Paint the town purple

You pushed open the heavy rooftop door and stepped into the cool evening air. It had only been three weeks since you moved to Seoul, but every day still felt like a whirlwind... too noisy, too busy, too fast for you to keep up with.

The brutal critique from Professor Kim today was your final straw.

“Surface level,” he’d said in front of everyone, tapping your paper with two fingers like it personally offended him. “You’re describing the notes, but where’s the soul behind the artistry? This is music, not a textbook summary.”

Your cheeks still burned at the memory.

The rooftop was quieter than the streets below, the hum of traffic distant. You walked to the far corner railing, gripping the cool metal, and breathed in the night air... cool, laced with cigarette smoke, champagne and distant rain.

A few meters away, a man leaned against the railing, alone.

Black hoodie, dark hair falling slightly over his eyes, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He looked relaxed, like the chaos of the city didn’t dare touch him.

You didn’t recognize him.

Just another stranger in a city full of them.

You closed your eyes and let the breeze hit your face, trying to push the day away.

“Rough night?” His voice was low, slightly raspy.

You opened your eyes.

He was watching you now, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, managing a tired smile. “More like a rough three weeks. I’m new here. University’s kicking my ass.”

He gave a small nod, like he understood more than you expected. “New city hits different. Everything feels too sharp at first. Been there.” He took a slow drag, then exhaled smoke away from you. “You look like you came up here to escape, not drink.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah... I just needed air that doesn’t smell like cheap instant ramen and stress sweat. My dorm’s basically a shoebox.”

He smirked faintly, turning more toward you. “I get that. Myself Yoongi.”

“I’m Y/n,” you said, offering your hand.

His grip was warm, steady, calloused fingertips brushing yours a second longer than necessary.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” His eyes... sharp but strangely soft, lingered on your face. “So what’s got a new-in-town university student looking like the world ended?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I am doing my Masters in Music Theory. Today my music analysis professor tore my paper apart in front of the whole class.”

“He said it was too surface level. I spent days working on it—talking about song structures, rhythms, and how some artists use music to express their inner feelings. But he said I only scratched the surface. That I didn’t really understand the feeling behind the art.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows rose slightly. He flicked ash over the railing. “Music class, huh? What exactly were you writing about?”

You leaned your elbows on the railing beside him, the words spilling out easier than they should with a stranger. “I picked a few underground producers and how they use simple, soft sounds to express feeling alone even when they’re surrounded by millions of people in the city... I thought it was decent. Guess not.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying you. “Most people write about the big names. You went underground. That’s already more interesting than half the shit professors read.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “You know about music?”

A soft, almost amused huff escaped him. “A little.”

Something about the way he said it, made you smile genuinely for the first time all day. “Okay, Mr. ‘A Little.’ What’s your take then? Because I’m clearly missing the soul or whatever.”

Yoongi turned fully toward you now, resting his back against the railing. The city lights painted faint shadows across his face.

“Music isn’t just about the notes or the beat. It’s about the empty spaces between the sounds. Sometimes leaving silence says more than adding more noise. A lot of producers just follow what’s trending. But the really good ones put their real feelings into the track. They make you feel something even when no one is singing.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice. “That’s… actually really good. My professor said something similar but made it sound like I was too stupid to get it.”

“Maybe he’s just a bad teacher,” Yoongi said with a small smirk. “Or maybe you were nervous writing it. Happens when you’re drowning in a new city.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “God, yes. Everything’s overwhelming. The buses make no sense, my roommate’s never in the dorm except sleep time, and I miss my mom’s cooking so bad I almost cried over convenience store kimbap yesterday.”

He chuckled—a low, warm sound that settled in your chest. “Kimbap hits different when you’re homesick. What’s your favourite dish?”

The conversation flowed so easily it surprised you.

You told him about home, about the pressure of being the first in your family to study abroad, about how music had always been your comfort but now even that felt academic and cold.

Yoongi listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding or adding quiet insights that made you feel seen.

At one point he lit another cigarette, offering you one.

You declined.

“You don’t smoke?” he asked.

“Not really. I came up here to clear my lungs, not fill them.”

“Fair.” He paused, eyes tracing your face more openly now. “You’ve got this look… like you’re carrying the whole damn city on your shoulders already. It’s only been three weeks.”

Your voice softened. “Feels like three months. I don’t know anyone here. I just… keep messing up.”

“You’re not messing up,” he said, quieter. His gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. “You’re figuring things out... and adjusting. That takes guts.”

The air between you shifted.

The casual conversation suddenly felt heavier, warmer. You became aware of how close you were standing—barely a foot apart now.

The way his hoodie sleeves were pushed up, revealing pale wrists and delicate veins. The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

“So…” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “what do you do, Yoongi? Since you seem to know a lot about music.”

He smiled... small, almost secretive. “I make it. Produce, mostly.”

“Oh? That’s cool. Are you any good?” you teased, not catching the weight behind his words.

His eyes darkened with amusement. “Some people think so.”

The charged tension thickened. He stepped a little closer, voice dropping lower. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

You shook your head, heart picking up speed. “Should I?”

“No,” he said, almost relieved. “It’s… refreshing. Most people who know me, come at me with expectations.”

The way he looked at you now wasn’t casual anymore. It was slow, deliberate. Like he was seeing you... really seeing you. Your tired eyes, the way your hair moved in the breeze, the nervous way you bit your lip.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah... You.” He reached up, almost absentmindedly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered near your jaw. “Talking like this. Looking like that. Making me forget things like I came up here to be alone.”

Your breath caught. The city noise faded further into the background. “And what else are you forgetting right now?”

“That I usually don’t do this.” His thumb grazed your cheek, feather-light. “Don’t talk this long. Don’t want to keep talking.”

Heat pooled low in your stomach. “Then what do you want to do?”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to your mouth again, darker now. His voice was barely above a whisper, rough around the edges. “I want to know what you sound like when you’re not stressed. When you’re not thinking about papers or buses or homesickness.”

The air felt electric.

You could smell the faint tobacco on his breath, feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’m not usually this forward,” you breathed, even as you leaned slightly into his touch.

“Neither am I.” His lips curved into a half-smirk. “But something about you up here, looking like you need someone to pull you out of that head of yours… it’s doing things to me.”

You swallowed. “Yoongi…”

“Tell me to back off and I will,” he said seriously, though his fingers stayed near your face. “But if you don’t… I’d really like to kiss you right now and see if the rest of the night can get better than this conversation.”

The rooftop, the city, the terrible day—all of it narrowed down to the charged space between you two. Your heart hammered as you looked up at him, the mysterious producer who somehow understood exactly what you’d been feeling.

Your voice came out shaky but certain. “Then stop talking and do it.”

He exhaled sharply.

His hand slid properly to your jaw as he leaned in, slow enough for you to change your mind, close enough that you felt his breath mingle with yours.

The first brush of his lips was soft... testing.

Then deeper, hungrier, as you responded. The cigarette scent mixed with something distinctly him, and the kiss tasted like possibility in the middle of your chaotic new life.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing uneven, he whispered, “Stay a while longer. I’m not ready to let you disappear back into that city yet.”

Then he kissed you again. The kiss deepened instantly.

Yoongi’s hand cupped your jaw more firmly as he tilted his head, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You parted for him with a soft sigh, and he took the invitation greedily.

The kiss turned wet, hungry—tongues meeting, tasting, exploring. A low sound rumbled in his chest as he stepped forward, backing you up without breaking the kiss.

Your back met the cool concrete wall in the shadowed corner of the rooftop, tucked behind a tall wooden partition where the string lights barely reached. It was dark enough that no one from the main seating area could see you clearly.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, voice rougher now. “You taste even better than I thought.”

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours again—deeper, messier. Wet kisses, lips sliding, tongues tangling. He pressed his body against yours, one thigh slipping between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his hand slid down your side, gripping your waist.

“Yoongi…” you whispered breathlessly when he pulled back just enough to kiss along your jaw.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you managed, fingers threading into his dark hair.

His mouth claimed yours again.

This time the kiss was filthy... wet sounds filling the small space between you as he sucked on your tongue, then your bottom lip. His hands grew bolder. One stayed at your waist while the other slowly travelled down, slipping under the hem of your skirt.

You shivered as his fingers traced the back of your thigh, moving higher. He teased the edge of your panties, fingertips brushing the lace lightly, making your breath hitch.

“Soft,” he whispered against your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses there. “You’re so fucking soft.”

His fingers continued teasing, stroking along the fabric, pressing just enough to make you squirm against him. You grabbed a fistful of his hoodie, steadying yourself as he leaned in and kissed you again.

His tongue curled against yours while his fingers slipped under the edge of your panties, tracing your skin without going further.

“Shit, you’re getting wet already,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and dark. “Just from kissing?”

You shivered, cheeks burning. “It’s… been a long day. And you’re really good at this.”

He chuckled softly. His fingers kept teasing, pressing the thumb against your clit, rubbing in lazy circles that made your knees weak.

“Yoongi—ah…” you moaned quietly into his mouth.

He groaned, pressing his hips into you. “Say my name like that again.”

You were just about to when...

Your phone vibrated aggressively in your skirt pocket, cutting through the haze. You pulled back, breathing hard, lips swollen and shiny.

“Shit... shit,” you cursed under your breath, fumbling for your phone. The screen showed “Roommate – Mina” flashing.

You answered, still pinned against the wall with Yoongi’s hand still under your skirt.

“H-Hello?”

“Yah! Where are you?!” Mina’s voice came through, half worried, half scolding. “It’s almost 11:30. The dorm main gate closes in like 35 minutes. You’re always back before me. I thought something happened!”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

Yoongi watched you with dark, amused eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m out. I’ll be back soon. I just… lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time? You? Miss Always-Early? Who are you and what did you do tto my roommate?” Mina teased. “Just hurry, okay? Warden is extra strict this week. You know she’ll make a huge scene if you’re late.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m leaving now. Thanks for calling.”

You hung up and let out a heavy sigh, leaning your head back against the wall. “Fuck.”

Yoongi slowly pulled his hand from under your skirt, straightening your clothes for you with surprisingly gentle fingers. He took a small step back, giving you space, though his eyes were still dark with want.

“Curfew, huh?” He smirked softly. “Didn’t know I was making out with a responsible university student.”

You laughed breathlessly, fixing your hair. “Very responsible, clearly. I’m so sorry. I have to go. My roommate just reminded me the dorm gate locks soon. If I’m late, the warden will make a huge drama and probably call my parents. I usually get back before her, so she got worried.”

He nodded. “Alright. Don’t get in trouble because of me.”

You quickly fixed your skirt, cheeks flushed. “I’m really sorry. This was… I didn’t expect tonight to go like this at all.”

“Neither did I,” he said, voice low. A small smirk played on his lips. “But I’m not complaining.”

Before you turned to leave, you hesitated. “Wait—can I have your number? You know… in case I need advice on my research paper. About the whole ‘soul in music’ thing my professor said I missed.”

Yoongi’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. He took your phone from your hand, typed in his number, and saved it under “Yoongi (Rooftop Producer)”.

“Here. Text me anytime. Even if it’s not about music.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer gently, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/n . Get dorm safe.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered, heart still racing.

You started walking toward the exit, legs a little unsteady. But after a few steps, you stopped. Something pulled you back. You turned around and walked quickly to him again.

Yoongi looked confused, tilting his head. “Forget something?”

You didn’t answer with words.

You rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a sweet, quick kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you said softly against his skin, then pulled back with a shy smile.

You turned and practically ran toward the stairs, skirt fluttering, heart pounding.

Behind you, Yoongi stood frozen, one hand touching the spot on his cheek you’d just kissed. His ears were bright red, a faint blush spreading across his usually composed face.

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and muttered to himself, “…The hell was that? Cute little tease.”

For the first time in a long time, Min Yoongi didn’t know what to do with himself.

A few days later...

In a dimly lit studio at his apartment, Yoongi sat hunched over his mixing desk, headphones around his neck. The soft glow of multiple monitors illuminated his face. He was tweaking a beat when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

A new message from an unsaved number.

You: Hey Yoongi, it’s Y/n from the rooftop the other night. Sorry for texting so randomly. I was working on my research paper again and remembered what you said about “soul in the silence.” Do you have any quick thoughts on how producers create emotional depth with minimalism? I don’t want to bother you though.

A small smile tugged at Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi: I was waiting for you to text.

He watched the typing bubble appear and disappear before your reply came.

You: Really? I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Yoongi: Hard to forget someone who kissed my cheek and ran away like that. So… is it just about the paper? Or can we chat regardless? You: We can chat regardless. I’d like that.

Over the next few weeks, the chats flowed easily, turning into something that brightened both your days.

Most evenings, after your classes and his studio sessions, the conversation would start with your paper but quickly drift into everything else.

You told him about your struggles adjusting to Seoul, the chaotic university days, and how much you liked the Suga tracks your professor played in lectures.

You: Today my professor played another Suga track in class as an example of emotional minimalism. The way the piano feels so lonely but powerful at the same time… I don’t know how he does it. I’m still so new to the Korean music scene. I only know a few names my professor mentions. Yoongi: Suga, huh? You like his stuff? You: Yeah! The professor says he’s a genius at producing. He doesn’t always show up in public, right? Always low-profile. Just focuses on the music. I respect that a lot. Makes the art feel more pure. Yoongi: …Yeah. He’s pretty private. Glad you like it though. You: I’m still learning everything. Being new in Seoul is exhausting lol. Today I got lost again trying to find the right subway line. Ended up in the completely wrong area and had to take a taxi back. I miss home so much sometimes. Yoongi: I remember those days. I was the same when I first moved here. You’ll get used to it. Want me to send you a list of good places to eat near your university? Real food, not just convenience store kimbap. You: You’d do that? That would be amazing. I’m surviving on instant ramen too much. Yoongi: Consider it done. Also… how’s the paper going? Still surface level? You: Getting better thanks to you. You explain things in a way my professor never could. You’re really good at this. Yoongi: I’ve been doing it for a while. Happy to help.

Another night, late:

You: It’s 1 AM and I’m still editing this section. I feel like crying. Why is university so hard? Yoongi: Hey, breathe. Send me the paragraph if you want. I’ll read it. You: You sure? You’re probably busy. Yoongi: I’m in the studio but I’ve got time for you. Send it.

You sent the text.

Ten minutes later he replied with thoughtful feedback... gentle but honest, pointing out where the emotion was missing and how to bring it out.

Yoongi: You’re not surface level. You just need to trust your own feelings more when you write. Music is personal. Write like you’re telling me about it on the rooftop that night. You: How are you so sweet? I barely know you but talking to you makes everything feel lighter. Yoongi: You make it easy to be sweet. You’re genuine. That’s rare.

The conversations grew longer and more frequent.

Good morning texts. Late night voice notes from him humming a melody he was working on. You sending him pictures of your messy desk or the rainy view from your dorm window. He would reply with short voice messages in his low, raspy voice that always made your heart flutter.

Then one evening, after almost five weeks of constant texting:

Yoongi: You free this weekend? You: Yeah. Most Probably. Yoongi: Come over to my place. I’ll help you with the paper properly. Better than texting back and forth. I have a proper studio setup here. We can listen to tracks and break them down together. No pressure.

You stared at the message, biting your lip. Your heart raced.

You: Your apartment? Is that okay? Yoongi: Yeah. It’s quiet here. No one will bother us. We can order food, work on your paper, and just… talk like we do. I’d like to see you again. You: I’d like that too. Really. It’s just I keep thinking if I am bothering you more than I should. Yoongi: Don’t be... So, Saturday morning? 10 AM? I’ll send you the address. We can work while the sun’s still gentle, and I’ll make sure you get to your dorm with plenty of time before curfew. You: 10 AM sounds perfect actually. Thank you for offering this. You’ve been such a big help already. Yoongi: I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Don’t worry about anything. Just bring your laptop and that pretty smile from the rooftop. You: You’re going to make me blush through the phone… See you on Saturday!! Yoongi: Can’t wait, Y/n.

He set his phone down, leaning back in his chair with a soft, genuine smile and something warm and fluttery in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

In your dorm, you hugged your pillow, grinning at the screen, already thinking about what to wear and feeling both nervous and excited for the weekend.

The connection that started with a charged kiss on a dark rooftop was slowly blooming into something sweet, comforting, and full of quiet affection.

Saturday morning, your eyes fluttered open at 6:15 AM... way earlier than your usual weekend schedule. Sunlight filtered softly through the thin dorm curtains, and for a moment you just lay there, heart already beating a little faster than normal.

Today was the day.

You were going to Yoongi’s apartment.

You sat up, rubbing your face, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your stomach. After brushing your teeth and taking shower, you stood in front of the small closet you shared with Mina, staring at your clothes.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, pulling out a simple cream sweater and black jeans. You tried it on, turned left and right in front of the mirror, then frowned.

“Too casual… I look like I’m going to the library.”

Second outfit — a soft lavender blouse with a light cardigan and a skirt. You checked the mirror again, tilting your head.

“Cute… but maybe too soft? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

Third outfit. Fourth. By the fifth change, you were standing in a fitted white t-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, with a soft oversized beige cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

You turned slowly, checking every angle.

Mina, who had been pretending to sleep, finally groaned and sat up in her bed, hair messy, squinting at you with one eye open.

“Yahhh… what is going on?” she asked, voice still raspy from sleep. “It’s not even 8 AM on a Saturday. Are you sick? Did the world end?”

You froze mid-twirl, cheeks already warming. “I’m… just getting ready.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, fully awake now.

She propped herself up on her elbows, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Getting ready? For what? You never wake up before 11 on weekends. Usually I have to drag you out of bed like a corpse. So who is he?”

You avoided her eyes in the mirror and smoothed down your cardigan again. “No one. I mean… it’s just a study thing.”

“Study thing?” Mina laughed, sitting up fully now and hugging her knees. “With the mysterious rooftop guy? The one who made you come back to the dorm with swollen lips and red cheeks that night? Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

You turned around, biting your lip. “Okay… fine. Yes. I’m going to his place this morning. He offered to help me with my music research paper. He knows a lot about music.”

Mina’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“Ooooh~ So the mysterious rooftop guy enters again! You only gave me crumbs that night, you know. You came in all flushed and breathless, and when I kept asking, you just mumbled something about ‘a really good make out with a stranger on the rooftop.’ I’ve been dying for details ever since!”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Minaaa, stop. It wasn’t just that… We talked a lot too. He’s really nice. And smart. The way he talks about music… it’s different from my professor. He actually gets it.”

Mina wiggled her eyebrows. “And he’s hot, right? Because your face right now is telling me he’s more than just ‘nice.’ You’ve changed outfits like five times already. I counted.”

“Four… maybe five,” you admitted with a shy laugh, glancing back at the mirror. “I don’t know what to wear. I want to look cute but not like I’m trying too hard. What do you think of this one?”

You did a small spin.

Mina tilted her head, studying you.

“Hmm… It’s good. The cardigan makes you look soft and approachable. But maybe add that little silver necklace you have? The one with the tiny star. It’ll draw attention to your neck… in case he wants to kiss it again,” she teased.

“Yah!” You threw a pillow at her, laughing. “We’re just working on my paper today. Nothing else.”

“Sure, sure,” Mina said sarcastically, catching the pillow. “That’s why you’re up at 8 AM vibrating with excitement. Tell me more about him. You said he’s a producer? Is he famous?”

You sat down on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

“He’s… I don’t know, lowkey? He doesn’t act like he’s a big deal. We’ve been texting almost every day since that night. He helps me with my paper, listens when I complain about the city, and sends me food recommendations. He even sent me a voice note humming a melody he was working on. His voice is so… deep and calming.”

Mina clutched her chest dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re whipped already. And you made out with him on the rooftop? How was it? Was it hot? Tell me he’s a good kisser at least.”

Your face burned as memories flashed—the dark corner, his hands under your skirt, the wet kisses.

“It was… really good,” you admitted quietly, smiling despite yourself. “Like, really good. Intense. He pinned me against the wall and I completely forgot about everything. Then you called about curfew and I had to run.”

Mina squealed and kicked her legs under the blanket. “I knew it! That’s why you were so red and out of breath when you got back. And now you’re going to his apartment? Alone? On a Saturday morning? Babe, this is not just about the research paper anymore.”

You laughed nervously, standing up to check your reflection one more time. “It’s mostly about the paper… but yeah, I like talking to him. A lot. He makes me feel less alone in this city.”

Mina’s teasing softened into a warm smile. “I’m happy for you. You’ve been so stressed since you got here. Just be careful, okay? And text me when you get there and when you leave. If he turns out to be a weirdo, I’ll come rescue you along with my boyfriend.”

“Thank you,” you said, walking over to hug her quickly. “I will. Wish me luck?”

“Good luck with your ‘paper’,” she said, grinning. “And if you come back with swollen lips again, I want full details this time. No more hiding!”

You grabbed your bag, laptop, and notes, heart fluttering as you headed for the door.

“You are thinking too much. It's just about paper... today. Promise.”

As you left the dorm, Mina called after you, “Yah! Wear the lip tint! The pink one!”

You smiled to yourself the entire way, nerves and excitement mixing together. Saturday morning had never felt this bright.

Around 10:02 AM, you stood outside the modern apartment building, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag. The building looked expensive but understated—exactly the kind of place you imagined someone quiet like Yoongi would live.

After taking a deep breath, you pressed the doorbell for his unit.

The door opened after a few seconds.

Yoongi stood there in a simple black hoodie and grey sweatpants, his dark hair slightly messy like he’d just woken up not too long ago. His eyes softened the moment they landed on you, and a small, genuine smile curved his lips.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm. “You made it.”

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly shy. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Not at all. Come in.”

He stepped aside, letting you enter.

His apartment was beautiful... minimal, clean, with large windows letting in soft morning light. The living room had a low couch, a few plants, and records displayed neatly on the wall. But what caught your attention most was the open door leading to his studio.

“Want to see my workspace first?” he asked, noticing your curious gaze.

“Yes, please. I’m really curious.”

He gently guided you inside the studio.

The room was soundproofed, filled with warm lighting. Two large monitors, a massive mixing desk covered with knobs and faders, multiple keyboards, a beautiful vintage piano in the corner, few guitars and shelves full of headphones and equipment.

“Wow…” you whispered, eyes wide. “This is incredible, Yoongi. It feels so… professional.”

He smiled, eyes tender and soft. “It’s my little cave. I spend most of my time here. Sit wherever you want.”

You glanced around at all the instruments, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Do you actually know how to play all of them, or are they just here for studio aesthetics?”

Yoongi chuckled softly, the sound warm and low as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I love learning new instruments in my free time. It keeps me inspired. I’m definitely good with the piano and guitar though.”

Your eyes landed on one of the acoustic guitars resting on a stand. It looked well-loved, the wood smooth and slightly worn.

“That one’s beautiful,” you said, pointing at it. “Can you tell me about it? And… would you teach me a little? Even just the basics?”

His smile grew, soft and genuinely pleased. “Yeah? Come here.”

He picked up the guitar with practiced ease, settling on the edge of the couch and patting the spot beside him. You sat close as he placed the instrument in his lap.

“This is one of my favorites,” he said, gently strumming a few soft chords that filled the studio with warm, rich sound. “It’s got a nice warm tone, not too bright.” He adjusted your posture a little, guiding your hands. “Here, put your fingers like this for A minor chord.”

For the next few minutes, Yoongi patiently showed you the Open Chords, the easiest for beginners, his voice quiet and focused as he corrected your finger placement and demonstrated how to strum smoothly.

His shoulder brushed yours, and every time you managed a decent sound, his eyes crinkled with quiet pride.

“Not bad,” he murmured, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve got good hands for it.”

You laughed, a little flustered but happy. “I think I’m mostly just following you.”

He played a short, gentle melody after that... something soft and soothing... his fingers moving effortlessly across the strings while he occasionally glanced at you, explaining what he was doing.

The intimate atmosphere in the studio wrapped around both of you as the music lingered in the air. Eventually, he set the guitar back on its stand and turned to you, eyes warm.

“See? You’re already learning,” he said with a small, affectionate smile. “We can do more of that later if you want.”

You both settled on the comfortable couch in the studio. You pulled out your laptop and notes while he made two cups of coffee and set one in front of you.

For the next thirty minutes, you actually tried to focus on your paper. He leaned close, shoulder brushing yours, pointing at your screen as he explained certain production techniques.

“See here,” he said quietly, his breath warm near your ear. “When you talk about emotional minimalism, it’s not just removing sounds. It’s about creating tension with what you don’t play. Like leaving space for the listener to feel something.”

You nodded, trying to ignore how good he smelled. “That makes so much sense. My professor never explained it like this.”

He smiled, eyes lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “You’re catching on fast.”

Eventually, the research talk slowed.

Yoongi leaned back, studying you with soft eyes.

“So… tell me something,” he said gently. “Why did you choose to do your Masters in music theory? Most people come for performance or production. What made you pick theory?”

You sipped your coffee, thinking for a moment before answering honestly.

“I’ve always loved music, but I want to understand it deeply. Not just how it sounds, but why it affects us so much. The psychology behind it… how certain chord progressions can make someone cry, or how rhythm can calm anxiety. I want to learn that so I can eventually write my own lyrics and compose them. I’ve tried a few times, but…” you laughed self-consciously, “they’re not very good. They feel childish compared to what I hear in lectures.”

Yoongi’s expression turned incredibly soft.

He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours.

“I’d love to read them someday,” he said quietly. “If you’re comfortable sharing. I promise I won’t judge. I started the same way — writing really bad lines before I got better.”

“Really?” You looked up at him, surprised. “You’d actually want to read my messy lyrics?”

“Of course.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “I like the way your mind works. The way you talk about music. It’s honest. That’s rare.”

The atmosphere grew warmer, more intimate. You could feel your heart fluttering as he kept looking at you like that.

Yoongi took a slow breath, as if deciding something important. He gently took your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Y/n… there’s something I want to tell you. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I didn’t want to say it over text. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come here—face to face.”

You blinked, suddenly a little nervous. “What is it?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb stroking your skin.

“I told you I’m a producer. But I didn’t tell you my full name… or my stage name.” He paused, eyes steady on yours. “I’m Suga. The one your professor keeps playing in class. The one you said you really like.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Wait… you’re Suga? The Suga?”

He nodded, a small, almost shy smile appearing. “Yeah. I produce under that name. I don’t show up publically much—I prefer staying behind the scenes, letting the artists I work with take the spotlight. That’s why you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh my god…” You let out a breathless laugh, covering your mouth. “All this time I was telling you how much I like Suga’s music… and it was you. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he said honestly, voice soft. “When you didn’t know who I was on the rooftop, it felt real. You talked to me, not the name. I liked that. A lot.”

He leaned in a little closer, eyes warm and sincere. “But I also didn’t want to keep hiding it from you. These past weeks talking to you… they’ve meant something to me. I want this to be honest.”

Your cheeks flushed deeply. You squeezed his hand back, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest.

“I can’t believe this… I’ve been fangirling over your music in my paper and you’ve been helping me with it the whole time.” You laughed softly. “This feels surreal.”

Yoongi’s smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Is it a good surreal?”

“Very good,” you whispered.

He brought your hand up and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, then another to the inside of your wrist, making your heart skip.

“I really like you, Y/n,” he said quietly, voice husky but full of affection. “Not just helping with your paper. Talking to you every day… it’s become my favorite part of the day. I wanted you to know the real me before this goes any further.”

You felt butterflies explode in your stomach. The morning light made his features look even softer, and the way he was looking at you made everything feel warm and safe.

“I like you too, Yoongi,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Suga or not… I like you.”

He let out a relieved breath and rested his forehead gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, a fluffy smile playing on his lips.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I was hoping you’d stay a little longer today. We can work more on your paper… or we can just talk. Or I can make you something quick for breakfast while you tell me more about those lyrics you’re scared to show anyone.”

You laughed softly, your nose brushing his. “I think I’d like all of that.”

A few months had passed since that first studio visit, and your relationship with Yoongi had become the softest, warmest thing in your life.

You and Mina had moved into a small rented apartment near campus at the beginning of next semester.

No more strict dorm curfews.

Both of you were in relationships, and the freedom felt amazing.

Yoongi was still the same quiet, low-profile producer, but with you he was incredibly affectionate—always pulling you into his lap when he was working, leaving sweet kisses on your forehead, cooking for you when you stayed over, and sending you voice notes in his raspy morning voice.

Despite the six-year age gap, things never felt awkward.

The intimacy between you both had grown naturally, and you’d already shared several beautiful, passionate nights at his apartment.

The first time you stayed over at his place, it was your third month of dating. You had come over after a long day at university.

“You didn’t have to cook,” you said, watching him from the kitchen island.

“I wanted to,” he replied softly, chopping the vegetables. “You’ve been working hard on that paper. Let me take care of you tonight.”

He had cooked dinner for you like a proper gentleman — delicious kimchi jjigae, perfectly grilled mackerel, and side dishes he prepared earlier.

You sat at the kitchen counter watching him, heart fluttering the entire time. He set the dishes on plate and placed in front of you.

“You know... you really cook so well,” you said, eyes wide as you took a bite. “I used to think producers only knew how to order takeout.”

Yoongi smirked, sliding more food onto your plate. “I lived alone for too long. Had to learn or I would’ve starved. Eat well, baby.”

After dinner, he worked in his studio for a bit while you kept him company, sitting comfortably in his lap. His arms were wrapped around you as he clicked through tracks, occasionally asking for your opinion.

“You smell nice,” he murmured against your hair at one point, making you smile.

Later, he gave you one of his hoodies to wear. It was big and cozy, reaching mid-thigh on you. You felt adorable in it.

When it was time to sleep, you both stood side by side in the bathroom brushing your teeth. He kept glancing at you in the mirror, eyes soft.

“You look cute with foam on your lips,” he teased, bumping your shoulder gently.

“Yah, focus on brushing!” you laughed, nudging him back.

Once you were both done, he led you to his bed and pulled you into his arms under the soft blankets. He wrapped himself around you from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s just cuddle and sleep, okay?” he whispered softly. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

You nodded at first, but after a few peaceful minutes, your playful side emerged. You slowly intertwined your fingers with his.

Then you turned around slightly and tangled one of your legs with his, rubbing your foot against his calf. Finally, you started tracing his jawline with your fingertip, moving slowly and seductively.

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

“Y/n…” he warned, voice low. “I said let’s just cuddle and sleep. You’re playing a dangerous game right now.”

You bit your lip, still feeling bold.

You traced lower, down to his neck, pressing a tiny kiss there.

He stayed still for a few seconds, clearly trying to control himself. Then suddenly, he moved.

In one smooth motion, he turned you onto your back and hovered above you, hands on either side of your head. His gaze had completely changed... dark, intense, and full of hunger.

You instantly became shy.

The boldness from a minute ago vanished as you looked up at him, cheeks burning.

“W-we should sleep now…” you mumbled, trying to turn your face away.

Yoongi gently caught your chin, turning you back to face him.

His eyes were soft but burning.

“You were so brave just now, teasing me like that,” he said, voice husky. “Tracing my jaw, rubbing your leg against mine… and now you’re getting all shy when I actually do something?”

You covered your face with your hands, embarrassed. “I was just… testing your patience a little.”

He let out a low chuckle, pulling your hands away so he could see your flushed face.

“Testing my patience?” He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours teasingly. “Baby, I’ve been losing my mind for the past ten minutes trying to behave. You have no idea what you do to me.”

He kissed you slowly at first, then deeper, pouring all his restrained desire into it. His body pressed against yours as one of his hands slid under the hoodie, caressing your bare waist.

“You were bold a second ago,” he whispered against your lips, smiling. “Where did that confidence go, hm?”

“It disappeared when you looked at me like that…” you admitted shyly, voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression softened with affection even as heat flared in his eyes.

“Cute,” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose, then your lips again. “Don’t worry. We’ll go slow. But only if you want this tonight.”

“I want it,” you whispered, finally looking into his eyes again. “I want you, Yoongi.”

That was all he needed.

But every once in a while, a different side of him came out.

A much hungrier, filthier side.

And you liked that side even more.

Like that another night, it started innocently enough after dinner at his place. You were both on the couch, full and relaxed, when a simple goodnight kiss turned into a slow, deep make-out session.

His hands roamed lazily under your shirt at first, then suddenly gripped your waist harder.

Before you knew it, he had pulled you onto his lap, kissing you like he was starving.

The kiss grew messier, wetter.

You were grinding against him when he suddenly growled against your lips, flipped you over, and pulled your hips up so you were on all fours on the couch.

“Fuck, look at you,” he had muttered, voice dangerously low.

He yanked your shorts and panties down in one go, positioning you right in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

You watched through the reflection as he rolled on a condom. His eyes were dark with lust, jaw clenched with restraint. He rubbed the head of his cock slowly between your folds, teasing your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, pushing back against him desperately.

He let out a low, amused chuckle, still rubbing his thick cock up and down your slick folds, deliberately avoiding pushing inside.

“So impatient,” he murmured, voice rough. “Look at yourself in the mirror, baby. Look how wet you are for me.”

You moaned softly, aching and empty, every slow drag of his cock against your clit making you tremble.

He kept teasing... rubbing, pressing just slightly against your entrance, then pulling back, until you were whimpering and gripping the couch.

Only when you whispered a shaky “Please…” he finally gripped your hip with one hand. His other hand slid up your back and wrapped firmly around your throat—not choking, just possessive... tilting your head so you couldn’t look away from the mirror.

Then, with one smooth, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely.

You gasped loudly.

Yoongi leaned over your back, lips brushing your ear as he started fucking you hard, his rhythm punishing.

“Look how pretty you look taking me,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Don’t look away.”

That night he was uncharacteristically rough and vocal—whispering the dirtiest things in your ear while making you watch yourself fall apart.

It left you shaky, breathless, and glowing for days afterward.

One lazy morning, you were sitting at the small dining table in your pajamas, at your rented apartment, sipping tea while scrolling through your phone.

Mina walked in, still half-asleep, and smirked the moment she saw you.

“Morning, miss glowing,” she teased, pouring herself coffee. “You stayed at Yoongi’s last weekend, and your face still has that ‘I got properly loved’ look.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Shut up.”

Mina grinned mischievously and sat across from you. “So… be honest. You’ve been dating a whole ass producer for months now. Don’t tell me you still haven’t been railed in the studio?”

You choked hard on your tea, coughing as some of it went down the wrong pipe.

“Mina!” you wheezed, eyes wide.

“What?” she said innocently, but her eyes were sparkling.

“I just read this fanfic about studio sex with a producer and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Girl, you’re literally living the fantasy. He has that expensive studio with the fancy couch and dim lights… and you’re telling me nothing has happened there yet?”

You hid your face in your hands, mortified but laughing. “We’ve done it at his place… multiple times. But the studio feels… I don’t know. Too professional? I keep overthinking it. What if he thinks it’s weird?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Babe. He’s a guy before a producer. Trust me... the moment you walk in there wearing nothing but one of his hoodies, ‘professionalism’ is the last thing he is going to think about.”

You bit your lip, her words sinking in.

That night, it was ovulation week and your hormones were making you bold.

You texted Yoongi that you were coming over.

When you reached his apartment, he greeted you with a soft kiss and went back to work on a track he was finishing. You told him you’d take a quick shower after your long day... something completely normal now after months of dating.

After showering, you stood in front of his closet, heart racing.

You picked out his favorite oversized black hoodie—the one that reached mid-thigh on you, and slipped it on.

Nothing underneath.

No panties. No bra. Just the hoodie.

You walked into the studio barefoot, the hem of the hoodie brushing against your bare skin with every step.

Yoongi was sitting at his mixing desk, headphones half-on, focused on the screen. He glanced up when you entered and smiled warmly.

“Hey, baby,” he said, voice soft. “Shower felt good?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, walking closer. “I stole your hoodie again. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You know I never mind,” he replied, eyes flicking over you affectionately. “You look cute in it. Come here.”

He patted his lap.

You walked over and sat sideways on his thigh like you usually did. His arm wrapped around your waist naturally as he went back to tweaking the track.

For a few minutes, everything felt normal. He played a part of the beat for you, asking for your opinion. You gave feedback while subtly shifting in his lap.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, noticing you seemed a little restless. His hand rubbed your thigh gently. “You’re moving a lot tonight.”

“I’m fine,” you said innocently, leaning back against his chest. “Just like being close to you.”

He kissed the side of your head, completely unaware.

You turned slightly, letting the hoodie ride up a little higher on your thighs as you “adjusted” again. His hand that was resting on your bare thigh stilled.

Yoongi paused the track.

“Wait…” His voice dropped lower.

His fingers slowly traced higher under the hem of the hoodie. The moment they met nothing but warm, smooth skin, his whole body tensed beneath you.

Then he felt it—the unmistakable warm, wet patch slowly forming on the front of his grey sweatpants where your bare core was pressed against him.

“Y/n,” he said slowly, voice suddenly much lower and rougher, almost strained. “Are you… not wearing anything under this?”

You bit your lip, heart racing with excitement and nervousness as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Maybe…” you teased, voice sweet. “Is that a problem?”

His eyes darkened instantly.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, breathing out a soft laugh.

His hand squeezed your thigh tighter as he shifted slightly underneath you, clearly feeling the wetness now soaking through his sweats.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned softly, eyes darkening. “You’re sitting on my lap with no panties on and you’re already wet? You’ve been dripping on me this whole time?”

His free hand came up to grip your waist, fingers digging in just enough to show his growing restraint.

“You little tease,” he muttered, voice husky with both amusement and arousal. “I thought you just wanted to wear my hoodie like always… but you came in here bare and soaked? How long have you been planning this?”

You smiled shyly, turning more to face him, which only pressed your wetness harder against the growing bulge in his sweats.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” you admitted, running your fingers along the collar of his hoodie. “Mina kept teasing me about how I’m dating a producer and still haven’t done anything in the studio… and guess I got curious.”

Yoongi let out a breathy chuckle, but his eyes were burning now. He slid his hand further under the hoodie, cupping your bare ass as he pulled you closer.

“So you decided to come in here, fresh out of my shower, wearing nothing underneath my hoodie… and sit right on my dick like a good girl?”

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to ruin my sweats, baby. You feel how wet you are? You’re making a mess all over me.”

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning but loving the way his voice had changed... still soft with affection, but now laced with clear hunger.

“Are you mad?” you asked playfully, even though you could feel him getting harder beneath you.

“Mad?” He laughed lowly, pressing a wet kiss just below your ear. “No. But you’re not leaving this studio anytime soon looking all innocent like this.”

His fingers traced teasing circles on your bare skin, dangerously close but not quite there yet.

“You really want to do this here?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze flicking between playful and intense. “Because once I start, I’m not going to be gentle with you, baby.”

You smiled, heat pooling between your legs at his words. You reached up and slowly traced his jaw with your fingertip, dragging it seductively down to his neck.

“Good thing I’m ovulating then,” you whispered, voice breathy and teasing. “Gentle is the last thing I want tonight.”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

He stared at you for a second before letting out a deep, amused chuckle that sounded almost sinful.

“Fuck… you’re going to be the death of me.” He leaned in and bit your bottom lip lightly before pulling back.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this. Sitting here working late nights, thinking about bending you over this mixing desk… or fucking you against the piano… or having you ride me right in this chair.”

His hands slid under the hoodie, gripping your bare ass as he continued, voice rough, “That’s why I put condoms in every fucking drawer in this apartment now. Kitchen, living room, bedroom… and yes, even in the studio. I can literally fuck you on every surface of this place and I’ve thought about all of them.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a shy but thrilled laugh escaping you.

“Yoongi!” you gasped, playfully hitting his chest. “You’ve been planning this?”

“Planning? Baby, I’ve been dreaming about it,” he admitted, eyes gleaming. “Now stop teasing and show me how wet you really are.”

He shifted you slightly so you were straddling one of his thighs properly, your bare, soaked pussy pressed directly against the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants.

The warmth of his thigh felt incredible against your sensitive skin.

“Ride it,” he commanded softly, hands guiding your hips. “Ride my thigh and make a mess all over my sweats like the needy little thing you are.”

You moaned softly at his words and started moving.

Slowly at first, grinding your wet folds along the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction was perfect, and the way your slick was already coating his pants made obscene wet sounds with every roll of your hips.

“Fuck… look at you,” Yoongi groaned, eyes locked on where your pussy was sliding against him. “Soaking me already. Such a messy girl.”

He pushed the hoodie up to your neck, exposing your breasts. His hands immediately cupped them, squeezing roughly before his thumbs flicked over your hardened nipples.

“Ah— Yoongi…” you whimpered, grinding harder.

“That’s it, baby. Use my thigh,” he praised, voice low and filthy.

“Look how desperate you are, humping me like you can’t get enough. My pretty little girlfriend came in here with no panties just to get fucked in my studio… so fucking hot.”

He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard while his other hand pinched and rolled the other one.

The mix of rough and wet felt electric.

You cried out, moving faster on his thigh, the wet patch on his sweats growing bigger with every glide.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste so good,” he growled against your breast, sucking harder before pulling off with a wet pop. “These pretty tits are mine. Say it.”

“They’re yours—” you gasped, riding his thigh faster, the pressure building quickly between your legs.

“Louder, baby. Tell me who this wet little pussy belongs to while you ruin my pants.”

“It’s yours, Yoongi... ahh!” you moaned loudly as he bit down gently on your nipple, then soothed it with his tongue.

He leaned back slightly to watch you, one hand still playing with your breasts, pinching and tugging while the other gripped your hip, helping you grind harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice dripping with lust and affection.

“Riding my thigh like a desperate filthy girl but still blushing so cutely. I love this duality in you, baby. My sweet university girl in public… and my filthy little girl in my studio.”

Your breathing grew ragged.

The combination of his filthy words, the rough treatment of your nipples, and the perfect pressure on your clit was pushing you close to the edge.

“I’m... I’m gonna cum—” you whimpered, grinding faster, your wetness now completely soaking through his sweats.

“Cum for me then,” he growled, sucking your nipple into his mouth again, harder this time. “Make a bigger mess on me, baby. I want to feel you dripping down my thigh.”

He pinched your other nipple sharply and that was all it took.

You came hard with a loud cry of his name, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your hips stuttered against his thigh as you rode out your orgasm, leaving a shiny, wet patch all over his grey sweats.

Yoongi groaned at the sight, finally pulling his mouth off your nipple with a satisfied smirk. He kept rubbing slow circles on your hips as you came down, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered tenderly, the duality hitting you hard again — filthy one second, soft and loving the next. “Look at the mess you made… my dirty little ovulating princess.”

You collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily, a shy smile forming on your lips as you nuzzled into his neck. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back, but the wicked smirk on his lips told you he wasn’t nearly done.

“I can’t believe I just did that…” you mumbled, embarrassed but glowing.

Yoongi chuckled and kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “And we’re just getting started, baby.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly and placed you on the edge of his mixing desk. The surface was cool against your bare ass, various knobs and faders pressing into your skin. He pushed the hoodie all the way up to your neck again, fully exposing your body to his hungry gaze.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said softly, voice laced with command.

You obeyed, parting your thighs.

Yoongi stepped between them, eyes dropping to your soaked pussy. He let out a low groan at the sight.

“Fuck… look at this pretty mess,” he whispered, running two fingers through your dripping folds. “You’re still so wet. My greedy girl.”

You shivered at his touch, already sensitive. “Yoongi…”

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as he slowly pushed two fingers inside you. You gasped into his mouth at the stretch, your walls clenching around his thick digits.

“That’s it,” he breathed against your lips. “Take my fingers, baby.”

He started moving them slowly at first, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the studio.

“Oh my god—” you moaned, gripping his shoulders.

Yoongi pulled back slightly to watch your face, his eyes dark with lust.

“You like that?” he asked, voice husky. “You like getting fingered on my mixing desk like a good girl?”

He picked up the pace, fucking his fingers into you harder while his thumb found your swollen clit and started rubbing tight circles.

“Answer me, baby.”

“Yes— fuck, yes I like it,” you whimpered, hips rolling to meet his hand.

He smirked, clearly pleased. “Good girl. Look at you… sitting on my desk with my hoodie pushed up, legs spread open just for me. So fucking perfect.”

His fingers curled again, pressing firmly against your g-spot with every thrust. The pleasure built rapidly, especially with how sensitive you already were from your previous orgasm.

Yoongi leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking hard while his fingers kept their relentless rhythm. He released it with a wet pop and looked up at you.

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers,” he groaned. “You gonna cum again for me already? So soon?”

“I can’t help it—” you gasped, head falling back. “You feel so good…”

He added a third finger, stretching you more as he pumped faster.

His thumb pressed harder on your clit.

“That’s right, baby. Make a mess on my desk too. I want this entire studio to smell like your pussy by the time I’m done with you.”

Your moans grew louder, echoing softly in the soundproofed room. Yoongi watched you intently, his free hand coming up to gently grip your jaw so you’d look at him.

“Eyes on me when you cum,” he ordered, though his voice was still full of affection. “I want to see how pretty you look falling apart on my fingers.”

The combination of his filthy words, the perfect angle of his fingers, and the intense eye contact pushed you over the edge again.

“Yoongi... I’m cumming—!” you cried out.

Your second orgasm hit you even harder.

Your thighs shook as you clenched violently around his fingers, a fresh gush of wetness coating his hand and dripping onto the mixing desk. Yoongi kept fucking you through it, slowing his movements but not stopping, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he praised, voice thick with pride and lust. “Look at you soaking my desk… such a good, messy baby.”

He finally slipped his fingers out of you gently and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean while maintaining eye contact. The sight made your stomach flip.

“You taste even better when you’re ovulating,” he said with a wicked little smile.

You were still panting, legs trembling as you tried to recover. Yoongi stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you softly this time—sweet and tender, a sharp contrast to how rough his fingers had just been.

He rested his forehead against yours, brushing your hair back gently.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, voice now soft and caring. “Not too much?”

You shook your head, smiling breathlessly. “No… I want more.”

Yoongi chuckled lowly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Good. Because I still have so many plans for you tonight.”

Yoongi kissed you deeply for a moment longer, then gently lifted you off the mixing desk. Your legs were still shaky, so he carried you bridal-style over to the large, comfortable black couch in the corner of his studio.

He laid you down carefully on your back, the soft cushions sinking under your weight. The oversized hoodie was still bunched up around your chest. He pulled it down a little to cover your stomach.

“Stay right here, baby,” he said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead. “You came so hard twice already. Let me take care of you for a while.”

He reached over to the small side table and grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before holding it to your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered gently. “You need it.”

You took a few sips, still breathing heavily. Yoongi watched you with soft, loving eyes, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Good girl,” he praised quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “But little sensitive…”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips.

“You’re doing so well for me tonight. My pretty, needy baby.” He kissed you again, slower this time. “Just relax for a bit. I’m not rushing.”

After a couple of minutes of him gently rubbing your thighs and kissing your neck, your breathing finally evened out. Yoongi’s hand started sliding higher again, teasingly stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes… I want you.”

He smirked and moved down your body, settling between your legs on the couch. He spread your thighs wide, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Still so wet and puffy for me.”

Without another word, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting every drop of your wetness.

The moment your taste hit his tongue, he groaned deeply, like he’d been craving this for days.

He didn’t stop there.

Yoongi buried his face completely between your thighs, drowning himself in your pussy. He pressed his nose against your soaked folds and inhaled deeply, sniffing you with raw hunger before letting out a long, satisfied “Mhhhhmmmm…” that vibrated straight through your core.

The sound was filthy and needy, almost animalistic.

“God, baby… you smell so fucking good,” he growled against your pussy, voice muffled. “Especially when you’re ovulating. So sweet and wet… I could suffocate in this pussy and die happy.”

You whimpered loudly, your fingers tightening in his hair as he dove back in.

“Yoongi—!”

“Mhmm,” he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body. “You taste so filthy good, baby. Especially when you’re like this.”

He didn’t tease for long.

He ate you like a man possessed—messy, greedy, and completely lost in you.

His tongue licked broad, slow stripes before flicking rapidly over your swollen clit. He sucked your folds into his mouth, then moved back to your clit, alternating between gentle sucks and harsh flicks.

Every few seconds, he’d press his face deeper, nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it. He kept making those sinful “Mhmmmm… mmmph—” sounds as he devoured you, like your taste was driving him insane.

“Oh my god... Yoongi, that feels so good,” you whimpered, your hands flying to his hair.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your juices.

“Yeah? You like when I eat this pretty pussy?” He licked a long stripe up your folds again. “You get so much wetter when you’re ovulating. I could stay here for hours.”

He pushed two fingers back inside you while his tongue focused on your clit, curling his fingers perfectly against your g-spot. The wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out filled the studio.

“Fuck... right there,” you cried, hips bucking against his face.

Yoongi groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your core. He sucked harder on your clit and pumped his fingers faster.

“You’re dripping down my chin, baby. Making such a mess on my couch. My dirty little girl.”

Your thighs started shaking around his head. “I’m... I’m gonna cum again... Yoongi please—”

But every time you got close, every time your thighs started trembling and your moans got higher, he would slow down or pull back just a little—edging you cruelly while still burying his face in you.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your soaked folds, placing a soft kiss on your clit. “I want you to fucking throb for me.”

Then he dove back in even harder—sniffing, licking, sucking, and groaning like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers pumped faster while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit.

“Mhhhhmm… fuck, I love this,” he groaned, the vibrations making your eyes roll back. “I could eat you for hours like this. My favorite fucking meal.”

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably around his head. You were so close it hurt. “Yoongi, please— I’m so close, please don’t stop...”

He hummed deeply again, the sound vibrating right against your clit as he sucked harder and curled his fingers perfectly.

This time... he didn’t stop.

If anything, he went harder—sucking your clit with wet, obscene noises while his fingers fucked you relentlessly.

“Cum on my tongue, baby. Let me taste you,” he growled against your pussy.

Your third orgasm crashed over you violently.

You cried out his name, thighs clamping around his head as you gushed on his tongue. Yoongi moaned loudly, licking up every drop like it was his favorite thing in the world, not stopping until you were twitching and whimpering from overstimulation.

He finally pulled back, lips and chin glistening.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered against your lips. “I could eat you out all night.”

You were panting, eyes glassy with pleasure. “Yoongi… I need you inside me. Please.”

He kissed you again, softer this time. “You sure, baby? You’ve already come three times.”

“I want you,” you begged, pulling at his hoodie. “I need you to fuck me.”

Yoongi chuckled and reached into the drawer of the side table next to the couch, pulling out a condom.

He quickly pushed down his sweatpants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He was painfully hard, the tip already leaking. He rolled the condom on while watching your face.

“Come here, baby,” he said, voice thick with need.

He pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him on the couch. He lined himself up and slowly sank you down onto his cock, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You feel incredible.”

He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to thrust up into you, hands gripping your ass under the hoodie. The pace was deep and steady at first, but quickly grew rougher.

“Ride me, baby,” he encouraged, voice rough. “Use my cock. This is what you wanted, right? Getting fucked properly in my studio?”

You moaned, rolling your hips as he thrust up to meet you. The sound of skin slapping and your combined moans filled the room.

“Yes— God, yes,” you gasped. “Feels so good, Yoongi…”

He pulled the hoodie off you completely, tossing it aside so he could see all of you. His hands roamed everywhere—squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, gripping your waist as he fucked you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, looking up at you with pure lust and affection. “Look at you bouncing on my cock so prettily. My perfect girl.”

He suddenly flipped you onto your back on the couch, pushing your legs back toward your chest and thrusting deep.

“Want to fuck you properly now,” he panted, pounding into you with strong, rhythmic strokes. “Want you to feel every inch.”

You cried out with every thrust, nails digging into his back. He kissed you messily, swallowing your moans while driving into you harder.

“Cum for me one more time, baby,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “Want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum.”

Between his deep thrusts and filthy praises, you shattered again, clenching hard around him as your fourth orgasm ripped through you.

Yoongi followed right after with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard inside the condom, hips stuttering against yours.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily and covered in sweat. After a moment, he lifted his head and kissed you softly, sweetly—completely different from how he’d just fucked you.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, voice gentle. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled tiredly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “I love you too… even if you just ruined me for any other couch.”

Yoongi laughed softly and nuzzled into your neck, still buried inside you. “Good. Because we’re definitely doing this again.”

It was a special alumni event at your university—a panel discussion on “The Future of Music Production in Korea.” The auditorium was packed with students and faculty.

You had come because your professor practically begged the class to attend, saying it would be beneficial for your research paper.

You were sitting near the middle when the three guests walked onto the stage.

Your heart nearly stopped.

There, in a simple black blazer over a white t-shirt, was Yoongi. Standing casually between two other men... RM and J-Hope.

Your eyes widened in complete shock.

No way…

He had mentioned last night that he had a “surprise” for you today, but you never imagined this.

The moment the MC introduced them, the auditorium erupted.

“Suga!!! Oh my god, it’s really him!”

“RM! J-Hope!”

Girls in the front rows started squealing, some even standing up to take photos. You watched in stunned silence as dozens of phones went up, flashing lights everywhere.

Yoongi looked slightly uncomfortable with the attention but gave a small, polite bow along with his friends.

Your professor leaned over from the row behind you. “See? Even Suga rarely comes to these events. This is historic!”

You could only nod, still speechless.

After the panel ended, you received a text from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Meet me behind the old basketball court in 10 minutes... It's the same place I used to hide during my student days.

You slipped out of the auditorium, heart racing, and made your way to the secluded spot behind the basketball court—a quiet, shaded area with an old bench surrounded by tall trees and bushes.

Hardly anyone came here.

Yoongi was already waiting, leaning against a tree. The moment he saw you, his entire face softened into that fond smile you loved so much. Before you could speak, he pulled you into a warm hug, burying his face in your hair.

“You sneaky bastard,” you laughed against his chest, still in disbelief. “You studied here? And you never told me?”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “You were surprised, huh?”

“Surprised?” You laughed against his chest. “Yoongi, I almost had a heart attack! I had no idea you studied here!”

He chuckled, pulling back to look at you. “I graduated six years ago. I’ve been invited every year with Namjoon and Hoseok, but I always said no. This time… I had a reason to come.”

You smiled up at him, feeling warm all over. “Me?”

“You.”

You pulled back slightly and looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So you’re really a big deal, huh?” you teased, poking his chest. “All those girls screaming for you in the auditorium… I almost got jealous.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips.

“Does it matter?” he asked softly, cupping your face.

You shook your head, smiling sweetly.

“No… It doesn’t matter at all. I love you, Min Yoongi. Not Suga... the famous producer. I fell for the guy who made me feel seen in foreign city on that rooftop bar, guy who made me coffee at 10 AM and helped me with my surface-level paper.”

His eyes softened with pure affection. He leaned in closer, nose brushing against yours.

“Good answer,” he whispered.

You grinned and continued teasing, voice playful, “But those girls were really going crazy for you back there. Some of them looked ready to climb the stage.”

Yoongi let out a low laugh, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Does that matter too?” he asked, tilting his head.

You pretended to think for a second, then stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Nope,” you said confidently. “Because even if hundreds of girls go crazy for you… you only go crazy for me.”

Yoongi’s smile turned fond and slightly shy. “You’re damn right about that.”

The air between you shifted.

He leaned in slowly, capturing your lips in a soft, sweet kiss that quickly grew deeper. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss turned heated. You sighed into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair.

Just as his tongue brushed yours and things were getting very nice—

“Heyyy! Caught you!”

You gasped and suddenly pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide.

J-Hope’s cheerful voice rang out from behind Yoongi.

“Namjoon-ah, I told you we’d find him here! This was always his secret spot back in the day!”

RM’s deep voice followed, sounding amused, “Oh… but he’s not alone.”

Yoongi groaned, closing his eyes for a second before turning around, still keeping one arm around your waist.

J-Hope stood there with a massive grin, while RM looked surprised but clearly entertained, dimples on full display.

J-Hope let out a loud whistle. “Ooooh~ So this is why you finally agreed to come back to campus after avoiding it for years? Interesting…”

Yoongi sighed, ears turning slightly pink. “You two are so annoying.”

You hid your burning face in Yoongi’s shoulder, completely embarrassed at being caught.

Yoongi gently rubbed your back and spoke calmly, “This is Y/n. My girlfriend.”

RM’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Girlfriend? Wow. Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Namjoon.”

J-Hope bounced over with a bright smile, offering you a hand. “And I’m Hoseok! But you can call me Hobi. So you’re the mysterious girl who finally dragged this grandpa out of his cave, huh?”

You laughed shyly, shaking both their hands. “It’s really nice to meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” RM said, glancing at Yoongi with a teasing smirk. “Because this hyung barely talks about anything except music… and apparently now you.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his small smile. He kept you tucked protectively against his side.

“She’s the reason I came,” he admitted quietly, looking at you with soft eyes. “She studies here. Post Graduation in Music Theory.”

Hobi’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Wait— she goes to our university?! And you didn’t tell us? This is huge!”

RM chuckled. “Looks like our Yoongi-hyung is properly whipped.”

You giggled, glancing up at Yoongi who was now fully blushing.

“I’m not whipped,” Yoongi muttered, but the way he gently kissed your temple right after completely betrayed him.

Hobi clapped his hands together excitedly. “This is adorable. We need to get dinner together soon! All four of us.”

“Only if you two behave,” Yoongi warned, but there was no real threat in his voice.

You leaned into him, feeling warm and happy as you watched the three friends bicker lightly. Yoongi’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining naturally.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, gently tugging you closer. “You two go back. I still have twenty minutes before I need to be anywhere.”

J-Hope winked. “Use your time wisely~”

As the two walked away, still laughing and teasing, Yoongi turned back to you and rested his forehead against yours.

“Sorry about them,” he murmured.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around him. “I like them. And I like that I finally know more about your past.”

He kissed the tip of your nose. “There’s still so much more I want to show you.”

You smiled, heart full. “I can’t wait, Suga sunbaenim.”

Yoongi groaned playfully and pulled you into another sweet kiss.

But your eyes kept drifting to Namjoon.

He was seated at the edge of the room, scribbling in his notebook, his brows furrowed in that adorable way that made him look like he was solving world hunger instead of probably just writing a rap verse.

His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up with a clumsy swipe, nearly knocking them off entirely.

You stifled a smile.

Two years... You’d been their manager for two years, and Namjoon had always been your favorite to work with. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud but he made it easy.

He was low maintenance, respectful, and had a quiet charm that disarmed you from day one.

He was also adorably clumsy, always tripping over cables or dropping his phone. You’d lost count of how many times you’d saved his AirPods from certain doom.

But it wasn’t just his clumsiness or his dimpled smile that got to you.

It was the way he looked at you.

Like you were the only person in the room who mattered.

You’d catch him staring during meetings, his eyes soft and intense, only to look away when you met his gaze. It was subtle, but it was there.

Always there.

And it was forbidden.

The contract clause was crystal clear: No inappropriate relationships with staff.

It was a line neither of you could cross, no matter how much his quiet gestures... bringing you tea when you were exhausted, offering his hoodie when you shivered, cracking dumb jokes to make you laugh, made your heart stutter.

You’d had a boyfriend for most of those two years, anyway.

A boyfriend who barely noticed you. Missed dates, ignored texts, forgot to pick you up from airports. You’d smile through the disappointment, but Namjoon always saw it.

One particularly rough night in Seoul, after your ex had bailed on yet another dinner, you were sitting in the empty practice room long after everyone else had left, staring at your phone screen with a forced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

Namjoon lingered by the door, hesitating before stepping inside.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice gentle like always.

He held two cups of tea, the steam curling up between you.

You nodded quickly, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Yeah, just… long day. Thanks for the tea, Joon. You didn’t have to.”

He sat down on the floor across from you, crossing his long legs. “I wanted to. You’ve been running around fixing everyone else’s messes all week. Figured you could use a break.”

He paused, studying your face. “You sure you’re alright? You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world again.”

You laughed lightly, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. My boyfriend just… got caught up with work. Again. No big deal.”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened further. “If it’s ‘nothing,’ why do you look like you’re forcing that smile? You know you can talk to me, right? I’m a pretty good listener. Even if I trip over my own feet half the time.”

You sighed, taking a sip of the warm tea.

It was exactly how you liked it—slightly sweet, with a hint of honey.

He always remembered.

“I don’t know… sometimes it feels like I’m the only one putting in effort. He forgot to pick me up from the airport last week, too. I waited for an hour.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened just a fraction, but his voice stayed calm. “That’s not right. You deserve someone who shows up for you. Who sees how hard you work and makes sure you’re taken care of too.”

He hesitated, then added with a small, self-deprecating smile, “Not that I’m one to give relationship advice. I can barely manage my own schedule without your help.”

You chuckled despite yourself. “You’re not that bad. You’re the easiest one on the team, honestly. The others would be lost without you keeping them grounded.”

He grinned, dimples flashing. “See? We make a good team. You keep me from breaking expensive equipment, and I… bring you tea and bad jokes.”

His tone turned more serious. “But really. If you ever need to vent, or if things get too much, I’m here. No judgment.”

That became a pattern.

After tough days, he’d find little ways to check in.

Another time, weeks later, you were rushing through the hallway after a delayed flight, eyes puffy from holding back tears because your boyfriend had ignored your messages all day.

Namjoon appeared out of nowhere, jacket in hand.

“You look cold,” he said, draping it over your shoulders without waiting for permission. “And tired. Rough trip?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, pulling the jacket tighter. It smelled like him... clean, with a hint of his cologne. “Just… some personal stuff. Thanks, Joon. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Keep it as long as you need,” he replied, falling into step beside you.

“You know, I read this article about how holding onto things that drain you can mess with your creativity. Not saying that applies to you, but… you deserve people who lift you up, not leave you waiting at airports.”

You glanced at him, heart twisting at the quiet care in his words. “You’re too nice for this industry, Kim Namjoon. Seriously, how are you so… observant?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just pay attention. Especially to the people who matter.”

His eyes met yours for a beat too long before he looked away. “Anyway, want to hear a dumb joke I just heard from Jin Hyung... to cheer you up? Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field.” He delivered it with such earnest clumsiness that you burst out laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders.

“God, that was terrible,” you said, nudging his arm. “But thank you. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” he murmured, his voice warm. “I mean it.”

He never pushed, never said anything outright about your boyfriend.

But he knew.

He always knew.

When you finally broke up with your ex, it was like a weight lifted. You didn’t talk about it publicly, but Namjoon noticed the change immediately.

A week after the breakup, you were in the studio helping him organize some lyric sheets. You were humming softly, moving with a lightness you hadn’t felt in months.

Namjoon looked up from his notebook, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You seem different lately. Happier. Did something good happen?”

You paused, biting your lip. “Yeah, actually. I… ended things with my boyfriend. It was overdue. I feel lighter, like I can breathe again.”

His eyes lit up, genuine relief and something deeper flashing across his face. “I’m glad. You deserve that lightness every day. No one should make you feel like you have to dim yourself to fit.”

You laughed softly. “Thanks, Joon. You’ve been… a really good friend through all of it. Even when I didn’t say anything.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with that look... the one that made your stomach flutter.

“Friend, huh? I’ll take it. But seriously, you smile more now. It’s beautiful. You deserve someone who never lets that smile fade. Someone who’d worship the ground you walk on. Someone who notices when you’re carrying too much and helps carry the load.”

Your chest stuttered, your breath catching at the intensity in his voice. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken feelings.

You laughed it off, though your cheeks warmed. “Wow, that’s a really cheesy line, Mr. RM. Practicing for a new song?”

He chuckled, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe. Or maybe I just mean it. You work so hard for all of us. Let someone work hard for you for once.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the words lingered. “Careful, or I might start thinking you’re flirting with your manager.”

“Would that be so bad?” he teased lightly, but there was a vulnerability underneath.

Before you could respond, he stood up clumsily, nearly knocking over a stack of papers. “Shit—sorry. See? I still need you to manage my clumsy ass.”

You both burst into laughter, collapsing onto the couch in a fit of giggles as you helped him pick up the scattered sheets. The moment felt light, easy, but underneath it all, something had shifted.

That night, as you packed up your things, he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that look again.

“You smile more now,” he repeated softly, almost reverent. “Don’t let anyone take that away.”

Your heart raced.

You muttered something about “cheesy lines,” but the words stayed with you, looping in your mind like a song you couldn’t shake.

Forbidden... Contract... Bad idea...

Right?

The international tour was a whirlwind after their recent comeback.

Tokyo, LA, Mexico, Vegas, Paris—each city blurred into the next, a kaleidoscope of jet lag, screaming fans, and endless schedules.

You were in your element, juggling logistics, calming frantic staff, and making sure the boys were where they needed to be. But the exhaustion was real. 6 a.m. wake-up calls, late-night soundchecks, and the constant pressure to keep everything running smoothly.

Namjoon was getting bolder.

You felt it in the way his hand brushed your waist when he guided you through a crowded backstage area, his touch lingering a fraction too long.

Or the way he leaned close during breaks, whispering dumb jokes in your ear to make you laugh. You’d swat him away, muttering, “Behave, Joon,” but your heart raced every time.

Don’t go there, you told yourself. Don’t.

But then there was the dancer.

One of the new backup dancers, Minho, had been… off.

You’d noticed it early on... his eyes lingered too long, his smile too sharp and creepy. He’d hover near you during breaks, making small talk that felt too personal.

You’d caught him taking selfies with you in the background, his phone angled just so. It was creepy, but you brushed it off. You were used to handling weirdos in this industry.

Until that night in Paris.

You were in the dressing room, checking in with stylists and organizing the boys’ outfits for the next show. The room was quiet after they left, the chaos of the day finally settling.

You were alone... or so you thought.

The door creaked open, and Minho slipped inside.

His smile was too wide, his eyes too dark.

“Hey,” he said, his voice syrupy. “You’re always so busy. Thought I’d keep you company.”

You forced a polite smile, your skin prickling. “I’m good, thanks. Just finishing up.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped closer, his body blocking the path to the door. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re always with them. Don’t you want someone to notice you for you?”

Your stomach twisted. “I’m fine. You should go.”

He didn’t.

He moved closer, his hand reaching for your arm. You stepped back, but he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to sting.

“Don’t be like that,” he murmured, leaning in. His breath was hot against your cheek, and panic surged in your chest.

“Let go,” you said, your voice sharp as you yanked your arm back. But he didn’t budge, his fingers tightening.

And then the door slammed open.

Namjoon stood there, his silhouette filling the doorway. His eyes, usually so warm and soft... were dark, blazing with a rage you’d never seen before.

“Take your hands off her. Now.”

His voice was low, deadly, each word dripping with barely restrained fury. Minho froze, his grip loosening as he stumbled back under the weight of Namjoon’s glare.

“I... I was just—” Minho stammered, but Namjoon cut him off.

“Get out.”

Minho didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled for the door, nearly tripping in his haste. Security appeared moments later, dragging him away.

Namjoon turned to you, his jaw tight, his hands shaking as he grabbed your arm... not roughly, but urgently, and pulled you out of the room.

He slammed the door behind you, his chest heaving as he paced the hallway, hands raking through his hair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice raw. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice trembled. You held up your wrist, where faint red marks lingered. “Just… shaken.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed on the marks, and his expression darkened further. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the storm in his eyes.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I should’ve said something sooner. I saw how he looked at you, and I... fuck... fuck the rules.”

Your heart stopped. “Namjoon, don’t—”

But he wasn’t listening.

He was too close now, his breath warm against your face, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“I’m done pretending,” he said. “I’m done watching you hurt and not doing anything about it. I’m done acting like I don’t—”

He stopped himself, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped back, trying to rein himself in. But you saw it... the raw, aching need in his eyes.

The same need you’d been burying for months.

“Let’s get you to Hotel,” he said finally, his voice softer but still edged with something dangerous. “You are coming with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Instead of taking you to your room three doors down, Namjoon guided you gently toward his suite at the end of the hall. “Come to mine,” he said quietly. “I have a first aid kit. We should treat those marks before they bruise worse.”

You nodded, still shaken, letting him lead the way.

Namjoon’s hotel suite was a mess of books, lyric sheets, and half-empty coffee cups—a reflection of his chaotic, beautiful mind.

You sat on the edge of his bed, your hands still trembling from the encounter with Minho. Namjoon didn’t touch you, didn’t sit too close at first. He just stayed with you, his presence steady and warm.

He paced for a while, muttering to himself about “fucking creeps” and “stupid contracts.” You watched him, your heart aching at how unhinged he was, how much he cared.

“I’m okay, Joon,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Really.”

He stopped pacing, his eyes snapping to yours. “You’re not okay. I saw your face. I saw how he—”

He cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face. “I should’ve been there.”

“You were,” you said. “You stopped it.”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Not soon enough.”

Namjoon disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with a small first aid kit. He sat beside you on the bed, close enough that his knee brushed yours, and gently took your wrist in his large, warm hand.

With careful movements, he applied a soothing ointment to the faint red marks, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin as if to erase the memory of the grip.

“This should help,” he murmured, voice low and focused. “Tell me if it stings.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken things.

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him it was okay, but the weight of the contract, the company, the rules held you back.

After a while, you stood, murmuring that you should head back to your own room just a few doors down the hall. He walked you there but didn’t push to stay, respecting the fragile space between you.

The next day, you were back to work, but the incident lingered heavily. The boys were busy with final sound checks on stage, the distant thrum of music and Jin & Jungkook’s laughter echoing through the arena.

You slipped away backstage to check in something, almost against your will to the same dressing room where everything had happened yesterday.

As soon as you stepped inside, the memories flooded back—the creep of Minho’s voice, his tight grip on your wrist, the fear that had gripped your chest.

Your eyes grew teary, your breath shaky as you leaned against the wall, realising what could have possibly happened if Namjoon didn't arrive on time.

You didn’t hear the soft knock on door behind you.

“Hey,” Namjoon called, his voice low and gentle, muffled slightly as he stepped in. “It’s me. I saw you come this way during the break. The others are still on stage for another twenty minutes or so. Can I come in… properly?”

You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to steady your breathing as you turned toward him.

“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice cracked, betraying the tears you couldn’t quite hide. “Really, Joon. You should be with the members.”

He saw right through you.

His eyes softened with deep concern, but there was something else there—something fierce and protective, layered with a tender longing that made your heart ache.

He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, and leaned against the wall near the sink, giving you space but never taking his eyes off you.

The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid.

“I’ve spent two years watching you carry everyone else’s burdens,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word deliberate and full of quiet emotion.

“I’ve seen you smile through things that would break anyone else. I’ve watched you put on that brave face after every missed call from your ex, after every long flight, after every crisis that wasn’t even yours to fix. And I’ve stayed quiet, because I thought that’s what you needed. And because of that damn contract. Because I didn’t want to make things harder for you, or risk messing up what we already have.”

He took a slow step closer, his large hands twitching at his sides like he was physically fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.

“But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t see you, that I don’t feel you, every single day. I’ve been in love with you for so long it hurts, and I—”

His voice broke, raw and vulnerable, and he looked down for a moment, jaw tight as he gathered himself.

“God, saying it out loud feels terrifying. But I need you to tell me what you want. If you want me to keep my distance, to stay just your clumsy RM who brings you tea, I will. I’ll try my best, even if it kills me. But if you feel even a fraction of what I feel… if there’s any part of you that’s been wondering the same thing… say it. Please. I need to hear it from you.”

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest. The sincerity in his eyes, the way his voice trembled just slightly on the words “in love with you,” cracked open every wall you’d built.

You’d spent so long burying your feelings, hiding behind professionalism and fear, convincing yourself this was impossible. But here he was, standing in the very room, offering his heart so openly.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, your voice trembling as fresh tears welled up, not from fear this time but from overwhelming emotion.

“I’ve wanted you for so long. Longer than I even admitted to myself. Every time you brought me tea, every quiet ‘you okay?’ after a bad day, every time I caught you looking at me like I was something precious… it killed me to pretend I didn’t feel it too. But I’m scared. The contract, the company, what this could mean for you and the boys—”

“I know,” he said softly, stepping even closer now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with stage nerves.

His hand lifted slowly, hovering near your cheek before gently brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m scared too. Terrified, actually. But I’d rather face every consequence, than keep pretending I don’t love you. You’re worth risking everything for. Tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me you feel it too.”

The dam broke completely.

The tension that had been building for months snapped like a live wire. You closed the distance in one desperate step, your hands reaching up to cup his face, fingers threading into his hair as your lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative and trembling.

But then it deepened with fierce intensity—his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he was afraid you might disappear.

His lips moved against yours with hungry passion, a slow burn turning into wildfire, tongues brushing in a dance that sent sparks down your spine. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching your own frantic rhythm.

Every brush of his fingers along your back, every soft groan he let out into your mouth, every second of built-up longing poured out in waves that left you dizzy and breathless.

He tasted like coffee and desperation, like every stolen glance and unspoken word finally set free. Your bodies pressed closer, his large frame enveloping you protectively as the kiss grew more urgent, more consuming.

Butterflies erupted wildly in your stomach, a fluttering storm of desire, relief, and pure love that made your knees weak.

Time seemed to stop in that dressing room—the same place that had brought terror now filled with something beautiful and electric.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, lips swollen and eyes locked in a gaze full of wonder and heat.

Your hands stayed on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall.

“We’re going to get in so much trouble,” you murmured, a shaky, breathless laugh escaping you as you traced his jaw with your thumb. “But God, Joon… that felt right. So right.”

He smiled, those beloved dimples flashing, but his eyes remained serious and dark with emotion. “Then we’ll face it together. No more hiding. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t remember what it felt like before.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, the words tasting like freedom on your tongue. “More than I knew how to say.”

You lingered for another moment, stealing one more soft kiss, then another, the tension between you crackling like electricity. But reality nudged in.

You pulled back slightly, hands still on his chest.

“You should probably head back,” you said softly, voice laced with reluctance.

“Sound check is wrapping up, and the concert is in less than an hour. The boys will be looking for you. We… we’ll talk more after. But for now... go. Be amazing as always out there.”

Namjoon nodded, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead, his arms squeezing you tight. “I’ll be thinking of you every second I’m on that stage. We’ll figure this out. Promise me you’ll be okay until then?”

“I will,” you assured him, smiling through the lingering butterflies. “Now go, before someone comes looking.”

He stepped back reluctantly, eyes full of promises and heat, then slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the room—heart racing, lips tingling, and the sweet tension of what was to come hanging thick in the air for the entire concert ahead.

The concert had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline still hummed wildly in your veins, mixing with something far more dangerous.

The entire ride back to the hotel had been pure torture.

You and Namjoon sat close in the van, the air thick with unspoken promises and weeks of pent-up tension. Every stolen glance, every accidental brush of his fingers against your thigh, every shared look that lingered too long had only worsened the ache that started the moment your lips met backstage.

The kiss you shared hours ago still burned on your skin, a promise of what was coming.

As you stepped off the elevator onto your floor, the hallway was quiet except for the sound of your racing heart.

You stopped in front of your door, just three rooms down from his, and turned to face him. Your body ached for him, heat pooling low in your belly, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little longer.

You gave him a soft, playful smile, biting your lip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “I should probably head to my room,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late… We wouldn’t want to risk anything tonight, right?”

Namjoon’s eyes darkened instantly, the hunger in them unmistakable.

He stepped closer, towering over you, his presence overwhelming in the dimly lit hallway. He knew you wanted him just as badly... he could see it in the way your breath hitched, the way your thighs pressed together, the way you hadn’t stopped looking at him since the concert ended.

“Like hell you are,” he growled low, his voice rough and filled with raw need. His large hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, not rough but possessive, pulling you toward his suite at the end of the hall.

“You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing? Teasing me like this after that kiss backstage? After hours of this fucking tension building between us?”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh as he tugged you along, your pulse skyrocketing. “Maybe I’m just being responsible, Joon. Wouldn’t want to break any more rules tonight…”

He stopped in front of his door, swiping his keycard with his free hand while keeping his grip on you. He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and dripping with desire.

“Responsible? Baby, we both know you want this as much as I do. I saw how you looked at me during the encore. I felt how you trembled when I kissed your forehead. That tension from the dressing room? It’s been killing you too. Stop pretending.”

The door clicked open.

Before you could tease him again, he pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you with a decisive thud.

“Joon—” you started, but he cut you off, pressing you against the closed door, his body flush against yours.

“No more teasing,” he murmured, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Tell me you don’t want me right now and I’ll let you go to your room. But we both know that’s a lie.”

You shivered, staring into his intense eyes, the air between you thick and reeking of barely contained lust. “I do want you,” you whispered, finally giving in. “So much it hurts.”

A low, satisfied groan escaped him. “Good girl.”

Namjoon was on you like a man starved.

His hands cupped your face as he crashed his lips against yours in a desperate, claiming kiss. The kiss was hot, messy, and full of two years of longing—tongues sliding, teeth nipping, breaths mingling.

He pressed you back against the door, his tall, strong body pinning you there, and you could feel every hard inch of him, especially the growing bulge straining against his jeans.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he murmured against your mouth, voice deep and wrecked as he kissed along your jaw, teeth grazing your skin. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this. How many nights I lay awake thinking about you, touching myself while imagining it was you.”

“Joon…” you gasped, your hands fisting in his shirt as your head fell back against the door. “We’re really doing this. We’re gonna get in so much trouble if anyone finds out.”

“Let them try to stop us,” he growled, his hands sliding down your sides, fingers digging possessively into your hips as he ground against you. “I don’t give a fuck about the contract anymore. You’re worth it. You’re mine now.”

His fingers brushed over the faint marks still lingering on your wrist from Minho. His expression turned darker, almost feral. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the tender skin with aching reverence.

“Let me erase every fucking mark he left on you,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “No one else gets to touch what’s mine. Say it, baby.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered breathlessly.

He groaned at your words and suddenly lifted you, carrying you to the nearby couch. He set you down gently but urgently, then dropped to his knees in front of you like a man worshipping at an altar.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, exposing your skin inch by inch.

“Look at you,” he breathed, eyes dark and intense as he stared up at you.

The sight of Kim Namjoon on his knees, broad shoulders between your legs, made your panties soaked. “So fucking perfect. Tell me you want this. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joon,” you moaned, voice shaking with need. “Please… I need you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down slowly, letting them pool at your ankles.

Namjoon leaned in slowly, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His lips were wet and sloppy, sucking gently, then harder, leaving faint marks of his own as his tongue dragged over your skin.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably under the attention, the wet sounds of his kisses filling the room.

“Fuck, these thighs,” he murmured reverently between kisses, his voice thick with lust. “So soft… so fucking perfect. I’ve dreamed about burying my face between them for so long. You’re shaking already, baby. You like when I kiss you here?”

“Yes... Joon, please,” you whimpered, your hands gripping the couch cushions as your legs quivered.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Good girl. So responsive for me.” He continued his worship, sucking and licking higher, closer to where you needed him most, until you were a trembling, dripping mess.

Only then did he move in fully... his mouth was on you, hot, hungry, and relentless. He devoured you like a goddess, like he’d been starving for years and you were his salvation.

His tongue flicked over your clit with devastating precision before flattening to lick broad, messy stripes through your folds, tasting every inch of you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming in pleasure as he worked you with expert skill.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned against your core, the deep vibration making you cry out.

“Sweeter than I imagined. So fucking wet for me already. This pretty pussy is dripping down my chin, baby. You’re soaking me and I love it. I could stay here for hours, eating this sweet cunt until you can’t take anymore.”

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the soft strands tightly as your hips bucked against his face. “Joon—oh god, that feels so good… your mouth—fuck!”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips shiny with your arousal, eyes dark and intense. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl, letting me taste you like this. This pussy belongs to me now. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “All yours, Joon.”

He dove back in with renewed hunger, sliding one thick finger inside you, curling it perfectly against that spot that made your back arch off the couch.

Then he added a second finger, stretching you open while his tongue worked your clit mercilessly—sucking, licking, and flicking in a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“That’s it, baby. Ride my face,” he growled between licks, his free hand gripping your thigh possessively. “You’re so tight around my fingers. So fucking perfect. I can feel you clenching already. Come for me, princess. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

“Joon... oh god, I’m so close already,” you whimpered, voice breaking as the pleasure built unbearably. “You’re gonna make me... fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“Look at me,” he commanded, pulling back just enough for his dark eyes to lock onto yours, fingers still pumping steadily. “I want you to watch who’s making you fall apart. Who this pretty pussy belongs to. Come on my tongue like the good girl you are.”

You obeyed, eyes locked with his as he sucked harder on your clit, fingers thrusting faster and deeper. The coil in your stomach snapped violently.

You came with a loud, broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, waves of intense pleasure crashing over you as you gushed on his tongue.

But Namjoon didn’t stop.

He kept licking and fingering you through every aftershock, devouring every drop like he couldn’t get enough, murmuring praises against your oversensitive flesh.

“That’s my good girl… so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. Give me another one, baby. I’m not done worshipping you yet.”

You whimpered his name like a prayer, oversensitive and trembling, but he continued his relentless devotion until you were a moaning, shaking mess beneath him.

He finally stood, lips glistening with your arousal, and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was filthy and loving all at once, his tongue sliding against yours as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“OH... God... you’re mine,” he repeated against your mouth, voice rough and possessive, sending shivers down your spine. “Say it again while I fuck you. I need to hear it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped breathlessly between kisses, your hands clutching his shoulders. “And I’ll repeat it everytime you ask me, Joon. Only yours.”

He groaned deeply at your words, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea what you do to me.”

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

The way he held you... so strong yet so careful, made your heart swell with love even as raw lust burned between you. He laid you down gently on the mattress, but his eyes were dark with hunger.

You reached for him immediately, tossing off his shirt, hands tracing every line of his toned chest and faint scars, worshipping the body you’d wanted for so long. He shoved down his jeans and boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, and leaking at the tip.

“Need you so fucking bad,” he rasped, settling between your spread thighs. He spread you open with his large hands, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick, sensitive entrance, teasing you mercilessly.

“You’re so wet for me already. Been thinking about this since that kiss backstage, haven’t you? All through the concert I was hard just remembering how you tasted on my tongue.”

“Yes,” you moaned, hips rolling up desperately, trying to pull him inside. “Please, Joon. I want you inside me. I’ve wanted this for so long… I can’t wait anymore.”

He leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavily.

The tension in the air was electric—thick with love, lust, and years of suppressed desire. “I love you,” he whispered fiercely, voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much it hurts. But right now I need to fuck you like I’ve been dying to.”

He reached over to the jeans pockets, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a condom. A mischievous, slightly embarrassed smirk tugged at his lips as he tore the packet open with his teeth.

You blinked, chest heaving. “Wait… you already have those here?”

Namjoon chuckled lowly, rolling the condom down his thick length with steady hands, eyes never leaving yours. “I may have… asked the members for one after the concert. Told them I needed it for ‘reasons.’ Jin-hyung gave me three with the biggest shit-eating grin. They definitely know something’s up.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning even as arousal pulsed through you. “Great. Now everyone’s going to know. By tomorrow the whole group chat is going to be unbearable.”

“Let them talk,” he growled, positioning himself at your entrance again, rubbing the tip against your clit teasingly. “I don’t care. As long as you’re mine.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you deliciously. You gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure bordered on overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “So perfect around me. You okay, baby? Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I’m good—fuck, Joon, you feel incredible,” you begged, rolling your hips up to take more of him. “Move, please. I need all of you. Love me. Fuck me. Make me forget everything except you.”

He kissed you hard, full of love and raw lust, then started moving—deep, powerful thrusts that stole your breath. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your shared moans, and whispered words of love and filth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips between thrusts. “I’m never letting you go.”

He didn’t hold back.

His pace was rough and desperate, hips snapping forward as he fucked you deep and hard, each powerful thrust pushing you further into the mattress.

The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your breathy moans and his low groans, filling the room with raw, filthy heat. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of sex and sweat.

“Look at me,” he demanded again, voice rough and commanding.

One of his large hands slid up to rest possessively around your throat... not squeezing, just holding you there, claiming you.

His eyes burned into yours as he drove into you relentlessly. “I want to see your face when you come on my cock. Say you’re mine, baby. Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, eyes locked on his, your voice breaking with every deep thrust. “Only yours, Joon. Fuck—harder! Please, I need more—”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his hips slamming into you even harder, deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoing louder.

“God, I love you so fucking much. You have no idea how long I’ve been dying for this. How many nights I lay awake aching for you, knowing you were with your ex… and he didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss while continuing to thrust into you with punishing rhythm.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes dark with lust and raw emotion.

“Every time that bastard ignored your texts, every time he forgot you at the airport, every time I saw that sad smile on your face… it fucking killed me,” he confessed between heavy thrusts, voice strained but full of passion.

“I wanted to pull you into my arms and tell you that you deserved someone who would worship the ground you walk on. Someone who would kiss the fucking floor you step on. I would never treat you like that. Never. You’re my everything.”

“Joon…” you moaned loudly, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tighter inside you. The way he was looking at you... so possessive, so obsessed, yet so full of love, made your heart ache with overwhelming emotion.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he admitted hoarsely, hips snapping forward again, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “I’ve been obsessed for two fucking years. Watching you, wanting you, loving you from a distance because I respected you too much to ever do anything until you weren’t ready.”

His thrusts grew even more intense, deep and claiming, his hand still possessively around your throat as he stared into your eyes.

“No one else gets to see you like this,” he growled, voice dripping with lust and devotion. “No one else gets to hear you like this. You’re mine to worship. Mine to ruin. Mine to love until the end of time. Tell me again, baby. Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you senseless.”

“You!” you cried out, tears of overwhelming pleasure and love pricking your eyes. “Only you, Joon. I love you so much—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, pounding into you harder, chasing both your pleasure and his. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart. I’ve waited so long for this. So fucking long.”

The tension, the confessions, the raw love mixed with filthy lust pushed you over the edge. You came hard, clenching around his cock, crying out his name as stars exploded behind your eyes, your entire body shaking.

Namjoon followed right after, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily against your neck, before slowly pulling out.

He collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his strong arms. His lips brushed your temple, then your forehead, soft and reverent after the raw passion.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured tenderly, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your back. “I’m never letting you go. I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

You curled into his chest, heart still racing, body buzzing with aftershocks. “I love you too. So much. I never knew how much you were holding back… how deeply you felt all this time.”

For the first time in years, wrapped in his arms, you felt truly safe, wanted, completely loved and utterly claimed.

The next morning, reality crashed down.

You woke up in Namjoon’s arms, his warmth enveloping you, but the weight of what you’d done settled in your chest like a stone.

The contract. The company. The consequences.

“We’re fucked,” you muttered, burying your face in his chest.

Namjoon stirred, his arms tightening around you instinctively.

He let out a low, sleepy chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Probably. But damn… it was worth it, wasn’t it?” His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, gentle and reassuring.

You swatted his arm, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he said, kissing your forehead.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still hazy with sleep but filled with unwavering affection. “Good morning, by the way. How are you feeling? Any regrets?”

You shook your head, tracing idle patterns on his chest with your fingertip.

“No regrets,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he murmured against your lips, deepening the kiss.

You both knew what had to happen.

You insisted on telling the company yourself, before anyone could twist the story. You marched into your superior’s office, your heart pounding, Namjoon’s hand brushing yours one last time before you went in.

“Let them fire me,” you told him, your voice fierce. “I’m not giving you up.”

He smiled, his eyes soft. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

They didn’t fire you—because, you were too good at your job, and Namjoon was RM. But you were reassigned, pulled off BTS’s team and moved to a different department.

It stung, but Namjoon was relentless.

He confessed to you, to the company, to anyone who would listen.

Months later, you were no longer his manager, but you were his.

The company eventually worked out a quiet deal—thanks to Jin’s smooth persuasions and Yoongi’s terrifyingly calm emails.

You stayed on as a general coordinator, traveling with the group when needed. You and Namjoon kept things low-key in public, but the boys knew.

And they loved it.

Backstage before the concert, the energy was electric.

You stood close to Namjoon, fussing over his in-ear mic.

“Hold still, Joon,” you murmured softly, your fingers carefully tucking the earpiece and smoothing the wire along his neck. “Why do I always end up doing this? You’d probably walk on stage with it dangling if I didn’t check.”

Namjoon looked down at you with a fond, dimpled smile, his voice low and teasing just for you. “Because you worry about me too much. But I’m a grown man, you know. I can handle my own mic… most of the time.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as your fingers brushed his collar, straightening it with gentle tugs.

“A grown man who dropped his phone in a water this morning? Yeah, sure. I fuss because someone has to keep the genius RM from technical disasters right before he owns the stage.”

He chuckled warmly, his hands lightly resting on your waist as you moved to brush a tiny piece of lint off his crisp black shirt. The simple, domestic gesture felt so natural now.

“You don’t have to, but I love that you do,” he admitted quietly, eyes soft. “Makes me feel like the luckiest guy here. Even if the members are about to roast me for it.”

The others noticed immediately.

Jin’s voice boomed with dramatic flair as he leaned against a nearby equipment case. “Yah! Look at this! Where’s the wedding invite, huh? I need to clear my schedule for the big day and be the emcee.”

Jungkook, bouncing on his heels with a mischievous grin, jumped in right away. “Hyung, do I get to be the flower boy? Or maybe the ring bearer? I promise I won’t drop them… probably.”

Jimin clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh my god, you two are so cute it hurts. Look at her fixing his collar like a proper wife already! Namjoon-hyung, you’re blushing so hard right now.”

Taehyung pretended to wipe away fake tears. “I can’t believe this. My favorite hyung is all domesticated now. Next thing you know, she’ll be packing his snacks and reminding him not to lose his passport again.”

Hobi laughed brightly, pulling out his phone to snap a quick photo. “This is pure gold! Someone pass the tissues... I’m getting emotional!”

Yoongi, ever the calm one, smirked from his seat while adjusting his own mic. “You all talk too much. Let them be. Though… yeah, keep the heart eyes off in public.”

Namjoon groaned loudly, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck.

He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside, away from the group’s prying eyes and teasing laughter, his large hands settling warmly on your hips.

“They’re never gonna let me live this down,” he muttered, voice low and slightly embarrassed, though his eyes were soft and full of affection as he looked at you.

You smirked up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you tilted your head playfully. “You love it. Deep down, you love all this chaos. Admit it—it makes you smile bigger when they tease you about me.”

He chuckled, dimples deepening as he leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “Okay, maybe a little. But mostly I just love you. Even when they’re being absolute gremlins about it.”

From behind you, Jin called out again, “Yah, lovebirds! Save the whispering for after the encore! Some of us are trying to focus here!”

Jungkook added with a laugh, “Yeah, hyung! If you drop the mic tonight because you’re too busy staring at her, I’m telling everyone it’s because of love sickness!”

You both laughed, and Namjoon pressed a quick, soft kiss to your temple before reluctantly letting go.

“We’ll continue this later,” he whispered promisingly.

Later that night, after the concert’s high energy had settled, the group gathered for a late dinner in a private room. Soju bottles were passed around as the boys recounted the show’s highlights, but the teasing quickly turned back to you and Namjoon.

Taehyung raised his glass dramatically. “To the real MVP tonight — our ex-manager who somehow keeps this clumsy giant in line!”

Jimin leaned forward with a grin. “Tell us again about the phone incident this morning. Namjoon-hyung, how are you a genius and a disaster at the same time?”

Namjoon groaned but smiled, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. “It was one time. And she’s a saint for putting up with me.”

You nudged him playfully. “One time? Babe, it’s at least the third this month your phone have been rescued by me. But I wouldn’t trade your clumsy ass for anything.”

Hobi nearly spit out his soju laughing. “See! That’s true love right there. She calls him ‘babe’ now!”

Jin wiped his eyes, still chuckling.

Namjoon leaned close to you amid the laughter, his lips brushing your ear, voice dropping to that low, teasing register that always sent shivers down your spine.

“Ignore them. Let’s get back to the room soon. I owe you some real worship tonight... slow, thorough, the kind that makes you forget all their teasing.”

Your face flushed hot, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your lips or the excited flutter in your chest.

As the boys erupted into mock-scandalized shouts... “Yah, we heard that!” from Jin, and “Get a room!” from Jungkook, you leaned into Namjoon’s side, feeling perfectly content.

You knew one thing for sure... you were his, and he was yours.

Contract or no contract, nothing was going to change that.

Five years had passed like a long, muted song.

You returned to Seoul in early summer, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt. The city felt both familiar and foreign, its rhythm faster, louder, brighter than the quiet life you had built elsewhere.

Your grandma had insisted you come with her to the wedding. “The bride’s grandmother is my oldest friend,” she’d said, squeezing your arm gently. “And you’ve been hiding too long, my dear.”

You didn’t argue.

You rarely did these days.

The wedding hall was warm and golden, filled with soft chatter and the delicate chime of champagne glasses. You sat near the middle of the rows, fingers lightly gripping the edge of your clutch, your white cane resting against your leg.

Your grandma sat beside you, her familiar lavender perfume grounding you. Even without sight, you could feel the joy in the room... the rustle of hanboks, the laughter, the anticipation.

Then the lights dimmed slightly for the musical performance.

A single voice floated through the hall—soft, aching, impossibly familiar. It wrapped around your chest like warm hands you had tried so hard to forget.

Your breath caught.

The world narrowed to that voice. Jimin.

Even after five years, it hadn’t changed.

If anything, it had grown deeper, richer, carrying the weight of everything he had lived through. Every note carried the ghost of rainy nights, cheap kimbap, trembling promises, and the way he used to whisper “I love you” against your skin.

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them. You weren’t even facing the stage. You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

That voice had lived inside your bones for years.

Your grandma’s hand found yours and squeezed tightly. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

On stage, Jimin’s voice faltered for half a beat the moment his eyes landed on you. The microphone picked up the tiny hitch, but only those paying close attention would notice.

He kept singing, but his gaze never left the woman in the soft green dress sitting beside an elderly lady... you.

Hair no longer fell into his eyes the way it used to... it was longer and styled neatly now, and his shoulders had broadened under the tailored suit. But the look in his eyes was the same one he had given you on the floor of that tiny apartment.

Raw... Desperate... Full of love.

The song ended too soon.

Applause erupted, warm and loud. You stood up abruptly, heart hammering against your ribs. Your cane felt slippery in your suddenly damp palm.

“I need air,” you whispered to your grandma, voice trembling.

“Wait, sweetheart—” She tried to hold your arm, but you were already moving, too overwhelmed, too fragile. The cane tapped quickly against the floor as you tried to navigate the aisle, desperate to escape before the tears became sobs.

You moved too fast.

A chair leg caught your cane.

You stumbled forward, heart lurching...

Strong arms caught you before you could fall. A familiar scent, clean soap, faint cologne, and something that still smelled like home, enveloped you as your body collided with a solid chest.

Your cane clattered to the floor.

Your clutch slipped from your fingers.

Jimin had jumped down from the low stage the moment he saw you stand.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing against your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he picked up your things and pulled you into a quiet corner behind a large floral arrangement, away from curious eyes.

You couldn’t hold yourself up.

Your knees gave out.

Jimin lowered with you, never letting go, until both of you were kneeling on the cool marble floor. His hands trembled as they framed your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“...It’s you,” he breathed, voice cracking the same way it did that night years ago. “It’s really you.”

You couldn’t speak.

Your fingers clutched at his suit jacket like it was the only real thing left in the world. The fabric was expensive now, but underneath it was the same heartbeat you used to fall asleep to.

Jimin’s forehead pressed against yours, just like he used to do.

His breath shook.

“You’re crying,” he whispered, almost broken. “Why are you crying, love?”

Your hands moved before you could think.

Trembling fingers rose to his face, tracing every familiar line you had memorized in the dark for five long years. You started at his temples, fingertips brushing the soft strands of his long hair that still fell forward just a little.

Then down to his eyebrows, the delicate curve of his eyelids, the long lashes you used to tease him about. You felt the wetness on his own cheeks and your breath hitched.

“Jimin…” you breathed, voice barely audible.

Your thumbs traced the bridge of his nose, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the small mole on cheekbone just below his right eye. Finally, your fingers reached his lips... those same lips that had once kissed your tears away, that had whispered promises into your skin.

They were trembling under your touch.

Jimin froze, confused.

His hands gently held your wrists, not stopping you, but clearly lost.

“What… what are you doing?” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

His eyes searched your face, but you weren’t looking back at him. Your gaze was slightly off, unfocused, staring somewhere past his shoulder even as your hands mapped him with heartbreaking tenderness.

Then his eyes dropped.

The white cane lying on the floor beside you. The way your fingers moved like you were reading him instead of seeing him.

His breath caught sharply. “...Your eyes…”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your hands slid down to fist the front of his expensive suit shirt, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. A broken sob tore from your throat.

“Why are you still calling me love?” you choked out, voice cracking.

“You should hate me, Jimin. You should hate me for leaving you like that. Why don’t you hate me? I-I left… even after I promised I’d never leave your side. I broke every promise we made in that tiny apartment. I abandoned you when you needed me most. So why… why are you still holding me like this? Why are you crying for me?”

Jimin’s hands came up to cover yours, pressing them harder against his chest so you could feel how wildly his heart was beating.

“I could never hate you,” he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with the weight of five years of grief.

“Never. I thought… I thought I failed you. I couldn’t give you the future I promised... the ring, the restaurant, the songs, the life you deserved. I had nothing back then. How could I blame you for leaving someone who had empty pockets and broken dreams? I only hated myself for not being enough.”

You shook your head violently, tears streaming down your face.

Your grip on his shirt tightened as if he might disappear.

“It wasn’t like that,” you sobbed.

“When you went to Busan… few days later… I met with an accident on the way back from my convenience store shift. A car… it hit me. I woke up in the hospital two days later and… and I couldn’t see anything, Jimin. Nothing. The doctors said the damage was permanent. I was blind.”

Jimin’s entire body went rigid.

A wounded sound escaped his throat, something between a gasp and a sob. His hands moved to cradle your face again, thumbs frantically brushing your tears as if he could wipe away the pain.

“No… no, baby, Oh God no...”

“Yes... It is,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I made Grandma promise not to tell you. I knew you. I knew if you found out, you would drop everything... your music, your dreams, the tiny label that had just started noticing you. You would have come running back to take care of me, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

A tiny broken sob escaped your mouth but you continued. “I couldn’t be the reason you gave up on everything you worked so hard for. So… I left. I told Grandma we had to move to our old countryside home immediately. I asked her to help me record that voice note. I thought… if I sounded convincing enough, you would let me go. You would finally fly.”

Jimin was shaking now.

His forehead pressed harder against yours, tears falling onto your cheeks, mixing with your own.

“You idiot…” he choked out, voice raw with pain and love.

“You silly, stubborn idiot. Do you really think any dream mattered more than you? I would have burned every stage, every song, every chance at fame if it meant being by your side. I spent five years writing letters to a ghost, thinking you left because I wasn’t enough… and all this time...”

His voice broke completely.

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your broken pieces back together.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his shirt, fists still clutching the fabric.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you. I listened to your songs, you know. Every single one. Even when it felt like my heart was being torn apart, I played them on repeat. Your voice… it kept me alive, Jimin. But I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was setting you free.”

“You were never holding me back,” he whispered against your hair, lips brushing your temple.

“You were the only reason I kept going. Every song was for you. Every night on stage, I sang to the version of you I lost. I would trade all of it... just to have those rainy nights back with you.”

You let out a watery laugh through your sobs, your fingers tracing his jaw again, needing to feel him. “You’re famous now… My star. I’m so proud of you. Even if I can’t see it, I feel it. Your voice sounds even more beautiful than before.”

Jimin cupped your face, pressing soft, desperate kisses to your forehead, your closed eyelids, the tears on your lashes.

“Then let me be your eyes,” he whispered fiercely.

“Let me show you the world again. Let me love you the way I should have been loving you for all these years. Please… don’t run from me again. I can’t lose you twice.”

At that moment, hurried footsteps approached.

Your grandma appeared around the corner, breathless, her hand pressed to her chest. When she saw the two of you kneeling on the floor... you in Jimin’s arms, both crying, fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh, my child…” she whispered, voice thick. She quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stepped closer.

Jimin looked up at her, still holding you protectively.

Grandma’s voice trembled as she spoke.

“Jimin... Five years ago, I tried so hard to make her understand. I told her it was wrong, that you deserved to know the truth, that love like yours doesn’t disappear just because life gets hard. But she was so stubborn… so scared of becoming a burden to you.”

She looked at Jimin with sad, kind eyes. “She begged me. Sat in the dark, crying, practicing that voice note over and over until her voice gave out.”

“She made me record it three times because she said it didn’t sound convincing enough. I helped her because… because I thought her heart would break completely if you gave up your dream for her. But seeing you two like this now… I wish I had been stronger and stopped her.”

You turned your face toward your grandma’s voice, still leaning heavily into Jimin’s chest. “Grandma… I—”

“No, sweetheart,” she said gently, crouching down with some difficulty and placing a hand on your back. “Maybe it is time for this pain to come out. Maybe fate brought us here today for a reason.”

Jimin looked between you and your grandma, his arms never loosening. “I’m not letting her go again,” he said quietly, but with steel in his voice. “No matter what. Not now. Not ever.”

He pressed another kiss to the top of your head, then whispered against your hair, voice full of quiet determination and endless love, “We’ve lost enough time, my love. Let me take you home.”

Jimin didn’t let you go for a long time.

Your grandma stood nearby, watching with soft, teary eyes.

“Come home with me,” Jimin whispered against your temple. “You too, Grandma.”

You nodded against his chest, too exhausted and overwhelmed to argue. Your grandma gently agreed, and soon Jimin was guiding you both out of the wedding hall with careful steps.

His driver waited outside.

The ride to his apartment was quiet, filled only with the low hum of the city and the occasional sniffle from you. When the elevator doors opened straight into his penthouse apartment, your grandma’s breath audibly hitched.

The space was beautiful—spacious, luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Seoul skyline. Soft lighting bathed everything in warmth.

But it wasn’t the luxury that made her stop.

It was the photographs.

Everywhere.

Large framed photos of you on the console table near the entrance. A candid shot of you laughing in the tiny old apartment, hair messy, holding a bowl of ramen.

Another on the living room wall—you asleep on the couch with Jimin’s guitar resting across your lap.

Smaller ones of you and him together on the coffee table, on the shelves, even one beside a vase of fresh flowers on the grand piano in the corner.

In every single frame, you were smiling, glowing, loved.

“S-Sweetheart…” your grandma whispered, her voice trembling as she gently touched your arm. “Your photographs… they’re everywhere.”

You froze, fingers tightening around Jimin’s sleeve. “What… what do you mean?”

“He has pictures of you all over his home,” she said softly, tears filling her eyes again. “Not just one or two. It looks like… like he built this entire place around the memory of you. The way he used to look at you in these photos… he never stopped.”

The realization crashed into you like a wave.

Five years.

You had spent five years convincing yourself that leaving was the kindest thing you could do... that he would move on, find success, find someone new who could stand beside him in the spotlight.

But here was the proof, quiet and devastating, that he had carried you with him every single day.

A broken sob tore from your throat. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you turned toward Jimin’s warmth, burying your face in his chest.

“You… you kept me here?” you whispered, voice muffled against his shirt. “All this time?”

Jimin’s arms wrapped around you tighter, one hand stroking your hair. His own eyes were glassy as he looked at your grandma, then back at you.

“How could I not?” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Every time I came home, I needed to see your smile. These photos… they were the only way I could talk to you when the silence got too loud. I’d come back from tours exhausted and sit right there on that couch, telling you about my day like you could hear me.”

You clutched his shirt harder, shaking.

“I thought… I thought by now you’d have a beautiful life. A partner who could see the stages you stand on, who could cheer for you without needing someone to guide her. I told myself I did the right thing, that you were shining brighter without me. But this… this hurts more than anything, Jimin. Knowing you were suffering like this… alone with my ghosts.”

Jimin cupped your face, thumbs brushing your tears even though his own were falling. “I was never alone. Not really. You were always here,” he said, pressing your hand over his heart.

“Every song, every late night, every time I almost gave up... I remembered your voice saying ‘you’re enough.’ That’s what kept me going. These photos aren’t just memories, love. They’re my reason.”

Your grandma wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, watching the two of you with a mix of heartbreak and quiet relief. She didn’t interrupt, letting the heavy, healing silence stretch between you.

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. You sat at the dining table with Jimin, his hand never far from yours. He had made breakfast, the kind he used to make in the old apartment even when money was tight.

But now it was served on beautiful plates in this spacious kitchen.

Your grandma watched everything quietly.

She noticed how Jimin automatically pulled out your chair, then gently guided your hand to the spoon. How he placed the glass of water exactly where your fingers would find it without asking.

When you reached for the side dish, he quietly cut the pieces smaller and moved the plate closer, all while continuing a soft conversation.

“You still remember…” your grandma murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Jimin looked up, a small, sad smile on his face. “How could I forget? Taking care of her… it’s the most natural thing in the world to me.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Jimin…”

After breakfast, your grandma stood up slowly, smoothing her dress. “My train back to the countryside is in a few hours. I should get going. You were supposed to come with me, sweetheart, but…”

Jimin stood up immediately, voice gentle but firm. “Please… let her stay here with me. Just for a while. We have so much to talk about. So much time to make up. I promise I’ll take care of her. I’ll keep her safe.”

Your grandma waited for your answer.

You nodded, a small but certain movement, cheeks still flushed from emotion.

“Yes, Grandma,” you said softly. “I want to stay. With him.”

She let out a shaky breath, then smiled through fresh tears. She walked over and cupped your face with both hands, kissing your forehead.

“Alright then,” she whispered. “I can see it now. This boy never forgot how to love you. Not for a single day.”

She turned to Jimin, her eyes warm but serious. “Take care of my granddaughter, Park Jimin. Don’t let her run away with her stubborn heart again. And you...” she said to you, “...let yourself be loved. No more sacrifices in the dark.”

Jimin bowed slightly, voice full of gratitude. “I won’t let her go. Thank you… for bringing her back to me yesterday.”

Your grandma pulled him into a quick hug, then stepped back.

“Call me every day,” she told you, voice cracking. “Both of you. And when you’re ready… come visit me together. The countryside house still has that old guitar of yours, Jimin, which she took with her.”

You stood up with Jimin’s help, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Grandma. Thank you for everything… even when I was too blind to see it.”

She laughed softly through her tears. “My silly girl. I love you too. Now go live the life you both deserve.”

As she left, the door closing softly behind her, the apartment fell into a gentle quiet. Jimin pulled you into his arms again, resting his chin on your head.

“It’s just us now,” he whispered. “No more running. No more goodbyes.”

You nodded against his chest, heart aching and healing all at once. “No more goodbyes.”

The days that followed felt like learning a song you once knew by heart, but now the rhythm had changed... gentler, slower, more careful.

Jimin’s apartment, slowly transformed around you.

He didn’t make a big announcement. He simply started one morning, humming an old melody under his breath, while you were resting on the couch.

You heard the soft scrape of furniture, the gentle beep of new devices being set up, the rustle of labels being placed. When you asked what he was doing, he came over, took your hands, and guided you through the space.

“I want you to feel safe here,” he said softly, voice full of quiet determination. “Not because I pity you—never that. Because this is our home now, and I want it to welcome you the way I do.”

He showed you everything, step by step.

The edges of tables and countertops now had soft tactile strips so you could feel where they ended. Furniture was rearranged in clear, open pathways, no more unexpected corners.

Voice-assisted speakers and sensors were installed, responding to simple commands.

In the kitchen, he placed raised dots on all the spice jars and labelled the cabinets in Braille-like tactile markers he had quickly learned how to make.

“I hired someone to help with the technical parts,” he admitted one afternoon, guiding your fingers over a new smart thermostat.

“But the layout… that was me. I remembered how you used to move in our old place. How you liked the window near the couch for the afternoon sun on your skin.”

You traced the smooth edge of the counter. “Jimin… you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted gently, pulling you into his arms. “Back then I had nothing. Now I do. Let me use it for the person I love most.”

You buried your face in his chest, inhaling that familiar scent. “I feel like I’m intruding on the life you built without me.”

He kissed the top of your head. “This life was always waiting for you. It was just… incomplete.”

One quiet evening, a few weeks later, you were curled up on the couch together. Jimin’s fingers were absently playing with your hair when you asked the question that had been lingering.

“Tell me about these five years, Jimin. Really tell me. Not the version from interviews I had already heard. The real one.”

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he stood up and returned with a stack of worn notebooks... dozens of them, some with frayed edges, others stained with coffee or tears.

“I wrote to you,” he said, voice rough. “Almost every day. Even when it hurt too much to speak out loud.”

He opened the first one, the pages crinkling softly.

His voice trembled as he began to read:

“Dear love, I saw the first snow today. It reminded me of the night we tried to make snowflakes out of paper in the apartment because we couldn’t afford real winter dates. I stood outside the studio for twenty minutes, letting it fall on my face, wishing you were there to catch them.”

He flipped to another, voice growing thicker.

“Dear love, They played our song in a café today... the one I wrote about rainy nights and your vanilla scent. I had to leave before I broke down in front of strangers. Are you eating properly? Are you sleeping properly? Do you still hum when you’re thinking?”

Page after page. Some were short and aching:

“I miss your laugh in the mornings.”

Others were longer, filled with dreams and regrets:

“I got my first big stage today. The lights were so bright, but everything felt grey. I looked out at the crowd and wondered if you were somewhere listening. I still owe you a restaurant that only serves your spicy rice cakes. I’m sorry I’m still so far from that promise.”

You were crying silently by the third letter, hands reaching for the notebooks. Your fingers traced the worn covers, feeling the indentations of his pen.

“I convinced myself you were happier without me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But you were here… breaking every day. Jimin, I ruined five years of your life.”

He set the notebook down and pulled you onto his lap, holding you close as sobs shook your body.

“No,” he said fiercely, lips against your hair.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I was the one who couldn’t protect you. When I think about you alone in that hospital, waking up blind and choosing to leave so I could chase music… it kills me. I should have been there. I should have known something was wrong when the messages stopped.”

You shook your head, clutching his shirt. “It was my choice. My stupid, stubborn choice. I thought I was being strong for you.”

“And I thought leaving you behind in my heart was the only way to survive,” he murmured.

“We both carried guilt that wasn’t ours to carry. The accident wasn’t your fault. My career wasn’t yours to sacrifice for. We were just… two people who loved each other too much to see clearly.”

You traced his face again... eyes, nose, lips. “I don’t want to carry it anymore. I want to learn you again. The man you are now.”

He smiled against your fingers, a real, soft smile. “And I want to be your eyes. Not because you need fixing... you’re already perfect to me... but because I missed sharing the world with you.”

The healing came in small, everyday moments.

One afternoon, Jimin took you out for groceries... a simple date in a quiet neighbourhood store. As you walked hand-in-hand, he described everything softly.

“There’s a huge billboard on the building across the street,” he said, amused warmth in his voice. “My face is on it. I look… kind of serious. The fans added heart stickers around it with messages.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Do you look beautiful?”

“According to the fans, yes,” he teased. “But I still think I looked better when my hair was messy and I was wearing the hoodie that you gifted me in our tiny apartment.”

You leaned into him. “I wish I could see it. But hearing you describe it… it’s enough. You’re living the dream we used to talk about on the floor with instant tteokbokki.”

He stopped walking, turning you gently to face him. “The dream means nothing if I can’t share it with you. These past weeks… hearing your laugh again, feeling you navigate the apartment like you own it now… it’s healing me more than any stage ever could.”

Back at home, the awkwardness of relearning each other slowly melted away.

He discovered the small things about your new life... how you had relearned everything around you by touch and smell in your grandma’s countryside home, how you listened to audiobooks of poetry late at night, how you sometimes still reached for things that weren’t there.

You discovered his... the way fame made him both confident and lonely, how he still bit his lip when nervous before big performances, how he kept a small vanilla candle on the nightstand even now.

One night, months after fate had brought you back together, as rain tapped against the large windows, you lay in bed together, legs tangled.

“I still feel guilty sometimes,” you admitted quietly, fingers tracing the scar on his ribs.

“Me too,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But we’re choosing each other again. Every day. That’s how we heal.”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“No more letters to ghosts. Write songs for the woman who’s right here.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and full of hope. “I already started. The first line is: When the world turns dark for you, I'll be your light... So promise me you'll be my dawn after every night...”

You kissed him then—slow, certain, full of five years of missing and a lifetime of new promises.

The kiss deepened gradually, lips moving with tender familiarity. When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, your foreheads rested together.

“Jimin…” Your voice trembled. “I want you. All of you. Not because we’re trying to erase the past… but because I want to love you in the present. Right now. With everything we are today.”

He stilled for a moment, his hand cupping your cheek.

You felt the slight tremble in his fingers. “Are you sure, my love? We don’t have to rush anything. I’ve waited five years… I can wait longer. I just want you to feel safe and loved.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered, tears already gathering in your eyes. “I’ve missed you in every way. I want to feel you… to remember how perfectly we fit. No more guilt between us tonight. Just us.”

Jimin exhaled shakily, his lips brushing yours again. “Then let me love you,” he murmured. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed every part of you.”

He kissed you deeply, pouring years of longing into the slide of his tongue against yours. His hands moved slowly, reverently, sliding your shirt up and over your head.

Cool air met your skin, followed immediately by the warmth of his mouth trailing kisses down your neck, across your collarbones. Every touch was deliberate, like he was rediscovering sacred ground.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, voice thick with emotion. “Even more than I remembered. God… I missed this. Missed feeling your heartbeat under my lips.”

Your fingers threaded through his soft hair as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your chest.

He lingered at the swell of your breasts, kissing the soft skin reverently before taking one nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled it slowly, warmly, sucking gently until it pebbled under his touch.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he switched to the other breast, lavishing the same tender attention—sucking a little deeper, tongue flicking with aching care while his hand gently kneaded the first.

“I missed these,” he breathed against your damp skin, voice trembling with love and need. “The way you sigh when I touch you… the way your body still responds to me like it remembers every night we shared.”

He sucked again, slower this time, drawing your nipple deeper into the heat of his mouth as if he could pull five years of longing out of you with every gentle pull.

Tears slipped from your eyes at the overwhelming intimacy of it... his devotion, his hunger, his unwavering love. “I was so scared I’d never feel this again… never feel you again. I thought I’d ruined it forever.”

Jimin lifted his head, sensing the shift.

He moved back up, kissing your tears away one by one.

“Shh, baby. No more of that. You didn’t ruin anything. We both carried too much for too long.” His voice cracked.

“I blamed myself every single day for not being there when you needed me most. But tonight… let’s let it go. Feel me here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, a sob catching in your throat as you pulled him closer.

“I love you, Park Jimin. Not the star on the billboards. Not the man world knows. Just you. The one who still hums in the shower, who makes me my favourite dishes when I’m sad, who rearranged his whole world so I could walk through it safely.”

His breath hitched. “And I love you. The woman who stayed strong even when the world went dark. The one who sacrificed everything because she loved me too much. You’re my home. Always.”

Clothes disappeared slowly between whispered words and soft caresses.

Skin met skin, warm and real.

Jimin settled between your thighs, holding himself above you so you could feel his presence fully.

Your hands explored him—the planes of his chest, the dip of his waist, the familiar scar, the way his muscles trembled under your touch.

But he didn’t rush.

Instead, he slowly kissed his way down your body, lips trailing fire across your skin. He lingered at your navel, tracing the stretch marks, drawing soft whimpers from your throat.

“Jimin…” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair.

“I need to taste you first,” he whispered against your stomach, voice thick with emotion and reverence. “I’ve dreamed of this for five years. Let me love you like this… let me remind you how much I worship every part of you.”

You nodded, tears already slipping from the corners of your eyes as he moved lower. He settled fully between your spread thighs, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin.

His hands gently caressed your inner thighs, thumbs stroking soothing circles as if to calm the tremble in your legs.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss right above your clit. “Still so responsive for me.”

Then his tongue was on you... slow, deliberate, and devastatingly gentle. He licked a long, flat stripe from your entrance up to your clit, savouring the taste of you with a low, broken moan that vibrated against your core.

“Oh god… Jimin,” you gasped, back arching slightly.

Your hands tightened in his hair, not guiding, just holding on as waves of sensation and emotion crashed over you.

He took his time, exploring you.

His tongue moved in lazy, loving circles around your clit, occasionally dipping lower to taste your wetness before returning. Every lick was accompanied by soft, worshipful words murmured against your folds.

“You taste like home,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Like everything I’ve missed. So sweet… so perfect.”

He slid one finger inside you slowly, curling it gently while his tongue flicked steadily over your clit. Then a second finger joined, moving in a tender rhythm that matched the rain tapping against the windows.

Your thighs began to shake around his shoulders, and he soothed them with his free hand, rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

Tears streamed freely down your cheeks now, not just from pleasure but from the overwhelming love and release. “I missed you… missed this so much,” you sobbed softly.

“I thought I’d never feel you like this again.”

Jimin lifted his head for a moment, lips glistening, voice trembling with his own tears. “You’re here. We’re here. No more missing, my love. Just feel me loving you.”

He kissed your inner thigh tenderly before diving back in, sucking gently on your clit while his fingers curled deeper, finding that spot that made stars explode behind your blind eyes.

Your moans grew breathier, broken with emotion. “Jimin-ah… I’m close… please…”

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against you, the words vibrating through your core. “Let go. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

The pleasure built slowly, beautifully, until it crested in long, shuddering waves. You came with his name on your lips, a soft, tearful cry echoing in the room as your body trembled under his mouth.

He stayed with you through every pulse, licking you gently, soothingly, until the aftershocks faded and you were left breathless and crying.

Only then he kissed his way back up your body, tasting the tears on your cheeks before settling between your thighs again, holding himself above you.

When he finally pressed inside you, it was inch by careful inch, slow and deep. Both of you gasped at the overwhelming sensation.

He stilled once fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, his own tears mixing with yours.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice raw. “That’s us. Right here. In the present. No past. No guilt. Just love.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you wrapped your legs around him. “Move, baby… Love me like this. Like we’re starting over.”

He did.

Slow, rolling thrusts that built like gentle waves.

Every movement was accompanied by whispers... “I love you,” “You feel like heaven,” “I’ve missed this so much.”

Your hands roamed his back, nails lightly tracing as pleasure and emotion mixed.

You felt every breath, every tremor, every heartbeat.

At one point, Jimin’s own tears fell onto your skin. “I’m sorry,” he choked out between kisses. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

You cupped his face, guiding his lips back to yours. “And I’m sorry I left. But we’re here now. Together. Let it go with me, Jimin… please.”

The rhythm stayed tender, unhurried.

Pleasure built gradually, wrapped in layers of healing.

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears in your eyes... a release that felt like shedding years of pain. Jimin followed moments later, burying his face in your neck as he trembled, whispering your name like a prayer.

For a long time afterward, he stayed inside you, holding you close as you both cried softly. The rain continued outside, but inside it was only warmth and closeness.

“I needed you so much,” you cried quietly against his shoulder, fingers digging into his back as fresh tears fell. “Every single day… I needed you like this. I was so lost without you.”

Jimin’s tears dripped onto your neck, warm and steady.

He pressed desperate, wet kisses to your damp skin... your throat, your jaw, your tear-stained cheeks, refusing to let even an inch of space come between you.

“I needed you more,” he whispered brokenly, voice thick and hoarse. “I was breathing, but I wasn’t living. These five years… God, I missed you in my arms like this. Never again. I’m never letting you go again. Do you hear me?”

You nodded frantically, pulling his face to yours.

Your lips met in a messy, tear-soaked kiss... salty and desperate and full of love. “Never again,” you breathed between kisses, sobbing softly into his mouth. “I’m staying right here. With you. In your arms. Where I belong.”

He kissed you harder, deeper, tongues sliding together through the tears as more quiet cries slipped from both of you.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips, over and over, between each tender press of his mouth. “I love you so much. You’re my home. My everything. We’re not losing this again.”

You cupped his wet cheeks, thumbs brushing away his tears even as your own continued to fall. “I love you too. We’re here now… really here. No more ghosts. No more empty promises.”

He held you impossibly closer as your sobs slowly softened into quiet sniffles and lingering kisses.

Moments later, he finally slipped out gently, cleaned you both with care, then pulled you into his arms again. Your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I feel lighter now,” you whispered, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “Like the guilt is finally loosening its hold.”

“Me too,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “We’re not mourning anymore. We’re living. And I’m going to spend every tomorrow making sure you feel exactly how loved you are.”

You smiled against his chest, the vanilla-scented candle he still lit every night filling the air. “Sing me the new line again?”

He hummed softly, voice warm and slightly hoarse from emotion. “‘When the world turns dark for you, I'll be your light... So promise me you'll be my dawn after every night...’”

You pressed a kiss over his heart. “Promise... In every version of us.”

Jimin’s arms tightened around you, one hand gently stroking down your bare back.

He was quiet for a moment, breath catching in that way it did when he was holding back something big.

Then, almost shyly, he whispered against your hair. “I bought a ring, you know… years ago. Right after my first big paycheck came in. It was simple—a small diamond with a band I thought you’d like... even after you left… It’s still here, in the drawer by the bed. I’ve taken it out on so many nights, just holding it, hoping somehow the universe would bring you back so I could finally keep my promise.”

Your breath hitched, fresh tears welling in your eyes as you lifted your head toward his voice. “Jimin…”

“I’m not asking right now,” he said quickly, voice trembling with quiet desperation and love.

“I know we’re still healing. But… I need you to know it’s waiting. I’ve never stopped wanting to marry you. Not for a single day. When you’re ready... I want to slip that ring on your finger and call you mine in every way the world can see.”

You reached up, tracing his lips with shaky fingers before kissing him softly, tears slipping between your joined mouths. “I want that too,” you whispered.

“More than anything. We’ll get there soon. Together.”

He kissed you back with aching tenderness, then pulled you impossibly closer, tucking your head under his chin.

As sleep slowly claimed you both, tangled together in the present, the past finally began to rest. The rain kept falling, but your hearts beat in harmony—healed, hopeful, and whole.

The small bulb above the kitchen table kept flickering. Outside, rain tapped against the window, soft and steady.

Inside Jimin’s tiny one-room apartment, it smelled like ramen, old guitar strings, and the vanilla candle you always lit to make the environment calm.

Jimin sat on the floor, notebook open on his lap, pen tapping quietly to some rhythm in his head. His hair kept falling into his eyes every time he leaned forward.

You were on the couch behind him, just watching him, the way his shoulders moved when he breathed, the way he always bit his lip when he was deep in thought.

You reached down and brushed the hair from his temple, tucking it behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, not even looking up, and smiled a little. That smile said everything—it was like your fingers were all the praise he needed tonight.

“Listen to this,” he murmured. His voice was soft, almost shy. Then he sang—just one line, rough and honest:

“When the world turns blind to me, will your eyes still find me?”

The words hung between you.

They felt heavy and beautiful, sinking right into your chest.

You slid down from the couch and moved closer, your knees pressing into the rug until you were sitting in his lap. Your legs wrapped around him as if you were afraid he’d disappear. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the faint smell of soap and cologne.

He rested his chin on your head and held you tight, like you were the only safe thing in the world.

“You’ll make it someday,” you whispered against his heartbeat.

He gave a quiet laugh... half hope, half ache. “Someday feels far away.”

You hugged him tighter, fingers spreading over his chest like you could hold his dreams in place. “Then I’ll hold you until someday comes.”

He let go of the pen and looked into your eyes.

Suddenly, you were face-to-face, your breath mixing. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling.

You froze, eyes wide. “What?”

“Not now,” he rushed, breath catching.

“Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, when I can give you a real ring, not the toy one from a vending machine. When I can sing for you without my voice breaking—marry me then.”

Tears burned your eyes before you even realized they’d started to fall. “Jimin…”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice turning into a whisper.

“I don’t have much. I don’t even have a plan. But I have this.” He took your hand in his and placed it over his chest, where his heart beat hard and fast. “And it only beats for you. So promise me you’ll wait. Promise you’ll be there when I finally make it.”

You laughed through a sob, shaking your head because there was no way to say everything you felt.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“A thousand times yes. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

His eyes softened, glassy and bright, and then he leaned forward, kissing you. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded anything.

It was quiet. Full of hope.

Full of the ache of everything you both dreamed of but hadn’t reached yet.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered near yours, his breath warm and shaky. “I swear on my heart that one day, I’ll marry you,” he whispered with a tiny smile.

You laughed weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks, and cupped his face in both hands. “Then you better not break my heart, Park Jimin,” you whispered before kissing him again—slow and certain, sealing a promise neither of you would ever forget.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, you both held onto each other like someday had already started.

Days slowly melted into weeks.

Jimin’s life became a blur of exhaustion—6 a.m. vocal warm-ups, 8 a.m. chorus recording sessions for idols who didn’t even know his name, and late-night YouTube uploads that barely got a few thousand views.

You started to feel like his sunrise and sunset—the only soft thing in the middle of his endless chase.

Mornings meant waking up to the sound of him singing in the shower. His voice would echo off the tiles, warm and sweet. Steam curling around him like as he practiced high notes.

You’d quietly step in behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and rest your palms over the small scar on his ribs—the one he got when he fell off his bicycle two years ago, trying to buy you iced coffee on your very first date.

Afternoons were quieter.

You’d sit cross-legged on the bed, editing his demo tracks on your old laptop while he napped with his head in your lap. His lips would part slightly, lashes brushing your thigh.

When he woke up, he’d smile while pressing sleepy kisses against your whole face and whisper, “You smell like home.”

Evenings were for cheap food and big dreams.

The two of you would sit on the floor, eating convenience-store kimbap and instant tteokbokki, feeding each other bites and laughing about everything and nothing.

Sometimes he’d steal a kiss that tasted like gochujang and say, “When I’m famous, I’ll buy you a restaurant that only serves your spicy rice cakes.”

Nights were your favourite.

Outside, the city was quiet, the streetlights casting soft shadows through the window. Inside, it was anything but calm. You hummed over unfinished songs, your voices sometimes clashing, sometimes blending perfectly.

You teased each other when a note went wrong, sometimes arguing over a chord, pointing at the notebook or guitar, but always laughing before it got serious.

And when the little fights ended, you’d fall into each other, kissing until your laughter mixed with soft apologies, “I didn’t mean that,” or “I love you too much to stay mad.”

But one night, everything felt different.

He came home soaked from the rain, his shoulders heavy and his eyes dim. Another producer had cut his verse again, called it “pretty but forgettable.”

The words had broken something inside him.

He just stood there, dripping rainwater onto the floor, looking so small and tired that your heart ached.

Without a word, you rushed to him, grabbed the towel from the sink, and started drying his hair. “You’ll catch a cold, silly,” you murmured, rubbing gently over his wet hair bangs.

When you finished, you tugged gently at his hoodie, pulling it over his head. It fell to the floor with a wet slap.

His skin was freezing.

You rubbed your hands up and down his arms, trying to warm him, trying to chase away that hollow look in his eyes.

Then his voice cracked.

“I’m not enough,” he whispered. “I promised you everything—a ring, a restaurant, songs that would make people cry, and I’m nowhere close... not even 10%. I’m failing you every day.”

Your heart squeezed so tight it hurt.

You took his face in both hands, made him look at you.

“Jimin,” you said firmly, your voice shaking, “you’re not failing me. You’re fighting. Every day you keep going, even when it’s hard... that’s what matters. I don’t need the world you promised. I just need you. Sleepless nights, tired eyes, instant noodles, empty pockets... you. That’s enough.”

He looked like he might break, so you guided him gently backward onto the bed. You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, your fingers brushing the rain from his lashes.

You kissed his eyelids softly, one at a time. “You’re enough for me,” you whispered. “You’re everything.”

His hands shook as they found your waist.

You guided them higher, under your shirt, until his palms rested over your heart. His thumb brushed against your nipple and both of you gasped, the air suddenly thick with emotion and heat.

“Show me,” he breathed, voice trembling. “Show me I’m yours.”

The notebook slipped off the bed with a soft thud, but neither of you even looked.

You were already moving, straddling his lap, knees sinking into the thin blanket, your palms cradling his face like he was something fragile and precious.

Raindrops still clung to his lashes.

You leaned in and kissed them away, one by one.

“Let me love you tonight,” you whispered against his damp skin. “Every part of you. No more doubts, no more fear, okay?”

His lips parted as if to protest. “I don’t deserve...”

You cut him off with a kiss.

A deep, slow one that said everything words couldn’t.

His breath hitched as your tongue brushed his, soft and sweet, and when you finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected you. You giggled breathlessly and leaned forward again to kiss him harder, until both of you were gasping.

“Jimin-ah,” you murmured against his lips, “see how much I adore you?”

His hands trembled as they came to rest on your waist. “You make it so hard to breathe when you say things like that.”

“Then don’t breathe,” you teased softly, pressing kisses along his jaw, his throat, his collarbones. “Just feel me.”

You sucked lightly on the side of his neck until a faint bruise bloomed beneath your lips. He let out a shaky whimper, fingers tangling in your hair.

“This voice that sings for everyone,” you whispered between kisses, “it’s mine first.”

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, smiling faintly as you trailed down to his chest. You kissed over his heartbeat, his ribs, that small scar he always tried to hide. “Every inch of you tells me.”

He shivered beneath your mouth, breath coming in uneven gasps as you marked him with soft hickeys, each one darker than the last. His chest rose and fell fast, his skin now painted with your love.

When you finally sat back, your hands roamed over the constellation you’d made. “Look at you,” you whispered, eyes full of warmth.

“My beautiful boy. You’re a whole galaxy.”

He opened his eyes slowly, his voice soft and trembling.

“Come here.”

You leaned in, and he flipped you gently onto your back. The world outside was still and quiet—just rain and heartbeats.

Jimin hovered over you, silver hair dripping, eyes shining with so much love it made your throat tighten. “My turn to worship,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

He started with your forehead, pressing slow, tender kisses like little blessings. Then your closed eyelids, your nose, the curve of your upper lip. When he finally reached your mouth, he paused... just breathing you in, before kissing you deeply, so slowly that your whole body melted into him.

“I love these lips,” he whispered between kisses, biting the bottom one gently. “They sing my songs back to me when I forget the tune.”

You laughed softly, your chest tightened with affection. “That’s because I know your heart better than you think.”

His gaze softened even more.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “you do.”

He lifted your T-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra.

Cool air brushed your skin, and then his warm mouth followed—kissing, tasting, worshipping. He pressed his lips to the top of your breast, sucking a slow circle until you sighed his name.

The light sting faded as he soothed it with his tongue.

“Jimin...” you gasped, fingers clutching his hair.

He looked up briefly. “Shh… let me love you.”

His hands careful but hungry as he unclasped your bra. The moment it slipped away, he froze, eyes wide like he is looking at the sunrise for the first time.

“God,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re perfect.”

You wanted to laugh, to tell him you weren’t... but before you could, his mouth closed around your nipple. His tongue moved in slow circles, teasing, worshipping, while his thumb brushed over the other. You moaned his name again, voice trembling, and he smiled against your skin.

He switched sides, leaving another soft mark before kissing lower—across your ribs, your stomach, tracing your skin like he was memorizing every inch.

When he reached near your waist, he paused and pressed a gentle kiss over the light stretch marks around your navel.

“I love every story your body carries,” he murmured.

Your eyes stung a little from how soft he sounded.

He kissed down to the waistband of your shorts and looked up, his breath warm against your skin, eyes full of both desire and care.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, heart thudding. “Please, Jimin.”

He slid your shorts and panties down in one careful motion, his touch slow and almost shy, like he was unwrapping something precious. Then he moved between your thighs, eyes meeting yours for a heartbeat before he lowered his head.

His first lick was so gentle, barely there. It felt like a question.

You trembled and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly.

“It won’t be. Not with you.”

He smiled against your skin and licked again—slow and deep, from where you were already wet up to your clit. He let out a low sound, like he couldn’t help himself. “God, you taste like heaven.”

His tongue began tracing slow figure-eights around your clit, warm and steady, while his fingers moved lower, gathering your slickness. When one slid inside, you both gasped.

Then came another, moving with care, searching until...

“There?” he asked quietly, eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitched. “Yes... right there... don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He kept the rhythm steady, tongue teasing, fingers curling in just the right way, watching every tiny expression you made like he was falling in love with each one. When your thighs started shaking, he sucked softly on your clit and crooked his fingers just so...

“Jimin...” your voice broke, trembling.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

You came in slow, shuddering waves, his name repeating from your trembled lips. He stayed with you through every tremor, soothing you with gentle licks and soft touches until you melted against the sheets.

Then he moved up, kissed you deeply, and let you taste yourself on his lips. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly along your jaw.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go like that.”

You reached for the nightstand, fingers shaky, and pulled out a foil packet. “Want you inside me. Want to feel you everywhere.”

He took the condom with reverence, rolled it on while you watched, stroking him once, twice, just to hear him moan your name. Then he settled over you, elbows bracketing your head.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

Your eyes met and everything around disappeared.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, pausing whenever your breath hitched. When he was fully seated, you both stilled, foreheads touching.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s home.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Move, baby. Love me.”

He moved inside you with slow, deep strokes—each one tender, unhurried, like time had stopped just for the two of you.

The first stroke, he leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. “I love you.”

The third, his lips brushed your cheek. “You’re my muse.”

The fifth, he kissed you—slow, lingering, full of love. “My forever.”

You met every thrust with a gentle roll of your hips, hands roaming over his back, nails tracing soft lines down his skin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, cupped his face, and whispered, “Deeper, my love. I want all of you.”

He obeyed, angling his hips until the head of his cock kissed that perfect spot inside you on every glide.

The tenth stroke, he breathed, “You feel like heaven.”

The twelfth, “I’m never letting go.”

The fifteenth, he kissed you again, swallowing the sound of your moan.

The rhythm became slow and warm—like waves rising and falling, carrying you both higher. You felt him everywhere, filling you completely. His breath came out rough, shaky, full of feeling.

“I’m close,” you gasped, tightening around him. “Come with me.”

He slid his hand down, thumb finding your clit, circling gently in time with his hips. “Together,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I want to fall apart with you.”

You came first, body trembling, a silent cry caught in your throat as your world burst into light. He followed right after, groaning your name against your neck, his body shaking as he spilled inside the condom.

“I love you,” he whispered again and again, like a prayer.

He didn’t pull away right away.

He stayed, breathing hard, kissing your skin softly, like he couldn’t stop. When he finally slipped out, he tied the condom and dropped it into the bin before pulling you back into his arms.

You lay chest to chest, legs tangled, your ear over his heart. It beat fast and strong. You traced the marks you’d left on his skin, eyes filling with quiet tears.

“Did I hurt you?” you asked softly.

He wiped your tear with his thumb. “You didn’t hurt me. You healed me.”

He took your hand and pressed it over his chest. “Listen... still racing for you.”

You smiled through your tears and nestled closer. “Promise you’ll wake me up with kisses tomorrow?”

“Every tomorrow,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll write you a lullaby with my lips.”

You giggled and drew lazy circles on his chest. “What will it say?”

“That you’re my favorite song,” he whispered. Then he hummed a soft tune against your hair, his voice still rough and warm. “Sleep now, my love. I’ll guard your dreams.”

You smiled against his skin. “And I’ll guard yours.”

The room filled with the sound of rain and your steady breaths. Just before sleep pulled you under, he whispered against your ear, “When I make it big, I’ll sing this song at our wedding.”

You pressed a kiss to his throat. “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, as if he could fuse your souls together. “Never. You’re my forever. I’ll love you every single day.”

Few days later, he left for Busan one early morning—barely past sunrise, eyes still heavy with sleep, suitcase half-zipped in his hand. The emergency call had come at 3 a.m.

His mother’s surgery couldn’t wait.

You stood at the door, wrapped in his hoodie, trying to memorize him—the way his hair fell over his eyes, the tired smile he gave even when his heart was racing.

You rose on your toes and kissed him slow, whispering, “Travel safe. Call me when you stop, okay? And take care of your mom.”

He touched your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Spam me with voice notes, yeah? I need your voice to stay awake.”

You laughed softly. “You’ll get sick of me by the time you reach Busan.”

“Never,” he said, and kissed you one last time before leaving. The silence that followed felt heavier than usual.

For three days, your phone was alive with him.

Jimin: “Arrived safely. Missing your face.” You: “Tell your mom I’m sending positive energy and love.”

Jimin: “Mom’s out of surgery. Doctor says she’ll be okay. Call me?” You: “Recording a voice note now... listen when you’re alone ❤️”

Jimin: “Your voice note made me cry in the hallway. I love you.” You: “Good tears only, Park Jimin. Come home soon.”

Then came Day Four... the day everything went quiet.

No messages... No replies... No missed calls...

Just… silence.

At first, he thought you were busy.

Then maybe asleep.

But when the next day passed without even a single emoji, his chest started to ache in a way he couldn’t explain. And the worst part was... he couldn't leave right away until his mother got discharged.

Two days later, Jimin’s phone buzzed once on the table. The screen was cracked from when he’d dropped it running for the train to Busan.

One new voice note.

From you.

His fingers fumbled while he quickly pressed play. Your voice filled the quiet room... soft, shaky, heavy with tears.

🗣 : “Jimin-ah… It’s not working. Please don’t look for me. You’ll shine brighter without me. Don’t look back. I realized I’m the one holding you back… distracting you from your dreams. Be happy. I love you enough to let you go. Goodbye, my star.”

The message ended with a small, broken sob. Then... silence. He tried to call back, but it said switched off.

He replayed it.

Once. Twice. Again.

And again. Until your voice was carved into his chest like a scar that wouldn’t fade.

Jimin came home on the seventh day. The room smelled faintly of cold vanilla—your perfume, fading.

Your toothbrush was gone. Your clothes were gone.

Your laughter was gone.

He sank to the floor on the rug you’d picked out together at the flea market, the one you’d argued over because he’d said it was ugly and you’d said it was “Antique.”

He clutched his phone to his chest, replayed your voice until the battery died, and screamed your name into the empty room—again and again, until there was nothing left in him but quiet sobs and the echo of your goodbye.

He broke a little more each day, but no one ever saw it happen.

To everyone else, Park Jimin was moving forward, smiling, working, performing. But every night, behind closed doors, he fell apart.

He told himself you left because you got tired. Because he had nothing to give—no fame, no success, no future bright enough to match your love.

So he didn’t blame you.

He just missed you.

There were nights he sat on the kitchen floor, empty bottle beside him, your texts open on the cracked screen—scrolling, rereading, over and over. Sometimes he played your last voice note just to hear your breathing between the words.

Sometimes he talked to the silence, whispering things he wished he’d said when he had the chance.

Days turned into months.

The ache never left, but it started changing shape. Instead of breaking him, it began to burn inside him... a quiet fire he couldn’t put out. He stopped running from the pain and started writing.

At first, it was just scribbles in a notebook, lines that sounded too heavy to sing. Then came melodies... raw, aching, honest.

Every song became a letter he could never send you.

His voice cracked.

His hands shook. But the music kept coming.

And then... fate shifted.

A local producer found his demo. A small label signed him.

Then a bigger one.

His songs spread quietly at first, through late-night playlists, rainy drives, people who knew heartbreak too well.

Then the world began to listen. They called his voice soulful, his lyrics haunting. But he knew... every note was you.

Every stage he stood on, every crowd that cheered, every award that glittered under the lights—it all came from the wound you left behind.

And when the applause faded each night, he still whispered the same thing into the dark. “I hope you’re somewhere peaceful, my love. You said I’d shine brighter without you… But I’d trade every spotlight just to hold you one more time.”

The crowd would never hear it, but the stars always did.

A/n: What do you guys think, why she left? 🤔

it was a late, blazing july afternoon with the kind of california heat that sticks to everything.

your beater car had just given up on you in the worst possible place it could—pulled over on the stretch of a busy road with no shade, just heat shimmering off the black asphalt and distant palm trees that don't feel helpful at all.

you already tried the obvious things. ignition, gas, trying it all again like it might change something.

it never did.

you leaned back against the passenger door of your car letting out a frustrated breath, hair sticking to your neck as you watched cars pass by with the soft sound of your hazards blinking in the background.

of course it's today. of course it's here.

that was when you suddenly heard the low hum of an engine slow down beside you. a sleek, black bmw—expensive, but not loud about it. it pulled in front of your car, and for a second you think the car is just stopping briefly.

that was before the driver door opened.

he steps out like he’s not in a rush to be anywhere else.

tall—noticeably so, he moves towards you easily, like he’s used to taking up space without ever forcing it.

sunglasses sit low on his nose, shielding his eyes, but not enough to hide the way his attention lands exactly on you. his shirt is simple—lightweight, slightly open at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. nothing flashy.

but it fits him too well. everything about him does.

dark jeans, clean shoes, watch on his wrist that you can't recognize but can tell is expensive. you notice all of him in the mere seconds he takes to walk over to you, the feeling hitting you all at once.

dear god, he was fine. the kind that made you straighten up a little bit without realizing; running a quick hand through your hair and fixing your jewelry.

he walks toward the front of your car, unhurried, one hand sliding briefly into his pocket before resting against the hood of your car.

up close, it’s worse.

sharper features than you expected. clean, but not overly polished. there’s something slightly worn in about him—like experience and maturity that sits on him well.

“everything alright?” he asks, voice is low and steady.

you blink for a second longer than necessary before responding. why does he look like that... helping me with my car?

"uh-" you stammer before clearing your throat. "it's- it's dead."

"yeah..." he says, eyes examining your car closer. "i can see that."

you nod and suddenly there's a pause, small but noticeable.

he comes around the side of your car, closing the distance between you to look inside of the window. you fumble while taking a few steps back as he looks at your dashboard then back at you, suddenly flustered by his presence.

"you got jumper cables?" he asks.

you simply shook your head.

"didn't think so," he says simply.

he walks back to his car, and you stand there feeling so helpless in the hot sun as he turns his car around to face yours in a swift manner, opening the door casually before coming around to his trunk like he's done this plenty of times.

when he comes back with the cables, he quickly slides his sunglasses in a way you almost miss a glimpse of his whole face.

you assumed it was because of the sun. but little did you know, it wasn't.

because before he walked back to his car, he had looked at you a little too closely. it wasn't some polite, quick glance. it was one that lasted a second too long.

he noticed everything about you.

the way your top fits—not overly revealing, but just enough to catch his attention without trying. the fabric light, slightly clinging from the heat. your skirt—shorter than it probably needed to be, riding just a little higher from the way you shifted against your car door.

his gaze dropped, brief, controlled—then came back up. your legs, your hands, the thin bracelet at your wrist. rings that don’t match perfectly but somehow work. jewelry that feels personal to you.

he takes note of that. of course he does.

then, your face. slightly flush from the heat, skin warm toned and sun-kissed. there's something effortless about you, like you spent more time living in the sun than hiding from it.

your expression—somewhere between annoyed and trying not to be. and your eyes, focused on him, but not softened. not entirely impressed by him, but more appreciative.

and when he closed his trunk, he forgets to look away. so he pulls his sunglasses back over, quick and casual. like it's nothing.

and not because of the sunlight, but because he was looking at you a little too openly. and he knew it.

he arrives at your car and connects everything smoothly, no hesitation and big hands steady. it was unfairly attractive.

“so,” he says, glancing up while he works, “you live out here or just enjoying the scenic breakdown experience?”

a smile pulls at your mouth despite yourself. “neither. i was just trying to get home.”

“mm.” he clicks something into place. “dangerous thing to try in LA.”

that gets a small laugh out of you, softer now and less defensive.

when the car finally sputters back to life, you visibly relax. he steps back, wiping his hands lightly. “there you go."

you should've just said thank you and left. but something in you doesn't act immediately. because now that the problem was gone, the silence between you two felt different now.

“so how do i… repay you?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious.

he tilts his head slightly. "you don’t.” a beat passes. "just don't break down in the worst place possible next time."

you rolled your eyes a little, a smirk tugging at your lips. "no promises."

that earns a small smile from him. he steps back toward his car, then pauses like he’s deciding something.

“i’m—” he starts, then stops himself, like he’s choosing not to introduce himself the usual way. "i’ll see you around.”

"yeah... thank you."

and you watch him get back into his car, driving away and getting lost in the sea of los angeles traffic as you realized two things;

you didn't get his name, and you would likely never see him again.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

one week later

he's just getting off the phone when it happens.

“yeah, send it over tonight,” he says, already half-distracted. “i"ll listen then.”

a pause. “mm. yeah. i got it.” he ends the call before the other person finishes their last sentence.

he slips his phone into his pocket, stepping onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun hitting just right—warm, a little blinding, the kind of los angeles light that makes everything look softer than it is.

but he's not really paying attention at first.

he's thinking about work. about a track that still isn’t sitting right. about whether he even wants to go to the next session he has lined up.

and then—he sees you.

just down the block, wired headphones plugged into your ears as you walk towards a small coffee shop.

it takes him half a second too long for him to register it. he slows before stopping in his place on the scorching sidewalk just to be sure.

same walk. same unintentional confidence—like you're not trying to be noticed, which somehow makes you stand out more. your outfit catches his attention again without effort. something light, slightly different from the first time he saw you, but still you.

skirt again—of course. not the same one, but same idea.

he notices that. he notices everything.

you push the door open to the shop before disappearing inside. and for a second—he considers just letting you go, letting the roadside interaction stay that way, a one time street kind of thing that didn't need to turn into anything else.

he exhaled quietly before shaking his head, "yeah, no." he changed his direction subtly like he was always going that way.

by the time he reaches the door, he's already composed again. no rush or urgency in him, just the same steady stride he always carried around.

inside the cafe, it’s quieter than the street. low music, soft conversations, and the smell of coffee swirled in the air.

he scans the space once and it doesn't take long for him to find you, standing near the counter, slightly turned away, looking up at the menu like you're stuck deciding between the same two things.

he watches you for a second. not long, but enough. and suddenly, there's that feeling again rising up in his chest.

he steps into line behind you—close enough to matter, not close enough to be obvious. he lets the moment build naturally. of course he does. he lets you stay unaware just a second longer.

then, as you shift your weight and turn slightly back—he steps forward at the exact right time. light contact, your shoulder to his chest. just enough to capture your attention.

"oh, sorry—" you say automatically before looking up. it took a moment for you to process that the same, gorgeous man who jumped your car last week was the one currently blocking your vision.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s just as surprised. “well,” he says, calm, almost amused, “this is becoming a pattern.”

you blinked. "you... helped me with my car."

"i did," he agrees. "and now apparently i'm following you around LA."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "are you?"

he puts a hand over his chest, mock offended but calm. “i prefer ‘running into you repeatedly by tragic coincidence.’”

that earns a laugh from you, the first real one between you. the barista calls you next in line, and he trails behind you like you're a couple ordering together. his presence alone makes your heart thump against your chest.

the barista takes your order and before you can even unzip your purse to pay, you already see a large hand coming from behind you, inserting a card in the machine.

the barista hands the man behind you the receipt and you turn around abruptly, tilting your head up to fully face him as you both drift away from the register. "i can pay for myself," you said.

"i know," he says simply.

"i was supposed to pay," you corrected as you picked up your freshly made coffee order.

"why?" he asked genuinely, tilting his head to match the angle of yours. it sent a light pink blush up your cheeks.

you look at him like the answer is obvious. "because you jumped my car."

his eyebrows pulled together. "that was like five minutes of my time." you all but blinked, suddenly at a loss of words under the intense gaze of this mysterious, confident man.

he begins to walk towards a table and you follow him, still protesting under your breath. "that doesn't mean you get to—"

“get to what?” he glances back at you, sunglasses now off, and it’s worse without them in a way—more direct, more readable. more of his perfectly chiseled face exposed to you. “buy you coffee?”

you open your mouth, then close it. because the way he said it made it sound ridiculous to argue.

you both end up choosing a table by the window. endless blue, moving slowly under the late afternoon sun. a few people pass by on bikes, others walking along the sidewalk with iced coffees in hand, like time moves differently here.

not sat too close to him, not too far—just enough space that it could still be casual if either of you decided to pretend it was.

“so, what do you do?” you ask finally, wrapping your hands around the cup.

he leans back slightly in his chair. “music.”

“that’s vague.”

“it's intentional.”

you give him a look. “oh, so you’re mysterious.”

“i’m tired,” he corrects lightly, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “there’s a difference.”

that makes you smile. “what, like a band?” you press.

“no,” he says. “behind the scenes.”

“oh.” you tilt your head. “like a manager?”

he pauses for a moment. "something like that."

it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. you nod like you accept that answer, but the curiosity doesn't go away.

“and you?” he asks.

you almost laugh. “i don’t do music.”

“didn’t say you did.”

“i mean…” you gesture vaguely. “nothing like that. i work. i live on the edge of LA where nothing interesting happens.”

his gaze holds on you a second longer than necessary. "that’s not true,” he says.

you frown slightly. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know you broke down on the side of a road in peak heat and didn’t immediately panic,” he says. “that tells me something.”

"like what?" "that you're stubborn," he replies calmly.

you lean forward a little, eyes analyzing his expression. "that's not a compliment."

“it can be,” he says. “depends who it’s about.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and him slip into easy conversation—half started stories, simple questions, the kind of conversation that doesn't feel like you're trying too hard.

you're mid-sentence, explaining something about where you live—how everything feels slower out there—when he interrupts you, but gently. “how old are you?”

you pause, caught off guard. “that’s random.”

“it’s relevant,” he says, like that should be obvious.

“to what?”

he lifts his cup slightly, studying you over the rim for a second before answering. “to how seriously i should be taking you.”

your eyebrows lift immediately. “excuse me?”

there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “i’m kidding,” he says, calm, unbothered. “mostly.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “twenty four.”

he nods once, like he expected that. “yeah,” he murmurs.

“yeah what?” you press.

“nothing,” he says, setting his cup down. “it makes sense.”

“that’s so annoying,” you say. “you don’t get to say that and not explain.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he leans back slightly, relaxed, completely comfortable letting you be a little frustrated. “you carry yourself younger at times,” he says. “but not in a bad way.”

you narrow your eyes. “that still feels like an insult.”

“it’s not,” he says, softer now. “it’s honest.”

you look at him for a second longer than you mean to. “okay,” you say quietly. “then how old are you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he’s deciding how much to give. “what do you think?” he asks.

you study him now, more deliberately. he doesn’t look older, not really. no obvious lines, no tiredness. and of course, he looks put together in a way most guys your age aren’t.

“twenty-seven,” you say finally. “maybe twenty-eight.”

he lets out a soft laugh—low, almost under his breath.

you frown immediately. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly with amusement.

“no, what?”

“you’re off,” he says.

“by how much?”

he pauses, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “enough.”

“that’s not an answer,” you says leaning forward closer now.

“it is,” he replies calmly. “just not one you like.”

you stare at him, half-annoyed, half-curious. “you’re not going to tell me?”

“not yet.”

your eyes narrow. “why?”

he meets your gaze fully this time. “because i want to see if it changes anything for you.”

you lean back slightly, thrown off in a way you don't show completely. “why would it?” you ask.

he shrugs after a small pause. he glances down at your cup. “you drink your coffee too slow, by the way.”

your mouth falls open a little as the moment quickly softens again. “oh my god.”

“just saying.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re still here,” he points out lightly.

the conversation drifts again after that, easier now. you talk more without meaning to—little things, fragments of your life. he listens in a way that feels attentive, but not invasive. like he’s not collecting information, just understanding your pace.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you both drift toward the door without really deciding to. the conversation doesn’t end—it just slows, like both of you are aware it has to, eventually.

outside, the afternoon has softened. the heat isn’t as sharp anymore, but it’s still there, hanging in the air between you.

you shift your weight slightly, glancing down the street, then back at him. “this was…” you start, then stop, like you don't want to overdefine it. he watches you, gazed fixed on you patiently.

“unexpected,” you continue on.

he nods once. “yeah.”

“i still owe you,” you say.

he glances down at you. “you don’t.”

“i do.”

“you don’t,” he repeats, softer but final. but after a small beat, “if it makes you feel better, you can get the next one.”

you narrows your eyes. “there’s going to be a next one?”

he paused again, but only for a fraction of a second too long before he shrugged slightly like it was nothing. "if you break down again, i might start thinking it's planned."

you rolled your eyes, but a smile pulled helplessly at your lips. as you stepped out into the light of the sun, you realized two things at once. this man still hadn't told you who he is or his name, and that you somehow already agreed to see him again.

"let me see your phone," he said lowly, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once again. it wasn't really a question.

and so you reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone, and without asking—he takes your hand gently, turning your palm slightly towards his. the faintest brush of his fingers sent an unexpected warmth up your arm in a way you couldn't ignore.

he picked up your phone that now seemed so small in his hands, typing something quickly before handing your phone back. you looked down at your screen, squinty slightly from the sun.

his name. a number.

joon 213-555-0010

when you look back up at him, he's already watching you—unreadable in a way that sent a pink flush throughout your cheeks.

"joon," you said, like you needed to say his name out loud. like you knew it was just a nickname.

he simply nodded, something small like a smile tugging at his lips from the sound of you hearing his name. "yeah."

he paused, low eyes peering above his sunglasses as he looked at you closely. "you gonna tell me yours?" he asked lowly, the baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

so you told him, and he repeated it a few times under his breath like he had to let it sink on his tongue. "y/n," he said finally, voice quieter than usual. "pretty name for a pretty girl."

your eyes couldn't help but widely slightly at his bold words, the pink on your face turning into a deep red.

a small pause filled the air before you swallowed, trying your best to lock in your confidence in front of this man. "you didn't ask for my number," you said.

"i know."

"that's a little backwards."

"not really."

you titled your head. "why?"

he took a step back, giving you just a little more space. "because now it's your choice."

you study him for a second, like you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of game. some kind of reality tv show where they prank you with some hot mysterious man. but it didn't feel like one.

"and if i don't text you?" you ask.

a small pause before he shrugged easily. "then i'll assume you didn't want to." but his tone didn't have any pressure or persuasion in it.

"confident," you mutter.

"selective," he corrected.

you almost rolled your eyes—but you don't quite let it happen. he glances past you for a second, like he's remembering that he actually has somewhere to be. then, they quickly averted back to you.

"if you do," he continues, quieter now. "don't over think it."

you let a small laugh. "too late."

that earns a small smile from him, dimples tugging at his cheeks in a way you noticed immediately. "i figured."

another pause before he steps back swiftly, like he's deciding that he couldn't stay any longer than necessary—even if he wanted to. "i'll see you around," he says, for the second time.

before you can respond, he's already turning and stepping away, suddenly gone in the same effortless and casual way he arrived.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

that night, you tell yourself you're not going to think about him.

and you failed immediately.

you failed when you went to dinner with your friends, when you did chores around your house; in the shower and when you laid in your own bed that night—the bed that was supposed to make your thoughts go away. it was the small things at first.

the way he didn’t rush anything. the way he answered questions without really answering them. the way he looked at you like he already understood something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

and as the night continued on, the bigger things settled in your brain, making heat shamefully pool between your legs.

he didn't ask for your number. he didn't try to lock you in. instead, he just left his number with you.

who is he?

your phone sat next to you with the screen dark and off, but it felt louder than anything else in the room. you fell into a cycle of picking it up and putting it back down.

finally, you picked it up again, finding his contact. you flipped it shut, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought of messaging him. you found your thumbs typing, deleting, then typing something again.

you exhale softly, leaning back against your pillow trying your hardest not to overthink it, his voice replaying in the back of your head.

he wasn't some typical guy—you could tell in the way he carried himself. he walked casually, but with assurance. he dressed with stride, but still managed to blend in. he talked with confidence, and every line was coated with experience.

so now, it wasn't just about texting him. it's about what it would mean if you did. because somehow, after one roadside encounter and a cup of coffee—you already wanted more than you should have.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's drive back was quiet. not because he wanted it to be—but because nothing else fit how he felt at the moment.

not even any of his music.

he had driven these streets thousands of times. the same turns, the same streets, the same palm trees. usually his mind is somewhere else entirely—work, mixes, deadlines, people who expect things from him.

but not tonight. because tonight, it kept circling back to you.

it all kept replaying in his head—the way you looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. he noticed the way you didn't try too hard. you didn't perform like everyone else in LA.

you didn't know what he is, who he is, or what kind of world he's involved in.

that was the part that was stuck in namjoon's head so deeply. because most people that meet him are already adjusted to him—already well aware, careful with their words and their tones, their intentions.

but you certainly weren't.

because you argued with him. you rolled your eyes and called him annoying. and you meant all of it.

a faint smile pulled at his mouth as he came to a stop at a red light. "twenty-seven," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and laughing slightly.

but still, you didn't hesitate.

he pulls into his place, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out right away. he glances at his phone, sitting in the center console of his car, dark and quiet.

but he doesn't reach for it. because namjoon was a patient man—he always had been. in work, in life, in everything that mattered.

once he gets inside his spacious, sleek home, he dropped his keys on the counter, running a hand through his hair, exhaling.

namjoon had been with plenty of women before. older, younger—in his world and outside of it. he always knows how it goes. he knows how to keep it light and uncomplicated.

but this didn't feel like that. because it felt like something that could get complicated. but instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he leaned into it. just a little.

an hour passes. then two.

namjoon tells himself he's not checking his phone. but it turns out to be a lie, because throughout night—he checks it without picking it up. glancing every time he walks past, like it might light up if he looks long enough. but it doesn't.

he tells himself to relax, that you have a life or that you might not be interested at all. but still—he wonders what you're up to. if you're thinking about him the way he's thinking about you. if you're overanalyzing that moment outside of the coffee shop.

suddenly, his phone buzzed. he doesn't look right away. he just looked at it before reading the unsaved number, no name attached. he picks it up and opens it almost immediately.

unknown: do you always leave girls with this much pressure or am i just special?

he lets out a quiet breath—half a laugh of amusement, half something else. there you finally were, exactly the way he had anticipated. he begins to type before he stops and quickly deletes it.

he leans back against the counter, thinking—not about what to say, but about how much he should give. because namjoon didn't want to rush this. he didn't want to come on too strong.

but he couldn't pretend that he was unaffected either, because he most certainly couldn't even if he wanted to. not with you.

he types again, this time sending it.

him: i was starting to think you wouldn't.

he watches the screen for a second longer than necessary, saving your contact before setting his phone down. it wasn't far, but it was just enough. because now, you know that he was waiting too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you exhale softy, rolling onto your back with a smile that couldn't help but tug at your lips.

you: oh so you were waiting

a pause settled on the screen before the typing bubble popped up again.

joon: i was curious

you: that sounds like a more mysterious way of saying waiting

joon: you can call it whatever makes you feel better

and now, you definitely smiled at that. because he was already doing that thing again—side stepping without hesitation.

you: you're too difficult to read

joon: you're trying too hard then

you: i think you're just confusing

joon: only for you sweetheart

you actually laugh out loud at that, shaking your head and ignoring the way the nickname made pink tint your cheeks.

you: wow so is this how you talk to every girl you buy coffee for?

his reply comes faster this time.

joon: i don't buy anyone coffee

you: good answer

joon: an honest one what are you doing right now?

you glanced around your room like he could somehow see.

you: nothing important

joon: doesn’t sound convincing

you: i could say the same about you

joon: i’m working

you: doing your very mysterious job?

joon: still stuck on that?

you: a little

joon: you'll figure it out eventually

you bit your lip slightly, thinking of an answer.

you: you're very sure i'm going to stick around long enough to figure it out

joon: aren't you?

your heart does that annoying little jump again, and you don't answer right away. and he doesn't send anything else. instead, he waits. three minutes later;

you: maybe

joon: that's a start

another painfully long beat passes before your cellphone vibrates again.

joon: you busy tomorrow night?

you stare at the message, blinking twice to make sure you read it right. but somehow, half of you wasn't surprised. you were practically waiting in a way you couldn't admit. but the other half was incredibly in shock.

you started to type.. deleted it.. then typed again.

you: depends what are you planning?

joon: something better than coffee

you smiled immediately, even though you tried not to.

you: that's a little confident

joon: doesn't seem like you hate it

you: i don't

joon: good

a pause settled on the screen again.

joon: 8?

you exhaled slowly, the reality creeping in as you stared at the screen. you were really going to go on a date with this man. the same, confident and attractive man that had jumped your car and saved your day. the same man who's age and job you couldn't quite detect.

you: okay

joon: i'll pick you up don't overthink it

you rolled your eyes, smiling.

you: too late

joon: i know

and just like that, with one text conversation, it definitely was more than just a street thing.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you almost regret saying yes the moment you hear a car pull up outside, engine rumbling lowly outside your apartment window.

not because you didn't want to go, of course. but because now, it's real.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the bumps in your hair and coating your lips with gloss one last time. simple, but intentional. something that said you tried... but didn't try too hard.

your phone buzzed.

joon: i'm outside

when you step out, you see the car first. the same sleek and clean car that had pulled over in front of you on that busy highway engulfed in heat.

then him.

leaning slightly agains the driver's side door, towering over the car with his sleeves pushed up, looking like he's only been there for a minute—but completely settled anyway. he wore a costly-looking dress shirt, glimmering chain around his neck and a sparkling watch wrapped around his built arm. you swallowed hard.

his eyes flick up from the ground immediately when he notices you. and for a second, he just looks at you. completely, unashamedly taking you in with his eyes slowly.

"yeah..." he says lowly, dragging his lips ever so quickly along his lips as you approached him, heels clicking beneath you. "you're going to be a problem tonight."

you couldn't ignore the heat that sent down your spine, but you simply peered up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently. "aren't i always?"

"i haven't seen you always," he replied.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile pulled at your lips anyway. then, he stepped back, opening the door for you. you don't the miss the way he does it without hesitation. and when you sit inside, you don't miss the way his gaze burns into you before closing your door.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive was easy, music low in the background, city lights coming to life as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

namjoon doesn't fill every silence—and somehow it makes it easier for you to talk.

"so where are you taking me?" you ask eventually.

"you'll see," he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested between you.

"that's not helpful."

"it's not supposed to be."

you shook your head, smiling out the window. he pulls up to a restaurant that sits right by everything—the beach, the water, and the city. it was definitely upscale, but nothing intimidating.

inside, the lighting is warm yet dim, swift music playing and low conversations humming.

you were seated quickly. no waiting or confusion. you didn't quite realize the line of people who were standing for a table, and how you and him were able to breeze right past it.

when you arrive to your seat, it's right in front of the window, city lights and palm trees stretching on the glass in front of you. he pulls your seat out for you, helping you take off your coat and placing it along your chair.

after you place your orders, the conversation flows faster this time. less guarded, and more natural.

"so," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. "what do you actually do?"

you sigh softly, like you already know the answer isn't impressive, even compared to his incredibly vague one. "i’m a waitress," you say. "nothing exciting."

he watches you for a second. "you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

"or because you think it's supposed to be."

that made you pause. "it's not exactly... impressive," you admitted.

he shrugs lightly. "most things that are don't matter."

you let out a small breath, like you didn’t expect that answer. “you always talk like that?” you ask.

“like what?”

“like you know something i don’t.”

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. “sometimes i do.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and namjoon are laughing a few minutes later—about something small and stupid—and it feels easy. too easy.

the song currently playing comes to an end and the music shifts. a different song comes on—smooth, familiar, something that's even playing everywhere recently.

you perked up immediately. "oh my god, i love this song."

he stills ever so slightly. it's quick and barely noticeable, but there's a flicker of something across his face. he glances down at the table, then back up at you. "yeah?" he asks, casual.

"yeah," you nod, smiling. "it's so good."

he hums in response, leaning back in his seat like it's just background noise. "not bad."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "not bad?" he shrugs. "it's alright."

you laugh. "you're impossible."

and he doesn't argue. but there's a faint smirk but he doesn't fully hide this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the dinner stretches longer than you expected. because neither of you seem to be in a rush to end it.

by the time the check comes, you reach for it instinctively. because at the cafe, he said he would let you get it this time.

but he's faster. of course he is.

"you don't have to—" you start.

"i know."

"that's not fair," you protest.

"it doesn't have to be," he said.

you sigh, but you're already smiling again.

as he hands the card over, the server pauses. "sorry," the server says, almost hesitant. "are you... are you—namjoon—"

namjoon already knows what's coming. he exhales softly, not annoyed at all, just used to it. "yeah," he says with a polite smile. you blinked.

"sorry- i thought so. i didn't want to assume."

he gives a small, reassuring nod.

"do you think i could-" the server gestures awkwardly. "just like, a quick autograph? my brother and i are huge fans."

you completely froze.

fan?

huge?

he doesn't make it a big deal. "yeah, no problem," he says, like it was normal. like this happens all the time. because it does.

he signs something quickly, hands it back with a polite smile.

"thank you—i appreciate it. you two have a great night," the server said before walking off.

silence settled between you for the brief a second. you were completely staring at him now, trying to control your facial expressions as you processed what just happened.

"you didn't tell me that happens to you," you said.

"i didn't think it mattered," he replied casually.

"well," you said slowly. "what exactly do you do?"

there it was. the question he definitely couldn't avoid this time. he leans back slightly, studying your expression. it was curious, but not intimidated or totally impressed. just curious.

"i told you," he said. "music."

you shook your head. "no, you said behind the scenes."

he huffed a small breath, close to a laugh before he paused. "i produce," he said finally. it was simple and direct—no bragging or boasting.

you blink again. "like... that song?"

a beat passes for a small moment before he nods once. "yeah."

and now, the air between you shifted. because now you knew; he wasn't just some guy who stopped to help you on the side of the road.

and somehow, it almost made things worse. because now, you had to figure out why he's here... with you.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the air outside feels cooler than before. or maybe it’s just because of the way everything shifted inside.

namjoon pushes the door open for you, stepping slightly to the side to let you walk out first—but as you pass, his hand settles lightly at the small of your back.

guiding. not grabbing or lingering too long. just there, resting on your back. it's subtle, but you can feel the intention seeping through you, especially in the way it instantly sends a shiver up your back.

your steps slow for half a second—not enough for him to comment on, but enough for you to notice yourself.

but he notices too.

you both walk a few steps in the parking lot in silence. it wasn't awkward, it was just both of you recollecting the entire night—including who he really was.

“so,” you say finally, glancing over at him, tone light like nothing’s changed, “you’re kind of a big deal, namjoon.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “no.”

“that guy literally asked you for an autograph.”

“that happens sometimes.”

you narrow your eyes. “that’s not normal.”

“it is for me,” he says simply. it wasn't cocky or defensive, just the honest truth. it should've been intimidating. but you didn't let it land that way.

you shrugged slightly. "okay. but that still doesn't mean i'm impressed."

there's a pause before he looks at you—really looks this time. and something shifts in his eyes, subtle but sharper. more interested and intrigued by the young woman standing before him.

"good," he said lowly.

you blinked. "good?"

“i’d be a little concerned if you were.”

your lips press together slightly, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

you both reach his car, but neither of you move to get in right away. he leans back against it slightly, arms relaxed and eyes fixed on you.

you cross your arms again. not closed off, just grounding yourself under his gaze. "so you just... make songs people know?"

"sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"ugh, that's such a non-answer."

his lips fought a smile at your remark. "it's an accurate one."

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. "you're so annoying."

"but you keep talking to me," he points out.

you finally glance up at him fully, and for a second, the eye contact lingers for a moment too long. it causes you to look away first, pink tinting your cheeks.

and namjoon notices everything.

the way you're holding eye contact a little less now. the way you're slightly more aware of yourself. the way you're trying not to let it change anything. but it doesn’t turn him off—it only pulls him in more.

“you got quiet,” he says.

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

you look away for a second, then back at him. “i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate. “nothing,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. instead, he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you, but enough to spark the energy in the space between you even more.

“you’re doing that thing,” he comments quietly, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

your brows knit. “what thing?”

“trying to act like nothing changed.”

your stomach flips—annoyingly and immediate. “because nothing did,” you said.

a pause fills the air. he studies your face, like he’s deciding whether to call it out further. “alright,” he says finally.

you exhale softly. “you’re not going to say anything else?”

“i don’t need to.”

“that’s so—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

he watches you, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “say it,” he murmurs.

you look at him, trying not to react to the way his voice dropped slightly. “it’s just… a lot,” you admit.

your answer was too honest for your liking, yet he didn't laugh or dismiss it. "yeah," he said quietly. "it can be."

a beat passed. "but i'm still the same guy you had coffee with," he said softly. and those words land, harder than anything else he's said.

you study him for a second, searching for something—ego, arrogance, anything that would make this easier to categorize.

but you don’t find it. instead, you're only able to find that same calm, steady version of him. the one who stopped his car for you. the one who let you decide whether to text him. the one who didn’t even bother to impress you.

“…okay,” you say finally. and you mean it.

there was a small shift in the air between you, the tension softening— but not totally disappearing.

“so,” he says, pushing off the car slightly, “you still letting me drive you home?”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i have a choice?”

“you always have a choice,” he said. a beat passes. "but i’d prefer if you said yes," he confessed playfully.

you huffs out a quiet laugh. “you’re very subtle.”

“i try.”

and for the second time that night, namjoon opens the passenger door for you. and this time, when you got in, it felt different; reality swirling around you and settling into your head.

the drive back was quieter than the one there. it wasn't awkward or empty—just filled with unspoken words and incredibly thick tension.

his gaze was fixed on the road, but you couldn't ignore the way you caught him glancing over at you multiple times in the corner of your eye. the music is low, humming softly through the speakers before another song comes on.

you glance over at the console, then over at him. "did you make this one too?" you ask, half teasing.

he doesn't look at you right away, a smirk pulling at his lips, leaving a sharp shadow along his jaw. "maybe."

you roll your eyes, fully smiling now. "you're never going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"not all at once, pretty girl."

there it is again. not just the nickname that sent heat through your spine and in between your legs—but that confident, indirect promise of you sticking around long enough to unlock every thing about him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're looking out the window, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes everything feel more noticeable. but you're not really seeing or looking at anything, because you're too aware.

too aware of namjoon. the way he drives—one veiny hand on the wheel, relaxed but precise. the way the scent of his expensive cologne and shampoo made your knees weaken. the way he continues to glance over every now and then, quick, like he’s checking something without making it obvious.

you shift slightly in your seat every time he does.

suddenly, his hand moves from the wheel for just a second—resting briefly against the center console as he adjusts his grip. but through that movement, his large fingers brush lightly against your thigh.

he dragged them ever so softly on your thigh for what felt like forever—but only lasted two seconds—before moving his hand back to the center console. his fingers were barely there, not lingering or deliberate enough to call out. but it wasn't exactly accidental enough to ignore either.

your breath catches for just a second, but he doesn't react or apologize. he doesn't even look at you, and somehow that makes it worse.

you swallow hard, turning your head slightly towards the window again. but now you're even more hyper-aware of the space between you. your heart was doing something very annoying again, and you knew it.

he knew it.

he slows the car as you reach your place, parking smoothly before killing the engine. and just like that, everything went still.

neither of you moved right away. you looked down at your hands, then back up like you were about to say something. but you didn't.

he simply watches you for a second, less teasing in his eyes and more focus. he took in every inch of you, sitting so still and pretty in his car. looking at him like he was still the same guy who jumped your car, not like he was a guy who made every hit song. "you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you keep saying that."

"because you keep doing it."

you glance at him. this time, you don't look away immediately. "i'm just thinking."

"dangerous," he murmurs, pulling a small smile from you.

you reach for the door handle. "thanks for dinner," you say, like you're trying to keep it normal.

"yeah," he replies with a soft smile.

you open the door, stepping out thinking that the night is wrapped up. that he'll pull away and let you go. but then, you hear his door open too.

he rounds the front of the car, meeting you halfway up the short path to your door. he took his time not rushing—because he never did.

when you stop in front of your door, you turn to face him. and suddenly, it's close. closer than it's been all night. there wasn't a table, a center console, or any distractions now. just him, towering over you and filling your entire vision with nothing but him. his musky cologne quickly filled your nostrils, throwing your mind off balance.

"you don't have to walk me up," you say quietly, close to a whisper.

"i know," he says. but he doesn't step back.

a long pause fills the air, stretching long enough for the tension to feel intentional. his gaze drops briefly, to your lips—then back up to your eyes.

your breath catches again, softer now. but you were too close for namjoon to not notice it. "are you always this—" you start, then stop.

"this what?" he asks lowly, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the mere sight of you fumbling with your words in front of him.

you shake your head slightly. "i don't even know."

a faint smile pulls at his mouth. "good." he took another step closer, not enough to trap you, but enough for the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

then, his hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he does it carefully, like he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away. but you didn't.

"you're overthinking again," he murmurs, low eyes scanning every inch of your face.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "you keep saying that like it helps."

"it does," he suggests casually.

"how?"

he leans in barely. he doesn't completely close the distance between you, but it was enough to send a bolt of warmth down your body. "because you're still here."

you tilt your head up just a little, before he leans in just a sliver more. and for a second, the moment is right there, sitting heavy in the little distance there was between you.

and then, he stops. just barely, coming to a small still when you could practically feel his breath on you. just enough that it didn't happen.

your eyes flicker across his face, confused, a little breathless. he watches your reaction carefully, low eyes trained onto your every movement.

and suddenly, there's that faint smirk again—but it's softer; barely there and more restrained than usual in a way you almost didn't catch.

"goodnight, doll," he said lowly. "sleep well."

like nothing had almost just happened.

he steps back, ripping the thick air that had just sat between you like a third person. breaking it and leaving you there standing with it.

“you’re—” you start, but you don't even know what to call him.

he tilts his head slightly, licking his lips and averting his gaze down you one last time. “what?”

you exhale half-laugh and half-frustration. “annoying.”

he smiles, dimples pulling at his cheeks. “i know," he says, before turning around and walking back to his car.

from the doorstep, you watch him get in, turn on the engine, and leave. leaving you there with more thoughts than your racing heart could keep up with and a miserable dampness in your panties.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's place is quiet again. too quiet.

he tosses his keys down, walks a few steps in, then stops—like his body forgot what he was about to do.

because his mind was entirely somewhere else.

it was still at your door. still immersed into that moment.

he leans back against his kitchen counter, exhaling. he's replaying everything now, like dinner—the way you didn't switch up when you found out what he did. you weren't suddenly impressed or started asking the wrong questions.

you stayed the same. maybe you were a little quieter, a tad bit more aware. but you didn't completely fold.

that absolutely sat under namjoon's skin now. he was completely enamored by you, and didn't want to pull a girl like you into his chaotic world. didn't want you to adjust to him because of who he was, like most people did.

but you didn't. you just took it in, and kept going. you stayed exactly the same—you still called him annoying and told him he wasn't impressive.

he looks at his phone sitting a few feet away. he already gave you control once. he let you decide whether or not to text him, to decide if it was going to go anywhere or not.

but he wasn't going to do that tonight.

him: you always look at people like that or was that just for me?

he sets the phone down, but not far. because you've consumed every inch of his mind again without even trying to. he thinks about the your eyes dropped to his lips, the way you didn't pull away.

his jaw tightened slightly. he knew he was in trouble.

his phone lit up again.

her: like what?

he lets out a quiet breath, a smile pulling at his lips. the way you played it off, like you always did, made him only want more. made him think that maybe he should've kissed you right then and there—should've forgot about being a man and taking his time with you and—

he slowly took in a deep breath through his nose, dragging a hand across his face.

him: like you were about to do something you'd regret

her: don't know if i'd call it regret

namjoon liked that a little too much, licking his lips and leaning back. because now, he knows you felt it too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days and several text conversations later, namjoon sends you a text on a night he knows you're not working. no question or explanation, just;

joon: be ready at 7

when he picks you up, the air already shifts when you walk outside. it was in the way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't hiding it at all anymore. he takes his time, eyes trailing from your shoes, to the way your skirt falls, the jewelry at your wrist, to your face.

"you always dress like this, doll?" he asks lowly, stepping closer to you.

you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way the name made your brain feel like mush. "like what?"

"like you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked that."

your lips pressed together slightly, trying not to smile. "maybe i did."

a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "yeah," he agreed. "i think you did."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the driver is longer, along the coast again. his tinted windows are cracked, music low with the sky fading into the darkest blue that only happens by the water.

you and namjoon talk, but it's far from that careful, first date way. the conversation flowed between you easily. you interrupted each other, went off on tangents. doubled back to things you both said earlier. like you both have done this together longer than you actually had.

when you arrive, the place is even more secluded than last time. a quiet overlook with soft lights and the ocean extending endlessly in front of you. the sound of waves clashed below in a way that was steady and grounding.

it felt private, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

you and namjoon sit closer this time without question. dinner stretches and the conversation flows. you don't even discuss all the big things, but it's the way you talk about the small ones that makes it feel different.

you tell him about what hobbies you have, about your job—how it's routine, how people underestimate it, and how sometimes you feel stuck. and he doesn't brush it off or give you empty encouragement like most people did.

"you're not stuck," he corrected you firmly.

you scoff every is slightly. "that's easy for you to say."

"it's not about me," he replies softly. "you just need to find what you want."

you pout slightly in a way that makes his heart falter. "and you have?"

he pauses for half a second. "yeah." that same confidence remained in his tone, and for a second it felt like he might have been talking about something else.

at some point, his hand settles at the back of your chair. but this time, it stays. it wasn't touching you directly, but it was close enough to make you aware of it. aware of him.

you shift slightly and his slender fingers brush at your shoulders. they rest there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back. his warmth and his actions sent an unbearable heat between your legs.

after dinner, you both step away from the table, walking along the edge of the overlook. the night air is cooler now, ocean breeze slipping through you. you and him walk a little closer than before, shoulders lightly brushing with every few steps.

you wrapped your arms around you slightly, and his jacket is already around your shoulders before you can say anything.

you glance back at him, stopping in your steps to look at him properly. "you know... you're very sure of yourself."

"that bothers you?"

"no," you admit honestly. "it's just—different."

he pauses for a small moment. "from what you're used to?" he asks.

you nod slightly. he studies you for a second. "you're trying to figure out how old i am again."

your eyes widen slightly. "i'm not—"

"you are."

you exhale. "okay, maybe a little."

he lets your confession sit in the air before he nods slightly toward a couple walking past you two—a generation older than you, quieter, and settled. "you think i'm closer to them, or closer to you?" he asks.

you look back at the couple, then back at him. you really look at him, thinking about the way he carries himself. the way he speaks. the way he doesn't rush anything.

your expression shifts. "...okay," you say slowly. "how old are you?"

he pauses for longer than just a few seconds. "thirty-three," he answers finally.

you can't help but blink. once. twice. "...really?"

"yeah."

you study him again, like the answer didn't quite align with what you were seeing. "you don't look thirty-three."

"i know," he answered casually.

"that's kind of unfair," you said playfully.

he smiled softly. "i've heard that."

a quiet beat passes as namjoon watches you carefully, curiously watching your expression.

you shrug slightly. "okay."

he tilts his head. "that's all?"

"what?" you ask. "were you expecting something else?"

"most people... adjust," he stated.

you look at him deeply, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "well i'm not most people."

he steps closer, lightly closing the space between you. his scent filled your head once again, making your breath catch.

"yeah," he said lowly. "i noticed."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

later, when you leave the restaurant together, you don't rush out. you never do.

namjoon walks slightly behind you first as you both headed towards the entrance, one hand finding its way onto the small of your back. it became natural now, something you didn't react to—externally, at least.

his hand was there, guiding you carefully down the steps.

two hostesses near the front glance up. then they glance at namjoon. then to you, then back at him.

a quick look exchanged between them followed by a few whispers and positive smiles. he catches it immediately. of course he does.

namjoon doesn’t look directly at them—he doesn’t acknowledge it—but there’s the faintest change in his expression. then his hand presses just slightly firmer at your back.

a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. not to show off. just to keep you close—and slightly focus the attention on you.

you don't notice the whispers, but you do notice the presence of his hand grow warmer. "what?" you ask, glancing back at him.

"nothing," he says easily.

the lights from the restaurant glowed behind you, the cool night air and a soft breeze coming off the water hitting you all at once.

there's a small set of marble steps leading down towards the parking area. you start down them without thinking—mind entirely captured by namjoon—and suddenly your heel catches slightly.

it's quick—barely a stumble, but it's enough to throw you off balance slightly. his large hands instantly find their way to your waist firmly, tightening his grip and steadying you before you could even process anything.

"careful, baby," he murmurs, low and close. the name slipping out like it had always belonged there.

you freeze for half a second, breath catching slightly before you steady yourself, hand instinctively brushing against his arm.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, beginning to continue a careful ascend down the steps and ignoring the heat on your cheeks.

namjoon however, doesn't move his hands right away. they linger on your waist a second longer than necessary, making sure you're fully balanced. "i know," he says calmly.

you look up at him, trying to play it off. "you don't have to—"

"i know," he cuts in softly.

and when you reach the bottom of the steps, his hand doesn't leave your back. it stays there, steady, guiding you towards his car like you're already part of his space.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive back is quiet, the low vibration of the music and the city lights and palm trees flickering past practically lulling you to sleep.

and namjoon's presence, of course.

his large hand rested on the wheel, the other on the center console. close enough. by the minute, you swear it continues to get closer.

"tell me about him," namjoon says suddenly, the deep baritone of his voice making your thighs press together slightly.

you frown slightly from confusion. "about who?"

"your ex."

it catches you off guard. "...why?"

he shrugs lightly, sharp eyes still on the road. "i'm curious."

you hesitate before sighing. "he was..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word. "lazy."

half a second passed. "immature," you added. "didn't really pay attention to me unless it was convenient."

and as you talk, namjoon's jaw tightens slightly. it's subtle and controlled in a way you don't notice, but it's there.

"he just-" you shook your head slightly, looking out the window. "i don't know. it felt like I was always asking for the bare minimum."

for a long second, silence fills the car. namjoon's fingers tap once against the console. then, they shift. his hand moves unhurriedly, eventually finding its way to rest against your thigh, making a sharp bolt of warmth shoot down your body.

"yeah," he says finally, voice low and rough. "that sounds about right."

you glance at him. "what does that mean?"

he paused for a second. "guys your age," he continues, calm but edged with something sharper now. "they don't know what to do with a woman like you."

your stomach flips in a way that is impossible to ignore. "and you do?" you ask teasingly, trying to keep your tone steady.

his thumb shifts slightly against your thigh slightly. butterflies erupted in your stomach and your thighs shifted in a way you couldn't help, trying to disregard the heat between your legs.

"i wouldn't ignore you," he says simply.

the air in car seems to shift as you swallow hard, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "you barely know me."

"i know enough," he answers.

your breath catches slightly. namjoon's hand stays sat on your thigh steadily, like he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

"and i definitely wouldn't have you asking for anything," he adds. his words land deeper than they should, etching themselves into the back of your mind without asking.

you let out a quiet, almost nervous laugh. "you're very confident."

"i'm honest," he says. he pauses for a moment. then, his voice drops just a little—"big difference."

you look at him again, thoroughly scanning his face this time. "you always talk like that?" you ask.

"only when i mean it."

another silence settles between you, this time sitting thick; heavy with everything both of you haven't said. his hand finally shifts, but not away from you. it only slides higher along your thigh before settling again.

"relax, doll," he murmurs softly, voice low and deep.

you exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?"

you shake your head slightly. "you know exactly what."

a faint smirk pulls at his lips. "yeah," he answers. "i do."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the rest of the drive feels too short.

namjoon pulls to your curb, parking swiftly with one hand before cutting the engine. silence fills the space, neither of you reaching for the door immediately.

you look down at your hands, then back up, like you're about to say something—but the words don't come as easily now. because everything, from the restaurant, the drive is still sitting in between you. his hand, his voice. doll.

"you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you make it hard not to."

he stills ever so slightly, like your words had pulled something out of him. "do i?" he asks.

you look at him, holding his intense gaze this time. "yeah."

he pauses for longer than normal, eventually moving his hand before his mouth. he starts slow—not to your thigh this time—but higher. his fingers lift, brushing lightly along your jaw. just the tips, tracing the line like he needed to memorize it.

your breath catches immediately, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you seemingly couldn't look away from his face. he tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction closely.

"you always look like this when you're thinking?" he murmurs.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "like what?"

his thumb lingers beneath just beneath your chin for just a second. then it shifts slightly, guiding your face just enough so that you're looking directly at him and nothing else.

"like you're trying to figure out if this is a good idea," he says.

your heart practically stumbles. because he absolutely was right. "and?" you ask quietly.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. but this one was softer, like it was more certainty than teasing. "i think you already decided," he murmurs. his gaze drops briefly, down to your lips, then back up again. this time, he doesn't even try to hide it.

"you're dangerous, you know that?" you say, barely above a whisper.

he leans in slightly, his scent taking over your lungs. "yeah?"

your breath is uneven now. "yeah."

his gaze drifts again, over your face, slower this time. fully taking you in. "you still thinking about the age thing?" he asks.

"no," you respond, holding the burning eye contact.

he studies you for half a second, like he's deciding if you're telling the truth. then, he exhales quietly, almost amusedly. "yeah," he says. "didn't think you would."

his hand lifts from your chin before resting lightly at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly before easing.

"probably better for you," he adds, voicer lower now, teasing but grounded in something real and deep, "if you didn't get used to someone like me."

your stomach flips instantly. "who says i'm getting used to you?" you shoot back, trying to play it off.

a smile tugs at his lips. "doll," he murmurs, softer and closer, the warmth of his breath hitting your neck. "you're already here."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days later, namjoon sends you an address located in the corner of a private street in LA telling you to meet him there. telling you that he wanted to show you something.

a building tucked slightly off the main road, close enough to the water that the air already feels different when you step out of the car.

you hesitate for a half a second before going in. not nervous, but just a little too aware of what you were walking into. with a few instructed taps on the door buzzer, you were let in.

inside, the hallway light is dim, soft lights lining the walls that were decorated with award cases, album posters, and framed vinyls. the floors were sleek and bass echoed through the walls.

you followed the sound the sound down the hallway, until you find a studio door that's slightly open. the gold plate on it reading, "kim namjoon" then below it, "head executive producer."

you exhale softly, heart slightly stopping at that and swallowing a little too hard before you push it gently, and that's when you see him.

sitting at the main console, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting near the soundboard. one hand adjusting a dial, the other resting against his chin like he's listening too closely.

he was so immersed that he hadn't noticed you yet.

the room was lowly lit—colored LEDS instead of overhead lights, the glow from the equipment reflecting softly against his face.

and there's something about him like this—focused, quiet, and completely in his element—that hits differently, making your stomach twist into a knot.

his sleeves are pushed up again, glistening watch catching the light as he moves his hand. a chain rests below his collar, barely visible, but sparkling in the light.

everything about him is so simple, but it fits him all too well. you don't mean to stare, but you definitely do.

and then, like he felt it—namjoon finally glances up. your eyes immediately meet, and you swear you felt a spark flash through your body.

for a split second, he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, gaze taking you in deliberately.

then, he licks his lips so lightly you almost don't catch it. "you just going to stand there," he says, voice low and soft. "or are you coming in?"

you blink, snapping out of your trance slightly. "i-i didn't want to interrupt."

"you didn't," he replies easily. but his eyes linger on you for a second longer, almost like he knew you were watching him.

you step inside, softly closing the door behind you. the white lighting from the hallway had disappeared now, fully engulfing you into his world—his studio, his creative space—the place where he made every hit even possible. the big room suddenly felt smaller now, more private.

you look around, taking it all in. the walls are boarded with soundproof panels, and large speakers are placed around the sleek equipment. there's two chairs, a beanbag, and couch with folders of music sheets and lyrics scattered on the floor and on counter tops. "this is... really nice."

"mm," he hums, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly. "it works."

you glance at him. "you say everything like that."

"like what?"

"like it's not a big deal."

a faint smirk. "it's not."

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. he gestures towards the seat next to him. "come here." it wasn't a question.

you walk over, sitting beside him—closer than expected, immediately greeted by his warmth and the musk of his cologne.

he turns towards the console, grabbing a pair of high-end headphones. "listen to this," he says. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before carefully placing them over your head.

music plays—smooth and layered. it had no lyrics, but it was already catchy. you hummed in delight. "it's really good," you said softly, gently taking the headphones off.

"i know," he replies casually.

you laugh. "you're insufferable."

he glances at you, a smirk forming. "you're still here though."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

after a few minutes of namjoon showing you some buttons, he glances at you. "you want to try something?" you look at him, a bit hesitant. "like what?"

he shifts slightly, turning your chair just enough so that your angled more towards the board. "come on," he says, nodding towards the controls. "i'll show you."

"...i feel like i'm going to mess something up," you say.

"you won't."

"how do you know?" he leans in slightly, his breath hitting your neck ever so slightly. "because i'm right here."

your stomach flips again. he reaches around you slightly, one hand bracing lightly against the edge of the console near you, the other guiding your hand toward a dial.

“turn this,” he says, voice lower now, near your ear.

you try to focus. you really do. but namjoon is close. too close. his warmth spilling all over you, hitting you in all the places that made your thighs pull closer together.

you turn the dial slowly—and immediately the sound distorts in a ridiculous way. you both pause.

"...was that supposed to happen?" you ask.

he stares at the board for a second before a short laugh escapes him, dimples tugging at his cheeks. "no," he says.

you burst out laughing. "i told you!"

he shakes his head with another laugh, reaching forward to fix it, his arm brushing yours again. "you didn't break it," he says. "relax."

"i definitely did something."

"you did," he replies with a smile. "just not what i said."

you laugh again, softer this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're standing now, not sitting anymore.

because namjoon told you to.

“stand here,” he said, guiding you lightly by the waist until you were in front of the soundboard. no asking, just placing you there. you stiffened under his touch that sent a light shock through you.

"relax, doll," he murmurs behind you. the deep baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

you exhale slowly, trying to focus on the board in front of you—but it's hard when you can feel him right behind you. he steps in closer, practically pressing you together.

one hand reaches around you, bracing against the console. the other finds yours, fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grip on one of the controls. "not like that," he says, low. "too quick."

"i'm not doing anything fast," you defend weakly, trying your best to sound steady.

you hear a quiet, almost amused exhale behind you. "yeah?" he murmurs deeply.

his chest brushes lightly against your back as he leans in closer, guiding your hand again—slower this time. "you rush when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous."

"mm," he hums, unconvinced. his hand tightens slightly over yours, turning the dial with you. the sound shifts, smoother this time. "like that," he says.

but he doesn't move away, not even a little bit. you swallow, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. his hand over yours, his chest behind you, his voice vibrating your ear. and you definitely tried to ignore something hard resting against your ass.

"you do this with everyone?" you ask.

"no," he answered simply.

at to that, your heart stumbled. his hand left yours, but only came to settle at your waist, firm and steady. in his grip he turned you slightly—not fully, but enough to turn your attention away from the board and onto him. "you're distracted again," he murmured.

you let out a soft breath. "you keep saying that like it's my fault."

a smirk pulls at his lips, one that you can practically hear in his voice. "doll," he says lowly, "you haven't been focused since you walked in."

your stomach flips as you turn your head slightly, giving just enough space to look back at him—but it's a mistake. because he's already looking at you, his face much closer than expected and barely any space left between you now.

"you always get like this?" he asks softly.

"like what?"

his gaze drops slowly, then back up again. "quiet." he pauses. "...when you feel something."

your breath catches. "you act like you know me," you say.

"i do," he replies casually. those words shouldn't hit you as hard as they do, but they do anyway—causing your heart to leap.

he shifts you fully this time, making you fully face him as his large hands still rested at your waist, thumbs pressing in ever so slightly.

"or maybe," he adds, voice quieter now. "you're just not used to someone who pays attention."

your chest rises slowly. "and you do?"

"to you?" he asks quietly, something flickering across his eyes. "of course i do."

a small pause. "i wouldn't ignore you," he mutters in your ear, breath hot down your neck in a way that makes your hairs stand up. his hand tightens slightly against you. "not like they did."

his words land, striking the base of your heart deeply. "and i definitely wouldn't have you guessing where you stand."

your breath is uneven now, but you can't seem to look away. "confident," you murmur.

"experienced," he corrects simply. his voice and his head dips lower just slightly—"difference is...i know how to treat a woman like you properly."

and suddenly the last thread holding you steady is already gone. you exhale softy, almost a laugh, but not quite. "you always talk like this?"

"only when i mean it."

silence fills the space around you, heavy and close. one of his hands lifts from your waist slowly before coming to your jaw and tracing along it deliberately, just like he did before.

his thumb sits at your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. it takes everything in you for your knees to not buckle right then and there, taking in his low, piercing gaze.

"you keep looking at me like that," you whisper.

"like what, hm?" he asks, voice low as he tilts his head lower, leaving little space between your noses. you felt like your whole world was spinning, trying to ground yourself properly without clinging onto him.

"like you're about to do something."

he pauses for a split second, licking his lips while his eyes practically swirled with darkness. then—low and certain—"i am."

and this time, namjoon doesn't stop himself. he leans in, fully closing the last bit of distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours. it's immediate—but not rushed. he kisses you slow, deep, like he's been holding it back for too long and finally had decided he was done.

you respond quickly, completely melting under the contact and moving your lips into his. your breath catches against his, one hand instinctively finding one of his big arms, while the other gripped on his shirt to steady yourself— because it hits you all at once.

the way he pulls you closer against him, one of his hands firmly settled at your waist while the other holds your head possessively, gently tilting your head at an angle that allowed him to kiss you deeper.

you lean into him without thinking—and he feels it, of course. he hooks his fingers around the belt loop of your denim skirt, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens—but it isn't overwhelming. it's certain, like he wanted to take his time with his lips against yours.

your fingers tightened against him, causing him to exhale quietly against your lips, like he had been waiting for that exact response from you.

when you both pull back, you barely move an inch. foreheads close, breath uneven, and neither of you pulling away. his hands remain at your waist, yours still on him.

and after a second of catching your breath—namjoon leans in again. not because he's testing it anymore, but because he wants it—no, he needs it again. and you seem to meet him there just as fast.

his lips capture yours for the second time that night, practically taking your breath with him. your thighs press together slightly as you kiss him back, your hand sliding higher along his arm, gripping his bicep and pulling him closer without even realizing it.

his grip tightens slightly. "don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he murmurs quietly against your lips, voice rough.

the kiss suddenly shifts, not messy or rushed—but hungry. namjoon's hand slid shamelessly down your waist and onto your ass, sliding up and down its curve like it was already his.

that pulled a gasp out of you, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. you allow him, opening your mouth more to let him further explore it with his tongue. your lips practically molded together, saliva mixing as he swirled his tongue around yours.

"look at you..." he mutters, barely pulling back, his thumb brushing your jaw again. "so responsive."

your stomach flips more times than you can count. "don't—" you start, breath uneven, but you can't even finish the sentence before you feel dampness between your legs.

"don't what, baby?" he asks lowly, smirking faintly against your lips. "don't notice you?" he kisses you again before you can answer. his hand slides up from your ass, up your waist to your side—slower and more deliberate, before settling it there again, like he's grounding you there with him.

your grip on him tightens, deepening the kiss without intending to. "doll..." he murmurs, quietly now like it's a warning.

but he doesn't stop, and you most certainly don't want him to. all of a sudden namjoon is moving, guiding you back without breaking the kiss, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

you exhale softly in surprise—before you're sitting and he is too, pulling you with him. now, you find yourself on his lap—straddled on top of him with his hands firmly gripping your thighs and with everything much closer.

your hands find his broad shoulders, this time holding onto him like you desperately need to steady yourself, leaning into him once more. and namjoon notices, like he always does.

a low exhale leaves him, almost like a quiet laugh. "not pulling away anymore, are you, baby?" he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw slowly while his big palms drag up and down your thighs.

his plush lips trace the line of your jaw, littering soft kisses and your head tilts slightly to give him space without even thinking about it. "good," he praises quietly against your skin, lips trailing their way down your neck.

as he presses soft kisses along your neck, one of his hands presses a little firmer into your thigh, keeping you against him as the other rested gently at your neck—not enough to put pressure—but enough for your mind to go blank and make your thighs noticeably shift.

your breath hitches just above him, and his other hand soothes slowly against your thigh to steady you. "you have no idea..." he murmurs, lightly digging his teeth into your skin, making you shudder. "how hard i was trying to take my time with you."

your fingers tighten against him, struggling to ignore the unbearable ache in your core. "then why aren't you?" you manage softly, voice weaker than usual, knowing you didn't want that.

he paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tingling down your neck and through your spine. his voice comes lower this time, but steadier. "because you stopped me from wanting to."

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, dark and low eyes trailing every inch of your face. his hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear slowly, slower than before.

"you're trouble, princess," he says lowly, another nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. "but i like it."

your breath is still uneven, your heart racing faster than your mind—but you don't look away. "good," you murmur.

namjoon's jaw tightens slightly at that—not in frustration, but in complete restraint. what's left of it, at least.

his hand that rested along your neck slid up, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb once again, making sure that you were really looking at him. "you sure about this, doll?" he asks lowly.

you nod without hesitation. "yes."

a small pause fills the thick, small space between you, but his smoldering gaze doesn't leave yours. his gentle hold on your jaw tightens ever so slightly—not to harm you, but to ground you into the moment. "you understand...i'm not the kind of man you forget after this."

your breath catches, but you don't pull back. "i know," you say softly, holding his gaze.

his hands return to your waist, firmer this time, pulling you just slightly closer to him—close enough that space barely existed anymore. "yeah..." he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly along your skin. "then stay with me."

you nearly shuddered from his words, the warmth of his body on yours surrounding you and making your skin tingle. "i will," you nearly whispered, praying that he couldn't feel the dampness between your legs at the thought of never leaving his side.

"good," he grunted in your ear, hot breath spilling down your neck. he pulled back just slightly before closing the space between you once again, tilting your head with his thumb and pulling your lips in with his unhurriedly.

you immediately softened into him as you moved your lips together, your chest immediately becoming flush against his and practically folding underneath his touch. his hands left your waist, finding their grip lower and onto your ass, holding you steadily against him while his tongue explored you once more.

his lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses—sloppy and open-mouthed this time, sucking harder and marking a trail of red marks down to your collarbone. you whimpered with every suck, thighs noticeably shifting against his legs.

namjoon's slender fingers found their way underneath your top, sliding it up slowly—like he was waiting for you to stop him—but you never did. you only complied, lifting your arms up. and in one swift motion, your top was off, and his lips already found themselves on your cleavage.

"so beautiful, baby," he murmured into your skin, tongue lightly lapping against the mark he had just made on top of your breast.

suddenly you felt his big palms on your waist once again before he manhandled you—lifting you up and lying you gently across the couch before his large figure quickly filled your vision and filling up your entire view.

all you could see in the ambient light of his studio was his broad shoulders, his low, piercing eyes, and glimmering chain now hanging in front of your face before he captured your lips again. you practically moaned into it, fingers gripping tightly into his shirt like you needed more.

"fuck," he murmured against you between kisses, intertwining his long fingers with yours, dragging your palm deliberately up his chest. your hands moved before your mind, tugging him closer by his shirt and immediately fumbling with the buttons.

he smirked, large hands moving to help you take it off. once he tossed it somewhere in the room, your hands danced around his body greedily, trailing over his abs, from his chiseled chest and to his swell back.

"should be taking you to my house like a fuckin' man. should fuck you in my bed slow 'n proper. but i've lost my patience with you, doll," he breathed lowly, licking his lips with hunger.

you could only bring yourself to whimper, as namjoon's big palm creeped around your thigh, trailing every so slowly inwards before stopping. your legs couldn't help but twitch helplessly underneath his touch, causing him to let out an amused breath of air.

"but you don't want that, do you?" he asked lowly in your ear, the desire in his voice making your core ache with unbearable need. his hands trailed closer to your heat, dragging his fingers leisurely against your inner thigh.

you shook your head desperately, but that wasn't enough for him. his fingers hooked around your skirt. "wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours, baby."

"i—yes—" you blurted breathlessly, struggling to find the words. "i want it—want you. here, joonie. right now."

his cock strained even harder against his pants. "good girl," he muttered before pulling your skirt down. when it was disregarded, namjoon's hands found your thighs again and you suddenly felt his long fingers trace against slowly against your sopping heat barely shielded by your lacy thong, sending a shiver down your entire body.

"wet for me already and i haven't even started with you," he smirked, finally hooking your panties to the side and letting your soaking core be hit by the cold air. your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but he quickly stopped them with his big hands.

"so sensitive, doll," he murmured, placing one big thumb just above your clit while the other fingers outlined your inner thigh. "guys your age don't take their time like this, do they?"

you shook your head immediately, whining out before his fingers glided up slowly against your wetness, his index finger swiping in between your folds. his thumb rubbed your clit in a long circle, pulling out a desperate whine out of your mouth.

finally, he pushed one long finger in between your folds, sliding into your hole that sucked him in, your wetness gushing his fingers. you whined loudly as he dragged it along your walls before plunging back in.

namjoon closed the distance between your faces, capturing your lips in with his and sucking on your bottom lip as he inserted another finger, thrusting into you at a steady pace while his thumb remained on your clit.

when he pulled away, it was only to align his face at your entrance. his hand firmly gripped onto your thighs, holding you in place. his fingers slowed inside of you as his nose came close to your core, the warmth of his breath directly hitting your pussy and making you twitch underneath him.

a small smirk pulled at his lips before he poked his tongue out, licking a light, gentle stripe against your folds. "mm, taste so sweet, baby." you reacted immediately, thighs clenching around his head in a way he enjoyed a bit too much, his free hand wrapping around your leg firmly as he lapped delicately at your entrance.

you moaned his name, legs finally relaxing under his grip as he took his time with soaking your taste on his tongue. namjoon couldn't help but smirk against your folds, his plump lips completely enveloping your pussy into his mouth and sucking your wetness in hungrily.

it wasn't long before you felt his tongue greedily prying through your entrance, crying out in breathless moans. his two fingers stretched open your walls to allow more room for him to explore you with his tongue.

namjoon was absolutely driving you over the edge—his tongue plunged through your tight walls like no other, slender fingers stroking your insides while his thumb massaged your clit vigorously. he ate at you like he had starved for this—your back immediately curving off of the couch as you felt unbearable pressure twine into your stomach.

"that's it, doll," he cooed against your folds, his nose sitting on top of your clit. then, his voice dropped lower—"cum for me."

and so you did—completely letting go as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. your legs shook around namjoon's head, his free hand rubbing against your thigh gently while his two fingers slowed inside of you. his tongue moved against your folds slowly, taking in every last drop of your release between his lips.

when your body was finally at ease from the state of euphoria he took you to, namjoon trailed kisses from your stomach and up, his hands gently caressing your sides.

"look at you taking me so good," he murmured between kisses, lips on yours now. "think you're ready for my cock, hm, baby?"

you nodded quickly, practically squirming beneath him. "yes joon—need it so bad." your fingers found his belt loop—his large hands finding yours immediately, helping you take off his pants entirely.

it was then when you saw the largest imprint strained tightly against his boxers, making you swallow hard without even realizing. his fingers looped around the hem, taking them off in a swift motion as he stood up.

his cock sprung out in front of you—thick, long, and angry with pre-cum glistening at the end. you sat up straight, jaw slightly slack without even realizing. namjoon's lips fought a smirk as he hovered over you, large shoulders swell and thick member curving up.

his low eyes looked down at you, clouded with darkness. he wrapped his large hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking slightly while taking in the sight of you in front of him.

"fuck," he grunted, "don't got any condoms, baby." "it's okay, joon," you replied softly.

"you sure, doll?" he asked, tracing his fingers lightly against your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him fully.

you nodded. "wanna feel all of you," you said almost shyly.

"have no clue what you're doing to me," he responded lowly, almost to himself. then namjoon leaned down, grabbing your hips and lifting you up swiftly. you yelped in surprise as he sat down, bringing you back on top of his lap. only this time, you were skin to skin, your arousal miserably smearing onto his legs.

but he didn't seem to care. his large hands rubbed softly down your sides as he licked his lips. "you're so small, baby," he muttered in your ear, his thumb pressing into the side of your hip. "might break you."

"that's okay," you whispered, peering up at him with big, needy eyes.

"yeah?" he asked darkly, like your response had just snapped the last bit of restraint left in him. he held onto your hips firmly as he pulled you up, aligning your entrance with his cock. "gonna ruin you then, baby."

your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders immediately to steady yourself, his fat tip pushing through your folds and breaking into your tight entrance. you moaned out in a mix of pleasure and pain, feeling every inch of his width pushing slowly into your walls as you sunk down fully on his lap.

his grasp on you became tighter as he guided you further down, hissing in pleasure as he split you open widely with his cock. your eyes shut tight as your inner thighs kissed his. slowly, the tip of his member found the back of your walls, your head throwing back from the overwhelming stretch.

namjoon held you against him firmly, allow you to fully adjust to his length before he captured your lips into a kiss. "it's okay, doll," he murmured against you. "you're taking me so well."

after a minute of soft, warm coos in your ear—namjoon began to slide you up and down his vast length slowly with his large hands, emitting a loud whine from your lips. soon, he picked his pace, his cock repeatedly kissing the deepest part of your hole. "good baby... that's it," he praised lowly.

your head was filled with nothing but the thought of you, him, and his fat cock curving up inside of you and exploring your walls. he took you to a pure state of euphoria as he thrusted up in you. his hold was firm on you as he bounced you up and down his cock.

your eyes fluttered at your view, melting under his piercing gaze— his jaw tightened in pleasure and concentration, low eyes scanning your fucked-out expression hungrily. you nearly screamed in pleasure.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted in your ear, one large palm trailing up your sides before resting along your neck. his fingers wrapped around it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to apply pressure that made your mind dizzy and your pussy clench his member tightly.

his other hand came firmer around your waist before suddenly you were moving—your head being guided back down on the couch while your body was being manhandled by namjoon while he kept his cock buried deep inside of you. one hand settled beside your head while the other remained grazing your throat lightly.

once you both fully adjusted to the new position, namjoon continued to thrust in you, roaming your pussy at an entirely new angle. your wetness gushed around his cock sloppily, filling the room with lewd slapping noises. "you fit around me so well, doll," he muttered breathlessly, breath shooting down your spine as he littered messy kisses along your neck.

his hand traveled from your throat down to your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it softly. you were a moaning mess beneath him as he fucked you relentlessly now, tip slapping messily against the spongiest part of your walls, making your mind go blank.

his palm found its way around your thigh, lifting it above his shoulder. he closed the distance between you two, cock greedily marking a place inside your hole in a way no one had ever done before as his chest pressed against yours.

he rutted his length inside of you, making your eyes roll back and the couch move back and forth with every movement. "gonna fill you up tonight, doll. gonna make you mine," he murmured. "what do you think, baby?"

you could only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his cock buried so deeply inside of you. "nuh uh," namjoon ticked lowly, his thrusts becoming brutal. "wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby."

"mmph—yes~ make me yours, joon," you whined breathlessly.

you cried out—heat coiling unbearably in your stomach, pure bliss clouding your mind as namjoon picked up his pace, feeling your walls hugging him in tightly. "yeah... right where you belong baby," he muttered. "taking me so good like this."

your second orgasm of the night hit you even harder this time—ripping through you like a monstrous ocean wave. he fucked you through your high, your legs shaking violently against him; release spilling all over his cock as you moaned out his name breathlessly.

"that's it, baby," he grunted lowly as he made his final, slower thrusts, burying himself inside you as deep as possible before releasing his hot seed into your walls. "come on my dick, pretty girl."

your vision was practically filled with stars as your body became limp under his grasp. he milked his cock deep in your walls before he pulled out with a sharp hiss, laying down beside you—lengthy body half on the couch and half off of it.

you both laid there next to each other breathless, chests moving up and down in sync as you processed what had just happened.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the studio is quiet again.

it wasn't completely silent—just the low hum of equipment filling the room with one of his tracks still looping quietly in the background.

clothes half-on, curled against him on the couch with his large arm around your waist, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting you drift away.

for awhile, neither of you say anything. namjoon's fingers moved slowly against your side, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. the movement only grounded you into him more.

then finally, a low exhale left namjoon's lips. "c'mere," he murmurs softly, even though you were already pressed against him. his big hands slid higher along your back, pulling you in even closer anyway until your head was resting properly against his chest.

it only made your cheeks flush a bright red—the moment feeling possessive in a way that was ever so gentle. like he just needed to make sure you were still there. now, you can hear his heartbeat. it thumps steadily now against his large chest.

"you okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod against him. "yeah," you reply softly.

then his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss that lingers. "good," he murmurs.

something about the way he said it made warmth spread through your chest again. his hand settles at your waist once more, thumb brushing lightly beneath the fabric of your top. "you still overthinking?" he asks after a minute.

you let out a small laugh against his chest. "maybe a little."

a quiet hum leaves him. "don't."

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. his expression is softer now. his gaze still intense—because he always looks intense when looking at you—but softer. "you regret it?" he asks gently.

you shook your head immediately. "no," you replied, meaning it with everything in your chest.

at your words, something in namjoon's expressions shifts. it wasn't surprise, it was only something deeper. his hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.

"good," he says again, quieter this time. then, like his confidence had just made a return—"would've been a problem if you did."

you laugh softly, cheeks warming again. "you're crazy, joon."

"for you?" he murmurs. "starting to think maybe."

your stomach flips all over again. namjoon studies you for a second, gaze moving slowly across your face like he's memorizing it. like he still can't believe that you're here. with him, and in his arms.

his hand slides along your thigh gently. this time, it isn't teasing. instead, it feels familiar and warm. "come back to my place," he says quietly.

you hesitate for maybe half a second, but only because your heart is racing faster than your mind. his thumb brushes lightly against your leg. "you don't have to leave, doll," he murmurs.