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a-3racha-household · 2 years ago

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PROMISE ME || JJK x OC xKNJ

Genre: Military AU, Romance, friends to lovers, love triangle, unrequited love, angst, fluff, smut, tragedy.

Pairing: Namjoon x female!reader, Jungkook x female!reader

Smut warnings: fingering, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, homecoming sex, longing, emotional sex. OC x JJK. UPDATED now to include OC x KNJ

Warnings: Major character death (It’s Jungkook), Swearing. Special Ops / War. Grieving. Separation anxiety. PTSD. Pregnancy. Very very brief mention of domestic violence (in the context of a conversation). SO MUCH SWEETNESS AND HEALING. If you’re actually military field personnel, please do not read this.

Rating: Mature (Over 18s only)

WC: 18k

Notes: In this AU, JK and OC are the same age, which is one year younger than Namjoon. Just work with me here, okay? Also, I have deliberately kept the identity of their country ambiguous.

Big big thanks to @hobi-gif, @jinfizz for the huge editing work they did

Story collaborator: @httpnamjoonie94reads. Please contact her if you ever are stuck with a story idea. I swear to you, she will give you your breakthrough.

Professional Reassure-er who gives me courage: @bangtanmademedoit

Cheerleaders who give me strength: @xjoonchildx @lcksndkys @yeoldontknow @yournameyn

Two lovelies who hype me up: @shatzkrinslinzki and @vantxx95 Life is better with you.

***********************

“Olympus to Icarus 01. Where are you now? Need your ten digit map grid. Over.”

Namjoon checks the map. “Icarus 01 to Olympus. Ten digit grid 1406834822. Request for immediate air support and casualty assistance. Heavy enemy fire. Over.”

“Namjoon…” Jungkook is groaning.

“Roger that. 1406834822. Helos on the way. Casualty assistance and close air support. ETA 10 minutes. Over.”

The line crackles before it dies out as suddenly as it came alive.

“Fucking comms!” Namjoon shouts at the now useless satellite phone. Here in the mountains, the comms have been abysmal. His attention quickly moves to Jungkook, whose breathing has turned ragged. Blood seeps through the rough tourniquet on his thigh, and the young man is ashen-faced.

Namjoon grabs more dirt from the ground to pack it into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Hyung? I’m not going to make it.”

“Ten minutes, JK. You’ll fucking make it!” Namjoon shouts over the gunfire which has started up again. They’re lucky they fell into a rock cleft of sorts, temporarily shielding them from the volley of bullets above—but the real test will be during the heli rescue ops, when they’ll be at their most vulnerable.

“Hyung.” Every word is now slow and difficult. “You… you make it. Tell Y/N I love her. Promise me.”

“Fuck no!” Namjoon grabs him by the collar. He can see his own reflection in Jungkook’s dark irises. The fierce camo paint camouflages the features of his face but isn’t thick enough to hide the fear in his eyes. “Goddamnit JK! Tell her yourself!”

The sound of another explosion temporarily deafens them. Shit. Where’s that coming from? Seems like it’s getting nearer.

“It’s going to be okay.” His breaths are shallow now. “Take care of her.” There’s a faint smile on his face as he says this. “Bibimbaps Forever.”

“Don’t fuck around. I’m your commanding officer. Stay. The. Fuck. Alive. That’s an order.”

Jungkook is trying to keep his eyes open, but it’s so hard. “Promise m—”

“It’s an order!”

He’s tired now.

“This is an order! JK!”

The soft plop of the grenade makes it into their rock cleft like an embarrassed guest, late for the party. It rolls down the slope a little before choosing to settle near Petty Officer (First Class) Jeon Jungkook.

Both men see it at the same time.

Jungkook knows Namjoon well enough to predict exactly what his commanding officer, his friend, his hyung is going to do.

With one last ounce of strength, he rushes low to pommel Namjoon away, only to fling himself over the exploding grenade.

The blast throws Namjoon against the rock wall, and his head strikes the hard, unforgiving rock.

The last thing that should register in his brain is the whirl of the helicopters rumbling in the distance.

Instead, Commander Kim Namjoon’s (Special Ops, Indo-Pacific) last coherent thought was how he has never let you down.

Until today.

***********************

The Bibimbaps Forever was formed on a hot summer day, as all reputable childhood clubs are wont to do. Jungkook and Namjoon were playing cops and robbers, but neither wanted to be the bad guy.

“Let’s switch after five minutes,” ten-year old Namjoon, always diplomatic, suggests.

“I’ll go first,” interrupts Jungkook. He may be nine, but already he’s assertive as hell.

“Of course you’ll be first,” Namjoon assures the younger boy, before adding with a smirk, “You’ll be the robber first.”

Quick as lightning, Jeon Jungkook is just about to headbutt Namjoon in the stomach when a voice from the tree branches above stops him.

“Hey! May I play? I don’t mind being the robber.” Immediately, the two boys stare at you.

Hanging upside down now from the lowest branch, your pigtails are askew with mischief, wide smile missing two front teeth. With well-practiced grace, you flip backwards and land in front of them, sassy hands on your hips.

“We don’t—we don’t play with girls…” Jungkook stammers. “Right?” he asks Namjoon uncertainly. Gosh, that no-hands flip sure looked cool though.

Namjoon debates with himself. Aren’t girls supposed to be gross? Why does this one seem normal?

“That’s okay. It’s your juvenile male insecurity that’s driving your motivation to avert emotional and mental anguish when you deny yourself an opportunity to access this thing called fun,” you say breezily. “Y/L/N, 2007.”

Jeon Jungkook is confused. All those big words he doesn’t understand. And what’s with the year at the end? All he can think of is how he wishes he could do that flip like you.

You pity him. Not everyone has a psychologist for a father and a mother. With a dramatic sigh, you look at him solemnly before explaining, “In other words, you’re scared I’m too fast for you.”

The boys look at each other. No way a girl is going to be too fast for them. Namjoon seizes the moment and throws down the gauntlet. “Fine! You’re IT! Five seconds to run before we get you. FIVE. FOUR—”

Before they could count any further, you’ve disappeared in the direction of the bushes. The boys scramble immediately after you, not counting down the remaining three seconds. Who cares about honesty at this point? There’s finally a proper robber now, and he’s—no, she’s fast.

And so the afternoon flies by with lots of games, even more laughter, and a step-by-step tutorial on how to do a no-hands flip from a tree branch.

Exhausted and hungry, the boys look enviously when you pull out a piece of candy from your pocket. It looks imported. You must be rich. They look away, Namjoon suddenly interested in the sky, Jungkook, in the hard, brown earth beneath his feet. The candy is obviously too small to share.

“Hey, wanna make bibimbap in my house? I bet my mom’s still too busy to notice if we raid the fridge,” you ask them, bright and cheerful, the offending candy already shoved deep into your pocket.

“Only if we each bring something,” Namjoon declares. There’s a hint of pride in his voice. “It’s only fair,” he says quickly. He never wants to be indebted to anyone, not even over a free snack.

“Only fair,” you agree, smiling at him.

Jungkook arrives at your house first bearing a little container of cold spinach from last night’s dinner, his big doe eyes shining with glee that he swiped it right from under his mother’s nose.

Namjoon arrives next, huffing and puffing from running in his hopes to beat Jungkook, one fist round with a hidden raw egg, while clasped in his other hand is a bag of chopped cucumber, looking slightly mushy.

They both gaze at you expectantly, waiting for some kind of affirmation. You put on your best chef’s voice and declare:

“Perfect!” (for the limp spinach)

“Very good!” (for the crumbling cucumber)

“Just what we need!” (for the egg, which, thankfully, does not show any signs of cracking under the crush of Namjoon’s palm)

And from your fridge, there is cold rice and mushrooms.

Honestly, the boys have never cooked before nor cared to observe what their mothers did in the kitchen. Watching you heat the rice and fry a sunny side-up egg, they’re rendered silent, as if watching you perform the most elaborate magic trick, turning day-old stuff into actual, appetizing food.

When three pairs of chopsticks finally dig into the little bowl of bibimbap, nothing ever tasted quite as delicious.

On that hot July afternoon, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Jungkook, and L/N, Y/N became the Bibimbaps Forever.

“Say: Bibimbaps Forever!

We’re always super clever!

Give up? No! We’ll never!

The three Bibimbaps Forever!”

***********************

“Where am I?” Namjoon wakes from surgery. Everything hurts. His eyes. His throat. His back. If he takes a piss right now, he’s sure that would hurt too.

Oh yeah. It hurts.

Ths soft touch of his mother’s hand is cool against the heat of his forehead. “At the hospital. The doctor said it’s going to be tough to move around for a while, but you’ll be fine.”

“Where’s JK?”

His mother’s eyes already tell him all he needs to know.

“The rest of the unit made it. They’re all back. It’s Y/N that needs you now. Memorial service is soon.”

“I can’t face her, Ma. JK died because of me. I can’t just—”

His mother leans over and cradles his face, selfishly grateful that her son is alive. “Listen to yourself Kim Namjoon. I did not raise you to run away from hard things.”

“You don’t understand. If not for me, he might—”

“Namjoon.”

Kim Namjoon has never said no to his mother when she uses that tone. And he isn’t going to start now.

“Yes, Ma.”

Pressing a note and photograph into his hands, Namjoon’s mother gives her son an extra squeeze on his wrists. “Mrs. Jeon dropped this off. She found a photograph in his room she wanted you to have. And there’s a letter from JK.”

Blinking back tears from her own eyes, she stands up and kisses the head of her only son. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ll go talk to the doctors and tell them you woke up.”

It’s only when his mother leaves that Namjoon allows himself to look at what’s in his hands.

It’s a photo of him and Jungkook, when they were not yet Bibimbaps Forever, both of them sharing a huge slice of watermelon and grinning at each other, red juice running down their chins and arms.

“Hyung, we’re so lucky!”

“Lucky to have watermelon on a hot day?”

“Lucky to have each other to share this!”

Namjoon had thought it was silly—if he didn’t have to share, there would be more watermelon for him to eat. He took a bigger bite, trying to prove his point.

“Here, have my part too. It’s yours.” With wide innocent eyes, five-year-old Jungkook had held out his half and fed it to Namjoon, startling him.

Namjoon closes his eyes at the memory as he puts down the photograph.

Shit. JK! Why are you always so damn naive! Why are you always so damn giving!

He doesn’t want to read the letter, he’s honest-to-god afraid of what he’ll read in there. But it’s true, his mother did not raise him to run away from hard things. With trembling hands, he fingers the edges of the envelope, decorated with a sketch of three bowls of bibimbap dancing around the border.

Taking a deep breath, he tears open the envelope and reads the last words from the brother who shared everything with him except his last name.

Hyung,

If you’re reading this, I must have been a dumb shit.

You know, I’ve always looked up to you. It’s the way you care for people: the brothers in our unit, for me, for Y/N. It’s something I am always grateful for, something I always try to do myself—care for people like you do.

It was an honor to serve under your command, a privilege to be your friend, an absolute joy to be your brother.

I hope I made you proud.

P.S. Please look after Y/N for me. I don’t trust anyone else. And I will do the same from above. Because… Bibimbaps Forever!

***********************

The Bibimbaps Forever soon fall into the habit of meeting in your home every afternoon. Even when school started in the fall, even with baseball practice and violin lessons and debate club, it is de rigueur to hang out in your kitchen in the evenings before dinner if the three of you can’t do your homework together.

Away from nosy parents or annoying siblings, Namjoon and Jungkook find the sturdy oak dining table in your home a safe harbor where they can be themselves, refuel with food and conversation before plunging back into being the eldest child in each of their families. Elementary school flies by with games galore of cops and robbers, backflips and frontflips, and of course, many, many bowls of bibimbap, always at your home.

Middle school is stressful, with a deluge of homework everyday. You and Namjoon are reading Manga comics at your dining table during a study break, laughing like hyenas when the creak of the kitchen back door announces the arrival of Jungkook.

On instinct, you holler before turning to him, “JK! You’re late! Come and take a look at this! It’s so funn—”

The yellowish blue bruise on his eye stops you. There’s a cut on his eyebrow too.

“You’re bleeding!” Running to get a first aid kit, you miss the knowing glance that passes between the two boys.

“I’ll kill him one day, JK. I swear,” whispers Namjoon. “He can’t keep doing this. Is your mom okay?”

Jungkook nods. “I made sure she’s safe. She and my lil bro are at your house with your mom.”

“What? Who’s safe? Who are you going to kill one day, Joon?” you prattle on, lugging the first aid kit onto the table.

“Nothing,” the boys chorus in unison.

Narrowing your eyes at them, you look them up and down suspiciously. With a dramatic sigh, you flip open the kit, before taking out the antiseptic cream, bandage, and your mother's arnica gel for bruises.

Punctuating your tirade as you plunk each item on the table, you launch into an Oscar-worthy performance. “Of course, I’m just a girl. So I wouldn’t know anything about domestic abuse and alcoholism. I wouldn’t be of any help at all even though my parents work with lawyers and judges and family courts. Courts—who, by the way, can get restraining orders and cops to drive by your house to make sure your family is safe. Yup. It’s nothing.”

The boys stare at you with mouths agape.

“You can do all that?” Namjoon is skeptical. His plan to protect Jungkok had always been to beat up Jungkook’s father one day. What you’re saying was something entirely new.

“No, silly. But if you tell my parents, they can.” Taking out the gauze, you prepare to dab it on his cut. “Now hold still.”

Jungkook looks at you through his remaining good eye as you take care of his wound gently. The tenderness in your fingers feels like heaven after the rough punches thrown by his father.

Finally done with dressing the cut with a clean bandage, you take his hand solemnly in yours and pull Namjoon’s in as well before murmuring quietly, “So what do you say, huh? Bibimbaps Forever?”

The answer is simple and unanimous. “Bibimbaps Forever.”

You didn’t know it then, but it was at this moment when Jeon Jungkook and Kim Namjoon, in their childhood innocence, thought at the same instant that they’d like to marry you when they grow up.

***********************

The memorial service was held in a little church. The entire town turned up to say goodbye to one of their own. But you don’t hear or see any of them.

All you see from the front pew is the black and white photo of him in full military dress, smiling that wide, proud smile of his, and behind, the casket draped in the flag of the republic.

On your finger, the single princess-cut diamond glitters modestly, as if it knows you’re not yet, officially, Mrs. Jeon. Will never be.

Sandwiched between Jungkook’s mother and Namjoon, you’re glad you aren’t here alone, instead, you’re standing with the most important people in Jungkook’s life.

You’ve told yourself you’re all cried out. That Jungkook deserves your dignity. But your body trembles as the voices in the chapel sing the familiar tune Jungkook always hums after he volunteers as a vocal coach with the inner city children’s choir.

“May the road rise to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

the rains fall soft on your fields.

Namjoon offers his arm to you, and you clasp it gratefully.

“May the sun make your days bright.

May the stars illuminate your night.

May the flowers bloom along your path,

Your house stand firm against the storm…”

As grief wracks your body, you find yourself unable to stand. Leaning against Namjoon, he shifts so he can support you with both arms.

“And until we meet again, until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

When the flag of the republic is finally folded in its ceremonial triangular pattern, the honor guard signals for Namjoon to receive the flag for presentation to the Jeon family.

Namjoon whispers into your ear, “You okay?”

You have to be strong now. For Jungkook. “I’m okay. Do what you have to do.”

Namjoon goes up to receive the flag to present it to the primary next of kin as dictated by the order of service.

“Mrs. Jeon?” Namjoon’s voice is soft and fragile.

You will yourself not to look up.

Mrs Jeon—it’s not who you are even though you’ve practiced your new signature a thousand times while he was gone; not who you are even though the honeymoon suite at the hotel was booked in this name and his, not who you will ever be even though that is exactly what he called you when you said yes to his proposal.

“Your son fought well.” Namjoon fights to choke back his tears as he presents the flag to Jungkook’s mother. “He was faithful to this flag all the way.”

You hear her take in a deep, shaky breath before she receives the flag. “You’re a good boy, Namjoon. Thank you for being with him until the very end.”

With nothing to hold in your empty hands, you hold yourself together, and hold back a wave of fresh tears.

Oh JK, I’m lost without you . Give me a map to find my way to you.

***********************

While your schedules are more complicated and more varied now in high school, it’s an unspoken rule to always make it for Jungkook’s swim meets as the Bibimbaps Forever. It’s times like these where you relish being kids again, screaming for Jungkook, celebrating his wins together, and eating bibimbap after the meet at your house with whatever is in your fridge.

As much as Namjoon loves this, he especially cherishes the conversations with you whenever you both have to wait for Jungkook to appear for his swim events.

It’s when you get to talk to him about your love for cartography, and it’s when he can drink you in, the lilt of your voice, the dance of your eyes. You talk a little faster, smile a little wider when you tell him all about old maps, ancient maps planted with fake towns to catch forgers, maps made of silk and gold thread, maps as big as a house, maps worth ten million dollars.

Kim Namjoon naturally falls in love with you, but he makes himself fall in love with maps because you love them.

He learns about the geographic north and the magnetic north (all the while thinking why he’s attracted only to you). He studies about terrain and contour lines (but dreams at night about the curves of your body). He memorizes the names of the ancient map makers: Shen Kuo, Johannes Werner, Urbano Monte, Nain Singh (although the name he sighs is yours).

In short, he’s utterly smitten.

When the high school senior prom rolls around, Namjoon has only one girl in mind to ask as his date.

To ask you to the dance, he'll give you a hand-drawn map of the town. Then he’ll write the coordinates of the prom venue and tell you he wants to meet you there on the night of the school dance. He’s sure you’ll love it.

Ever the perfectionist, Namjoon takes a month to finish the drawings for the elaborate map. A Map For Y/N emblazons the top in bold, and in small, neat letters next to the prom venue, he writes, Dance with me?

He’s just about to get out his battered set of color pencils when he thinks he should go over to Jungkook’s and ask for advice. Surely, Jungkook would know how to add depth and dimension through coloring.

The back gate of Jungkook’s home is held tight by a simple latch. No lock is needed when everything of value has long been sold to feed his father’s drinking habit years ago—at least the old man is out of the picture for good now.

With practiced ease, Namjoon flips it open and hops in quietly. Expecting to cross the backyard easily, he stops short when he sees you and Jungkook lying flat on the grass together staring up at the big night sky, heads comfortably propped next to each other.

Intuition tells him to get the fuck out of here. He’s about to turn when you spy his tall, strapping form in the corner of the yard.

“Namjoon?” You sit up, squinting in the darkness. “Is that you?”

Namjoon swallows hard. “Uh, yeah.” It’s too late to run now. Quickly he stuffs his hand-drawn map into his satchel.

“Hey hyung! Come join us! I was just showing Y/N the Ophiuchus constellation. We’re going to the observatory in the next town over on the night of the prom. Figured I keep Y/N out of the way in case she pulls a prank on your special night…” Jungkook is too excited to notice the disappointment which flits across Namjoon’s face for a split second.

“Namjoon, apparently they have these ancient maps of the constellations too. JK and I will go check it out and I’ll tell you if it’s worth it. But yeah, you better promise us to give us all the details the next day. And we mean aaaaallllll the details. Because—” you give Jungkook a look and he gets it right away.

“—Bibimbaps Forever!” you chorus with him, before bursting into a fit of laughter together.

Namjoon doesn’t miss the adoring look Jungkook gives to you. It’s something deeper, something new.

“Bibimbaps Forever,” he replies, heartbroken, because he now sees the same in your eyes when you look at Jungkook.

It’s time for him to move on.

***********************

The memorial service is taking a long time.

He knew too many people, was too good to all of them. Everyone wanted to pay their final respects.

You’re standing, nodding stoically to all these other people who still have their husbands, their sons, their fathers and brothers. It’s getting tiring.

After a while, Namjoon notices you're looking wan. “Do you want to go home?”

You don’t need to say a thing. Years as the Bibimbaps Forever has attuned him to you. It’s a frequency the three of you can tune into with your own code words and hand signals, a shorthand of sorts to convey feelings with just a glance.

After a short word to Jungkook’s family and his own mom, he guides you into his car.

The ride is completely silent. Words are exhausting when tears are all you breathe.

The road back to the house your parents have left you while they retire in warmer climes is easy and familiar. Namjoon sees you safely to your door, and is just about to turn to leave when you stop him. The looming darkness of dusk is suddenly terrifying to you. “Joon?”

He gets it. He would rather be alone in his own grief, but he knows you well enough. He reads books, tons of them, but he has read you the most. “Sure. I’ll stay.”

And so he settles in on the couch while you head to your room; him surrounded by photos of you and Jungkook, you surrounded by the big, empty bed.

***********************

The usual suspects are there: rice, spinach, carrots, a bit of beef, and the obligatory egg. But there’s a palpable sadness as the Bibimbaps Forever congregate one last time in your home. It's the night before Namjoon leaves for the military. As the three of you laugh a little too forcefully, you know that the Namjoon who returns will be a very different one.

No one was surprised by his decision to enlist.

The Namjoon you know has always been attracted to living for something bigger than himself and there’s nothing bigger than serving his country. Duty and Honor beat in his very cells.

The truth, which you did not know, is a little more complicated. Yes, there’s Duty and Honor, but there’s also the one thing he kept from the Bibimbaps Forever: he needs to get out of town so that Jungkook and you can build a relationship without feeling guilty for not including him.

It’s been difficult for Namjoon to witness the way the younger man looks at you like you’re his whole world, harder still to see the way you lean into him like he’s all of your strength. Every damned time, he has forced himself to smile, forced himself to remember he’s truly happy for you both.

Jungkook had approached him after your visit to the observatory together, asked him if it was weird if you two started dating. “Course not. You guys are made for each other.” The words rolled off his tongue easily because Namjoon would rather die than come between his two best friends who love each other.

When yet another loving glance is exchanged between you and Jungkook over the dining table, Namjoon ruminates a little selfishly how this is one thing he will not miss when he’s finally in the military.

“We have something for you,” you say, after Jungkook gives you a little nod.

Namjoon’s chopsticks still dramatically in mid-air. “You guys getting sappy on me?”

Taking out a folder, you bring out a map and unfurl it on the dining table. Namjoon instantly recognizes your handwriting and Jungkook’s sure pencil strokes.

The hand-drawn map is filled with the most detailed illustrations of your town, filled with little stick figure comics on street corners of important moments shared among the Bibimbaps Forever.

There’s the tree where you first dangled upside down from a branch.

Near the bottom left, the burial place of Nana the Mosquito which tormented every human being in your living room for 17 days. (Jungkook finally put everyone out of their misery by shooting Nana with a rubberband in one flick.)

In the north corner by the junior high school was where you fretted about your French grammar test and Namjoon told you a joke to distract you (Past, Present, and Future walked into a room. It was tense.) while Jungkook gave you a piece of his prized purple bubblegum to calm you (he never shares his purple gum otherwise).

So many memories made together.

Namjoon swallows hard. This map is so much better, so much richer than the one he secretly drew for you.

“A map to show you the way home to us,” you say shyly, pointing to your home on the map illustrated with a Bibimbaps Forever flag flying proudly on the roof.

“Yeah, in case you forget,” teases Jungkook.

How could he ever forget?

“Promise me you’ll come back to visit,” you say more solemnly now, suddenly afraid that you might never see Namjoon again.

He searches your eyes and sees how serious you are. He wishes he could squeeze your hand to reassure you. But you’re Jungkook’s girl now. It’s not proper. Instead, he adopts the easy, breezy tone which has served him well to hide his feelings from you and Jungkook. “‘Course I’ll come back to visit. Come on, let’s finish this bibimbap. Who wants the egg yolk?”

***********************

Years of sleeping on concrete and on dirt, in desert and jungle has conditioned Namjoon to sleep anywhere. Your couch is a luxury compared to the places he’s been.

He should be exhausted from the day’s events too, but the soft sounds of your slippered feet padding enroute to the kitchen stirs him immediately. Instinctively, he reaches for his M4-A1 rifle, grabbing air, until he finally remembers he’s on leave now. Safe in your home, he drops his guard.

You probably just need some water, he thinks. He tries to settle back to sleep but he finds himself listening to you move quietly in the kitchen—first the clink of the mug, then the low hiss of steam from the kettle, and the lilt of the teaspoon when you stir your two sugars in. But there’s another sound. Soft sniffles.

You’re hurting.

His words to his mother brings him to his feet, and his promise to Jungkook brings him down the dark hallway and into the kitchen. It’s love, though, which brings him to you. In the dim light, the outline of your shoulders shaking with grief are unmistakable.

Wordlessly, Namjoon takes the chair beside you, careful not to take the one across from you that’s always been Jungkook’s, an empty mug marking his spot. Next to you, he observes the quiet plops of your tears into the cup of blissfully ignorant tea.

You try to explain that you had trouble sleeping so you came to make tea; how sheer habit led you to grab two mugs, one for you and one for Jungkook. You try and try to explain how seeing the empty bed, the empty mug, the empty chair was suddenly too much.

But with Namjoon, there’s always been no need to dwell on explanations. Your face crumples as you turn to reach for him, needing someone to hold you. “He’s never going to come back, is he? He’s never going to come back… never... never...”

In the safety of his arms, you finally allow the grief to pour out after holding it in for so long.

Namjoon steels himself not to feel. Not your soft, warm body clinging to his; nor the jasmine scent of your shampoo filling his senses. Not the way his heart breaks at the loss of his best friend and the loss of your lover.

The one thing he allows himself to feel is your engagement ring from Jungkook, digging quietly into his skin.

No crying now. He has to be strong for you.

He promised.

***********************

You were right.

Namjoon is hardly recognizable when he returns for his first home leave from the military. His face is leaner, but everywhere else is more muscled. It’s his demeanour, though, which has changed the most. There’s a calm presence about him and a dignity in his bearing. His speech is quieter, more deliberate, more authoritative.

Jungkook is most affected by this. Suddenly his hyung is now a man and he wants the same for himself. Over bowls of bibimbap in your kitchen, he peppers Namjoon with tons of questions.

“So what will you specialize in after Officers School? Sniper school? Hospital Corps? Intel, I bet!”

“Probably comms and surveillance. Dealing with boring stuff like radios and satellites. Maps, even.” Namjoon shoots you a smile when he says this.

You blush, a little shy, flustered by this new, manly Namjoon. You find it easier to busy yourself with getting the food ready. The first Bibimbaps Forever meal after a nine-month hiatus should be memorable.

Around the familiar oak table, the conversation flutters from what Hell Week in the military was like, to the classes you’re taking in college, to Jungkook’s interest in volunteering as a vocal coach in an inner-city children’s choir. All too soon, Namjoon has to leave.

“Gotta go home for a second dinner. Mom’s cooking and she expects me to eat everything.”

“Is this another of her match-making dinners?” you ask.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says, swinging his giant military-issue duffel bag over his shoulder. “Wish I didn’t have to go, though. Miss you guys.”

“If it works out, she’s a lucky girl!” you call out to him as he heads across the yard.

Namjoon turns around and tips his hat at you, shoots you a dimpled grin, before going his way into the evening dusk.

“I’m the lucky one,” Jungkook murmurs as he pulls you into him. “I got you, baby.”

“I’m the lucky one too,” you whisper as you tilt your head up for a kiss.

Leaning against each other, you both watch Namjoon’s disappearing silhouette. Even the way he walks has changed. There’s purpose and pride.

Jungkook looks wistful.

You’ve not seen him quite like this before. “Now don’t you join the military too. What’s going to happen to me if you go? What if—” you chide, jabbing him lightly in the ribs.

“Shh. No what-ifs. Nothing will happen, babe. We’re the lucky ones.” He’s tickling you now, all seriousness gone, because he’s just so happy you’ve found him and he’s found you in this great, big world.

Tomorrow, he tells himself, tomorrow he will talk to a recruiter for the military.

Not today.

***********************

The throwing up starts the day after the memorial.

Namjoon is sleeping on the couch when the sound of retching wakes him up. Concerned, he hurries to the door of your bedroom and knocks.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You can barely pause for a breath to answer him as wave after wave of nausea hits you. Namjoon, forced to make judgement calls large and small in his military career, barges in without hesitation when you retch again.

Pale and shaking, you’re kneeling over the toilet, exhausted by the spasms ricocheting through your worn body. There’s nothing much, just some bitter, bitter bile, but it feels like your entire stomach wants to empty its contents.

Kneeling next to your trembling form, he gently gathers your hair and holds it at the nape of your neck, waiting patiently while you try to get the nausea out of your system.

The bitter saliva trails down the corner of your mouth to your chin. You wish he didn’t have to see you like this, but you remind yourself that this is your Bibimbaps Forever Joon. He’d seen you when you threw up in the school bus in sixth grade. He’s the same Joon who gave you his sweater when your period came early to tie around your waist to hide the stain on your light jeans. There’s not much you need to conceal from him.

“All puked out?” he asks after a while.

You try to stand quickly to show him that you’re absolutely fine but the sudden movement after kneeling for so long and the lack of blood sugar in the morning causes you to sway unsteadily on your feet.

“Whoa. I got you. Easy there, lean on me.” Namjoon catches you immediately and carries you to your bed. With one arm under your knees and one arm behind your back to draw you into him, he can’t speak; all effort is focused on reining his eyes from straying to the open v of your thin nightgown

He lays you down on your bed gently. Making sure the pillows are fluffed around you, he brings up the duvet to tuck you in. When he comes back with a glass of water, he waits till you’ve taken a few sips before he asks carefully, “Should I call the doctor? Or do you know if…”

He’s quiet, doesn’t want to ask more than what you’re comfortable with.

“I think I might be,” you whisper, afraid to meet his eyes. “It was before he shipped out with the team. Before—” The tears are overwhelming you now. How will this baby grow up without a father?

“Shhh…” Namjoon sits by the side of the bed. Facing you, he holds you as fear and grief overwhelm you again. “It’s going to be alright. I got you. I got you,” he murmurs. “Whatever you decide. I’ll go with you.” Over and over, like a mantra, he repeats it to you, willing his words to fortify your bones, to strengthen the little life within you. “I’m right here.”

You can’t answer him. All you can do is to hold him tighter as your tears wet his shoulder, then his sleeves.

Namjoon thinks of how his field uniform was stained with Jungkook’s blood all over him; but now, your tears are soaking through his shirt. He knows he was never worthy of the former, and will never be worthy of the latter.

But still, he holds you—because he is a man of his word.

***********************

Team 613 has always been the most elite unit in the republic’s military. Trained at the highest levels in all manner of close-quarter combat, reconnaissance, hostage rescue, intelligence and cryptology, the men of 613 are always acknowledged with reverence and awe in the hallways of government.

Namjoon knows better. He knows his men are made of flesh and blood; flesh that can tear, and blood that can spill. The only difference between the men of 613 and all other units is perhaps their willingness to stay loyal to flag and country at all cost. He’s thankful he has never lost a man in his unit and intends to keep it that way.

The selection process has come around again. The six geographical commanders are choosing men from a pool of approved candidates who will be awarded the 613 colors to join each of their unit commands. The scene, very much like a round of playground captains picking teams for a game of dodgeball, is rather comical if one is able to forget that joining the wrong unit at the wrong time could mean death on a failed mission.

For Namjoon, there’s only one name he’s most interested in and his eyes and ears are on alert. As the most junior commander (Special Ops, Indo-Pacific) in the history of 613, he knows he has to defer to the more senior ranked officers. But he’s hoping that he can poach sniper specialist Petty Officer First Class Jeon Jungkook to come under his wing.

Your desperate words to him in the latest Bibimbaps Forever dinner still ring fresh in his mind. When Jungkook had gone to the basement freezer for more ice, you told Namjoon the very words which would upset your boyfriend if he heard them.

JK has his mind set on 613. Joon, promise me you’ll try to get him into your unit. There’s no one else I trust with him. Promise me?

I promise.

After a slew of protracted negotiations, Commander Kim Namjoon gives up his top two picks for advanced demolitions, trades one specialist in advanced ammunitions and the top guy from close-quarters combat—all for just one member of the Bibimbaps Forever.

With a smile of satisfaction, his heart swells with quiet pride that he has kept his promise to you.

***********************

You’re grateful for Namjoon’s presence at the doctor’s office. Everywhere in the waiting room, couples are seated quietly, some cuddled together, four hands clasped over a belly like those photos in a baby magazine.

You and Namjoon, however, are not a couple.

And so you sit awkwardly next to each other. You’re scrolling mindlessly through your phone while Namjoon brings a stack of books from the display shelf to browse in his seat. Curiously, you spy the titles on his lap. The Art of Water-birthing. Hypnobirthing at its Best. The Orgasmic Birth: No Pain, All Pleasure. What the hell?

“Joon. Why are you reading these? Don’t you have your own magazines or books? Like on rifles or tanks or parachute jumping? You shouldn’t be reading these!”

Namjoon is glad to see you mad. You look cute and it brings a little color to your cheeks. The last two weeks have been spent at home as you retched morning, noon, and night. Even plain water became your enemy. For a few days, you could only subsist on sparkling water (with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice) and some plain crackers.

Just for the hell of it, he decides to push this further.

“Why not? It’s good to be prepared. Listen to this… ‘The orgasmic birth is a way of looking at birth as an extended part of the euphoria of lovemaking, the premise being, during active labor, increased blood flow to the clitoris can heighten feelings of intense pleasure and mimic an orgasm during sexual intercourse. Anecdotal evidence—’”

“Kim. Nam. Joon. Shut the fuck up. Don’t… don’t say those words. There are babies in this place. Innocent little ears!” you hiss angrily.

“Which words? The O-word like orgaaasm, or the L word like lovemaaaking? Or do you mean the c-word? Cli-to-ris?” He is teasing now. He can’t help it. “Don’t you think babies know how they’re fucked into the world?”

“Shh! Do. Not. Use. The. F-word. It can hear you!” you insist, pointing to your belly. You know you are surely above whispering level now, but goddamn it, you’re keeping this baby’s ears untainted as much as possible before it comes into the world. And if that means using an outside voice inside, so be it.

“What f-word? Oh you mean fuuck? You said it before I did!” Namjoon feigns indignation.

“Why you little piece of shit! You—”

“You said shit. You said shit!” The motherfucker is straight up laughing at your mental anguish, and you—oh no—you can’t help but start to giggle too. Soon enough, the quiet giggles turn into something of truly epic proportions until both of you are shaking uncontrollably with laughter, gasping for large gulps of air between bouts of more laughing.

“Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N?” a nurse calls out. “The doctor will see you now.”

“Oh, uh, we’re not…” he begins.

“He’s not my…” you say at the same time.

But the busy nurse is already ushering you into the doctor’s office, leaving you with no choice except to keep quiet.

In this little room, only Namjoon, the doctor, and you are present. You do not know this, but you’re not the only one who stops breathing with anticipation when the cold jelly is plopped on your belly for the ultrasound probe.

This huge, ten-thousand dollar medical machine which can see your womb, but not the hole in your heart, hear the flutter of an infant heartbeat but not your crying at midnight—this modern miracle of ultrasound broadcasts the sure and steady heartbeat of Jeon Jungkook’s child, heard in the world for the very first time.

It sounds strangely to your ears like… like an echo of: Bibimbaps Forever. Bibimbaps Forever. Bibimbaps Forever.

Instinctively, you reach out for Namjoon’s hand to hold, eager to share your quiet wonder of this little miracle of life.

His grip is strong and sure, and immensely comforting.

***********************

Home leave with Jungkook is a luxury. He takes time to savour your body, to worship each curve, each dip, each slant and slope of your skin.

“You’re so beautiful for me,” he breathes each word into your skin as he tracks his tongue down your sternum, stopping to lave at one nipple and then the other. As your nipple peaks and tightens in his mouth, you moan desperately for more, clutching at his hair to anchor your hands on something, anything really, as he eases a finger inside you. “Goddamn, you’re so wet.”

“Jungkook,” you gasp, “Jungkook, that feels so good baby.” He’s doing the usual thing now, where he curls his finger inside and rubs gently. He loves how only he can make you sound like that. Loves how your walls flutter tight against his one finger, then two, coating them with the slick of your arousal.

“Come on. Come for me, Mrs. Jeon.”

You blush. It seems like a dream, but the ring on your finger he put on just a few hours ago doesn’t lie. He had proposed at the college observatory which you’ve visited together many times after that first night during Namjoon’s prom night. Stars that look so small, so faint, so far away are brought close, brought near, brought real to you through the lens of the telescope.

And at the very same spot, Jungkook brought a far-away girlish childhood dream of yours to be his and only his—brought it to you tonight, made it big, made it real with his ring and his promise. Amidst all the beautiful stars in the night sky, he called you his lucky star, the only one in his sky.

“Oh god. So close.” You’re gasping for breath now as he keeps up his rhythm, tongue and fingers working expertly together, with unerring accuracy. “Come inside me, Kook. Don’t wanna come on your fingers.”

“What Mrs. Jeon wants, Mrs. Jeon gets. Lemme grab a condom real quick.” Jungkook loves to see you come with him, your tight walls squeezing around his cock, your moans filling his ears begging more, pleading please, panting that’s it baby over and over while your hands press urgently on his ass to go deeper, fuck you harder. He’ll never tire of that.

“Kook, no. Come inside me. Please baby. Please.” There’s something different in your voice tonight, a desperation in your voice that’s not been there before.

He forces himself to still.

“What’s going on? Why’s my girl crying?” He’s concerned as he sees the glint of a watery reflection in your eyes. You look away from him at first, embarrassed that you’re getting so emotional.

“N-nothing.” It’s everything. “Just wanna be yours.” You have a fiancé now. He’s calling you his and you want to be, utterly, completely his.

“I wanna be yours too,” he says, pressing his lips on the little teardrops streaking your cheeks. “You sure?” Jungkook’s cock aches to fuck into you. Every time he’s deployed for a mission, he could be gone for weeks, and when he comes home, he just wants you, in every way, in every place. Stopping halfway now for conversation when he’s positively leaking with arousal is not part of the plan, but this is new from you. “What if—”

“Shh. No what-ifs. Just come. Inside me,” you implore him as you reach for his throbbing flesh, and then guide him into you.

The moment your fingers wrap around his cock is the moment Jungkook can no longer say no to you. The tight way you squeeze him, the way he feels so vulnerable, yet so strong with you, in your hands like that, god, he almost comes too soon.

With your soft limbs around his muscled thighs; skin on skin; flesh into flesh, breath for breath, you move with him as he thrusts deep into you, the curve of his cock so familiar to you by now, yet strangely new and exciting without any barrier between you both. A soft sigh escapes from you. “Want you so bad, Kook.”

“Me too, baby. Want you too.” He’s groaning from the sheer hardness of his cock surrounded by your hot, wet depths. It feels too good to know that he can cum right inside you like this. Might even fuck a baby into you. “Hold my hand. Hold tight.”

Blindly, you grope for his fingers, curling yours into his. Jungkook sees the diamond he picked out for you with Namjoon’s help, shining brightly and proudly on your ring finger. He grasps that hand a little more tightly, so happy that he’s got you. “Gonna cum,” he pants, “gonna cum so fucking hard.”

You twine your feet a little tighter behind his back to urge him deeper. “Kook.”

It’s all he needs for his hips to stutter wildly into you and you know he’s cumming right this moment. Clinging desperately to him, you press your body up into his, wishing you could melt into each other.

He comes with a guttural cry, releasing hot, thick cum into you, chest heaving from the intensity of his orgasm. He groans with pleasure, but never forgets you. Still buried inside you, his fingers rub your clit, just the way you like it. He can’t help staring at you as your mouth gapes at the building tension coiling in your body.

“Don’t stop,” you moan. “C-close.” With patience and perseverance, Jungkook works his fingers until you cum around him, shaking and trembling, your own arousal slicking his cock, dripping out from where you’re joined together and down his balls.

Shit. He’s getting hard again.

“Can you take me again, baby?”

“Yeah,” you nod, hands clasping the side of his face now, mapping out his eyebrows, those cheekbones, the soft curve of his ears, tracing his lips that kiss you everywhere so well. You hope your fingers remember everything because he’s going to ship out again tomorrow. “Want you again, too.”

Jeon Jungkook’s heart sings at your words.

I’m the luckiest man in the world, he thinks.

***********************

The nondescript package arrives without warning or fanfare. Puzzled, you open it to find a note from Mrs. Jeon. She tells you she’s not well and is moving to where she can receive round-the-clock care for her ailing health. Attached is a letter with your name among Jungkook’s personal effects sent to her by the military.

Scrawled in a weak, spidery script, the note causes fresh tears to spring to your eyes. This should have been given to you. I’m sorry for holding on to it so selfishly. I would have loved you as my daughter-in-law. Take care.

Unwrapping the package, you suck in a deep breath when you see she has sent you the flag of the republic still in its triangular fold.

You clutch it to your chest, breathing in the fabric, wondering if it smells like Jungkook. It doesn’t. It smells like new clothes from the store that haven’t been washed. It smells like sacrifice.

You hug it once more, bringing it close to your belly. Can the baby feel this? The beat of daddy’s heart for his country?

With trembling hands, you take out the letter from Jungkook.

Baby,

If you get this, then it means I didn’t make it back. I’m so sorry.

I’ve always wanted you ever since we were kids. Wanted to marry you, share life with you, build a family, make babies with you. I guess some lucky bastard will do that now instead of me.

Move on, my love. You were the lucky star in my sky. Let me be yours now.

Watching over you with love,

Jungkook

P.S. Take care of hyung for me. He’s probably taking this worse than you are. You’ve always been the strongest among the three of us.

Bibimbaps Forever.

Little teardrops fall from your face, smudging the ink on the letter. You let yourself cry, and then you wipe the tears away. Jungkook’s right, Namjoon is taking this worse than you. Every time you mention Jungkook’s name to him, there’s only anguish and guilt in his eyes.

It’s time to make sure he’s okay.

***********************

The briefing Commander Kim Namjoon received from his higher-ups was like none he had ever attended. The more he listened, the more he was uncomfortable with the whole thing. Too many factors were out of his control and he has never liked to relinquish control to weather or to warlords—both, in this case. The night parachute jump is bad enough, but the terrain will be mountainous and his background in special ops comms tells him that those Iridium satellite phones might not work.

Team 613 (Special Ops, Indo-Pacific) is supposed to get in, get the bad guy, get out. The problem is that the satellite photos are grainy, the maps might be a little unreliable, and there isn’t confirmed intel on exactly how many militiamen are in the area, no info about whether they’re armed with the dangerous shit like rocket-propelled grenades.

Sounds fucked up as hell.

“With all due respect sirs, this mission seems to have highly unpredictable variables. We need more time to see through the details before I put my men’s lives on the line.” Namjoon keeps his tone low and respectful even though all he wants to do is yell at his superiors for coming up with this shit.

“Commander Kim. This is the best we can get. We have intel that if we don’t strike now, this man will strike our country in a way that we have not seen before.” The two older men then launch into the invincibility of 613, how this unit has always been the most dependable, the most decorated, the most desired in the republic’s hour of need throughout history. In short, there is no one else who can try this.

“I see,” says Namjoon. “So this is an order?” His eyes implore his superiors to consider his men. Their wives, their kids. Their mothers and fathers.

Rear Admiral Choi and General Lee look him in the eye. “It always is. And always will be, soldier.”

Namjoon nods like he’s expected to do, salutes like he’s been trained to do, says the Yes sir like he’s been told to do.

The military is a demanding spouse. It commands all of him, consumes him. But year after year, he signs on the dotted line because he can serve no other mistress, nor any other master.

Kim Namjoon is hard pressed to serve even himself.

He has promises to keep though, and he hopes to god to keep Jungkook out of it. That boy just bought an engagement ring worth four months of salary for fuck’s sake.

He calls his next-in-line and gives him his picks for the mission. “Get me Lee and Eun on Combat, Park on Entry. Demolitions, I want Kang and Yoon on it. Prepare the intel file for me. I’ll lead this personally.”

“And sniper, sir?”

“Get me the Cho boy.”

“Not Jeon, sir?”

“No. Keep Jeon as back-up only.”

His second-in-command looks confused. But he takes the order just like he's expected to.

Truth be told, Kim Namjoon doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

All he knows he has too many fucking promises to keep.

***********************

He’s downstairs, putting groceries away in your pantry, insisting a pregnant lady should not be carrying anything heavy. You watch him as he fills your cupboards with prenatal vitamins, sparkling water, and three different kinds of crackers: one fortified with calcium, another made with wholegrain (which you’re sure you’re gonna hate), and the last made of some organic voodoo shit.

He takes such good care of you.

“Why are you here, Joon?” you ask, popping a blueberry (organic, which he washed) into your mouth.

“Well someone has to put away the groceries, and I’m not going to let it be you,” he smiles at you while he says this.

“I mean, why are you here, hanging out with a pregnant woman, a soon-to-be single-mom?” you ask quietly.

“I have no one else to hang out with.”

“That’s bull. You’re telling me out of all the women your mom has tried to match you with, there’s not even a single one?”

“Nope.”

“I’m surprised your mother still has to arrange these dinners for you. You’re smart, the youngest commander in the republic’s history. You’re always kind, always taking care of people—” you pause, “—always taking care of me.”

Your eyes meet when you say this, and suddenly your heart is thudding with an ache at how truly good and kind and honorable he is.

Quickly, you change your tone. “And you’re good-looking! They should be lining up by the dozens! Why, one day, I might even—”

“Y/N.” He’s solemn and serious when he calls you like that. “Not everyone can understand the life of a military man.”

It’s true. The long deployments. The worrying. The wondering. You’ve tasted the bitter pill, yet you know this military life is who Jungkook is. Was—who Jungkook was—you remind yourself. It’s the same with Namjoon. You can’t imagine any other career for him.

“One day, Joon,” you say softly, “you’ll find someone, someone who can understand this is just part of who you are. She’s out there—”

She’s right here.

“—and she’ll know you’re the one for her—”

You’re the one for me.

“—and—”

Nothing is going to change that.

“—nothing is going to change that,” you finish with a wistful smile. “Joon--”

He turns to you, his gaze flitting too quickly from yours, unable to meet your eyes fully, like he’s embarrassed.

“--I don’t know what JK told you out there, but I’m okay. I have savings. I have this house my parents left me. I have my freelance job. I can take care of myself and the baby. And I will. You don’t have to do all this,” you say, pointing to the neat rows of groceries.

“I know. But maybe it’s just something I want to do for you—” Namjoon cannot believe he said this. So he quickly adds, “—as Bibimbaps Forever,” he says, turning away to start checking that all the windows and doors downstairs are locked.

“Joon. It wasn’t your fault. You know that right?” you say, following him around.

He stills for a moment. And you see him flinch in the slightest.

Before you could stop yourself, you reach up to cup his cheeks so he can meet your gaze. You want him to hear it again. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut at your words and holds back at the choking sensation which threatens to overwhelm him. There’s so much he wants to tell you. So much that he just can’t. Not yet.

“I’m late for another dinner mom set up. I better go.”

You want to hug him, tell him it’s okay to cry, but you know Namjoon. When he’s not ready, he’s not ready. As you watch his tall, sinewy frame disappear from the doorway, you hope the girl he meets tonight at dinner will know how lucky she is.

***********************

“One hour late. One hour late! How have I raised you to be One. Hour. Late.” Namjoon’s mother is so embarrassed. She wishes she could twist Namjoon’s ears mid-reprimand like she did when he was younger. But he’s too tall now, and she’s too… Well, she’s too tired of all his antics at these dinners. The lateness. The perfunctory politeness. The boy doesn’t even give those girls a smile. What on god’s earth are those dimples for when he doesn’t put them to good use at these dinners?

“Just tell me where you were, that you’re one hour late for dinner with our special guest? Studying your handbooks? Cycling? Going to museums?” She draws out that last word like a dirty word. It’s not that she hates these beloved hobbies of his. It’s just that if he pulls another one like this, no other parent would allow their daughters to her home for these dinners anymore. And then how? Just how is she going to hold a grandchild in her arms? The boy is practically married to the military.

Namjoon sighs. “It’s Y/N. I was making sure she’s okay.”

Mrs. Kim quiets immediately. She had told Namjoon to take care of you.

“How is she?” she murmurs.

“She’s pregnant, Ma.”

It shocks her into silence. Poor girl, she thinks. “I’m glad you’re taking care of her,” she says softly. Truly, her son has always had a soft spot for you. He’s doing the right thing by the Jeon boy. Tomorrow, she’ll make sure to send a soup to you for the morning sickness.

Shaking herself back to reality, she urges him into the dining area. “Go on, then. This Younha has been politely waiting at the table for an hour. Beautiful manners, I tell you. And her patience… like a saint’s!” And with a slap on his back, she sends him stumbling into the formal dining room, all the while praying to the gods of her ancestors that she will hold a grandchild next year, this time.

“Um, hi. I’m so sorry. I was held up.” Namjoon barely glances at her, but when he meets her eyes, he realizes she’s breathtakingly beautiful.

“That’s okay. I was prepared. You kind of have a reputation,” she says, as a knowing smirk flirts across her face.

“What reputation?” he asks, a little worried. Namjoon has always tried to maintain a spotless name for himself. After all, he has a military career.

“Oh nothing,” she says airily. “It’s just that there were rumors.”

“Rumors?” He’s truly worried now. What the hell?

“Rumors that you’re spoken for. I can see it too, you know. The moment you walked in,” she continues mischievously. “Your eyes. Complete disinterest. There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Guilty as charged. Called out, Namjoon looks sheepish. “Yes. There is,” he admits quietly.

Younha gets her bag and starts to leave. “Knew it. No hard feelings. But at least tell your mom, okay? Or you’re just wasting our time.” Wait till the girls hear this.

“I’m so sorr—”

She waves off his apology. Truth to be told, she came to see if the Kim Namjoon was really as tall, as dark, as handsome, and as untouchable as all the previous girls have said. They’re right, after all.

“No worries. For what it’s worth, she’s a lucky one.”

Before Kim Namjoon could see her out the door properly, Younha-with-the-patience-of-a-saint has slipped out the door and into her car.

Namjoon is left standing alone in the empty dining room wondering who the hell is the lucky one.

It’s certainly not him, and not you.

And it’s definitely not Jungkook.

***********************

The Cho boy, who’s not a bad shot himself (50 confirmed kills over two tours of duty), slipped on the wet bathroom tile at home and fractured his tailbone.

Jeon Jungkook was called up immediately by Namjoon’s second-in command, and makes it for the briefing just in time. Namjoon, surprised to see him enter the briefing room, stops for a split second before starting his briefing as planned.

After he presents the plan for the mission, the men look uneasy. “Chief... it looks like everything could turn to shit real quick,” says Park.

“That’s why we gotta keep tabs on each other. Remember, communicate! I’ll be the spotter for the sniper. If I go down, Lee, you take my place. Let’s make sure we bring Jeon where he needs to be so he can take the shot. Quick Reaction Force will lift us out of the village once he makes the kill. But this is the hour guys. Write your letters.”

Of course, as 613, they always have their letters ready. But the boys know it’s rare that their chief says this.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Jeon?”

“What if I go down? Cho’s out. Who’s taking my place?”

The room is suddenly silent. This is jinx talk. Legendary snipers don’t speak of that.

Namjoon looks at childhood friend. His brother. The lover of the love of his life. He then scans the rest of the room. He knows each of their marksmanship scores by heart. None of theirs comes even close to Jungkook’s.

“You can’t go down Jeon. I’ll make sure of it. None of us are cleared to take that shot. Rules of Engagement say we cannot take unnecessary risks with civilian life.”

Jungkook nods. “But what if—”

“If you go down, we’re back to close combat. We know where he's hiding. So secure each floor, room by room, till we get the bad guy.” Namjoon hopes he’s saying this with neutral professionalism. God knows, this scenario will happen only over his dead body. The intel on the exact building where the target is hiding isn’t the most reliable.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Park?”

“You didn’t give us the name of this Operation. What are they calling this shitshow?”

Namjoon scans every face in the room. These are his brothers. They will die for him and he for them. “This,” he takes a deep breath, “is Operation Icarus.”

“Goddamn!” Master Chief Petty Officer Park slams his fist in his thigh in frustration.

“Park!” Namjoon barks. “Is there some fresh insight you want to share about the Operation?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. If we stay low, we should be fine. Get your gear.” With a weary sigh, he ends the meeting. “We leave at 2200 hours.”

Jungkook is the last to leave the meeting room. He goes up to Namjoon and slaps him on the back.

“She loved it! She fucking loved Ring Number Two. Just like you said she would!”

Namjoon smiles weakly. “How did the whole proposal go?”

“She loved everything. I’m just happy we found each other, you know?” Jungkook looks starry-eyed now and Namjoon cannot help but be truly happy for his brother and his friend.

“Well. Make sure you get back, JK.”

“You’ve got my back. Nothing’s gonna happen. Bibimbaps Forever.”

“Shit, how many times have I told you not to mention that here. The guys will lose all respect for me if they hear about the name.”

“Bi-bim-baaaaaaaps foreeeeeeveeeer!” Jungkook sings in his falsetto as he sails out the room, confident that nothing bad is going to happen because he has you now as his soon-to-be-wife. And he has Joon on this mission. Maybe even a baby waiting for him when he gets back!

How lucky can a guy get?

***********************

You’re feeling better week by week under Namjoon’s watchful eye. He makes sure you’re eating and sleeping well, careful to bring over bland, but nutritious food from his mom to you. Jungkook’s mom has also heard about your pregnancy, but she’s too weak in her current health to come to see you.

As the nausea subsides slowly, you begin taking on commissions again, sourcing hard-to-find antique maps for wealthy clients. You even feel well enough one weekend to ask Namjoon to go to an estate sale with you to hunt for old maps in the lot of vintage junk.

The trip to the Yang estate is a full eight-hour drive. But it promises to yield a treasure trove of goodies. The elderly Mr. Yang was an eclectic antiques collector and you can feel it in your bones that he has a rare copy of the Kangnido, a world map created in Korea, possibly as old as six hundred years.

Namjoon decides on renting an overnight cottage near the sprawling Yang estate in the rural countryside. He doesn’t want to tire you out in your pregnancy, and such a long drive back-to-back would be decidedly uncomfortable for you.

Halfway along the drive, Namjoon stops the car for a stretch break at a little countryside park.

You walk around the park, marveling at the glowing colors of early spring. He points out names of trees to you, little bugs and critters, and you laugh. It feels good to be outside and see this part of Namjoon you miss so much from your childhood days. He’ll make such a good father. You’re just about to head back to the car when suddenly your hands fly to your belly.

“Hang on. Oh my god—” Furrowing your eyebrows in concentration, you try to concentrate on that feeling again, not sure if you imagined it the first time. It was like a little flutter of butterfly wings in your belly.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon is tense, ready to take you to the hospital right now.

Shushing him, you grab his hand and place it on your belly. “Feel that?”

Namjoon shakes his head. You move his hand around your little bump, wanting him to share your delight in the baby moving. “Wait, here. Did you feel it?”

He cannot lie to you. “No?”

“It’s there! Right there!” You press his hand harder into your belly.

Namjoon closes his eyes, partly to focus, but also, partly because he wants to remember this: his hand low on your belly, your hand clasped on top of his, the sun warm on his back.

And he feels it. It feels like the lightest of touches from inside you, a brush of fingertip to fingertip between the veil of your skin connecting the two worlds of the living. “Wow.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

He can't answer, can’t even look you in the eye. JK should be here. Not me.

You know what he’s thinking. “I miss him too. But you’re here, Joon. You’re alive. It wasn’t your fault. You know what a bullet in the femoral artery means.” You give his hand a long squeeze before letting it go.

Namjoon can only look down as your hand leaves his.

Walking in silence, you let him grapple with his thoughts. Grief counselling has helped you to realize that Namjoon has yet to mourn properly.

Instead, Kim Namjoon pushes down the words that long to come out. Instead, he forces himself to say words that don't need too much feelings. “Come on, let’s go to the rental place. We don’t have much time left.”

Turning into the driveway of the cottage, Namjoon is surprised to see how small it really is. The key he found in the lockbox by the flowerbeds opens the door into a clean but tiny living space. Cottage would be an exaggeration. The kitchenette has a singular heating pod and a small sink. The living room which was supposed to have a couch holds instead an armchair. Off to the side is the queen bed which was advertised. And the bathroom, the bathroom is just laughable. You’d have to practically sit over the toilet to shower.

“Maybe we should go to the nearest town and look for a hotel. This does not look comfortable.”

“And waste another hour driving there? I’m tired, Joon. Let’s just make do. Tomorrow, I want to be the first buyer at the Yang’s.” You send him your most pitiful look hoping to win him over. “Plus, your girl’s starving.”

Your girl? You meant it as an innocent remark. But when the words flew out of you, you pause. How can you be Namjoon’s girl when you’ve always been Jungkook’s? You shake the thought away. It’s just because Namjoon has been around an awful lot, you tell yourself. He’s always making sure you’re okay, going with you to doctors’ appointments, hauling ass to flea markets to help you carry stuff, traipsing from estate sale to estate sale with you. Surely, it’s nothing more.

“I’ll get the food then. Mom made some soup for you.” He makes no indication that he thought your words were out of the ordinary. Meticulously, Namjoon unpacks the food and lays it on the table, careful not to spill a single drop of the seaweed soup from the thermos that’s supposed to be extra nutritious.

Since you’re hungry, he urges you to eat and not wait for him while he takes his turn to shower first in the teeny, tiny bathroom. He hopes to god he doesn’t break anything in there. A quick shower later, he sits with you to eat. Here, in the cozy kitchen, there’s a peaceful glow about you that he’s wordlessly attracted to. “Still starving?” he teases.

“Nope,” you sigh contentedly. “Your mom. Her food. Amazing.”

Namjoon sees you’re getting sleepy. “I’ll clean up. Just go to bed.”

In the shower, the woodsy soothing smell of Namjoon’s shampoo lingers in the steamy air. It smells familiar and safe. But today, smelling it makes your skin tingle involuntarily. Must be the damn pregnancy hormones acting up.

Dressing quickly in a large sweatshirt and shorts, you have just slipped under the covers when you remember there’s only an armchair in the living room.

“Uh, Joon? You’re not thinking of sleeping on the armchair tonight, are you?”

“Well, yeah, it’s either that, or sleep in the car. Don’t you worry. I’ve slept in worse places before. Go to sleep.”

“Joon,” you say as matter-of-factly as possible, “just share the bed with me. You’re driving tomorrow, you need the rest.”

“You need your own space. I—I don’t want to hurt the baby accidentally if I bump into your belly.”

“You won’t. My stomach feels like a basketball, it’s really hardy and tough. Don’t you worry.”

He can’t help but smile at your little chide. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay. Promise you’ll really think about it?”

“I promise.”

And knowing Namjoon will keep his promise to think about it, you snuggle deeper into the covers and drift off to sleep, wondering when you’ll feel the baby fluttering inside you again.

Meanwhile, Namjoon is washing the food containers as softly as he can in order not to disturb you. And true to his promise, he thinks about it. He thinks. And thinks. And thinks.

It’s a bad idea. He doesn’t know what the hell his subconscious will do if he falls asleep next to you. The past few weeks find him always so hard when he gets home and crawls into his own bed after a day spent with you. It takes all his willpower not to touch himself to relieve the ache you put him in each night.

Plus, he’s a light sleeper. Any little sound you make is going to make him hyper alert. And then he won’t be able to sleep. And when he can’t sleep, he’d be tempted to reach out to hold you. He would touch you, and urge you to touch him, would kiss you, and want you to kiss him back. He would caress you everywhere in every way and beg you to do the same to him.

It’s a bad idea.

And so, Kim Namjoon folds his six-foot frame into the armchair and falls asleep.

***********************

Thirty to fifty percent of pregnant women suffer from leg cramps in their pregnancy. Tonight, you happen to be one of them. It has never happened before, and the pain that shoots through your toes, up your shin and around your calf has you gasping in pain. Moaning, you clutch at the leg, the cramping so intense that you’re crying.

“Namjoon,” you moan weakly. “Help.”

He’s awake in an instant, body bolting off the armchair to your side. “What’s wrong? Tell me where it hurts.” He’s scared. You have never sounded so wrecked with pain before. Miles away from the nearest hospital, he’s frightened that something serious is happening to you or the baby.

“Calf muscle,” you gasp. “Cramp. Hurts.”

Immediately, he pulls back the covers to see your left leg, rigid with pain. Lifting your leg, he rubs gentle circles on the tightness.

The pain is atrocious, clawing into your nerves, and your back arches off the bed. Biting your lip from crying out, you try to bear it while painful tears roll down your cheeks.

“Easy there. Breathe, love. It’s better if you breathe. It’ll help the blood flow.”

Love?

He has never called you love before. It’s always been Y/N.

Despite the sharp pain that has your calf in a vise-like grip, you shiver at the sudden slip of his tongue. It must be because he’s so tired.

Slowly, as he rubs and massages your calves, then your shin, and then your toes, the tightening ebbs and the pain subsides. You’re breathing easier.

“Better?” he asks.

You don’t want him to stop. His fingers feel so good against your skin, the touch strong and tender at the same time. “J-Joon?”

“Yeah?” His voice is all hoarse. Now that he knows there’s no imminent danger to you or the baby, he notices how your thin sleep shorts have pooled by your hip as he lifted your bare leg, exposing the length of your thigh to him.

You don’t know what you want to say, maybe you do. But it’s too soon, too forward. So you reach for a safety word. “Thanks.”

“‘Night, Y/N.”

You must have heard wrongly just now. He didn’t just call you love, did he?

***********************

The mission is going well, surprisingly. Entry into enemy territory went smoothly, and now they’re where they’re supposed to be.

The team operates with quiet clockwork efficiency. Namjoon is scanning the area, making sure there’s no chance of a surprise attack.

“Icarus 01 to Olympus. We’re in position, over.”

The silence from the comms phone is deafening. Namjoon tries it again. Still nothing. Well, there’s still time for the satellite phone to work. It might still be a couple of hours before they see the target.

Through the scope of his sniper rifle, Jungkook spots him. “Contact. Eyes on target. Two o’clock. 1200 yards.”

Namjoon immediately trains binoculars to the spot at two o’clock. The kid always gets it. It’s the target alright. Immediately he reaches for the satellite phone. “This is Icarus 01. We have visual confirm of target. Initiate Quick Reaction Force to escort us out once we make the shot.”

No answer.

Namjoon tries again. “Icarus 01 to Olympus. We have visual on target. 1200 yards. Nice, clear shot. Requesting for clearance. Initiate QRF, we need cover to get out. Over.”

The transmission back is garbled.

“Hyung, I need to take it. He’s going back inside.”

“Stand down JK. We need clearance.”

“Hyung, I’m going to take it. I can make it. I know I can.”

Namjoon hesitates.

“Remember Nana? I can make this.” Jungkook’s voice is sure and quiet. Nana—that damn mosquito which eluded them for 17 days in your living room was killed by Jungkook’s singular rubberband shot.

Namjoon gives Jungkook the go sign. He switches to radio the team. “Team Icarus. Standby. Jungkook has a clear shot. Comms to base are down. No QRF. We’ll have to fight our way out. Head to rendezvous point A for extraction. Fly low, guys. Over.”

“Roger, chief. Point A. Icarus 02 on standby Over.”

“Copy that. Heading to A. Icarus 03 standing by.”

Thank god the team radio is working.

Namjoon takes a deep breath. All hell will break loose once Jungkook makes the shot. But this is a high-value target and this is their mission. This is for their country.

“Take it, JK.”

Petty Officer (first class) Jeon Jungkook breathes slow, adjusts the rifle just right.

One shot, one kill.

He fires.

Namjoon spots the shot. The sonofabitch drops dead. “You got it, JK.” Namjoon allows himself a split second to exhale. There’s no time to crow. He raises the alarm for the team, “We got him. Icarus FLY NOW and FLY LOW. GO GO GO!”

It takes two seconds before the quiet morning in the mountain valley erupts like a hornet’s nest. Namjoon and Jungkook are heading out from their sniper’s hideout as gunfire begins to explode all around. The entire fucking village is suddenly alive.

They need to make it to the treeline on the side of the mountain. The cover of the trees would buy them some time to get the satellite phone working again to call for an exfiltration of the team. QRF needs to get the fuck here.

“JK! Run for the tree line! I got you covered!” Namjoon shouts as he crouches behind the shelter of a village well to fire his machine gun, holding off the enemy so Jungkook can make it to safety first. It is not in Kim Namjoon to leave before his men. “Go! Go!”

Jungkook’s split second hesitation costs him his leg. The bullet flies swift and sure, piercing the eight layers of skin, penetrating the sartorius muscle, pumps through his femoral vein before diving greedily into the femoral artery.

“Hyung.”

Namjoon knows that Jungkook’s hurt in a bad way before he even turns to see him.

Jungkook’s pants are drenched in red. But he’s still standing, still shooting.

Shit.

Spraying a rain of bullets to hold back the enemy, he dashes towards Jungkook who is furiously firing to give Namjoon some cover.

“Just like we practiced, okay?” Namjoon stoops down, puts an arm between Jungkook’s legs and hoists him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, keeping his one arm free to shoot. Together, they can make it out alive. They just have to. “JK! Fire at will!”

Namjoon stumbles towards the tree line while Jungkook dangles over his shoulder, firing at the bastards coming from behind. There’s no time to think about the weight around his shoulders. The burden of his promise to you weighs heavier on his heart. Determined to bring Jungkook back to you, he propels his legs agonizing step by agonizing step towards safety.

“Almost there!”

“Shit, Hyung, I’m out of ammo. Hurry.”

Namjoon spies a gap between two rocks and hurtles towards it, tumbling down into a rock cleft with Jungkook on his back.

And then… silence.

The gunfire stops.

They must be looking for us now.

“Icarus 01 to Icarus 02. We are not making it to rendezvous point A. Jeon got hit in the leg. Looks like the Femoral Artery. Proceed as planned. I’m calling MEDEVAC if I can get the fucking SAT phone to work. See you back at the base. Over and out.”

***********************

Namjoon hears the gunfire. The cling clang of emptied bullet casings as machine guns fire a torrent of ammunition. He sees Jungkook. The wound. The grenade. Explosions ringing in his ears. The coppery smell of blood everywhere. The windy beat of the rotors from the helicopters.

“JK! JK!”

The low moans wake you, and you hurry to the armchair. He’s broken in a cold sweat, trembling feverishly in the clutches of a nightmare. You know the signs. It happened to Jungkook too when he returned from a tour of duty that was just terrible.

Quickly, you hurry to wet a face towel in warm water. Tucking the towel at the back of his neck, you hope the light pressure from the heated towel will help to calm him like it did for Jungkook. It’s no use to try to wake him when this happens. You must let it run its course.

“Stay the fuck alive! JK! Y/N needs you! Come back. Come back you sonofabitch!” With his face, twisting in anguish, Namjoon continues to sob in his delirium. “I love her, love her so much, it fucking hurts. But she’s yours. I can’t take care of her like you do. You gotta make it JK. She’s waiting for you. Take my place. Take my fucking place!”

The revelation shakes you.

Namjoon loves me.

The little signs. The little signs were true after all.

You don’t know what to think except how vulnerable he looks now, curled in the armchair, crying quietly, still locked in the trauma of his mind.

You wish you could kiss him and make all the bad dreams go away. To rock in his arms and comfort the hurt away.

All you know is you want to protect this man who has spent his whole life protecting others, including you and Jungkook.

But he’s returning to the base after the drive home tomorrow.

Duty calls.

***********************

Namjoon is back at the base. On duty, he’s always professional, training with his men, planning ops, talking strategy for high-risk hostage situations. At night, he calls you, asks you about your day, asks about the baby, asks if you remembered your vitamins for the day.

You realize you look forward to these calls. Even after a day of business meetings, even after your daily evening walks, you find that you can’t sleep until you speak to Namjoon.

He doesn’t say much about his work, he can’t. But he does tell you he’s seeing the psychologist at the base. That slowly but surely, he’s learning to let go of his survivor’s guilt.

One night, his call comes late. It’s muffled, like he’s somewhere far away where the connection is terrible. “Have to make it short tonight. Just want to hear your voice one more time Y/N.”

“Joon. What’s going on? Where are you?”

“You know I can’t say. But it’s good to hear you. Don’t forget your vitamins!”

“You’re scaring me Joon. Promise me you’ll make it back. Promise m—”

There’s a long pause.

Kim Namjoon doesn’t make a promise lightly.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. But I promise I’m gonna try. So damn hard. I—I love you.”

The line clicks off before you can reply.

Please make it back. Please. Because I think I love you too.

***********************

The elder Mrs. Kim just got off the phone with another failed prospective match. This is the fourth one in as many days who has refused to come for dinner.

Is something wrong with her kimchi jigae? Was the tofu not fresh enough?

Or maybe it’s her kalguksu? She has always been praised for her thin, hand-sliced noodles. Perhaps it’s a trend to have thick noodles these days? Damn these foodie trends. How on earth is she going to keep up at this rate!

Whatever it is, she needs to get to the bottom of the matter. Something is very wrong. Her son is returning from the base tomorrow, and there are no confirmed dinner dates lined up yet. Usually she would have arranged at least six or seven dinner dates by now.

Sighing, she wonders how she’s going to hold a grandchild if this keeps up.

As she bends low to dust the area under Namjoon’s bed, a sliver of paper dangles between the wooden slats of the bed, catching her attention. What in tarnation could that be? Besides her thin kalguksu, she prides herself in keeping a neat house. No stray piece of paper under a bed is going to survive on her watch.

Giving it a hard tug, she manages to wrestle the paper free. It’s larger than she expected. Studying the fully unfolded paper before her, it suddenly becomes clear why her son has never liked any one of her prospective matches.

It’s the map he’d drawn to ask you to the high school prom.

After all these years, he still kept it.

Mrs. Kim ponders the situation.

And then she makes a call to a new prospective match—one she’s never considered before, whose circumstances are a little unconventional, but it’s one who has the best chance among all the women so far in winning her son’s heart.

She calls you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.

Because one thing Mrs Kim is known for, besides her thin, thin kalguksu noodles, is for her complete lack of patience.

***********************

Namjoon is exhausted. The post-ops debriefing took longer than expected. The higher-ups wanted a complete breakdown of all the factors that led to the success of one of the most covert, and most dangerous multi-stage missions in the history of Team 613.

He'd received an immediate promotion with the success of this mission and would be given longer home leave before taking up his new position as Captain, he can even make it for the baby’s birth! You got a quick call about it but he had to dash off for the next debrief. The sooner he got through these meetings, the earlier he could come home. He wants to see you. Badly.

Captain Kim Namjoon was supposed to be back by seven-thirty for the first matchmaking dinner of his home leave, but it’s almost eight. He’d rather pop over to your place to say hi than sit through another silent dinner with a stranger. “Ma, I had a really rough day. Must we really do this tonight?”

“You must, not we must. Go shower, you stink like Mrs. Choi’s rotten oyster kimchi.”

“Ma, I’ve been meaning to tell y—”

“Shush, whatever you want to say can wait. This one’s different.”

“But Ma—”

“Namjoon.”

With a defeated sigh, Namjoon says the two words that have kept him out of trouble all his life: “Yes, Ma.”

Shower done, he has barely time to dry off his wet hair when his mother raps on the bathroom door. “Joon, hurry up!”

“Coming, Ma.”

He hurries out of the bathroom to appease his mother, only to be hustled into the dining room. For such a small, wiry woman, Mrs. Kim is surprisingly strong when it comes to pushing her son to find a wife.

“Hey—” you say, when he appears in the dining room.

“Wait. What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming over for dinner?”

“Well, your mom said she’s making kalguksu. I can’t say no to that.”

Namjoon turns around to his mother. “Ma, what’s Y/N doing here? I thought you said it was another of those matchmaking dinners?”

Mrs. Kim knows when to make an exit. “Enjoy your dinner!” she beams. “Remember to eat for two, Y/N!” are her last words before disappearing in a huff of grandmother-to-be excitement.

“Wow. Wait. Did you know about this?” Namjoon is confused as fuck. What the hell is going on?

Slowly, you walk over to him. “I didn’t know about this.” Reaching into your bag, you take out the map from all those years ago he made.

He’s slack-jawed. “Where did you—how did you?”

“Your mom. She found it and gave it to me. It’s sweet, Namjoon. I didn’t know that you wanted to ask me out then. All this time, you loved Jungkook and loved… me.” You now realize the depth of Namjoon’s selflessness. His loyalty to Jungkook, his dedication to you. “We don’t deserve you—”

“Shh… none of that now.” He places a finger on your lips before he can stop himself. Oh god. Why are your lips so soft against the pad of his fingers? He wants to trace their bend and curve, wants to part them with his own. “I’ve always loved you. If you’re willing to give me a chance, well, you probably need time to think it over, but if you’re willing, I promise I’d—”

“I want to. So, so much,” you look at him solemnly. With a deep breath, you add, “But I also think I need time. Will you be willing to wait for me?”

Namjoon gulps. This is it. This is it.

“I am. I’m willing to wait.”

Behind the door of the dining room, the stealthy Mrs. Kim allows herself a big grin, barely able to contain the huge celebratory whoop which threatens to bust out of her lungs. She can feel the grandbaby in her arms already. It might take time, but for this, she’ll wait too.

***********************

Nobody tells you how grief can be a friend as well as an enemy.

Some days, as you waddle, round with child, looking for maps in flea markets and estate sales, a painting you think Jungkook would love catches your eye.

You’ll take a closer look, admire the blend of colors, the brush strokes, and enjoy the painting even more just because Jungkook would have loved that.

Or you might be passing by a church and a piece of choral music would float onto the street and you can almost hear the way he would hum the melody. You’ll stop. Listen. Imagine.

Those days, you would smile, giggle even, in childish delight because knowing and loving Jungkook has helped you to enjoy more of life.

Other days, grief comes stealthily like a thief. You might be doing the laundry, and the smell of the detergent which you’ve used everyday, which he loves so much, would overwhelm you with such longing that you’re brought to your knees, weeping on the floor in a pile of dirty clothes, wishing he would just come back.

But in the good days and bad days of grieving, there’s Namjoon quietly offering comfort. He comes around to sit with you in your grief. Holds you when you want to be held. He’ll murmur words to strengthen the bones of your soul so you can stand and not be crippled by sadness, walk and not be crushed by the weight of loss.

And little by little, Namjoon’s words, Namjoon’s presence, Namjoon’s acts of service build you a map of sorts to navigate your journey through grief. He’s the compass, always pointing you to living a life that Jungkook would want you to live.

And so, like a map you always have with you, Namjoon’s next to you when you want to go for a walk under the stars because the baby’s somersaulting so hard in your belly you can’t sleep. You teach him the constellations Jungkook has shown you, and he holds you close as you lean into him.

He’s next to you when your waters break, when the contractions are so painful, you can’t breathe, let alone stand. He’s here—quietly giving you the strength in his arms, praying courage into your heart.

He’s next to you when you’re pushing long and hard, when you’re exhausted from twenty hours of labor and nine months of carrying precious cargo in your belly. He’s here, holding your hand, urging you not to give up.

And when you hold the precious one, your little star, your Byeol, in your arms, he’s next to you, crying with you because of the miracle of Byeol’s life and the pain of Jungkook’s death.

He’s next to you, when Byeol has her first fever from cutting a tooth. He’s here rocking her and jiggling her in that special way that always calms her after she has wailed all night.

He’s next to you when you clap your hands at Byeol’s first crawl, her first step, her first word.

Always, in the moments that count for you and Byeol, he’s here, next to you.

And after a while, you realize you don’t want to spend life with anyone else but Namjoon next to you.

You needed time to realize this, and he didn’t mind it one bit.

Because you’ve found your own map to him. You’re here. You’re next to him. And he’s next to you.

And that’s all that matters in this great, big world.

~The End~

Epilogue

And then it happens.

During the nights when Byeol is particularly fussy, you’re grateful that Namjoon offers to take the couch. He has a way of rocking her and soothing her with his own made-up lullaby that calms her right down.

He had intended to put her peaceful, sleeping form back in her crib and then make the short drive home. He was going to ease you from the sofa and into your own bed and then leave. Maybe give you a short kiss goodnight on the forehead before walking out the door.

But tonight, his intentions fly out the window when you fluttered your eyelids open like that, and pleaded with him in that breathy, sleepy voice to please stay.

But tonight, his resolveto hold back melts when you pulled him into your bed and whisper hold me.

Tonight, he can’t help himself.

And so he stays, breath ragged and uneven when you bring his arms around your waist as he spoons you from behind. He stays because when he closes his eyes and smells your hair he remembers the carefree days of Bibimbaps Forever. He stays because he can’t say no to himself and to his demons anymore.

With your ass flushed against his stomach, and your breasts teasing his arms wrapped around you, the tension in his muscles melt away.

The last thought he has is why something which should feel so wrong feels so right.

———————

You must have turned to face Namjoon sometime at night because the first thing you see when your eyes open is the sharp bump of his Adam’s apple. Finding yourself still tucked under his chin, pressed against the deep rise and fall of his chest, you take your time to admire the thick sinewy arms curved around you. Lightly, you caress him with the very tips of your fingers from the curve of his neck, to the slope of his shoulder, then over his biceps.

The tremble of his skin is slight, but it’s there nonetheless. Tiny goosebumps trail your fingers, as if his very cells are drawn to your touch.

You shift back slightly, this time tracing the strong outline of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble by his chin, loving that roughness against the soft pad of your fingers.

Before you could stop yourself, you press the slightest of kisses to the underside of his jaw, not wanting to wake him, but not wanting to deny yourself either. And once you’ve tasted his skin, you can’t resist another small kiss. And another.

“Hey. You’re awake.” His morning raspy voice is sexy; and it thrills you to hear it so close to your ear.

“Mmhmm. Thanks for getting Byeol.”

Namjoon smiles. He gives himself a moment to linger under the warmth of the covers with you. You’re gorgeous, especially like this, make-up free, your features alight with a soft glow as the natural early morning light filters in through the curtains.

But he knows he needs to get the fuck out of here. Any moment now, and he’ll be itching to kiss you back. And one thing will lead to another.

“I should go. Gonna check on Byeol before I head out.”

You glance back at the baby monitor. She’s deep in slumber, her little tummy rising and falling peacefully.

“Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“Byeol’s fine. Don’t go. Stay please?” Fingers clutching on tight to his skin, you hope his body understands what you want, no, what you need.

He gulps hard at your words. “Stay because…?”

“Because I-I need you so much.”

Namjoon hesitates. He thought he would be ready for these words. God knows how long he has dreamt of them. But he isn’t ready. Not really, when you sound like this, desperate and wanting.

“Don’t you want me too?” The words could barely tumble out, you’re more than just a little unsure of yourself now. JK always made the first move, always made you feel wanted. Perhaps it’s your post pregnancy body that just doesn’t turn Namjoon on?

Your eyes search his and you catch a glimpse the conflict within: He wants you, but he’s afraid.

“Shhh… don’t talk like that. You know I do. God, I want this too. So fucking much. But…but I’m not JK.” His eyes implore you to reassure him that you can accept him as who he is, a man with his own frailties and foibles. “I can never be him.”

“You’re Namjoon. I know that,” you murmur, caressing the side of his face. “You’ll always be my Joon.”

He closes his eyes at the sound of that. Your Joon. It’s what he has always wanted to be.

“And Joon, I need to know–I need to know that I’m not a duty or an obligation to you,” you say softly, not daring to look at him.

Namjoon’s eyes fly open at your words. He sucks in a breath. Gently he brings his hips flushed against yours. “Feel that?”

You gasp at how hard he is, how hot and thick he feels beneath the layer of sweatpants and underwear, the simple action already lighting your body afire.

“Y-yeah,” you answer shakily. You can feel your own core getting slick at the contact with the ridge of his cock.

“Think I’d be this hard if you were a duty?”

“N-no,” you moan, as you find your own hips canting against his, your hands already entwined around his neck to anchor yourself to him.

“You’re a gift,” he murmurs, almost dying now from the sensation of the heat of your body pressed against him. His whole heart has ached for you, for so much, for so long. A duty? Never. “The best one.”

“Wanna be your gift then, just yours,” you whisper into his neck, breath fanning each word into flames. “Wanna be so good for you.”

His heart is beating wildly now. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined to be loved by you, wanted, like this.

You’re not sure who kissed who first, but your lips part invitingly, urging him to take everything you have to give. And he’s so hungry for you, so damn hungry, he doesn’t wait, a possessive thrill taking over his kisses, kisses with tongue and teeth, kisses with a thoroughness that you’ve not experienced before. “Mine now,” he murmurs between kisses, “mine now.”

He nips at you now, moving lower, down your neck, across your shoulder, pulling the strap of your tank-top to the side, not wanting to miss a single inch of your skin.

“Help me take it off, Joon,” a little garbled plea escapes from you as you sink into the sheets, caged between his arms, his body hot and hard on you.

He eases the flimsy top off your head, marvelling at your lush, full breasts, heavy in his palms, nipples teasing him to touch, to taste.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes every word into your skin. “So beautiful.” He kisses down your other shoulder, thumbs circling the peak of your nipples, drawing little gasps from you, And when he puts his mouth over the taut, tender flesh, you can’t help but moan with pleasure.

“Oh. Oh. Keep going,” you whine softly as you press more of your breast into his mouth.

Namjoon groans at your sweetness, but sweeter still are all the sounds you make for him, because of him. The way your fingers grasp at his hair, fingernails scratching him lightly on the back of his neck just makes him want to attend to your pleasure even more.

Dipping lower, Namjoon licks and teases the twin curves below your breasts, relishing the way your body arches and strains into his. He encounters the little marks across your stomach, marks that held the stretch of a baby. Your hands fly to cover them, but he brushes you off, lets his tongue trail along each one, murmuring into your skin that you’re his gift. A beautiful gift. Every inch of you.

“Go lower,” you urge him, “need you lower.”

He hooks a finger under the waistband of your shorts and shimmies them out of your legs. From the wet fabric at the crotch of your shorts in his hand, he can tell you’re already dripping for him. “How are you so wet, love? I’ve only just kissed you.”

“Wet for you. God, I need to feel you inside me. ”

“You will. I promise. Let me just–”

“Joon, your clothes. Take them off.”

Namjoon has never shed his clothes so quickly in his life. He’s hard, incredibly so, and he’s holding back as much as he can not to just fuck right into you when he sees your naked body flushed hot, thighs trembling with need, nipples tight.

“I kiss you here? Is that okay?” he asks as settles between your legs.

“You don’t need permission to love me, Joon.“

Namjoon nods against the inside of your thighs as he inhales the scent of your arousal coated there. He tongues you, gently first, and then with surer strokes, thinking he’s in heaven, here, between your legs, your fingers curled in his hair, pulling him closer into you in a rhythmic kind of desperation.

“Think I’m going to come,” your voice is needy from Namjoon’s attentiveness to your clit. “Joon—”

Your moans electrify him, and his cock throbs when you come messily all over his mouth, over his fingers that have begun to curve inside you, over and over and over.

Namjoon almost keels at your breathless cries, so turned on is he that he nearly comes on himself, hips rutting against the sheets in anguish to find his own release too. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck.”

“Please, Joon? I need you inside me. I-I just can’t wait anymore,” you beg.

“Is your back still sore? I can come in from spooning you.”

“Yeah, wanna. Hurry.” You turn to your side, core aching for him to fill you.

Namjoon doesn’t heed your pleas to hurry. He takes his time, planting tender kiss after tender kiss down the back of your neck, down your spine. You shiver every time his lips fasten on your skin, moan when you feel the hot wetness of his tongue, when his teeth nips at you. It’s insane, but you think you can come again just by how he’s kissing your neck while thumbing your nipples and playing with your clit.

Urgently, you reach behind you to touch his cock, eager to put your hands on him. He groans when you do this, hips instinctively thrusting into your palms because he’s so goddamn close himself.

He lifts your leg, shifting his lower body as he gently parts your slick folds and places his cock right by your cunt.

The searing heat of his flesh on your flesh threatens to consume you. You whimper pathetically at how good it feels. “Need more,” you beg.

With his hard cock nestled in the soft juncture of your thighs, he slides slowly back and forth, back and forth, “Just get used to me first, love.”

You nod, feeling utterly tortured by desire. You know he’s not deliberately teasing you, he’s just looking out for you. But you’re ready. So ready.

“You okay?” He’s panting so hard against your neck. God, how he just wants to angle his cock and thrust up into you to chase his own release.

“Please.”

He shudders at your plea. God. Why does everything from those sweet lips of yours affect him so?

Carefully, he places the tip of his cock inside you, gasping at how warm and wet you feel around him. He’s never fucked bare before, always careful to use protection, and oh god, your pussy seems to draw him in deeper. “Tight. Can you take more?”

“Yeah, I can take it. Want all of you,” you let out a desperate, airy cry.

Using one hand on your waist to anchor you to him, he pushes in a little more, a little harder now. He’s twisting a bit to get the angle just right, determined to feel every inch of your cunt creaming around his cock on his first stroke in. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no. So good. Keep going. Please.”

He surges in now, not able to hold back and finally stills himself when he’s fully, completely inside you. Your walls pulsate around him, causing him to throb harder within. He tries to read your face when you throw your head back against him, and he sees your eyes, half-lidded with lust, mouth open with effort as you adjust to his entirety.

You feel so full, just his first stroke in and you’re trembling with desire. “Go slow,” you gasp.

“Okay, love. Going slow.” He withdraws slowly and then pumps back in tentatively. It’s dizzying, the way he fills you. The way he loves you. Slowly you find a rhythm to his thrusts, your core now readily accommodating him.

Namjoon’s jaw is clenched so tight to keep him from bucking hard into you, keeping his strokes gentle and shallow.

“Don’t hold back. Want you, want you to come inside me” you urge, grinding yourself back into him.

Something snaps in him, to hear you want him as much as he wants you. After so long of wanting you, needing you, he finally has your permission to let go. He pistons his hips into you, thrusting with all his might, breath coming out in hard pants as he hasn’t never felt so good in his life. Both hands are at your hips now, ensuring that you feel his every stroke, deep and hard.

“There. Right there, Joon.”

Namjoon feels the way you vibrate around him when he pushes in at that angle. He does it again. Again, into your wet warmth. “Come once more for me, love,” he commands quietly.

Your orgasm comes like a wave, curling your toes, tightening every ligament and tendon within. You stop breathing, stop anything and everything as your senses explode.

Namjoon comes shortly after, moaning louder and louder till you feel his release spurt hot and deep inside you, his hands desperately clinging onto you lest he drown from the sensation of being buried inside you.

With desperate gasps of air, you twist your head back a little to reach for his face, cupping his jaw. He looks completely fucked out, a sheen of sweat lining his forehead.

He finally opens his eyes, and meets your gaze. Mustering his remaining strength, he whispers the words he has longed so much to say aloud. “I love you.”

“I know. And I love you.”

“I know,” he answers quietly. “I know it now.”

And in the way of babies with impeccable timing, little Byeol lets out her first cry of the morning.

READ Epilouge Here (sfw)

Read Ask My Muse here regarding the wedding

Read Ask My Muse regarding what if Joon moved on

Song during memorial service: An Irish Blessing by James E. Moore Jr.

Posted on July 11, 2021 by sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2021 @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content onto any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

Dear Reader,

Grief is like a lover and like an enemy, it pursues us through our lives. I have grieved for grandparents whom I’ve lost, the collapse of a relationship, grieved for friends near and far, for seasons of life gone wrong and innocence that I’ve lost. Wherever we may be in our grieving, let us not give up hope in the better days to come.

Give yourself time. Give grief time. And give hope a chance.

Love, Sam

#bts fanfction #jungkook fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #so much angst #angst angst angst but the good kind #best love triangle i’ve ever read #so much healing😭

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