This Is The Namjoon I Fell In Love With 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

jungkook’s pretty tattoos ♡

Too beautiful not to reblog! 😍

Everybody wanna love you - Pt. 1 (M)

Summary: BTS gets drunk and reads fan fiction together.

Pairing: Platonic OT7

Genre: Ridiculously filthy smut and boys being boys

Word Count: 4914

Warnings: The fan fiction the boys read is quite explicit, but the boys stay (mostly) platonic 

Part One      Part Two      Part Three

A/N: All of the fan fiction the boys read in this is written (badly) by me. Any resemblance to other people’s stories is coincidence. I am not trying to make fun of anyone other than myself as an avid reader and writer of BTS fan fiction.

“I hate you Jungkook!” You shout breathlessly, desperately pounding his rock-hard chest with your small hands as he cages you against the wall of your bedroom. You have hated Jungkook since the first day you met him. You hate the way he struts around school. You hate the way all the girls stare at him and giggle when he gives them a confident wave. You hate the way his hair falls perfectly across his forehead in a way that makes you ache inside. “I hate you!” You cry again, pushing him away from you.

 “I don’t care!” Jungkook grabs you by your shoulders and pins you roughly against the wall. “I know it has only been a week since you transferred to our school, but you make me feel a way no other girl ever has.” He holds you to the wall as you try to squirm away. “Don’t you know I love you Y/N?”  He looks at you with desperation and a bit of madness in his eyes. His lips are just inches away from yours. You are terrified that he might kiss you and terrified that he might not.

A sudden noise from the hallway makes Jungkook flinch so hard he almost drops his phone directly into the toilet. He looks up from his phone, listening to make sure it’s not one of the other members trying to get into the bathroom. Jungkook really shouldn’t be doing this right now. Jungkook should be working on that new cover song that he wants to post before they go back out on tour. He checks the time on his watch. “Just one more minute…” he thinks to himself.

Keep reading

Please Linger | Chapter 1

Summary: After terrorizing the villagers with one too many pranks, you’ve been locked away in The Tower to atone for your petty crimes. As far as you know, The Tower is impenetrable. Nobody can get in, and nobody can get out. It seems you’ll never escape—until one night, a man named Yoongi barges in…

Pairing: Musician!Yoongi (pan flute!) x Reader (F) Word Count: ~7.5k Rating: 18+ Warnings: footnotes (lol), random character is blasély killed by a mythical creature (off-screen), mentions of drinking/getting drunk, swearing... Genre: fantasy!au, slow burn, humor, eventual smut, angst... Links: AO3, Masterlist, Ko-Fi, 🎶 Composition of the Century Collab Masterlist 🎶 🖤 Please note: Please Linger does not have a tag list 🖤

NAV: NEXT CHAPTER

(Me to me): I am going to create a story that is so UNHINGED...

A/N: Welcome, besties, to the Shreka-Hole-ian Greek Pornthology Bonanza (and my contribution to the Composition of the Century collab—please look forward to/go check out the other stories!!)! 😃 Kindly accept my apologies for the chaos that is this fic in advance, and also intermittently throughout this long ass message!

First things first: This is dedicated to @ootjepetootje, whomst gifted me this morning with perhaps the best mood board for this project ever: BEHOLD! Jen, I love you. Thank you also to @reliablemitten and @blog-name-idk for allowing me to scream intermittently at y'all about this for far, far too long. Sorry. So sorry! Perchance.

Next: This story contains footnotes. For that, I apologize. It's also kinda important to the plot that you read the footnotes, too. I REPENT, YOUR HONOR.

🚨🚨🚨 To that end: Tumblr doesn't support footnotes, for which I A P O L O G I Z E. I recommend just reading the entire way through normally and then reading the footnotes after (as a special treat), OR heading over to read this on AO3, where you can actually click the footnotes and return back to the text seamlessly. 🚨🚨🚨

Finally, and most importantly: I LOVE you all. I love you so much!!! (Sorry!)

Chapter One: Alack!

It’s not that the local wizard Namjoon wants to lock you in the secluded tower hidden deep in the dark, dark woods just outside of the village. It’s that you, after plastering hair extensions to hang down from the cracks in Taehyung Kim’s ceiling—such that it appeared a succubus had taken up residence in his hut—left him no choice.

“This feels personal,” you say, kicking your many skirts and digging your boots into the forest floor as Namjoon drags you, none-too-politely, toward the tower.

“It is personal,” he snaps. “You’re a menace, YN. Last month, you stole all of the eggs in Hoseok Jung’s chicken coop the night before the EggstravaGala.”

“I had my reasons,” you say shiftily.

“What about last Tuesday, when you replaced the innards of Jungkook Jeon’s punching bag with flatulence pillows?”

“For the last time, their creator calls them whoopee cushions.”

“They emit the most unseemly of noises whenever Jungkookie trains, now.” Namjoon ignores your correction. “Jungkook is one of our finest warriors, YN. Warriors are meant to be respected and feared. You’ve turned him into a laughing stock!”

You roll your eyes. “Tell me you’ve fallen victim to the toxic notion that asserts men must adhere to traditional gender roles that both stigmatize and limit the emotions they’re allowed to express all while glorifying unhealthy habits without telling me you’ve… done all that.”

Namjoon heaves a careworn sigh. By now you’ve arrived at the tower, a fifty-flight triumph of rubbled stone banded by hanging ropes of ivy. You cast a sullen glance toward the top of the structure, your eyes alighting upon its single window—dusty, you note—which will serve as your sole view out to the wider world for the next…

Well. For as long as it takes Namjoon to consult with the villagers you’ve “wronged.” For as long as it takes for them to come to a consensus on how to deal with your meddling ass long-term.

“You won’t keep me in there for years, will you?” you ask, wisps of trepidation coiling in your belly.

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

“But… but…”

“Oh, quit your blubbering,” Namjoon grumbles, avoiding your eye. “This is actually really annoying for me, you know.”

“For you?”

“Sure! Usually, I like to use this tower for personal gain. Such as holding princesses for ransom, and pet-sitting other village’s monsters, and…” Namjoon trails off. If he were the type of wizard to grow a very long beard, you imagine he’d be twirling it sagely betwixt his fingers right about now. “Actually,” he says, “it’s pretty much exclusively used for those two purposes.”

You perk up at his admission. There are two main things to know about princesses, and the first is that the term refers not to any actual regal rank or gender designation, but rather a specific type of beautiful nincompoop. The last princess to be held in the tower, for example, was an almost preternaturally gorgeous man named Seokjin Kim whomst you once personally observed wandering the streets after dark because someone had told him he’d “lost his mind” and he was trying—quite earnestly—to find it.

The second thing to know about princesses is that they’re worth a tidy sum; beats you why, as they tend be a rather whiny sort, and are always trying to converse with rodents—a notoriously low-minded mammal—but alas. It is what it is. Every time Namjoon manages to bag a princess, dashing royal suitors come from high and low to pay—literally pay—for the privilege to risk their lives to rescue said princess from the tower and earn eternal glory. You’re not like the other girlies, [1] and have no burning desire to make any royal suitor’s acquaintance. But the secret third thing to remember about princesses is that after they get rescued from the tower…

Well, then they’re free.

“Ransom me,” you suggest slyly. “Take the money you earn and put it back into the community. Fix people’s homes! Stock the taverns! Everyone will forgive me once their roofs are patched and their bellies are full of free mead.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Namjoon snorts. “First of all, a traveling circus has commissioned me to pet-sit some of their creatures for a few months, so I’m not exactly stripped for coin.”

Balls, you think.

“Second, the villagers would sooner turn out their pockets to keep you locked up for good, YN. Everyone’s fed up with you.”

Ripping yourself from Namjoon’s grasp, you fling yourself at the nearest fir, wrapping your arms around its weathered stump.

“But how is that fair?” you moan. “It’s not as though I exited the womb aspiring to wreak minor havoc! It’s my—”

“—Do not say compulsion—”

“Compulsion!” you exclaim—for that is, in fact, the scientific term for the reason you are the way that you are. [2]  In the same way Hoseok had woken up one day with a sudden, burning desire to build himself a chicken coop, you’d woken up one day with an unshakable urge to slather grease on all of Jimin Park’s spoons for a full week in high school. They’d slipped right into his bowl of boiling hot soup, one after the other, such that his tiny fingers—and you do mean tiny—had no hope of retrieving them. In the end, he’d had to befriend one of the village’s premiere hunter-gatherers, Sungwoon Ha, to keep from starving come lunchtime.

“Everyone experiences compulsion during puberty, YN,” Namjoon says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Having… unusual compulsions doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a jackass.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” you counter. Compulsion—the deep, internal, and unexplainable instinct to act in a certain way—is a perfectly natural part of growing up. Abiding by your compulsion imbues you with a sense of utter fulfillment; of inner peace; of purpose. Most people strive to live their lives in alignment with their compulsion, treating it as a guiding light of sorts—a natural, deep-seated tool for self-betterment. “It’s an instinct, Namjoon. Not an impulse.”

“I know, YN,” Namjoon says. “Haven’t I been patient with you all these years? Haven’t I always defended you?”

He has, for the most part. You haven’t the foggiest why.

All the same…

“So defend me one more time, then!”

“You’re not listening!”

“I didn’t ask to be a menace.” You raise your voice. “My compulsion simply compels me to my incredibly hilarious and devious antics. The fact that I’m being punished for an innate, fixed inclination that I didn’t ask for is, to be frank, fucking bogus. The villagers are compulsion-shaming me, and I—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Namjoon interrupts. “No one’s shaming you, YN. Grow up.”

You stick your tongue out, the portrait of maturity.

“I know that instincts can’t be changed,” Namjoon continues, “but they can be ignored. Having shitty compulsions doesn’t make you a bad person, but acting on them—especially when you know they’re going to make other people miserable—does make you selfish.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” you say, quiet.

Namjoon’s eyes soften.

“No,” he agrees, “it’s not. But that doesn’t change anything. I haven’t forgotten about the time you switched all my wizard hats out with bugles corn chips, you know.”

“Tiny hats for a tiny mind,” you mumble. And then, louder: “Please. Give me one more chance.”

“Come,” he says firmly, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me hex you.”

Defeated, you step back from the tree, padding back over to where he waits with a hang-dog expression. Namjoon’s touch is firm as he steers you into the tower.

“Thank you, YN, for taking accountability,” he says. “Now up you trot.”

Trot you do not. Instead, Namjoon leads you, huffing and sulking, up the fifty flights, until you emerge in your new living quarters with aching gluteals and a brand new situational case of depression. You look around at the single bed, the single bookcase, and the circular table that seats two near the single window. The table is set with two jugs, a chalice, and three bowls. Beyond, a woven tapestry hangs, behind which your bathtub and privy chambers reside.

“At midnight, the two jugs on the table have been enchanted to refill completely—one always with water, and the other with either coffee, apricot juice, or wine, depending on your wish upon a star the night prior,” Namjoon explains. “The bowls, too, are ever-replenishing. One shall always be full of rice, one with protein, and one with some sort of stew, soup, or curry.”

“What about dessert?” you demand, outraged. Namjoon’s eyes narrow.

“The local baker doesn’t wish to extend you the kindness of their confectionaries,” he snaps. “Without Hoseok’s eggs, they were unable to prepare the cake they promised for the EggstravaGala—a source of great humiliation for them, I’m sure you can imagine. Your actions affected more than just the direct targets of your petty pranks, YN!”

“Well, I should hope so,” you huff. “I put a lot of effort into them!”

Namjoon shakes his head—if he had a beard, it would sway mightily from the exertion, you imagine. Instead, he merely fixes you with one last disappointed look before disappearing in a puff of indigo smoke.

You spend the next several hours feeling rather like you’re on some sort of surreal vacation—perhaps an ayahuasca retreat, where everyone’s bid to sequester themselves in their rooms before undergoing their vomit-fueled spiritual awakenings.

Indeed, your new chamber has its charms: it’s satisfying to watch your rice bowl continuously refill with every bite you take, and the bookshelf is stocked with all manner of tomes—including a fine selection of steamy romance novels—which is more than you could have hoped for. The candles in the lanterns and sconces never melt, so you’ll never have to worry about illumination, and the soap in the bathroom is self-regenerating, too. Even the mattress is nice—perhaps even more comfortable than the one you have in your own downtrodden hut.

By nightfall, however, you’ve thoroughly investigated your quarters, and come to determine it wanting. It’s serviceable for a night, sure, but certainly not for a lifetime, and so tomorrow, when you’re well rested, you will engineer your great escape.

With that comforting thought to warm you, you drift off to sleep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY ONE

A letter materializes on your table just after daybreak.

YN—

I have drawn for you a detailed map of the premises. Study it well and conduct yourself accordingly.

Warmly (but not kindly, and certainly not in support of what you’ve done),

Namjoon Kim, Wizard

You unfold the scroll to find a clumsily rendered diagram of the tower. An arrow points to the base, and reads, simply: Dragon.

“I see,” you mutter. That explains all the wretched screeching and peculiar wing-flapping that kept you up all night!

Above the dragon, which resides on the ground floor, there are approximately forty-eight flights that contain, according to another arrow (accompanied by a large bracket), “forty-eight elephants who never forget… to kill!”

“I see,” you mutter again. That explains all the wretched trumpeting and peculiar stampeding that ALSO kept you up all night!

You drag your sights upward to find one last arrow attached to your name, all aloney on your owney, at the top.

Being a visual learner, you open the surprisingly unlocked door of your chambers to confirm Namjoon’s claim with your own eyes. The door opens directly to the flight of stairs you climbed last night. So far, so good. You inch out to find an elephant with infernal red eyes sizing you up from the bottom of this particular staircase, ivory tusks gleaming wickedly despite the lack of both sunlight and torch-flame. Its hide looks very thick. Impenetrable, really.

There is a suspended moment in which you both peer curiously at one another—this must be one of the circus creatures Namjoon spoke about in the forest, you realize—and then the elephant gives chase. Hastily, you slam your door seconds before the elephant collides violently against the wood. There must be an enchantment in place keeping its tusks from piercing through the grain.

Being an orphan with no magic of which to speak—your father was a lowly jester; your mother, a vindictive nymph who went around prodding people with whetted sticks—you cannot hope to swap the elephant’s tusks out for hay, or replace its murderous instincts with high-minded ideals, such as a vested interest in the opera. Plus, its hide looked much too thick to pierce with the two best weapons at your disposal: a weighty tome detailing the entire village’s genealogy, and an illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra.

“Very well,” you sniff, defeated, as you chug down some apricot juice. The reasoning behind the unlocked door becomes clear: stay in captivity, or get brained by Demonic Dumbo. Clearly, you won’t be sauntering your merry way down and out of the tower in this lifetime.

You make yourself comfortable on your new mattress, determined to think of some other ingenious means of escape by sunrise.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY TWO

Five minutes into your brainstorming session the next morning, you deem the lack of available sweets—which ordinarily serve as your think-tank fuel—abruptly unbearable. Stomping your boot-clad foot against the window, you cry out victoriously when the glass shatters. If you can’t walk down to your freedom, you suppose you’ll just have to launch yourself out the window, and trust the Powers That Be to send strong winds to allay your fall. [3]

No sooner has the thought arose in your mind than the glass reforms, a smidge dustier than before. This, once again, feels personal. No matter how many times you shatter the window, it cobbles itself back together, dustier and dustier, before you can so much as wiggle a shoulder free of the tower.

No matter. You’ll just write down a plea for help and fling that out the window instead! Only that plan, too, is thwarted when you discover someone’s casted a protective spell upon the books. Try as you might, you can neither tear a page from any of the tomes, nor scribble upon them with the quill and pot of ink you found on the bookshelf.

The only book that seems to have escaped the spell is the Kama Sutra, which is brimming not only with personal annotations, but a variety of hand-drawn and frankly optimistic illustrations.

Sighing, you retire to the bathtub with a steamy romance novel and a dream—for REVENGE.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY FIVE

You’re gazing forlornly out the window—which you, in fit of boredom, deigned to dust off with your sleeve—when, at long last, the savior you’ve been praying for appears.

A prince!

Now, the thing about princes is that they’re a jaunty and boastful sort, given to prancing and declaiming in loud, sonorous tones—as though addressing a horde of (semi)loyal subjects—even when the occasion calls for silence. Judging by the way the person approaching the castle is

1) ululating, and

2) wearing a flashy tunic that reads I’M WITH PRINCE (with an arrow pointing up to his own face), you’re reasonably certain you’ve got this guy’s number. Who cares if you’ve always found princes to be insufferable bores? The times! They are a’changing!

“You can do it, beloved!” you yell in support. The window, you suspect, is sentient: as long as it knows you’re not trying to auto-defenestrate, it’s perfectly content to swing open and allow you to converse with the outer world. “Rescue my firm, shapely ass!”

Which isn’t even self-flattering, you reason, considering all those damnable flights of stairs Namjoon had made you climb!

To demonstrate the full measure of your gratitude, you cheer and twirl and do-re-mi prettily—as princesses are so wont to do—as the prince enters the base of the tower; you’ll go until your throat is scraped raw and bleeding if you must.

Your plan, though honorable, proves unnecessary.

Approximately one minute after your dashing prince enters the tower, the abominable dragon does an abominable dragon thing, and breathes out fire—a fuckton of it, too. You watch in mute horror as crackling flames erupt from the base of the tower, shooting toward the forest. Seconds later, an unmistakable crunching sound rents the air, sending shivers up your spine.

As if to ensure your understanding, the dragon tosses an intact skull—picked utterly clean—out from the tower seconds later. It glimmers up at you from its place in the singed grass, vacantly smiling.

You slump despondently down at your desk, resigned to another bleak day of imprisonment.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY TEN

Another prince—this one wearing a pith helmet at a jaunty angle—comes flaunting through the hemline of the forest at noon.

She takes one long look at the skull resting near the tower, and skips merrily back into the forest, never to be seen again.

“Coward,” you hiss. All princes are bastards.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY FOURTEEN

The well of willing princes appears to have dried up, and so, too, has your tolerance for solitude. There’s an itch under your skin—a frantic desperation quite unrelated to your compulsion—for revenge. Once released, you will swap all of Namjoon’s non-existent beard oil out with glue; you will cut holes in all of the villagers’ hats; you will place pebbles in their socks and also buy enchanted laundry soap to ensure the socks stay eternally damp, and never dry!

NEVER DRY!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY NINETEEN

After two long weeks of sober fretting, you succumb to your crushing sense of helplessness, and wish upon the first star you see for wine to fill your jug tomorrow. It’s over. The princes have forsaken you—and probably, had any made it to the top, they would have realized you weren’t a princess, and couldn’t earn them glory, and would have left you for dead anyway. The villagers have won. One day, you will have to come up with a game-plan for how to cope with your new reality.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you will make some progress in your steamy romance novel.

Not tomorrow, either.

Tomorrow, you will drink.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY NIGHT TWENTY

Thou art drunketh. And at which hour thou drinketh, thou tend to pretendeth to beest a Renaissance maiden—which, given the whole locked-in-a-tow’r thing, doth feel appropriate.

Also, being drunk is dope rampallian.

Ahem—dope arse.

“How fares mine own fav’rite elephant?” you calleth out to Demonic Dumbo—D-Dum, to those in the knoweth—hoping to make at least one acquaintance during thy imprisonment.

D-Dum, much to thy chagrin, doest not replyeth. In fact, thou art unconvinc’d that gent even speaketh the common tongue.

To passeth the time, thou playeth a game of make believeth, just as you didst as a young wench. In thy game, you pretendeth thine parents didn’t kicketh the bucket in a t’rrible flood when you were a bébé. [4] Instead, thine parents raise thee prop’rly to adulthood. As such, you grow into a well-respect’d young mistress with a truly hon’rable compulsion. In fact, thy compulsion is so incredible that it makes thee hundreds of companions, rath’r than enemies, and you liveth happily ev’r aft’r in a grand palace, rath’r than a wretched tower.

O, in anoth’r life—a life in which thou art not a scoundrel—thou wouldst have liked to joineth in on all the most wondrous events the village holds each year! Unf’rtunately, in thy current timeline, someone usually ends up banning thine arse from attending, which totally sucks, for thou thinkest that dancing at the Eggstravagala sounds like excit’ment.

Though you’ll nev’r admiteth it to Namjoon, thou wouldst secretly loveth to consume a slice of the local bak’r’s cake, for you’ve heard ’tis delicious—thou didst not actually wanteth to sabotage their baking b’fore the Eggstravagala! Thy compulsion is to blame! Furthermore, the valorous warrior Jungkook is very much buff, and thou thinkest you wouldst enjoy exchanging boxing tips with that gent one day…

Ah, but Jungkook probably hates thy guts. Perchance.

Ov’rcome with a senseth of loneliness and despair, you closeth thine eyes, and commit whole-heartedly to thy daydream—when you concentrateth v’ry hard, ’tis as though the entire w’rld grows quiet. You pretendeth thou art dresseth in a spiffy-arse fit, suitable f’r a gala; you pretendeth some gentle and noble suitor asks thee to danceth.

O, ’tis as though you can actually heareth the music—you sway to and fro as a quiet, haunting tune permeates thy quart’rs, lulling thee into something of a trance. The melody sounds almost liketh a lullaby. As thou art pirouetting across the cubiculo, you imagineth the forest flo’r beneath thy feet, instead of bitter cold stones.

’Tis as thou art whirling and twirling thy way through the tower that three realizations befall you in quick succession. 

First, it occurs to thee that thou can neith’r heareth any of the usual stampeding from the elephants, nor any of the wing-flapping from the dragon guarding the tower.

“What-ho!” you murmur, but resolveth to pay it nay mind.

Next, you tireth of dancing and ope thine eyes. To thy surprise, howev’r, the soft, haunting melody you did imagine as you did dance doest not cease at which hour you stop pretending. Instead, the music plays on—in fact, you realizeth that the sound is coming from just outside the doth’r.

And lasteth, you realize the doth’rknob is turning. 

“Alack!” you shriek, just as the doth’r opens a slith’r. Thou leapeth back, expecting to seeth two honed tusks at any moment. Where’s the damned genealogy book when you needeth it f’r protection? And at which hour didst D-Dum groweth opposable thumbs?

Forsooth, thou art so afeared that you sort of drop the whole Renaissance-thing you had going on in favor of raising your trembling fists. A pox on Namjoon’s house! A pox on all the villagers! You were supposed to be safe—bored out of your mind, but safe—so long as you didn’t try to leave the blasted tower! Yet here you stand, preparing to battle a blood-thirsty elephant with flaming red eyes, all because Namjoon—that clay-brained, hedge-pig of a wizard—couldn’t be bothered to fix a proper lock on your—

Oh. False alarm. The strange music stops at the same moment a seemingly non-murderous man—with normal brown eyes, no less—slips into your room, shutting your door behind him.

Wait.

You lower your fists at once.

A man!

“Fie me! Hey-ho! Huzzah!” you shout, all of a flutter—for you’ve not made direct contact with another human in almost three weeks. A bolt of hope shoots through you. Perhaps this man mistook you for a princess, and is here to help you escape! “Art thou a prince, my lord?”

The man’s eyes, catlike and pretty, widen as they take you in: your wine-stained teeth, which you flash at him with a crooked smile; your tattered dress, which has turned an unbecoming shade of yellow from overuse; the unkempt state of your hair.

“Um.” His voice is a dark growl. “The fuck?”

“I can’t believeth mine own marvelous f’rtune,” you exclaim, hiking up your skirts and stepping eagerly toward the stranger. Clearly, he battled his way to the top of the tower in search of glory—and you are more than willing to play the part of damsel-in-distress, so long as it spurs him to help you go free. “Thou art h’re to rescueth me, c’rrect? Prithee, what be thy tide?”

You allow your gaze to sweep over the man in his entirety. To your surprise, he’s wearing none of the chainmail or fire-resistant armor you’d expect a dragon slaying prince such as himself to don—instead, he’s dressed rather simply in an oversized dark grey sweater and black sweat pants.

The man looks ready to lounge and lounge hard.

“My tide is Yoongi Min,” he says after a beat, dragging a bony, pale hand through his long, black hair. In doing so, you notice that his other hand holds something that looks very much like a pan flute. “How did you get up here?”

Your smile wavers as he peers expectantly at you, a most un-princely furrow settling between his brows. [5] Why is he acting like he didn’t expect you to be here?

“I crave your forgiveness, my lord,” you hedge, “but wherefore didst thee cometh here if not to saveth me?”

Yoongi blinks. “I’m not a lord.”

“Alack!” you exclaim again, sinking into a curtsy. That feels like something a princess would say. “Pray pardon, good sir, but I am drunketh! Tis unbecoming behavi’r f’r a princess such as myself, I know, but rest assureth I am still w’rth rescuing…”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

“You’re a princess.” He doesn’t say it like a question, but you sense the challenge in his tone, regardless. You freeze.

“Aye. Verily.” You nod. And then, for good measure: “Do-re-mi.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound deep in his throat as he eyes the near-empty jug of wine on your table; the mound of rice in one of your bowls. 

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “But then why did I overhear Namjoon talking about how he didn’t expect to ransom any new princesses for at least a few months last night at the tavern?”

Your fists clench reflexively.

“Months?” you shriek, horrified. Namjoon planned on keeping you locked up in here for months?

“Months,” Yoongi confirms.

“That clotpole hast no more brain than stone,” you hiss—and then, forgetting the ruse: “When I get my hands on that slimy little—”

“Hold on,” Yoongi interrupts you. “I thought he meant he was making enough coin pet-sitting that he didn’t to need to ransom anyone, but…”

He takes in your bedraggled appearance once more, understanding slotting into place.

“Are you a criminal?”

You cross your arms, affronted. “Thou can’t just asketh people if they’re criminals, dummy.”

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says, releasing a low huff of laughter. You can see his gums when he smiles, amused. “You are. What did you do?”

“None of thy beeswax,” you snap. It’s no use. Dropping all princess-y pretenses, you fix him with a glare: “I’m guessing you’re not a prince, then?”

“Nope,” Yoongi says, striding over to your little table now like he owns the place. He sinks into a chair and takes a swig from your mostly-depleted jug of wine, not even bothering to use the chalice. A drop of wine dribbles down his chin; you track its journey with ill-disguised contempt. 

“Figures,” you mutter, smoothing down your skirts. “But since you’re here… make yourself useful, would you?”

He’s eyeing the steamy romance novel you just realized you’ve left on the table with a smirk.

“Useful how?” he says suggestively.

You’ve been alone too long—that’s why you can feel that cocky smile all the way down in your toes.

“Rescue me.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi says, sounding anything but. “It’s not gonna happen.”

You stomp your foot, petulant. “Why not?”

“Namjoon’s my friend.” Yoongi reaches for the rice. “He wouldn’t put you in here if you didn’t deserve it.”

“Would, too,” you parry.

Yoongi’s unmoved. “If someone figures out I helped you escape, I could get locked up myself.”

“Better make sure no one finds out, then.”

“I don’t even know what you did,” he says, mouth full. “What if you’re a murderer?”

“I’m not a murderer,” you object, offended.

He arches an eyebrow, as if to say: Out with it, wench!

You sniff, and keep your lips clamped.

“Fine,” he says after a beat. “At least tell me your tide, then.”

You hesitate.

“I told you mine,” he reminds you.

You eye him warily. Loath though you are to admit it, you’re sort of enjoying having someone to talk to—even someone as staunch in his refusal to help you do a runner as Yoongi. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all, and he’s the first person you’ve seen in nearly a month.

You know better than to trust his good humor will extend beyond the novelty of the encounter, however. Sure, he knows you’re a “criminal”—which he clearly finds somewhat amusing; he wouldn’t stick around if he thought you were actually dangerous— but what he doesn’t know is your name.

You’re a YLN. And your family’s reputation precedes you.

Then again, he did say he was friends with Namjoon. And the Kims have always treated both you and your parents with respect…

With a sigh, you introduce yourself, and though you’re expecting the sharp intake of breath Yoongi takes at your name, it still stings.

It fucking stings.

“Heard of me?” you say wryly, bracing yourself for his inevitable departure. To your surprise, however, Yoongi’s gone deathly still. He looks shocked, to be sure, but his face betrays no sign of ill-contempt or judgement as he stares at you. Instead, he tilts his head, an inscrutable expression painting his features. You can almost hear the wheels in his brain turning.

“Huh,” he says after a moment, tilting his head the other way.

You ignore the flutter in your chest as you indulge him, keeping still and allowing yourself to be studied—it’s not often anyone holds your gaze for longer than a handful of seconds, so this is something of a novelty. It doesn’t take long before the unwavering heat of his stare has you fidgeting, though—has you wondering what’s on his mind, and what he makes of what he sees.

You fold first, the back of your neck prickling when you turn from him to prop your elbows on the windowsill. Your vantage point is such that it’s impossible to miss when a flare of light—dragon fire, you recognize—gets expelled from the bottom floor of the tower seconds later, shooting off into the ink-dark forest.

You whip around, eyebrows pinched together. “Uh, Yoongi?”

He is, for some unknowable reason, still staring at you like you’re a riddle that needs solving. It takes a moment for you to find your voice.

“The dragon?” you prompt.

He’s impassive. “What about it?”

“It’s… still alive?”

The end of your sentence is punctuated by something that sounds suspiciously like D-Dum stomping around outside your door. You blink confusedly.

“How… how did you get all the way up here without slaying the dragon or the elephants?”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes that you can’t parse. He looks down at the pan flute you spotted earlier, then back to you, his gaze ping-ponging for long enough to make you consider picking up your smutty read to pass the time. At last, he appears to reach some private resolution, and sets the flute on the table with an almost defiant grunt.

It makes no damn sense.

Compels you, though.

“What’s the deal?” you say. It’s a handsome instrument, you’ll give him that—the reeds are smooth and shiny, bound together and arranged in two neat rows. You’ve seen large pan flutes before, but Yoongi’s seems nice and portable—maybe eighteen centimeters across at best.

“It’s enchanted,” he says at your dumbfounded look—for a pretty instrument does not a dragon-conquerer make. “My great-great-uncle made it himself. Whoever hears its music falls asleep.”

You’re skeptical.

“I’m still awake,” you remind him. “And I heard you playing before you came in.”

Another look you can’t decipher passes over Yoongi’s face as he picks the flute back up, rubbing his thumb over the thin rope binding the reeds together.

“Works faster if you’re in the same room,” he says eventually, frowning.

You regard the instrument with new eyes, and then train your sights back on Yoongi. He’s not huge, by any means: broad, yes, but lean. What’s more, his grip on the pan flute is loose at best.

You square your shoulders, resolute. You could take him. Thawp him upside the head with a chalice and snatch the pan flute from his feeble grasp. What’s more, you’ve got a good set of lungs on you, and the stamina to match. You bet you could play your way down forty-nine flights of stairs, no problem…

Yoongi, correctly reading the hunger on your face, lets out a rueful laugh.

“Gonna fight me for it?” he says.

You have the grace to feel ashamed.

“I thought about it,” you tell him, honest. 

Outside, the clouds shift as Yoongi stares at you again, etched now in a wispy beam of moonlight. You can practically feel the intensity of his thoughts, like static in the air, tingling across your skin. Never in your life have you wished you could read someone’s mind as much as you do right now.

“Go ahead and give it a go,” he says at last, placing the flute on the table and pushing it toward you.

Your mouth drops open.

“Really?” you say, but you’re already lunging.

The instrument is warm to the touch; smooth and familiar-feeling in your grasp, even though you’ve never held so much as a kazoo before. You raise it to your lips, pausing after your inhale. At Yoongi’s nod, you blow—and are met with resounding silence.

“It’s broken,” you moan, deflated.

“It’s not,” he drawls, but he looks… confused. Pensive.

“Then why…?”

“Only people in my family can play it,” he says after a beat. “It’s a genetic thing.”

You should have known. Magic, being hereditary, does tend to work like that—you doubt even a wizard like Namjoon could play it if it requires Min-DNA to operate. You place it back on the table, and then place your head in your hands.

“So if you didn’t come up to save me, then why are you here?” you say. “Climbing to the top of a fifty-flight tower is no joke.”

“I didn’t take the stairs,” Yoongi says. “You know there’s an elevator on the ground floor. Brings you all the way up to flight forty-seven.”

Right.

“Of course there is,” you manage through gritted teeth. When you get out of here, you and your newly developed calf muscles are going to donkey kick Namjoon Kim—that rampallian-hole—to the fucking stratosphere.

“But to answer your question, I come here when I want to be alone,” he says. “Nobody thinks to look for me here, especially on the night of a festival, or a party, or a holiday like today.”

“It’s a holiday?” you ask, taken aback. You’ve been tallying up how many days you’ve been cooped up on the Kama Sutra’s dedication page—the only book you’re able to deface—but haven’t bothered to keep track of the actual date. For some reason, the reminder that life outside of the tower is moving on without you—that holidays and festivals are passing you by as you remain stranded here, all on your lonesome; that nobody misses you or cares that you’re gone—cuts deeper than you expected tonight.

“New Year’s,” Yoongi confirms.

You try to school your face into one of careful indifference.

It appears you don’t succeed.

“Overrated holiday,” Yoongi says, his deep voice a bit softer than before.

Suddenly, there’s no sight more fascinating than the bookshelf over Yoongi’s shoulder. You don’t know why he’s still here; don’t know what’s keeping him sat across from you in a fucking tower so far from the village on New Year’s Eve.

What you do know is that he’s staring at you again, and at once, you’re hyperaware of your hands—of how stupid they look, resting like overgrown slugs on the table. You meet his dark eyes as you place them back in your lap, and a burst of electricity crackles through you. 

Clearing your throat—and training your eyes steadfastly back on the bookshelf behind him—you ask: “Don’t you want to see the fireworks, Yoongi?”

His eyebrows crease as he kills the wine.

“Don’t want to see the people,” he says at last. “I’m not one for parties.”

You nod, determined not to be maudlin. Perhaps there’s still a way to twist this whole thing to your benefit.

“I have an idea,” you begin, placing your elbows on the table and leaning toward him. You don’t even remember sitting down. The wine must be catching up to you—must be to blame for the way your heart stutters a bit when you catch the faintest trace of Yoongi’s scent as you inhale: cedar and amber. “You want to live out your misanthropic dreams in the tower,” you say, “and I want to be… where the people are.”

“If you start singing, we’re done here.”

Reluctantly, you shelve your spirited karaoke renditions for when you’re free.

“Just hear me out,” you plead. “Whenever there’s a festival, or a party, or a social function you want to miss, come here at sundown. Let me out of the tower for the night, and we’ll swap back at sunrise.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you try, gesturing like you’re a game-show host. “Don’t you want this nice, isolated prison cell all for yourself?”

He looks away. “I’m sorry,” he says, and sounds like he means it. But there’s something final in his tone—something that feels an awful lot like a precursor to a good-bye.

You panic.

“Please, Yoongi.” Pride has no place here, now. The time to beg has come. “I’m so sad here, cooped up on my own.”

He winces. “I know.”

“I don’t belong here, Yoongi.”

“Maybe not.”

“I just want to breathe some fresh air and stretch out my legs,” you say, clasping your hands together. “That’s all.”

Silence. Maybe he likes it more when you use his name.

“Don’t let me waste away here all alone, Yoongi.”

He’s glaring at the table now, conflicted.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Yoongi, please.”

“It’s not that I don’t… want to,” he rasps, voice low.

The lure has been cast. All you need to do now is calmly—carefully—reel him in.

“Let’s do what we want, then,” you say.

He cocks a brow at that, his mouth set in a straight line when he finally looks up again. His gaze on you is almost wild in its intensity—you find yourself shrinking back from him, feeling exposed.

“I can’t defy the entire village just to satisfy my own desires,” he states, firm. “I won’t.”

You tamp down the reckless side of you that wants to ask for clarification—that wants to know if he’s referring to the desire to run away from social functions, or the desire to help you.

The solitude and the wine, you decide. They’re getting to me.

“We live in a society,” Yoongi says, at the same moment a muffled popping sound reaches your ears. You glance at the window in time to see glimmers of prismatic light shooting into the sky, just visible beyond the thick canopy of forest. Fireworks. It must be midnight. “And we should abide by its rules.”

“Narc,” you grumble.

“They exist for a reason,” he presses. “To protect people. We shouldn’t rebel against them for personal gain.”

“None of my so-called ‘crimes’ were committed for personal gain,” you say, wounded. The cheers from the village are loud enough to reach you, even all the way up here. You swallow thickly—Happy New Year, you think—tearing your gaze from the window to find Yoongi looking at you intently.

“No?”

“I know you have no reason to believe me,” you say, “but I never wanted…”

You trail off thoughtfully, and Yoongi waits for you like he has all the time in the world.

“My intention was never to make people miserable,” you say some time later. “I never got anything out of what I was doing, either.”

That stymies him. “Then why do it?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Yoongi makes a show of stretching his arms and settling into his chair.

“Try,” he encourages.

It’s not that you want to evade his question; you’ve just never been able to find the right words before. Or maybe you’ve just never been given the chance.

“Your compulsion?” he prompts gently.

You think back to the last conversation you had with Namjoon.

“I guess sometimes my compulsion puts certain… ideas in my head,” you begin—and then flinch, feeling foolish. Yoongi’s not a child. He knows how compulsion works. “And I can’t control when that happens.”

“You’re the one who decides to follow through on those ideas, though,” he says, the hint of a frown forming.

“That’s true,” you agree. There’s really no contesting that. “But…”

God, how do you explain yourself? You’ve tried before, but it always leaves you feeling so unsettled. Broken. Compulsion is supposed to be this pure, positive force—an almost spiritual sort of wisdom people are born with, akin to a blessing.

What’s more, there’s a visceral, positive reaction associated with honoring your compulsion, too. Each time you follow through on your compulsion—even when it asks you to do things like grease up Jimin Park’s spoons—a warm, happy tingle spreads through your chest. You feel selfless; worthy; like you’re giving a gift to the people you’re apparently hurting.

It’s very confusing.

“Look,” you snap—self-reflection often leaves you feeling unduly defensive. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your relatives crafted magical flutes that granted their progeny the ability to subdue dragons, and mine passed down a penchant for… pissing people off. So. Congratulations on winning the genetic lottery.”

Yoongi makes a strangled sort of noise in his throat, and you don’t think it’s one of pity.

“I’m just like my mom,” you say, on a tangent now. “Nobody liked her. But I don’t…” You take a deep breath, watching the distant fireworks reflected in Yoongi’s eyes—sparkles of rich purples, pinks, and blues. “I want people to like me. Okay?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I know you come here to escape,” you say, gesturing around the tower, “but being cooped up here isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. If you let me out, I promise I will do my best to make up for what I’ve done.” Your voice is a bit thin, but it holds. “I don’t want to harm anyone, okay? I’ll dedicate those free hours to trying to right my wrongs.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. He looks rather stricken.

“Don’t believe me?” you say lightly.

“I do,” he replies, the first words he’s formed in a while. He sounds sincere. “Though I’m surprised that’s how you’d choose to spend your time.”

To be honest, you sort of are, too—initially, you’d just wanted to con Yoongi into letting you go free so you could go sew all the leg-holes of Namjoon Kim’s underdrawers shut. But now that the words have been spoken aloud, you realize they’re true—you don’t want the villagers to dread your return. You want them to look at you the way Yoongi did before he knew your name: with a smile. You want to prove you’re worthy of a second chance.

You want to watch the New Year’s fireworks with someone who’d miss you if you were gone.

“Don’t worry,” you say, sensing Yoongi’s hesitation. “No one has to know you helped me. I won’t drag your good name down with me if I get caught, or anything.”

“Ah.” Yoongi’s thumb is stroking over the reeds of his flute like they’re rosary beads; like he’s asking them for guidance.

Abruptly, he stands.

“I’m sorry, YN,” he says, and your stomach drops. Something’s hardened in his face; something that looks sickeningly like resolve. “I—”

He doesn’t stick around for long enough to finish his sentence. It’s as though something snaps; as though a switch has been flipped, and he can’t retreat quickly enough. Without so much as a, “Fare thee well, my sweet-seasoned goddess!” or an, “Egads! I must away!” he sweeps out the door.

The memory of his pan flute's haunting tune is the only evidence you have that Yoongi Min came at all. That, and the visual of his retreating back—the silver hoops he wore in his ears glinting mockingly up at you from where they shimmer under the moonbeams—as you watch him disappear into the forest.

Sighing, you wash up and sink miserably into your bed.

Al—and you cannot stress this enough—ack.

Footnotes:

[1]. You are, in fact, exactly like the other girlies.

[2]. Compulsion [noun]: An innate, typically fixed pattern of desires that arise in individuals during puberty. Compulsions cannot be controlled, are person-specific, and are marked by various physiological and psychological symptoms.

[3]. This has happened before, after all. You’re freakishly talented at hopping from high places—such as from the rooftop of Hoseok Jung’s coop, when you’d stolen all his eggs—and not getting hurt.

[4]. Okay, you were sixteen years fusty—er, old—but who’s counting?

[5]. For princes remain, as a rule, opposed to making any facial expressions that might cause wrinkles.

A/N: OHOHO. Questions? Theories? Concerns? I would love to hear what you think—please consider leaving feedback (via reblog! via comment! via my ask-box, either anonymously or not!) and see you next time 💜

Oh, also: the elephant who never forgets..... to kill! is a Futurama reference ;)

NEXT CHAPTER

Well said Yoongles, well said 👏👏👏

YOONGI SAYS LOVE YOURSELF

Reblogging cause we can’t get over this JK!

??????? OH MY GOSH

Outbreak | masterlist

OUTBREAK is a BTS x reader OC series set in the immediate aftermath of the apocalypse. A realistic tale of zombie survival, human relationships, and people pushed to their breaking point. Read on Ao3.

pairings: BTS x reader disclaimer: My writing is fiction, borrowing likenesses & names only genre: Zombie!au / Smut / Angst / Horror warnings — Death / Zombies / Horror / Gore / Peril / Blood / Smut

Chapter 1 The story begins. As a co-teacher, Hoseok can be intimidating. When the worst happens, does he have your back? Chapter 2 Reeling from the events that turned your life upside down, a chance encounter with Seokjin and Namjoon leads to a rescue attempt.   Chapter 3 Time is running out. Tempers flare as plans are discussed. A misunderstanding leads to the reliving of a more pleasant memory. Chapter 4 Hoseok, Namjoon, Seokjin and OC make a daring escape. We meet a familiar face. Someone’s life hangs in the balance.    Chapter 5 Hoseok makes a list. Yoongi plans to survive. Namjoon isn’t going anywhere fast. Seokjin takes a shower. There was only one bed. Chapter 6 Namjoon discusses the undead. You have a change of heart regarding Seokjin. The first supplies raid yields unexpected results. Chapter 7 After a brush with the undead, Hoseok makes his move. Yoongi gives some advice. You and Seokjin get closer. Chapter 8 coming soon!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⇢ Read on Ao3

Bonus??? A zombie.zip teaser

I love this man with every fiber of my being! And I miss him so very much!

A namjoon a day while he's away

227 days to go

Do you know that i love this dork?????

😆

I would love to live in this fantasy forever! This is the Namjoon I have in my head!

Perfect plan -2-

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: friends to lovers, friends with benefits? (But the benefit is a baby); crack, a smidge of angst, smut, fluff, happy ending. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings:  mentions of cheating and ‘being the other woman’ (past relationship), reader works at a hospital, Namjoon is just an absolute sweetheart in this, cursing, multiple sex scenes, dirty talking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, just a smidge of size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, intensive orgasms, Namjoon tells you to “Relax, woman” before eating you out, lovemaking, and a quick scene of pregananat sex. Word count: somewhere around 16k. Author's note: Here we gooo, part 2 and the finale. Hope you enjoy.✨✨ and if you do, do not hesitate to comment (let's be friends). Tell me what you liked, what you didn't. I'm writing again after a really long time and could use some feedback. (and friends lol) I stole the name Cosmo from “Castle”- (an oldish detective/crime serries I used to love, and I always found it so funny naming a kid Cosmo that I just couldn’t help myself.) Thank you @callmenoona25 for being my trusted beta reader. You’re the best! ✨ part 1: here

Normally, you weren’t one to brag. However, when it came to your packing techniques, no one could compete. You prided yourself on your ability to fit everything you needed into a single suitcase, neatly organized and perfectly folded. Never went over the set limit, even by a gram. You even made sure to leave room for any souvenirs you might pick up along the way, maximizing both space and efficiency.

As you laid out your essentials, you felt a sense of satisfaction. Each outfit was carefully chosen for its versatility, from causal daytime to polished evening. The thrill of the trip only adding to your excitement as you zipped up your suitcase, ready for whatever awaited you in Singapore.

You met Namjoon at the airport, his big bright smile making your heart race when he collected your hand in his, leading you across the airport with familiarity.

The flight was smooth, filled with laughter and light conversation, and before you knew it, you were landing in Changi airport.

The vibrant city welcomed you with its dazzling skyline and warm, humid air. You could hardly contain your excitement as you stepped off the plane and into the bustling airport. Namjoon glanced at you; his eyes sparkling.

As you made your way to baggage claim, a sleek black SUV waited for you outside. The driver greeted you both with a warm smile and opened the door, and you slid into the plush back seat. Namjoon settled beside you, glancing out the window as the city zipped by.

“Look at all the lights! It’s beautiful,” he said, pointing out the iconic sights.

You nodded, mesmerized by the blend of modern architecture and lush greenery. The drive to your hotel felt like a preview of all the excitement that awaited you.

 Once you arrived at the hotel, the luxurious lobby took your breath away, with its stunning decor and welcoming atmosphere.

Your room just as elegant, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The soft lighting and plush furniture created a cosy yet sophisticated atmosphere. You couldn’t help but smile as you set your bags down.

“Wow! This is incredible” you exclaimed, fully enchanted by the room.

There was a little loune area to your right, complete with mini bar and plush seating that invited relaxation. A small coffee table was set perfectly in the centre, and the soft glow of the lamps added to the cozy ambiance.

The open kitchen was opposite to the lounging area, sleek and modern, with gleaming countertops and high-end appliances.

“This place is amazing.” You beam “I didn’t expect it to be this nice.”

Namjoon chuckles, clearly pleased. “Yeah, one of the job perks.”

You moved to the kitchen, admiring the little details- the stylish bar stools, the complementary snacks neatly arranged on the counters. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured, almost in disbelief as you run your fingers down the counter.

“Just wait until you see the view from the balcony,” Namjoon said, walking over to the sliding door. He opened it, and a warm breeze flowed in, carrying the sounds of the vibrant city below.

You stepped outside, and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the stunning panorama. The skyline shimmered against the dusk sky, a blend of colours painting the horizon. “This is breathtaking!” you exclaimed, stepping closer to the railing. The warm breeze gently collecting your hair from over your shoulder.

Namjoon watches you, undeniable admiration written across his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but his phone beeps, cutting him off.

“Ah. I need to get ready. I have a meeting in half an hour.” He said, glancing down at the screen.

You turned back at him, a little pout on your lips, “Right, of course.”

He sighs, giving you an apologetic smile. “I’ll wrap it up as quickly as I can, then we can maybe go enjoy the city a bit.”

You nodded, but gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry love. I need to check in with the Dean of medicine either way. So, I’ll be stuck in a zoom meeting for the next few hours too.” You check your watch “And then the conference starts, and I want to make sure I snatch a goodie bag” you grin up at him, making him chuckle as he picks out his clothes from his suitcase.

“My little busy bee,” he winks your way before walking to the bathroom.

You smile at the affectionate nickname, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. As he closed the door, you took a moment to gather your thoughts, preparing for your own meetings. You settled at the small desk in the room, pulling out your laptop and opening all the necessary documents, ready to dive into work.

Namjoon walks out a few minutes later, wearing a tailored suit that made him look like he stepped right out of a billboard. The sharp lines accentuated his frame, and the soft fabric seemed to highlight the subtle tan he was sporting, giving him a warm, inviting glow.

“Oh wow,” you say, momentarily speechless as you took him in, “You look incredible.”

He grinned, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanour. “Thanks! Just wanted to make a good impression.”

“You definitely will,” you completely forgot about your work, staring at him unabashed. He adjusted his collar, and you noticed the way he carried himself with confidence, ready to take on the day.  “Make sure no one falls in love with you.”

He laughs, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll make sure to mention that I’m reserved.”

“Good!” you said, feeling a playful spark in the air. “You’d better.”

“Okay, I’ll be out for a while. Text me if you need anything.” he said, moving toward the door.

“Good luck with your meeting!” you called after him, watching as he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him

You took a deep breath, letting the moment linger, before forcing yourself to dive back into your task. You made sure to schedule and plan everything in advance so you could take this time off. You checked and double checked every detail, ensuring there were no loose ends.

You went through your notes, confirming appointments and reviewing the materials.

Yet, when the Dean logged on, everything seemed to fall apart. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a logistics misunderstanding.” He said, his voice tinged with frustration. “The materials you sent over didn’t reach the hospital committee in time, and now we’re facing delays for the budgeting conference too.”

Your heart sank as you listened, a wave of anxiety washing over you. “What does that mean for my presentation?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“The committee is postponing the schedule. And now we’ll have to resubmit everything. Your slot might be pushed back or even cancelled.” He explained, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the situation either. “That means that the budget meeting also gets postponed, and you know just how these jackals like to cut the budget when we delay by even a day.”

You felt your stomach drop. All the careful planning and scheduling, and now the opportunity was slipping through your fingers. “But I’ve prepared so much for this,” you protest your voice cracking softly.

“I understand.” He replied, his tone monotone. “We’ll do our best to rectify this. But it may take some time. I’ll keep you updated.” The dean rubbed his temples, clearly irritated.

As the meeting wrapped up, you closed your laptop with a heavy heart. You lean back in your chair, frustration boiling beneath the surface. But you pushed on, reminding yourself that you were in Singapore, and there were still opportunities ahead.

Future-you will simply have to pick up the pace when you return to the office.

When you glance at the clock again, panic sets in- you were running late for the conference. There wasn’t time to change into your planned outfit, so you quickly refreshed yourself, tossing your hair up in a ponytail and opting for a comfortable yet presentable look. You grabbed your bag and dashed out the door, determined not to let anything else derail your plans.

As you hurried down the stairs, the bustling streets greeted you with their vibrant energy. You hailed a taxi, but of course, the traffic seemed to intensify just when you were in a rush. Cars barely crawled along, and your heart raced as you checked the time repeatedly, feeling the minutes slip away.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself, willing the driver to find an alternative route. The sight of the city blurred past you, but your focus remained fixed on the conference.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you arrived at the conference venue. You paid the driver and hurried out, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. The grand entrance loomed before you, and as you stepped inside, the bustling atmosphere enveloped you.

You could see attendees mingling.  Doctors, residents and nurses walking around, exchanging ideas and business cards, and you felt a surge of determination. You might have faced a few setbacks, but you were here now, and you intended on making the most of it.

But when you arrived at your scheduled room, your heart sank. The meeting was more than halfway done, and the remainder of the presentation making very little sense to you, seeing as you completely missed the beginning. You tried to catch snippets of information, but it all felt disjointed, and the speakers were already moving on to complex concepts you struggled to grasp.

Frustration bubbled up again as you glanced around the room, hoping to find a familiar face or at least some insight into what you had missed.

Then you remembered the goodie bags you had heard about—swag filled with useful materials and promotional items. You felt a twinge of disappointment as you approached the table at the back, only to find it empty.

“Sorry, we ran out,” the staff member said apologetically.

Great. Just great.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the remaining presentations, even if they felt like a blur. You tried to jot down key points, hoping to salvage something useful from the experience.  But then you saw him walk on stage.

“Hello everybody, I am Doctor Seong-Min and I’m here today to talk to you about-”

But nothing registers. The sight of your ex triggers a wave of emotions you thought you buried long ago. The memory of the betrayal and heartbreak flood back, eclipsing everything else around you.

You struggled to concentrate as he spoke, his voice smooth and confident, like always, captivating the audience. But all you could think about was the bitterness you felt when you found out about his wife, the lies he told, and the way he casually moved on with his life while you were left picking up the pieces.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the hurt that never fully faded. You worked so hard to move on. To establish yourself in your career, only to find yourself face-to-face with the man who caused you so much pain.

And then you caught sight of her- the beautiful trophy wife, her belly big and round as she looked up at her husband with uttermost admiration. The image twisted like a knife in your gut, and you felt like you might puke right there.

You glanced around the room, searching for a distraction, but nothing could pull your focus from the scene unfolding in front of you. You could hear Doctor Seong-Min speaking about his research, but the words felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

The applause that followed his presentation felt like a weight pressing down on you, suffocating and heavy. You fought to keep your composure, knowing you had to push through this moment. You wouldn’t let him have that power over you anymore.

But then the dick has the audacity to walk over to you, disgusting smirk on his lips as he approached with his wife.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, feigning surprise. The arrogance in his voice made your skin crawl. His wife stood beside him, radiant and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the air. You felt your stomach flip as they neared.

“Hello,” you managed, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack your face.

Seong-Min leaned in slightly, the confidence radiating off him. “Enjoying the conference? We’ve been hard at work on this project,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the crowd.

You glanced at his wife, who was looking up at him with adoration, completely oblivious to the tension. “I’m sure it’s great,” you replied coolly, your heart racing.

“Still in the medical field, I see?” he asked, a condescending edge to his voice.

You could feel your frustration boiling beneath the surface, old wounds reopening. “Yes, and making strides.” you said, your tone sharper than intended.

His wife shifted slightly, glancing between you and her husband, confusion written on her face as she gently stroked her bump. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. You shook it, forcing politeness.

“Likewise.” you managed, though the word tasted bitter on your tongue.

Seong-Min flashed that infuriating smirk again. “We should catch up sometimes.” he said, as if you shared some fond memories rather than a history of betrayal. Like the poor woman he cheated on wasn’t standing right there.

“Not interested.” you replied, a bit too quickly.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the conference.” he said, his tone dismissive as he turned away with his wife, who seemed oblivious to the tension.

You felt like the last of your resolve melted away.

 It wasn’t fair.

Why does he get to have what you want? Why does he get to enjoy a loving relationship and a baby while you struggle with heartbreak and disappointment? The unfairness stung like a sharp wound, twisting in your chest.

You watched them walk away, his arm wrapped around her waist, the image of happiness that felt like a cruel joke. It brought back memories of the plans that you once had, the dreams you built, all shattered when you found that wedding band hidden in his desk.

You clenched your fists, grounding yourself in the present. This wasn’t who you were anymore; you moved on.

Or, at least, you thought you had.

Nothing from the conference sticks to you afterwards. A big dark cloud overshadowing the rest of the day, until you reach the hotel room.

You weren’t one to give into your emotions, but now, you needed something, anything to distract you from the building rage and emotion that stirred in your chest. You grabbed one of the bottles of Hennessy from the bar and poured yourself a generous glass. The rich amber liquid shimmering in the light, and you hoped it would help dull the ache in your chest. You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, and you leaned against the cool counter.

As you stood there, you couldn’t shake the frustration that lived beneath the surface of your composed image. You hated feeling like this- caught between anger and sadness. You took another sip, letting the burn wash away any remnants of your earlier encounter.

Slowly, you let yourself slide to the floor, the tears you fought against all day finally breaking free, cascading down your cheeks in hot, unrestrained waves. You felt like a child again, overwhelmed by emotions that were too big to contain. The frustration, the hurt, the unfairness, the longing, all spilled out in chocked sobs.

Each little cry pulled at the heaviness that settled over your chest. You wrapped your arms around your knees, finding solace in the smallness of your position, trying to make sense of everything that unfolded these past few weeks.

Just then, you heard Namjoon’s footsteps approaching. His concern was palpable as he knelt beside you, his presence grounding as he pulled you in his arms. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with warmth that made it harder to hold back your tears.

You turned your gaze away, the world around you blurring through your tears. He didn’t push you to explain, he simply sat there with you, offering you the safe space you needed to be vulnerable.

Slowly, the intensity if your emotions began to ease. You leaned your head against his shoulder, grateful and a bit frustrated that he was there. Grateful for his unwavering presence, frustrated with yourself for letting your feelings spill over.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you admitted quietly.

Namjoon wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” he reassured, his voice steady and soothing.

“It’s not fair.” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Why does he get to have everything I wanted? It’s not fair.”

Namjoon quickly understood what you were talking about, tightening his grip around you. “I know it hurts. It’s fucked up to see someone who hurt you move on so easily while you’re left grappling with everything.”

“His wife is pregnant, Namjoon!” you start crying again, the weight of the reality crashing down on you. “It just feels like I’m stuck, and he’s living this perfect life.”

He tiled your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not stuck. You’re on your own path, and it’s okay to take the time you need to heal. You deserve happiness too.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell, your bottom lip quivering as your throat tightened once more. You wanted to believe him, but the twinge of comparison felt so heavy. “It just hurts so much. I thought I was over this”

Namjoon shook his head, brushing a stray tear with his thumb. “Healing isn’t linear. It’s okay to have a few setbacks. I’m right here for you.”  

The warmth of his presence began to ease the ache in your chest. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment. “Thank you,” you whispered, the sincerity of your gratitude palpable.

“Always,” he replied softly, holding you tighter. “Now come on, let me take care of you tonight.”

You sniffle, whipping your nose with the back of your hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. Just let me help,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle.

You hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. “Okay.” you finally agreed, feeling relief and vulnerability wash over you.

“Good,” he smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s order some food, and we can watch a movie, something to make you laugh while I draw you a bath.” He helps you up, a small smile managing to form on your lips when you let yourself lean into his warmth.

“Sounds perfect.”

As he set up the movie, you felt the burden on your shoulders start to lift. There was something comforting about seeing him move around the room with such confidence. He ordered room service, even adding a bottle of wine to the mix, which you gladly shared with him over dinner.

Once the bath was ready, he returned to you with a warm smile. “Everything’s ready.”

You look up at him, a tiny smile playing on your lips. “You really don’t have to do all this,” you said, but he just shrugged it off.

“Let me pamper you a little.”

With a laugh, you let him take your hand, “Alright. I accept.”

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you give a small gasp of surprise. “What are you doing?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Carrying you to the bath. It’s part of the pampering,” he said, his tone playful.

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling both giddy and relaxed as he walked you to the bathroom. The soft glow of candles flickered around the tub, the warm water inviting you in.

“Okay, okay, you can put me down now.” you said, and he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment longer.

He stepped back, watching you with a soft smile as you took in the scene. “Enjoy, and I’ll be right here.” he promised, before stepping out to give you some privacy.

As you sank into the warm water, the soothing heat enveloped you, dissolving any lingering stress from earlier. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth seep into your muscles, feeling the tightness begin to fade. After a while, you hear the door open.

“Can I come in?”

You chuckle at the absurdity of his question, “Yes,” you smile when you see him peeking his head around the door.

“How’s the bath?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

“Perfect,” you smile at him “You should join me.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick to being your attendant for now.”

You laugh, splashing a little water in his direction. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I did bring you your wine glass. I figured you might want something to enjoy while you soak.” He said, setting it down on the edge of the tub.

“That’s perfect, thank you!” You reach for the glass, taking a long sip, savouring the flavours as they wash over your tongue.

Namjoon sat on the edge of the tub, his expression turning earnest “You know, I’m really glad we’re here together,” he said, watching you. “You deserve this time to unwind.”

You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread in your chest, “I didn’t think I needed it until today.” You admitted. “But this is really nice. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad I could be here for you. You’ve been carrying so much,” his look is so soft as he watches you “It’s okay to take a break.”

You took another sip of wine, letting the warmth of his words settle in your belly.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t go out.” You place your hand on his thigh, apologizing as you look up to meet his eyes.

“It’s really no problem.” He leans closer, his voice lowering “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

With a smile, you take another sip of your glass, feeing a sense of comfort envelop you, “For now, this is perfect. Just being here with you.”

You both settled into a comfortable silence, the warm water wrapping around you and melting away the tension in your muscles. However, after some time, the water began to cool. You took one last sip of your wine, savouring it, before setting the glass down on the edge of the tub.

“Joon,” you said, glancing over at him, “I think I’m ready to get out now.”

“Need help?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think I can manage, but could you hand me a towel?”

“Sure thing.” He stood up, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and handing it to you. “Here you go.”

You took the towel, feeling its softness against your skin. As you carefully stood up, the cool air brushed over you, sending a little shiver down your spine. You wrapped the towel around yourself, feeling a mix of warmth and comfort.

“Thanks, love.” You said, stepping out of the tub and onto the plush rug.

He watched you with a soft smile, “Any time, baby.” He carefully reaches out for you, pulling you into his arms, and you melt into him, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a blanket.

You move your hands down his back, pulling back to meet his gaze, a smile creeping on your face. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s make the rest of the evening just as cozy.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he easily scooped you up, and carried you to the bed with effortless grace. You laughed in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he settles you down on the pillows.

“See? Cozy already.” He said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You giggle, pulling him closer until your lips slot together, his tongue quickly working your mouth open, tasting the lingering sweetness from the wine on your lips.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over your skin as you tangle your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and as you wrapped your legs around him, you sensed his heart racing in perfect harmony with yours. He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake, his hands exploring your body with gentle reverence.

With each touch, every lingering kiss against your skin, you feel yourself growing more aroused, your breath hitching in your throat as the heat between you quickly intensified.

You tugged at his shirt, fumbling to unbutton it, but Namjoon stopped you, instead gathering your hands in his and pinning them above your head.

“Take it easy,” He whispered against your jaw, kissing it softly, “We have all the time in the world.” His lips met yours again, and you could feel his harness press against you, as if testing you. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his but he held you pinned to the bed until you huffed and gave up, pleading him with your eyes.

“Keep your hands there for me.”

Only when he saw you obey did Namjoon’s hands begin to roam your body again, pulling away your towel and throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips and the swell of your breasts. His fingers dancing along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake and eliciting soft gasps from your lips.

You moaned when he took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before giving it a gentle bite, while squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. The sensation made you jolt, and you heard him chuckle against your skin, urging you to push further into his touch.

As his mouth worshipped your breasts, his hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you slick with desire. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, a rush of need flooding your senses as he explored your wetness slowly.

“That’s my good girl.” He murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he trailed a finger along your folds. You shivered at the sensation, gasping as he flicked your clit.

“Namjoon…”

Without warning, he slipped a finger inside, then another, curling them in a way that made your stomach flutter with delight. He applied just the right amount of pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a maddening rhythm that had you squirming with pleasure.

Once again, his is mouth found your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his tongue swirled around the hard peak. You moan, your fingers clenching the sheets as he continued to explore your body with languid ease.

Suddenly, he struck that sweet spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. A long, drawn-out moan escaped your lips, a clear sign that he had found the place that sends waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Ah, there it is,” Namjoon said with a satisfied smirk, his gaze fixed on you as you writhe beneath him, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. His fingers hit that spot again, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through you, building you higher and higher until you feel like you're teetering on the edge.

Your release hovers just out of reach, intensifying with every pulse of his hand, each scissor of his fingers within you. He maintains a steady rhythm, each move precise, the slick sound mingling with your soft, breathless pleas.

When his thumb circles your clit, the final surge tips you over the edge. Your body arches, surrendering fully as ecstasy crashes over you in waves, leaving you weak and trembling.

Namjoon holds you close as he moves up, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “That’s it baby, cum on my fingers.” His hand slows, coaxing every last tremor from you until, with a soft gasp, you weakly push him away, spent and breathless in his embrace.  

A soft moan leaves your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you watch him draw his fingers from you and bring them to his mouth. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering as he slips his fingers past his lips, his tongue cleaning them completely, savouring the taste of you with a hum of satisfaction. The sight alone sends a fresh shiver down your spine, every nerve still tingling.

He was still fully dressed, looking so fucking handsome in his suit sans the overcoat. And there you were, flushed, completely bare and fucked out just from his fingers.

But then he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, his mouth then trailing down your neck and collarbones, leaving a new path of warmth across your skin. He moves lower, pressing kisses along your chest until he settles on his knees besides the bed, looking up at you with an intensity that steals your breath away.

That image of him, gaze smouldering and devoted, is one that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

 With a gentle pull, he drags you closer to the edge of the bed, your core exposed to him. His hands glide up your legs, spreading them further apart as he goes, his eyes locked on yours as he leans forward, his beath hot against your skin.

You quickly sit up on your elbows, a hand reaching out as you speak, “You don’t have to.”

“Will you just relax woman?” Namjoon chuckles, gently pressing down on your belly in order to make you lie back down. “I want to.”

Before you could respond, he leans in, nipping at your thigh with a mischievous grin, then quickly soothes the bite with a warm flick of his tongue. The mix of pleasure and unexpected sweetness has you melting back into the mattress.

“You just enjoy.” he murmured, his fingers gently parting you folds “And let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you one more time, his eyes dark with desire and need. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to your clit, his lips soft and warm as they press against your sensitive skin. You let out a loud moan, feeling the pleasure shoot straight to your core, amplifying the lingering shockwave of your last climax, making every touch feel unbearably intense. His lips and tongue dance against your folds, gently parting you with his fingers as he drags a slow, thick line from your entrance to your clit.

“Namjoon, please.” You cry, your voice breathless, not even sure what you’re asking for. But he knows exactly what you need.

He responds with a gentle, rhythmic suction, mixed with teasing nips that made you gasp, his tongue darting in and out of your folds, exploring until you’re dizzy with pleasure. You can feel your body tensing up again, and when you make a move to close your legs, his arms hook around your thighs, keeping you spread and vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

Namjoon plunges his tongue deep inside you, his lips sealing around your entrance as he drinks you in, savouring every drop. He laps at your wetness, drawing you into further his mouth, his movements slow and indulgent, as through he wants to taste every single part of you.

The pleasure is too intense, it’s overwhelming, leaving you helpless as you mewl, thrash around and buck against his mouth. Your orgasm building deep within. But he doesn’t let up; if anything, his efforts double, his mouth and tongue moving with relentless intent, devouring you completely. Your hands tangle in his hair, your earlier protests forgotten as you lose yourself in the sensations he’s pulling from you.

“God, Namjoon, baby, you feel so good,” you breathe, your mind barely processing the confessions that tumble from your lips. “God, your mouth is divine, baby.”

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You feel him moan and groan against your core and your orgasm crashes through you. You cry out his name, feeling every single nerve in your body ignite in surges of bliss. His arms stay wrapped firmly around you, holding you steady as he shows no signs of stopping his abuse of your poor sensitive clit, drinking your release, drawing out every last tremor as you tremble, weak and utterly spent in his arms.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are glazed over with pleasure, his chin glistening with the evidence of your climax. You bite back a moan as he runs his tongue over his lips, savouring every last drop.

“You’re like heaven baby,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the blend of sensation only heightening your arousal further as his tongue moves against yours.

“Joonie, just fuck me.” You mumble in between kisses, your voice edged with desperation, aching for him to fill you up and ease the ache that he had been building inside of you. But he remains maddeningly patient, his hands moving casually over your skin, teasing and touching every inch of skin as though committing each detail to memory.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally breaks away and stands, leaving you longing for his warmth. His eyes never leave yours as he starts to undress, each movement slow and deliberate, drawing out the anticipation. His fingers work through each button of his shirt with practiced ease, revealing his skin inch by inch, his expression heavy with intent. When his shirt slides off, your eyes trace over the lean muscles of his chest and the sculpted lines of his torso, drinking in the sight of him.

You urgently motion for him to continue, but he only smirks, clearly savouring your impatience. You huff in frustration and sink back onto the mattress. Despite the growing ache within you, you’re utterly mesmerized by the way he moves, completely caught up in every motion as he lets your anticipation build with each lingering moment, before he finally reaches for his belt.

With a quiet clink, he unfastens it, his eyes watching your reaction as he lets it slide free with maddening slowness. Your breath catches, heart pounding as he unzips his pants, pushing them down just enough to reveal the hard lines of his hips. He steps out of his clothing, completely bare now, standing before you with an air of confident vulnerability that leaves you spellbound.

For a moment, he pauses, letting you drink in every detail —the muscles of his chest, the strength in his frame, his ridable thighs and his hard cock pressed against his stomach, the tip glistening with precum.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The challenge in his tone ignites a thrill within you, and you nod, your mouth suddenly dry with desire.

Slowly, he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours and he climbs on top of you, his body warm and solid as he positions himself between your legs.

“I can be on top.” You declare, suddenly finding your voice, grabbing his shoulders and trying to pull him down. But once again, Namjoon stops you.

“I’ve got this, you relax.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he eases you from your tensed position, allowing him to mould you as he pleases. His hands find your ass, squeezing it tightly as he positions you exactly how he wants.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he presses his erection against your aching pussy, the head of his cock catching against your clit, collecting your wetness. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer still, craving the connection between you.

Slowly, he enters you, filling you up in a way that takes your breath away. “Ah baby, so tight for me.” He moans against your neck, his voice thick with desire as he stretches you, despite all the foreplay. Namjoon pauses once he’s fully inside, relishing in the sensation until you begin to claw at his skin, urging him to move.

“God Namjoon, please, move. Please.” You beg, desperation flooding your voice and easing any shame you might have ever felt when it came to begging a man in bed. Yet here you were, the need in your tone was unmistakable, breaking you softly as you urged him to take action. “Please, my love.”

And obediently, Namjoon begins to move, pulling out and thrusting back into you with a steady rhythm. But with each movement, you can sense a subtle adjustment in his hips, as if he's searching for something deeper. You give him a confused look, ready to beg again, when suddenly he hits your g-spot, making you scream in pleasure.

“There we go,” he looks so proud of himself as he locks in, his hips thrusting against yours with expert precision now, in a rhythm that has you spiralling into ecstasy.

Yet, something feels different — like there’s something more here than just another steamy ‘baby-making’ session.

There is no urgency in his movements, no hurried pace. This feels more like lovemaking, like a slow and sensual dance that allows him to explore every inch of you as you surrender yourself completely to him. His lips and hands tease you constantly, leaving trails of electricity pulsing through your body as his hips maintain a steady rhythm. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as he worships you, revelling in the pleasure he gives you with each stroke of his cock.

As the tension builds within you, your breath hitches, and you feel yourself getting closer, his moans against your skin igniting the fire that threatens to consume you whole.

“Namjoon, I’m close.” You barely manage to get the words out, your voice trembling, as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity building within.

“Come for me, babygirl. Let go,” He whisperers in your ear, “I’ve got you.” And you cry out, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly, your nails dragging down his back as you urge him on.

In response, he thrusts harder, faster, driving you to the brink of pleasure until, with a final push, he sends you over the edge. You scream out as your orgasm washes over you, your body shaking with the force of your release. Namjoon follows soon after, his body tensing, then shuddering as he empties himself inside of you, filling you to the brim. He gives a few final, slow trusts, the wet, slick sounds echoing softly around you.

He collapses on top of you, skin warm and damp, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both savour the lingering warmth of your lovemaking, riding the waves of pleasure as you come down from the high together.

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

“What the fuck are you reading?” Yoongi’s eyes are wide with shock as he looks over at Namjoon, who is sitting across from him at the conference table.

“Uhm-” Namjoon glances at the cover of the book, quickly realizing his mistake “What to expect when you’re expecting” he mumbles, his face turning a deep shade of red.

“Should I even ask?”

“It would be easier for the both of us if you don’t.” Namjoon replies, avoiding eye contact, his embarrassment palpable.  

Yoongi smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Now I’m definitely curious. Are congratulations in order?”

Namjoon lets out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s not what you think.”

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying Namjoon’s discomfort. “Oh really? So, you’re just doing some light reading on pregnancy for fun?”

“More like… research,” Namjoon stammers, his cheeks still flushed. “For a friend. Just a friend.”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye. “So, I get it that this weird plan of yours worked?”

“She’s not expecting yet,” Namjoon insists, a bit too defensively, before confusion strikes him. “At least, I think. I tend to get lost when it comes to the logistics.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He lets the silence stretch, watching as Namjoon grows increasingly uncomfortable. Despite knowing he should stop talking, there’s something about Yoongi’s gaze that makes him continue.

“It’s complicated, okay? She has everything figured out, and I thought I should probably read up on it instead of sounding completely clueless.”

“Sounds like you’re in deeper than you think.” Yoongi laughs, his smirk widening. “Next thing you know, you’ll be attending prenatal classes with her.”

“Not a chance!” Namjoon shoots back, his tone half-serious and half-joking. “I just wanted to be a good friend. I didn’t sign up for this!”

Yoongi leans back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Come on, admit it. You’re secretly excited about it.”

“Maybe I am!” Namjoon bursts out, then quickly lowers his voice, glancing around the conference room as if expecting someone to overhear. “But it’s not about me. It’s about her.”

“Didn’t she say she wants to be a single parent?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Namjoon nods, his expression turning serious for a moment.

“I’m not going to interfere.” Namjoon says, shoving the book at the bottom of his backpack. “I just want to help.”

“You really like ‘helping’ her.” The teasing edge in Yoongi’s voice makes it clear this won’t end well for Namjoon, yet he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

“Don’t phrase it like that.” Namjoon’s face turns an even deeper shade of red.

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying the moment “Come on, it’s just us here. You can admit it. You’re totally invested.”

Namjoon shakes his head, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I’m just trying to be supportive, okay? She’s going through a lot, and I need to be there for her.”

“Supportive or not, sounds like there are more emotions involved than the ‘plan’ initially asked for.”

Namjoon groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please drop this?”

“Relax, your secret’s safe with me.” Yoongi says, finally easing up a bit. “But you owe me a favour for this.”

“What kind of favour?”

“Just remember who kept your secret, and maybe take me to lunch next week?”

Namjoon shakes his head, chuckling. “Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal. But no more pregnancy talks.”

“Deal.” Yoongi nods, still grinning. “But maybe don’t bring any more of those books to work. It’s not a good look.”

“Good idea.” Namjoon says, leaning back in his chair as the meeting starts to take shape.

As the discussions unfold, Namjoon finds himself glancing at the clock, his mind wandering to thoughts of you and the city exploring he’s been dreaming about. The day drags on with endless presentations and updates, and he can’t shake the desire to escape the conference room.

Finally, as the last agenda item wraps up, he feels a wave of relief wash over him, the long day is finally over. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head and quickly shoots you a text message.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Hey love. I’m done for the day. How about we grab dinner and check out the Gardens by the Bay? We can catch the skyline at night too! Baby-momma 💕:  Sounds wonderful! Can’t wait to see the skyline!

Namjoon smiles at your reply, feeling a rush of excitement.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Great. I’ll meet you at the hotel in 20. Wear something red for me 😏 Baby-momma 💕:  See you then! 🥰

He quickly gathers his things and heads out, a bounce in his step as he thinks about the evening ahead. The drive is quiet, but his mind races with possibilities. When he arrives at the hotel, he spots you waiting for him by the entrance, looking absolutely radiant in a black dress that perfectly accentuates your waist. The square neckline draws his gaze to the little mark he left just above your chest, making him smile wider.

“Hey there,” he says, a smile breaking across his face as he approaches, “You look amazing, even if it’s not red.”

You twirl playfully, your dress flowing around you. “I hope this is good enough.” you beam, your smile quickly turning into a teasing one as you take his hand and guide it to the strap of your dress. You lift it just enough to reveal a glimpse of red lace underneath. “The red is for later.”

Namjoon’s breath catches, his eyes widening with surprise and delight. “Well, now I’m even more excited for tonight.” he replies, eyes still glued to your chest.

You pull him closer, the energy between you sparking with anticipation. “Lead the way, baby.” you say, your voice playful and oh-so inviting.

He chuckles, feeling a rush of confidence as he guides you towards the exit. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure.” He teases, glancing down at your hand still intertwined with his.

The evening air is warm as you step outside, the city lights beginning to flickering to life around you.

You stop for dinner at the most charming little noodle shop, a hidden gem that Namjoon found online. And just like the reviews promised, the food was incredible.

After dinner, you head to the Gardens by the Bay, where the towering structures are beautifully illuminated against the night sky. As you stroll through the gardens, the sweet scent of flowers fills the air, and the sounds of the city fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

Namjoon leads you to a quiet spot overlooking the skyline. The city sprawls out before you, all the light shimmering like stars in the night sky.

“Wow.” you whisper, taking in the breathtaking view.

Namjoon leans closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It’s like a painting, isn’t it?” his arms wrap protectively around your waist, holding you close to his chest.

You nod, leaning into him, feeling safe and content as you stand together, soaking in the beauty of the moment. The skyline reflects in your eyes, but it’s the way he holds you close that makes everything feel so much more vibrant.

After a while, you feel his lips brush against your neck, softly kissing his way up to your ear. “Want to head back? I think I could use dessert after this.” He murmurs.

You giggle, nodding slowly and leaning into his touch. “Sounds good. I saw this little pastry shop near the hotel.”

“Not quite what I was suggesting.” he smirks against your skin and you feel a flush rising in your cheeks.

“Oh…” you reply, biting your lip to stifle a grin. “What did you have in mind?”

“Didn’t I tell you? You taste like heaven.”

Your heart races at his words, and you can’t help but smile back at him. “That sounds tempting.”

“Good.” He kisses your neck once more, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze as you begin to walk back towards the hotel.

As you stroll, the city lights twinkle above, creating a magical backdrop. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter punctuating your words. Every shared glance feels charged with anticipation, heightening your senses and making the moment feel even more special.

When you finally reach the hotel, Namjoon keeps his word. Fucking you good and hard into the mattress, over the couch and pressed up against the window, overlooking the city as you come completely undone around his cock.

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

“Okay, since when does making a baby require you travel to Singapore?” Sumi looks at you, utterly bewildered.

The little coffee shop was cozy, its warm, pink ambiance wrapping around you like a comforting hug, chasing away the chill of a long workday. Aera suggested the place, and now, the three of you are huddled together at a small table, indulging in some much-needed girl talk.

You stare at the picturesque slice of sponge cake on your plate, next to the steaming cup of coffee you’ve been craving all day.  

“I was sad, and he just did a nice thing for me.” you mumble between spoonfuls of cake.

“Wow. When I’m sad Jungkook just tells me to cheer up!” Aera replies, her eyes wide with disbelief, mirroring Sumi’s expression.  

You chuckle a little, completely absorbed by the dessert.

“Seriously! How is that even fair?” Sumi adds, shaking her head. “You’ve got yourself a good one over there.”

You chuckle, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth at their reactions. “It wasn’t like that. We just had a moment, you know?”

“Sure, a moment that requires international travel?” Aera teases, nudging you playfully.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling “It’s not like that! He just helped me unwind.”

Sumi laughs, shaking her head. “This is a whole different kind of ‘helping’ you’ve got going on.”

You take a sip from your coffee, feeling flustered under their relentless stares. “Can we just enjoy our cakes without analyzing my life choices?”

“Never! This is so much better than cake!” Aera declares dramatically, making you all laugh. “Spill the tea, babe.”

“I would, but there’s no tea to spill.”

“You’re a lying liar.” Sumi smirks, “I think I speak for everyone at the table when I say, Namjoon was basically undressing you with his eyes the last time we were at Seokjin’s.”

You feel your cheeks heat up remembering that night- how intense his gaze felt, the way he pulled you into the spare bedroom and kissed you until you were breathless, leaving you both flustered and frustrated.

 “What? No! He wasn’t.” you protest, though your voice lacks any conviction.

Aera leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that chemistry!”

You did feel it- The same way you felt him all the way back to your apartment.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to deflect, “He was just being friendly!”

“Friendly? Please!” Sumi rolls her eyes. “He’s totally smitten.”

“I really don’t see it.” You confess, taking a cautious sip of your coffee to buy some time.

Aera raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “Really? You think he spends that much time with you just because he’s being nice?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve always been close.” you reply, trying to sound more convincing that you feel. “It’s not like he’s making any moves.”

“My dude! You’ve been sleeping together for what? Three months? How is that not a move?” Sumi argues, quickly realizing her slip up.

“You’ve been what?!” Aera’s eyes blow wide, her mouth dropping open in shock.

Your face burns as you scramble for words. “Wait, wait, wait! It’s not like that!” you stammer, panic rising in your chest. “We’re not— I mean, we are. But it’s complicated!”

Sumi smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Oh, it sounds pretty straightforward to me! You’ve been sharing a bed for months and you didn’t think to tell me?” Aera’s expression shifts through a whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s not something I just bring up!” you protest, trying to collect your thoughts. “He’s just helping me get pregnant. We’ve been navigating this… situation, and it just didn’t feel right to tell anyone.”

“I know because I came up with the idea!” Sumi beams, overly proud of herself.

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity piqued. “So, you really are sleeping with him? Like, romantically?”

“Only recently!” you admit, your heart racing. “And it’s still really new and confusing.”

“Confusing or not, this sounds like a plot twist waiting to happen.” Sumi laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Aera’s eyes widen even further, and Sumi bursts into laughter. “Girl, you’re in deeper than you realize!”

“Can you keep your voice down?” you say, glancing around the cozy shop to make sure no one’s listening. “It’s not that simple!”

“But it sounds like it is!” Aera is shocked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, what’s it like? I mean, are you two a thing now?”

You fidget with your cup. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just helping me get pregnant.”

Sumi raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? You think he’d go to all this trouble if he didn’t have feelings for you?”

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. “I mean, he’s just being nice. He wants to help me, that’s all.”

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity growing. “But you like him, right? I mean, there has to be something more than just… helping.”

You feel your cheeks warm. “Of course I like him! But that doesn’t mean he feels the same way.”

“You need to tell him!” Aera urges, her excitement bubbling over. “You can’t just keep pretending it’s all casual.”

At that, you feel the bubble burst and reality crashes in. The consequences of your actions suddenly feel all too real.

How could you even bring it up with him?

Relationships always have a way of complicating things. Even if by some miracle, you two become a couple, it could easily spiral out of control. The thought of him potentially leaving your life is a risk you can’t bear. 

After all, if this is a number’s game, 50% of marriages end in divorce. And the odds are far worse for dating. 

“No. I’m fine as is.” you glance down at your coffee, stirring it absentmindedly. “This is just about the baby and nothing more.”

Sumi furrows her brow, unconvinced. “But what if it’s more for him? You could miss out on something special.”

“It’s safer this way.” You insist, though doubt creeps in your voice “I don’t want to complicate things.”

“Complications are already there.” Aera points out gently, “You’re both invested. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of their words settling heavily on your chest. “I want the baby. That’s my only focus right now.”

Sumi’s expression softens. “But what if you could have both? A baby and a relationship? Isn’t that worth exploring?”

The idea lingers, tempting yet terrifying. You want to believe that could happen, but the fear of risking everything holds you back. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Sumi leans in, her voice gentle but firm. “But what if there’s more to gain than just what you might lose? You both care about each other—why not see where that can take you?”

You chew your lip, caught between the fear of the unknown and the hope for something deeper. “I don’t want to push him away. If I tell him how I really feel, what if he doesn’t feel the same? It could ruin everything.”

Aera nods, understanding but not letting you off the hook. “But keeping it bottled up could ruin things too. You’re both navigating this together, right? Just talk to him.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I planned any of this!” you sigh, frustration creeping in. “I just wanted a baby. This was supposed to be a straightforward arrangement!”

“And sometimes the best things come from the unexpected,” Sumi counters, using her favourite line. “Look at how much you’ve already shared. Maybe it’s time to be honest about your feelings?”

You sit back in your chair, the weight of their words sinking in. What if this really could be something more? But then the fear rushes back in—what if it all falls apart?

“No. We have this arrangement, and it works.” You state firmly. “That’s where this conversation ends.”

Aera opens her mouth to respond, but Sumi places a calming hand on her arm. “Okay, we’ll drop it. We just want what’s best for you.” she says gently, her eyes still filled with concern.

“Yeah, I get it.” you reply, appreciating their support even as you feel the tension in the air. “I really do. But right now, I need to focus on the baby and what that means for me.”

Aera leans back, her expression softening. “Just promise us you’ll think about it. You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

“The plan makes me happy. Namjoon just isn’t part of it.”

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

The two lines stare innocently at you. The test waits patiently for you on your desk, and each time you walk by a new flutter of emotions washes over you.

You were pregnant. You had to be- You took five tests. They all came back positive.

You blink again at the small plastic device, feeling the reality of the situation settle in. Five tests, all confirming what you’ve been hoping and working for.

What now?

Sumi 🏥: Welcome to club knocked-up.

The phone buzzes, the message arriving alongside your blood work results. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you read Sumi’s message. Her humour cuts through the tension, and for a moment, you feel like you could float. Club knocked-up. It feels surreal, like stepping into a world you’ve only heard about from others.

You typed back quickly, your fingers dancing over the screen.

Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you, Sumi! Can’t believe this is happening. 

The blood work is another confirmation. Your mind races with questions: What was the next step? How will you tell the others?

Sumi🏥: You’ve got this! We need to meet up and celebrate! Idiot 🌺💫: Yes! I’ll add it to my to-do list!! Sumi🏥: 🙄 🙄 🙄 Sumi🏥: I also pencilled in an appointment with Dr. Mi-Ja. Best Dr I know. (Even if she’s a stuck-up bitch at the watercooler). Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you. Love you 💕 Sumi🏥: Right. Sure. Just tell me if u want me to add Namjoon as a guest or nah. Idiot 🌺💫: Nah.

Three letters and a punctuation mark. That's all it took to tie up your resolve with a pretty bow of logic. He had done enough; you didn’t need to bring him into this any further. From now on, it would be just you.

The appointment comes as a welcomed relief. Dr. Mi-ja exuded kindness and experience, her calming presence putting you at ease. She laid out the next steps and the best options available, cementing that sense of control you’ve been longing for in this new chapter of your life.

The next few weeks rolled on by, the initial shock of the pregnancy transforming into an all-consuming obsession. Your agenda and calendar became constant companions, filled with notes and reminders. You dove headfirst into planning-diaper storage solutions, the perfect formula temperature, baby-proofing the rooms- each detail meticulously organized and perfectly planned. 

 But, as it turns out, you could factor in morning sickness as a part of the package, but you can’t really plan for it… some days you are perfectly fine, and others, you were completely sidelined, battling nausea while trying to tackle your growing to-do’s.

One minute you’re dreaming about baby names, and the next, you’re sprinting for the bathroom, feeling like your world is spinning.

Ginger tea and saltines became a new staple in your home. A makeshift remedy for the relentless waves of nausea. The mere scent of coffee knotted your stomach, an ironic twist for someone who once had more coffee than blood running through their veins.

But despite the discomfort, you kept life moving forward. Now more grateful than ever that you work in a hospital and have an arsenal of doctors on quick-dial for any inquiries you might meet along the way.

Still, Sumi was your constant support, always checking in and making sure you had everything you needed. Even when you insisted you were just fine, with your head in the toilet. “You can’t fool me.” she’d tease over the phone, her laughter lightening the mood just a smidge.

You only hope you manage to keep the contents of your stomach intact when Namjoon comes over with dinner. It was Sunday, and you hadn’t seen him since you got the results. The thought of facing him stirring a cocktail of nerves and excitement inside you. What would you say? What would he say?  Would it be awkward?

As you tidied up your space, the familiar sound of a mommy-to-be audiobook filled the background, almost pulling you out of your deep thoughts. You move on to set the table, choosing instead to focus on the details: napkins folded neatly, an empty vase in the middle-since the smell of flowers made you sick-, plates arranged just-so, and a cushy ambiance created by the setting sun peeking through the sheer curtains.

You didn’t plan the sun. But it added a beautiful touch to the atmosphere, casting a golden hue over everything.

The sound of the key in the lock sends your heart racing. You take a big breath, steeling yourself as Namjoon enters, a big smile on his face and a bag of take-out in his hands.

“Hey! I missed you!” he said, stepping inside and wrapping you in a tight embrace, his lips sweetly meeting yours for a quick kiss.

The warm scent of bulgogi drifted through the air, making your stomach rumble-despite your best efforts to quell the impending nausea.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he murmurs in your hair, making your stomach twist again, only this time with guilt. His warmth surrounds you, but the reality of your situation gnawed at the edges of your mind.

He doesn’t know, so he’s still acting like he has some kind responsibility towards you.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you reply, pulling back to look up at him. His smile is genuine, deepening the dimples on his cheeks, only stressing your fluttering nerves further and bringing a fresh wave of discomfort over you.

He holds up the take-out bag with a grin. “I brought Bulgogi and all the fixings. Figured we could have a little feast.”

“Great.” you said, trying to match his enthusiasm, but your voice falls flat.  Much like your actions, because you feel more like a robot as you lead him to the table, quickly taking a seat and pouring yourself a tall glass of water.

As Namjoon begins to unpack the food, the rich aroma wafted towards you, and before you could even react, a wave of nausea hits you. You jump up and dash to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Once inside, you leaned over the toilet, feeling the contents of your stomach spill out. Each heave bringing a mix of frustration and embarrassment. You didn’t even notice the sound of the door creaking open, too caught up in your misery to register it.

“Oh shit,” Namjoon says softly, his voice filled with concern. You feel his hands collect your hair away from your face, gently rubbing your back.

You’re too embarrassed to look at him. But his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. He doesn’t say anything. Just stays there with you, holding your hair back and massaging your back until you’re done.

Once you feel comfortable standing up, he brings you a wet washcloth and a glass of water. You sit on the edge of the bathtub, grateful for the small gestures of care amidst the tension that hangs between you.

A heavy silence settles, broken only by the sound of running water from the sink. You know Namjoon isn't oblivious; he's pieced together the clues—the missed calls, the unread messages—and now the truth hangs in the air like an unspoken accusation.

He doesn’t rush to speak, instead, taking his time to look at you, weighing his next words carefully.

“Congratulations.”

You give a small nod, not quite feeling like celebrating right now.

“How long have you known?” His voice is raw with hurt as he breaks the silence, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You draw in a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “A few weeks now.”

He blinks, the realization settling in. “A few weeks?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and pain. “When did you plan on telling me?”

“I-I don’t know.”

The weight of those words hung thick between you, like a dense fog, blurring the outlines of what was sure to be a life-altering conversation. You could see the cogs turning in Namjoon’s mind, processing the truth that lay before him.

“You plan for everything-” There is a mix of emotions that crosses his face in that split second, somehow, heartache being the most evident of them all “Is this why you’ve been ignoring me?”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The weight of your decision feels heavier than before, almost like it could crush your chest under the pressure.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to involve you any more than necessary.”

Namjoon’s laugh is bitter, devoid of any humour, “Is that what you think I am? Just a means to an end? Someone to use and then discard when you no longer have need for me?”

You flinch at the accusation, the pain in his words cutting deeper than you could have ever imagined. “No, that’s not it at all!” You insist, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulls away from your grasp.

“Then what is it?” He demands. “Because from where I’m standing it looks like you used me. You used my trust, my emotions, and then you tossed me aside like a piece of trash when you got what you wanted.”

You shake your head, tears filling your eyes “Namjoon, we had an agreement.”

“Yes. We also set up rules- rules, mind you- that we willingly broke with the first opportunity that showed up.”

The tension crackles in the air, and you feel your heart race as he takes a step back, putting distance between you. His words sting, but they cut close to the truth. You know he’s right; the lines blurred the moment you started sharing a bed.

You had anticipated every scenario, but this—seeing the hurt in Namjoon’s eyes, the disappointment etched across his face—was something you hadn’t prepared for

“Namjoon, please…” you plead, searching for the right words. “This wasn’t what I intended. I wanted a baby, yes, but I never meant for things to get complicated like this.”

He looks at you, his expression softening just a fraction, but the hurt is still there. You’ve never seen him like this- grasping at his emotions, struggling to keep them contained. He falls silent, looking away from you, and you sense the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re cruel,” he says your name, the pain evident in his voice, as if the word itself is a wound. The rawness of his voice stabs at your heart, each word a reminder of the walls you’ve singlehandedly build between you.

You look away, letting your tears spill, no words fit for the damages you’ve caused.

 “What about my feelings? My part in this? Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I’d want to be involved in this kid’s life too? In your life?” Namjoon continues, his voice slightly rising with a mix of frustration and pain. Each word causing you to sob further, and you can’t help but flinch at the reality of what you’ve done.

“I didn’t think-” you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly! You don’t think,” he interrupts, his hands balling into fists by his side “You just plan.” He lets out a frustrated breath, “I actually thought you loved me back. God. I’m such an idiot.” He turns away, his back facing you, as if the distance between you somehow lessens the weight of the moment.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable, filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Namjoon, please,” you call out, your voice cracking. “Don’t go.”

He takes a slow, deliberate breath before responding, his voice low and strained. “What else can I do? You’ve already made your choice.”

Your heart aches at the hurt in his expression. “I was scared, Namjoon. Scared of how you’d react, scared of what this all meant.”

“Scared?” He scoffs, the bitterness returning to his voice. “Scared of what? Of being a family? Of letting me in?” He shakes his head, as if he can’t comprehend the distance you’ve created.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling the tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to get complicated like this. I wanted to share this with you, I really did.”

He takes a step back, the distance between you growing again. “You wanted a baby, not me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what hurts the most.”

“Namjoon…” you say, your voice breaking.

He turns away, facing the door, the weight of his decision clear in his posture. “I need to go,” he says, his voice heavy with finality.

“Don’t,” you urge, panic rising, “Please, just… let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t.” Namjoon replies, his voice strained. “I can’t do this right now.”

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

You never liked waiting rooms.

There was something about the sterile white walls, the sickly-looking people, the occasional coughing and the wailing baby that made your stomach churn with anxiety.

Normally, you’d use your ‘connections’ to skip the line, asking your colleagues to check you out when they had a moment.  

But this time felt different. Surrounded by a sea of pregnant women, each one rounder and fuller than the next, guilt washed over you for even considering it.

So instead, you settled in next to a woman with a crying baby, constantly refreshing your messaging app, hoping Namjoon would respond to your messages.

You: First ultrasound appointment. I’d be glad if you can make it…

And you forwarded the message from the hospital with all the details about the appointment.

The message was flagged as read since you sent it, two weeks ago. But no response came.

The minutes stretched on, each second amplifying your unease. You glanced around the waiting room, feeling like an outsider among the expecting mothers. Their laughter and chatter felt detached from reality, and you couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

You opened the messaging app again, staring at Namjoon’s contact. Maybe if you focused hard enough, those three little typing dots would appear. A follow-up message might coax a reply, but a small voice warned you against it. You didn’t want to seem desperate, even though you felt that way deep down.

Taking a deep breath, you put your phone down and tried to centre yourself. You could hear the soft coos of the woman besides you as she rocked her baby, and you took a moment to admired her calming demeanour. It was such a stark contrast to your own swirling thoughts, that you found a bit of peace in her tranquillity.

 After a moment, the woman caught your eye. “Is this your first?”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile as you placed a hand over your still flat stomach “Yeah, I’m a nervous wreck.”  

You weren’t quite sure why you felt compelled to open up to this random lady, yet here you were, being more honest with a stranger than you had been with your partner.

She smiled back, her big eyes filled with warmth. “That’s normal. Just take it one step at a time. You’ll be just fine.”

You appreciated her kindness, but at that moment, it did little to ease any of the mounting worries you’ve been collecting since your last conversation with Namjoon. The pain in his eyes was still etched in your memory, surfacing at the most inopportune of times and reminding you of just how easily you could tangle up your own life.  Each thought felt like a thread unravelling, pulling you deeper into a sea of uncertainty- about your future, your relationship, your entire damned plan.

You checked the message again, hoping for something-anything- from Namjoon. Still, nothing changed.

Then, faster than you expected, a nurse called out your name. You barely fumbled to collect all your belongings before heading into her office, your heart feeling more like a speck of sand in your chest. Each of your steps felt heavy, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you harder still.

Dr Mi-ja greeted you with the usual warmth and quickly launched into a series of tests and questions about your well-being— checking vitals, asking about symptoms, energy levels, nausea and anything else that seemed relevant.

“Have you had any cravings or aversions?” she inquired, glancing up from her clipboard.

“Just a strong aversion to hospital waiting rooms,” you joked, forcing a small strained laugh.

She chuckled, her head shaking lightly “That’s a common one. But overall, it seems like you’re doing well. Now, let’s move on to the ultrasound. That’s the exciting part!”

As you followed her to the ultrasound room, a mix of excitement and nervousness boils in you with every step down the hall. This was one of those moments you had dreamed about, meticulously planning every detail for-the outfit you’d wear, how you’d react, all the little other moments that filled your mind. 

Yet, as the moment draws near, a wave of sadness washed over you at the thought that Namjoon wasn’t by your side. Even if he hadn’t been part of the plan initially, you had hoped he would be here to share this significant milestone. His absence felt heavy, casting a bittersweet shadow over the excitement. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the experience ahead, but the longing for his presence lingered in the back of your mind.  

“Is the father coming?” Dr Mi-ja asks, sparing a glance in your direction as you enter the ultrasound room. You paused, hesitant to speak the truth out loud.

“I don’t think he can make it,” you finally admit, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

Dr Mi-ja nodded, her expression understanding. “It’s okay if he can’t be here. What matters is that you’re here, and we’ll take very good care of you.”

You appreciated her kindness, but it did little to ease the pang of discouragement as you accepted this new reality.

As you settled on the examination table, Dr Mi-ja prepared the ultrasound machine. “I’m going to need you to unbutton your shirt.” She said gently. You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before following her instructions. Sitting at the edge of the table, you began unbuttoning your shirt, taking your time as you wrestled with the lingering sadness.

Just then, a loud bang echoed through the room, startling you. Sumi's voice carried through the door, her muffled voice scolding whoever slammed against the door, before the ID swipe beeped, signalling the door had unlocked. In walks a slightly pissed Sumi, closely followed by a very flustered Namjoon.

“Sorry we’re late! Someone wasn’t aware you had to fill out forms at the hospital,” She shot a glare at Namjoon, before addressing you, as if you had somehow contributed to that chaos.

“This is a private meeting.” Dr Mi-ja began, preparing to escort them out. But you stopped her.

“No. This is the father.” As you introduced Namjoon, a new wave of emotions crashes over you. But Namjoon stepped forward confidently, his eyes reflecting relief and apprehension.

“Sorry for the mix-up.” he said, glancing at Sumi, who looked taken aback but quickly masked her surprise with a supportive smile.

Dr Mi-ja softened her stance, clearly sensing the significance of the moment. “Alright then. Let’s proceed without further interruptions, preferably.” She shot a pointed look Sumi, but her demeanour shifted to one of professionalism as she gestured to the both of you to take a seat.

You caught Sumi roll her eyes, muttering a “Bitch” under her breath before she exited the room with a soft click of the door behind her. 

As you settle back onto the examination table, your gaze met Namjoon’s. There is no shock or hesitation in his eyes- just a steady presence that made you feel a little more grounded, even as the situation felt heavier with him there. He offered you a reassuring smile, and for the first time in weeks, the clouds that loomed in your brain began to shift, even if just slightly.

“Now, let’s see how your little one is doing,” Dr Mi-ja said, smiling at both of you.

Namjoon’s hand found yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his grip anchoring you before the anticipation and nerves got a chance to settle.

Dr Mi-ja applied the cool gel to your abdomen, the sensation catching you off guard. “Are you ready?” she asked, glancing at you with an encouraging smile.

You nod, your heart racing.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” she said, positioning the wand with careful precision.

As the screen flickered to life, your breath caught in your throat.

There it was—a tiny blob pulsing rhythmically, the heartbeat a steady echo that filled the room. It was surreal, overwhelming, and suddenly everything else outside this tiny moment faded away.

“There’s your baby,” Dr Mi-ja said, her voice warm with enthusiasm. “And that heartbeat is strong.”

You looked over at Namjoon, who was completely absorbed in the image on the screen, his eyes shimmering with wonder.

The doctor continued, tracing the contours of the tiny form. “Everything looks good so far. The heartbeat is strong, and the measurements are right on track. You’re about ten weeks along, correct?”

Your heart swelled with a mix of joy and relief. “Yes, that’s right.”

Namjoon’s fingers tightened around yours, a silent promise as he gazed at the screen, his expression softening even further.

“Everything looks normal,” Dr Mi-ja confirmed. “Your next appointment in a few weeks to monitor progress.”

A sense of reassurance washes over you. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steadying now, as you absorbed the information.

As the ultrasound session wrapped up, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Namjoon while Dr Mi-ja cleaned up and provided her parting advice- encouraging you to reach out with any concerns, telling you about the parenting classes- and the handover of a written confirmation for your next appointment.

You buttoned your shirt back up, catching Namjoon’s thoughtful gaze, his head bowed respectfully, offering you a semblance of privacy, despite having seen every inch of your skin already. In his presence, your heart ached anew.

It was always in these quiet moments that the weight of everything settled more clearly upon your shoulders—times when you couldn’t retreat into your agenda or your planner. In his presence, you were compelled to confront your emotions, even without a single word being exchanged between you.

As you stepped into the hospital parking lot, your uncertainty clung to you like a shadow, whispering doubts in your ear. You knew you needed to speak, to give a voice to the turmoil that twisted in your heart before he disappeared again. You needed to apologize, and even if he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive you, you longed for even a crumb of closure.

But just as you prepared to part ways, Namjoon glanced over at you; his eyes filled with a depth that kept you rooted in your place, making it even harder to find your voice.

“Let’s grab lunch and talk,” he suggested, his voice steady.

And you could only give a shy nod in response.

You never imagined the first meaningful conversation with Namjoon would take place at a sandwich shop near his apartment. The inviting little deli was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and savoury fillings. As you settled at a corner table, the weight of the morning’s events unwrapped around you, mingling with the scent of sandwiches and freshly brewed coffee.

Namjoon ordered a turkey club while you opted for a BLT, and a long, uneasy silence settled between you. The hum of conversation around you felt distant, your mind still trying to conjure just what you were about to say to him.

“You look good,” he said, breaking the silence, his eyes warm and sincere as they met yours across the small table. A rush of warmth flooded through you at his compliment, a small comfort amidst the tension.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him despite the earnestness reflected in his gaze.

And the silence wrapped around you once more.

The sandwiches arrived, yet neither one of you made a move to eat, the plates sitting untouched between you, like a barrier that mirrored the distance you felt.

“I didn’t think you’d come today,” you ventured, daring to meet his gaze, memories of your last conversation flicking through your mind.

“I almost didn’t.” Namjoon admitted. “But I figured you might appreciate some support.” He offered a warm smile, adding “Not that you need it.”

His last comment drew an unsatisfied laugh from your lips, helping to ease some of the apprehension that had backed up inside you. “I need it more than you know.”

Namjoon leaned back, his expression contemplative. “Seeing the ultrasound… it’s a big deal,” he said gently, a seriousness in his tone that hinted at the weight of what had happened between you. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You deserve to be here.” you admitted, “You’re a part of this as much as I am.”

Namjoon studied you quietly, the warmth in his gaze revealing a combination of gratitude and vulnerability “It means a lot to hear you say that.” He said, glancing around the shop before adding “I really want to be a part of this baby’s life. However we agree to do that.”

His words settle heavily between you, and you could sense the tension beneath the surface.

“I want that too,” you replied, your voice trembling as you fought to maintain steadiness. “I’m sorry I made everything so complicated.”

“It’s okay. I helped,” he said, a hint of self-awareness in his tone. “But the baby shouldn’t have to pay for our mistakes.”

You nodded, the gravity of his words wrapping around you like a shroud and you instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly.

“You’re right.”

Namjoon was careful choosing his next words, concern deeply etched on his face before he finally spoke. “But that might mean letting go of some of your control.”

His words struck you like ice, sending a chill down your spine and igniting a surge of defensiveness within you. You straightened, meeting his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “Control?” You question, vexed. “I’m just trying to ensure everything goes perfectly! Isn’t that what you want? A stable life for our child?"

“I know,” Namjoon replied softly, holding your gaze. “But we both have to be on the same page. It can’t be just your decision alone.”

Tears started to sting your eyes, and you angrily blink them away, choosing instead to look out the window at the busy streets.

“All I’ve ever done has been for this baby. You know that.” You say, jaw set, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

Namjoon says your name softly, drawing your attention back to him “You plan every detail obsessively. It’s like you’re trying to control everything around you. You can’t even enjoy the moment because you’re too busy scheduling the next ten!"

"It’s better than living like you do!” you shot back, your anger bubbling to the surface. “Letting life tremble all over you only to look back and make sense of it! At least I’m trying to prevent a disaster, not understand it! "

“And what about us? Aren’t we a disaster?” he pressed; his voice steady but laced with emotion. “I feel like I’m just a means to an end for you. Like this baby is just another project for you to manage. You don’t even see me anymore.”

Your breath quickened as you leaned forward, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “That’s not true! I care about you- goddamn it, I love you! But I can’t let my guard down. Not when I have so much at stake!”

“But I want to be a part of this!” Namjoon said earnestly, leaning in closer. “I want to be involved, not just the guy you called to help you make the baby. This is supposed to be a journey we take together!”

You ran a hand through your hair, frustration still clawing at your insides. You didn’t even realize you’ve been crying until you felt the warmth on your cheeks.

 “I... I don’t know how to do that Namjoon. I’ve been hurt too many times. It’s just easier to plan than to hope.” A wave of defeat crashed over you with that admission, and in an instant, the floodgates opened, releasing a torrent of unspoken fears and buried tears.  

Namjoon leans back slightly, giving you the space to breathe.

“Planning is fine, but it can’t be everything. We need to figure this out together. We need to create space for our uncertainties.”

Your shoulders sagged, the tension in your body softening. “I just… I’m scared.” You hiccupped in between sobs “What if I let go and it all falls apart? What if I lose you?”

 “We’ll figure it out. Together.”  He reached for your hand, gently squeezing it. “But we can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.”

You finally met his gaze, feeling vulnerability flickering within you like never before. “I don’t want to push you away. I just... don’t know how to trust.”’

“Then let me help you learn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you look down at your clasped hands, tears spilling freely, each drop a silent testament to the weight you’ve carried alone for so long.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy or that we won’t argue,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “But I’ll always fight for us. I just need you to meet me halfway.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, unravelling the layers of your defences, leaving you feeling exposed and fragile. Yet, amidst the vulnerability, a flickering of hope ignited in your chest- a whisper that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something new, something different. That something you’ve been looking for…

Namjoon watched as tears spilled down your cheeks, his heart aching at the sight. He reached across the table, offering you a handful of napkins. “Here,” he said softly, his voice an anchor amidst your chaos.

You took them, dabbing at your eyes and blowing your nose, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. The weight of everything hung between you, thickening the air with each second you stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your lip quivering “I didn’t mean to break down like this.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, his expression as gentle as it always was with you. “You’re allowed to feel, to let it out.”

The warmth of his understanding buoyed you, validating your feelings and bringing you closer to the surface, where you could finally breathe again, where you could be weak and yet know that he would never use that to harm you. Because your hurt, in turn was his own. He understood that your struggles affected him too.

“Joon, I know we’re in the middle of a fight. But do you think you could hold me just a bit?”

Namjoon’s gaze softened at your request, a sliver of surprise giving way to warmth. Without hesitation, he slid his chair closer, wrapping his arms around you and you leaned into him. The familiar scent of him grounding you amidst the storm of emotions as you nuzzled closer.

“I’ve got you.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he tucked you against his side.

In his embrace, the world outside faded- the bustling kitchen, the other patrons- leaving just the two of you, cocooned in a fragile moment of closure.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

He tightened his hold, his breath warm against your hair. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling. We’re in this together, remember?”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. The vulnerability of the moment washed over you like a wave, only this time, it was comforting rather than overwhelming.

“Yes. Together.”

As you sat there, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ears, grounding you. “But did you hear the part where I said ‘I love you’? because I can say it again if you need me to.”  You said after a moment, your voice still soft as you looked up at him.

Namjoon’s eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “I heard you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “And you already know I love your right? Because I can say it again too”

You couldn’t help but smile at his playful response. “I do know,” you replied, feeling warmth blossom in your chest. “But hearing it never hurts.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, the sound soothing your frayed nerves. “Well then, I love you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I love you more than words can say.”

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

“Ah, fuck, fuck, Namjoon, baby, fuck.” You moaned; your fingers twisted in the sheets as he worked his magic in between your legs. Your huge belly was in the way, blocking your view of him, but you could feel the warmth of his body, and the flick of his tongue against your clit.

You had read all the books, knew all the facts about pregnancy and sex. But nothing could have prepared you for this feeling. For the way Namjoon made your body come alive with each pass of his tongue. You completely lost count of how many times you came, your legs trembling and breath coming in sharp, short gasps.

You were so in the moment you didn’t even register the fact that Namjoon was giggling like a little kid against your pussy instead of actually eating it.

“What?” you were completely dazed.

“You can’t cuss like that! The baby might hear you.” Namjoon said as he came up for air, still grinning from ear to ear, dimples evident on his cheeks.

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful demeanour. "Oh, you're so funny. The baby can't hear me, he’s still in the womb."

"But still, I don't want my child to come out into this world thinking his mother has such a dirty mouth," he said, his tone serious but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Well, I'll watch it then," you said, your hand reaching out to playfully mess up his hair. "But for now, I think you have some unfinished business to attend to." You place your foot on his shoulder and push him back down.

Namjoon’s grin widened as he lowered his head between your legs once again, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his tongue and the knowledge that you crated a life with this amazing man.

 As you reach your climax, you let out a loud moan, not caring if the baby can hear you or not. Namjoon continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're left breathless and satisfied.

And then you gasp suddenly, not the pleasure-induced gasps you've been slipping out for the past hour, but like realisation just struck you.

"Namjoon!" you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pinching him to draw his attention. At that Namjoon almost jumps out of his skin, panic settling in.

“What? Is the baby coming? Did I hurt you?"

"No! No! Look!" you quickly grab his hand and place it over your belly, right as your little baby boy decided to kick again. "He's moving!"

Namjoon's face lit up with awe as he felt the baby kick for the first time.

“Little Cosmo is moving!”

You groan, falling back into the pillows, “We are not naming him Cosmo!”

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

Epilogue:

“Joonie! Dae!” you called out, your voice ringing out over the crashing waves “Come over for sun screen!”  

The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting a golden glow over the tropical island. Waves lapped gently against the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that blended perfectly with the distant sounds of waves breaking against the cliffs, and occasional seagull that seemed to laugh at the world below.

You’re secretly glad you listened to Namjoon’s advice to go on this trip in June instead of September as you initially planned. You thought visiting during a quieter time would help you avoid the crowds, but it turns out that’s not a concern at all when your sweet husband can simply rent a private beach for you.

You spread the towel on the warm sand, glancing around at the vibrant scenery- the lush palm trees swaying in the light breeze, and the sparking blue ocean stretching endlessly before you.

A moment later you spotted them- Namjoon, his broad smile bright against the backdrop of the beach, wearing his swimming trunks and looking absolutely delicious, holding Dae in his arms. The little one’s laughter was infectious, bubbling up like the waves crashing nearby. Dae’s tiny limbs waved in the air, delighting in the freedom of the open space.

“Coming!” Namjoon replied, his tone playful. He jogged over, the sun glinting off his skin, showcasing his pretty abs and the carefree spirit of the day.

You watched, your heart swelling with happiness, as he settled down on the towel next to you, carefully placing Dae between you.

“Alright, little man,” you said, taking the sunscreen and squirting a generous amount into your palm “Time to protect this adorable face of yours.”

Dae giggles, showcasing his dimples, squirming in delight as you rubbed the sunscreen on his cheeks. His soft, sun-kisses skin felt warm beneath your fingertips, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly he was growing. Just a few months ago, he was a tiny bundle in your arms, and now he was a full-grown toddler, potty trained and everything.

And just like planned, he was the perfect mix between you and Namjoon. You noticed that the first time he started crawling- how he would stop to investigate his surroundings, cautiously moving around as if he was planning his next best step. But when it came to Namjoon, he felt safe enough to throw caution to the wind. 

Your heart almost stopped the first time you saw your precious little angel climb to the top of the tallest slide in the park, a feat that made you want to rush over and pull him back. But there he was, beaming with confidence, looking back at his father with pure trust in his eyes, before fully leaping off the edge without a hint of hesitation, knowing Namjoon was right there to catch him.

You quickly retrieved Dae’s bucket hat before he managed to squirm off, expertly equipping him, pushing his dark hair out of the way adjusting the hat snugly on his head. “My handsome little man,” you said proudly, earning a delighted squeal from Dae, followed by an enthusiastic “Mommy, go splash!”

“Okay, okay, go splash.” You giggle, letting him dart ahead towards the water. The moment his little feet hit the wet sand, he was off like a rocket, his laughter ringing out as he ran towards the waves.

You followed closely behind, your heart light with joy as you watched him dip his toes into the ocean.

He paused for a moment, eyes wide with wonder, before jumping back as a wave rolled in, soaking his legs. He laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s it baby!”

Namjoon walked over, his arms wrapping against your waist, pulling you into his hard chest, placing a quick kiss on your neck. “You know, I’ve been thinking-”

“That’s not good,” you tease, a smile spreading across your face as your gazes stayed on Dae, who was poking at the sand.

Namjoon chuckled softly, biting your neck playfully. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts again, making sure you listen before continuing “maybe it’s time we give Dae a little sister.”

You turn to him, surprised and delighted. “A sister? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I can just imagine Dae being the best big brother. He’s so loving and protective.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to wait so long for that.” You teased, your heart racing at the thought.

Namjoon’s eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe,” you said, a playful glint in your eyes. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about this too?”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” he replied, leaning in closer, his expression a mix of excitement and surprise. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and the joy of the moment. “I guess we’ll just have to see where life takes us.”

Namjoon’s smile grew wider, and he pulled you in for a quick kiss, but it was quickly interrupted by a little wet, sandy hand pulling at your leg.

“Mommy! Look!”

Dae’s eyes shimmered as he held up his tiny little fist, opening it to reveal a little yellow crab desperately trying to escape.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” you laugh, bending down to get a closer look.

The little creature wiggled its legs, clearly unimpressed with its current situation.