The whole night had been going so well.
The show, in that little club you like on the other side of town, the one that looks like a ramshackle mansion, smooshed between an auto-shop and a bakery, had been perfect. Too loud and too crowded and too hot. It was just what you needed after last weekend.
Meeting you after work, Namjoon had surprised you with the tickets. You both had as many drinks as you could afford, so only two each.
The best part was time sort of stopped. In the crowded pit right in front of the stage there was no work day behind you, no Saturday in front of you. There was just Namjoon at your back, making sure you didn’t fall over every time you jumped too high, enthusiasm no match for your poor sense of rhythm. His hands steadied your waist. You screamed the lyrics off key and no one could hear you enough to object, except for Namjoon, and he had heard you before. It was a perfect night to help you forget your troubles.
But then you see them – Hoseok and his new girlfriend.
You gawk at them, forgetting they might see you, as if they stand behind two-sided glass. They stand close together by the bar, more entranced with each other than the music. He’s helping her on with her coat, and you remember how it felt to have his arms around you, leaving the bar after a night out or waking in the morning after sleeping in. It was a only a few weeks you were together, you remind yourself. It might as well have been an eternity, every moment lingers in your mind like an infinite possibility.
“I’m starving, you wanna—”
Namjoon breaks off as he follows your gaze. You hear his intake of breath, as if his heart had been broken, shattered in sharp pieces that still cut your fingers when you try to put them back together.
“I didn’t know, y/n.” Namjoon says in a quiet hush. “Honestly.”
“I know,” you say, still not tearing your eyes away from the happy couple. Namjoon would never intentionally hurt you that way. There’s no version of Namjoon that could be so cruel. “Hoseok doesn’t really even like their music. Shouldn’t they be mine?”
You look up at your best friend. Namjoon’s black hair, a little too long, falls almost into his eyes. His face glows with the heat and sweat, his white t-shirt clinging to him. He looks down at you with his soft eyes. The same eyes he has whenever he tells you about a hurt animal at the shelter. It must be bad, whatever’s on your face. You thought you were over Hoseok. You kept telling yourself you were over him.
“Let’s go.” You turn on your heel.
What if they saw you staring? What if Hoseok can see that it still burns, that you still wake up feeling sick to your stomach and you can’t remember why. Then it all comes rushing back, the dread of knowing that Hoseok let you down easy, smiling and assuring you he wanted to be friends. You told Hoseok you loved him, and he told you he hoped the two of you could always be friends.
Namjoon follows. You feel him behind you as you push through the crowd. He puts a hand on your shoulder, not wanting to lose you. You have to get out of there. There are tears threatening to fall, and you don’t want Namjoon to see. He’s probably guessed, though. He reaches for your hand too tight, as if you might disappear without him.
The cold air hits you like a wall when you’re free of the club. Great, gulping breaths of midnight air burn your lungs. It forces you awake, forces you to forget the past and stagger into the present.
Namjoon stands in front you, and you clutch his coat trying to stay upright.
“I’m sorry,” you say, looking up at him. "I thought …“
You’ve ruined this whole night. All because of some stupid man who didn’t love you back.
Namjoon pulls you to him. It’s so familiar you instantly feel small and cared for in his embrace. "Let’s go home.”
With your arm around his waist, you lean into him as if drunk. You’re not, but his sold presence beside you keeps you upright when you want to fall over.
At the car Namjoon pads his colorful woven coat, looking for his keys. He’s such an old man sometimes, wearing chucks and his khakis, with his tea in the mornings and his glasses pushed up his nose. He reads the newspaper on Sundays.
“What are you smiling at?” Namjoon asks, bemused.
You shrug. It isn’t easy to put into words how your friendship with Namjoon makes you feel. Without Namjoon’s arms around you, the wind whips against your cheeks and you can feel them burn. “It’s so cold, hurry Joonie.”
Whelp. That could mean anything from I’ve left the stove on, to I realized an error in the last chapter of my thesis, to I just accidentally killed a spider. Sometimes there’s no relativity with him.
Namjoon stares deeply into the window, hands cupped around his temples like the interior holds the secrets of the universe. “I locked the keys in the car.”
“It’s okay.” You shiver, and you think about the long walk home.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “Shit, I really fucked up tonight.”
“You’ve fucked up nothing.” You put your hand on his arm, wanting to make him understand. Namjoon helped you feel better than you have all week. The only thing Namjoon has ever fucked up is fixing breakfast, and even that ended with the two of you laughing and going to the diner around the corner.
Namjoon shakes his head. “We don’t have money to call anyone.”
“We’ll walk. We can come back in the morning. I’ll buy you coffee, I owe you for the tickets.”
“I owed you for lunch last week.”
“Well, if we want to get really real, I owe you for the last month of rent at our last place.”
Namjoon shakes his head. “I got the entire deposit. Remember, we didn’t split it.”
“We owe each other about a million dollars at this point. Come on, it’s okay.” You reach for Namjoon’s hand, and the two of you cross the street. It will take a couple of hours to get to your neighborhood. Mingling in the sidewalk, you realize that the club is still spilling people into the street. You keep your head down. You don’t want to run into them and have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Namjoon squeezes your hand. He knows you so well, it’s embarrassing.
The walk is quiet. You weave around the patrons stumbling out of bars and waiting for their rides. It’s too cold to talk, and you let Namjoon lead the way. He’s the sort of person people move out of the way for. It usually makes him uncomfortable, but sometimes it’s useful. Eventually, you leave the neighborhood with the club, and you’re into the industrial section to cross the thoroughfare to the other side of town. The city feel uninhabited here, feels abandoned as if walking in a dream. You’re both whisper in this part. It’s a little eerie and you don’t want to disturb the silence. As if you need to be as quiet as possible in case zombies are going to hear your sounds and be stirred to investigate.
When you make it into the next neighborhood, this was one with it’s too big houses and massive, black cars and silent store windows with clothes you could never afford, Namjoon relaxes a little.
“What story are you working on?” he asks.
Namjoon’s the only one who asks you about your stories, and actually cares about your ideas, not just his thoughts on your ideas. He never gives you his opinion. You don’t know if he thinks you’re terrible or good. You’re so glad not to know. You couldn’t bear it if he thought you were a hack. Everyone else says things like – but would that would never happen, – but that doesn’t seem logical, – but I wouldn’t do that.
“Okay, so,” you start, trying to organize your thoughts. “It’s about an android – you know, super advanced, he’s a killing machine. The corporation in charge of this sector of the solar system is worried because he’s starting to question his mission, and they don’t know what to do because he is a prototype. They want to reproduce him again and again for the military. He is like a money-minting killing machine so they love him. Anyway they send him to a therapist so she can like get him back in line. I haven’t figured her out yet. Why is she there? Why would she take this job? Anyway, they gradually fall in love, and they break out and go to an unclaimed planet that’s wild and not part of the corporate system, and they live there and they have to figure out how to stay free of their overlords. He’s like a reluctant fighter who has to protect this ragtag bag of nomads from different parts of the solar system that all live there.”
Namjoon doesn’t say anything.
“It’s probably dumb,” you say in a rush.
“Don’t say that, it’s awesome.”
“I know happy endings aren’t realistic.” You’re scrambling. Usually talking to Namjoon about this stuff is comforting, but tonight you feel exposed.
“Why not? People fall in love all the time.”
“But not at the same time.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon says in a quiet rush.
You shouldn’t have gotten so serious. You shouldn’t infect the night with your feelings of hopelessness. "I don’t think an android is going to fall in love with me, just so we’re clear.“
"The AI isn’t advanced enough, yet.” Namjoon shrugs. “But you never know.”
You smile, because he’s serious. He’s your favorite person.
“Let’s go up to the telegraphs.” It’s your name for the massive towers at the top of the hill nearby. It’s Namjoon’s favorite place.
You nod. You owe him for ruining this night with your Hoseok sadness, and it’s a small gift you can give him.
He leads you up the rough-hewn trail up the side of the hill, between the garden gates and little driveways, each path a story of it’s own. Half an hour later, thighs burning, you both make it to the top. Namjoon puts his hands on his hips and looks around.
“This is my favorite place in the city,” he says, as if he doesn’t say it every time you two come up here.
There is no discussion of where to go, because it’s always the same. You climb to the top of the little peak and lay down on the hard ground staring up at the night sky. The fog and clouds reflect back the lights of the city, giving the world an ethereal glow.
“Tell me how the universe ends again, Joon.” It’s your favorite story.
“It isn’t going to happen for trillions upon trillions of years, y/n.”
You know he’s smiling even if you can’t see it. You can hear it in his voice. "Please.“
Namjoon is smiling. He can’t see your face, but he’s sure you’re smiling too. He can’t believe he had this whole night planned to give you something good after your terrible week, but then Hoseok showed up and he locked his keys in his car. Telling you this story is a small gift he can give you.
"Did you know if you count all the atoms in the universe you still wouldn’t have counted the number of years between now and then end of time, when the cosmos returns to nothing?”
“Holy shit, Namjoon, you have to warn me before saying stuff like that.” You lean up on your elbows, looking over at him. You look other worldly in the bizarre light created by the city lights reflected off the clouds. "I’m not even high, and I feel like I just ate Yoongi’s brownies.“
"Here’s how the end begins,” he always starts. You lay back down. “After a time no new stars will be made. The existing stars will all collapse in on themselves into black holes or red dwarves. The red dwarves will be the last living stars of the universe. The white dwarves they form will be the last illumination in the darkness, and the black dwarves will burn themselves out after a time. Eventually, all temperature will equalize, hot and cold won’t mean anything. Entropy will cease. Then there will be no movement forward, the death of entropy will mean the end of time. The universe will become a vast see of nothingness, no matter, no past, no present, no future.”
He can hear you whisper the end with him It’s your favorite story. He doesn’t know why. Every story you make up is so wildly good and odd and perfect. It is like a multiverse exits in your brain. His story is one the universe already told, and he is just uncovering the path laid down by the cosmos.
“Doesn’t it make you feel so small, but in a good way?”
You always say this after he tells that story. It makes his heart glow like that thing in Iron Man’s chest.
“For a while, Hawking thought that time would reverse at the end of the universe.” Namjoon continues. “We would all move backwards through our lives. It’s sort of poetic, ending up back in the womb then flickering into whatever nonexistence is.”
Maybe that will make you happy, he thinks. You could go back to your three weeks with Hoseok one more time.
“No, that sounds terrible.” You exclaim. He can picture the disgust on your face, as you both continue to stare up at the clouds. "No way. That means I would leave you at freshman orientation, hungover and lost after your showed me to the dorm. I have to leave you and then go back to my parent’s house and high school? No fucking way. Hawking can suck it.“
Namjoon smiles even though nothing about this conversation makes any sense.
"When the universe ends, our atoms will find each other, okay?” You say, as if you’re planning one of your road trips. “I’m not sending you into nothingness by yourself. Your atoms will have reformed into a peaceful tree in a forest, and I will be some idiot squirrel that does nothing but run around your branches, and I might irritate you, but your atoms will remember me.”
Namjoon doesn’t remind you that the earth will have been destroyed by the exploding sun trillions of years before this happens. "Well, Hawking decided he was wrong, so we aren’t going backwards.“
"Thank fuck.” You say.
It’s silent for a bit, and Namjoon has never been happier than in these in-between moments with you. The negative space of your friendship.
“I know it never would’ve worked with him.” Your voice strives for stability.
Namjoon knows too, but how to tell you? It isn’t his place. He doesn’t know Hoseok well, but Namjoon knows he’s one of those guys who has a girlfriend ideal, a girlfriend shaped mold, and he’s going to keep looking until he can find someone who’s comfortable in the space he’s created. Hoseok isn’t a jerk. He’s nice, but he doesn’t like surprises, and he doesn’t like things he can’t predict.
“You must think I’m a fool.”
“Falling in love doesn’t make you a fool.”
“It sorta does, when he shakes your hand after you tell him.”
“Oh my god,” Namjoon starts laughing before he can help himself. “Are you kidding me? I’m sorry but that’s the best worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Namjoon rolls on to side to check on you. He can see you laughing behind your hand, even as it looks like you might tumble over into tears.
“Honestly, it’s going in the top five worst break ups.” You roll on your side to face him. “He said that my stories were a cool hobby, but he didn’t understand how I was going to make money with them.”
Namjoon wipes his eyes. “You want me to tell him that you’re going to be wildly successful, and I’m going to stand in line for your autograph.”
“You’re going to be literally the only person in line.”
“I’m going to have to line up early, cause there are going to be so many people there.” Namjoon sits up. He helps you stand. “Let’s go home.”
Namjoon holds your hand down the steep path between all those neat little houses, and he listens as you make up stories about the people who live in them. The night is quiet and cold, and he is happy.
Namjoon doesn’t know when he fell in love with you. You’ve been friends since freshman year and that was six years ago now. He’s had girlfriends and hook ups and friends with benefits in all that time. He’s had it all, but he’s never had you.
Namjoon isn’t going to destroy your friendship because he wants you so badly. You’ve never made a suggestion, a hint that you might be interested in something more. Sometimes his body aches with a kind of phantom pain, as if he had you and lost you. He’s so afraid of being without you, he won’t make a move. He couldn’t bear it if it didn’t work out, so he stays in this in-between place, never enough but never without you either.
“I figured out why the therapist is there.” You say, as you turn the corner of your street. “I figured out why she works for the military company.”
“Tell me about it, yeah.” He’s leaning against the door frame, watching you under the porch light.
You unlock the door to your apartment building, and he follows you inside listening to the excitement in your voice.
You’re eating take-out with Yoongi when it hits you –like a fucking freight train, like a car crash in the side of a building, like the goddamn Hindenburg disaster in your heart – every cliché rolled into one. You must look like you’re having a stroke. You clutch your chest, and it’s a struggle to breathe.
“Oh fuck, how am I just figuring this out now?”
Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up from the take-out container as he hunts for more chicken. "I don’t know. It would be much more convenient if my friends realized they’re in love with each other at the same time.“ He sighs. "I really need everyone to get on with their lives. Can you move from revelation to action quick-like?”
“Goddamn. I should’ve known, right, that I’m in love with him?”
“So we’re still in the revelation stage. Cool, cool. Pass the rice.”
You hand it to him mindlessly.
“I mean, I’ve lived with him for two years. We’ve known each other since freshman year. He was still friends with me after I got that fucking tattoo, after I lived in the co-op for a month, after I followed that guitarist to Europe when he was on tour.”
“In absolute fairness, we all knew those were bad ideas, it wasn’t just Joon.”
“Oh god, I cried to him over Hoseok last week when we went to that show. We could have been, I don’t know … ”
“Don’t be gross.”
“If you think fucking the love of your life is gross, you need to rethink your priorities.”
“I mean, I’ve thought of it,” you admit. You’ve been roommates so long you’ve seen some things, heard some things, you probably shouldn’t have, and they’ve never been a turn off. You had scolded yourself not to think of your friend that way at the time, but now … . “Is that bad?”
“No, trust me.” Yoongi gestures with his chopstick. “You better get ready, ‘cause he’s been thinking about this for a while.”
“Really?” What the hell did Namjoon say? The guy has always been open-minded and well-read, so there’s a lot of possibilities.
“The man has a lot of interests and he likes to research unusual topics.” Yoongi looks like he wishes he had never started this conversation. “Also, he smokes too much and talks sometimes.”
You mindlessly chew your food, thinking back. “Lisa did mention some stuff, and they dated a long time.” Lisa was very descriptive. At the time it felt a little too personal so you ignored her, now you wish you had paid more attention.
“Well, can we move to the action stage since you clearly seem interested?”
You slam down the container. “He went on a date last week.”
“So?” Yoongi sighs and rummages through the containers. "If you ate all the egg rolls again, then we’re going to have to interrupt your personal revelation for a lecture on not eating all the egg rolls.“
"What if he falls in love? What if I missed my window?”
“You missed nothing. He’s not going to get over you that easy.”
“What if he hates me?” You think back, as you hastily throw away your napkin and pack your bag. “She’s in his department. She’s probably really smart.”
“What are they going to talk about?” Yoongi asks, dumbfounded.
“Physics. They are literally going to talk about physics, you know, the love of his life. She probably understands what he means when he says time can only move forward not backward.”
“Uh, you’re the actual love of his life.”
“What?” You stop shoving your arm in your coat sleeve. “You said 'he might’ have feelings for me, what’s this 'love of his life’ thing?”
Yoongi winces. “If you didn’t figure this out soon, I was going to advise him to switch schools and move to another city.” Yoongi pushes back his chair. “Please be kind. If it doesn’t work … or you decide you don’t want him.”
“He’s it for me.” You say, and it so obvious that you can’t believe it took you this long. “As long as he wants me.”
“Good,” Yoongi stands and gives you a hug. "Go get your man.“
Your man is currently at the planetarium. Two buses later, every lurching bus stop and stoplight feeling like your heart leaping out of your chest, you run up the steep steps to the entrance. You’re in the middle of a sea of school children not patiently waiting to get into the afternoon show.
Even though Namjoon’s going to probably win a Nobel Prize for physics someday, he still volunteers at the planetarium in the park because he likes to get kids excited about science.
You are such a fucking idiot. You’ve been making up happy endings but there was one right in front of you. If Yoongi is right, it might have been here for a while. You might still have a chance, if Namjoon decides you’re worth the leap.
You cut to the front. Many children yell at you to get to the back of the line.
They’re right, you’re not being fair, but you can’t explain to them that you may have missed your window. You could already be living in a universe where you don’t get to be with him and just not know it yet. Namjoon might have already fallen for a smart girl who probably understands why they can’t launch a rescue mission for the Opportunity rover, and doesn’t try to drunk dial NASA in anger over leaving him there.
You bang on the door of the projectionist room.
"Uh, it’s great you’re excited, but you have to wait in line.” Namjoon opens the door. He’s wearing his dark rimmed glasses, a white button down shirt, short sleeved, 'cause he always gets too hot in the little room and a black skinny tie. He looks so handsome, you wonder how you ever convinced yourself that you weren’t attracted to him.
“Y/n?” Namjoon looks worried. “Is everything okay?”
“Can we talk?”
“I have a show in ten minutes.”
“Lady, you can’t cut in line.”
Namjoon looks down at the kid. You’re terrible with ages, he’s either in first grade, or second grade, or maybe fifth. You have no idea which.
“Please, go find your teacher.” Namjoon says. “We’ll start on time.”
The kid swears, so hopefully he’s closer to fifth.
“There’s a herd of them,” you say, as you look out at the large group of children waiting.
Namjoon smiles. “My show’s the most popular.”
“Of course it is.” You’re just staring at him like an idiot.
“Are you okay? Did you run into Hos-”
“Oh god, no.” You wave your hands. “That’s not what this … I never should have, that was never gonna …”
You’re floundering. Namjoon takes pity on you. He pulls you into the small closet of a room. There is a laptop and a mic, a tiny desk and a view to the screen when there universe will appear.
You lean back against the door.
“It’s okay, take your time.”
You drop your backpack on the floor. Where to start, how to tell him? Your body is vibrating with the force of your feelings for him.
“Just start at the beginning.”
You can’t go back as far as freshman orientation. You can’t go back to every moment that is now tinged with some kind of sepia-toned light. The time you guys drove two towns over for those donuts you like. The time you went home with him when his dad was sick. The time when he bought you a bus ticket so you could see your grandmother one last time. That weekend, the one sophomore year, when it seemed like maybe you might tip over into something more, something with his hands on you and his lips on yours, but you both held back for some unknown reason.
“I was eating spicy basil chicken with Yoongi this afternoon, and I realized I was in love with you.”
“Oh?” Namjoon sits back in his chair, hands splayed on his thighs. He takes a deep breath. “The good place? Near his studio?”
“I ate all the egg rolls.” You nod.
“He hates it when you do that.” Namjoon’s eyes are wide behind his glasses.
“You heard the other part, about me being in love with you?”
“Yeah,” he says, sort of breathless, like you’ve both just climbed to the telegraphs.
“It’s real, it’s here,” you say, putting your hand on your heart. “It’s not going anywhere. It’s been here a long time, I was just being a coward. If you want to wait, if you want to think, that’s cool. I know you like to think about things, and you went on that date last week. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want me to go, then I will go as far away as you want. I’m interrupting your volunteer time, and I know it’s important to get kids interested in science early. Well, I know now, ‘cause you told me—”
As you ramble, Namjoon stands. He walks toward you, slow, steady like you might take flight if he moves too fast. He puts up a hand to cup your cheek. He gazes down at you, and you can’t look away.
You grip his tie, holding on and wanting him so close there’s nothing between you but skin and heat. Now that you’ve thought about it, really let yourself feel what life would be like with him, you want to live here, if he’ll let you. “I’m not just assuming your mine for the taking.”
“I know,” he says, so close his breath feels like a blessing. He tilts his head, brushing his lips against yours, so soft, so sweet. “But I am, if you want.”
The last six years collapses in on itself, and he kisses you. Really fucking kisses you like he’s wanted to for a long time. Your best friend’s arms wrap around you and he pulls you close, closer, closest. You sigh into the feeling of him, tasting you and making you feel like the only thing that’s ever existed. It feels so good to be held by him here at the center of the universe. He’s all you need.
For the smut in this chapter -- size kink sorta, creampie sorta, masturbation. Turns out I may have a thing about Namjoon and sex and alleys?!? but we all benefit, I hope.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Namjoon isn’t proud of the way he’s feeling right now.
It’s been a month since you came to the planetarium - that kiss led to more kisses, and more nights and more mornings tangled together in his bed. (It also led to the first time he started a show late. You sat with him in the little projectionist room sitting on the floor typing on your laptop patiently waiting for him to finish, and he’s never been happier to have fifty kids and two teachers be so thoroughly disgruntled with him.)
So Namjoon’s not proud, because even though you and he are together, he doesn’t like you talking to Hoseok in this small bar. You’re standing in a little group not far away. Hoseok’s girlfriend is there, too. She doesn’t say anything.
Namjoon knows he’s being an idiot. He trusts you completely, and he knows how you feel about him. When you called him your happy ending, he tried to hide his tears, because in all the possible universes, he managed to end up in the one where you two get to be together.
Namjoon looks over at you as you gesticulate wildly, Hoseok looking at you oddly. There’s probably something wrong with Namjoon to feel this way. He should probably think more about toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny – wait, that doesn’t quite work, but he can’t think straight right now. At all. He should probably meditate more. There’s no logical reason Namjoon should want to see the other man on the ground.
The band is warming up, and it makes for a cacophonous soundtrack to this whole experience. The bar is close to your apartment. If he’s lucky, you’ll let him do something sort of filthy to you on the walk home. You let him last week, so the odds are in his favor. So far, nothing he’s suggested has turned you off. Sometimes it takes him so long to get the words out, you’ve already started stripping off your clothes and asking him where he wants you, so that’s all good.
"Everything okay?” you say, walking up to him as he leans against the bar. You take his drink out of his hand and take a sip. “What’s wrong?”
Namjoon holds your arm gently and leads you to the back of the bar with it’s odd smell and the bathrooms with the suspicious stains. He keeps going, pushing against the heavy door to the outside. The band is starting soon, so the small patio is empty. It’s cold, and he can see his breath on the air.
“I’m sorry,” you say, looking anxious. “We were just talking. Please don’t think—”
“Oh God, I know.” Namjoon says in a rush. “I know, rationally, that what I’m thinking doesn’t make any sense.”
“What is it?”
“I should probably meditate more.” He muses.
“I’ll meditate with you, if you want.”
“Of course,” you say, shrugging. “It makes you happy.”
Namjoon knows you hate meditating. "I know that none of this is rational, but I’m feeling very toxicly masculine right now.“ He gestures to his body.
You cock your head at him. "What would make you feel better?”
“Honestly.” You finish off his drink. “You can tell me anything.”
He loves that about you. He can say the weirdest shit, and you never think less of him. He signed you both up for a Shibari class. He doesn’t trust those youtube videos, so he found the most experienced practitioner in the city.
“I signed us up for a Shibari class.”
“No way, cool!” You set down the empty glass on the small table. “Fuck, I love that you do shit like that.”
His last girlfriend had looked at him in horror when he did shit like that, but for once the cosmos is ordered the way it’s supposed to be.
“But that’s not what you wanted to tell me.”
“I hadn’t told you about the class yet.”
“Kim Namjoon, you are the only man in the entire universe I will sit awkwardly in a Shibari class with ‘cause I know you don’t trust those youtube videos. Then we will go home, and you will tie me up and safety check the ropes like five million times while I try to wait patiently. Then you will turn into the other guy, who is great by the way.” You gesture at him with your hands. “With the filthy words, and the magical hands and the whole deal and fuck me until I’m a senseless heap.”
“You make me sound like the Hulk.”
“Dude, do I have to explain how huge your—”
“I know,” he says smugly. He had a few girls literally leap out of bed, but you had just sighed in satisfaction, unconsciously licked your lips and got to work. He really likes that about you.
You smile at his words, ‘cause you like his confidence as much as you like his dick, which is a lot.
“I don’t like seeing you talk to Hoseok, and I don’t like knowing he touched you, and I know that’s fucked up.”
“Joon, you know you’re it for me?”
Namjoon knows it in his head, but sometimes his heart gets nervous. Sometimes his heart starts worry that he’s going to wake up, and he will have entered an alternate reality where you’re gone, and he’s not be able to get you back. He just wanted it so damn much for so damn long that he can’t believe it’s happening. He knows there’s no certainty in this life, but, like, he can’t–
You put your cold hands on his cheeks. "I’m going to join a convent and terrorize the mother superior, if we ever break up.“
"You’re not really religious.”
“There is no one else for me, ever.”
“We aren’t going to break up.” Namjoon says, as he wraps his arms around you. His words are muffled into your neck. “You’re mine.”
“Show me,” you say. You kiss him, moving your lips over his, tugging at his bottom lip. “Please.”
Your hands are at his waist, lifting his sweater, putting your cold hands on his skin, making him shiver. Your intensity shines bright even in the dark, and he’s never had anyone want him like this, greedy and voracious. He might have shown you a side of himself that he’s never been comfortable revealing this early in a relationship, but you’ve surprised him, too. The fevered longing always waiting just below the surface that he can unlock with his words, with his hands. It’s just yours, Joonie, you tried to explain one night, but he knows it, feels it in his bones as deep as his atoms. It’s yours together. The two of you share it until you’re catching your breath, sweat clinging to your skin, hands clasped, and he wonders if anything burns brighter in the universe than the moment you rest your head on his chest when he’s made you laugh and he puts his arms around you.
Namjoon kisses your neck before he can stop himself. He can’t really refuse you much. “Here, sweet?”
You nod, anxious. Your hands grip harder and you pull him closer. "Don’t wanna wait.“
He loves it when that trembling in habits your body, all with want all for him. The band has started playing, and the chances of anyone walking out to this small patio are slim. The fence is high and no one can see through the slats. That’s his last rational thought as he pushes up your skirt, grabs at your tights, and shoves them down, awkward angle be damned.
"Oh,” you exhale, “cold.”
“You wanna stop?” he asks before biting down on your collar bone. You like teeth, he’s learned.
“I will literally kill you if you stop.”
“You that needy?” He feels your sigh against his lips, as he runs his fingers against your slick pussy. "Fuck, you are.“
"We can’t just talk about your huge dick and then expect me to be normal.” You capture your lips in his. You thrust your tongue in his mouth. He lets you explore and taste, too focused on what his hands are doing to focus on the kiss.
Your hands are stuttering over his skin, and you reach for his belt and unbuckle it. You barely have his pants unbuttoned, and you’re shoving your hand under the waistband of his briefs to wrap your hand firmly around his cock. You sigh in satisfaction.
Namjoon breaks off the kiss to watch. Even in this dark patio, his dick looks huge in your hand. Goddamn, he will never get tired of the way you grip him.
“Oh fuck—” he breaks off when you thumb the tip. Watching you, he pauses his fingers on your slick cunt, mesmerized by the sight of your small hand on his dick. Needing sensation, you rut against his motionless hands. He needs to be inside you now.
You whine his name, and he tears his eyes away from the sight of your hands. He kisses you, again, this time focused on thrusting his tongue in your mouth, not letting you do anything but let him use you.
Namjoon does the same with his fingers, warmer now from your skin, gentle circles on your clit, knowing how you like it. It doesn’t take long. You’ve been insatiable these weeks, and he’s a quick study.
Your breath catches, and he knows you’re close. He pulls his hand away.
“Kim Namjoon,” you huff, sounding like an irritated school teacher. Ohhh, he’s going to have to put that away for later.
“Don’t worry, sweet, I’ll take care of you.”
“You fucking bett-”
Namjoon turns you around and crowds you against the wall. There’s something wonderful about the way you like to be manhandled by him. He pushes up your skirt, wishing there was more time. He loves to take you apart, make you beg, make you wait until you’re vibrating with desire for him.
“Please tell me you’re going to fuck me against this wall.” You say, words muffled by the cold.
“I was hoping.”
“Then get the fuck—”
There is something about the way you want his cock so much you turn into a foul-mouthed, needy girl for him. He nudges he cock against your wet folds and moves slowly, making sure you’re ready to take him. He slides in barely an inch, not wanting to hurt you by going to fast. One hand steadies himself against the wall, the other wraps around your waist. He takes a steadying breath, so he doesn’t go to fast.
“Joon,” you whine, forehead resting against the wall.
“You can take it.” He feels his dick slide into your wet, warm cunt. He can see the way your breath catches at his words. "This pretty little pussy can take it.“
You groan at his words as you squeeze around him. "So big, Joon.”
“You want me to stop?” he asks, but he knows you don’t. He knows what you can take by now.
“I will kill you,” you say, breathless, “if you stop.”
He’s going so slow, you start moving back on his cock.
“Fuck, sweet, you want it that much?”
You nod, mindless, lips falling open.
You work yourself on his cock, rhythm a little off, a little bit of a stop and start as you try to take him, stretching out before moving over him at a steady pace. He holds himself still, kissing the back of your neck listening to the way you moan for him.
He waits as long as he can, before crowding you up against the wall. You cry out as if in victory, when he steadies himself against the wall and starts to thrust into you hard and deep, a string of filthy mutterings under his breath as you shake beneath him.
You come with a quiet sigh, squeezing around him. He follows, emptying himself with a groan. When he pulls out, you turn around and kiss him, his cheeks, his lips, his neck, any part of him you can reach as he tries to hold himself upright, leaning over you.
You lean your head back against the wall, still holding onto his shirt. He’s sweating, and he’s catching his breath. The cold wind feels good on his face. You close your eyes, getting that just well-fucked look he likes so much.
“Go on,” he says, knowing what you want.
Your cheeks heat, and you bite back a smile. "I don’t have to.“
"Go on, sweet. You know I wanna watch.”
You reach down between your legs, playing with yourself. You rub yourself with his cum and he watches you. His dick is stirring at the way you touch yourself, bringing yourself quickly to another bright orgasm, your loud moans covered by the sound of the music.
“Oh fuck, Joon,” you say as you lick his cum from your fingers.
“Yeah,” he says. He’s never so eloquent as at the sight of your completely unselfconscious craving for him.
“Let’s go home.” You start pulling up your tights, straightening your skirt.
“You love this band.” He also has another idea he’s not proud of, but he thinks you’ll be fine with it.
“I know but I wanna get you home.”
“The wall might be better than our bed, let’s be honest.”
“I’m not buying Ikea furniture again.”
That night had ended in disaster and the neighbors had complained about the noise, but Namjoon had no regrets.
“Sweet,” he says, as he lifts your skirt and runs his thumb against the seam of your tights, feeling the wetness. "I wanna stay.“
"Oh,” you exclaim, watching his hand, fluttering your eyes closed at the sensation. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leans down, kissing your temple. He knows how you get. “I wanna listen to this band with you like this.”
“It’s gonna be hard to focus on the music,” you say, but your protests are weak. He can read you as well as the universe now, and he’s going to keep going until he uncovers all your secrets. You’re already clutching his arm trying not to fall forward into his chest.
“I want you focused on me.” Namjoon removes his hand abruptly, and you stumble a bit.
“Kim Namjoon,” you bite out in a harsh whisper.
He’s definitely going to have to save that for later, but he sees your bright eyes and the way you rub your thighs together and swallow a moan. You’re annoyed but you’re not unhappy. He takes your hand to pull you inside.
“I’m gonna get you back for this.”
“I hope so, sweet.”
I hope you liked this little fic! It was really fun to write.