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namjoonchronicles · 6 years ago

Text

rkive | nj

↳ namjoon, you

↳ 5k words

↳ 1/3 ‘take your wife to work’ fic

↳ husband!namjoon, domestic au, fluff

A soft caress on the side of his face as he lay asleep in the middle of your bed, invading the side that you assigned to yourself. You glide your hand down the length of his shoulder down his forearms before leaning down for a trail of kisses all over his cheeks.

“Wakey, wakey, baby…” you brushed your lips and spoke in gentle hushes, “you told me to wake you up at 8.30am, it’s now 8:35.”

He moans sleepily in return, eyes shut while his hand wildly search for the ends of the duvet, attempting to pull them up to cover his shoulders again. Of course. You passed the opposing wall a blank stare, the I-knew-this-was-gonna-happen face. You climbed on the bed, over his sleeping body, and to the curtains before yanking it open. Namjoon did nothing more but whine, rocking his body side to side--just like a child throwing morning tantrum. “Come on,” you knelt next to his lanky legs, his toes peeping out the ends of the duvets that didn’t manage to cover his whole being. He sat up after a while and leaned his forehead on your back. “I’m so sleepy…” he murmured.

“I can see that, so I brought coffee…” you reached the back of his head with your right hand, fluffing his bed hair. You feel him smiling against your back and how his lips moved to the back of your neck. “This is honestly why I married you…” he added a low deep chuckle that wasn’t intentionally sexual.

“Glad to be your honorary coffee maker…” you retorted and switched to face him, sitting on the bed still, to cup his face, “I am extremely underpaid.”

He began thumbing your side with a drowsy smile, almost drunken, chuckling. “With added benefits, I believe…” he pursed his lips, with his heavy-lidded eyes, fishing for a kiss. You clicked your tongue after a quick peck and pushed his face away before he could deepen them, giving him a lopsided smile, “In this economy? Sounds too good to be true if you ask me…”

“Am I asking, though?”

You took in a steady inhale, and your eyes turned into thin slits, peering at your husband and his snarky reply so early in the day.

“You will treat me with respect. You will treat me as a wife,” you prodded his chest with your index finger, “Or you will no longer have one.” You cocked an eyebrow and moved away from the bed despite him holding on loosely, “Hurry the fuck up, the pancake is getting cold…” you disappeared outside. Namjoon pushed both the heel of his palm on the mattress with a smile playing on his lips. His wife is feisty and he loves it. He won that conversation and he knows it. As soon as he stepped outside with the mug you coaxed him awake with, your phone camera was on him. He is being followed very closely.

“May I know what these footages are for?” He said, looking down the water washing down his mug. You zoomed into his fluffy arms. He wore tanks to sleep and his BCG Vaccine scar showing up pretty nicely from the distance you were filming him at.

“For days that I terribly miss you,” you passed, “Because even though you’re always on your phone, you never have time to send me a cute self-portrait, so I’m making a video for myself…”

He fills his mug with plain water now, leaning against the counter, his black tank showing his ribs from this angle, he took a mouthful sip before talking through the mug, “For days you missed me? Am I hearing this correctly?”

You nodded from behind the camera, and Namjoon lifts his face and placed his mug aside, “Come here,” he ordered.

“Why.” “Just get here.” “No.” “If we’re saving that for our times away, shouldn’t there be a memorable scene.”

Intriguing, you thought.

“What do you have in mind--” “--you know what I have in mind.”

You had to stop recording because he was getting rather bold with his words and facial expressions. Sitting on one chair, you sat on his lap while sharing a plate of pancake, drenched with honey. You grimaced at the first bite he fed you. “How are you eating this much sweetness…” you commented.

“To chase away the bitterness of the coffee…” he shoved another bite-sized into his own mouth. You set your phone to lean against the vase, to shoot horizontally. “We’re back filming?” he asked, his palm gliding up and down your lower back, glancing once in a while at the camera.

“Is this camera going to follow me when we arrive at the studio building later?” he asked, looking at the food and then at you for confirmation. “Yes… you have a problem with that? You want to sue me for it?” you challenged him a smile, biting your lips and he broke eye contact immediately, scoffing. “Can you afford the legal fees going against me?” Namjoon licks the residue honey on the corner of his lips. “Now you’re just showing off your big dick energy, big boy…” you circled your arm around his neck and retorted, “Isn’t that what got you interested in the first place?” “Wow, almost six years of marriage and you still don’t know that I’m only after your money,” you nuzzled the tip of your nose on his.

Namjoon closes in, whispering hotly against your mouth, “I don’t care if you’re only using me for my money, I only want to earn for you...honey.” He embraces your lips with his own, kneading the flesh together in a rhythmic motion, with literal honey still lingering on his tongue, fully aware that your phone is filming his every move. He made sure that his tongue made a glimpse as it enters yours, him passing a glance at the lens from the corner of his eyes as if to remind himself that he was being recorded.

“I want a copy of this footage later,” he spoke in hushes, against your ear as you give the camera your clothed back. His dark brown eyes darting at the camera as he sinks his teeth onto your shoulder, playing the staring game with it.

“Who cares about what you want,” you darkly chuckled.

Brushing your teeth next to each other become a routine, now that he’s home more than he leaves the country. He pokes your side and pinched your cheek at any chance he gets, so that’s something. Something about being home with him felt natural but extraordinary because he rarely gets to do so in the early years of your marriage. “You know, when you rap, there’s this vein on the right side of your neck protruding out, and I think it’s so sexy…” you traced the length of the vein with your index finger, tiptoeing next to him, by memory.

“You think everything I do is sexy,” he shot back, and spit out foams into the sink before rinsing off with little thought. “But am I wrong though,” you pushed his entire body as he bends over with little strength, and he stumbles to the side a bit.

He leaves the bathroom with a playful kiss on your clothed butt cheek, hollering, “Of course you’re right. You’re always right…” on his way out. “You’re choosing my outfit today!” You reminded him.

“Got it!” He yelled from the walk-in wardrobe.

“I’m thinking of something sophisticated yet modest...something shapey but not too tight, maybe a little loose,” his index finger on his chin as he trudges forward then back repeatedly, “I’m thinking Versace?” He took out a printed silk blouse with blue pants.

You walked out with a black purse, commenting, “I look like a rich man’s mistress on a Mallorca getaway, spending his hard-earned money while he fucks another 19-year-old blonde, and I get to purchase a very handsome male companion with an Italian name like, Emanuele, whom I bore a child with; so I can get a run for the rich dude’s money when I file for divorce.”

Namjoon let out a delicious moan, “Very scandalous. I like it too.” He lifts his butt from the couch and followed you out the door.

“But if you were my mistress, I wouldn’t be fucking anyone else and Emanuele shall never exist. It’s just you, me and Mallorca,” he shut the door behind him and it automatically clicked locked.

He fastens his seatbelt while you fixed the rearview mirror because it’s been tilted in a weird angle after a sudden roll in the car the other day. You just can’t stop touching each other whenever you guys were left unsupervised. This is why you both have no friends apart from his members. “If you liked the veins in my neck, then I love the sexy mole on the apex of your left thigh…” the belt clicks while the car engine hurls on.

“How on earth did you remember I have a mole there? What’s with the sudden compliment about my body?” you eyed him with suspicions read all over your face. “It’s super sexy. When I think of it, I get super horny? Also, you have like three very prominent moles, from my memory… the thigh, the pinky toe and one behind your right ear,” he clicked his tongue while the car moves out the parking lot.

“The details of that description is honestly disturbing,” you shot, steering the wheel with both your hands, “We’re not going to be long in the studio building right? I don’t trust you being there with me without getting handsy, knowing your touchy ass.” You eyed him up and down, giving him a side glance with a slight warning. “Whenever I see you, I don’t want to behave…” Namjoon leans over to your side, grinning.

“See, this is what I’m talking about…” you darted emotionlessly.

You have never been inside of Namjoon’s office. Not since they moved. Namjoon said he renovated his studio again, changing the soundproof walls--or as you call it, sponge walls that offers a great cushion for any rough acts. Both of you are terribly explicit and have too many inside jokes for anyone to keep up with. Most of your friends can’t tell if you both were fighting or basically roasting each other to no end. The sarcasm gets too raw and merciless at times, coming from two very sensitive people the world had ever seen. Namjoon and you are like lovers who secretly hate each other when you’re around people and strangers, but can be very lovey-dovey when it’s least expected. That’s why when you took yourself inside the building after waiting for about twenty minutes in the car, you declared an insult to Namjoon who was on the phone at the time.

You immediately retracted silently and blinked repeatedly. Even as he extended his arm at you, you were cautious at the receptionist who was there waiting on her work station, standing up at Namjoon’s wave--that indicates he needed a paper and pen. You stood next to him as he listens attentively to the caller. When he hangs up, he scribbled a few more words that made no sense to you. “Babe, I think our trip is going to drag a bit longer since someone will be expecting to meet me in an hour,” he underlines a name twice and the receptionist bowed to you while Namjoon used his keycard to gain access inside the staff-only area. You saw that the place had large lounges.

“Can I expect an exclusive building tour with my husband?” you gave a pair of hopeful eyes and he was honestly so whipped for you, that it took very little for him to abide by your request. He had always wanted to offer you a tour of his new studio. Since he had been actively requesting several rooms and units in this new building to be made under his orders.

Staff lounges. Game room. Pantry. Everything is sleekly designed, with modern vibes. High ceiling and good lighting.

“This is where Taehyung sometimes lives, the game room,” Namjoon used his keycard to gain access to the exclusive room. “Where the recording studios at?” you wondered and Namjoon’s face switches into a goofy smile. He pointed his thumb to the hallway behind him, “This way, ma’am…” he walked sideways in order to continue looking at you.

The studio was everything you imagined and more. The intricated equipment on display, the recording booth. Your lips parted slightly in a wide smile, at awe of the place your husband spent most of his time in. This is where Namjoon regularly works in. He’d be sitting in one of these chairs, monitoring the recording session with high fidelity headphones around his head. You imagine him being all serious with his music and your heart flutter like a schoolgirl having a crush on a bad boy down the alley she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with. Namjoon pulls a chair out and sat at the same time you did. You couldn’t stop scanning the whole room with sparkling eyes. You never thought you would see it in real life. You’ve heard many songs recorded in this very room and you couldn’t help being absolutely awestruck.

“Where do you sit?” you asked him. “Right in that seat, you’re sitting in, recording engineer. BangPD sits here and Pdogg hyung, on that chair, usually,” he pointed to the long couch in the room.

You rested your elbow on the armrest, your chin on the heel of your palm, spinning softly in the chair that belonged to him. “Look how far you’ve come… this is. This is amazing, you’re amazing, you know that baby?” you gave him a glance, pursing your lips and returned your attention to the setting of the studio. Namjoon appeared bashful and you didn’t have to look at him to know that he’s turning red. “I’ve always wondered about your early days...how you began. How you bravely chose a path none of the people in your shoes would. You go against the wishes of your folks, and take the storm head first,” you paused, speaking with a little shake of your head, and, “Why are you so goddamn brave? What triggered you? Who was Namjoon before he is Namjoon? Do you know how much hazards there is for boys your age to embark on a hiphop journey? Drugs? Prostitution?... missing classes? The horror your parents must have faced, you naughty boy.”

Namjoon covered the upper part of his face, hiding his laugh right after, giggling. “I wasn’t a naughty boy…” he said.

“Sure you are.” “Am not, I promise…” he rested both of his elbows on his knees, thigh widespread as he sat facing you. The view of the studio as the background from your side, “I just remember wanting something so much that my inside feels like it’s ripping if I ever abandon it. I knew, I just knew that I want to be a musician, no matter how difficult it was going to be, or whom I may lost on the way...even if it means, myself. It’s not just hiphop to me, I found family, a brotherhood, a pact, a passion I couldn’t find anywhere else…”

You mirrored his actions, and touched the tips of his fingers with yours, lacing and unlacing them, “You’re capable of everything. That’s what your teacher told you.”

“Yes, I was capable of a lot of things… but none of it appealed to me. I could bow under the demands of conventional educational system, do what I do without an ounce of soul in my power--forever wondering if this was the life I truly wanted, knowing that I’m good at something else…it was very difficult to tell my father, especially,” Namjoon reminisce, his eyes dropped to the floor as the pain clearly never left his mind.

“You were starved for days, and stood at a corner within a circle as a punishment,” you spoke in place of him. He drops his head and then nodding. His pocket money was taken away. He had curfew. His family did everything they can to prevent Namjoon from seeing his brothers from the hiphop scene. He skipped classes while simultaneously doing well in his studies despite pouring his entire passion into music instead of his school books. The boy who sleeps in the back of the class from attending rap battle almost never failed any of his quizzes and exams. His treaty with his parents was as follow: if I manage to maintain a good score in classes, you’ll let me do music.

You cupped his chin in response to his silence, and made him stare into your eyes, “I, am proud of what you were, what you are and what you’ll become… and my love may not be enough to fill the holes you have in you, all the flaws you thought you have, and shortcomings that you’re afraid of showing… but I will always have your back, through thick and thin,” you granted him a chaste kiss on his lips, making a squeaking sound, “Even if we ever end up divorcing.” You smiled against his ear lobe. “If I ever made you think about divorcing me, you can rightfully pull me by the dick and I’ll make you want me again,” he commented.

“Can I go in there?” you pointed to the booth. “Absolutely,” Namjoon shot.

He watched you skipped towards the entrance of the recording booth with a fond smile. The speaker buzzed on, and the green light above turns on while the white tile outside the studio indicating, “In Session” lights up, simultaneously.

He lowers his mouth to the microphone, and pressed the intercom button before he speaks. “There’s a headphone on the neck of the tall stool if you put it on you’ll hear my voice better… without the echo,” he watched you put on the very headphone and you gave him a gleeful thumbs up like a kid putting on a fire suit at the fire station tour. Such an excited little baby, Namjoon thought.

He increases the receiving volume and told you that the microphone in the recording booth is up and ready to receive any sound and that you could say anything you want.

“Nice tits,” you bit your smile and pointed to him while drawing a heart shape with your index fingers. Namjoon gave you a fool in love grin, with a dumbfounded chuckle. Of all the things you could have said, you settled on that. This is what he loved about you. The fact that you could be tastefully affectionate, riddled with deep conversations he truly enjoys--at one point, and be an idiot, the next. It’s true what they say, that the union ripens with time like a fine wine. The longer you were together, the more you’re helplessly in love with one another. The secrets to the everlasting marriage? Consistently hitting on each other to no end.

Namjoon had to leave for the meeting. He is monitoring a recording session in the studio next door and at first, you were there to watch him work. But after a while, you felt like you haven’t finished exploring the entire building. As he stood by the chair of the sound engineer-in-charge, you tugged on his sleeve to have him leaning down so you could whisper in his ear. He nodded in return, crossing his arm, putting on his work mode as he straightens up. You grabbed your purse from the black long couch to leave the studio in a hurry and grinning excitedly all the while. Before you leave, Namjoon reminded you to, “Be careful. Keep your phone on at all times…”

Not long after you stepped out the studio, Namjoon tutted his tongue, shoving his hand to the back pocket of his jeans for his keycard, before rushing out the same door. His keycard at the end of the lanyard dangling meters away from the floor. You spun around at the call of your pet name and sped back to him. He had his lower half of the body inside the studio still, wanting to make sure you get access to all the rooms in this buildings. You kissed his chin and put the lanyard around your neck, turning away. Namjoon watched you enter the lift and you waved back at him enthusiastically. He is very much enamored by his wife.

You’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be in their wardrobe area. Most of the attires are owned by the company, and the stylist sometimes designs clothes that would suit them.

“No, I want my Gucci’s here today!” You heard a fairly familiar voice, coming from the hidden halls of the large space intended for clothes’ only. “Taehyung?” you guessed. The pretty boy came out from the dividers as if he walked out of a magazine shoot. Pink tinted glasses, flowery printed dress shirt with striking yellow trousers. Wrist decorated with multiple bangles and rings on fingers. Once he locked his eyes with you, he puts away his phone immediately. The person on them was still talking. He taps the ‘end call’ button and you blinked at him.

“Mrs. Kim Namjoon…” he recalled, letting on some sleazy drawl at the end of it. His expression was nothing at all polite. “Who’s day did you ruin with that abrupt end call, Taehyung…” it wasn’t a question, just a mild reality-check for the fantasy-stricken boy who sometimes needs to be called out.

Taehyung visibly shrinks twice in size as he plopped on the couch next to you. “...what’s bothering you sweetie?” you rubbed his back, joining him.

Taehyung took some time to reveal what’s on the inside, but that’s just typical Taehyung. He’s a little-guarded soul with glittering fences. Let’s so few in, but entranced all others. How could he not, with his handsome good looks and honey-dripped voice. He wanted to become a good lyricist, just like Namjoon is. You could tell their work apart because even though Namjoon’s work is poetic, Taehyung prefers to fall into the beauty of imagery as well as metaphors. Taehyung has a vivid imaginations a fellow artist and writers share, but he describes it differently.

“Retail therapy isn’t a thing, is it, noona?” he added an awkward chuckle at the end of it, laced with the bitterness of a lonely soul. “It is only a thing when you do have money,” you replied honestly, and from the sparkles, in his eyes, as he beamed at you, you knew he appreciated the sincerity.

“I’m trying to write a love song, but it had been sitting on my desk for about a week now… I kept trying to imagine a situation of being in love, but I’ve never been in it, so how will I write something I know nothing about…” his shoulders dropped as he sighed out the words, “I kept getting dissatisfied with the imagery I come up with, feeling that it’s not enough or too much… Namjoon hyung won’t have these problems, would he?”

You propped your elbow to rest on your knee, chin on the heel of your palm. Your wedding ring sparkling under the light of the hall. Nose scrunch as you showed disagreement on Taehyung’s accusations. Your eyes shot to the corner of the room along with a click of the tongue.

“Namjoon has a different approach on solving writer’s block. Yours happen to be retail therapy, and Namjoon, well Namjoon, sometimes he reads a comic book.” “Namjoon hyung has you. I have no one…” “That’s not true! Sometimes when we both deal with something difficult, we don’t talk about it to each other from the get-go, and that’s one of the flaws in our marriage that we’re still working on,” you paused and inhaled, “Being in love and staying in love are two different things… love is flawed. It’s nothing perfect. Listen, about your songwriting… Have you consulted anyone about it?”

“I’m consulting you…” Taehyung goofs, “But literally I’ve spoken to everyone including Yoongi hyung about it, but nothing helps.” “Your efforts will pay off, buddy,” you patted his forearms twice, “...maybe you’re too focused on it and it has stopped you from viewing in another perspective.”

“You guys talk back each other a lot, even in front of us, is it really like that back at home when no one sees?” Taehyung asked, and you could see from his face that he was a little amused. “Sometimes, I mean… Namjoon and I, we don’t hide anything from anyone. What you see is what you get. If I don’t like something he’s doing, I’ll call him out on it. Vice versa. We tease each other to no end, if that’s what you’re asking…” you shrugged. “Do you guys ever fight, like really fight…” he mirrored your movements, clawing his chin, as he scratches the stubbles under his jaw. “Definitely...Definitely,” you stressed on the second time you said it.

He’s stubborn, you’re stubborn. You want things to go your way, he wants things to go his. You’re all about managing finance, and he’s all about spending it. He wants a house outside the country and you want one close to home. You talk about priorities and often questions his. Emotional, spiritually, physically.

“Things will change when we have children, I promise you,” Namjoon once said. The way he laid it out so frankly, didn’t convince you one bit. This conversation has occurred once too many time and you’re starting to feel that the marriage you built on this foundation is beginning to brittle underneath the weight of his fame and responsibility. “I hope so…” you said in a whisper, barely believing what you said.

“I guess in marriage there is a lot of tolerance and understanding? Because when we think about the things that we did in order to build this relationship as strong as it is, makes you want to keep it that way, even through the occasional ‘earthquake’ and ‘mudslides’... He got options, I got options, but we’re here now, and that’s all that matter isn’t it?”

His lower lip protruded out, as he was thrown deep in thoughts. The common understanding is that love and marriage co-exists, but the longer a couple stays together, the more their friendship is put to the test. That’s why it’s important to befriend your partner before falling in love with them. At least, when the love ends, the friendship remains.

You excused yourself for wanting to see the rest of the building before Namjoon comes back and wanted to go home. It’s not every day you could roam around the most famous building in the country, home to many famous producers and their studios. This is basically your version of Disney World. This is where the magic happens. Seokjin once took a picture of the building rooftop garden and ever since you saw it, you’ve always wanted to take a look at the views from up there. It was as breathtaking as you expected.

The blue cloudless sky is turning to orange zest, floating in the air as the sun descends to indicate the day is almost ending. You’ve been here all day.

“It will take two minutes, he says,” you spoke to yourself, “It won’t be long, he says.” You carefully leaned your elbows on the wooden rails to watch the busy streets downstairs. All the red light and the white light decorating the traffic underneath you. Busy people everywhere. All rushing to go home to their loved ones, finding food and winding down after a hectic day. Namjoon never gets to spend that. He never was the one for a 9 to 5 job, because to him, inspiration can strike him anytime. There was this one that he stopped in the middle of eating because he had an idea on how to change the beat after the chorus belonging to a track. Or this one time he sat in bed, stripped down after a steamy lovemaking session because he knows what verse to write. You’re still salty about that.

Not because he started working right away. But because he doesn’t give himself a time to be just Kim Namjoon, the Kim Namjoon that has a wife and a normal life. Is this what he’s going to be when he has a kid, later?

We’ve spoken about kids before. We spoke about that a lot.

“I guess in marriage there’s a lot of tolerance and understanding…” your own voice piqued your thoughts as you rode the waves of reminiscing.

From Namjoon’s point of view, he understood that you too had given up so much for his work. You were patiently waiting at home, dutifully understood your responsibility as a wife, the homemaker, and he knows what troubling thoughts you might had had whenever he’s away. Just the same as he is.

As he works, as he tries to tirelessly be present in this studio where he stands, you are always in the back of his mind. And things don’t change even if he’s out of the country, performing, lecturing, educating, analyzing, designing. He ensured that you get calls from him, texts from him, pictures of what he’s doing and where he was. Always making sure you feel safe despite the distance. Because he saw how little you thought of yourself because he saw how your smile faltered when he spoke to his stylist, because he caught the hesitance in your voice when you feel slightly inferiored. He understood all the thing you didn’t have to say out loud. Because it’s hard to be in love when you’re two continents away.

“Because hey, you’re the famous one between us two,” Yeonjun spoke through the microphone. He got the pronunciations clear and in pitch. Namjoon slammed the stop button and tapped the pad of his index finger on his chin. “Alright, go home. We got it,” Donghyuk--also known as Supreme Boi; managed the recording with little hiccups. Yeonjun skips outside, beaming because it had been a long day for him as well. Namjoon gave him a shoulder squeeze and acknowledged his skills. Donghyuk carefully wraps up while noticing that Namjoon had plunged into exhaustion onto the black couch. “You gotta go thank your wife for that line, bro,” he gushed. Namjoon shuts his eyes and laid the back of his head on his wrist. “I’ll tell her that…” he drifts. Donghyuk spins his chair to face Namjoon, and tilted his head to one side, “I thought you said you came here with your wife?”

Namjoon rolls off the couch and dashed out the door at once. He tried to call her but she was on the phone with someone else. He walked past the pantry, past the lounge, past the wardrobe hall--but she was nowhere to be found. She’s not in the cafeteria too.

Namjoon headed back to his studio and there you were.

Sleeping on your side, on his black couch, curled in a ball. Koya the koala plushie in your arms, you don’t even use the armrest as your pillow. Namjoon slowly shut the door, making as little sound as possible, and knelt next to you. Wonders in his eyes, his dimples shallow and his lips curved into a small gentle smile. Softly, he tucked your baby hair behind your ear and thumbed your cheek. He ghosted his lips over the skin just above your eyebrow and shut his eyes as he stamped a kiss on them. You didn’t even stir, you must be really tired. He hooks his finger on a drawer underneath his work desk and took out the blanket you knitted for him to use on his nights away from home and spread them on you so you could stay warm.

With the lights dimmed to perfection, Namjoon manages to move you on top of him. “We have to head home…” he whispered. And it your dazed state, you said, “I am home.” Your nails scratching the thin fabric of his shirt, as you nuzzled your face into his chest where your ears are pressed against the soft thuds of his heartbeat.

“Home is wherever Namjoon is.”

And whenever he isn’t around, you’re homesick. He placed his palm over the back of your head, and slide it down your spine and then up again. With a soft exhale, he shuts his eyes and held you tighter--in the comfort of his studio, Rkive.

“So…” he begins, flickering eyes towards the on-going streets and then to you, who was driving beside him, “There’s no chance I’m going to get the footage you had been earnestly recording, right?”

“Correct,” you shot. The car radio plays rather dimly, in the background, just as preferred. You had a feeling that Namjoon will exercise his rights as a husband or as he’d like to call it, your non-negotiable life partner to gain his portions of the videos you made for his own selfish pleasure, so you attempt to hide the smile that was itching to get out, because right here, is where he lay out his arguments.

“You know, I’m the one that came up with Jungkook’s nickname ‘the golden maknae’...right?” he slowly shifts in his seat, covering his philtrum with his index finger, panning the view outside the moving car. “Known fact for someone who had been supporting you for a while, yes…” you quirked, in an elegant tone of someone who has the upper hand of the situation.

“Don’t you ever wonder if I were to give you a nickname, what it will be?” “...no, not really.” “A dictator.” “You’re just picking fights with me because you know you won’t get your hands on the videos. Are you seriously going to call me a dictator because I didn’t give you what you want? Did it ever occur to you that you don’t deserve the footage?”

Namjoon lands his palm over the expanse of your clothed thigh, a very possessive gesture that you’ve grown numb to. “Let’s negotiate…”

“Negotiate what…? All the negotiation is not up for discussion.” “I can make your footages a lot spicier.” ‘I like them sweet and bland; unlike your corrupted mind.”

He smirked, “Do you? Do you…?” “Siri, play Do You by RM.” And just like that, his smirk is gone. There’s no changing your mind, is there? Namjoon has to be a tad more creative. But he liked the challenge.

That’s why the moment he stepped into the apartment, his eyes darkens and his lips turned into a Cheshire grin.

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