we've been selfish working so hard to provide for you, hmm?"

He crawls across the bed towards you leaving you nowhere to escape to as he cages you in. He reaches out and hooks a finger under your thumb, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

"Clearly you've been neglected, so let me fix that... strip."

His hand drops down into his lap and he gives you just enough room to dispose of your clothing. You do so quickly, knowing better than to leave Hoseok waiting when he gets like this. You sit with your back against the headboard, legs spread wide with space for him in between. He appraises you, gaze lingering in all his favourite places. He looks hungry. But he doesn't touch, not yet.

"Show me how needy you are."

You place your hand between your legs, using two fingers to part your labia exposing your little pink hole. You can feel how wet you are with just a small motion, the skin sticky from waiting so long. The cool air causes goosebumps along your skin.

"Touch yourself." He growls.

You whine, realising he has no intention of touching you himself, at least not yet. You start reluctantly, teasing at your entrance with no real conviction hoping he might take over if you do it wrong.

Instead, he slaps your thigh, making the skin jiggle and leaving a bright red print in his wake.

"I know you're dumb Y/N but you're not that dumb. Show me how you pleasure yourself." He sneers.

This time you try harder, dragging your hand up towards your clit. You circle the sensitive bud, eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure.

Another slap lands on your leg, this time he digs his nails into the flesh leaving behind little halfmoon bruises. His free hand tucks back under your chin, forcing you to look at him. He doesn't need to speak his command this time, clear in his intention. Your eyes don't leave his as you play with yourself.

Your hand moves quicker and in more erratic rhythms as you get close. Cramps start in your wrist as the movements become more jolted the closer you get to the edge but you don't dare stop. Your head flops back against the headboard as you cum, eyes squeezing shut, unable to focus them any longer.

"Colour?" Hobi asks as your high fades away.

"Green." You affirm.

Hoseok grins at you and leans forward to kiss you quickly.

And then just like that, nice Hobi is gone again.

He attaches himself to your collarbones, marking across your skin with ugly red and purple bruises. His hands press your legs outwards, making them burn as he stretches them further apart than naturally possible. Slowly they inch down towards your centre so close to their target before you are interrupted by a cough at the doorway.

You look up to find Namjoon looking annoyed with his arms crossed, but Hoseok barely bothers to acknowledge his appearance, fingers finally finding their target as he pushes two inside of you with no warning.

"Hob-ah... I thought you were going to wait for me." Namjoon frowns.

"Got impatient." Hoseok shrugs, mouth refusing to detach from your collar.

You try to reach out for Namjoon but Hoseok curls his fingers at just the wrong moment, all thoughts of getting to your other lover abandoned instead for incoherent moans.

"I don't think you're doing a good enough job Hob-ah, the needy brat is still verbal." Namjoon scoffs.

Easily provoked, Hoseok immediately abandons his attempt to completely repaint your collar bones and drops into his stomach. His lips wrap expertly around your clit as his tongue dives into the centre of the nerves. You squeal and writhe as he attacks the sensitive bud.

Namjoon is quick to cross the room, pacing his lips on yours to swallow the noises that escape you. He bites hard on your bottom lip making it swell, a reminder of him that will likely last for days. His hand comes up around your throat holding you in place.

Hoseok pushes a third finger inside of you. The stretch proves too much and he works you through your second orgasm. His fingers maintain their pace and his tongue continues to wiggle against your clit preventing you from seeking any relief from the intense wave as it washes over you.

You try to moan out for Hoseok to stop, hands seeking his hair to tug at the strands but Namjoon stops you. His free hand bats yours away easily and his lips capture any noise that manages to escape past the hand constricting your throat.

"I thought this was what you wanted slut? Didn't you want our attention? Don't tell me after two orgasms you're ready to throw in the towel?" Namjoon whispers cruelly, biting at your earlobe.

Hoseok chuckles at Namjoon's taunts, the vibrations making your overstimulation worse. The man between your legs keeps going until your thighs are shaking, threatening to close in around his head, a third orgasm rattling through you. When he eventually does pull back, you're panting for air, Namjoon's hand finally fully releasing your throat.

Hoseok doesn't allow you much time to catch your breath, claiming your lips with his own, allowing you to taste yourself all over him, his chin dripping with you.

You're so wrapped up in what he is doing, you drift away from Namjoon, no longer aware of what he is doing. It's too late when you realise he is between your legs, dangerously pillowy lips torturously close to your clit. The bundle of nerves is still throbbing from Hobi's onslaught, not yet ready for more.

But Namjoon isn't always known for his patience.

He lays his tongue flat against your heat and licks a long slow line upwards, gathering your cum along his tongue. You try to scramble away as he flicks the tip over your clit, but are met by the headboard with nowhere to escape. Hoseok bites along your shoulder to distract you, settling in at your side so he can watch Namjoon go down on you. He reaches out and threads his finger in the other man's hair, guiding him along your sensitive pussy.

He is messier than Hoseok, much less precise in his movements. His tongue dips inside of you, pushing as far as he can manage before pulling back out and dragging upwards to circle your clit. It's just enough stimulation to keep you hanging, but never quite enough to push you over the precipice.

His hands dig into your thighs, pushing them away as they try to close around his head. Tears roll down your cheeks as he pulls back and bites at your legs in warning. You try to force them to stay open but the closer you get the more you tremble. Just when you think your legs are going to snap like a rubber band he lets you cum. Your thighs suffocate him as they rush to close around his head, shaking from the force of your fourth orgasm.

He doesn't seem to mind as he emerges beaming moments later. He reaches out to caress your face, wiping away the tear tracks.

"Are you okay love?" He asks.

You nod in response, not trusting your voice to have returned just yet. Namjoon wipes your cum from his face using his t-shirt and tosses the soiled garment towards the door to be dealt with later. He then pulls you forward into his lap, cuddling you closely.

Hoseok brushes a hand lovingly through your hair before disappearing from the room. He returns with wipes and snacks. He plugs the TV back in as he walks past and settles in on the bed next to Namjoon, playing with your hands.

"I'm sorry we've been busy lately, love," Namjoon whispers, kissing your head.

"Once I've finished this weekend's performance, all my schedules are finished, I'm all yours," Hoseok says.

They turn the TV back to the channel you had been watching when Hoseok had come in and set about cleaning you up as you lay limp in Namjoon's arms.

"You guys didn't cum..." You say as Hoseok pushes your legs apart to clean you up.

"I'm sure you'll make that up to us next time, I don't think you could handle anymore today," Hobi says.

As if to illustrate his point, he merely ghosts a wipe over your clit and it causes you to flinch.

"As long as next time is soon." You pout.

"Very soon," Namjoon promises " You have some very bratty behaviour to make up for..."

Masterlist

Prompt from: @hobizjagiya

"If I'm not me..."

KNJ × Female OC

Part 3 & 4

Part 3

They exit the train on a random platform in the middle of a forest.

"Namjoon, where the hell are we?" Anrea asked curiously with an authoritative tone in her voice. He chuckled, "Close to my home."

"Huh? I thought-"

Namjoon hopped off the platform and reached up, "This is why I told you not to wear something flashy. Come, we have to make it before dark." She nodded, her full trust in Namjoon.

She hopped into his arms and he let her down on the ground softly, "While we walk, Can I tell you some stuff?" She hummed as they walked hand in hand, over the cracked pavement with grass and weeds poking through.

They entered the treeline on a beaten path, the trees, plants and weeds brushing them like outstretched hands.

"I told you I grew up in Seoul with no parents, right?"

She hummed again, gently moving a tree branch from her face.

"Well, it was partially true. I have no parents, but I did the majority of my growing up- Here."

He stepped forward and disappeared into the foliage. Slightly frightened, Anrea pushed forward and stumbled into a clearing. She froze as she saw Namjoon's clothes on the ground.

She blinked rapidly and looked up into the field.

About 10 feet away sat a giant white and black wolf about a foot taller than Namjoon. She stepped back and fell onto her ass, "Namjoon!" She yelled as her head whipped around in fear that caused her heartbeat to race.

The wolf broke the grass and walked closer to her. She screamed more, putting up her shaky hands.

But nothing scary happened.

The wolf plopped down in front of her, scratching its neck before sitting still, it's ear twitching.

She pulled her hands back and leaned back on them, "W-Where's my boyfriend?!" She squeaked more to herself than the wolf but it turned to her and panted, its tail wagging fast.

She looked at the clothes, the grass, then the wolf. She looked back and forth a few times before gasping, "Namjoon?!" She shouted at the wolf. It barked and wagged its tail.

She quickly engulfed the wolf in a hug, "You fucking scared me!" She said, hugging him and crying. She felt arms wrap around her, "I'm sorry Noona, I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't know how to tell you, so I showed you." She sniffled and pulled away, blushing at his toned chest and huge biceps.

"I needed to show you my family before we consummate. I've really been wanting to make love with you." She blushed and chuckled, "So blunt." She smacked his shoulder and they both chuckled. "Wanna ride?" He asked, backing up and shifting into his wolf again before sitting down for her to climb on. She stood up, grabbed his clothes and straddled his back.

He huffed and kicked his back legs, making her press into his fur and hold on. He grunted and took off trotting before full fledged running into the woods.

My boyfriend's a wolf.

Part 4

They came to a stop and Namjoon sat down, making her slide off his back. She giggled and crawled around him, "Your clothes." She offered the fabric and Namjoon took it, shuffling back into the woods and changing into his human form before walking out and helping her from the ground.

"So this is why you love nature so much, you grew up in it." She stated as she looked around at the little village, all the houses were either huts or small cabins. Namjoon nodded and held her hand as he led her toward the banner over the main trek in front of the village, "It says Blood Wolf Village." She hummed in awe at the language she really didn't know.

It was different from Korean and English, the language looked more like it had runes for letters.

As soon as they stepped under the banner the people around them tilted their heads back, inhaling deeply. "

Alpha Namjoon!" Multiple people shouted.

They began to crowd them and Namjoon smiled at each of them, when someone parted the crowd.

"OH THANK THE GODDESS YOU'RE BACK!"

They turned to see a plump lipped man walking through the crowd that parted for him.

He hugged Namjoon and clapped a hand on his back. Namjoon smiled and hugged him back, "Bam, it's been too long. Your scent is refreshing." The man chuckled, "I can't lie and say anything differently."

"Oh, I want you to meet my mate, Anrea."

All attention turned towards the short tan skinned, curly haired woman, making her face light up bright red. "Wow, a mate?" The man asked. "She's human."

Namjoon shrugged, "She has the scent. I couldn't help but court her after we first spoke." The man smiled, "Is this the first time you've met our kind?" He asked, "Yes."

"You're not scared?" She shook her head, "When I first met his new form, absolutely. But it doesn't matter, I've accepted everything he's thrown at me before. I can accept this," She tugged his arm a little and squeezed his bicep, "I love him."

The man hummed and looked like he forced his next smile, "Well, it'll be a little harder than it would be if she was a wolf, so be careful." Namjoon nodded, smiling and bowing to everyone before leading her towards the biggest cabin.

>

"N-Namjoon?"

He turned to her from the closet, "Yes Noona?" She bit her lip, "H-Have there been human mates before?" He nodded, "Plenty. Every year there are about 20 human mates in the pack, because the goddess doesn't want us to lose the humanity in us. This is the first time in 60 years that the pack alpha has had one though."

She blinked, "I-I have to tell you something." He walked over and sat next to her, smelling her fear and the faint scent he's been smelling for the last year but hasn't brought it up.

"I'm sick."

Namjoon hummed, urging her to go on.

"Th-The doctors say it's a tumor, on my heart. I went to see them yesterday... I have about a year left." Tears left her eyes and landed on their intertwined hands.

Namjoon inhaled and exhaled slowly, "I knew you were sick, but I wanted you to be ready to tell me. I'm glad you told me and I didn't have to find out when you leave me."

Anrea sniffled as he pulled her into his chest, "Shh. I'll spend every single day with you, loving you, hmm?" She nodded and held him close. "I know death is scary, but we'll find each other in the next life, the moon goddess will not allow the pack alpha to be broken hearted."

"Namjoon?" He hummed. "Can we try tomorrow? I wanna try to at least give you one pup." He froze for a second before sighing and holding her tighter.

"Of course."

By far the best Namjoon smut I have yet read

Hold the Door | KNJ

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Synopsis: Will you ever have a normal elevator ride with Namjoon?

Word Count: 8.3k | read on ao3

Genres, Content Warnings, & Themes: Enemies to lovers, neighbors, angst, arguing / fighting, weed, dirty talk, smut (unprotected sex, oral sex, penetrative sex, semi-public sex)

Author’s Note: Written for this “anon” 😉, who has an incredible recurring dream about Namjoon! (Wish we were all just as lucky!) Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy, dear friend!

Permanent Taglist: @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld @greezenini @missbickerbocker @dearbambideer @helenazbmrskai @morti13 @skyys-universe @somewhereofftheglobe @imaginativedreams @dreamamubarak @m-yg93 @elyte @awinkies​

Saturday 4:42 PM

“Great, I was wondering whether this day would get any better.”

The sideways, questioning, but dazed glance that your best friend gives you is as flat as the tone with which your words fall to the, as-of-yet, unreplaced carpet in your apartment building’s lobby. Her lips are obscured by the tall, heavy stack of boxes contained in a brown bag, safely clutched and pinned to her body. And her face is mostly hidden by the massive bunch of pink and yellow balloons that are tied around her shoulder to keep them from floating away. But you know that she’s shooting you a pout of confusion.

You couldn’t lift your arms to press the elevator call button the first time, given that you’re weighed down by all the shopping bags. So you jut your elbow out again to gesture backwards and focus her attention on the nightmare who has just walked into your building.

To the unwitting soul, the navy, knit beanie and matching navy t-shirt and sweatpants shuffling toward you might have been pleasant to look at. Thrilling, even, judging by the look in your best friend’s eye, squinting and appraising, like a jeweller’s eye behind a glass. 

She doesn’t really know what she’s looking at.

“The answer, by the way, is a resounding no,” you say quickly, hoping to head off further questioning.

“But he’s hot,” she raves, the brown paper crinkling at her breath.

The elevator’s friendly ding! can’t come soon enough, and when it does, you quickly step into the back corner.

“Hold the door!” the navy-clad man calls from the entryway. His voice booms throughout the lobby. Even your doorman turns to peek inside.

Your best friend — or, now, ex-best friend — plants herself between the elevator doors. “That giant, steamy slice of beefcake is a no?” she asks, turning to face you.

“You heard me!” you repeat.

You step forward, kicking at her feet to move her out of the way. She kicks back, at a slight advantage with her heels. But then a new set of toes come into view. Toes outlined by navy plastic. 

“Namjoon,” you grumble as politely as you can, as you look up from his toes and into his face.

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