#pjms

you moved. not with intention to provoke, but with the kind of fluidity that made gravity feel like it existed for you alone. you slowly grinded against his lap, the music soft and faint in the distance. jimin couldn't blink, or breathe. his attention was soley fixated on you.

after a few moments of intense staring, your hips grinding against his lap, a small smirk tugged at your lips before you spoke. ''you can hold my waist.'' you said. so he did, he softly placed his hands on your sides, breaking the eye contact as he looked down at your body. slow, rhythmic, hypnotic even. the grip on his shoulders tightened as you picked up the pace. his breath hitched. you were fully grinding against him now, the premise of a private dance completely forgotten.

but jimin only followed, tightening the grip on your hips as the thin fabric of your lace undies rubbed against his jeans. you felt his boner from beneath you, confirmation that you were doing the right thing. his breath intensified. he threw his head back against the velvet chair, pulling your body closer to him in one swift motion.

''jimin.'' you whisper into the air. he nods, his eyes closed, his head still against the seat. ''jimin.'' you repeated, softer now. ''hmm?'' he groans, the touch of you feeling faint, almost nonexistant.

''jimin?''

jungkook hovered over him, long black strings of his hair dangling from above jimin's face. ''wake up.'' jungkook says, shaking the bed. jimin's eyes flutter open, his breathing fast and intense. ''we're going to be late, but fine.'' jungkook says, quickly surrendering to the difficult task of waking jimin up. ''if they ask, tell them it's your fault.''

as jungkook leaves the room, jimin takes a heavy breath. fuck. get it together, park jimin.

you were gone. nowhere to be seen, inaccessible. not in a club with him, hidden in the dark corners of the private lounge, giving him a lap dance so intense he was on the brink of cumming through his jeans. you were merely a memory of the past now. he wondered if he'd ever see you again.

the glossy black sedan eased to a stop without a sound. even the engine seemed to know not to intrude here. jimin stared through the tinted window at the building before him, or what appeared to be a building. from the outside, it was nothing but a narrow, blackened structure wedged between two glass high-rises in Gangnam. no sign. no windows. no indication of life. if not for the faint pulse of crimson light seeping from a slit along the entrance, he would’ve thought his driver had made a mistake.

“your membership card, sir,” his personal driver murmured, passing a sleek black card into his hand. one word gleamed in deep, blood-red foil, engraved into the card:

Velvet.

Park Jimin. Status: Elite Member

this was not on any map. not on any social registry. not even whispered about in the schedules of actors, idols, or CEOs who claimed to have seen everything worth seeing. Velvet was a myth, something elites claimed to have visited in song lyrics or drunken boastings but never described.

no one ever dared.

with one final breath, jimin stepped out into the cool night air. the door closed behind him like the sealing of a fate. he approached the entrance, where two bouncers in crisp, fitted black suits stood motionless. their posture was casual, but there was something unmistakable about them, the kind of stillness belonging not to hired guards, but trained predators. their cufflinks alone were worth more than most people’s cars.

they scanned him once. not his ID, him. approval came in the form of silence. a panel in the wall slid open soundlessly, revealing a low-lit corridor lined with dark, velvet-padded walls. it was like being swallowed. soft music echoed in the distance. not upbeat, not loud. it slithered, slow and sultry, a honeyed bassline that curled around the spine and whispered come closer.

jimin followed the glow until the corridor opened into a scene that almost knocked the breath from his lungs. it wasn’t a club. it was an altar to decadence.

the entire space was drenched in deep, carmine red. walls draped in velvet curtains that glimmered like wet wine under golden chandeliers. the lights were low, never harsh, casting silhouettes rather than faces. there were no tables, only semi-circular lounges sunk into the floor like royal dens, trimmed with gold and obsidian. smoke drifted lazily from crystal hookah pipes. champagne bottles popped without celebration, sound swallowed by the bass.

everyone was beautiful. not in a manufactured, media-trained way, but effortlessly, cruelly. the kind of beauty that came from legacy bloodlines and immaculate confidence. idols jimin had only seen on award show broadcasts. heirs of chaebol families he’d overheard executives whispering about. foreign royalty. even the bartenders, each one looked like they belonged on magazine covers, serving drinks as if it were performance art, rather than what they depended on for income.

but it wasn’t the patrons who stole his attention. not the billionaires lounging with indifference, and not the actresses laughing behind jeweled fingers. it was the stage. barely raised, framed by velvet curtains and bathed in a single spotlight. empty, for now.

until the music shifted.

the bass grew darker. thicker. like ragged cloth dragged over skin. a hush rolled through the room, conversations dissolving midsentence as every head turned. someone was coming. from behind the curtain, a silhouette emerged. slow. unhurried. confident in a way that didn’t ask for attention, but instead commanded it.

you.

your body was draped in black silk that clung to your frame like it had been poured there. no jewelry. no unnecessary embellishments. just the fluid grace of someone who had never needed to beg to be seen.

you didn’t smile. you didn’t flirt. you simply existed.

and the room bent around you.

jimin forgot to breathe.

he had seen dancers all his life. in studios, rehearsals, stages. he is one. but this? this wasn’t choreography. this wasn’t for applause. this was possession. to remind every elite individual in the audience that although they ran the industry, they didn't run you.

every movement was liquid, spine arching like a serpent, fingers trailing through the air as if writing some forbidden prayer. you danced not for the crowd, but as if the space itself was bowing under you, velvet floors aching to be touched. you never looked at the audience.

until you did, straight at him.

it was brief , a flicker of acknowledgment, gone before it could be questioned. but it landed with precision. a warning, challenge, maybe even a promise. jimin felt it like static beneath his skin. for the first time in a long time, the idol who spent years onstage…

…wanted to leave his seat and approach. not as park jimin. not as the adored, untouchable star. but rather, as a man who had just found the one soul in the room who didn’t care who he was.

and that was more dangerous than anything he’d ever known.

-

the only person who failed to remain poker faced was jimin. his face said it all. a mix of curiosity, lust, and a desire to know more about you. he felt empty but full at the same time. half-hungry.

it had felt as though the performance ended without warning.

no final pose. no grand finish. you simply stopped, mid-turn, as if deciding the moment was no longer worth sharing. the music faded beneath your silence, and the lights dimmed until your figure was nothing but a suggestion behind the velvet curtain.

jimin stood before he even realized he had moved. a few heads turned lazily in his direction, but no one stopped him. patrons in Velvet were used to people following their vices. his feet carried him toward the stage with purpose, past waiters with wine-dark trays, past murmuring heirs who already looked bored of their own access. the curtain swallowed him whole.

the backstage corridor was narrow, lined not with utility equipment or exit signs, but mirrors. floor to ceiling, tinted like aged gold. in the dim light, his reflection looked like a stranger. flushed cheeks. tense jaw. pupils blown wide.

he paced down the hall, turning corners that looped like a maze, curtained doorways leading to private dressing lounges, silk curtains shifting from an invisible breeze. every few steps, he caught a trace of something, jasmine, maybe. or danger.

you had gone this way. he knew it.

he was close. too close.

he turned one last corner and froze. your silk wrap lay draped over a chaise lounge. still warm. recently touched. but you were nowhere. no footsteps. no doors opening. no whispered laughter. just silence. as if you had evaporated. jimin stood still for a long moment, staring at the silk like it might come alive. his fingers hovered above it, wanting to touch, but knowing it would say too much if he did.

“looking for someone?”

the voice came from behind him. smooth, unconcerned, and masculine. jimin turned to see one of the bartenders leaning against the wall. tall, immaculate, with an accent jimin couldn’t place. probably european. most likely old money. before jimin could answer, the bartender smiled with a knowing tilt of his head.

“best not to chase ghosts here.”

“i’m not chasing anyone,” jimin replied too quickly.

the bartender’s grin widened, as if he found the denial amusing. “everyone chases someone in Velvet. some find them. some never do.”

jimin clenched his jaw. “who was she?” the bartender’s eyes flicked to the silk on the couch, then back to him.

“she’ll find you, if she wants to.”

“if?” jimin says, not liking that answer.

a shrug. “no one finds her. she chooses.”

jimin stood there, heartbeat steadying but refusing to calm. you hadn’t just slipped away. you had decided to leave before he could reach you, as if watching from the shadows, waiting to see if he’d follow. and now, he had. the bartender stepped past him, pausing only to whisper, “welcome to Velvet, jimin. try not to lose yourself, even if the temptation seems to be pulling you into a hole too deep to crawl out of.''

-

he didn’t see you again that night.

no repeat performance. no glimpse from across the room. not even a flicker of your silhouette in the velvet haze of the club.

the longer he stayed, the more Velvet felt different. as if the entire place had agreed to pretend you didn’t exist. conversations resumed, laughter returned. even the music shed the weight of its earlier seduction.

the world moved on, but jimin couldn’t.

at last, long past midnight, he let the illusion swallow itself. he slipped toward the exit, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched as if physically restraining the need to turn back. the door shut behind him with a soft hiss. cool night air met him like a slap. the silence outside was jarring after the honey-thick atmosphere of the club. for a moment he just stood there, grounded in the unfamiliar sensation of emptiness.

no lights. no music. no eyes on him.

just darkness.

he stepped forward, his driver sitting in the car, waiting for him to get back inside to take you home. when suddenly,

“leaving so soon?”

the whisper wasn’t loud. it came from behind him, or beside him, or everywhere at once. close enough to raise goosebumps along the back of his neck.

he froze. the voice was unmistakable.

yours.

calm, unhurried, laced with quiet amusement, like you already knew his response. he turned slowly. but no one was there. the street was empty. the door behind him was shut. his pulse quickened, not in fear, but in realization. you hadn’t disappeared. you were watching. listening, choosing your moments. he swallowed, steadying his breath. his voice came out low. controlled.

“are you going to keep hiding?” a beat of silence.

then soft, like smoke curling against his ear:

“no. just waiting for you to decide how badly you want to find me.”

and then, nothing. no footsteps, no wind. only the echo of your words and the unmistakable truth settling into his bones:

this wasn’t a chase, this was a lure. and he had already taken the bait.

days had passed.

jimin hadn’t slept properly since that night. not because of work, not because of rehearsals, not because of awards or schedules, but because of you. the memory of your whisper lingered in his mind, crawling under his skin, a phantom pulse he couldn’t shake.

he tried to rationalize it. it was just a game, wasn’t it? a fleeting shadow in a club he would likely never see again. and yet… he was back. jimin didn’t come alone this time. jungkook, his bandmate and bestfriend, leaned casually against the sleek black sedan parked outside.

“velvet, huh?” jungkook murmured, peering at the nondescript building, running his tatted fingers over his name, engraved into his own membership card. “i thought it was a myth. the way you’ve been talking about it, i expected… i don’t know… smoke and mirrors.”

“something like that,” jimin replied, his voice low, clipped. “you’ll see.”

they entered.

inside, Velvet felt both familiar and alien. the red velvet walls swallowed the light in the same way as before, the chandeliers dripping gold over lounges sunk into shadow. but this time, jimin noticed everything differently. every glance, every whisper, every movement seemed sharper. more deliberate.

and he noticed it immediately: you were nowhere in sight. not on the stage, among the dancers. not in any of the corners. jungkook, unaware of the history, gave a low whistle. “pretty intense vibe. everyone here looks like they could own the world.”

jimin didn’t answer. he couldn’t. he scanned the room like a predator. his pulse picked up at the faintest flicker of movement behind the curtains. he knew you were here. he didn’t know how, but he felt it. minutes passed. drinks were poured. music slithered through the room, seductive and low, and yet jimin’s attention remained fractured, searching.

then… a whisper. not loud, not audible to anyone else. but to him:

“back so soon?” he froze, heart hammering.

he spun around. nothing.

only the curve of the velvet curtains swaying slightly, as if teasing him with your absence. jungkook nudged him. “you okay? you look like someone just… haunted you.”

“i’m fine,” jimin said, teeth clenched. his gaze stayed on the curtains. “just… remembering something.” you didn’t need to show yourself. you never did. every move was calculated, every appearance and disappearance, a test. a warning. a message.

jimin realized he wasn’t here to watch. he was here to find you. and this time, he wasn’t leaving until he did. but the tension coiled tighter, because in Velvet, no one ever truly belongs. not even an idol.

not even him.

-

jimin had waited just long enough for the crowd to settle, for the music to thrum low in its sultry pulse. then, he slipped away. ''i'll be back.'' he murmured to jungkook. jungkook, however, was too drunk to care. his eyes glossed over as he swayed his body to the haunting music. a dancer rubbing his shoulder gently, enticing him to a private dance.

past velvet curtains, past the glow of chandeliers. past the dancers and bartenders who never acknowledged him. backstage. again.

it was quieter this time, somehow. suffused with a mix of perfume, sweat, and polished leather. dim sconces cast soft shadows along the walls, illuminating nothing but hints, a chaise lounge here, a discarded silk wrap there.

every instinct screamed at him to stop. but he had to find you. and then… a voice.

“you shouldn’t be here.”

jimin froze.

not a whisper, not playful or teasing. firm, direct. controlled. your voice carried through the backstage, soft but impossible to ignore. he spun toward it. there you were. standing in the center of the space, arms crossed, eyes dark and calculating. you were draped in black silk, like the previous night, every fold absorbing the faint light, making you look almost like a shadow pulled from the room itself.

“i could feel you coming,” you continued. “sneaking behind curtains, tiptoeing through a world you barely understand.”

“i… i had to,” he admitted, voice low. “i…”

“you don’t get to just walk in here,” you interrupted, stepping closer, each movement deliberate. “velvet isn’t a playground for idols. you’re not supposed to see this. not yet. not like this. the people here know they don't run things, for once.”

jimin’s pulse quickened. “then tell me what i am supposed to do. tell me how to...”

you held up a hand. silence fell, thick and suffocating. he could hear only the faint hum of the club beyond the walls and the uneven rhythm of his own heartbeat. “i’m not going to tell you anything,” you said finally. “not tonight. not until you’ve proven you’re willing to play by my rules. and even then…” you tilted your head slightly, voice dropping into a whisper that made the hair on his arms stand on end. “…i decide when, where, and how. not you. you don't get to chase me around like a dog running after a treat. like i said, that's not how that works here.”

“i… yes,” he said, though he wasn’t sure whether he understood. only that he wanted to. you smiled faintly, a curve so subtle it could have been mistaken for shadow. a new player for your own made up game. “good, then leave. think about what you want. decide how badly you’re willing to risk it. because if you cross the wrong line here, your idol face and status doesn't get to save you.”

the warning lingered in the air as you stepped back, merging with the shadows once again. jimin’s hands itched to follow, to grab, to demand. but he stayed rooted, not wanting this game to end before it could even start.

and as he finally slipped back into the main floor of velvet, he knew one thing with absolute clarity:

he would follow you anywhere. no matter the cost. which was risky and dangerous, he knew very well. but it was a risk that he was willing to take, which scared him the most.