#the text in white bubble is supposed to flow on its own as well (apart from the first one

[xxsanshinexx]

Breakfast Can Wait

Characters: Hongjoong x reader

Words: 1546

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You didn’t get to spend morning’s with Hongjoong often, so you relished in the moments like this.

~

Sunlight had begun to peak through your windows, cascading like a soft wave over your bedroom. Everything was enveloped in a light gold, making the marks on the walls seem ethereal. You woke up to this, the small, natural Heaven on earth, with a smile on your face. Even with your eyes still closed, the view oblivious to you; your grin grew wider. Gentle hands lingered on your sides, with their finger tips trailing against your showing skin. It set you alive despite how groggy the mornings made you.

 You turned your head to the side and took a quick glance at the one behind you. Hongjoong was snoring softly, the only noise besides the chirping of birds outside. His face was relaxed and entirely peaceful as he slept. There was no trace of the exhaustion he had come over with just pure peace. Your lips turned upwards at his slumber and you pulled yourself slowly from his grasp. There was no need to wake him up; he did enough and you would let him get some more moments of peace while you made the two of you breakfast. 

Your small home was quiet in the early hours of morning. You weren’t used to your halls being so peaceful. Typically, when Hongjoong was able to come over; some of the other boys would follow him out of boredom. One or two would always be crashed over and they always told you it was because you had better games and WiFi than the dorm. You didn’t mind the presence of all the members, they were fun and lively and kept things moving. Hongjoong wasn’t even opposed when they followed him over because he knew they just enjoyed the entertainment that came with a new place. 

You stretched out your stiff body as you came into your kitchen. Everything had been cleaned up neatly and you supposed you had Seonghwa to thank for that. He was always helping around the house whenever he trailed along with the others. Scanning through your ensemble of food, you picked out some eggs, rice and bread; going with an easy breakfast rather than anything tedious. Hongjoong typically didn’t care what you made, as long as it was edible.

You two were a pair, that much was for sure. To him, you really were his other half. You were able to keep up with the energy of his members, a feat that was remarkable in itself; you had no trouble understanding his dilemmas as an idol, and you were always there. He never worried about you because you always knew what to do. He found a comfort in someone so stable loving him and his hectic life. To say you were fond of him as well would be an understatement. He was able to make you smile and laugh, to pick you up when all the things you thought were secure began to fall apart; and even though distance and time would be a problem as long as he was an idol, he was always there. Through text, through phone calls or through god awful photos. You both picked each other up in times of needs, and that was remarkable to you.

You stirred the eggs around the pan, a small smile on your face as you thought of the man in your bedroom. Yes, he was a pain in the ass sometimes, and yes he worked to much for his own good; but god you loved him. You began to plate the food you had created, adorning it with whatever you so wished. Hongjoong had told you that he had late practice today with the boys but that still meant he needed to get up. 

Finishing up your creations, you dried your hands and began to make your way back to bed. The door creaked open quietly and you stood for a moment, admiring the sight. He was curled into the pillows and his mouth was open, the soft snores still flowing out. His body was haphazardly covered by the covers but he didn’t seem to mind the frigid air that wafted over him.

You shook your head with a smile and made your way to the edge of the bed and sat down. His hair covered his shut eyes and his little mullet fanned out on the pillow behind him. Gently, you brought your hand down and began to brush away his stray hairs. It did little, as they seemed to fall back into their messy array.

“Hongjoong,” you whispered his name as you caressed the side of his face tenderly, “Hongjoong.”

He still didn’t stir, instead pushing his head away from your hand and into the white pillows. A breathy laugh made its way out of your mouth as you began to stroke the top of his head, “It’s time to get up.”

Still no response.

“I made breakfast.”

His head turned slightly and you could see him open a single, sleepy eye. He looked at you, suspicion on his features, as he spoke in a raspy voice, “Breakfast you say?”

“Eggs, toast and rice.”

“You’re not just saying that to get me out of bed,” He smiled a little and turned his head so he could fully face you, “are you?”

His morning voice made a small blush spread across your cheeks, “No. I really made breakfast, I promise.”

He raised his eyebrow at you and pouted, “I might take some more sleep over breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine but if it gets cold its-” You didn’t have time to finish as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you down on top of him. Your head hit his chest and you could feel the laughter emanating from there. It was a nice noise to listen to, on top of his steady heartbeat. You shook your head against him but nonetheless curled in a little closer to the fabric of the sweatshirt he was wearing.

 “I think,” He ran his hand gently along your back as he spoke, “We should just stay in bed today.”

“You have practice.”

“I can call in sick.” He joked and you pulled your chin up so you could rest it on his chest. 

“You know you can’t do that,” You frowned and he shrugged, a sly smile on his face. 

“I don’t think anyone would blame me,” his smile broke into a grin as he brought his hands that were ghosting your body up to your cheeks. Gently, he leaned forward so his lips brushed against your forehead; never failing to make your stomach flip and knot itself together. He pulled back and continued to stroke your cheek with his thumb, a look of content on his face. “You know how much I love staying with you.”

Red spread across your face, despite how many times he had told you this simple fact. He grinned at your response and leaned back into the pillows. “You still get flustered?”

You rolled your eyes and lifted yourself up so you could get in his face. His eyes widened in surprise and by only getting a few millimeters away from him, the brightest blush appeared on his face. A childish laugh bubbled from you, your voice sarcastic as you spoke, “you still get flustered?”

“God,” He smiled a little and shook his head, his hair brushing against your forehead as he laughed. He leaned his head forward and pressed a feather light kiss to your cheek, “You’re annoying sometimes.”

“I strive for all the time. Guess I need to do better.” You whispered, pushing yourself up a little more so you could rest your forehead against his.

A content grin spread across his lips as he leaned against you, eyes closing as he spoke, “I have some of the best patience known to man.”

“Is that why you yelled at Yunho last night for stealing your food?”

His breathy laugh spread across you skin, “Okay you got me there.”

You smiled and allowed yourself to get lost in his eyes. They were brown and alive, such joy radiated from them that it put an automatic smile on your face. You could never get over how those brown eyes made you feel; especially now, when they gazed down at you with such a serene feeling. 

Hongjoong leaned forward first, softly capturing your lips in his own for a short second, before pulling away all too quickly making a small frown touch your lips, “You know I love you, right.”

“Yes, you tell me every day.” Your frown turned up a little as you leaned in to meet him halfway, “and you know I love you.”

“Of course,” you could feel his smile break out against your lips as you met in the middle. Serene moments such as these were hard to come by with him. He was gone and busy and you were no better. But in this moment, with the sunshine illuminating the room in gold and the two of you holding each other so gently; made up for all those parted moments. You smiled along with him as you pressed your lips together a little harsher, indulging in the feeling of being together.

It seems breakfast would have to wait.

~

r.i.p. Mullet Hongjoong you’ll be missed

[rosaline-kei]

Not So Good Boy Armin - AruMika OneShot.

Disclaimer:I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Synopsis/Summary: Armin is in control now, and he wants to make sure he marks Mikasa appropriately, as his territory.

FF NET

AO3

Author’s note: I don’t know exactly how to rate this? It just contains Armin marking Mikasa, nothing too hardcore. Sorta Smut-ish?? Eh, read at your own risk;

It was close to midnight, and Armin and Mikasa had just returned from their outing with Eren, back into their shared apartment.

5 years. It was almost 5 years since Armin and Mikasa had gotten together—as a couple. Just a few more minutes and it'd officially be 5 years. If only Eren hadn't invited them out at the last minute to hang out, the two lovebirds would be getting enough sleep for their date the next day. Oh well.

Armin wasn't sure how he managed to win over Mikasa's beautiful heart, but he was glad that her heart had a special place for him. Mikasa wasn't sure what Armin saw in her that he found so attractive and soothing, but whatever it was she was glad that he was hers and she was his.

"I'm exhausted." Armin yawned. He stretched his arms up tiredly after locking up the door after they had entered, and then flung the keys aside before he flung himself onto the couch. Mikasa eyed him, shaking her head. He could be such a child sometimes… and just the sight of such childishness never ceased to bring back memories from their childhood, the good ones.

"I can tell." Mikasa responded after placing her bag down. A second after, her phone's notification tone echoed the room briefly, causing the raven to take out her phone from her pocket to check.

"Eren?" Armin queried, perking his head up as he drowsily faced his lover, to only witness once again how beautiful she was—and how she brought the beauty out of the outfit she wore. A simple white blouse and pink skirt, with a nostalgic dark red scarf wrapped around her neck suddenly seemed overwhelming for the blonde.

Mikasa gave a nod, her eyes scanning the message she just received, swiftly responding to her brunette friend's text, before setting her phone down on the table as well. "He just wanted to make sure we reached back safely." Mikasa sighed, taking a seat on a chair. "On another note, I never expected to be out for such a long time…"

"That's true, but hey, that time spent together with Eren was fun. I'm glad we three never grew apart." Armin grinned, Mikasa returned a heart-warming smile, a clear sign of her agreement to his statement. They had been friends since they were kids, and now they were in their mid-twenties. It was nice, how they were still all close friends. It was comforting.

It was truly eventful, what the trio did. From movies to ice-skating to an arcade, it was really draining—but all they felt earlier in the day was pure exhilaration. Out of the blue, Armin recalled what Eren had said during their conversation at a café, where they chose to take a break from their activities, when Mikasa had excused herself to the ladies'.

"So, how are things going with Mikasa?" Eren queried curiously as he lifted up his cup of coffee, taking a sip of the hot drink. Armin looked up to him, after having snapped out of the trance he was in when he was stirring his ice lemon tea with the straw he had.

"Everything's going great." Armin beamed, and Eren scoffed in response. And as another response, Armin frowned when he had scoffed, giving a 'what was that for?' sort of look that Eren didn't fail to recognize.

"It's just, your so smiley its ridiculously funny. Mikasa really makes you that happy, huh?" Eren mocked in a teasing sort of way. Armin instantly flustered up, although he continued to play it cool as he rolled his eyes. As obvious as it was, his 'play it cool' act had failed miserably. "Whatever…so what?" He huffed, before his eyes darted away and back towards his iced lemon tea, deciding to drink it.

"It's just nice to see both of my friends happy, that all." Eren responded. "I still can't believe all this time, we three are still in close contact… and Mikasa still has that red scarf I gave her long back."

Armin's mind during then drifted off to back then, when Mikasa had a major crush on Eren. He had to admit, he was jealous back then. 'Why him, not me?' was what he would think. But one thing happened after the other, and now it was Armin and Mikasa dating—as an official couple.

"I knew she had feelings for me back then. And now those feelings are directed at you." He continued to tease, but now it seemed as if the tables had turned from long ago, and now Eren seemed a little envious— at least that's what Armin assumed. Either that or he was just viewing things too in-depth.

Though, it made Armin wonder if Eren had those feelings for Mikasa… and what would've happened if he had acted on them? Well, it was too late now. Both of them knew how committed and loyal Mikasa was—to Armin, in terms of romance of course. And Eren didn't have any plans to ruin whatever chemistry those two shared.

Besides, word on the street was that Eren just recently had a little thing going on with someone now.

"Must be nice, huh?" Eren said, before looking left and right cautiously, as if he were a kid on his way to cross his first road. As the blonde continued to drink his drink, he couldn't help but feel curiosity bubbling in him for the brunette's sudden wariness. And then, what he had blurted out next was unexpected… and perhaps that curiosity was better left unanswered.

"So…" Eren started off, leaning closer to Armin as if he were about to spill some lifelong secrets. Well, not that he had any anyway. "Have you two… you know, done 'it'?"

Armin instantly choked on his drink. He didn't have to ask what 'it' Eren was referring to. Just by Eren's tone, and the smirk he now wore pretty much defined 'it' itself.

"W-Where did that come from?!" Armin coughed, his cheeks darkening into shades of red. He was coming close into becoming a tomato. That wasn't an Eren-like thing to ask, or was it? He didn't know. But still…. Why? Why did Eren had to put him in such an embarrassing situation? Were best friends even supposed to talk about this—especially when the other close friend was involved?

Armin wasn't sure what the hell Mikasa was doing in the restroom that took her so long to return from but he knew she wasn't going to come back anytime soon.

"From that." Eren spoke, before pointing towards Armin's neck, where there seemed to be a particular marking left there by a certain someone. Armin flushed even more, he thought his hair and turtleneck shirt was enough to disguise it… but it seemed it want enough to hide it away from Eren's eagle-sharp eyes.

Armin couldn't tell if Eren was asking him this so bluntly because he wanted to tease him or because he was just dense… or both, somehow.

"S-Shut up! I-Isn't this sort of thing w-where you j-just ignore it?" Armin stammered. If he could, he would pull his turtleneck up and hide his tomato face. But even so, Eren probably would know his reaction anyway.

"You're not denying that you didn't do 'it'—"

"Where's my privacy, Eren?" Armin cut him off, readjusting his voice.

"I thought us friends shouldn't hide things—"

"Ereeenn…" Armin whined slightly.

"Okay, Okay..." Eren put his hands up a little, as if to surrender… but that wasn't the case. "I'm not asking for details, keep that to yourself." He scoffed before continuing, "But… you know, I've never seen any of those on Mikasa, at least on her neck. Either that or her make-up is good... but she doesn't wear make-up too often so there's that."

"Eren, where are you even going with this?" Armin groaned, "Can't we just talk ab—"

"I'm just wondering if you ever topped her. I mean, it must be tiring for her to always take control or whatever." Eren shrugged, Armin just stared, his cheeks reddening even more. Was that supposed to be advice? In fact, how does Eren even know these sort of things?

Was Mikasa tired of… that?

Well, before the conversation could proceed any further, Mikasa had came back. Whether Mikasa's return during then was a fortunate or unfortunate thing was uncertain... considering thanks to Eren's statement, he had developed questions. Annoyingly bothersome questions. But he wasn't going to ask them in front of Mikasa. And Eren of course wasn't going to continue that conversation with Mikasa there.

Back in the present, Mikasa stood up from her seat, as she spoke, "Tea?" She asked.

"Huh? Oh… yeah." Armin nodded. But before the raven could make her way towards the kitchen, Armin blurted out… things. "Are you tired… Mikasa?"

"Of course. It's close to midnight—"

"No… not like that." Armin murmured, before sitting up. Mikasa frowned slightly, she wasn't sure what came over Armin, but he looked troubled. And that troubled her.

"… If you're referring to our relationship, no. I'm not tired of I—"

"It's not that either." Armin sighed, before he stood up and walked towards Mikasa, leaving a few feet away from them. "You know… are you tired from… taking control?" Armin asked nervously. At first, Mikasa was lost as to what he meant. And then, she saw his cheeks tinging an ever-so familiar red. Her cheeks painted itself the same colour upon realization.

"E-Eh? W-Why are you bringing this s-suddenly?" Mikasa stuttered. Regardless of whatever dominant persona she may have, talking about such… things, whether it be in broad daylight or the luminous dark made no difference to the shyness she felt and would display.

"I-If you find it uncomfortable t-to talk about then… never mind." Armin turned his back away. He regretted even bringing it up. Was it normal to bring it up? He wasn't sure. This was a first. Usually they'd just… go with the flow. Either way, Armin had no intention of making his lover uncomfortable. But that wasn't the case.

Mikasa got hold of Armin's hand before he could run off and retreat. "W-Wait… it's not that… i-if you're unhappy with something, tell me…" Mikasa spoke. Her tone was nervous, but it dissolved into something more caring, concerned. And a little worry.

"It's not that too! You always make me happy!" Armin exclaimed, before facing back to her. "It's just…" Armin trailed off. Thinking about it now, he came to the realisation that he didn't really leave any marks on Mikasa. Even if he did, they were always faint, and faded away too quickly. And in comparison to the ones Mikasa had left on him, they were practically permanent—not really, but the marks she'd leave on him would just scream out that he was Mikasa's—her territory and her territory only.

He wanted to do the same now. He suddenly felt the urge to.

His eyes traced down to her neck, and then it dawned upon him her collarbone was exposed to, thanks to that one unbuttoned button. He bit his lip. He hesitated. He looked up to Mikasa as if to ask for permission.

Mikasa looked back at him. She had noticed all of these things. She then took a step closer to him. She took another step. Her arms wrapped around him. And then, she pressed her lips briefly against his.

For that brief moment, Armin savoured the taste of her sweet lips.

She pulled away. She looked at him directly. She gazed as if she were hypnotized. She parted her lips to speak, "It's okay." She whispered softly. "Express yourself." She permitted.

Without a second to waste, Armin leaned himself forward, closer to Mikasa. Then, his lips met hers again. But the kiss he had with her was deeper, was longer. Mikasa wanted to slide her tongue mid-kiss, but Armin had pulled away before she could.

Mikasa displayed her frustration to it with her piercing look, to which Armin ignored as he began to kiss her cheek, down to her neck. Upon arriving to her neck, the blonde pinned her against the wall ever-so suddenly. It came as a surprise to Mikasa, but she wasn't complaining.

Armin began to kiss her neck. Innocently, he planted simple, gentle kisses all over her neck. Mikasa couldn't tell if this was just his act of being a tease or whatever. But one thing's for sure, she was growing impatient. And even after she told him to express himself, her dominant persona wasn't having any of it. However, just as she was about to let instinct overtake her, Armin began to plant a rather prolonged, deep kiss on her neck. Not just any part of her neck, but her sweet, sensitive spot.

"Ah!" A gasp left the raven's lips. Her arms began to wrap around him tighter. It was clear that the noises and actions on Mikasa's part only motivated Armin more as he practically sucked onto her skin even more. And whenever Mikasa would attempt to overthrow his domination out of pure instinct, the blonde would bite her. Literally. On that sensitive and soft spot of hers.

This was a first. Armin had always been… gentle during moments like these. This was different now. Mikasa wasn't exactly complaining about that either.

"A… Armin…!" She grunted out. Armin hadn't marked her this rough. It was new, and she liked it. And it was clearly expressed by the tone of her voice— and the way she'd then tilt her head sideways, as if to give him more skin.

Armin kept going, he'd suck on her skin as if it were the most pleasant thing to taste. He savoured every bit of her, and he couldn't help but bite down on her skin every now and then just for the satisfaction of hearing… certain noises leaving his lover's lips. He never felt like… this. In control. Normally, he'd just let Mikasa do whatever—he just went with the flow, no complaints, no disobedience. He loved the way she'd satisfy him anyway.

Perhaps this was a turning point in this particular aspect of their relationship. Except for now, it seemed Mikasa was the one who went with the flow… just with some spikes of brief rebellion that Armin managed to put out.

To be fair, Mikasa enjoyed this sensation Armin was giving her. And that enjoyment ten folded when his lips left her neck… to only target her collarbone next. But before that, Armin had taken a glimpse of his artwork. Judging by the sudden smirk his lips wore, Mikasa could've guessed he was satisfied. But other than that smirk, she saw a little happy and somehow innocent smile—as if he were proud of marking his territory—her. Mikasa couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Chuckling was probably a bad idea when Armin seemed in his... well, zone. Considering the moment she chuckled, Armin gazed at her in a piercing manner. And he went down to her collarbone, going much ruthless. "Ah!" Mikasa gasped once more, she gripped his shirt tighter. Armin pressed against her chest more, causing both of their cheeks to flush even more so.

"S…Since when did you taste so sweet?" Armin commented in the midst of his marking session. Unfortunately, Mikasa didn't have the chance to answer as Armin began biting down on her collarbone, receiving the raven's noises as a response.

Apparently, it seemed Mikasa's collarbone was another sensitive spot. It was evident since she was squirming more, and more noises left. "A…Armin…" She whimpered.

Something about her calling out his name in such an… exciting way, would flip a switch in him. It was an indescribable sort of feeling. He was learning so much new things about Mikasa thanks to his sudden dominating persona that gradually revealed itself.

Whatever new curiosity he had on her now, he didn't hesitate to experiment.

It didn't seem like this experimentation of his was going to end anytime soon. And it seemed his exhaustion from earlier on had dissipated and shifted into excitement—that much was clear and evident… especially if one were to notice whatever he had down there.

Well, Mikasa had noticed. It made her blush more. It made her wonder how far this was going to go, with him in charge. At this point, it didn't matter. She just wanted… more. She craved more, so did Armin. But Armin was much more ravenous.

Armin pulled away from her collarbone after he ensured he marked his territory appropriately. His eyes gazed at the love-bites he left on her. He smiled with pride, at how dark they were. He then looked up to his lover who was already gasping for air just a little, he then gazed into her eyes that were practically pleading for more.

His lips met with hers again, but rather than rough, they were gentle. But Mikasa knew better that she shouldn't assume that this gentleness would remain throughout. His eyes then glanced at the clock, he pulled away from her. As the clock had indicated, it had just turned midnight. It was the next day since yesterday. A new today. A special day.

"Happy 5 years, Mikasa Ackerman. I love you." Armin whispered softly.

Mikasa smiled, "Happy 5 years, Armin Arlert. I love you too."

With that, Armin proceeded to lay her down on the couch, where their activities and desires would continue past midnight.

Author’s Note: Not the best at writing, but hope you enjoyed this. 

[yoongisbbydoll]

white lie, (m.)

⇢ pairing ─  kim namjoon, reader

⇢ genre ─  break up 

⇢ length ─  8,206 words

⇢ warnings ─  angst, smut

⇢ synopsis ─  You never needed him, or at least that is what you tell yourself. Especially when, spur of the moment, you abandon everything and catch a flight out of the country, leaving everything behind to find yourself. 

Nearing the end of your third year of college, you found your nights were spent in the darkness of your shared apartment searching for jobs. There were weekends wasted away getting drunk on cheap wine and Smirnoff with your roommates and friends after you had all given up on combing through job websites and emails from professors. At the time, summer break had seemed like a blessing and a curse, with a new boyfriend and friends but also seemingly endless rejected applications and days passing doing absolutely nothing.

Your only wish was to get a job to last you through the summer then into your final year of college. Soon enough, you would be venturing into the real world and it was time to start preparing for that day’s arrival. You needed to plan for when you finally were forced to jump ship on childhood and swim to the shore of adulthood—which seemed miles away, out of eyesight.

But your senior year of college brought corporations reaching out to you and not the other way around. So quickly had adulthood become that much closer, and a stable cash flow was making its way into your bank account. Student loans didn’t feel like a demon perched on your shoulders each time you went to class. You were in a perfect relationship with the valedictorian of his class, Kim Namjoon, and with your one-year anniversary seemingly around the corner, you couldn’t help but feel content in the way things had played out for you after years of stress and hard work.

Your relationship was like a dream until Namjoon received an opportunity—no, the absolute best opportunity, were his words on a cold, winter night. You were a little farther than tipsy when Namjoon told you—he had fed you drinks in hopes it would cushion the news he was about to break. But, despite your buzzed headspace, you had still heard him loud and clear. Being drunk only brought out your worst side through screaming and dramatic cries, a night later spent alone in your bed with tear stains as your only companion.

Namjoon had been offered a spot in a prestige foreign exchange program where he would go to America to study his major and advance his English proficiency. He would be gone for the last semester, abroad in a foreign land filled with conventionally beautiful women and men, new opportunities and friendships. You knew he wouldn’t want to come back. America was always his end goal. This would be a stepping stone to reaching this dream of his. Namjoon would be gone with the snap of a finger before your eyes.

In the two weeks leading up to Namjoon’s departure, you avoided his calls and texts, throwing yourself into your studies. Countless days were wasted hunching over highlighters and ripped notebook pages, pen marks and the limelight of your computer and lamp. Only when the sun started to shine through your blinds would you realized that once again you had stayed up far too late trying to distract yourself. Before getting into bed, you would turn on your phone to listen to the voicemails Namjoon had left you.

They all started the same.

I miss you so much.

He would then prose questions you would never answer:

I’m leaving soon and want to see you. Why weren’t you in classes today? Are you sick? Have you been sleeping well? Do you want me to come by with that tea you like and your favorite blanket? It’s still on my bed. I’ll leave it here if you want it when I leave. Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.

Each voice mail ended with a robotic click and crackling in the speaker. Each message would be deleted. Then you would turn to your computer and submit your work, type up a half-assed excuse as to why you wouldn’t make classes that day, then turn to your bed.

But, although you had stayed awake during the night, sleep did not come to you in the morning. The sheets smelled too much like Namjoon though you proactively cleaned them.

Today you did the same.

After sitting in the soft smell of your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend for almost an hour, you stood. You glared down at your bed and quickly ripped up the bedspread and everything else. The sound of seams and thread breaking met your ears this time but you ignored it and stuffed everything into a laundry bag.

Down at the communal laundry, you would shove the bedspread into an empty washing machine and pay the cheap price. Instead of returning to your dorm to wait, you would lean opposite of the machine and watch as water sloshed in, then the soap as it bubbled it and soaked into the fabric. The white sheets would become full of the soapy water and bubbles would crawl up the glass as it spun round and round.

The constant pitter patter of the machine caused your eyes to droop, as if welcoming the familiar sounds into sleep. You could barely slide down on a bench before your eyes were finally succumbing to sleep, the soft thrumming of the laundromat surrounding you.

The machine alerting you it had finished its cycle would wake you, startling you out of colorless dreams. You would quickly shoved everything into the dryer and go on your phone until everything was warm and smelled of fabric softener—not Namjoon.

It had become routine. For thirteen days, you followed these steps as if your life depended upon it. You ignored everyone’s concerns, even your teachers worry filled emails, your roommates’ pregnant pauses as you entered and left the room and their eyes following you wherever you moved. Your bedroom became messy, paper coffee cups and snack wrappers gathering on your desk, the floor, the space between your bed and the wall. You didn’t bother cleaning. No one was coming by anytime soon, anyways.

On the day you knew Namjoon was leaving, you finally decided to kick yourself out of the harmful and depressing routine. This time, you went to bed at a reasonable time and woke up early enough to slip into something besides sweatpants. You walked into classes like a ghost and watched when your teachers’ eyes widened as you responded to roll call. In fact, everyone’s eyes had widened a bit.

But you didn’t look up to the curious eyes, bashfully turning down to your book and doodling on the corners. Eventually, classes ended, and you had received a hefty amount of makeup work and notes. Your weekend had been planned for you.

But it was a Friday and the campus was abuzz with talks of parties and alcohol and other toxic drugs to get people off. Instead of searching for an address to forget yourself at, you turned in the direction of the library and pressed yourself into the familiar atmosphere.

Throughout college, the local library had become a small safe haven and you often found yourself spending days and nights studying between its dust lined walls and rows of endless books that hadn’t been touched in years. Everything was as you remembered it, there was light airy music playing on low and the librarian called you out by name. You greeted her and she smiled kindly back before returning to her stacks of books.

You looked at the books longingly. It was easy for you to lose yourself in a good read. Each story seemed to drag you in and never let you go. A distraction. That’s what you needed.

Head hanging low, you shuffled through the library, avoiding the wandering gazes of other classmates. You made yourself a coffee, slipping an extra dollar into the small donation box and then wandering off into a distant corner.

There were only about fifteen students in the small library at most. Each was focused on their own work and you were glad that there would be no one to disturb you.

On your way to find a seat, a stray book had caught your eye. It had been laying on an abandoned table and you scooped it up. The cover was worn for a library book, but the little, stamped slip inside the cover said no one was using it currently.

You splayed your things out on the table so no one would join you and tucked yourself into the chair, crossing your legs over themselves comfortably. The book’s first few words were a bit faded but you squinted closely and began reading.

For almost two hours, your mind was wrapped up in physics and psychology, exploring the meaning of life—or mostly the fact that there is none—and evolution of man. It took a deep cough to startle you away from your work. You did not have to look up to know who was sitting in front of you. His purple hair stood out against the bland, warm colors of the library.

From what you could see, he was dressed up in a nice suit, hair slicked up off his face. “Plane lands and we go right to the campus for an interview,” Namjoon says when he notices you staring at his out-of-place attire.

You nodded and looked over at your bag, wondering what he would do if you pulled out your headphones. “Please don’t.” He begged, already way ahead of your own thoughts.

This time, you looked up.

Though he was dressed prim and proper, his eyes were bloodshot, so you pushed your cup of coffee towards him—he probably needed it more than you anyways. Namjoon brought it to his lips and took a long, exasperated gulp.

“How long is your flight?” You asked, trying to be polite.

Namjoon’s glistening eyes dropped down to the cup in his hands. “Too long.”

You smiled—or tried to smile as much as you could in that moment. “I suppose you will be bringing a book or two then? Want a suggestion?”

 Namjoon had first seen you in the library. He had first kissed you between the shelves and slipped his hands down your shorts in one of the private rooms. He had quietly rocked you against his hips and the table all those times he coaxed you into his lap to help him study.

The tall shelves that lined the floors became home to inside jokes and stolen kisses. The walls were places to press each other against and skim book descriptions on. The tables in the back became a home to nights studying and taking out frustration while fucking on top of the sticky surfaces. It was a ruthless cycle of trying to pass classes and trying not to get caught with his dick in your mouth. Sex with Namjoon was heated but slow at slow at first but later it because instant and quick, something you relied on when you didn’t have anything to say. Being with Namjoon had completely changed since that first day.

 But now, as he sat in front of you, eyes tired and hands shaking from what you assume was restlessness and coffee—he’d always had an unhealthy obsession with the drink—he seemed so much different. Namjoon was always composed and seeing him in such a state frightened you.

His eyes met yours and you tried to smile. This was awkward for the both of you.

“Got anything good for me?”

You thought you were reading too deep into the question but replied anyways. “Yeah, this one called Brighton Rock by Graham Greene and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by John le Carré—which I’ve read more than a few times now. They should keep you occupied for the flight.”

You awkwardly tapped your pencil on your book, as if trying to will him away.

Namjoon pushed back his chair, words on the tip of his tongue. He instead nods and turns, weaving himself into the shelves you’d once lost yourself in.

Namjoon didn’t come home for graduation, didn’t call or text after leaving. But you suppose your last meeting had to have been closure enough for him so it must be enough for you too. Guilt still bit at your wrists and ankles before you finally kicked it away and straightened yourself out for finals. Test results came back and you secured your own apartment out in the city for just yourself. You adopted a cat, got a well paying job and another boyfriend. But it wasn’t enough for you.

The apartment walls were too small and the cat was too annoying when you were trying to work. Even work was boring as hell and you always seemed to behind on something. It felt as if you had lost yourself, college hadn’t helped you chose a career and you still searched for better paying and most interesting jobs. Anything seemed better than the job you currently had, but it was the only one that paid you enough to afford an apartment in the city.

In the late spring, one year after you finished college, you quit your job. Walked right out in the middle of a corporate meeting with all those important people who made a real difference in the workplace.

The meeting had been boring, and you could barely see the notes you had been taking over the drowsiness eating away at your vision. Suddenly, the man standing at the front of the room had said your name, startling you out of your haze. When you looked up, he was glaring at you. You’d gotten this look from teachers and parents your entire life. But now, as a adult, it snapped in you. Your seat fell over in your rush to leave the room, sprinting down the halls, down the stairs until you reached the cool air outside.

People glared at you as you weaved quickly through the crowds but you didn’t care, letting your feet take you back to your apartment. When you finally made it there, you started roughly packing a small bag. You shot your boyfriend a text, telling him that things just weren’t working out on your end. You threw whatever you thought was most important to you in that bag and ran out the door.

At the airport everyone gave you side eyes, wondering what you were doing looking like a hot mess, hair mused, clothes crumpled. But you were in a completely different headspace, you didn’t give a single fuck about what these people who didn’t know you thought. You bought the earliest flight out of the country and rushed through security as if your life depended on it.

When you passed through the gates and gave the flight attendant your ticket, you didn’t turn back. Partially because you didn’t want to but also because you couldn’t or you might have stayed.

The flight you booked, which you had barely bothered to look at, was to France. Where specifically, you did not know, the city’s name lost in the confines of your head. But you did not stay lost, after midnight trysts with men whose names you forget now, you needed to move on. The world was waiting for you and you couldn’t bring yourself to stay in one place for more than a few weeks. Each new country was right in front of your fingers, new faces and foods you had never heard of. You dined in the fanciest to the most run-down restaurants. You captivated the people with your accent and giggles when you tried to speak their mother tongue.

You learned new languages, picking up on the most basic of things to get yourself by. It was fun not knowing though, listening to natives rapidly fire out different words in their own tongues while you sat, fascinated eyes wide. More people had shown you a good time than the people in your own country and home time and it felt nice to have the attention finally on you. Never on someone else or lingering on another body.

Men and women alike lured you into their traps, holding you to the country. In each place, you’d met more than a dozen but only one mattered in each place you ventured.

In France, it had been Ulrich. A chain smoker and heavy alcoholic, a man who swore like the sailors do, but someone with so much love an f care he didn’t know what to do with. Ulrich had been the first of many to capture your heart and mind—with nothing more than a single glance across the bar and a tug on his lips. He taught you to slow dance like the rich do in the middle of his rooftop apartment. You had spent the afternoon pushing all the furniture to the sides of the room then wrapped in each other’s arms, glass balcony doors opened, billowing white drapes hiding the outside from your view.

Ulrich’s lips were like bitter coffee that stung your own and left you craving for more. His hair was the darkest of chocolates, and eyes the color of your mother’s. In the mornings, he would let you sleep in, only waking you when the sun had begun to fall over the opposite side of the sky and the bright blues turned orange and violet and fluorescent yellow. In the afternoons, Ulrich would treat you to the streets and delights of Paris, kissing udder the Eiffel like a pair of stereotypical actors in a movie. In the nights, he would lead his kisses down the column of your neck, softly laying you into his bed. As the sun rose he would meet you out on his balcony, sprinkling hickies down your neck and shoulder, prickling goosebumps rising from your skin. He would bathe you in the dewy morning light before going to sleep with you.

But he was only an affair, much as they all were. The only time you felt you could leave him was in the night when he was fast asleep against your back. So that when he woke and walked out onto that balcony expecting to find you, Ulrich could watch the morning sun rise and think of you—think of you as you had been and as you were going to be. All he was left was an empty promise of We’ll meet again on a flimsy post-it note, stuck to the glass door of his balcony.

  In Australia, you wound yourself tight into the thick accents and nights spent drunk at bars off of thick beer. Woman and men of all sorts tried to pull you in but left you high and dry when the morning rolled around, they would only faintly remember you when the sun shone through and work called their names. So you gave up on the pubs and turned to the ocean, spending hours on the sand, basking in the warmth and letting the sand stick to your damp skin.

It was midday, the tide having already come in when you spotted them. Marx and his sister Mickey had been jogging into the water, surfboards tucked underneath their tanned arms.

For the day, you watched them ride the waves as if they had been born to. Their bodies knew the water like an old friend, and when they fell into it, it enveloped them and stuck to their skin and hair, unwilling to let them go. You watched them until the sun set and the ocean became dark and monstrous, waves crashing louder and stronger than they had before. They made their giddy way across the sand and spotted you, smiling and dripping wet, sunburn coloring your cheeks. After explaining your situation, they took you in graciously as if you were their own. You fit yourself into the middle cushion of their couch and fit yourself snug into their lives as well.

Marx had given you pleasure, always tugging you back to bed whenever you tried to escape. He beckoned you with curly blonde hair and bitten cherry lips and tan skin. As soon as you looked back at him calling you back by your name, you would melt into his arms and sigh into the crook of his neck about how much you hated him. In his arms was by far your favorite place in Australia.

But Mickey, young, innocent, Mickey. She gave you a different kind of friendship you had never had before. You became her teller of secrets, gossiping over traveling and relationships, talking about boys and your personal meanings to life. You argued over your beliefs and goals and gave each other advice on hundreds of different things.

It was nearing the height of the summer, sweat a constant in the humidity, when you decided to pack your bags, only, this time, you left with something else besides an empty heart yearning for more adventures. Mickey had followed you to Hawaii.

  The islands of Hawaii were much more than you expected. In Australia, Marx and Mickey had taught you how to surf—though badly—so when you pushed yourself out into the water with Mickey just a step behind, you were not thinking of the men or the drinks. All you could see was the clear water and the thousands of fish swimming beneath, coals lively and swaying like a breeze was running through their colorful bodies.

You stayed on the main island for almost two weeks before planning to pack your bags, but unlike you, Mickey had found herself a partner and you left her behind. Onto better things.

This brought you to Kahoni. He was going on vacation to get away from his parents and visit relatives that lived on the island for the summer. There you were, getting off the plane just as you were, in a natural state of happiness and euphoria. The both of you looked like complete messes, your tan finally settling into your skin, sun burn on your shoulders and high points of your face, but he was no better, his shirt stained and hair pushed in every direction. You turned to each other and smiled, as if already knowing that your stories were somehow intertwined.

When you jumped into his cab at the last second, not going to let the moment slip away, Kahoni changed his mind and asked the driver to turn the other way—towards the beach.

Kahoni showed you even more beautiful beaches and people and food. Letting you in on native secrets and taking you out for midnight fucks on the beach when the moon sparkled against the calm ocean took your breath away. He explored your daring side, fingering you in cabs and under the table in small restaurants where you could almost hear the person beside you breathing. He was exciting and intoxicating, always taking care of you and making sure you finished first, adoring it when you dug your nails into his obsidian hair and tugged on it when he fucked you, endless brow eyes drowning in yours. He would hold the door for you, buy you food and clothing fit of the Hawaiian heat and tied your shoes whenever they came undone in public.

Though you were his for the summer, he was not yours. Kahoni didn’t mind that you would go out on your own, venturing back when the sun was rising. He’d wake slightly when you climbed into bed next to him, but he’d never say a thing, only opening his arms to allow you to get closer. His only condition to the whole ordeal was that you come back to him one last night before you leave. On that fateful last day, you both booked flights out of the country and sloppily kissed goodbye at the flight gates and headed your separate ways.

  As fall began to get beneath your skin, you had wound your way up to Alaska and Canada. The clothes you had packed and bought in the beginning were not fit for harsh winds, snow, and the cold. All your shoes were open-toed and you only brought along one pair of leggings. But, when you stopped at an outlet to go shopping for more weather appropriate clothes, you met Dean. He was a simple retail worker with silver hair and a good taste in music and lingerie.

Dean threw himself at you, knowing that you were what he needed to escape from his boring, small town life. So you equally threw yourself into his life, pulling him into your warmth for safe keeping. Not even a week later of crashing on his couch—really his bed—he was buying you gifts. Leaving prettily wrapped treasures around his underground apartment. Coats, wallets, purses—all things you would have to leave behind.

But, out of all of the things he had given you, a black silk nightie was your favorite. You had worn it for most of your stay in the cold climate of Canada. The only time you took it off was if you were fucking Dean or cleaning it.

Dean had what you found to be an extremely high sex drive, ravishing you on every surface of his apartment at any time of the day he wanted. You had fucked on almost every piece of furniture in a little bit over a week. The bed, the couch, the kitchen counter, against the windows, in his car, even on top of the grand piano he inherited from his mother and shoved into the corner of his living room—which had been untouched before you.

You were with him for three weeks before you packed up the silk piece—the only thing you would ever take away from Kieran besides yourself—and went on your way. You once again left in the middle of the night, the only thing hinting your absence was a sticky note you plastered to his fridge reading I’ll miss you in messy hand writing.

  Hawaii had been enough for you, so instead of sauntering around the fifty states, you flew down to Mexico. Winter had also just begun and you didn’t think you could handle anything colder than what was in your heart.

There had been no one special for you in Mexico, but instead of losing yourself in the tall, dark men, you found yourself lain with the beautiful women. You had never been one for such a thing but when someone whispered Live a little, baby, you didn’t stop yourself like all those other times. You were enraptured by thick, silky black hair and chocolate eyes, heartwarming giggles and screams of your name.

You found yourself staying in Mexico for almost two months, riding out the rest of the winter in the heat of its beautiful country and enthralling clubs. The bars never closed and people stayed up all hours of the night, fucking and kissing and drinking and doing whatever the fuck they wanted because they could.

But there was still no one special that could keep you there one more night—besides maybe the deliciously spicy food—so you moved on with a longing kiss goodbye from some a woman you barely knew.

  Although the South Americas were alike to Mexico, they were completely their own. The culture of both places thrived and lived within each person you had met. But in Brazil, the parties were greater than you had ever experienced. They were loud, rambunctious, and exactly what you had been searching for. Everyone was interested and captured by your presence, each wanting a taste of the foreigner.

But you never gave into them, already having been captured by a man named Caio. He was tall, looming over you at six feet and nine inches. He was broad and went to the gym every day. In his arms you felt protected and secure, indifferent to those around you as you had found a tall, dark haired, mysterious man for your own.

Although someone who looked like him could have been paid to be on television, he was a chef. It was what kept you turning around at the door each time—aside from his strong grip. The smell of heavenly food wafting from the kitchen kept you always hungry and yearning for more. He treated you to the delicacies of his native area as well as his own interests.

He brought you on hikes up mountains and through busy streets, tugging you along like a happy child, explaining the rich history of the cities and country. He even ventured so far as to take you to the statue of Christ the Redeemer, pressing a kiss to your cheek as a stranger snapped a picture of the two of you in front of it.

Being with Caio made you gain and lose so much weight you were going crazy. He would feed you then take you on longs walks or entice you into going into the gym with him. But you needed a break and so did he. The restaurant he worked at was asking to work dinners as well as breakfast and being the free heart you, wanted to be free as well. He drove you to the airport, helping you with your luggage, paying for your plane ticket, then slapping your ass as you walked away.

  Just like in Southern America, you had become enchanted by the lavish culture of Africa. All the people were kind as well and you always felt like all your needs had been catered to the fullest and then more. In Africa, you became friends with a street artist. He had been painting you as you sat and watched people in a park, taking a break from your constantly moving lifestyle to sit back and appreciate life at its simplest. When you noticed him, he smiled—wide and gummy. You patted the free space next to you on the bench and he jogged across the park to meet you. He immediately introduced himself as Jai.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Jai showed you the culture that sprung from every corner and crevice and doorstep and you in turn became the centerpiece for many of his beautiful illustrations and paintings and sketches, your curves and edges drawn out in bright colors and dark charcoal. Some days, you would spend time watching him paint in his top floor suite that overlooked the Lagos in Nigeria; others, you would lay on the couch as he sketched out your naked body on a rough piece of parchment. Then, the two of you would go out into the city and talk for hours, mouths spewing information about the people you’ve met and the paces you’ve been and the things you’ve experienced.

You found yourself on a sex and alcohol strike with Jai, instead of going out for drinks, you sat with locals at mom-owned restaurants and talked about the differences of your homes and they taught you their native languages.  

You stayed with Jai the longest of all, two months passing by quickly in the presence of someone you would come to call the most unique and kind-hearted person you’ve ever met. Jai was your best friend by the end of your time spent together. He had always longed of seeing places besides his own home country, always eating up your stories of midnight rendezvous and the different people and cities and landscapes. You were like a good book he never wanted to put down.

You offered to take him with you on your next venture to Russia and China but he refused, staying behind and wishing you well. You took down his address and promised to write if you could. He would try sending you a few letters later but you would never respond. It would be too hard to relive those memories without longing to go back.

 You were only in Russia and China when you decided that you had depleted your bank account enough and experienced so much that you thought it time you finally returned home. You didn’t want to but you found yourself on a flight home, angry at the prospect of having to go back to dull routine and monotonous work. You had been gone for a year, age and new experiences nipping at your body, begging you to continue your journey. But you forcefully ignored the thoughts and took a cab back home.

The apartment was cold when you first stepped into it and your cat curled herself around your leg, meowing loudly, tail swinging around your ankles. Mail and reminders of taxes and papers reminding you of actual adult responsibilities loitered the table beside your front door. But you ignored those, scooped up your cat and fell into the warmth of your bed. Being an adult could wait another day.

The next morning, you rolled over at one in the afternoon, rubbing your tired eyes. You wanted to go back to sleep but responsibility ate away at you and dragged you out of bed, puppeteering you like a marionet around your apartment.

You read the notes left by your mother who had agreed to take care of your animal as you rushed out of the country on a whim. Your sweet mother had faithfully written out a letter each week she came over explaining things you had missed and you slowly took in everything she wrote on those pages. In one of the letters, you took note of your mom mentioning a man who was standing in front of your door one day she came by but left when she approached. She talked about how your cat had needed a vaccination and she took care of the vet bill for you. After putting your favorite letters in a drawer you turned to the tabe beside your front door covered in mail.

Your mother had said she looked through it and got rid of unimportant things but there was so many letters. You felt too hungry to take them on, on an empty stomach so you ordered for food delivery and started tackling the pile.

It would be a week before you managed to come out of your apartment—thank God for delivery and your mother bringing you food whenever you needed it. You filed all your taxes and caught up on all your bills and such. You even sent out a dozen applications for jobs that you thought you would enjoy. Thankfully, one company had replied within twenty-four hours, asking for an interview so they could go over your resume. It brought you into the heart of the city, a place you hadn’t been in over a year.

Despite being gone for over a year making your way across the globe and discovering yourself, life was granting you some peace and ease, giving you a job and letting you be financially stable despite all the money spent in foreign countries.

But of course, it’s not that easy and life decided to throw you a curve ball.

The early morning rush keeps you packed tight into the crowd, shoulders pressed together, head down as you try to make your way to work. But of course, with your luck, someone pushing against the crowd runs directly into you, of all people. You’re completely stunned and pissed off, completely bewildered at the disrespect some people possess. “Are you fucking—”

When you finally looked up at the person from the ground, you weren’t expecting to see a familiar face. Namjoon was grimacing, rubbing his wrist. Just like you had, he began angrily spewing off swears, but he finally looked down and saw you and it all faded away.

It takes Namjoon a second to register your face through your new haircut and color, but as soon as he realizes who he’s looking at, his expression turns from angry to confused. “What are you doing here and why did you run into me?” He accuses.

You push yourself up off the ground seeing as Namjoon clearly isn’t going to help you. “I think it’s you who ran into me.” You state mater-of-factually, dusting yourself off in annoyance.

You never expected that seeing him would bring such annoyance and anger.

The crowd walks around you, creating a wall on each side, making you feel like it’s just the two of you. “No, I—”

You cut Namjoon off, raising your hand to his face, “Listen, you were walking against the majority, take another route next time.”

He looks down at you dumbfounded. When you had been together, you would never say anything so snippy towards him, every word had been airy and light. But after a moment, he realizes that you grew up, much like he had. Things had changed in the long two years apart and he couldn’t expect things to be the way they had been.

“Look, I’d love to stay and chat but I have an actual job to get to.” You roll your eyes and walk away, your shoulder brushing his as you pass by.

When your shoulder brushes his, something snaps in him. In the time he was away, Namjoon had become sick of you pushing him away and ignoring his calls. Now, he just wanted closure as the last time you saw him you had been as fake as a Barbie doll. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he only wanted to fulfill his own dreams—he didn’t plan on leaving you behind either. Why couldn’t you just understand that and stop being a self-absorbed bitch?

Namjoon spins around to catch our wrist, but instead you’re already lost in the hundreds of people walking up the street and he has caught the hand of an old man, holding onto the stranger like his life depends on it. Namjoon apologizes and stalks off, making his way through the crowd once again.

  You had never been a great cook, meaning that almost three nights a week, your mother would have to come over with leftovers so that you didn’t starve or waste all your money on take out. So, of course, when you hear a knock at the door, you rush over at the prospect of your mom’s home cooking.

Hastily, you hop off the couch and skid along the tile floors to the door, ready to devour whatever dish your mom has brought you today. “Mom, perfect timing.”

The world really is against you, isn’t it? Your mom isn’t standing there with food in a saran wrapped plate, instead, in her place is Namjoon, staring at you with scrunched brows and lips pressed to a thing line.

Namjoon pushes himself into your apartment, not saying anything until he’s standing in the middle of your kitchen. He grips the edge of your marble counter, knuckles white in frustration. “What. The. Fuck." He grits.

“How the fuck did you know where I live?” You seethe. Who the fuck does Namjoon think he is? Showing up to your apartment after two years and forcing his way in without saying anything.

Right now, you’ are just as angry as Namjoon and if you weren’t raised the way you were, you would be smacking him unconscious and then calling the police. “Do you not know what the internet is?” Namjoon laughs obnoxiously.

You stand with a blank face and Namjoon smirks as if saying I’m-so-much-smarter-than-you-ha-ha-ha. “Why can’t you just fucking let this go?” You ask after a pause, throwing up your arms in frustration. “I got over you a long time ago and I think you need to do the same.”

“If you’re over me, then why can I do this?”

Namjoon is in front of you before you can take another breath, his lips coming down on you like a waterfall. He pulls you into him from the waist like you’re the cure to his homesickness, and he drinks you up like an alcoholic returning to his poison. Your anger melts off you slowly and you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you trying to make up for all the lost time.

His lips fit in yours like a puzzle piece and you can’t help but think that this is what you had been searching for all this time. All those countries and all those men and women had never been made for you in the way that Namjoon was.

When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.” He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose and you close your eyes, leaning into the touch. “Can I kiss you?”

Namjoon had always asked you before kissing you, no matter what. It had become a quirk you were so used to and accustomed to that you almost forgot how special it made you feel. In the year you had been together, Namjoon had never not asked for your permission. When you once asked why he did it , he said that it was because he didn’t want to force you into an uncomfortable situation and he didn’t want to pressure you.

“Yes.” You breathe, tilting your head to capture his lips in yours.

His tongue dampens your bottom your lip and you slacken your jaw to allow him in. It’s breathless, sloppy, and full of the lust you’d been yearning for in the last year. Even after so long, Namjoon knows your body like his own and he grips you in just the right places to have you arching your back into him and moaning into his touch.

He pulls away again and the two of you are breathing heavy with bitten red lips and goofy smiles, staring into each other’s eyes passionately. Your hand slips down into his and you lock your fingers together  tightly; he brings your hand up to his lips and peppers kisses against your knuckles.

You drag him to your bedroom and fall onto the mattress with an airy laugh. Namjoon kneels at the edge of the bed, placing himself between your spread legs. He runs his cold hand up the inside of your thigh, eliciting goosebumps up your legs as he pulls off your shorts, placing kisses where your skin is now bare.

Namjoon steadies his hands on your hips, massaging the skin carefully while leaving wet, open mouthed kisses along your pelvis. “Can I?” Namjoon asks, lips inches away from pantie line, tongue gliding over the bite marks he imprinted on your skin.

“Please.” You helplessly breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, trying to tug him closer to where you needed and missed him the most.

Within seconds, the thin fabric of your undergarments is thrown to the other side of the room and Namjoon’s cold fingers circles your clit. He’s careful to wind you up slowly, the pleasure bubbling up calmly so he can take his time with you and adore you in all the ways you deserve. It’s hard to keep your legs spread open for him, your instinct being to wrap your thighs around his head and suffocate him in your heat.

Namjoon makes a V with his fingers and slides them up your heat, trapping your slit in between his ring covered digits. With a moan, you arch your back into the cool feeling of the steel rings and his cold fingers against your sex. Namjoon pulls away but repeats his action again, holding your waist down with his other hand as your hips rock into the sensation. Your body is already shivering under him and Namjoon can’t help but feel cocky that you’re so quickly unraveled by a few simple strokes.

He dips his head, grabbing your legs to pull you closer to him so he can lay his tongue flat against your heat. His tongue delves between your slit and you grip his hair even tighter, biting down on your bottom lip to hold back your groggy moans. But the breath in your lungs is stolen away when he swirls his tongue around your clit and takes it between his full lips.

Electricity sizzles through your abdomen and you scream his name, so foreign yet so familiar on your lips. Namjoon smiles against your cunt and massages the inside of your thighs softly as he takes your clit between his lips again, sucking on the sensitive bundle.

You rock yourself against his face shamelessly, soaking up the pleasure and electrifying it as his tongue dances deceitfully against you. You need him, had always needed him, and the knots in your stomach and the anxiety you had ignored for so long were dissipating under him, slithering away with a sad smile.

Namjoon lets you ride out your orgasm against him, thumb pressing circles into your clit, tongue dancing around your dripping cunt. You breathe heavily as your orgasm dies down and Namjoon pulls away, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Let me make love to you,” Namjoon smiles and presses a kiss against the damp skin of your neck. You nod and run your nails lightly down his back, lifting your leg as he pushes his pants down and presses his tip to your entrance. Namjoon hovers over you for a moment, eyes nervous. “Do you remember our safe word?”

You nod and tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling you closer to you. Namjoon slides into you naturally and your walls stretch deliciously around him. He bites down on his bottom lips, screwing his eyes shut at the feeling of you around him again. Namjoon takes a moment to gather himself, taking deep breathes and laying his head on your shoulder.

When you begin to tighten around him, he mewls like a kicked puppy, hips jerking. “Namjoon.” You breathe in his hair, pressing kisses into his temple as you run your hand up back. He shakes his head but finally starts to move, pulling himself back before thrusting into you.

His hard cock presses into the heat of your tight cunt and every time he pulls out the erotic sound of your two bodies joining together meets your ears. Namjoon angles himself into you in a way he knows oh so well, so when he snaps his hips to meet yours, his cock slides over that special bundle of nerves with each thrust. He sets a pace of long, slow thrusts. Each one sends waves of heat over your already scorching muscles. You feel spent from your first orgasm but a second one rising out of nothing, urging you to spread your legs farther and tighten even more around him.

You close your eyes and give into the feeling of him inside of you, nothing like the men before him. He knows your body so well, is always knows exactly where to be and when. He knows the places that make you scream his name and dig your nails into his back like he’s asking for it—and he pretty much is.

But, he surprises you when his finger starts to swirl around your clit again. Your thighs shake from the pressure building in your stomach and you don’t know how much longer you can hang onto this very thin thread he has you hanging from. You pull Namjoon closer and press your lips messily against his.

You bite down on his bottom lip and curl your tongue into his mouth. But it proves too hard to keep yourself together as his thrusts become harder and more urgent. You lean your head back into the mattress and let the pleasure wash over you, cleansing you like a baptism.

Arched off the sheets, legs locking Namjoon against your chest, lips parted. A cry grows in your chest, traveling up to spill over the tip of your tongue and leave your trembling lips. Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.

He snaps his hips and finishes inside of you, locking your lips in his to hold back the animalistic grunts rumbling from his chest. Namjoon grips your hips with both hands as you pulse around him, grabbing him from reality and dragging him ever so much closer to you.

In space and time, there is a place for you. Namjoon knows this now. Though it may not work out later, he knows, really knows that no one will ever replace the space you take up in his world. It’s a god damned big space but as long as, in this moment, with you crying out his name with euphoria dripping off your tongue like a symphony, if he stays just for a moment, it won’t matter in the end. It won’t matter because this is love. This is the ring on the finger and the deal breaker all in one.

 The end of your third year out of college brought nights spent wondering who you were, but also knowing that being tucked between the wall and his chest like this would be enough. Nights were spent up late working and sipping expensive wine on your couch while reruns of shows you’ve already watched play in the background. Summer had been a blessing and a curse, with a new husband and a baby on the way, you knew everything would turn out alright in the end.

note : inspired by the songs “Hotline Bling” by Drake and “White Lie” by Jhameel. this turned out longer than i expected but happy birthday, namjoon!

Thank you for reading! Find more from me, July, here.