Namjoon Oneshot - Tumblr Posts

— WIP 𐙚 lady beetle | knj

pairing: situationship!namjoon x oc

about: namjoon is a patient man, and he wants you to be the same.

word count: 0.404

note: so i decided to make my babies happy and post a TEASERRRR of my upcoming one shot with kim namjoon himself. since i can't reveal the surprise about what this fic is about, i thought i'd post a little something to get you all even more excited about it. <3 SEE YOU ON SUNDAY MWAH.

warnings: nipple play, praise kink, namjoon is a dangerous man, patience game.

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

WIP masterlist

HE = WORLD

namjoon x reader

i don’t have anything else to say other that it’s like hella fluff lol have fun i guess.

drabble

There’s a fine line between love and hate but i guess i’m blind because i couldn’t see it when it came to this man.

kim namjoon.

his hand moved, his big veiny hands, which are attached to his body, a very nice big…buff body.

i often just sit by myself and think how’d i end up with someone like him. I can swear he got on my nerves when we first met but it’s good that i started liking him because i don’t know where i’d be if it wasn’t for him.

I’d be lying if i said that it doesn’t make me insecure sometimes but then all my doubts and worries wash away when both of us are home alone and he does things because he knows it will make me happy like eating ice cream from the same tub at three in the morning watching a sappy romantic movie, when he does his best to try and help me in the kitchen or simply when he has his head in-between my thigh because “he was hungry” and claims that “only you can help his from his starvation”.

i love everything that comes with him and i wouldn’t trade trade it for the world, well because to simply put it, HE is my world.

We’re currently sitting in our balcony while namjoon is doing routine of showering all his bonsai’s with water and love.

“huh?” you said because you clearly missed what he just said.

he gave you a small lopsided side and after a second he repeated himself.

“i said that we should order takeout today and laze around in bed after dinner while watching movies. what do you think?”

“i think i’d like that very much namu”

you started calling namjoon namu ever since you found out trees are called namu in korean. The name suits him perfectly considering how much he admires nature.

_________________________________________

it’s currently 8:13 and namjoon is telling you stories about when he used to live with the boys in the dorms with pizza stuffed in his mouth.

“i didn’t know what to do when jin hyung asked to fry spam for everybody so i cut some spam and went ahead to fry it with some water instead of oil.”

“ IQ of 148 and you don’t even know the difference between frying and boiling spam. you embarrass me sometimes” you said giggling sipping from your coca cola in one hand and then taking a bite from from your pizza slice in the other hand.

“embarrass you huh, i’ll keep that in mind when you ask me to fuck you in public again. we’ll see how embarrassing it gets when you get needy and are practically begging me to dick you down immediately because it will take time to get home”

“you wouldn’t dare”

“i guess you’ll just have to wait and see” he smirked.

you whined staring at him but then soon enough both of you burst into laughter.

it’s moments like this that you cherish the most, just you and him. nothing else in this world matters when he’s with you because as you said it before, HE is your world.

Scent of a Woman {KNJ romance}

Pairing: leopard hybrid parfumerie boss!Namjoon x female reader!employee

Genre: Hybrid AU. Romance. Smut. Pining. Slow burn. Angst. strong father themes. NOT DADDY-type themes. EXPLICIT 🔞🔞🔞

Warnings: super super eemootiionaaal sex- is that a warning? No breed-you-with-my-pups here. Leopard-style sex, which just means, really, he comes in from the back ( I watched Nat Geo to make sure LOL). Mirror sex (so that they can look at each other @ralypenny this is part of your ask that I finally fulfilled).

Summary: In this hybrid AU, hybrids are rich and powerful. You are fully human in form and in weakness. Too bad you’re falling for your hybrid boss. And mayhaps he’s falling for you.

Word count: 10k

Special thanks: @hobi-gif for being a kick-ass beta reader with 56 edits that I never knew I needed. You read this while you were so tired, and took the time to encourage me. I'm so grateful.

Much appreciation to the following who have read it in some point of draft form and encouraged me: @httpnamjoonie94reads @jinfizz, @bonvoyagenoona @bangtanmademedoit @lcksndkys @xjoonchildx

——————————

“Stupid human,

Homo sapien

Little Alien

Tiny Cranium

Eat uranium

Poop Titanium

Homo sapien

Stupid human.”

You know the chant by heart.

Even now, more than twenty years later, the tune, the cadence, the leering faces that surrounded you are hauntingly familiar.

One glance at your comparably smaller build, your simple clothes, your plain, singular-species face was obvious enough to announce to anyone that you’re fully human.

The hybrids of your time are often part of the super-rich. It’s no surprise considering their survival instincts for attracting the richest, biggest, smartest, and fastest mates are well-honed from centuries of evolution.

Imbued with stronger genes than full-blooded humans, the hybrids live longer, look prettier, work faster, breed better, and probably fuck harder too.

So you were expected to count yourself lucky your mother worked as a live-in housekeeper for a rich hybrid family. And you were expected to count yourself lucky that their residential address allowed you to benefit from the most exclusive school districts in the country full of wealthy hybrids.

But you weren’t lucky.

Everyone knew you as the housekeeper’s daughter, as if that were more dignified than your name. Everyone made fun of you for being smaller, slower, shorter. More human.

And every day, you trudged to school, walking down the halls feeling like prey waiting to be fed to a room full of predators.

So you suffered alone through elementary, middle, and high school, always as the housekeeper’s daughter, always the butt of their jokes, always ready with fingers curled into hard fists to fend for yourself.

With each passing year, three things became clear to you:

You could never work for a hybrid.

You would never date a hybrid.

You should never, ever fuck a hybrid.

(Unless he was really good looking.)

————————

Kim Namjoon feels a little disconcerted.

He’s always been uber confident in his decisions, single-minded in his pursuit to establish the city’s most sought after bespoke parfumerie.

But lately, he’s doubting his choice to hire you as his shop assistant.

Your presence in his parfumerie disorients him. At first, it’s how the shop’s minimalist decor was suddenly disrupted by a burst of colour when you snuck in an inelegant bunch of flowers and placed them in a little jar of water, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner.

The old florist at the corner couldn’t sell this yesterday was your excuse. The petals were starting to droop, leaves yellowing with age, stems weak and insipid. And though the red gerberas clashed with the pathetic little violets, they held his gaze whenever he passed by.

Every day, a new bunch of sad-looking flowers would sit in the same jar, in different leftover color combinations. And every day, he found himself looking forward to them. Today it’s bright pink carnations mixed with orange marigolds, vulgar in their color but intriguing in their scent. Yesterday, it was half-dead roses mixed with a bright yellow peony.

He’s used to perfection— precision even —not this explosive mess of color and smells. By his standards, he should not even think these haphazard flowers are pretty. But here he is, admiring the furl of the carnation petal, thinking how silky smooth it feels despite its ragged edge. It’s almost… beautiful, nevermind the little brown flecks from its over exposure in the sun.

He doesn’t know why he quietly lets you bring this visual chaos into the calm monochrome of his shop. Or why he stops breathing a little when you brush past him to dust the corner of the shelf. (The shop has never been cleaner since you arrived.)

He can’t fathom why it’s suddenly hard to finalize the top notes of a perfume for one of his most important clients. Or why he finds himself wondering about the shampoo you’re using because the fragrance is driving him insane with curiosity.

But here you are, tying your buttery yellow hair ribbon on the door handle because it looks pretty like that and you heard an old country song on the way here and there’s no old oak tree to tie that around so the door will have to do.

He grimaces a little at your prattling, not trusting himself to speak. Because, truth be told, he wants nothing more than to rip off that ribbon and let his nose linger all over the satin fabric. He wants to, no, needs to, break down the entire fragrance profile which teases him every time you’re near.

It’s only logical since he’s in the perfume business.

At least, this is what he tells himself as he clenches his knuckles white to stop himself.

Only logical.

----------------------------------

Sometimes, you wonder what it’s like to be thoroughly fucked by the Kim Namjoon.

But of course, as your boss, he’s off limits like everyone else you’ve been attracted to. Let’s see… there was your brother’s best friend, your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, your science lab partner whom you later found out was gay and actually pining for the guy across the aisle.

You have a niggling feeling that you’re living in a strange fanfic universe full of well-trodden tropes but you banish those thoughts just like you banish your thoughts about Mr. Kim.

You remind yourself you are just a shop assistant and you desperately need this salary. That you have three rules regarding hybrids: one which you’ve already broken, two which you wish you could break, and all three with Kim Namjoon.

Sigh. If only you didn’t need this job, then there would be no rules to break. Your degree in art was a total waste of money in terms of finding a job after graduation. And when you walked by the swanky, modern storefront which advertised for a shop assistant six months ago, you ventured in without hesitation, desperate to pay off your college loan after another failed interview.

Entering the elegant interior, you went quiet for a moment as you spied a man suited impeccably in black, his gaze intent on the glass beakers of oils set on the counter.

It really had been too long since you studied a man who was not Cezanne or Matisse. With his sleek, sinewy build paired with a breathtaking side profile, he looked like a very tall, and very delicious glass of dark rum and Coke: sweet, smooth, and altogether dangerous.

Suddenly remembering you were here for a job opening, you were determined to make a first good impression.

“Hi—” you try your brightest, chirpiest voice.

“You’re hired,” he declared, without looking up.

“Excuse me? Wait. What?” you asked, heart racing.

“You’re obviously not here to buy perfume, so you must be here for the job opening. You’re hired. Starting today.”

You glanced at your plain black and white office attire that you’ve worn to hundreds of interviews. This was a high-end boutique but you didn’t think you looked that poor.

“If you really want to know, it’s not the outfit, it’s the desperation,” he said, eyes still focused on each drop of amber liquid he’s releasing into the glass beaker from an oil dropper.

“D-desperation?”

“I smelled it. Heard it in the thudding of your heart the moment you’d walked in.” He said it like he was talking about his coffee order (iced Americano, venti). “You’re desperate. And I need someone. Don’t usually take a full-blooded human. But I’ll take you.”

He finally lifted his eyes and you saw their slight but unmistakable fiery glow.

He’s one of the big-cat hybrids. They always seem so sleek and sophisticated, so sure of themselves and well, confident. It’s the money, it’s the superior genes, it’s everything... you’re not.

“Um, yes. I’m desperate for a job. Mister...?” You were nervous as hell. He was making you nervous as hell. Perhaps he was toying with you, like how a cat likes to play with a mouse.

“Kim. But call me Namjoon.”

That Kim Namjoon. The one in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m the right candidate for this position. I’ll just see myself ou—”

“Wait. You don’t have to worry about that. My hybrid interests are rather, you might say, specific.” He smirked, as if he would ever be interested in you, full-blooded in human form and human weakness.

Okay. You’re not his type. Got the message loud and clear. “Uh, the monthly salary?”

Lips curled in a triumphant grin, he announced, “5 million won.”

Holy shit.

And so that’s how you find yourself here, days peacefully filled with dusting between crystal flasks and glass beakers, fetching blotters and flacons for Mr. Kim, sweeping the shop floor and making everything sparkle.

Your daily tasks also involve decanting perfume oils according to your boss’ specifications for sampling. By now, you’re used to arranging the vials of oil on a little movable bar cart for his signature bespoke sessions with each client; always paired with a glass of bubbly for Miss or Madam.

Cleaning, dusting, decanting are all easy parts of this job.

The hard part is dealing with the disdain, and sometimes, even disgust, you get from his clients—all female hybrids of some variety. They flock to this boutique because for the longest time, it’s been taboo among the female upper class hybrids to carry the scent of their hybrid ancestry.

You feel like you should pity them; after all, they can’t help it if they smell like horse and hay, like wild game or cat piss.

But it’s difficult when they never grace you with a second glance when they enter the shop; harder still when they brush off invisible dirt from being infected by your presence when they leave.

With their impossibly high cheekbones, noses yet higher in the air, they show not an iota of kindness. To them, you’re just staff. And well, you of all people know the hybrids are used to treating their staff a certain way.

You remind yourself the salary is worth the dismissive tone, the scornful glances.

That you can and you will carry yourself with dignity even though you weren’t born into money like them.

That the only difference between you and them is that they’ve held the attention of Kim Namjoon for hours at a time.

That he has listened to each one talk about her favorite childhood memories, her favorite meal, her hopes and dreams to get a feel of what she’d like in a personal fragrance.

That when he works on a new fragrance for a client, she’s all he thinks about, always quietly brooding about the fragrance profile until a rare smile breaks across his face because he’s got it.

That he’ll smell the inside of her wrists, inhale a breath behind her ears to see if the scent combination worked with her skin. The top note. The heart note. The base note.

He’s just doing his job. You tell yourself.

It’s not a big deal. Not at all.

Then why do you wish that you could just be one for them, just for one day?

--------------------------------------------

Kim Namjoon just can’t get this right.

He’s been building Eau de Parfum No. 1071 for a client for some time now. The complex fragrance was going well with its symphony of sandalwood, vetiver, oud and oakmoss. The top notes of orange flow like a kind, generous invitation, the base notes carried mainly by oakmoss and sandalwood are strong and supportive, but the heart note, the heart was missing.

On a whim he tries a bit of vanilla. Too flighty.

Maybe a bit of neroli. Too serious.

He thinks for a moment and then looks over his files on this client. Perhaps something floral. Or fig?

It’s here where he works his hardest, commanding oils to mix and mesh, to meld into a message. Sometimes it’s longing, other times, it’s innocence. This client wants sophistication, and Kim Namjoon always delivers.

Yet, something about this fragrance profile of No. 1071 puzzles him. It seems a little too masculine for the client in question.

Perturbed, he approaches you. He almost never asks for a second opinion, but he can’t stop his feet from stalking quietly out of his private office and onto the shop floor.

Nowadays, he finds himself relishing the split second before you sense his presence.

It’s when he can breathe in your entirety, undisturbed. He misses nothing, not the perpetual slight tilt of your head like you’re listening to some invisible music of the spheres, not the impish grin of your lips like you’re in cahoots with those god-awful flowers you bring in everyday. There’s the serious eyes, the sometimes sassy mouth. Smart and sexy like a mix of heaven and hell.

It’s a while before you notice him, and his heart skips a beat when you ask in that quiet, serious way of yours, “Yes, Mr. Kim?”

“I need you to smell this and tell me what you think,” he says, voice a little crackly.

“Well, Mr. Kim, that would be an extra twenty thousand won per hour,” you quip, a little smile peeking below your serious eyes. “But, honestly, I don’t know much about the accords and notes and...”

“Just use your instincts. Just feel.”

He holds out the testing strip to you, thinking himself a little stupid for asking for help.

He looks carefully at how your hand moves closer and closer to his. How the inches, then centimeters bring you nearer to him; fingers almost touching.

Shit, Namjoon sees a slight tremble in his hand. He’s sure you see it too. Why the hell is he so nervous?

He expects you to take the tester from him. But, eyes closed, you lean in to take a whiff. He wonders fleetingly if you look like this when you kiss. You’re quiet, nose hovering just above the tester, just over his fingers, the light touch of the in-and-out of your breathing feathering his skin.

Fighting to hold still, he focuses on you as the scent begins to hit you in different ways. A look of complete and utter longing flits across your features, and he sees you’ve surrendered completely to the heart of the fragrance. “What does it smell like?” He’s desperate to know.

For a long while, you can’t answer him.

“It smells like...” you murmur, “like my dad. My dad.”

Your father would twirl you round and round under the orange tree in the greenhouse at sunset when his day’s work was done; your nose buried in his plain cotton shirt, every warp and weft woven with the fragrance of the flowers he grew. The hands that lifted you and tossed you in the air were hands that carried the smell of the earth, rich with moss.

He was a gardener for the wealthy, and while he grew flowers, he raised you until… until you were not old enough.

“I miss him. He left too soon.”

Kim Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. Words like I’m sorry; words like I’m sure he’s proud of you; those words are not enough. He wishes he could touch you, pull you into him, shelter you with an umbrella against the grey sky of grief until light breaks through.

But he’s your boss. He can’t.

Wordlessly, he hands you a tissue.

“Thanks, I’m fine, really,” you sniff. “I’ll get back to work now, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon hears the steely strength in your voice even though your breath is shaky. “The shelves don’t mean anything, Y/N. Not today. If you need time…”

“I’m okay. I miss him. That’s all.” Squaring your shoulders, you go back to wiping down the shelves.

But the sudden thought of the paper tester cradling the scent of your dad in its pores dumped unceremoniously in the trash stops you. “Mr, Kim, if you don’t want the testing strip anymore, could I have it please?”

“Of course.” Namjoon leaves the strip on the edge of the counter, careful not to contaminate the part holding the fragrance.

Back in his office, Kim Namjoon sits down and opens his leather-bound ledger. It’s where he records every perfume he has created for clients over the years. A new fragrance will be entered in its pages today. The sample vial sits quietly on his mirrored desk, waiting to be named.

When he’s done, he slips quietly into the backroom where you keep your bag and places the tiny bottle of perfume oil beside it.

Written on the label is his small neat script:

Dad. For Y/N.

Eau De Parfum No. 1072

By KNJ

No. 1072 will forever be yours now.

-------------------

You’re so embarrassed.

You’ve never been late before. Not for work. Not for school. Not even for your expected date of birth, arriving right on the dot at the stroke of midnight, quietly triumphant of your punctuality even as a little babe.

You shudder at the confluence of all the bad luck that happened today.

The one day you forget your umbrella is when a sudden burst of rain catches you unprepared. Traffic was snarling as the slippery roads caused a car accident along the way.

As the rain wreaks havoc on your dress, you scold yourself for wearing your glasses today instead of contacts. You can hardly see a thing as you hurry up the path to the shop from the bus-stop. And what a stupid choice of an outfit today. A fitted white linen dress? You might as well be wearing nothing at this rate that you’re getting wet. Even the flower seller by the corner knew better than to put out her bouquets at the shop front this morning. You better hurry. You’re so late.

Without warning, you find yourself lurching forward over the cobblestones, balance completely fucked as your last coherent thought mocks you: you should not have worn your stupid pair of wedges today with the shitty grip. Bracing your arms out in front of you for the impact to come, you’re surprised when you find yourself in the strong, safe grasp of… your boss.

“Easy there,” he murmurs. Kim Namjoon must be a leopard hybrid of the highest order. You neither heard nor saw him a second ago. And now, he’s steadying you with his arm around your waist, his umbrella over you.

God. He’s so close.

Namjoon knows he held you for a second longer than he probably should, but it’s a second that he will cherish and play over and over again in his mind later. “You should remember your umbrella next time,” he says, trying to distract himself from petrichor, the smell of rain, mingled with the scent of a woman— your scent.

“I should,” was all you can reply, too affected by how your shoulders and elbows are bumping against each other underneath the umbrella to say more. Were you imagining the reluctance in his fingers when he let go of your waist just now? You shiver at the thought. It can’t be.

Namjoon sees it and thinks you’re cold, the wind picking up speed now. He wonders if he should take off his suit jacket and drape it around you temporarily; at least until you get to the shelter of the shop. But then his jacket would smell like you and he’s not sure if he would be able to concentrate for the rest of the day after that.

His own instinct for survival kicks in and overtakes his heart. No, his jacket stays on.

“Glad I went out to get a coffee earlier or I wouldn’t have seen you.” He’s trying to explain why he’s here, beside you; trying to hide the fact that he saw your lithe figure struggling up the hill, and how he worried when he spied you without an umbrella.

He can’t believe he’s lying.

So he doesn’t say anymore, just gives you his arm to hold while you negotiate the slippery sidewalk. It’s wiser than holding you; letting go of you for the second time would prove to be difficult.

You’re quiet, rendered blind by your rapidly fogging up glasses, deaf by the drumming of raindrops, mute by the closeness of his presence, and crippled by your stupid, stupid shoes.

But you can smell, and you can feel.

And, dear reader, he smells amazing. Like strength and trust. And somehow, it makes you feel quite, quite safe.

-----------------------------------------

Inside the shop, he grabs a towel from the back and gives it to you. You murmur a word of thanks as you quickly fumble open your satchel to take out a sketchbook, groaning when you see that the rain has soaked through the pages of the book. You try to dab away the damp pages with the towel, but the water damage is already extensive.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, could I lay these out on the counter? I know they don’t look like much, just pencil sketches really, but I hope I could dry out each page before they stick to each other. It’s just—I spent so many hours on—"

“Go on.” It amuses him that you didn’t even bother to dry your dripping hair, nor the soaked dress wrapped around your body.

You carefully take out each sketch and lay it across the glossy surface, every art piece precious, every penciled stroke so intimately a part of you that you know its when, where, and why.

It feels like you’re laying bare yourself to a stranger. You wish he weren’t here, wish his prying eyes weren’t raking over the drawings.

But for the sake of your sketches, you soldier on, murmuring an apology to each naked sketch, unpainted and unfinished, as you thrust it on the cold glass of the counter.

Namjoon loses count of exactly how many drawings there are, every picture inviting him to see the world through your eyes.

The ladybird, quiet and brooding with the weight of the world on her shoulders as she considers a leaf.

The field of daffodils like a class of eager children waving their stretched hands to answer an easy question from the sun.

“When do you find time to draw?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the sketches, moving slowly along the counter to admire each one. He knows if he looks at you, he might do something fucking stupid after catching a glimpse of your body under the sheer, translucent dress.

“Here and there. Sometimes after I finish dusting here at the shop. Sometimes when I go home. Or even on the bus.”

He senses your apprehension with the last pages of your sketchbook that you’re clutching to your bosom. “Don’t hide them from me. They’re beautiful,” he says gesturing to the rest of your pictures. “Let me see, please.”

At his request, you offer the last two pieces to him. His gaze is intense as he zeroes in on the clever curve of the leopard’s tail on your paper. He stares at it, instantly recognizing his own steely gaze in the big cat, the signature scowl on the left side of his jaw drawn to perfection.

And then, there’s the picture of the fig tree—its trunk, leaf, and flower etched as if by the hand of god. Lost in his thoughts, he’s clutching on the two sketches a little too tightly than you like.

“Mr Kim. Mr. Kim. Um, could I have it back please?” Any moment now and he might tear it. It might be just a sketch but it’s still a piece of work that you treasure.

He snaps back to reality and finally notices his fingers are almost ready to crumple the flimsy paper bearing your sketch. “Shit. I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he apologizes. “Here. Don’t stop drawing. They’re perfect. Just, uh… don’t stop. I’ll be in my office. Let me know when my ten o’clock arrives.”

You nod quietly, glad to have some time to clean up and get dry, but also a little puzzled as to what came over your boss.

————----------------------------

Namjoon bursts out into his office, glad to sink into his chair, comforted by the familiarity of his desk and surrounded by his array of pipettes, testing strips, glass bottles, and vials. They are uncomplicated things, precise and emotionless. Dependable. Predictable.

For a cat hybrid, he is more a lone wolf than anything, preferring the solace of his own company, the solitude of his thoughts. The memories of his dad had almost suffocated him out there on the shop floor. Emotions are not his forte.

The picture you drew ushered the smell of figs to him, bringing him back immediately to that fateful evening where a plate of freshly cut figs lay ignored on his father’s mahogany desk.

“Son, it’s time to stop the fucking around and take your place in the company.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no. It’s just not me. I can’t report to a dozen board members, to thousands of shareholders.” And most of all, if he cared to admit it, he couldn’t report to his overbearing father.

When will his father ever understand he prefers the calm of sandalwood to the clamor of the boardroom? That he loves the complexities of jasmine, and fucking hates the backstabbing in the corporate world? Even with his fancy Sloan School MBA which his father had insisted on, his interests surely lie more in perfume than price projections for the quarterly report.

“Namjoon, walk out of here and you will amount to nothing. You hear? Nothing. Your duty is here. Your legacy is here. Your future is here. I’ve planned it out for you. It’s yours for the taking. Stay here. Stay home.”

He remembers how he took the house key out of his pocket and placed it next to the plate of figs. How he felt free when he turned and started for the doors. His dad did not follow him nor call after him, but it was the scent of fig which pursued him, saturating his pores, tempting him to walk out of paradise with shame and regret like the first sinner in the family.

But no, he had stalked out of there, head held high, finally a master of his own destiny.

Namjoon wishes he didn’t have to revisit these memories brought on by your drawings. But oh god—your drawings.

Who knew his pretty little assistant could draw so well?

Your style is a little raw, a little wild; unrestrained yes, but also, lively. He’s intrigued. He wants to find out more—because, he tells himself, because, he’s an art collector. His interests are purely business.

Really.

----------------------------------

The next day you arrive at the store to set up for the day’s clients when you notice a stack of Strathmore sketch pads of thick, heavy paper and Caran D'ache sketch pencils wrapped in satin blue ribbon. Written simply on the card, were the words Don’t stop.

It looks expensive as hell and you know it’s meant for you, but there’s no way you can accept it. Better your one-dollar pencil on recycled paper than a debt owed to a hybrid family you cannot repay.

And so you leave it at the corner of the glass counter, its shiny mirrored surface mocking you for your prudishness for not accepting his gift every time you glance in that direction.

Oh but fuck, how your hands itch to test the glide of smooth graphite on the cream of the paper. You know you cannot. You know you must not. Your mama has taught you never to be indebted to anyone or anything. There’s danger written all over that gift. The sample vial of perfume was different. That was something he would have thrown away. But this—this is different.

With a sigh, you take out the polishing cloth, determined to finally deep-clean his desk and office chair before he comes in. He’s usually in by this time, already hard at work in his private office. It’s a good thing you can give it a go today.

Mixed in the grain of the dark, rich leather chair, you catch a whiff of his scent. It smells of power, tempered with a softness you’re surprised to detect. You can’t help but press your nose into its plush cushioned back a little more.

It reminds you a little of the sweetness of hay mixed with the musk of the stable horses on your grandparents’ farm. You rub the polishing cloth all over the leather chair, dreaming of those carefree days. How good it felt to go barefoot in the soft earth, dandelions spread across the carpet of grass like rich, yellow butter.

Next, his black mirrored desk.

You use the special glass polish for this, making sure not to smudge the desk with your fingers.

The mirrored surface is unforgiving, and you see the tiny scar above your lip, the one the bully gave you at the playground (for which you returned a black eye) when you were six.

And there there’s your non-hybrid eyes, looking entirely plain, and completely uninteresting. You sigh. If only to be born a hybrid. Imagine the riches, the privilege, the—

you catch his eyes in the mirror of the desk.

“Mr. Kim!” you gasp, “Shit, you scared me!”

“Sorry. Didn’t expect you here. You’re usually out at the front,” he says.

“I—I just wanted to give it a clean,” you say. “I apologize—”

“No, it's fine. I’ll just head out and come back later—” he says.

“I’m actually done here,” you offer.

“Great. Thanks.” He watches as you gather the cleaning supplies and leave, his gaze never intrusive, but never leaving your retreating form.

“About the pencils and paper—” he begins.

“I’m sorry, I can’t accept such a gift,” you apologize.

“Well, what if I say, I want you to draw whatever inspires you in the shop and we can consider which ones to put around the shop or use as graphics for new labels for the perfumes?”

He senses your hesitation, so he ploughs on, “I’ll put it in your job description so it’s not like you’ll have a choice.”

Draw? As part of your job?

“Mr. Kim. I may be a poor employee, but I always have a choice,” you say quietly.

He takes a moment to savor the shape of your words and their quiet dignity. “Well damn. I apologize for being out of line. I hope by now, you know you are anything but a poor employee to me.”

He doesn’t know what the hell he means by that. It just slipped out. “Just… do whatever you wish. You should know by now that I trust you. If the daily duties are done, you’re free to use the time as you see fit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. I appreciate it.”

“For the hundredth time, it’s Namjoon.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kim,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting into a wry smile. You’ve never called him Namjoon and never will. He should know that by now.

He smiles back, genuinely, dimples winking as he breaks into a little laugh.

The tension subsides between the both of you and somehow the air in the shop feels a little lighter than before.

———————————————-

Soon after, you begin to realize that you have less to do in the day. The perfume oils for sampling by each day’s clients are already decanted into the little vials when you arrive for work. And then, the black marble floors seem to look effortlessly clean. Plus little corners of the shop shelves seem to have had a dusting before you could get to it.

All of a sudden, you have so much more time to spend on your drawings (though you’re still not using any of the art materials he bought).

What the hell is going on?

You have a theory, and to test it, you decide to deliberately leave your scarf behind when you head out of the shop after work.

Twenty minutes later, you return to the shop. Through the glass windows, you spy the back outline of his form, mopping the floor as elegantly as a leopard hybrid would.

You hurry to unlock the door with your key and step onto the shop floor.

“Mr. Kim. What are you doing?” you ask, voice trembling. “Did I not do a good job?”

He turns to face you and actually looks guilty.

“No. No. I, uh, I just wasn’t hungry for dinner yet, so I thought I’d work on the floor,” he says. For all the confidence he exudes, he looks like a little schoolboy right now, hand caught in the cookie jar.

“You’re not very good at lying,” you say quietly. “Are you doing this so I have time to draw?”

Kim Namjoon wishes he doesn’t have to answer this but you’re staring at him and staring at him and suddenly he feels a little weak. “So, why are you back?” he asks, hoping to gain back some control over the rapid unravelling of the evening.

“I—I, ah, forgot my scarf.” God, that sounded pathetic.

“You’re not that convincing either,” he muses.

And then you’re looking at him and he’s gazing at you, and you wait for words that always come so easily to you but none arrive.

“Listen. It’s getting late. I know this little cafe two streets over. Do you...”

“Mr. Kim.” God. Why do you sound so needy? With great difficulty, you pluck the words one by one from your mind instead of letting them flow from your heart. “You’re right. It’s late. I—I better go.”

You turn quickly to go before you stop yourself. Any moment longer and you might actually say something stupid.

As you step out into the cold, you remind yourself that he’s part of the hybrid ruling class. Hybrids that look at you scornfully when they walk in. Hybrids that speak to you like you’re stupid. Hybrids that use a sanitizing wipe for their hands after you hand them their bottle of bespoke fragrance.

And lest you forget: you’re not his type.

He’d said so himself.

Didn’t he?

—————————————

After a while you get used to sketching and slowly move on to watercolors when it gets quiet at the shop, drawing inspiration from the scents around. The oud smells of longing, the geranium of innocence and wonder, ambergris reminds you of regret, while the coriander reminds you of mayhem and mischief.

Namjoon sees how the lines on your sketches are bolder, stronger. Your play with the color palette has become more adventurous, brushstrokes surer than before.

Just earlier today, he complimented you on the color blending, said your little painting reminded him of Sargent’s work. You blushed, proud that the wet washes and sponging you used caught his attention in the best way possible.

When you return to the shop, you’re surprised to hear an unfamiliar male voice coming from his office, the door uncharacteristically open.

“Namjoon, don’t you think it’s time to end this charade of yours? You are our only son. Come home and do the right thing.”

“Come home to marry someone I haven’t even met? For the sake of the family company? Like I’m part of a business deal? I’m done with that shit.”

“Is there someone else?”

“I’m not going to even answer that question.”

“So there is someone. She better be a hybrid. You’re going to regret this. What will this shop amount to? Nothing. What will you, on your own, amount to? Nothing. But come home and I guarantee you will have everything you want.”

“Everything I want? You can’t even give me the one thing I need.”

You know you should not eavesdrop. That this is a private matter between your boss and his father. You’re just about to turn around to leave when the elder Mr. Kim steps out of the office and saunters to the front doors, pointedly ignoring you.

When he finally reaches the entrance, he turns and gives you a disdainful once-over which makes you feel uncomfortable as hell. You feel like a piece of meat he’s inspecting, one he finds terribly lacking. But, still he waits. Then you understand he’s not going to open the doors himself to exit the shop.

In an exaggerated show of duty, you rush there and hold the door open, bowing deeply as he makes his departure.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, making sure he hears you before you quickly close and lock the door behind him. The elder Kim looks back and glares through the glass panel. You return the glare with an indifferent shrug only to turn around and bump right into your boss.

“I heard that.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I couldn’t resist.” You’re not sure if you’re truly sorry, but it just felt like the polite thing to say to your boss after he catches you swearing at his own father.

“I was never good enough for him, you know,” he says quietly. “I went to the best schools, topped the class, graduated with summas, but still, he was never satisfied. And when I took over operations and turned it around, it was still not good enough. I had to walk away.”

There’s a glimmer of hurt in his eyes, a little catch in his throat. You wonder if you could comfort him with a hug. Whether his chin might press on the top of your head. Would you pull away first or would he?

He, surely. He’ll never see anything in you.

“Sometimes, walking away is the best thing we can do ourselves.” You’re about to reach for his arm to give a short, comforting squeeze but you decide against it at the last second, bringing your hand up awkwardly to smooth your hair.

Namjoon noticed how your hand lingered for a split second over his and swallows hard, not knowing why he even held his breath.

“You share the same name, Mr. Kim. But—but your heart is different. You’re not him.” It’s hard for you to walk away, yet you must.

As he watches the back of your silhouette disappear into the stockroom, he wishes he had the courage to ask you to stay to talk, just for a while. He wants you to reassure him again.

But he’s been a loner for so long that those words can’t come to him anymore.

At night, in the darkness of his shop, he sits alone in his office chair and weeps.

----------------------------------------------

It’s 8 p.m., closing time, and you’re rearranging the last row of crystal flasks of perfume when the door flings open violently, a gust of cold air blowing into the warmth of the darkened shop.

“Where is he?” the icy voice demands.

You recognize the face. A newish client, she’s absurdly beautiful, golden eyes, long-limbed, and perky in all the right places except in her demeanor. You remember how she was late for her own appointment and was extra demanding. Bitch would be completely inappropriate since she is a cat hybrid.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re closed now. Could I pencil you for an appointment with Mr. Kim tomorrow?” You keep your voice low, respectful.

“I want to see him. Now.” She strides towards his office at the back of the shop. You hurry to keep her from barging into his office.

“I’m so sorry. He’s not available at the moment. Perhaps I could offer some assistance?”

She looks you up and down with disdain. “And what do you think you can offer me?” quiet scorn dripping over each word.

“I am his assistant. Mr. Kim has deemed me fit to assist you,” you say, just as quiet, just as lethal. She backs you into the door of his office, eyes flashing with anger. Like hell you’ll give in to this self-entitled hybrid trash.

“I know what people like you want.” She reaches into her bag and pinches out a crisp fifty thousand won note between her delicate fingers, perfectly manicured. “You’re all the same.” Sliding the corner of the note to your cheek, she snaps it, each lightning quick thwack eager to remind you of your poverty. “I want. your. boss.”

“That’s enough,” his voice, dark and thick, slices in. The heat of his body is suddenly behind you, and you feel a measure of comfort that he’s now here.

“Namjoon—” she purrs, a smile, sweet and sickening, consumes her entire face.

“It’s Mr. Kim,” he says.

“Namjoon, this… this thing—" she points at you “—said you weren’t available. But you prrromised I can come to you anytime.”

“It’s Mr. Kim, and yes, anytime within office hours. Unfortunately, office hours are over, as are my services for you from now on.”

“My, my. So prrrrrotective over a little staff?”

“Out. Now.”

The tight clench of his jaw is unmistakable.

“Jooooonieeee, you know I didn’t mean it. I can play nice,” she purrs, suddenly playful.

“Out,” he says, resolute.

“It’s true then,” she smirks with a triumphant smile. “Daddy says your father told everyone this shop won’t amount to anything. That you won’t amount to anything. That you never know a good deal even if it were right in front of you.” She sighs airily, “Pity. I did like those samples.”

“I’m glad you did. You sure took enough,” you retort.

She turns to you, glaring. “Pity about the face.” With lighting reflexes, she raises her hand and scratches the side of your cheek with a single, freshly manicured nail.

The sting of her nail barely registers as you start to throw a punch back at her, but suddenly remembering your own dignity, you thought better of it, lowering your fist as fast as you raised it. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.

“OUT.” The snarl he emits reverberates within the shop and she flinches. Actually flinches.

Slinking off, she saunters toward the door, swaying her hips, pert nose in the air, sure that he’s watching her. “Get her trained prrrroperly,” she announces before slamming the door behind.

Namjoon turns to look at you.

You’re burning with anger, shame, disgusted with her and with yourself. You’ve never raised your hand against someone after the playground incident so many years ago. Today, you'd almost lost control.

A single drop of crimson slides down your cheek.

“Fuck. She hurt you,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek.

“I’m okay. Really.” You’re flustered by his tenderness, suddenly so close to him.

With something that can only be blamed on animal instinct, he leans into you, and licks up the side of your cheek, catching the bead of blood on the tip of his tongue.

He feels warm, wet, and just the tiniest bit rough and you moan on reflex, tilting your head back, not knowing why or how as you bare the smooth expanse of your neck to him.

“Mr. K—Kim.”

Namjoon does not hesitate often. But he does for a split second. “It’s Namjoon. It’s always Namjoon with you.” He’s breathing so hard, nostrils flaring from effort to not devour you completely. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh shit. This is just like in a fanfic.

You take a deep breath and say the word which dances across your dreams at night, the name which you forbid yourself to say in the day. “Namjoon.”

He’s no longer Mr. Kim. He’s Namjoon to your Y/N. Everything in him is fully awake, completely alert. He leans in and licks the little cut on your cheek again, but this time, he doesn’t just stop there. This time, he continues to trail his tongue down the curve of your jaw, and up the other side. “Need you,” he whispers by your ear, arms curling lightly around your shoulder to anchor his hands that want to run all over your body.

You tell yourself you don’t need him; no, not the way he needs you. You only want him. And wants come and go. Wants don’t always get fulfilled. You of all people should know that by now. Today, you’ll have your fill. And that’s enough.

“Just for today,” you whisper. “Only today.” You repeat it again, for yourself, because there won’t be a tomorrow of this anymore. There’s no way he would need you again.

“Only today,” he echoes, lying to you and to himself.

He licks your earlobe, sending thrills across your spine, teeth nipping lightly against your skin. He’s eager to mark you, the leopard instincts from his hybrid heritage returning in full force. He noses your clothed shoulder, fingers deftly working off the buttons on the front of your prim, starched shirt.

Feeling shy, you're sure that you can’t compete with the models he must have dated. Clutching tightly to the two open halves of your shirt, you’re afraid to disappoint him.

“Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful. Let me see, please.”

With shaky fingers you let the halves of your shirt part, revealing the curves of your breasts to him.

Beautiful. Slowly, he lifts your chin with a finger. “Look at me.”

You’ve always shied away from meeting his gaze straight on, always wary that you hunger for more than just the touch of his eyes.

But now, at the command of his voice, you can only obey.

“You're beautiful. And you're strong, stronger than anyone I know. You’re strong for me. And—" Namjoon swallows. Growing up, his father had always stressed the Kim motto: Always First. Always Strong. Always Right.

“—and I’m weak for you,” he finishes, the realization finally out in the open.

“Just for today,” you remind him, trying to blink back tears. “Be weak for me. Only today.” It’s better this way, with no hope of tomorrow to disappoint.

Namjoon knows he will be weak for you today and tomorrow and every day after. He takes you to his desk, the place he finds himself daily, because he knows he’s going to want to remember this every fucking day for the rest of his life.

Gently, he sits you on the mirrored surface, marking the curve of your shoulder with his kisses as he eases off your shirt. Laving at your skin, he nips against your collarbone, trailing his tongue lower and lower to your covered breasts, easing the cup of your bra to the side as he licks the soft, full flesh there. “Can’t stop tasting you,” he murmurs against your skin.

He inhales the scent between the valley of your breasts, trapping his nose between the smooth curves of silky skin as he draws a low moan from you. Fingers roaming your back, he unhooks your bra to tongue gently at your nipples. You press his head closer, arching your back towards him, wanting more of his mouth on the tight, tender flesh. He complies, and angles you back a little more, crying out with pleasure each time you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth on your breast.

“Feels so good. Oh god.” Panting with want and lust, you plead, “Let me touch you too.”

“Go on then. Touch me.” Namjoon steels himself not to move as you explore him, fingers outlining the sides of his face, his jawline that’s so familiar by sight, yet strangely unfamiliar by touch. You’re wondering if he feels this hard, this strong everywhere.

Seared by the heat of your hand cradling his face, Namjoon noses the inside of your wrist immediately. He wants to breathe this in too. Wants the scent from your wrist all over his body, your fingers everywhere on his skin.

But your fingers are already going over each button, helping him shrug off his shirt, tracing the faintest of leopard markings under the skin of his torso. It’s a mesmerizing pattern. You brush your fingers over his pecs, around the dusky disc of his nipples, down the line of his abs.

Your artist’s eye sees his beautiful, sleek proportions, heavy with muscle and sinew.

Uncertainly, your fingers hover over his belt, the dark bulge of his pants a strangely erotic sight. There’s no turning back once you go there.

“Don’t you stop now,” he whispers. “Don’t give up on me.”

His words give you the confidence to continue. When you finally undress him, pants and boxers pooling around his feet, you’re overwhelmed at his naked vulnerability. “Should I—Can I?” you ask.

Namjoon almost chokes at the way you stare at him with innocent wonder. “Just use your instincts. Just feel.” All other words are impossible the moment you wrap your fingers around his flesh. He braces his hands against the desk on either side of you lest he comes apart too soon, allowing you full access to explore him. He grunts tightly as you stroke him, circling the sensitive opening at the tip.

Instinct says taste. You drop down to your knees. Palming his throbbing length, you lick the liquid beading around the head of his flesh.

“What are you doing?” His fingernails are digging desperately into the unforgiving surface of the glass desk, but there is no relief to be found. “Oh god. Please. Please, take me in.” He remembers how he’d found you kneeling before his chair, putting your nose in the leather as you cleaned it, how for a fleeting moment, he’d pictured you just like this, rosebud lips wrapped around his cock.

On your knees, you feel powerful, making this man speechless and wordless; your tongue, throat, and hollowed cheeks rendering him breathless with desire.

His large hand is warm and soft against your face as you slide his length into your mouth again and again. “No more,” he gasps, “not for our first time.”

Supporting you in his arms, he pulls you up to meet his gaze and you swear his hooded eyes flash a brighter yellow for just a second.

“Am... am I doing something wrong?”

Bringing his lips right against yours, he confesses quietly, “I am. I’m doing everything wrong.” With slow brushes of his lower lip between yours, he urges yours apart. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your lips with his tongue. “But I am.” The kiss is long and languorous. He takes his time, lets you explore him, noses bumping as you taste him and he drinks you.

“Shouldn’t undress you.” He reaches for the back button of your skirt, and unzips you, easing the material down. Unhooking the bra to let it fall off softly, he fingers the waistband of your panties, eyes questioning if it’s okay. Silently, you place your hand over his to slide it down your thighs. “But I am,” he says, eyes trailing down your entire naked expanse.

“Most of all, I shouldn’t fuck you here at my desk. But—”

“But I want you to.” Pressing your naked flesh against his, you curl your arms around his neck, face hiding in his chest in your desperation. “I want you to.”

This time, there’s no more rain to give him an excuse to hold you, no more umbrella to pretend he wants you close. He pulls you into him; moulding you to him, melding him into you. With flesh against flesh, there’s no denying now the liquid heat between your legs. “You’re so wet. How is it you want me? A man who will not amount to anything?”

It’s there again. The hurt. Unlike the cut on your face, his wound is much, much deeper. “That’s him. That’s not you.” Still pulled flushed against him, you place your palm over his pounding heart. “You’re different. Here.”

Namjoon shuts his eyes at your words. “Say that again.”

“You’re different from him.”

He is not his father.

A great relief washes over him. It’s something he couldn't say to himself until you said it. He is not his father. He is not his father. He is not his father!

He kisses the top of your head, grateful for the day you stumbled into his shop, grateful that you want him like this. The fragrance he cannot have enough of fills his senses. There’s ylang ylang. There’s jasmine. A hint of bergamot. He inhales deeply, sighing, “How are you so good for me?” Sliding one hand down your thigh, he lifts it up to his hip so that you feel the hardness of his cock against you. “Let me be good for you.”

“Please. Please don’t let me wait anymore.” A dull ache throbs within you, and the searing of his skin against yours has steadily pooled arousal in the apex of your thighs.

“I won’t let you wait. I’ve waited long enough. Turn around.” Reluctantly, he unhooks your leg from him and stands behind you. “We are going to do this the proper way.”

Bracing a strong arm around your waist, he bends you over his mirrored desk, your nipples hardening even more when they brush across the cool surface of his desk. “So sensitive,” he whispers against the back of your neck, “I saw that.”

A shower of sparks shoot down your spine as he kisses the back of your neck, the other hand fondling over your breasts; the front of your body on full display in your reflection. You lean your head into him, writhing at every slow lick and hot breath and soft kiss on your neck.

His hands dip between your legs, easing them apart. “Let me prep you. I bet you’re so tight, bet I can’t even put in a finger.” He’s probably right. You know you’re wet, embarrassingly so, but it’s been so long since you’d been with someone else.

“N-Namjoon, please go slow. It’s—it’s been a while.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Never. Can you trust me?”

You nod, too overtaken by the sensations of his fingers playing along your folds to speak.

“Just use your instincts,” he murmurs again into the shell of your ear.

Instinct says to feel.

With teasing fingers, he continues to draw low whimpers from you, before he goes on to circle your clit gently. Sliding a finger in, he feels you shudder. “Easy there. Breathe for me.” He feels your legs clamping around his fingers like a vise, the tremors beneath your skin as your breath gets shorter and harder.

You’re dripping a little now, making a mess between your legs. It’s getting harder to stand as he hooks two fingers into you, rubbing softly. “Oh my god.”

“You getting there?”

“Y-yeah. Hold me. Hold me.”

Namjoon feels a surge of pride that he gets to hear you like this, gets to feel you come apart just from his fingers. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

The orgasm blooms through you—shakes you at your core, curls your toes—as you arch back into him. He’s as good as his promise, lending you his strength, supporting you completely as you fall into him.

He takes the opportunity to nuzzle into your hair again, alternating with kissing you along the nape of your neck, and catching a whiff of your scent behind your ear. “Can’t stop smelling you.”

Flushed and euphoric from your high, you don’t stop yourself from asking, “Tell me… tell me what do I smell like?” Your gaze shyly meets his in the reflection of the mirrored surface.

With his nose pressed behind your ear, the answer is clear to him. “Home,” he breathes, “You smell like home.”

His answer shouldn’t make you cry. But it does. “Then make your home in me,” you whisper. “Just today.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He nudges your legs apart with a muscled thigh, groaning with satisfaction as he feels you wet arousal on him. “Coming in,” he murmurs, angling you lower so he can help you adjust to the intrusion of his cock into your core. You gasp at how thick and hot he is, how just a little bit of him inside you already feels so good.

“Goddamn. You’re tight.” He groans as he tells himself to slow down. He’s not going to rush this if he can help it. Breathing hard, he waits for you to accommodate him, stroking your back lightly and then your hips to reassure you.

You want more, and you push back tentatively, longing to feel completely full of him, but a little fearful if you can take a hybrid without falling apart. Grimacing at the inviting way you slide your ass backward into him, he thrusts shallowly, a gentle finger on your clit, coaxing you to take more of him.

Instinct says to meet him.

This time, you slide back to meet his thrusts, delighting in his thick girth filling you. “Feels good. So good,” you sigh.

Namjoon sees you’re ready and doesn’t hold back anymore. “You’re wrong. Nobody goes home for just one day,” he says with ragged breath against your ear as he surges fully into you. “They go home every day.” He pulls himself back a little, feeling the tightness of your slick walls squeezing around him to stop him from pulling out completely.

Shielding your entire back with his own body, he thrusts in once more, eager to bury himself inside your warmth. Bringing his face next to yours from behind, he says it again, “Every day.”

“Every day,” you whimper back.

He loves seeing your face in the mirrored reflection, how it twists with yearning when he’s all the way inside you. He relishes the arch of your neck into him, sweet mouth open and moaning for him at every thrust, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” you cry. “Don’t stop, don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”

The words from him are now echoed back into his ears. Namjoon doesn’t stop. He won’t. He can’t. Thrusting into you, he feels a surge of power ripping through him. He wants to give you all his strength, wants to take all your softness for himself.

In the quiet of his office, your combined moans reverberate around the stark walls, the rhythmic push and pull of your bodies are the only other sounds that fill your senses as you focus on offering yourself to him.

“Look at me when I come,” he commands, his chin pressing on your shoulder. “Open your eyes, and see what you do to me.”

You open your eyes, and can hardly recognize yourself in the reflection on his desk. The little scar on your lip, the wound from just now, the plain face that you’ve always wished were more exotic are all inconsequential. There’s tenderness in the way he looks at you, a softness and desperation no one has ever looked at you with.

“Namjoon.” You feel a little pathetic at how much you want him, at how good his name feels on your tongue. You whisper it again because tomorrow, he’ll be Mr. Kim once more.

“I’m close. So close,” he moans now, dying to hold on this feeling as long as he can. He pants with effort as he fights to keep his thrusts slow and long and hard, before his instincts take over and he loses control. When you clench harder around him, meeting his eyes in your combined reflection, Namjoon feels a last surge of raw need rip through him, and he comes with a low roar, hips stuttering wildly into you.

You feel the hot spurt of his seed inside you, his deep groan of satisfaction thrilling you immensely. He’s kissing the back of your neck, across your shoulders, hands lazily playing with the globes of your breasts. He’s quiet as he pulls out, enjoying the sight of his cum and yours leaking down the inside of your thighs.

“You’re wonderful. Want you again,” he teases your earlobe, nuzzling the plump flesh there.

“Now?”

“Not now,” he laughs. “Give me a few minutes. But only if you do. Are you sore?”

How can I, when I’m wrapped under you? No, not today. Tomorrow, my heart will be.

“No. Not at all.” You’re strong. And greedy. You want him as much as he will want you today.

“Let’s go back to my place. I want to wake up next to you tomorrow.”

You feel vulnerable because god, you want it too. But if he wants tomorrow with you, you have to ask. “When your father asked you… if there’s someone else, and you didn’t answer him…”

“It’s none of his business,” he replies curtly. “But it is yours.” Taking a deep breath, he tells you the truth, “Because there’s been no one else. Not for a long while. And when you walked in that day with those flowers, there couldn’t be anyone else.”

And so, dear reader, there was tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after the day after tomorrow.

And of course, you broke all your rules about hybrids because you still worked with him after you were made partner. And you went on many, many dates with him. And you fucked him many, many, many times.

But you’re okay with it.

After all, your Dad had also said:

Rules are meant to be broken.

~The End~

-----------------------------------

Posted on June 30, 2021 by sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2021 @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content on to any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

Author's Note:

Dear reader,

How are you?

According to my therapist, one important thing fathers and parents can do for their children is to help them believe a) You are loved and are worthy of love. b) You are capable - you have what it takes!

My own father was too busy to help me with these things. I grew up constantly insecure, seeking affirmation and love with many different people and relationships, in many different avenues and endeavors, made many, many stupid decisions in the process just because I was craving and craving and craving.

Today, I've found genuine friends who, every day, in various ways, affirm these truths for me, as I also try to do for them.

And while some days, I can only see the broken, needy parts inside; more and more, I see parts of me which are healing and mending slowly but surely with these friends.

This Father's Day, whether you grew up with a father or parent who was good and kind and true, or someone entirely different, I hope you believe that you are worthy of love, and you have what it takes.

Truly,

Sam.

P/S if you haven't, pls check out the samsung parfumerie ad. Jimin and Namjoon are.... chef's kiss

Big Bad Wolf | KNJ (M)

🔴 Summary: Your mom has always warned you not to venture too deep into the forest, for legend has it, in it lives vicious, man eating wolves. You’ve always listened to her words until one day when your love of animals gets the better of you and you end up in the woods, chasing after a wounded cat. When you stumble across a secluded cottage in the middle of the forest and meet one of these “Big Bad Wolves,” you learn that maybe not everything is as it seems.

🔴 Pairing: Wolf Shapeshifter!Namjoon x Human Female!Reader

🔴 Genre/AU: Angst, fluff, smut, fantasy, strangers to lovers

🔴 Rating: 18+ | R

🔴 Warnings: profanity, non-descriptive talk of murder, mention of guns/a gunshot wound, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, knotting, marking

🔴 Words: 19.7k 🥴

🔴 Note: It’s finally here - my fic for @hobeemin​’s Bangtan Grimm Event!! The fairytale my fic is inspired by is Little Red Riding Hood. Full disclosure here, this is my first half human/half animal fic so to anyone that reads this that is much more seasoned with hybrid-esque fics, it’s not the same as others you probably have read lol. 

Thank you soooo much to @lavienjin​ for this amazing banner!! ❤️❤️ ENORMOUS thank you to @playmetheclassics​ for literally being my hero and beta reading this chonker of a fic in a few hours after I finished it 🥰🥰

This fic has been a journey to say the least. Writer’s block has had me in an absolute chokehold these past few months, but I’m so glad I was able to finally finish this! Please enjoy my longest fic to date 😂💖

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somewhere between the lines | KNJ

⟶ title: somewhere between the lines

⟶ au: exes to lovers

⟶ trope(s): lives at the office ceo/chief

⟶ pairing: namjoon x f. Reader

⟶ genre: romance, smut, angst

⟶ rated: 18+

⟶ wc: 9.8k

⟶ dialogue prompt: “You still look beautiful in red.”

⟶ warnings: mentions of divorce and loneliness, Namjoon is a girl dad (yes i think that needs its own warning), mentions of regret, smut in the forms of: oral (male and female receiving), breast play, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, tons of kissing, tons of teasing, unprotected sex (lets be smarter than that tho), fingering, bit of an impregnating kink

⟶ summary: you can hardly wait for your date New Year’s Eve. It’s the first time you’ve felt confident enough to dress up with the intention of letting someone who isn’t your ex husband, undress you at the end of the night.

Mother Nature has other plans for you though, bringing a very unwelcome snow storm and your ex husband to your door. But perhaps this snow storm is what the two of you really needed.

A/N: hellllooooo lovelies, this fic is my contribution to the wonderful Resolution Revolution collab event hosted by Amelia @knjsnoona and Ash @jimilter! Find the masterlist for the collab here. My amazing banner for the fic was made by the amazing Dee Dee @sugasbabiie​, thank you so much again, its perfect!

Is this fic a bit cheesy and unrealistic? Yes. Do we all just need that sometimes? also yes lol. Hope you’ll enjoy a bit of dad!Joon and leave me some feedback if you can!

_______________________________________________________________

Six months. That’s how long it’s been since you signed your name on the dotted line of the divorce papers.

Five months since your middle daughter, HeeJin, who was named after her fathers best friend had her third birthday party, where you and Namjoon had to put on your happy faces and pretend it didn’t hurt to see each other.

Four months since your one year old daughter had her first double ear infection and Namjoon had to meet you at the hospital in the middle of the night. You argued over medical insurance and who’s fault it was that she was sick. You were both in the anger stage of dealing with the grief you felt from the divorce.

Three months since the two of you had to attend your five year old daughters play at her preschool. Both of your families were there and it was the most awkward night of your life, but the happy faces were on in full force once again and you made sure that everything went perfectly.

Two months since you stopped wondering what he was doing every night and whether he missed you as much as you missed him. If he was lying awake and losing sleep over you. 

One month since it stopped feeling like there was a hole the size of your heart gaping in your chest. Time truly healed wounds but this one would never fully close. And you know it was all avoidable. It never had to come to this. 

Keep reading

Your Sugar//KNJ

Oneshots Masterlist

Coffee shop AU

Requested

suggestions: 4 words: Coffee shop with Namjoon

I'm not sure if this is what you thought it would be but I hope you like it!

3k Words

You were sitting at your usual table next to the window, your hands tightly wrapped around a cup of coffee a girl had handed you half an hour ago. The coffee, which had been hot when you had received it, was now cold and frankly not worth tasting anymore. Still, you held onto it tightly.

Your kept glancing nervously at the door. Every time it opened, you turned around in your seat, and every single time you turned back disappointed.

You were thinking about leaving when you heard a familiar voice speak up from behind you. You whipped your head around and saw him standing there, in all his glory, your boyfriend.

You amazing, wonderful boyfriend who had kept you waiting for an hour.

You smiled up at him and waved him over. Your smile faltered a little when you saw he was with another girl, who clung onto his arm tightly. His eyes widened as he saw you and he walked over to you briskly, shaking her off for a second.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" He asked, a little rushed.

You frowned. "You asked me to meet you here...?"

His eyes rolled to the top of his head as he thought for a second. "I did...? Oh! Oh no..."

You sighed. "You forgot, didn't you?"

You started to stand up, but he stopped you. "Wait, there was something I wanted to tell you."

You couldn't help but feel a little excited. He rarely looked as serious as this, so it must be important, right?

"What is it?" You asked quietly.

"I want to break up." You face fell. You swallowed and closed your eyes. "That's why I called you here. This relationship isn't getting us anywhere, and... well, it's kind of obvious I wasn't into you, Y/n, I don't know why you didn't realise sooner."

Your breath had stopped. You should have known. It was obvious from the start, you were just... excited. He had never had any feelings for you, just dragging the relationship further so you thought he actually cared.

You didn't say anything, and he awkwardly raised one hand as if you pat you on the shoulder, but then thought better of it and ducked his head, walking away. He took the hand of the girl he had come in with and pulled her outside, away from you.

You bent your head low over the table. Before you knew it water was dripping into your already cold coffee. It took you a few seconds to realize they were tears.

You looked down at your fingers and started counting off how many relationships had ended with the same few confessions.

'I was never really into you'

'I felt sorry for you'

'It was a dare'

'Did you really think I liked you?'

You had already filled up two hands counting, yet you weren't finished. There were too many times you had been left alone like this, most of those breakups happened right in this very coffee shop.

You sniffled and wiped your tears hastily with the edge of your sleeve. You were going to stand up and leave when you heard a voice above you. You looked up and saw a man standing next to you.

"Are you okay...?" He asked quietly. "I see you around here a lot-"

"I'm fine." You stood up and walked away, bumping shoulders with him as you walked past. He looked a little surprised but you payed no attention.

You ran straight back to your apartment and fell face first into your bed. You stayed there like that until your eyes hurt from crying and your shoulders ached. You shifted yourself into a more comfortable position and curled up into a ball, thinking about what had happened that day. Why did this keep happening to you? Every single guy you had dated had either done it for a dare or out of pity.

Somewhere along your train of thoughts, sleep struck. You only had one thought before you fell asleep, 'I'm not falling in love again'

You woke up the next day with sore eyes and limbs. Your groaned and stretched your arms out, blinking your eyes rapidly. "Okay..." you whispered to yourself. You sighed and stood up, getting it of bed. Changing into some other clothes, you grabbed your bag, still fully packed from yesterday. You had to go to University, there was no point in skipping because of a stupid breakup.

Two weeks later, you were still in a sour mood.

The day was over. You were walking back along your street, shoes scuffing the pavement. You made sure to kick every rock that came in your way and snap every twig that landed under your feet.

You didn't feel like going back home so you went to the coffee shop at the end of the street. You kept coming back here, and for what? No matter how many times your heart was broken here, you would always return.

You walked up to the counter and heard a familiar voice speak. "Good evening, what would you like?"

Your head snapped up. Standing behind the counter was the man from the day of the breakup who had asked you if you were okay. You had bumped shoulders with him when you left, and though you hadn't thought about it at the time you only now realized how rude it must have been.

"Oh, you're the girl from that day, right? The one who was crying?"

Your face flushed a deep red and so did his. You looked down to avoid his eyes. He waved his hands frantically as if to erase what he had said.

"I didn't- I didn't mean it like that. That- I- uh... it... sounded ruder than I thought it would..."

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked away. You sucked in between your teeth and nodded slowly. "It's fine. I was kind of rude too."

He nodded awkwardly and adjusted the sleeves of his pink hoodie, flapping them nervously.

"Uhh- anyway- what would you like? To order-"

You blurted out your usual order and told him your name. He noted it down. You were going to walk away but he stopped you.

"I know this isn't my business but I just wanted to ask, are you okay? You seemed pretty down. I'm sorry if I sound creepy I just- I'm kinda, uh, worried? You come here a lot so I couldn't help but notice-"

"I'm fine." Again, you realized how rude you sounded, so you flashed him a little awkward smile and walked away, hoping he understood.

Finally, he called out your name for your coffee. You went to the counter and bowed politely, paying. As he handed you your coffee he looked outside and you saw him poke his tongue into his cheek.

"Might wanna run, it looks like it's gonna rain," He said. You nodded and walked out, clutching onto your coffee.

Ignoring what he had said, you stopped under a tree a leaned against it, sipping your coffee. You had barely taken a sip when you felt a light tap on your forehead and frowned. You looked up, there was nothing there. You felt another tap on your head, this time a little harder. You put your hand to your head and felt something wet.

Rain

Before you knew it rain was pouring down, drenching your clothes and soaking you to the bone. You gasped from the shock of the cold and started running. Not to your home, no, that was way too far away. You ran back to the coffee shop and burst open the door, dripping wet. The door closed and you shook your sleeves, spilling water everywhere.

"I told you." You looked up and glared at the voice. The guy in the pink hoodie was leaning against the counter, his elbows propped up next to the cash register. He had a slight smirk on his face as he watched you desperately knock water out of your ears. You dropped your soggy coffee cup in a nearby bin and shook you hair, making more water spill everywhere.

"Hey hey hey, I just cleaned the floor!" He complained. You muttered a small 'Sorry' and walked towards your usual table next to the window. You looked around and realized you two were the only ones in the shop. He had taken a mop and was cleaning the water you had spilled everywhere. He had taken off the apron that every employee wore so he was just wearing his pink hoodie with some ripped jeans.

He caught you staring and turned towards you, flashing a big dimpled smile. You looked away and stared out the window, watching the raindrops land on the glass. There was something peaceful about the calming sound of the rain pattering against the glass and watching the raindrops race down the huge glass window. There was nobody else in sight. You smiled to yourself. You had always wanted to go to a café when it was raining, and sit there alone, watching the raindrops slip past. You closed your eyes and focused on the sound of the rain, letting it calm you. For a second you forgot you were soaking wet.

You heard a small thud and opened your eyes. The guy with the dimples had placed a coffee cup on your table and was now staring out the window with his arms crossed. You took out your wallet, intending to pay, but he caught your wrist and stopped you.

"It's free. Your first coffee went to waste, so it's only fair you get another one."

You nodded and looked down, embarrassed. Your hands wrapped around the coffee, soaking in the warmth the rain had erased. You brought the coffee up to your lips and took a sip, immediately wincing and putting it back down on the table.

"Ah, I forgot something didn't I?" The guy frowned, thinking. He clasped a hand to his forehead and let out a shout. "The sugar! I forgot the sugar, agh. I'll fix it."

You were going to say it was fine, but he had already taken your coffee and was walking towards the kitchen. You thought about it for a second, then stood up, following him. He noticed you behind him and turned around.

"Wanna come in?" he asked. You nodded and he held the kitchen door open for you, letting you in.

You looked around. It was smaller than you thought it would be. You let your eyes travel over everything, intrigued. You rubbed your arms, trying to rub some warmth in. Your teeth were chattering and your hands were beginning to feel a little numb. You were really starting to regret going out in the rain.

Slowly, you felt something on your back. You turned around and the guy, who was behind you, immediately put his hands in a surrender position. "You looked cold," he explained, "So I gave you my jacket."

With that he turned around and continued to look for the sugar.

You slipped the jacket off of your shoulders and put it on properly, soaking in the warmth gratefully.

"Thank, uh-"

"Namjoon. My name's Namjoon."

"Thanks, Namjoon. I'm Y/n."

"I know." He sounded amused, as if he was suppressing a smile.

Right, you had told him your name when you ordered.

You started looking for the sugar too, seeing he was getting a little frustrated now. You started looking through all the different cupboards and drawers.

"Shouldn't the sugar be near the coffee machine?" You asked him.

"That's what I keep telling them, but they never listen, I swear-"

You saw that a cupboard that was open. It was quite high so you stood on your toes and tried to reach it, but of course you were too short. Namjoon noticed and came over to help you. He reached up and opened the cupboard, spying the sugar. With one quick movement, he moved his hand in the wrong direction and knocked the sugar over. The lid was loose and fell off, spilling sugar all over you.

It was everywhere. In the creases of the jacket, in your wet, clumped up hair, your collar. You even brushed some off of your neck uncomfortably. Namjoon sucked in sharply between his teeth as you looked up to glare at him.

"Well, uh, there's your sugar." He placed the coffee cup in your hand and made a run for it.

An hour later, the rain was still as persistent as ever.

"It's going to flood if it keeps going on at this rate" Namjoon closed his hands around his own coffee cup and brought it to his lips. He was sitting across from you at your favourite table. You two were the only ones in the shop. You were both holding coffee, and you were now sugar-free. (Not your coffee, your hair). Namjoon had even sneaked some cakes from the back of the shop after making you promise to keep it a secret.

Namjoon had apologized profusely for spilling sugar on you, only after he had finished laughing of course, He had helped you get it out of your hair and jacket, because it literally was everywhere. You couldn't stay mad at him for long especially when he flashed his dimpled smile at you. Now you two sat the table together, sipping coffee.

You had told him everything. About your breakups and about yourself. You weren't sure whether it was the rain that made you feel so calm or whether it was the aura he seemed to hold, but you had decided you trusted him. He seemed nice, more than nice, even.

He had listened to your ranting patiently, nodding along. You found he was a great listener, and hung on to your every word as if he was truly interested in you. You were worried he was getting bored and told him as much, but he shook his head earnestly and reassured you that he was listening.

After you were finished, he let the rain fill in the silence, just as you had hoped he would. You two sat there, watching the rain patter against the window. You were thankful he had listened to you about all your relationships and breakups, sympathizing with you and he hadn't mocked you

Finally, Namjoon broke the silence. His voice came out as barely a whisper but he seemed determined to let out whatever he had to say, so of course, you listened.

"Y/n," he sighed, biting his lip. "I... I don't know if you'll find this creepy or not, and trust me, I wasn't trying to be creepy, but... I've been watching you for a while now. Not like, only you, but I watch the customers who come into the coffee shop. You come here so often, I couldn't help but notice you. I... I watched all of those breakups happen, and each time I was worried you would stop coming, but you would always come back."

He balled his hand into a fist and held onto the material on his leg tightly, becoming more nervous.

"Anyway, I... I don't know what it was but... I think... I developed a crush on you." His face flushed a deep red and he looked out the window, refusing to bring his eyes back into the coffee shop. He had one hand on the back of his neck, something you had very quickly learnt was a nervous habit of his. "You just, you seemed like a nice person. Better than nice, there was something about you... You seemed different. No matter how many breakups you went through, I always saw you reappear with a smile. And I started to think, maybe you're just a person looking for love, like- like me."

You didn't say anything. You sat there in shock, mulling over his words. This seemed to make him even more nervous.

"I understand if I'm not good enough-"

"Not good enough!?" There was no way you were going to let him say that about himself. "Are you kidding me!? If anyone's not good enough here, it's me. Have you even seen yourself? You look better than any model I've seen, and don't even get me started on your personality, I could go on a rant about that for days. You've got everything, any girl would want you!"

His cheeks turned pink and he looked down, covering his mouth. "Do you count as 'any girl'?" he whispered.

You hesitated. You really had meant what you said, but... this was too good to be true.

"How do I know you mean it? I've heard the same thing so many times and every single time none of them meant it."

"Y/n..." he slowly put a hand over yours, ready to take it back if you looked uncomfortable. "I don't blame you if you don't believe me, but I just want to see you happy. If I could be the reason you smile even once, I honestly think my life would be complete. I truly do love you."

You brought your head up and looked him in the eyes. He looked sincere, more sincere than anyone else had been. Something passed between you two as you stared at each other. He cracked a small smile and you had to suppress your own.

"So... can I count this as a date?" He asked mischievously.

"We've literally never met before."

"A blind date then."

You smiled. "Sure. But I'm not trusting you around the sugar again."

He laughed and intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling them up to his lips and giving a small kiss on your knuckles.

You two stayed in that café until night fell. Namjoon had to drive you home, and now you were both standing on your doorstep.

"I love you. Is it too early to say I love you? Because I love you." He rambled, making you smile.

You hesitated for a second, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. Without another word you went inside you house and closed the door. You stayed there, leaned against your door, an he stayed on your doorstep, one hand on his cheek. You both let out a scream and ran, you to your room and Namjoon to his car.

As you lay in bed you couldn't help but smile as you thought about him.

Maybe this relationship would be okay.

Oneshots Masterlist

Proper Training -> knj (hybrid!au)

— synopsis: Namjoon was not expecting such a random hybrid crying at his doorstep on a rainy night. After learning more about you and your past, he was determined to help such a precious little one like you. Perhaps you just needed some proper guidance and training.

↳ pairing: Namjoon x kitten hybrid f.reader

↳ genre: fluff/angst/smut

↳ rating: 18+

↳ word count: 9.5k

↳ warnings: tw/ partner abuse (please bear with me that all of this is fanfiction and I do not tolerate anything like this in real life), degrading terms/namecalling, breeding kink, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, pain kink, cunnilingus, etc.

The discreet sound of leather shoes clicking against the floor made your tail lower in desperation to find a place to hide. You whimper to herself, panicking. The living room was filled with mess, scattered pillows and the carpet spilled with milk. Although you were proud of the chaos you’ve created, you were awfully afraid of your his reaction.

You crawl underneath a side table where a lamp was placed, hugging your knees tight to your chest as you sit on your white, tucked-in tail. Your poor ears were tugged down in dismay.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” Your master declares, his cold, chilling voice causing you to mewl. You croon your face in between your knees, bottom lip quivering in fear.

Keep reading

Proper Training -> knj (hybrid!au)

— synopsis: Namjoon was not expecting such a random hybrid crying at his doorstep on a rainy night. After learning more about you and your past, he was determined to help such a precious little one like you. Perhaps you just needed some proper guidance and training.

↳ pairing: Namjoon x kitten hybrid f.reader

↳ genre: fluff/angst/smut

↳ rating: 18+

↳ word count: 9.5k

↳ warnings: tw/ partner abuse (please bear with me that all of this is fanfiction and I do not tolerate anything like this in real life), degrading terms/namecalling, breeding kink, dom!Namjoon, sub!reader, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, pain kink, cunnilingus, etc.

The discreet sound of leather shoes clicking against the floor made your tail lower in desperation to find a place to hide. You whimper to herself, panicking. The living room was filled with mess, scattered pillows and the carpet spilled with milk. Although you were proud of the chaos you’ve created, you were awfully afraid of your his reaction.

You crawl underneath a side table where a lamp was placed, hugging your knees tight to your chest as you sit on your white, tucked-in tail. Your poor ears were tugged down in dismay.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” Your master declares, his cold, chilling voice causing you to mewl. You croon your face in between your knees, bottom lip quivering in fear.

Keep reading

“Namjoon wants to be pegged. This is a confession you never thought your devilishly handsome boyfriend to make and yet here you are, with Namjoon moaning underneath you as your strap reshapes his insides.”

~ Requested by 🧈anon ~

Pairing: Namjoon x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Smut 

Warnings: sub!Namjoon, Dom!Reader, a lil bit of fumbling in the shower, where he also pretends to be a Dom, he calls her “bad girl” in a playful manner, but then he turns into a subby messy ufkcdkf, she calls him “puppy”, first time pegging, he’s on his back during foreplay but gets fucked in doggy, buttplugs, dirty talk, cockwarming to mess him up <3, edging, cumming untouched, so much cum, strength & size kink (i made him taller than her because joon is so nfng perfect for size kinks where HE is the subby mess), the foreplay hits so fucking hard, male masturbation with a showerhead, handjob from behind, anal fingering, she prepares his hole until he can take the plug, then edges him and uses an even bigger plug, besties we’re going down together, subby boys tears, Joonie being so vocal, cuddly aftercare, they’re in love <3

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: HBD Joon, you big beefy teddy bear <3 this was also requested but I lost the ask :( thankfully i safe all my requests in a word doc. also, butter anonie where are you? i miss you :( hehe have fun besties, this is very horny 🖤

Your boyfriend is normally a very open and communicative person. It’s the reason why you guys never fight. Stuff gets talked about before it can manifest into resentments. So his recent behaviour has been worrying to say the very least.

Namjoon came home from work very quiet last night. He treated you normally, chatted with you about his day and cuddled you to sleep, but it was so obvious to you that something was weighing down his heart. So this morning you asked him if something was bothering him to which he merely shook his head and then said that work has just been stressful lately. You believed him, but somehow you also didn’t believe him. It was a Saturday today and Namjoon spends most of his Saturdays reading on the balcony or taking his bike for a drive along the Han River. This Saturday however he was holed up in his office for most of the day, only coming out for lunch in your favourite restaurant and later when he left for the gym. He acted normal and was terribly sweet, but you still got a feeling that something was occupying his mind.

Namjoon has been at the gym for about an hour now. Given how it takes him around half an hour to drive to it, you know that he won’t be home for at least another hour. You are just about to leave for your own gym session and are on your way to the kitchen for a pre-workout snack when his office calls out to you. He left the door open. You normally don’t snoop around each other’s stuff. It’s rude and an invasion of privacy, but today you can’t help it. You tiptoe into his office, acting as if you were merely checking if he closed the windows before leaving for the gym when in reality you were sneaking glances at his desk.

He was just acting too out of character lately and you have to figure out what was going on with him. He left his laptop on. You halt. This feels so wrong to do. You hover your hand over the mouse and click.

“Oh”, you gasp, flinching back.

A window popped up.

His internet browser with multiple tabs open.

“Shit, this is so wrong”, you say and try to look away. You really wanted to look away, but then one of the windows piqued your interest. The headline was cut off, all it read was: Better Relationship.

Keep reading

SPECIAL GIFT

SUMMARY: And when your husband brings you your desired anniversary gift…

PAIRINGS : Jungkook, husband Namjoon x wife reader

WORD COUNT : 1.5k

SMUT WARNINGS : Unprotected sex , cream pie to maximum, oral (m,f) , spanking a bit , spitting , doggy style 😏😏

A/n : Thankyou for requesting the namkook smut I hope this was okay :) reblog and comments are always appreciated ❤️YALL please don’t let it flop I actually worked really hard 😔😬 and this is also a little something for 800+followers ❤️❤️

It was yours and Namjoon's fifth anniversary and you wanted something much more special than some gifts so here you are waiting for your husband to come home, you dress up in black lingerie, you hear the front door opening and you find to see your husband looking so sexy in his office attire, you almost didn't want to leave your husband this morning but alas work is work.

Namjoon offers you his dimple smile and hands you the bouquet of tiger lily, taking them, he lays a small kiss on your lips "Well happy anniversary my love and you look so gorgeous baby" he says and goes for a long kiss this time "thank you my love, and I hope you haven't forgotten on what I want, I want hi-" you get interrupted by the doorbell.

"It's here Jagi," Namjoon says and opens the door, you don't know how your husband convinced him and you don't even care you needed him and here he is Jeon Jungkook who works under your husband in the office, you've met him so many times whether it maybe an office party or get together or you randomly coming to meet your husband you've never missed batting an eye on him and Namjoon knows about it so here he is your anniversary gift.

Jungkook gasps seeing you in a revelling lingerie never used to see you in these clothes "Hey Jungkook, how are you? Listen just come inside and you know her, this my wife." your husband introduces you both and you urge him to take a seat on the sofa.

Jungkook seems a bit nervous, of course, he will be he is about fuck his coworker's wife, you sit right next to him, and your fingers start to move over his thighs, and you lay soft teasing kisses on his Jawline, Jungkook jumps on his seat, and you see some goosebumps rising on his arms "Jungkook would you like to drink something? wine maybe?" Namjoon asks dragging you both out of the slumber.

While the man next just simply nods and Namjoon heads to the kitchen to fetch some wine and your teasing never stops, your hand stubbly moves towards the hard bulge straining against his pants, a breathy moan of your name leaves his mouth, and your husband is back with a glass of wine and passes over to him, quickly gulping it Jungkook gives you a small smile and you crash a kiss on his lips moaning at the tinge of strawberry.

"Honey, you take him to the room ill catch up in a few" Namjoon says and you rise from the couch and extend your hand and guide him to yours and Namjoon's shared room, Jungkook is seated in the bed when you go down on your knees "This okay? Let me know if when I should stop" You ask and start zipping down his pants with the boxers now down, Jungkook's hard length slaps his lower abdomen making him hiss a bit because of the chilly air and your warm palm coming in contact.

You start slow, only sucking on his tip and coaxing his precum to leak more," Y/n" a groan leaves his mouth, and the sucking soon turns into slurping you get his cock wet and Jungkook makes a ponytail of your hair from his hand and pushes you further on himself slowly letting off his shyness.

You hear the clinking of a belt right behind you and you see your husband undressing himself, Jungkook above you tells you that's what he wants when you go down to lick right behind his balls. "Like that kook? "You ask him your eyes a bit teary from the gagging and the saliva dripping down from the corner off your it is messy.

Humming he pushes your head more and hums and yes's leave his mouth "Feels good y/n" Jungkook moans out loud and spits down in his cock so it could messier after a few minutes of you palming and sucking his salty cum fills your mouth "Yeah that's my girl" Namjoon says while he looks at both of you.

Not registering what happened Jungkook gets you on your feet and pushes you onto the bed immediately hovering above you and kissing you roughly, he leans down to mark your neck and dark purple hickeys are now fresh on your neck, licking them once again he done. The lingerie is removed by him, and you are soon naked completely bare, and your pussy lips are coated in your slick.

Jungkook comes face to face, and you let out a whine "So wet y/n" Jungkook's says in a raspy voice and your hands curl over the mattress above you and you look over to your husband palming his hard cock "so good kook, more-" you are cut off by Jungkook placing a kiss on your clit and spitting up on your opening.

"You sound so pretty when you moan y/n "The man between your legs never stops praising you and slowly fingerfucks you, his long fingers reach your spot within a few minutes and purr out a sweet little cry of his name and Jungkook smirks looking at you like this.

You never fail to tell your husband how good Jungkook is making you and you swear you see stars when he rubs the ball of your clit while his fingers destroy your insides "How does it feel y/n?" He says when goes to make out with your clit spitting on it and placing small kisses and rubbing making you messier.

you reach down to grab Jungkook's hair to push him out because you were about to squirt the menace between you coaxes you to cum on his fingers and the last rub on your clit makes so squirt so hard and you see white, Jungkook places a small kiss and rises from in between your legs.

Namjoon joins you both on the bed while Jungkook makes you turn around on your knees so he can fuck you from behind, Jungkook enters you without any thought and cries out a moan, your husband seats himself in front of you and gets his cock sucked, the vibrations you make send him to the edge, Jungkook groans at the tightness of your pussy and starts hammering you from behind "Fuck my mouth Joon, want you to cum inside my mouth" you say and go back to fondle the heavy balls stored full of his cum and you slick up his cock.

Jungkook buries himself into the hilt waiting for your reaction and testing the water, a bulge forms on your lower belly and you croak out to tell him to go on "Oh fuck Jungkook" loud moans, cry and skin slapping resound the room, and an intoxicating smell surrounds the room.

At one-point Jungkook grabs your hair from behind and gives a particularly hard thrust which makes you let out your husband's cock from the mouth "Try not to cum kook, her pussy is worth it" Namjoon says looking over at Jungkook while he just nods the clenching making it tuff for him to slide inside further "loosen up baby, wanna slide in further" Jungkook slaps your ass while speaking to you.

It made it harder for Jungkook to not cum when you clenched around him this much "So good, the best in the world y/n" Whines left from his mouth and your husband soon came in your mouth while you overstimulated his with laying kisses behind his balls and licks from his balls to cock, humming at the salty taste.

Jungkook finally cums inside you making it even messier, some of his cum dripped down the sheets and you will worry about them later now you just enjoy being filled. Changing positions once again you are now facing Jungkook, and your ass is presented to your husband, your husband teases you by rubbing his cock between your pussy lips and you cock over to Jungkook and take his cock in your mouth both moaning in unison, the room is again surrounded by loud noises.

Jungkook backs away when he feels overwhelmed by your sucking you cry from the pleasure your husband was giving you "Kook choke me wanna cum so bad." you say in a rushed manner the thrusts making it almost impossible for you to speak "Ah fuck I'm gonna cum, just kiss me kook I can't take it anymore" you say and the man in front of you and bends down to give you the kiss you wanted.

Namjoon continues to deliver hard thrusts spanking your ass occasionally, sliding out to see your cum milking his cock white creamy rings start to form at the base of his cock and groans soon filling up with cum and collapsing on top of you.

Jungkook soon gets Ready to leave you after he calms down from his orgasm and your husband takes care of your cleanup and hands him some spare clothes so he can wash up and go home in fresh clothes..

When he is about to go you grab his soft hands and stand on your tip toes "Thank you for being here kook, I enjoyed this." you say letting out a giggle when he says "Anytime" and leaves you both......

TAGLIST :

@kimmingyuswifee @jungk97kwife @jk-hoe97 @cassies-cookies @ohsweetmimosa @aretha170 @galaxygirl453

“Hi, neighbor!”

The familiar timbre of voice makes you look up from the stack of mail in your hands. It’s not routine—you fetching the mail, that is—but your dad is out of town and your mom has been telling your ear off about getting the mail. Something about the electrical bill. Or was it the water bill?

“Hi, Joon.” You throw a smile at your neighbor, squinting to fight the bright morning sun. The mails in your hand make for a good cap replacement, though, so you lift them up to your forehead, providing a tiny shade for your poor eyes. “Had a good time last night?” you tease.

Namjoon brings his hand to his head—the raven buzz cut making him look like a peculiar dandelion—running his hand through his hair while his cheeks dimple in embarrassment.

“That obvious, huh?”

“The t-shirt kinda gave it away,” you grin, wiggling your eyebrows. “It’s the same one as last night and it’s crinkled in all the right places to scream ‘I had the time of my life last night!’”

“Eh, don’t act like you’ve never had one of those nights too, neighbor.” Namjoon sticks his hands into his pockets, grin still in place and eyes some nice crescents. Again, you picture a peculiar dandelion in your mind. “It’s not every day that you have a very good night's sleep.”

You bark out a laugh, the mails slipping from your hands onto the pavement. Namjoon echoes the happy sound, his laugh sounding like that of an excited dog, wiggling its tail while waiting to play. A peculiar dandelion whose laugh sounds like an excited dog.

“Only you who’d equate a good night’s sleep to a good time, Namjoon,” you chuckle, crouching down to retrieve your fallen mails.

“Nothing better than to have some peace and quiet in your mind when you’re supposed to, neighbor.” He smiles at you, before closing his eyes as he faces the sun, soaking in all the sunlight the world has to offer.

You’re about to respond when your mom’s voice sounds from inside your house, complaining about the extended period of time you spend getting the mail. “I need to see the bills now!” Oh, well.

“Peace and quiet, huh?” you say.

Namjoon heaves out another chuckle from his chest. “See what I mean?”

He’s still standing there, letting his face be bathed in the golden rays of sunlight, and the adjective in your head gets a friend: bright. A bright, peculiar dandelion.

“Yeah,” you mumble, still distracted by how peaceful Namjoon looks soaking in the sun. “I’ll see ya later, peculiar dandelion.”

You wonder what other adjective you can add when you see him again tomorrow.

may 3rd, 2024.

masterlist | picture drabble masterlist

→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!

“You know you won’t be able to scoop anything with that fork, right?”

Namjoon props his cheek on his fist, dragon eyes looking at your hand that’s holding a fork. A fork you’ve been using to “scoop” up soup out of a bowl. Well, trying to.

“How would you know? Have you tried it?”

Stubborn. Not your best trait, but your most prominent.

“I have, yes, that’s why—“

“—you said ‘life is a bowl of soup and I’m a fork’. I’m trying to prove you wrong.”

The silence between you stretches into minutes as you continue trying to enjoy your bowl of soup with the utensil not fit for it while Namjoon continues watching. A harsh huff of breath has just passed your nose loudly when the man in front of you speaks, a mumble of curiosity that has your hand frozen mid-air.

“What if, instead of proving me wrong, you become the spoon in that equation?”

One of your eyebrows shoots up into your hairline, not getting where Namjoon is going with this. Why would you become a spoon? Why is Namjoon suddenly talking about you transforming into an inanimate object?

“So the saying would be ‘life is a bowl of soup and I’m a fork—but you’re the spoon.’ I’ll be able to tackle life as long as I have you, the spoon, by my side.”

There’s a pause when the gears in your head are busy turning to digest Namjoon’s words about soup and forks and spoons. It’s a peculiar analogy, but not so complicated that it takes you hours to fully grasp the meaning. When it all clicks, you rest your cheek on your propped up fist, copying his pose.

“Do you want me to be the spoon?”

Namjoon gives you a one-shoulder shrug and a crooked smile. “Didn’t I suggest it?”

“Thought it was just a saying,” you say with your own small smile.

“Could be anything you want it to be,” Namjoon chuckles. His hand reaches for a spoon sitting on the table, offering the utensil to you. “Spoon?”

You look between the fork in your hand and the spoon in Namjoon’s hand. It’s obvious that scooping soup with a fork is never gonna work, so you slowly take the spoon from him. Maybe being the spoon to his fork wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Spoon it is.”

july 9th, 2024.

masterlist | picture drabble masterlist

scenic route [kim namjoon]

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

drabble count: 8

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

part 1 | part 2

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

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

Past 

You meet him on the train. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. Did he really get kicked out? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Famous last words. And he really must be poor. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Six…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My name’s Namjoon, he says. 

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

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

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

Present

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

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

“Is this my flower store or yours?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

“The one that you kissed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It is. 

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

Past 

“You what? Did you follow me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And, uh…” 

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

Reaching Namjoon’s. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hooky. You snort.

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

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

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

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

The comment is insulting and comforting at the same time. 

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

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

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

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

“Say that when it’s served to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Out of college, huh? Or…” 

“Yes. Seoul University. In business.” 

“Mhm. Top of the class?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“I, ah. Academics are important.” 

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

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

It adds character, though. 

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

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

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

“And you can take photos? I have—”

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

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

Present

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

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

Frankly, seeing him like this is unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if—”

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

You deliver the final blow. To you and him. 

“I’ll be going… Namjoon ssi.” 

Present

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

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

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

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

“Then I would follow you in a heartbeat.”

“Namjoon. What if…”

“Again with this?” 

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

“Like, cheat on me?”

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

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

“Namjoon. What if I stopped loving you?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

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

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

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

scenic route [kim namjoon]

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

drabble count: 8

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

part 1 | part 2

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

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

Past 

You meet him on the train. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. Did he really get kicked out? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Famous last words. And he really must be poor. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Six…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My name’s Namjoon, he says. 

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

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

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

Present

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

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

“Is this my flower store or yours?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

“The one that you kissed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. It is. 

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

Past 

“You what? Did you follow me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And, uh…” 

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

Reaching Namjoon’s. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hooky. You snort.

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

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

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

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

The comment is insulting and comforting at the same time. 

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

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

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

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

“Say that when it’s served to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Out of college, huh? Or…” 

“Yes. Seoul University. In business.” 

“Mhm. Top of the class?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“I, ah. Academics are important.” 

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

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

It adds character, though. 

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

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

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

“And you can take photos? I have—”

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

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

Present

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

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

Frankly, seeing him like this is unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if—”

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

You deliver the final blow. To you and him. 

“I’ll be going… Namjoon ssi.” 

Present

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

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

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

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

“Then I would follow you in a heartbeat.”

“Namjoon. What if…”

“Again with this?” 

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

“Like, cheat on me?”

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

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

“Namjoon. What if I stopped loving you?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

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

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

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

dear soulmate • knj one shot

summary: once a year, the system assigns soulmates according to the sincerity of their submission letters. ready to have your lives completely changed, namjoon and you sign up for the program, receiving on the first week of january the highly anticipated green envelope with each other's message

rating: pg warnings: none word count: 3.614 pairing: namjoon x reader genre: romance, fluff tags: soulmate!au, strangers to lovers additional tags: idol!namjoon, soulmate!namjoon

☆ disclaimer: this is a work of fiction taken from the depths of my imagination, which takes place in an alternative universe (AU) and has no real connection with people, places or organizations. everything you will read is fictional and created by me. i do not authorize its reproduction, translation or publication, partially or entirely © mrsparknamjoon

As soon as Namjoon received your letter, it was difficult for him to control the emotion and stop his hands from shaking. He could barely pull the emerald green envelope out of the mailbox. The package itself was unmistakable and everyone knew that soulmate mail arrived in the first week of January.

Taking a deep breath twice, the boy dried his now slightly sweaty hands on his jeans and stuffed one into the metal box with the number 1902 plastered on the front. Oh, that was really exciting! Namjoon couldn’t believe his eyes. Contrasting the green paper were the golden letters in a cursive font as if someone had written with liquid gold and a quill. Okay, maybe not an actual quill, but the poor boy was finding it all very fascinating and somewhat magical.

Holding the envelope close to his chest as if it were a newborn child who demanded the utmost care and protection, Kim Namjoon, the Korean idol and leader of the most successful group in the music industry, entered the elevator and violently pressed the number 19.

As it began ascending he repeated impatiently “Up! Up! Up!” and stared at the display above the door wishing that damn elevator was faster. "Come on!!!"

Ding.

"We’re stopping? No! No stopping!” said Namjoon exasperated while still holding the envelope as tight as he could.

"Good morning, Mr. Kim!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee!” the boy replied with a smile on his face as soon as the neighbor entered. After two seconds the dimples disappeared and he pressed even harder the button on the panel in front of him that closed the doors.

“Ah ... special delivery, I see. I'm sorry to disturb you, dear” said the nice old lady.

Namjoon was embarrassed. "You didn't disturb me, I'm just a little anxious" he confessed.

"It's normal. Enjoy every second, it happens only once in your life” Mrs. Lee replied with a sincere smile that turned her eyes into two crescent moons. "I remember like it was yesterday when I received mine..."

Before Namjoon could ask more about Mrs. Lee's soulmate, the elevator doors opened on his floor.

“I have to go, Mrs. Lee, but I'd love to hear about it one day” he said, scratching the back of his head a bit flustered.

“It will be a pleasure, Mr. Kim” said the neighbor, waving as the doors closed once more.

Namjoon walked in a hurry to the end of the corridor, stopping in front of his apartment door. This wasn't the dorm he shared with the boys, but his own place where he spent a few days a week, when their schedule allowed, and most of his days off. It was minimalist but cozy. Several paintings and sculptures scattered throughout the rooms. It was the perfect place to disconnect from the world and relax, and it was obviously secluded and quiet enough for him to read the most important piece of paper of his life with no interruptions.

When he finally found his keys, they slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor. Poor Joon, the level of nervousness had exceeded any acceptable limit and he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to read the whole letter or if he was going to pass out while on the first line. He was glad it arrived today, when he was here, imagine if the package had been in the mailbox for weeks? That is something the boy would never have forgiven himself for.

The beginning of the year was always hectic for the group since they had several international commitments and rarely stayed in Korea, but alas, this year things were different. The comeback was scheduled for May and the press tour in the United States was in early June. Isn't it funny how the universe works sometimes?

After successfully entering his home without dropping anything else, Namjoon took off his sneakers in the foyer as fast as he could and ran to the sofa, settling himself comfortably with a pillow in his lap to support the much-desired emerald envelope. He had turned in his letter about 4 months ago and the wait became agonizing as January approached. In the last week of December, he was barely able to concentrate on the interviews and had to make an absurd amount of effort to hide what was happening. Lucky for him, the rest of the group was very understanding and helped by answering most questions.

Speaking of questions, Namjoon repeated a few in his head while looking at the envelope in front of him:

Who is my soulmate? When will we meet? Has she read my letter yet? Or worse, did she like it?

Rather than simply opening the damn package as he had imagined so vividly for many nights, Namjoon simply froze. He felt the huge responsibility fall on his shoulders with a sudden weight. New doubts began swirling in his mind.

Was it a good idea? Will I be able to do this? What if it doesn't work out? Will I spend the rest of my life alone?             

"Breathe, Joon ... just breathe" he said to himself, closing his eyes and resting his hands on top of the envelope.

After a few seconds, he felt ready to start, and with his eyes closed, he began to tear one end of the envelope calmly and precisely. When the paper strip was free and in his right hand, Namjoon opened cautiously one eye and glanced at the object in his lap as if it was a ticking bomb.

"This is ridiculous" he said, opening his other eye realizing how pathetic he probably looked right now.

The boy then proceeded to pull a stack of neatly folded papers out of the envelope where the first of them said:

Dear soulmate,

I don't really know where to start. I postponed writing this letter for a long time and I'm sorry if it’s not to your liking or doesn't help at all, but that's me. Confused with life, with my feelings... with everything. I've been working on myself a lot and I hope you are patient.

I don’t know when you will receive this letter, or better yet, the time between my writing and it finally reaching your hands. We’re not supposed to say specific dates but there are only a few days left until my 29th birthday. Are you older than me? Younger? Will you care about my age? Probably not. It doesn't matter anyway, we are destined.

I should start by saying that…

What should I say?

What’s one interesting thing about me? Let's see …

Nothing terribly unique and extraordinary. I’m not extraordinary, but I would love to live extraordinary moments. Can you help me with that? And I don’t mean big moments in terms of proportion or even romantic gestures, I’m not that ambitious, only amazing memories that cannot be replicated by anyone other than the two of us.

Is it too much to ask?

Are you up for it?

I love being alive. Yeah, you should know that, it's a big part of who I am. The only problem is that I haven't been feeling myself for the past few years and excuse me for being so upfront about it. Although many good things have happened, I feel like something is missing, something I can't quite put my finger on. It's a void within me that, on most nights, I can ignore or supply in another way. But there are times when it comes in full force and kind of disables me.

Lying in bed at night, tears come silently and blur my view. Involuntarily I start to dry them out with the back of my hand but they persist and run down my cheeks towards the pillow. I change positions, close my eyes, try to focus on my heartbeat, thinking 'hey, you're alive, it's going to be okay' but my breath hitches, the sobs build up inside me, and I can’t do anything about it other than just feel. It's an out of body experience where I find myself in pure despair and anguish. So I stay like that for hours until tiredness wins and delivers me to sleep.

Why did I tell you all this? Maybe I should erase it…

No, I’ll keep it.

You need to know what you're 'getting into'.

By the way, I want to make it very clear that I don't need to be saved from anything. Much less from myself. I don't want you to fix me. I don't expect you to bring solutions to my inner struggles. It would be great though if you gave me an opening so that I could enter your life, get to know you, learn about all your virtues and defects, share your crazy things (you must have it! Everyone does), and love you in my weird way.

And I say ‘weird’ because I don't think I express love like everyone else does. At first, I thought I wasn’t capable of love, for real. Then I realized that I was but I loved the wrong people. In the end, I had an epiphany: I had so much love inside of me that I went around giving it all out, even to those who didn't deserve it. I desperately wanted to be loved back, at any cost, by anyone really, because maybe that person was the person who would prove me wrong like: yes, I am lovable.

Today, of course, I don't need that anymore. I know that I am lovable because I love myself a lot and it’s freaking great. I love myself wholeheartedly. I have so many qualities too, by the way, but I think it would be presumptuous to quote them all here. I would like to introduce you to each of them in person for what I hope to be the rest of our lives so I can't wait to meet you.

I promise to listen to you, support you, encourage you, and always think about your mental well-being. I promise to be a real partner, whom you can really rely and count on. I probably won’t understand your past, your insecurities, or your fears but I'll give my all to make our bond stronger every day and I'll show myself worthy of your trust. I'll put myself in your shoes and fight for what you believe too. We’ll be a team!

I don't know if this letter had any effect on you but honestly, I feel better now that I finished writing it. Apparently, you've already started helping me without even knowing me. Thank you!

With gratitude, Your soulmate.

Namjoon was speechless, his lips slightly parted and totally dry, his heart beating so fast and hard that he could feel the pounding in his ears. What he just read was undoubtedly the most genuine expression of feelings, and that says a lot because he had been surrounded for the past ten years by musicians, composers, and artists, people whose work depended directly on expression. He already felt like a lucky guy because of all the people in the world his soulmate was a true good person and equally interested in embarking on this journey with him.

 -----------------------------

 January 7th, the day your life changed forever.

It was a rainy Thursday and you were lying in bed looking out your window, analyzing the droplets forming one by one on the glass, and wondering if it was too early to go down and check the mailbox. A glance at the clock on the bedside table confirmed: 5:12 was, in fact, obscenely early and the postman most likely is not even awake.

As hard as you tried it was very difficult not to think how meaningful it was to receive the green envelope because not everyone had this opportunity throughout their lives. To become fit for the process it was necessary to:

1. Be born with the mark 2. Be over 25 years old 3. Write an honest letter

Among those who were not born with the mark, the reasons varied between 'your soulmate would not incarnate in the same timeframe as you in this life', 'this was yours and your soulmate's first life together and you should meet in order to form the bond' or 'unknown reason'. The unknown reason was a problem because there weren’t many studies on the subject and people within that category tended to think it was like a punishment, but for what exactly, they didn't know and maybe never would.

Fortunately, you fit the three requirements perfectly and a few days before your 29th birthday, you gathered your courage and sent the most honest letter you could write after two and a half glasses of wine. This was an important step because letters that did not contain pure feelings were automatically discarded by the system. The selection was purely based on energy, like a magnet. Those that emanated sincerity were "attracted" and those that were not, discarded right away. It was a way for the system to keep itself free of fraud and just pair the interested, committed, and ready soulmates.

What happens to the discarded letters? Well, from what you heard about your cousin who worked at the government headquarters, the sender receives a notice with a new delivery date for the letter. In total, three chances were given. Whoever failed in all three could only have a new opportunity to find their soulmate in the next life — which is horrible for the other person, isn't it? If she or he did the process correctly it should be all right, but like any relationship, this was a two-way street and required commitment from both sides. It didn't happen very often, but it was still frustrating to receive the red envelope basically saying “next time, ‘kay?”.

It is possible to live and love another person throughout life. Finding your soulmate isn't mandatory, but most people yearned for this deep connection and one of the reasons why the system has worked so well for hundreds of years. It was unlike anything else, totally addictive!

After submitting the letter, you felt as if a weight had been lifted from you, but a twinge of concern remained in the back of your mind. How long did your soulmate wait for the envelope to be delivered? Just imagining that he could have spent more than one January waiting makes your heart sink — but you pushed those thoughts away as fast as they arrived because now was not the time for distractions!

When you finally got up at 5:50 after turning over in bed like a pancake you went straight to the bathroom and drew a bath with all the oils and essences you were entitled to. Even some candles you lit! Today would start on the right foot, yes sir.

While preparing breakfast, you hit play on your favorite playlist to set the mood properly and also keep you distracted. Checking the mailbox at ten seemed like a reasonable decision, you reflected as you set up the coffee machine, neither too early nor too late. Surely by then, the long-waited green envelope would have been pristinely placed in the box hanging at the gate of your house.

Time seemed to be moving in slow motion and there was nothing you could do to deflect your thoughts about being in imminent proximity to your soulmate. Okay, it was just a piece of paper and not actually him, but you couldn't help feeling anxious and slightly excited either way. Trying to work amid this anxiety was useless, however, something inside told you it would be okay and, for now, it was enough. 

“Focus, focus, focus!” you repeated, closing your eyes tightly.

The second the alarm on your phone rang indicating it was ten in the morning, your heart almost went out through your mouth. 

“This is it. It’s happening!” you took a deep breath, standing up in front of the sofa and, after a few seconds adjusting your hair and clothes, went to the front door, towards your future.

The distance between the door and the mailbox could not be more than 10 steps, but at that very moment, it seemed like 10 miles. Curiosity was practically excruciating, it bubbled up inside you and was about to spill out. When your hand lowered the lid, your eyes could immediately see the most beautiful shade of green that ever existed and which also perfectly symbolized the moment: new beginnings. You reached the package with your fingertips and then pulled it towards you in one swift motion, holding it in both hands, staring with teary eyes the golden letters displaying your name very brightly. Thank God the rain stopped, you wanted to keep the envelope forever and any drop of water near it would be absolutely disastrous.

Now sitting at the dining table and using a paper-knife, you carefully cut one side of the envelope and pulled a surprising amount of paper out of it. All of them are properly aligned and folded in a single stash. The first page made your heart skip a beat as it said:

Dear soulmate,

I look forward to meeting you. It's a shame we can't describe ourselves in the letters, I would love to imagine you by my side. Not that I care about physical appearance, it's not that, it's simply easier to imagine the moments we will spend together. I'm not trying to trick you, I promise!

What I do for a living is different and I am scared that you might not receive it very well. I mean... I'm afraid of what it can do to your life to the point where you'll end up resenting me in the future. The thing is: I love what I do but I would be devastated if it resulted in something negative for you.

I'm sorry, I'm anxious.

I have a bit of experience with writing and different ways of showing my feelings, but this letter is probably one of the pieces that I had the most difficulty composing. Am I allowed to say that? Anyway, please know that I'll always prioritize our communication, telling you about my day, which makes me feel good, what upsets me and how I'm feeling. I won't hide anything from you, I don't want to.

I wonder if you like to talk. I love it. Do you like to read too? I already have a list of books I want to pick your brain about. In general, I’m a pretty reserved guy, who reflects a lot about the meaning of life — is that too weird? I don’t think so. It would be too cruel for us to be predestined without having anything in common, right? I can’t wait to have intense conversations over breakfast about the most random stuff. I’m a fun person, I swear!

As I write this letter, I am sitting on the balcony of my apartment, it's night and I can see thousands of lights on the horizon giving life to the city. Are you there? Do you think of me? In the last few years I didn't have much time to think about you, I must say, but a few months ago I started to feel this emptiness inside my heart. As if something is missing. Anything nice that happened over that period of time I would get excited, of course, but it wasn't 100% genuine because there was still this voice in the back of my head telling me: more.

I decided to accept that, yes, I want more. I already have a lot and admittedly it would be very selfish of me to wish even further, but to what extent should I sacrifice myself? How long do I ignore these deep feelings? I see my friends with their soulmates and I think that's what I need — someone to fill that void. But not filling it out in terms of "if I don't have it my life is meaningless or it will end" but rather like "a deep connection like this can add and intensify life" and I love living. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy and accomplished... I just need.... someone to share it all with.

I hope you are an understanding, intelligent, and patient person. There are many things that I don't know and need to learn, but I’m always so ashamed of asking for help. Who knows? Perhaps by your side, I’ll give up my insecurities and let myself be taught? I think I'm ready! Are you?

Ah, before I forget, no matter what, you're going to have a friend in me. A true, sincere, fair, and caring confidant. And if you allow me, I'll lead both of our lives in a confident, relaxed, and stimulating way. We will walk side by side, always.

Well, that was all I had to say.

See you soon!

With love, Your soulmate.

You cried and laughed simultaneously while reading and rereading the letter at least five times. It was absurdly surreal what was going on. You felt like the center of attention for the first time in your life. You were desired. Expected. A completely new and overwhelming sensation that permeated every cell in your body. Your soulmate hasn't even touched you yet and the goosebumps on your skin are already visible. Not to mention that right off the bat he seemed adorable. The way he spoke was as if he already knew you, already understood how your mind works. Cautious, polite, and funny — that was your soulmate. What a lucky girl you are, huh?

[+18] the dinner • knj one shot

pairing: namjoon x reader

word count: 1.888

genre: smut

rating: +18 | explicit

warnings: strong language, teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, couch sex, masturbation, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, exhibitionism (?)

au: slice of life

trope: establish relationship

tags: shameless smut, boyfriend!namjoon

crosspost: ao3

summary: the thought of having Namjoon fuck me hard while everyone else was downstairs, and could look up at any time and catch both of us, had my pussy throbbing.

☆ disclaimer: this is a work of fiction taken from the depths of my imagination, which takes place in an alternative universe (AU) and has no real connection with people, places or organizations. everything you will read is fictional and created by me. i do not authorize its reproduction, translation or publication, partially or entirely © mrsparknamjoon

♡ A/N: i've been feeling very honry these past few days so i had to let it out lmao. this was supposed to be a drabble but i obviously got carried away hehe. hope you guys like it, it's been a while since i wrote anything, especially smut :')

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We’re at Hoseok’s dinner party and the wine is starting to make me feel slutty. Namjoon has his right hand on my thigh as he chats with Jimin about some vacation anecdote, and all I can think about is fingers slightly trailing upwards, finding my lace thong, and then pressing my clit under this very gorgeous and expensive dress. I'm so wet, he would be thoroughly impressed.

As soon as I spot the perfect pause in their conversation, I lean in and whisper, "I'll be right back," to which Namjoon nods with a smile. Oh, his smile. That's another thing that turns me on. He has so many different ones. One for every occasion and two especially for me. The one enamored, sweet, and totally devoted and the other smug, sexy and kinda intimidating one, as if I'm his prey. With both, I feel like the most special (slash) desired girl in the world. But right this second, as I cross the lawn towards the main house, I feel like the horniest girl in the world. I just need him.

Hoseok's house was new and I hadn’t had the chance to visit it yet, so I end up losing track of time as I walk through the rooms, noting every detail of the decor, from the carefully framed photos by the fireplace to the KAWS sculptures in different sizes. His office was located above the living room, accessed by a discreet staircase next to a bookcase filled with movies, games, and souvenirs from around the world.

On the far right, where there was supposed to be a wall there was actually glass. The biggest window I’ve ever seen in my life, going from the ceiling down to the floor in the living room underneath. It was a stupendous view of the garden and also the Seoul skyline. I was so mesmerized that Namjoon's voice startled me a bit when he entered and enveloped me in a tight hug.

“Hi” he kissed my shoulder, “I was looking everywhere for you, baby”

“This place has a nice view, huh?” I stroked his forearms and linked my hands with his.

His grip tightened, “Our place has a nice view too”

“I know, I was just wondering” I took a tiny step back, slightly brushing my ass over his cock so he would get the message.

I felt his smile forming. “Wondering what?” he pressed his full body against mine.

“Why don’t you just fuck me right here, in front of all these people?”

The thought of having Namjoon fuck me hard while everyone else was downstairs, and could look up at any time and catch both of us, had my pussy throbbing.

“Is that what you want?” he asked while slowly kissing my neck, tongue leaving marks wherever it traced.

My God, it felt so good. His lips burned my skin in an incredible way and I could only moan in response, “Yeah”

“As much as I would love to press you against this glass right now,” Namjoon’s hands now gripped both sides of my waist, “and fuck you until you beg for me to slow down,” he moved his hips forward, making me feel his hard on, “I rather not give everyone down there the satisfaction of hearing your moans”

“They’re far away. They’re not gonna hear, Joon”

“Baby, I know how vocal you can be” he let out an honest laugh, lips touching my earlobe, and couldn’t help but giggle like a teenage girl because it was true. I wasn't a dramatic or loud person, to be honest, but when we fucked I had an insane need to let it all out. The world had to know Kim Namjoon was giving to me real good.

“Please? I need you” I whined, reaching my head behind and grabbing his nape.

“Even if you be quiet, they’ll see your pussy dripping and that’s just for my eyes and cock only” he traced his left hand down my thigh and then up again until he reached under my breast. That fucker knew it was a sensitive spot for me. My nipples immediately got hard.

“If you fuck me from behind they won’t” I tugged his hair a bit more with my hand to show how impatient I was, “My dress will cover up”

“Oh, you’re naughty today” he slapped my ass, “Come here”

Namjoon pulled me by the hand, leading the way to the brown leather sofa Hoseok had in the middle of the office. It was the perfect compromise. I could still see everyone outside but the chance of them spotting us was definitely lower.

After he sat on it, he gestured for me to straddle him and that's exactly what I did, but not without first teasing him with the side slit on my gorgeous green satin silk backless dress.

First, I walked up to him, squeezing and pinching my breasts. Namjoon's lustful eyes never left mine. I knew he wanted to look down, but I also knew that direct contact like that turned him on more. It was intimidating and sensual. I felt completely naked.

When I was only inches away, I reached out, grabbed his right hand, and placed it on my thigh, dragging it in towards my wet core. The moment his fingers found my aching bud I shivered and closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation. It was electric.

As Namjoon rubbed his thumb up and down, I came out of my reverie and stared down at him, sinking into his lap and taking his face in my hands for a passionate kiss. His arms then trailed my thighs until they found my ass, where his hands gripped me firmly.

The mix between his cock twitching under me and his tongue exploring mine was an addictive cocktail of sensations. I was feeling him everywhere. My body was his.

“I don’t know if I can wait anymore” I said completely out of breath, pressing my forehead against his.

“Don’t” he swept his thumb across my bottom lip, “I’m yours, baby”

I smiled and traced my hand between us, feeling Namjoon's body until I reached his length. He hissed. I palmed him from side to side, up and down, fingers desperately now moving up to undo the belt.

"Next social event you're not allowed to wear a belt" I frowned after a couple of unsuccessful tries.

Namjoon laughed, "Deal"

I scooched back a little and properly did it with two hands as he watched me with an amused expression.

"Stop it! You're ruining the mood" I pecked his lips.

"You look cute when you're drunk"

"I'm not cute" I say, finally freeing his cock and moving my panties to the side, "Not tonight" and positioned the tip at my entrance, gently pressing his chest with my hand as I take it inch by inch.

Namjoon's back hits the leather cushion and he starts to relax. His left hand is still on my ass and the other one is now making her way to my pussy.

"Fuck, Y/N"

"You like that?" I whisper as his thumb starts to make small circles on my clit and begin riding him slowly.

"Yes, fuck yes" Namjoon closes his eyes in complete bliss.

My moves are just right. Back and forth, interspersed with large circles. I wanted it to last as long as possible. His lips then found my torso and left wet kisses all over it until his hand lowered the neckline of my dress and his tongue found my aching left nipple. My hand came up through Namjoon's hair with a hard grip at the crown, resting my elbow on his shoulder. A sign from me for him not to stop.

Namjoon pinched my clit and switched to my other breast, making me lean back in pleasure. My hands found his knees for support, allowing me to pick up the pace and bounce a bit faster. His mouth then moved to my sternum and both his hands came up to hold me steady by the waist. His cock was starting to hit that special place and I could feel the sweat coat my skin.

“Mmmmh, right there, Joon” I moaned, louder than expected.

“Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby”

“Yeah?” my hands moved to his shoulders and I propped up to gaze into his eyes “You feel so good”

“I want you to cum all over my cock” his hands slapped my ass, hard and I changed the movement, now rolling my hips. I was almost there and it was the perfect time to tease him again.

“Make me”

Namjoon's eyes darkened and the rhythm of the thrusts increased. I leaned forward, holding the back of the couch and letting him take control. From where I was, I could see everyone at the dinner table. The little lights lit among the trees. Oh, how I wanted them to listen to us. The beautiful skin slapping symphony. The wet and sloppy love sounds our bodies rhythmically made. Fuck, I wanted to scream so bad, but instead, I lowered my tone and moaned just for him "Harder, baby. I'm cumming"

“Take that, huh” he thrusted, hard, and slowed down before doing it again, “Good girl”

And then I felt light-headed. The most wonderful sensation took over my body as Namjoon helped me ride my high.

“Cum for me, baby”

I felt complete, exhilarated, and soaked as my legs jerked uncontrollably. His juices started to mix with mine and were now on their way to the couch (sorry Hoseok!) so I separated our bodies for a second and softly kissed Namjoon's lips.

Even after all this time, I still feel like we're still getting to know each other. Every time feels new, exciting, and awesome. Namjoon makes me feel powerful and sexy but also seen and needed. He brings so much security to our relationship that allows me to let go and be as free as I want. When I'm around him I'm not shy, I'm not nervous, I'm not hesitant. I'm me.

“Wow” he broke the kiss, “That was 100% in our top 5 fucks”

“Absolutely” I winked as I got off his lap.

“That time on the beach is still number one to me, but I feel like today was a solid third place. Don’t you think?” Namjoon asked, handing me a box of tissues that was on the side table next to us.

“Uh…” I started wiping myself and fixing my underwear. “I guess so. We could have gone for number one, but you weren't paying attention to my signals over dinner” I stood up, tossed the tissue on the bin, and fixed my dress.

“Hey!!”

“It’s true” I laughed, “Also, you have cum all over your pants”

“And who's fault is that?” he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Mine!” I pointed to myself, “Which is why I’m raiding Hobi’s closet for you”

“You wh-”

I kissed Namjoon to stop him from talking, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Y/N” he called, as I was about to get down the stairs, making me look over the shoulder, “I love you” he smiled, and it was that one enamored, sweet, and totally devoted.

“I love you” I smiled back at him, giving my warm, joyful, and equally devoted one.

Eight Years

[Summary]: Namjoon and you have been married for eight years. What makes it so great? Maybe the fact that your husband never stopped loving you with just as much passion as the first day he fell in love.

[Theme]: MarriedCouple!AU, EstablishedRelationship!AU, very soft Joon but also extremely powerful and dominant Joon.

[Rating]: fluff, smut, 18+ content

[Word Count]: 2,493

[Author’s Note]: I wanna say this is probably the first fic I have ever written? I could be wrong but I am almost positive. So glad to finally share it though…this is one of my favs.

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

"Let me sit on your lap," You demand from your husband.

Namjoon looks up at you with wide eyes as he stops chewing, his cheeks stuffed with food. He looks too good, even with a mouth full of greasy hamburger. Dark green t-shirt, fluffy hair, and, of course, gray sweats — you absolutely have to cuddle him. It is not an option. You must.

"I'm eating," He says, but you're already lifting his arm up and sliding onto his thighs.

"Keep eating, then," You reply, shoving your nose into his neck. He smells clean, like fresh laundry. And his hair is soft as you play with the ends of it at the nape of his neck. You can't get enough of this man.

Namjoon continues chewing as he lets you sit on him.

"I'm not understanding this behavior," He says, mouth full.

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to,"

"Just accept it and move on,"

Namjoon shrugs and stuffs the last piece of his hamburger into his mouth. His chewing is obnoxious, and you're sure that there's grease all over his mouth, but that doesn't stop you from wanting to kiss the fuck out of him right now anyways.

He leans back on the chair as he drinks his water. His warm palm comes up and rubs at your back. They're so big and strong; you can't help but melt into his palms as he holds you. His touch creates a reaction within you, like a heater touching an ice cube.

"Did you have a good day?" He asks you.

"Yeah, it was okay," You mumble against his neck. "How was yours?"

"It was good. Couldn't wait to come home, though,"

"Why?"

"Don't know. Kind of wanted to see my wife."

"You're seeing her,"

"No, I'm seeing her back."

With that, you bring your head from the crook of his neck to look your husband in the eyes.

"Now I'm seeing her," He smiles. "Hello, angel," He hums, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

You reciprocate, enjoying the softness of his lips before you pull away, an antagonizing grin plastered on your lips.

"You taste like beef,"

"Well, you insisted on sitting on me while I was eating."

"Never said I didn't like it,"

"Didn't know you liked the taste of beef and spit. Well noted,"

"I like the taste of you," You coo, giving his cheek a pinch.

"Tch," He snorts, giving you another kiss.

This time, you tuck your lips into his firmly. Your hands caress his jaw and neck as you move your lips against his. Namjoon sighs against you, confidently sliding his hands up your back as he tilts his head into yours. He hums into you, enjoying the way you kiss him so surely.

After a few more kisses, you pull away, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“I missed you today" You confess.

“I did, too,” your husband kisses the inside of your palm before his eyes flicker up to yours hurriedly, as if he remembered something.

"Guess what, babe," He starts, hands firmly holding your waist. He doesn't give you time to respond, though, immediately continuing his sentence afterward. "When I was riding to work this morning, I decided to take the same route we used to walk down before we started dating. They're putting it under construction."

"What?!" You exclaim, your heart dropping in your chest.

"I know. I was really upset about it," He sighs, rubbing circles into your hips. "It made me think all day, though. That place holds so many memories."

"It does," You frown, remembering your early days with Namjoon at the spot. "That's where I kissed you for the first time."

"That's where I kissed you for the first time." Namjoon corrects, smirking.

You sigh. "Namjoon, we have gone over this,"

He chuckles as he kisses the bridge of your nose. He finds enjoyment in antagonizing you.

Looking back on it, you both leaned in at the same time. But it was you who took the first step towards him, deciding on whether or not you wanted to kiss him right then and there. You guessed you both had the same battle going on in your heads at the time.

"I can't believe they're putting it under construction," You frown. "We wouldn't be married if it weren't for that path."

"Well, it's been like what? Eight years since we started walking down there? Married for 3, dated for 4, friends for about 1-2 years... yeah about eight years. It probably just needs to be renovated. It was all torn up, even when we met there."

You laugh at that. "God, that makes me feel old. Eight years..."

"I know," He chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I'll be sad if it looks different." You pout.

"Don't be sad. We still have a lot of places where we experienced our firsts at. Like that bridge where I asked you to be my girlfriend. Or that restaurant by the ocean we had sex in for the first tim—"

You playfully hit his shoulder. Your husband just laughs as he wraps his arms around your waist. Namjoon kisses your cheek as you try to act annoyed at him for bringing up the shameful place you both had your first with each other. But, alas, you can never truly be annoyed at him. You love him too much.

"Don't kiss my face, your mouth is covered in grease," You whine, pushing him back softly by the shoulders.

"Why don't you lick it off then," He smirks.

You raise an eyebrow at your husband.

"What is it, babe? Are you taking back your words? Do you not like the taste of me?"

"That's not what I meant," You roll your eyes.

"What did you mean, then?" He taunts you.

"You know what I meant,"

"No, baby," He grins. "I don't think I do,"

You know he knows what you meant. He just wants an excuse to hear you say it.

"I like the taste of your cock, is what I meant." You give it to him.

Namjoon gives you the most fuck boy smile you've ever seen after that. It gives your pussy a shameful heartbeat like it always does whenever he flashes his teeth at you like that.

"Shut up," You shy away from him. But Namjoon grabs your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look at him as he cuddles your hips closer to his.

"Did you eat today?" He asks, changing the topic while giving your jaw a kiss.

"Mmhm," You hum as he sensually drags his lips down your neck. You know what he’s doing. Trying to get you to focus on a thought while he teases the living hell out of you has always been a kink of his. However, you’re too needy not to play into his antics today. It’s kind of fun playing this game, anyways.

"Was it good?" He bites at your sweet spot. You gasp, your hands firmly grasping his shoulders for support as he effortlessly turns you on.

"So good..." You moan as he licks the soreness of the bite afterward.

Namjoon's big hands cascade up your shirt, slowly making their way up to your breasts. He massages them firmly as he rolls his hips up into yours.

You force your hips to grind down into his, begging for some friction down south. You hate how he does this to you in literal seconds — makes your pussy aching and wet for him with just a flash of his teeth.

"Yeah? Can you tell me about it, sweetheart?" He grins before sucking a fat hickey just above your clavicle.

"Ahh—I-I had pasta," You moan. The very thin material of your pajama shorts does not make the situation any easier for you.

"Yeah?" He antagonizes you further, lifting your — his — t-shirt over your head. He hums at the sight. "Was it just how you like it?"

Namjoon kisses down your chest, stopping at your nipple before giving it a gentle lick. You gasp at the contact, your nipples extremely sensitive to his touch. He licks it again before encasing the bud completely in his mouth, sucking and gnawing at it as he waits for your answer.

"J-Joon—" You pant, your fingers immediately tangling in his locks. His hand rolls your other nipple in between his fingers, causing you to jerk your hips harshly into his. Namjoon moans at the friction, squeezing your hip as he motions the sway of them harder and faster against him.

"'C'mon, baby. I wanna hear about your meal," He grins, his teeth scraping your nipple as he does so.

"You tease," You moan, tugging on his hair.

Namjoon flashes another signature smile at you, and if it weren't for the jello filling your legs, you would slide down to your knees and suck him until he forgot his last name. But as much as Namjoon would love that, he kind of wants to fuck his wife into the sheets right now.

"S-Stop smiling at me like that," You shy.

"Or what, baby?" He hums, kissing down your torso. "How will you punish me?"

"I-I'll—"

He slides a hand down your pants.

"I'll—"

His fingers delicately slide up your folds, his middle finger gently circling your clit.

"I'll—ffuckk," You whimper, eyes focused on his hand in your pants.

"You'll fuck? Fuck what, babe?" He coos, circling your opening gently, gathering your juices on his fingertips, before he continues. "Me? Hmm, I don't think so. Fucking is my job this evening."

"Joon—," You cry, rocking your hips into his fingers. "Do it,"

"I will." He promises. Namjoon's strong arms manhandle your thighs, securely wrapping them around his waist before he walks the two of you to the couch. He gently tosses you on the cushions, ripping off his clothes before he joins you. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, spreading them wide for him after he tosses your clothes on the pile with his own.

Namjoon slides between your thighs, pressing his cock hard against your entrance.

"Hello, beautiful," He coos, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Hi," You reply, giving his lips a kiss.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you now. Is that alright?"

His word choice makes your thighs tremble as they wrap around his waist. You nod at him, situating your arms under his shoulders securely for what's to come. When Namjoon says he's going to fuck the shit out of you, he's gonna do it with all he's got.

"Alright," He smiles before giving your forehead a quick peck.

He rubs his tip up and down your cunt a few times before sliding in with a sharp jerk of his hips. He fucks you hard after that — so damn hard and so fucking fast, brutal in his pace. You can feel him hit your cervix while the heat of friction burns your walls. You know you're not going to be able to walk properly for the next few days, but it feels way too good to ask him to slow down. You don't want him to slow down.

"How are you still so damn tight after I've fucked you for so long, huh?" Namjoon pants above you. His hands harshly grip your hips, pinning them down to the cushions as he fucks you deeper.

You're a moaning mess beneath him. Your husband never relents in the bedroom and you love it. You love it so much, it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and sweat cascading down your face and chest. "Eight years and every time — fuck — every time it's like I'm fucking you for the first time."

"Ahhh—Fu-J-Joon!" You cry, wet tears forming at the corners of your eyes. Namjoon responds to you with a grunt as he quickens the movements of his hips. His pelvis claps against yours with every thrust, filling the room with lewd noises.

"Aghhh, baby, keep clenching like that," He demands. Like you can even help it at this point. You're so close to your high, your legs literally shake against his hips.

"Joon, I'm gonna cum!" You shriek, digging your nails into his back.

"Not yet. Don't cum until I say so," He instructs, biting your shoulder as he struggles to keep his release inside his balls. As badly as he wants to cum, he wants to enjoy this more. He gets to see you every day. He gets to shower with you and cook with you and go on walks with you and fuck you every day. But he can never take a moment with you for granted. He wants to savor all of it, just like he has for the past eight years, and just as he will for the rest of his life.

You squirm beneath him, trying your hardest to keep it all in. But he's so good. He feels so good, and you don't know how much longer you can control your orgasm.

"Namjoon," You whine, scratching at his neck and back.

"I know, sweetheart. Just a little while longer," He compromises.

"I can't...!" You gasp. Namjoon grabs your thighs and hikes them over his shoulders before ramming into you again. The couch is scratching against the hardwood, moving with him as he fucks you in this position. He hits you in all the right places, fucking you just as hard, fast, and deep as before. But this time, you can't control it. This time, the man on top of you looks fuzzy, and you wonder why he moans your name over and over again as your neck falls back against the pillows. You can definitely feel his dick twitching, though. And the unnecessary amount of wetness pooling at your core and thighs.

There’s a moment when nothing registers to you. You're just harshly breathing as all you can see is white, until Namjoon's voice wakes you out of your trance.

"Baby...y/n," He calls your name. But you're too exhausted to give a response.

Namjoon kisses your cheek as he slides a hand under your neck. He tilts your head up at him.

"Look at me," He demands, and you do. He's clearer now, but your eyelids feel like bricks as you attempt to blink. "You just squirted. All over me."

You laugh at that, as does Namjoon. He presses his sweaty forehead to yours before giving it a firm peck.

"Fuck, that was so hot. I love when you do that," He chuckles. "I love you," He says, showering your face in kisses.

"I love you, too," You sigh, finally able to catch your breath and look at your husband properly. God, yes, you do love this man.

"No, but really," He says, gathering his t-shirt from the ground and wiping up your thighs with it. "What kind of pasta did you have?"

----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

University Superstar is 🤌🏻 Just so, SO good. I can do totally picture your JK 🫠🥴Thanks for sharing your immense talent with us🫰🏻 I’m an old ass fangirl and thought maybe if you ever decide to write asks that you could write about Namjoon with a much older artist or museum docent. 😏 I may or may not have had an exhibition or two 🖼️ and the idea that Kim Namjoon saw any of my pieces sends me… ⚰️

Kim Namjoon Drabble 1

[Summary]: Kim Namjoon is a frequent visitor at the museum you work at. In fact, he’s visited so often, he’s gained your museum's platinum gold card for passes on all exhibitions and the cafeteria’s sweet tea. You’ve come to realize that Namjoon is the biggest art nerd you’ve ever met outside of yourself when he started to find you after every exhibition and ask you questions about the artist. However, your subtle feelings for the man start to go a-wire when he beings to ask questions about you instead.

[Theme]: MuseumDocent!AU, Artist!AU, ArtNerdNamjoon!AU, Museum!AU, FriendsToLovers!AU

[Rating]: Fluffy fluff fluff; slice of life.

[Word Count]: 1,773

[A/N]: Hmmmm, this is going to be difficult. Mainly because I am only slightly younger than our golden maknae, Jjk. However, that doesn’t go to say that I haven’t read scenarios where Y/n was older than one of the members…but I also have not personally written any like that either. BUT! That doesn’t mean I can’t try. I hope this meets your expectations.

Besides, Namjoon in a museum makes me leek 🥬

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

You love this museum.

The smell of it, the look of it, the organization of it — you love it all. You love it so much, you’ve become a docent there.

Walking about the museum while you flaunt your knowledge on the various famous pieces, featured pieces, and sometimes, some of your own pieces, has been the source of your happiness for years now.

Your job never lets you down. In fact, you find that by the end of the day, your spirits have been lifted higher than what it was the last time you came home from work.

Especially nowadays.

Recently, a certain someone has been a part of nearly every single tour you have conducted within the past two weeks. He’s a tall man — sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the many old people and young children in the groups you guide. Not to mention, he's one of the most attractive people you have ever seen. Shaggy hair, brown eyes, and teeth that flash at you with every new piece of information you tell him, the man has somewhat stolen your heart. Even more so when he somehow finds you at the end of each guide to hound you for hours about the artists he found the most intriguing.

Kim Namjoon was his name, and given the many times he’s found you in the museum’s cafeteria after a guide, you’ve come to notice that the man has become such a frequent visitor he became eligible for the museum’s platinum gold membership card. Free sweet tea and admission to docent-guided tours, he took the upgrade and has since joined in on your groups.

There’s a pep and swing in your step as you make your way to work today. That twinge of nervousness you also contain shows as you shakily open the doors to the museum.

“You excited?” one of your best friends, Taehyung, asks. He’s smiling wide, clenching a pencil in his hand as he waits for your answer. You almost think he could be more excited than you with the way his eyes crinkle and his finger taps at the wood of the receptionists’ desk.

“You have no idea,” you laugh, swiping into the room that he stands in. You quickly clock in before you wipe your sweaty hands on the fabric of your skirt, hoping that your claminess goes away soon.

“I saw some of your pieces,” he faces you. “I still can’t believe those came from you! I know you’ve showed your pieces here before, but these are beyond anything I’ve ever seen you do. It’s like you went mad or something.”

You smile at his comment, a little blush forming on your face as you accept his compliment.

“That reminds me,” Taehyung grins once again. “A certain man by the name of Kim Namjoon is coming to your welcome exhibit. ‘Was the first to sign up.”

“I know,” you laugh. “He really likes art. It’s crazy how smart he is, too. I swear he grasps knowledge like a computer.”

“I dunno,” Taehyung purses his lips. “Seems he might like something else, too,”

“Stop it,” you shoot him a look. “Namjoon is an innocent nerd. Besides, I swear I’m like 10 years older than him.”

“Actually, 6 1/2,” Taehyung corrects.

“Point proven,” You observe while messing around with the computer in front of you.

“You do realize that there’s 5 other museum docents in this place, right?” your friend laughs. “Not to mention you usually conduct guides at the most inconvenient times for the general public. I doubt he’d come here and schedule tours with you if it meant he didn’t get to see you at any given moment during the week.”

“Have you ever thought of the possibility that maybe I'm just really good at my job?” you ask him teasingly.

“That’s not what I meant,” he laughs.

“I know,” you commence your teasing. “What I mean to say is, Namjoon is too… pure for that. I sincerely haven’t noticed a single flirtatious intent or ‘look in his eye’ during the multiple times he’s been here. Genuinely, he loves art and wants to know everything about it before moving on to learning about the next art style, time period, or artist he chooses to jump to next.”

“You could be right,” he looks to the door realizing that a customer has started walking up to the receptionist area. “Or he may have been asking me about you since before he started tagging along on your guides.”

----

You’re thinking about what Taehyung said all day.

He’s been asking about you? What specifically has he been asking about? And for how long has he been doing so before he started making an appearance at every guide you conducted?

Questions flood your mind, but excitement also overwhelms it.

Your exhibit has fully opened.

All your selected pieces for this have been displayed just like how you envisioned them to be. There's a crowd of people waiting to see what you’ve got, and best of all, Namjoon is there. He’s got a giant notebook in his hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and a big smile on his face as he spots you amongst the crowd.

You’re busy greeting critics, familiar faces, friends, family, and coworkers while you answer various questions and walk around the room explaining your art. You almost forget Namjoon is there until you get a free moment, and a tap on your shoulder sends a warm reminder that your eager art enthusiast has made it to your exhibit.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he smiles in awe while pointing to a painting near you two with the back of his pencil. “I have to say, though. Your pieces really make me think.”

“I’m no stranger to your questions, Namjoon. You know you can always ask me anything,” you blush.

“What was your muse?” he asks, still staring at the painting he pointed at. You have to turn around to look at which piece he’s talking about. Of course, this was one of your favorites out of all the pieces. You spent years on this one. Multiple trips to the same space out of the country, talks with natives, and fully immersing yourself like one. This one took the most thought and energy you’ve ever put into a piece. You’re flattered he’s mentioned this one out of all the others first.

“For this one, specifically? Or for the general theme of the exhibit?” you double-check.

“For this one — although, that was my second question,” he laughs. “I just happened to notice this one didn’t really match the theme. The rest all fall within a certain feeling, but this one caught my eye first.”

“I’m glad,” you banter. “This one is my favorite.”

“It’s mine, too,” he smirks, the warmness in his eyes flaming your entire body.

“As for the muse, it’s still hard to define,” you candor. “This one took the longest. So many stages of my 20s and mid-life crises and, well, life were all a mosh-pit of emotions on this one. I could only work on it in Iceland, too.”

“Iceland?”

“Yes,” you laugh at yourself. Saying it out loud, it sounded stranger than you thought it would. “So much inspiration came to me there. Before I knew it, I started saving the majority of my money just to travel there and work on this piece there.”

There's a pause. The business of the room engulfs you as the two of you look at your piece.

“I want to know you, Y/n,” he suddenly blurts out. You almost get whip-lash from how quickly you turn your head to face him once again. “You’re seriously such a talent to me. I want to know you and all your muses. What got you into art and art history and working here. All of it — I want to know it all.”

Now you’re seriously confused.

Maybe it was the way Taehyung told you that it was a likely possibility that Namjoon did like you despite your previous observations that he didn’t. Or maybe it's that glint in his eye that suggests that he truly wants to know more about you other than the fact that you work and present your art in the museum he frequently goes to. You don’t know. But you’ve always been opportunistic, so you take his mysterious sentiment into question.

“Namjoon, have you been talking about me with my co-worker?” you ask, that speed in your heartbeat making its way up your chest.

Namjoon blushes, smiling down at his notepad. “I knew that loser couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” he laughs to himself. “I have. But I promise, all good things.”

“Namjoon, I have to be honest. Taehyung did say some thi—”

“It’s all true,” he nods his head while looking back up at you. “Listen Y/n, as much as I love your tours, this was the one I wanted to go on the most. Your art, your voice, your presence —this is what I was the most curious about. All those questions about the artists I asked you about after those tours — I genuinely just loved listening to your passion. Hearing you talk about what you love and looking at you show off the work you put your soul into. I dunno, maybe I’ve developed a crush.”

Your heart beats out of your chest. Are you really that oblivious? You’re 6 1/2 years older than this man — you should know when a person has been crushing on you by now!

“Namjoon, I’m old,” you blurt, laughing at yourself. A part of you can't help but feel a little insecure about your age. One to two years and you're usually in the 'go' for a lot of romantic things and partnerships with others. But 6 1/2? That's more so unheard of nowadays.

“I could call you ajumma if you wanted,” he smiles teasingly.

“I’ll kill you,” you playfully threaten him. The flutter in your tummy is a little too overwhelming as he flashes his teeth at you, that look telling you that he’s really serious about this crush he’s developed.

“Seriously, Y/n, I couldn’t give a fuck about age,” he says. “I stand by the fact that I’d become gay and date a 570-year-old da Vinci if he were still alive today.”

“Art whore,” you laugh.

“So let me take you out,” he continues, simmering his laughter. “Coffee tomorrow at 10?”

You feel a strange weight lifted off your shoulders. Nodding your head at his question, you feel like you’ve maybe developed a new muse.

[End]

-----

[A/N]: Ajumma (아줌마) - [N], a Korean term referring to a married or middle-aged woman; typically a woman of one's parents' age or older.

----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023] 

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for… except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon…. as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don’t make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

Keep reading

Gentle

Kim namjoon x reader

Minors DNI ( do not interact)

It filled you with anxiety. It shouldn't have. You knew it shouldn't have. It was such a small thing, a missed call with a client. It was easily resolved, and a new appointment was set up within the hour, but somehow it had been the breaking point.

You'd seen the signs that it was coming on. Little things irritated you, work became more difficult, and tiredness lingered even after a full night of sleep.

And you knew, logically, that it wasn't your fault. Depression can ebb and flow, and it affects everyone differently. You knew from experience that it can affect you differently even between one week and the next. Doctors, therapists, family, friends, and your significant others over years had told you over and over and over that it wasn't your fault, that it's okay to struggle, that you'd get through it. But no matter what they said, it always felt like it was your fault, that you were the cause of your own problems, and that it would never end.

That was the worst part. The feeling of endlessness, the sense that there would never be reprieve. Even with the medication, the therapy, and your carefully built support system, there were times when it was overwhelming. At times like those, the world seemed to collapse around you, pushing down hard enough to break you, but not yet hard enough to kill you. Suffocating. Alone. Dark. Unseen and unheard.

Today was one of those days. Even though everything had been entirely normal (aside from the missed call), you felt that helplessness and hopelessness encroaching on your mind. You had cried silently in your office, praying that no one saw. You cleaned up your tear-stained face before leaving for the day, but then cried all the way home. You cried in the long, hot bath you took, and you cried yourself to sleep on the floor, so exhausted you couldn't convince yourself to get into bed.

That's where he found you, three hours later, curled in on yourself and crying softly. You had woken up and found that sleep had not helped at all. The blurry, distant feeling in your head was worse than before, and the ache in your chest swelled until it felt like your ribs would break. You almost hoped they would, hoped they would fracture just enough to relieve the worst of the pressure.

You didn't notice his presence at first, too caught up in the pain and anxiety to register anything beyond yourself. But then you heard the rustle of a jacket being removed, and shoes against socks as he slid them off.

And then he was beside you, on the floor, curling himself around you as though he might be able to protect you from your anguish. He circled your waist with his arms as best he could and leaned into you until his cheek pressed against your cold shoulder, lending you a little of his warmth.

It was quiet for a long time, the silence broken only by his deep, steady breaths and your sniffles.

"I'm here. I'm always here for you." He whispered after some time had passed.

You turned in his arms, then, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and tangling your limbs with his. You stayed this way, feeling his body wrapped around yours, breathing in the scent of his skin, warmed by his body heat. Your tears slowed, your breathing steadied, and you felt your heartbeat fall into time with his.

The ache in your chest didn't leave, but it became duller, less agonizing, soothed by his gentleness. The emptiness and the loneliness grew a little less pronounced.

He slowly began rubbing your back, hands sliding from the small of your back up over your shoulders and back again. You relaxed a little bit and ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close, but with less desperation than before.

Once again, he said quietly, "I'm always here for you, love."

"I know. Thank you." Your voice quivered slightly, uncertain after so much crying.

"And I'll always love you."

"I'll always love you, too."

Gently, he sat up, bringing you with him. He pulled you into his lap, and rocked you slowly. You leaned into him, feeling protected and calmed by his steadiness.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You shook your head. "It wasn't anything specific, just a hard day."

"Okay. But I'm here if you decide there's something you want to talk about."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome, love."

As you lay in bed that night, curled against his chest, sleep beginning to steal over you, you wondered how such a wonderful man made his way into your life. Whether it was fate, divine intervention, or simply luck, you were grateful for it. You were grateful for him. He couldn't take away your pain, and he couldn't stop the hard days from coming, but he had always been there to hold you through them. He had become your safe place, and you couldn't imagine life without him anymore.

You pulled him a little closer, and took one of his hands in both of yours where it curled lightly against your stomach.

"Thank you for being my home, Joonie."

You felt him smile against your hair, and he squeezed your hands softly.

"Thank you for being mine."