#rm fics

The nights where the wind howled against the corners of the church and crashed against the stained glasses are always the most insufferable, Namjoon observed. 

Those are the nights where drunken men or sobbing women approach the building with their sins sitting at the edge of their tongue, ready to spew their darkest secrets to the man sitting behind the thin plywood wall.

It's amazing how easily they confess their sins just because their faces are obstructed from his gaze. Humans are more confident admitting to their crimes when they don't know or don't perceive the person they're confessing to.

He'd be subjected to listen to their confessions varying from disloyalty to their spouses, either a far-away admiration situation or a recurring event of waking up in another’s arms and another room, or something as mundane as stealing someone's jewelry. 

He had preached about the sin of adultery at least once a month in this small town at the outskirts of Seoul and he'd stare into the eyes of the people, both sinners and not, as he says and recited the verses from the bible. Yet even with the obvious hits they're taking, the sinners would look back at him with the indifference of a man who couldn’t care less until he’s found out—all the while they sit next to their spouses.

Namjoon could never understand why humans could never be content with what they have.

They marry one another in front of the lord with pledges of love and protection, with all the adoration and devotion in their eyes for their partner only to seek a different tongue in a few years.

Not that he could say much in the matter as he has never experienced such a thing, otherwise he’d be critiqued to the hells for doing so.

But one thing’s for sure, his heart, although should hold no one else but the lord, still beats and skips in his chest every once and a while at the sight of you.

You who have the entirety of the galaxy twinkling in the abyss of your eyes and possess the sweetest of laughs that sounded like church bells ringing when it erupts. 

Namjoon barely knows anything about you. Other than your frequent visits to the church to help the nuns with the garden and the children, and the fact that you just moved into this town a few months ago, you’re practically a stranger to him.

It was amazing how despite knowing so little about you, his heart still stuttered without fail whenever you greeted him with a wide smile. You always waved at him so sweetly, with a smile stretched wide and bright as the most joyful sun, and your eyes glimmering like glitters had spilled over it. You made him feel like you were beyond enthusiastic whenever you beam at him.

It’s just a simple connection between a priest and a citizen yet whenever you pass by him with a subtle shake in your hips or move your hair away and expose your unblemished neck to him, Namjoon almost forgets himself every time.

The scent of your perfume tantalises him. It taunts his rosary-bound hands to break free so he could finally swallow you whole. He had never thought how a sweet scent could elicit such an emotion until then.

Namjoon can’t even remember the last time he had a peaceful night where he wasn’t restlessly tossing around in his bed trying to ignore the ache and the need to relieve himself off of his frustrations, nor can he recall the last moments where his mind stop conjuring the imagery of him snapping and bending you over on his table, fucking you rough and hard in front of the Lord’s statues.

As much as he liked to think he'd take you gently in your bed like the gentleman he thinks himself to be, there’s an insatiable beast fighting to break out of its cage within him. A monster who'd love nothing but eat you, leaving nothing, not even a piece of your bone, out. A beast who'd devour you unapologetically until your scent and taste has ingrained itself to every crevice of his brain, and has begun to taunt him in his waking days.

It was a morbid thought a person, a priest nonetheless, like him shouldn’t have but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you.

A priest who lusts over someone, whose hands are becoming more tainted and occupied with every day passing as she grows closer to him, he's no different from the others he swore to never turn into. The only difference was the cassock he wears, white and ironed to perfection without a single flaw in sight—a complete juxtaposition of the conflict and the corruption welling inside of him.

Would you run if you ever find out how often he had uttered your name in pure, unadulterated pleasure and had your image sullied by his thoughts?

Today was unfortunately one of those nights he dreaded. 

Not only because of the lack of visitors but also because the silence only brought the images of you smiling at him at the front of his mind before his own deprivation infects its sweetness to replace it with something darker, filthier. He takes a steadying deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the nips of the chilly breeze seeping into the church. 

The silence in the chapel is torturous, it's almost enough to make him wish for the usual boring confessions from the town folks.

It wasn't until midnight did the double doors finally creaked open and came in footsteps approaching the booth, it sounded nervous and jittery, making him wonder if this person's confession is more than adultery or lying.

Namjoon couldn't help but be hopeful that it'll be a different topic tonight.

He's tired of Saeyoung telling him of her recent adventures with her neighbour's husband or hearing Byunseok’s sluggish recollection of his latest sexual encounter with a younger woman after work when his wife is sick at home.

It's not like he could even interfere with their lives, the church must remain neutral. Namjoon has gained the trust of every individual in this small town after years of serving. Everybody had visited the chapel to confess their sins and guilt at least once, he's not about to risk the townspeople’s trust in him just because he's bored and wanted to stir some drama.

Upon hearing the person take a seat, he starts. "Good evening, my child. What brought you to this seat on this fine evening?"

To his surprise, the other person did not respond for a long while. Furrowing his brows, he tried to take a peek through the narrow spaces of the blinds to try and figure out who he's talking to but the church is far too dim and the holes on the divider are far too small for him to make out any distinct features.

But one thing's for sure, this person is undoubtedly new to confessing.

There was a beat of hesitance that hung between them, heavy and tense, like the weight of this person’s sin is sitting on their tongue. 

Maybe this night will be different, Namjoon thought optimistically.

"Father, I have sinned."

Namjoon's heart fluttered in his chest when he heard your voice. It rang around the small space of the booth and his heart beat followed the rhythm of its echoes. Only for them to freeze and halt as fast as they came as a realization cold as the night breeze hits him.

What could you have done so atrociously that you felt the need to confess your sins?

Clearing his throat, he asked. "How so? Tell me so I can pray your sins away."

There was a long pause that followed, and for a moment, Namjoon thought you fluttered away in your nervousness but soon enough, you replied.

"I lust for someone and I don't know how to act upon it..."

Never have his heart fall to his feet faster than when he heard your whisper. Anger is red and hot as Namjoon has always recalled. It reared its ugly head at the back of his mind, his stomach churning uncomfortably as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts full of mixed matched and conflicting arguments between his logic and feelings. 

Just the thought of this someone he doesn’t know lingering in your mind, making your heart race and occupying your thoughts… 

His blood boiled vehemently to his core, yet the pain from hearing the person you like seek a different person had easily drowned it out.

The stretched stagnant silence between them was broken by your sigh as you continued your tale. Namjoon didn't know if he was thankful you agreed to continue your tale so his mind wouldn’t linger on the heartbreak and pain or angered by the way you described this person like he breathes life into everything and everyone around him.

“... I’ve only been here for two months but never have I ever fallen for someone as fast as I did for him.”

Your voice trembled, not only in nervousness but also a hint of shyness, the same tone when people are sheepish and blushing when they introduce their crush to a friend. His jaw clenched, his fists turning white as his nails dug into his skin. He itched to drive them to the nearest item but he knew he had to keep his composure.

He can’t be acting like a child who didn’t get the toy he asked his parents for.

Clearing his throat, he replied. “So not only do you lust for him but also love him?”

“I-I do, father.”

He had mentally prepared himself to hear your admission but to actually hear it? His heart crumbled to his feet and he took a shaky intake of breath.

He knew well enough how tight the rosary had bound his hands, knew how much of a lost cause this relationship was. Of course he never stood a chance. You know his boundaries more than he does at this point. Just one passing breeze carrying your scent along can make his reasoning dissolve within milliseconds, with it goes his desire to serve Him.

Maybe this was the sign from above to stop, a punishment for disobeying and lusting over someone in his presence. 

Is this the lesson you want to teach me, God?

“Father?”

Despite the resignation echoing across his system, some part of him wanted to rebel and complain at how unfair it is. He made love for everyone to indulge and experience, so why can’t he, his follower and proclaimer of his words and teaching, feel and express it?

As someone a step higher from the common folk, should he be granted his greatest gift to humankind?

“Father? A-are you still there?”

“Lusting for someone who’s not your husband... What a naughty girl you are.”

Namjoon has no idea what compelled him to say such a thing to you, the woman of his childhood dreams. He should give up already, the logical part of him knew that but the other part of him urged him to continue, to hold onto the thinnest thread of hope that maybe this man you’re raving about is him.

It was delusional, a last stand of an approach of a desperate man, but for some reason, he couldn't stop himself from wanting to do it.

“H-he already thinks of me sinful for wishing to him every night… for someone to bend me over and fuck me rough like I’m nothing but a toy.”

A delicious shiver slithered down his spine at your words, urging blood up to heat his cheeks and down between his thighs. He groaned softly.

You sounded so sultry with a voice so sweet, a succubus disguised as an angel descending to break him. It was dangerous to listen to you but he couldn’t help himself. Your voice holds the promise of a heated night and as a man made stupid by love and desire, he was being lured in so easily.

Would the lord approve of how easily his child is being coaxed into sinning?

“Tell me, do you ever touch yourself for him? Wishing it was his fingers and cock inside of you?”

You responded with a soft moan and he almost bolted from his seat to cross the very boundary he was adamant to keep.

“Yes father. Every night I dream of him making me come over and over again, not stopping even when I plead to him to stop.”

“What a mouth you have there. How bold of you to ask God himself for a good fuck and talk dirty to a priest."

Stop, a part of him weakly but desperately begged. But his heart and body is already bewitched, mind corrupted with the burning ache and desire. A couple of dirty talking with you and he was quick to sell his soul to the devil just so he could have a taste of your sweetness.

Namjoon is far too gone, on his knees in desperation, to stop himself.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

You were challenging him, coaxing him to fall harder than he already is from God's grace to enjoy a night of passion with you.  

And it worked.

The string of constraint snaps and he’s immediately on his feet. Namjoon crossed the distance between you and him in record speed, rounding the corner to the other side of the booth and pulling the curtain open to see you look up at him with excitement and fear in your eyes.

“Step out of the booth and kneel in front of the cross to pray, I will baptise you once you show remorse to the Lord."

He watched intently as you stood up with shaky legs, approaching the wooden podium noiselessly, the silence growing with intensity with every footsteps taken. 

It was suffocating and exhilarating at the same time.

This is crazy, this is crazy. His thoughts bounced around his mind but he could care less, he started this and he will see through it all.

Approaching you from behind, his eyes wandered over the statue before him. The stained glass windows casted a shadow over the face of the figurine nailed on the cross. With its sculpted face tilted down and an expression ever-so firm and stern almost felt like it was frowning at him for a split second.

It was spine chilling how it felt like its eyes were made to glower at him with disgust. Namjoon's guts twisted at the thought, fear rising up to his throat only to disperse the moment he saw you kneel onto the red carpet, waiting for the priest to arrive and deliver his blessing, waiting for no one but him.

Your prayer left your lips in hushed whispers with both hands cupping each other close to your mouth. With the moon beaming down onto your poorly dressed self, it almost felt like He was raining blessings onto you as you prayed. It felt so wrong seeing you kneel before the sculpture, reciting your prayers to the Lord and being holier than he, who thinks of nothing but how he's going to drive you into the floor.

It felt sacrilegious how he's making you pray before you both sin in front of His statue, he shouldn't be doing this.

But why does it feel so exciting to rebel against Him?

Turning towards the church gate, he quickly crossed the distance between him and the entrance and closed it. The lock echoed with a loud metallic clang and he saw you shiver noticeably at the sound. If couples had wedding bells to finalize their wedding as they leave, the resonating sound of the doors closing was his and yours. 

Nobody is to enter the premises without his permission, no one can interrupt his moment with you. 

(If someone were to interrupt this moment, he fears he might cower back into his room and never show up again.)

"Father?" You sounded so small, like a rabbit one breath away from bolting and it made his twisted heart race.

"Can't have anyone entering such a holy space during a cleansing, you wouldn't want anyone to see how much of a bad girl you are, do you?"

Namjoon has never been as nervous as he is now, nor has he felt so wrong and dirty for what he's about to do next. He wasn't this nervous when he moved out of his parents' house nor was he ever this ashamed to look up into the eyes of the stoic figurine. 

Yet there he was… A pin-drop interruption away from cowering in a corner. Both sides of himself stuck in an on-going tug of war between his human desires and his god-fearing heart screaming at him.

Even every step he takes towards the front where you kneel and shiver felt like he was striding towards his death.

His eyes wandered back to the divine sculpture pinned between mismatched panes of colored glasses for the last time and Namjoon's chest tightened.

God wanted his children to live happily so he invented Love and gifted it to mankind to enjoy. This is one of the things that'll give Namjoon joy, surely the divine and benevolent God could turn a blind eye to this one sin he's about to commit.

Seeing the delectable tremble that shook your body after his words, his human desires pushed further front and the shame completely dispersed. Namjoon wanted to see your reaction. Standing before you, he ached for a glimpse of your cheeks flushing dark in his presence when he crouched in front of you. Hand reaching down to pinch your chin, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes.

There was something addicting with the way you easily surrendered control to him. It feels exhilarating seeing you kneeling so prettily for him with hands splayed on your thighs and staring up at him with wide eyes brimming with an excited desire. He couldn’t help but wonder if those eyes will retain their warmth and crave for his touch if you ever caught a glimpse of whatever his mind conjures up whenever he thinks of you.

"This is your last chance to leave. Back out while you still can because I won't be responsible for what happens next."

The rosary hanging from his neck scorched his skin, their round beads dug and burned through his clothes and into his skin as if it was trying to revoke him like a demon. The accessory weighed heavier on his neck than any other day when he took it off and held it in his hand. It was a reminder of his duty as a priest who has made the pledge of Chastity, the same promise he’s about to break for you.

Namjoon wanted to offer you the choice of stopping because he didn't trust himself to keep a sound mind once he gets a taste of you.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you being pressured into having sex with him.

“Darling?”

You let out a shaky exhale. “Yes, Father Kim.”

He let out a shaky breath as he thumbed the beaded necklace. “Good girl, now start praying.”

Namjoon watched as your eyes grew comically wide in shock, cheeks burning in humiliation as your head fell to your chest. You must be worried that he was actually thinking of cleansing you from your sins and he held back the urge to laugh.

How adorable.

But those worries dissipated once his large hand took yours and pressed the rosary into your palms.

Of all the hands he’s seen having the accessory hang from during the Sunday masses, he could confidently say that yours is the greatest of all. He wondered how your wrists looked when tied tightly with it, how pretty the redness from the beads being pressed into your skin would look like.

“You only stop if I tell you to, alright? If you disobey, there will be consequences.”

With a nod, you started muttering your prayers and he went ahead to claim the lone bottle on the counter a few strides away.

"I'll start the baptising now."

But instead of going through the whole ordeal of sprinkling bits of the holy water on you like a proper priest would, he uncapped the bottle and poured half of its contents onto you.

The water is truly holy, he thought as he stared at the sight of your crimson red bra appearing through the soaked front of your top.

You gasped as the liquid drenched your shirt. The red compliments your skin so perfectly it hurts, the bold shade screamed sin and it pains him that he's not seeing it properly.

"My apologies, I must've forgotten to tighten the bottle cap when I had it refilled. That shirt must be uncomfortable, we can proceed without it."

He went around you like a predator stalking his prey with hands holding onto your shoulders as he kneeled, giving it a comforting squeeze before he reached around to undo two buttons. Your breath hitched when the collar loosened, he knew deep within that it was from the excitement and arousal yet he couldn’t help but be worried.

Namjoon would rather die and never see you again than be hated by you after using his power as a priest to force you into agreeing to this.

"Sweetheart, are you sure you want this?"

You nodded but it only made the dread in his heart grow larger.

Knowing he wouldn't be coaxing any words out of you any further, he poured all the remaining contents of the bottle onto your head, unsatisfied by your response. The fabric is practically translucent against your skin, what a blessed sight for such a sinful eye.

You gasped as the chilly temperature encouraged goosebumps on your skin but he could care less, he needed to hear you say it.

"Words princess. I need to hear them."

"Yes, Father. I want this so much, I want you."

Hearing his title glide off of your lips made him shiver. 

"Good girl." 

With no more hesitation, his hands made quick work of your shirt, shedding it off and tossing it somewhere behind him.

The new uncharted skin revealed to him made his breath hitch. Body feverish as he stared at unmarked territory beneath his fingers, the goosebumps he felt under his touch sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. The anger from earlier resurfaced as he began to think about how all this pretty, unblemished skin could've been for someone else to mark and kiss. This could've been for some man.

But that matters not anymore, not when he's the one about to decorate it with his kisses and marks.

Namjoon listened to your breathing as he leaned in close to lightly nibble on your skin. Even with all of his being urging him to leave obvious, glaring marks all over your neck, he was careful not to leave a long lasting mark in any obvious spot and began drifting down to a more inconspicuous area to suck on. 

As much as he wanted everyone to know you've been fucked thoroughly by him tonight, he knows you wouldn't like the extra attention from having them.

“Wearing such a promiscuous bra at a church, did you ever plan on repenting for your sins? Or were you hoping that someone would take you home and fuck you like the slut you are?”

“No sir, it's only for your eyes, Father Kim.”

He chuckled, pleased. “If it's a present for me, then shouldn’t I unwrap it?”

His pecks turned into open mouthed kisses and soon, he was laving on the skin hiding your rapid heartbeat with his tongue. Every sigh you emit sends pleasurable jolts downward, hearing you moan out his name in a breathy voice as you leaned closer to his touch had him wanting to coax it out more. It was addicting having you call for him in the haze of your pleasure.

Your sweet, honeyed scent is addicting as it surrounds him and like the addict he is, he willingly drowned himself in them, letting your perfume cloud his lust-addled mind further.

Even then, he noticed the lack of prayers from you and he brought his hand down on your inner thigh, you gasped.

"I'm not hearing your prayers missy, don't think I've forgotten that."

If you continued, he didn't even realise. His focus zoned on the feeling of lace under his touch as his fingers caressed the hem of your bra, enjoying the hitched breaths his touch was causing you, before finally unclasping your bra and disposing them somewhere behind him with your shirt.

His hands greedily grabbed onto your breast as it spilled freely. He groaned at the feeling of your pebbled nipples poking his palm. It was screaming for his attention, urging him to pinch them. You arched into his hands when he began to knead them as low keens spilled from your lips.

He felt like a high schooler who just saw boobs for the first time in his life, a teenager about to cream his pants after holding a woman's breast in his palm. 

"So pretty for me."

As his hands began to pinch the stiffened peaks of your mounds, you squirmed in his hold with your nails digging into his forearm as he tugged and gently played with them with his pointer fingers and thumbs. 

It wasn't long before you're desperately arching into his touch as he rolled and pinched your nipples. Your soft, shy keens have also dissolved into full blown moans as you twist and clench your thighs together to relieve yourself of the frustration and ache of desire. Namjoon feels intoxicated from watching and hearing you be so keen for his touch. 

He thinks he might actually lose his mind once he begins to finger you open for him.

“Father, please..!”

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell your darling priest what you want from him.”

“I-I want more.. Yo-your fingers please..!”

Deciding to have some mercy on you, he put his legs over yours and parted you wide open for him. 

His long hands trailed down your legs teasingly, dropping to your inner thighs before they caress you up to your knees. 

"Father Kim, please."

His hands slowly wandered higher and you shivered when his thumbs reached the plush outside of your pussy and began to press circles on them, stimulating you just enough to feel pleasure but not relieved of its ache.

"What is it?" He purred out.

"Touch me please..."

"But I am touching you." 

You arched into his fingers, trying to make him touch your clit but he knew better and pulled away.

"Fuck—please.. just touch me!" You groaned out, frustrated.”

"Tell me how you want it, sweetheart."

Arousal burned your cheeks a deeper red as you grabbed his hand on your inner thigh and dragged them to your itching heat, leading him to where you want him most. His breath hitched at the delicious shiver that wracked through your body when his fingers pressed against your slit. 

Namjoon’s head felt light when you pushed his fingers down on your prominent nub, the festering desire in his chest expanding as you moaned at his touch. His breath was knocked out of his chest when he felt the engorged bud, mind growing more hazy and foggy with lust as you manoeuvre his wrist to roll it between his fingers. Between the fabric under his digits growing wetter and the image of your hips growing more frantic as it chased the ecstasy he offered, Namjoon began to question how he’s keeping his sanity.

“You’re making me crazy.”

The heat radiating off of your clothed folds is already maddening. Namjoon couldn’t imagine how he’d react once he finally strips you off of your remaining clothing and revels in the liquid arousal he had caused you.

He could feel the burning phantom stare above him. It's heavy with judgment, condemning. Shame curled and tightened around his heart as he forced himself to stare down at you. 

In the feverish haze of his lust, Namjoon had momentarily forgotten the pledge he had taken in favor of satisfying the ravenous hunger of his flesh. 

It was easier to push the disapproving thoughts manifested by his conscience to the back of his head but now that he's touching you, feeling you through the fabric of the thin pajamas your wore, guilt festered within his already darkened heart, it weighed like cold, stone bricks and it continued to stack over each other. 

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He had taken the pledge of chastity, had promised his mother to be better than his father who had easily succumbed to his desires.

What would his mother think of him? The thought made him freeze, body locking stiff as insects began to worm under his skin. Would she frown seeing how easily he too surrendered to lust like his father did?

"Namjoon? Are you okay?"

Hearing his name be uttered by your lips for the first time, he snapped out of his thoughts.

You were looking up at him with wide eyed concern. When he didn’t respond, you reached for his face and cradled it between two hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I-I just got a bit distracted that’s all…” He replied, the words dying in his throat as he gazed into your eyes. So soft and caring. 

It makes the creeping dread sink deeper into his heart, his conscience growing louder the more he stares at you, the soul he, a priest, is corrupting instead of cleansing and relieving it of its human errors. 

How could he?

“Joon, I want this.” You said, voice pulling him up from the murky depths of his own conflicting emotions. “Do you regret it? Regret me?”

“No, I—”

“Then let go and fall, fall into sin with me, father Kim.”

Your words dripped with honey and it pooled beneath you like a trap but he was no less than a bee that willingly flew into the sickening sweetness of your offering. Temptation sounded the most irresistible when it comes from the lips of those you desired for so long. Like a beast finally freed from its cage, Namjoon let himself go.

He leaned down and captured your lips. Now, uncaring of what a piece of carved wood would think of his actions, he kissed you with the intention to steal your love and your soul. You were molded against the curve of his lips but ever so covetous the human heart is, he thought it wasn’t enough. 

Months of longing and nights left unsatisfied with his hands alone eats away at his control, the pent up unresolved desire piling and piling upon each other until it was all that his mind could spill out. If Namjoon thought he was insatiable earlier, he was ravenous now.

Your words had opened more than the gilded cage he had pushed and crammed his desires into, there’s something more sinister, more 

The corner of his mouth tugged up. "Asking to be finger fucked in front of the lord, aren’t you ashamed?"

“No, please…!” You groaned as you pushed his hand down, mewling at the pressure applied to your clit. The fabric was absolutely drenched in your wetness and Namjoon almost blacked out.

He didn’t need to hear your words next, his hand pulling the cloth to one side before the other slid down into your folds, brushing over your clenching hole and rising up to press onto your clit. You moaned, hips following the slow swirl of his finger.

Namjoon wondered what he could do to you, there’s a lot of possibilities and he’s lightheaded at the thought of them. 

He could have you trembling from pleasure upon pleasure here on the floor but he could also treat you properly and calmly guide you to your climax. Namjoon wondered what could satisfy a minx like you.

“Namjoon please…”

Of course this isn't enough. He slipped two fingers in and you let out a strangled moan at the sudden but welcomed intrusion, back arching when he curled his digit to reach up to the spongy spot continuously that got your hips rising from the floor.

You moaned and panted so sweetly in his ears, hands gripping onto his sleeves as he plunged his two fingers in and out of your cunt at a growing frequency.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

His hand picked up a pace and you mewled, head falling back to his shoulder as your hips rose to meet his thrusts. The wet squelch bouncing off the walls with every thrust of his finger made your cheeks burn from embarrassment but they only goaded him on. 

The apparent burning phantom stare now numb to him as he opened your thighs further for his gaze.

Namjoon felt light at the feeling of your walls clamping around his hand greedily, sucking him in yet also pushing him out, it was maddening. His length ached behind the confines of his pants, desiring nothing but to plunge himself into your heat and die a happy man.

“My little princess is so drenched for me.” He slid another digit into your folds, smoothly joining the already inserted fingers in its increasing pace and you fluttered. “Don't you have any shame for spreading your legs in front of God?”

A slick slap tore a yelp from your throat, the sting lighting your skin aflame before his fingers plunged itself again into your hole with a renewed vigour, the new pace got your knees flinching to close but his legs wedging between them prevented it from shutting and instead opened it further.

You cursed under your breath, hands rising up to massage your breasts, pulling on your nipples as you moaned like a crazy woman in his arms.

Namjoon watched with bated breath as his hands retracted and reentered your cunt, throat tightening as your walls clamped onto his curling fingers with an iron grip. You were crumbling in his arms and he’s elated, he was enjoying his effect on you, whose body is sensitive and responsive to his every touch.

It was an addictive feeling and he’s obsessed.

“Fa-faster…! Fuck.. Namjoon!”

"Aren't you ashamed you're being finger fucked in front of the lord, princess?"

You clenched at him as your head shifted in his shoulder, probably to look at the statue above you both before moaning a little louder than before, undeterred by the omniscient eyes possibly watching him pump his fingers in and out of you.

He thrust his fingers in and out feverishly, like his life depended on it. With his legs keeping your thighs firmly open, you had no choice but take it all, hips thrashing wildly and bucking into his fingers. Namjoon clamped a hand over your mouth as your moans increased in volume, bouncing off the walls of the church.

He was proud he's making you scream but he wouldn't want to wake up any of the sisters nor concern the locals with your screams.

"I-I'm close..!"

"Come for me princess, give it to me."

The pressure from his palm bumping into your clit along with the rapid thrust of his digits soon got you trembling as hot white flashed behind your closed lids and you came. 

You screamed into his palm as your orgasm came without a warning, exploding and lewdly expelling liquid pleasure into the chapel floor before trembling pathetically in his arms, body reduced to the state of euphoria.

Namjoon retracted his hand with a squelch, raising it to eye level to revel in the wetness fully coating it, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at them drooping down before sucking on his fingers. Your flavour exploded on his tongue and he groaned.

"Fuck, you taste so fucking good."

“J-Joon…”

Your hands weakly tugged on his pants and he’s nothing but a gentleman.

Obediently, he began shedding his pants before it got tossed somewhere behind him and he was left standing on his boxers. The stiff tent on them immediately caught your eyes and you reached out to free him from the constricting fabric, hand wrapping around his base once he was completely bare.

Namjoon dared to let his fantasies play in front of him as he watched your hand pump him slowly and you stared at him through your eyelash before kissing the tip of his cock with feigned innocence, he groaned.

You’re going to be the death of him.

“Can I taste you, Father Namjoon?”

“Later, on your back now, baby.”

His hands guided you down carefully, palm splaying onto your abdomen as if your body would break under miniscule of pressure, his words and actions not correlating as he naturally hovered over your body.

There must've been a divine intervention that occurred when you laid before him and spread yourself for his eyes. The moonlight cascading from the stained glass behind the altar shone perfectly on your body, highlighting your perky nips and casting shadows on places that made you look more desirable than earlier when you were kneeling. You looked far too softer, far more vulnerable under such a gentle light.

And Namjoon couldn't help but be thankful that he was rewarded with such a sight in this life.

"You're so pretty." 

His head bent down to place a haste kiss on your stomach and your breath hitched. The heat of his breath and the hovering weight of his length on your fold frying your nerve endings aflame as he peppered kisses all over your body.

"Namjoon, please."

Entangling his fingers with yours, he hovered over you, noses a hair's width far from each other. He could feel your exhales on your lips, awakening the butterflies in his stomach as you stared at his lips with an eagerness of a woman who aches for him the same way he does for you.

Breathless, he asked. "What do you want, princess? I need to hear it"

"Kiss me please." 

You didn't need to ask twice. Namjoon leaned down to capture yours in a slow dance and suddenly, the world seemed to stop and all he could feel and think about was the softness and warmth of your skin under his touch. He engulfed every sigh and trembles like a greedy parasite, and revered the taste of you blooming in his tongue.

His hand shook when he reached up to cup your cheeks. In the brief moment, he was scared that you were just a figment of his imagination, conjured by the bottomless solitude of a man who had pledged his life to the divines.

Only when the burn in his lungs grew unbearable did he pull away, turning his attention to the valley of your breast to place gentle kisses and nibbles on the supple skin before rising to level with you, silently asking for permission as he stared deep into your eyes.

No words were said but you understood what he wanted.

“Yes, Joonie. Please.”

With a trembling exhale at the promise of pleasure he was about to give you, the girthy head of his dick pushes in. He suppressed a shudder as your walls clenched around him like a vise. His skin lit up with the warm pleasure that crawled up his body from his abdomen as he carefully sinks deeper into you.

Namjoon begins to recall the English alphabet backwards with eyes screwed shut as he slowly loses himself into the warm tightness of your cunt. His groan rumbled deep in his chest and ricocheted in the shell of your ears, and you shivered and clenched tighter.

His firm composure shook, eyebrows crunching and eyes closing in unadulterated pleasure.

Namjoon almost passed out from your warmth clamping around his dick so greedily. Lord forbids he moves, he might come earlier than he'd want to.

God give me strength.

"Relax a little, baby." Reaching down, his thumb found your bundle of nerves and rolled it gingerly in tight circles as he slowly pushed all of his inches inside.

You whimpered and fluttered around him. Worried he had hurt you, he stands only for your legs to loosely wrap around his middle as your body decides between keeping him inside and ejecting him. Obediently, he leans back down.

“Should I continue?”

“Fuckin—yes please..!”

Namjoon's head fell to your shoulders, grunting and panting as your walls crazily pulsed around him. Crunching his eyes, he decided the alphabets weren’t enough and moved on to counting 100 backwards in Korean.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

"I-I'm sorry, it's been a while."

“N-no, I don’t mean it i-in a bad way.”

His body shuddered as he struggled to withhold his own climax for you. There’s a sick part of yourself that glowed at the sight of his struggle, small whimpers erupting from his throat as he hid his reddened cheeks in your shoulder.

Namjoon is breathtaking when he’s domineering and demanding but absolutely sinful when he’s red, panting and embarrassed. 

Experimentally, you wound your legs around his lower back and pulled him flush inside you. A strangled whine left his lips at the same time a hitched sigh left yours, the sound sinful yet so sweet as his nails dug into the skin of your waist. "St-stop it."

"Come on, Namjoon. I wanna see you come."

"F-fuck…!" He weakly exclaimed, his composure faltering as you squeezed harder. “Stop..!”

“But you look so pretty like this.” 

You wiggled your hips and he folds. His back falling and rising in quick successions before he pulled out just in time for his hot semen spurts out and down onto your abdomen. You didn’t know what had possessed you to let out a giggle but you thanked whatever it was.

"You are in so much trouble, young lady."

"Am I really?"

Your teasing chuckle halted in your throat when he plunged three digits into your heat, moving them at a feverish pace, not letting you adjust to the stretch. Your hips rose from the ground from the sudden influx of stimulation, trying to avoid his unforgiving thrust but the firm hold on your waist prevented you from moving away.

A wicked grin spreads on Namjoon's face as your legs flail around him, heels digging into his thighs and pushing him away but the man relents. 

“Stop moving and take it all, sweetheart.” He grunted as your nails dug into his biceps, squeezing hard enough to hurt but not to bleed.

Your body erupted in flames, every vein of your body scorched with the fierceness of pleasure running through them, every collision of his hips into yours sending sparks down your thighs. There was nothing but moans and whines leaving your lips as the coils in your abdomen tightened with every thrust of his fingers and Namjoon knew it.

His eyes rose to your lust clouded eyes, down to your bouncing breasts and erected nipples begging for his touch before it fell to your cunt sucking him in greedily as you fuck yourself onto his hands.

He burned the image of your sex-drunk state at the back of his eyelids.

A sloppy slap echoed in the chapel and your legs closed around his body, his fingers retreats from your hole only to be replaced by his length, still ruddy and hard.

"God—F-fuck!"

"Exactly baby, know that God is watching you get fucked by his priest tonight."

He folded your legs to your stomach before rearing his hips far enough until his head remained before bottoming out in one fluid motion and you screamed as you came apart without warning.

Even with your legs twitching and your sobs increasing in volume, Namjoon only continued, even daring to speed up. He didn't mind that you're about to leave scratches on his forearm, if anything, he wished they would bleed open to stain the pristine white fabric of his cassocks, he wished your nails would decorate his skin and leave scars behind. He wanted something to remind him of this encounter, something he’d see and immediately be brought back to this exact moment with his hips driving deep and hard inside you.

Just like how he’s carving himself inside you. No man would ever satisfy you more than he can then you’ll always run back to him for the taste of the ethereal Eden everyone prayed for God.

Mine.

You will always be mine.

Grunting, he thrusted in and out of you in quick progressions, impatient and rabid as a dark voice began to echo in his head. Pleasure and pain intermingled with each other so much his brain couldn't process which one is which as they blurred.

There was something about how you're letting him witness such a sight, to let him bask in your lust driven state that makes his heart grow. 

So trusting and so perfect for him. 

God is truly generous to be able to grant him this opportunity.

"N-Namjoon, please..! I can't—"

"You can baby, now give me another one."

Reaching down, he rolled your protruding clit and you screamed.

Pleasure flooded and fogged your already sex-addled mind, eyes rolling back as your own thoughts seemed to overshadow your arousal. Namjoon watched your shaking thighs with a sadistic glee before the dam broke without warning and you squirt.

Your throat grew hoarse and dry as your climax violently shook your body. Namjoon halts, rubbing your arms up and down as he kisses your shoulder. It didn’t matter that he was still hot and hard lodged inside you when he had heard you wince when he was trying to move you both into a more comfortable position.

All of the heat and ravenous lust from earlier draining out of his body as he pulled you flush to his chest and gently rocked you both together as you came down from your high.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sure the floor isn’t the most comfortable.”

Pulling out, he hooked his arms under your neck and knees before carrying your lax figure up from the floor to sit you down on the nearest pew before going around the room to pick up your discarded clothes. Namjoon decided on forgoing his t-shirt to use it to wipe his essence staining the wood and your skin.

Throughout the entire exchange, you had grown silent and it made him nervous.

You could still be gliding from the state he reduced you to or maybe you were regretting everything. Either way, Namjoon is scared.

Helping you back into your underwear, he dared to ask you.

“Did you regret it?”

You cupped his cheeks, keeping his eyes firmly on yours before shaking your head. “No, I don’t.”

“Wanna stay the night?”

“If you promise to let me hog your blankets.”

Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.

He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.

But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you. 

You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him. Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.

“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.

Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.

He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.

Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.

“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”

“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”

Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.

What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.

“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.” 

Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.

You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.

Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”

“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”

Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.

“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.

“Now what are we gonna do with you?”

Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.

“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”

You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.

Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.

It was fanfic fodder, a storyline life handed to you neatly tied with a bow. You were the main characters you wrote about, that thousands, if not millions, hoped to be. Yet, all you could have was a visceral reaction to the sheer embarrassment of your conversations with him. You had even sent him pictures of him while talking to him about all the depraved things you wanted to do. Not to mention that he had read almost all of your fics, some bordering on so explicit that you hoped no one you knew ever read them. Perhaps that’s why you were so open with him. He provided you with an outlet that your real life friends didn’t. He was safe, a faceless Dragonite icon that shared your love of philosophy and loved to read in too deep on every piece of media you encountered.

Until he was the last person you ever thought he’d be – the subject of your 3 am horny ravings, Kim Namjoon.

Perhaps if you were cooler, more confident, you would’ve turned on the camera as well, chatted with him all nonchalant like a real fanfic protagonist, but instead you blocked him after a half hearted apology. Oh god. You wondered if the rest of the band knew about your stories and if you were now going to be banned as a stalker. Would you even be able to attend one of his concerts again?

But even as you thought of those scenarios, you knew that the John you had been talking to wasn’t like that. Even the Namjoon that you knew from the vlogs and the documentaries didn’t seem like that. The message he had sent you last night on your blog proved that he still wanted to be friends.

Your earlier conversations, however, were still something you couldn’t wrap your head around. John wasn’t someone you talked to occasionally. You talked to him almost daily, about his life, his struggles. The two of you never shared many identifying details with each other, but you knew when he went to the gym, what his favourite food was, how much he hated travelling on planes, and even his kinks! Merging the image of John with Namjoon was not only difficult, it seemed impossible. How could the guy who had once sent you porn to help inspire your next smut scene be the same guy who was on the framed poster next to your bookshelf?

Clicking on the notification, you braced yourself as the video stream popped up to show the subject of your cognitive dissonance. Dressed in a grey hoodie, he spoke in Korean, showing off the art on his walls. You couldn’t help how the blood rushed to your cheeks, how your palms became clammy.

You were never one of those fans who looked out for how idols were feeling, or read too much into their expressions. But as you looked at him through the screen you wondered why he was alone last night, chatting with you for hours. His eyes seemed sunken, his dark circles visible even behind whatever filter he was using. He seemed tired and your conversations with John flooded your mind.

I wish I could just stop being me sometimes. I love my job and all the work I’ve done but sometimes it’d be nice to just disappear.

He had sent you that out of the blue on a random morning and you had assumed he was being hyperbolic. He had told you his job was draining and you had assumed he was under pressure from his boss. It was jarring to see the man who had confessed that to you and you felt a pang of empathy dissipate through your body.

Namjoon on the screen showed off his cake, his raspy voice singing happy birthday to himself and breaking you out of your reverie. For the first time, you saw him as a friend and not a celebrity. A friend sitting alone in his house singing to himself because his job required him to do so.

You sighed. What were you doing by blocking him? It wasn’t his fault that he was who he was. Other than not telling you his identity, you had no doubt that the year of conversations you had with him were genuine. He was kind and sincere, and a cloud of guilt rose inside you. You were a terrible friend. He didn’t know anything about you either.

“I have to go soon but thank you for being here with me and celebrating my birthday. I love you guys,” Namjoon said through the screen, his phone now held in his hand as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes locked onto the camera and your mouth ran dry when he smiled his perfectly dimpled smile.

“Before I go I just wanna say thank you for liking the stuff I make. I write all of these songs and lyrics for you and sometimes I can’t believe that I get to share a part of me with you all. Some of you guys have said I inspire you and you have no idea how much that means to me. So please if anything I have ever made or said or done inspires you to create something new, please, please don’t stop. Because you’re an inspiration to me too.”

Namjoon rarely spoke in English at length during his livestreams and the fact that he did now made a glimmer of hope spark inside you. Perhaps you didn’t have to lose your friendship to humiliation. Perhaps you could salvage this and be brave for once.

With shaking hands you went into discord, typing a message into your chat with Namjoon, and when you hit send you got to witness his reaction in real time for the first time ever.

On your screen you heard the loud buzz of his phone, his eyes trailing to the top of his phone before he broke into a huge grin. Your lips moved automatically, mirroring his smile.

He ended his livestream with a few finger hearts and a goodbye, and ten seconds later you had a new message.

yn: I would love to be friends if you’ll have me still john: thank god! you have no idea how happy this makes me

As you read his message, your smile grew and you forgot why you were embarrassed in the first place. Kim Namjoon was your friend, and you had never felt luckier than in that moment.

-

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Yes, once upon a time, the holidays meant something to you.

“When did it all change?” you mused to no one in your empty bedroom.

You know the answer. After marrying your husband, you moved a thousand miles away from your family, and the laughter eventually died with each season that's colder than the last, though the wind is not the sole reason as to why you're unable to enjoy the holidays.

Turning to your left, you find only rumpled sheets, an indication that your husband did come home that night, though he has since disappeared to do God-knows-what. You wondered if he’ll remember his promise this time, or if you’ll spend Christmas Eve staring into the fireplace again, wine in hand, only to be dejected, though not surprised, when he’d only return home in the morning smelling of cheap booze.

Oh, but he’d always make it up to you, right?

The first time he kept you waiting into the night was for your anniversary dinner. After returning home haggard in the early hours of the morning, he had gifted you a beautiful Love Cartier bracelet, with two intertwined rings in the chain, as an apology. You had forgiven him so easily, welcoming him back into your arms as you kissed him in thanks. But, with every passing day where he stopped being your husband, and instead became married to his work, the presents, along with the simple ‘sorry’ scrawled into the cards, weren’t enough to keep the growing resentment at bay.

You tried your best to talk to him about what you’ve been feeling, but Namjoon seems just too busy to care, or maybe, he’s stopped caring at all, relying heavily on the materialistic objects to appease you.

You leave your room with a bitter cackle, making a wager against yourself as to what present you’ll receive this time.

Perhaps it’ll be a necklace or a ring with a diamond the size of your eye. Surely, your husband had a stack of presents for you in his office, ready to whip it out should he smell the first hint of trouble or displeasure from you.

There was a time when he swore that he loved you, but you’ve come to learn that the seasons were cruel to all manners of love. As the wind picked up and the cold settled in, it must have also robbed your husband of his warmth.

He wasn’t mean to you or anything, in fact, you could spy a glimpse – a sliver of humanity left in him during the parties they held for the investors. Though you were nothing more than arm-candy, it’s during these functions where your husband seemingly returned, and perhaps you’re pathetic, but the familiar warmth of his hand finding a home on the small of your back again makes your traitorous heart beat faster, and you couldn’t help but hold out hope that your beloved is still in there somewhere.

You made your coffee this morning, like all mornings that came before it, with a heavy sigh. The large, opulent house was quiet save for the shuffling of your feet, and you made your way through the hallway lined with smiling pictures of yourself from the past. Before entering the living room, you stopped at the largest of them all, a gold-framed portrait of you and your husband on your wedding day. The brilliant photographer had captured a quiet moment between the two of you, with your foreheads pressed against one another. And though both your eyes were rimmed with tears, the grins on both your faces were more than enough evidence of the happiness you felt on that day. You contemplated the painting in silence. A stray tear rolled down your cheek and then another, and another, until a continuous downpour wets your face as you searched for an answer in the vision of the past, one that was once full of serenity and love.

You touched the portrait with shaky fingers, wishing that you’re able to return to that day. Your wedding was chaotic, not only with the normal hustle and bustle of a grand party, but also because the cake had fallen when the two of you tried to cut into it. There were a lot of gasps amongst your family and friends as they watched in horror; white fluffy frosting flying everywhere, covering your dress and his shoes, but you could only laugh, filled with too much joy to worry over the dry cleaning (that ended up costing a few hundred dollars).

“Do you linger in front of this picture like I do?” you choked.

The coffee in your hands was cold by the time you made your way into the living room.

One more chance, you plead to the Gods above as you sipped the bitter liquid. The snow was falling faster now; the cold, a perfect match for your sombre mood. One more chance for him to fulfill his promises.

And if he breaks your heart again? A cynical voice responds in the back of your mind. What then?

Your tears were your answer as you gazed longingly at the now empty house you’ve built with him. With a heavy sigh, you pulled your nightgown tighter to your shivering figure, and glanced at the neat stack of documents that you left on the coffee table. Undisturbed; the papers still in their rightful places. You’re unsurprised. He hadn’t bothered to look through it. Maybe the bolded print on the first page wasn’t large enough to catch his attention.

The documents felt heavy as you gathered them into your arms. It wasn’t so much the paper, but the weight of the words that laid across the pages.

Then I suppose there’s nothing else for me to do but leave, you concluded before disappearing into your bedroom.

---

Busy.

It’s a word that could sum up the holiday season perfectly for Namjoon and his current state. He had loosened his tie and undid the first two buttons of his dress-shirt sometime in the night. Though he let his team off early to spend time with family and friends during the holiday season, he was unfortunately tied to his desk – like most days in the year.

There’s a deal that was proposed last week for the upcoming fiscal year, a chance to increase business by working with talents from the entertainment industry to sell more products, and what better way to get people to buy things than during the holiday season?

Papers rustle as he signs off document after document, until the letters begin to jump out of the page and dance in front of him. He shut his bleary eyes for a moment, counting to three before continuing on with his work.

There’s a knock on the door of Namjoon’s office that interrupts his thoughts. “Sir?” Jimin, his secretary, pops his head in. Namjoon hums absentmindedly, going back to reading through reports as though he wasn’t just interrupted. Taking a quick glance at the younger man, Namjoon finds that Jimin’s already bundled up in warmth, the scarf gifted to him by his lover wounding itself tightly around his neck. “I’m going to head out,” he informs. “Shouldn’t you leave soon too? I thought you were having dinner with the missus?”

Namjoon’s pen pauses in midair. He doesn't need to be reminded of his familial obligations, least of all, from an unmarried man. Exhaustion seeps into the lines of his face, and though he didn’t mean to snap at the good-natured secretary, he couldn’t help but feel irritated all the same. “That’s my business, Mr. Park,” he mutters coldly, just like the wind outside. His secretary bows and offers his apologies, though Namjoon raises his hand to silence the bumbling man. “Enough, leave me to my work, please. Have a great night.”

“Happy holidays,” Jimin replies quickly before closing the door.

Namjoon ought to apologize, but the stack of papers refused to let him go. He could make his amends to Jimin by giving him an extra day off or something. Presents seem to weaken the anger in everyone’s hearts. With a sigh, he glances at the clock on the other wall, noting how late it’s gotten. He had a feeling you’re going to be upset with him if he comes home. Oh well, perhaps he could stay at a hotel again to avoid your wrath. Setting his pen down, he opened his desk drawer to rummage through a series of trinkets in hopes to find a suitable gift for you.

Smiling to himself, he found a sapphire necklace amongst the stack of presents that could pass for this exact reason. All he has to do is get down on his knees and apologise, and just like that he’s in your good graces again. As he wrapped the necklace up in a light blue box and redid the white ribbon, he couldn’t help but hum. Truly, you’re so lucky to have such a thoughtful husband, and he’s so lucky to have an understanding wife.

As the wind wages war outside, Namjoon sits content in his quiet office, going through his mountain of work without much thought for his lover at home.

Just as the clock chimes for the twelfth time that night, the lights flicker once and shut off all at once.

“Huh,” he whispers under his breath as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

It’s not uncommon for the electricity to shut off in the middle of a raging storm, but his office is eerie with the absence of light. He sits for a few moments, staring into the inky blackness before fumbling for his phone to shine the little beam of light around the office. His tiny flashlight can’t seem to penetrate the dark, but it’s better than nothing, so with a gulp, Namjoon prepares his nerves as he ventures outside.

His Oxford shoes slap against the linoleum floor loudly as he makes his way to the other end of the hallway for the fusebox. Though he’s used to being in the office alone at night, the howling wind makes for an uncomfortable companion as it follows him to his destination. While he walks, the wind whispers secrets into his ears, though Namjoon isn’t able to catch the words. He almost sighs in relief when he spies the fusebox at the end of the hallway.

Creaaak.

The hinges on the metal slate of the fusebox must have rusted. Namjoon winces as he pries it open, the sharp creaking noise unpleasant to his ears. He forgets his fears for a moment as he squints at the faint writing on each switch. He holds his breath as he tries the first one, and waits… nothing. The second and third switches also yield the same result.

“Come on… Give me something,” he grunts, flipping through each switch. Namjoon’s senses are on high alert, and despite his desperate pleas, the lights remain stubborn in their refusal to turn on. Perhaps this is a sign from the universe to head on home, yet he can't just leave, not when the company is on the line for another major sale! No, he has to stay.

Click after click; his breath begins to puff into wispy clouds as he waits, the heater having shut off long ago, causing the cold to sneak in and settle in his bones. Yet the lights are stubborn in their efforts to remain turned off.

His paranoia also increases with every failed attempt. More than a few times, he calls out into the darkness because he thinks he hears his name, only for silence to reply to his answer. He curses, begs, and mutters under his breath, but the universe refuses to let him walk away with victory.

There’s only the last row left.

The first two switches yield nothing, unsurprisingly.

Four left. Click. Nothing.

His hands begin to shake as he goes down the row, waiting a little longer before going through the buttons this time. Maybe the electricity is just taking its sweet time to travel through the old wires of the building. That's how it works, right?

Three left. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

“Come on, come on.”

He jumps when the wind picks up, slamming a door from the other end of the hallway, as though it’s protesting against Namjoon’s actions. He must've forgotten to close the windows. Yeah. That's it.

Sweat collects along his forehead, and he swallows thickly at the fear that clings on his shoulders. When he reaches over the second to last switch, the windows rattle loudly against the force of the storm outside, and Namjoon yelps in surprise. In his attempts to calm himself down, it happens again. More howling. More rattling. Heart picking up pace, his shaky hand manages to pull the lever, only for nothing to happen. He’s engulfed in a sea of sound; his blood roaring in his ears and the loud crashes of the wind against the windows.

One to go. The last switch.

Namjoon doesn’t wait, gripping the black plastic tight between his fingers. “Please!” he yells with his eyes squeezed shut, flipping the switch with a great force that he’s surprised the plastic didn’t break.

Nothing.

His heart begins its slow descent to the floor.

But, after a few more seconds, he hears the familiar hum of electricity before the room floods with light. Namjoon’s shoulders sag with relief as he crouches on the floor to gather himself. The wind itself seems to quiet down, as though sulking at his success.

Namjoon doesn't care about all that though. His pride had been hurt. Thank goodness he’s alone. He couldn’t imagine having to explain his panic to his coworkers, because who would believe that their shrewd boss is afraid of the dark?

The anxiety left his body in a sad state of shock however, so when he tries to stand, he finds that his energy has been sapped clean, rendering his legs useless. White-hot frustration fills his eyes with tears. This wouldn’t have happened if he just left the office.

Breathe, Joon.

Namjoon's eyes widen and flit around the room hurriedly to find the source of your voice, before he stops when he realizes where he was. How ironic, even with him focusing all his thoughts on work, you still manage to wiggle your way inside.

“Oh my god, I’ve gone crazy,” he chuckles, sliding his palm over his face. Yet, he listens, and breathes. Purposeful slow breaths that fill his lungs with oxygen, and soon enough, his heart returns to its former pace.

When he tests his legs, he’s able to stand.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Namjoon walks towards the direction of the office, only to pause when he spies his reflection on the window. There, a mirror image of him stands, looking just as exhausted as he feels. The bags under his eyes tells a story of late nights in the office; of a person that hasn’t relaxed in some time now. How could he? There’s a whole company resting on his shoulders. Perhaps once things settle down after the dawn breaks in the upcoming year, Namjoon could go on holiday. Somewhere tropical… Lombok, maybe? The thought of plunging his toes to warm sand as he soaks the sun’s rays sounds delightful, but he’s forced to rid himself of fantasies when he nears his office, as he’s unable to resist the siren’s call of work.

When he opens the door, however, he’s startled to find you standing by his desk with your back turned towards him. You’re in an off-white dress with a tiara neatly placed on your hair. The image looks familiar yet foreign at the same time, and it’s only when you turn to face him does he realize that something is wrong.

It’s no wonder that he finds the view familiar. You are wearing your wedding dress, complete with the sash that cinches your waist and the veil cascading around your face like a halo.

Yet instead of joy, your beautiful face is painted in sadness, with tears collecting in the rim of your eyes; a torrent of emotions ready to be released.

“D-Dear?” Namjoon calls out in disbelief, refusing to enter the room. “What are you doing here?”

You smile sadly in response, before crossing the threshold until you stand a foot in front of him, extending your hand towards his still figure. “Joon,” you beckon. “Come here.”

Namjoon remains rooted to the spot, warning bells ringing in his mind. There’s a strange blurriness to your form, like the universe isn’t too happy with your existence. That being said, the wrinkles he’s gotten to know doesn’t exist in this version of you… as though you’ve transformed yourself like your younger self. Could makeup do something like this? Then again, when did you have the time to come over in the middle of a blackout without letting him know?

He steals a glance at his phone, trying to find the notification that indicates that he’s missed your call, but his inbox remains empty of your trace – save for the dozens of messages from his employees wishing him well for the holidays.

There’s no way the person in front of him is his wife, no matter what his eyes are suggesting otherwise. He must be exhausted, and the fear from earlier is making him see things. Yeah. That's what's happening. Yet, mind intrigued, and mouth running faster than he could catch it, he voices his confusion. “Who… are you?”

Upon his reluctance, you close your hand into a fist and let it fall to your side, though the smile never leaves your face. “I’m your wife, of course,” you answer, but then your brows knot in confusion. “Wait… we did get married, right?”

Namjoon looks around. Was this some sort of prank?

Why are you entertaining this woman, Namjoon? He scolds himself. Get back to work.

“I am married, but not to you,” Namjoon snaps with a shake of his head. “Whoever you are, please leave before I call the cops.” He holds his cellphone like a weapon, tightening his grip on the device, as he stalks towards you.

He means to haul the stranger away, but as soon as he steps foot in his office, the world melts. Gone is his desk and subsequently, your present and the stacks of papers. Gone is his shelf, filled with photographs and awards from his lifetime. Gone is his world.

When he blinks, Namjoon is suddenly standing in the midst of a sea of people. From their outfits, there seems to be a party of some sort. Just as he deduces that his environment isn't threatening — he's surrounded by bodies, all exclaiming 'Congratulations' to his face. But in his panic, his eyes are unable to make sense of the details, causing the crowd to look nothing more than faceless mannequins. And then, just before he sinks to the floor to curl up into a tight ball of anxiety, he spots you, or at least, the version of you that was in his office mere moments ago, laughing with a few people as you sip on champagne.

Time seems to slow as Namjoon makes his way to reach you; the crowd parting seamlessly to let him through. When was the last time he’s seen you smile, let alone laugh, like that?

In that moment, whatever panic he feels doesn’t matter, because you’ve returned to be the centre of his world.

Oh.

There's a surge of emotions as Namjoon continues to study your smiling face, and finally, he remembers. This... feeling. Familiar and foreign at the same time.

Helplessly, he stares, transfixed and awestruck at your beauty. His foot melds into one with the floor. His mouth that was once formed into an 'o' closes by itself before a corner lifts, up and up, to transform into a lopsided smile. And when his heart picks up its pace once more, it’s not out of fear or terror, but a strong affection whose name once escapes him, but has now returned home.

Love.

At that moment, you turn around and spot him. Your initial surprise at seeing him just standing there dissolves into a bright smile. “Namjoon! Over here!"

Wait. Could you see him too? And… you're not… upset? Namjoon points to himself in disbelief as he looks around to see if there's any other versions of him in the vicinity.

“Yes, you,” you giggle with a shake of your head. Namjoon watches you excuse yourself from your conversation partners before coming towards him. He can smell the perfume you're wearing - a subtle hint of floral that melts beautifully with your skin. You lift your hand and touch his cheekbones, wearing a half-worried and half-amused expression. “Are you drunk already? The party’s just starting!”

Namjoon is unable to tear his eyes away from you. From up close, you’re so beautiful, your eyes catching the light to sparkle like the most brilliant of diamonds. “What’s going on?” he asks, unsure if the scene in front of him is real.

You return his question with a quirk of your brow. “Umm… we just got married like 4 hours ago?” Then, standing on your tiptoes, you cup a hand by his ear to whisper conspiratorially, “Should we cut the reception short and get the hell out of here? We can start our own ‘party’. You know… with just the two of us.”

The teasing, almost salacious, voice is one he's not used to, not anymore. But, Namjoon remembers it well, because it's the very same one you once used when you’re scheming with him, during a time when you were both his best friend and lover. The memories of cutting class during college to spend just a few moments alone together come rushing in as he continues to stare at your face - ones filled with stolen kisses behind the bleachers and sneaking around the dorm hallways to avoid the strict RAs.

If the dress you wear wasn't enough of a clue, he finally remembers this day; this exact moment. Though the memory is slightly altered, the words you utter are the exact same. Namjoon's sure of it now; in just a few moments, you'll be introduced to the world as Mr. and Mrs. Kim.

What he doesn't quite remember is your expression. Forget witnessing you laugh vivaciously in front of nameless figures, this was something else. The bright, almost bewildered look, like you couldn't believe that today was real; that soft curve of your lips of a serene smile; and the joy that you radiate just from standing next to him. You're looking at him like...

Like you're in love... With him.

Just as he contemplates this revelation, the master of ceremonies’ voice booms through the speakers. “Ladies and gentleman,” she announces enthusiastically, waving an arm towards your general direction. “It is time for the couple’s first dance. Let me re-introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Kim!”

Beside him, you cheer loudly along with the guests, laughing and high-fiving the people closest to you.

“Ready, husband?” You waggle your brows. “That’s our cue to dance!”

The crowd clears a path for the two of you, a spotlight shining on the centre of the room. You’re already walking a few steps ahead of him, before stopping when you realize that Namjoon is still stuck where he stands. Turning around, you extend a hand towards him.

“What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet,” you chuckle, waving your outstretched hand impatiently. “It’s too late now, mister. We’re married. And you and I both know that we're both too lazy to go through the divorce proceedings.”

In a daze, Namjoon reaches out and grabs your hand, the warmth instantly spreading all over his body. He ignores the fleets of chuckles amongst the crowd, having heard your words; no, he focuses solely on you.

With a knowing smirk, you tug him towards you until the two of you stand in the middle of the dance floor. A hush falls over the room, the silence of anticipation rippling among the guests as the first few notes of soft piano music begins to play. What was his wedding song again? He can hardly hear the notes, his brain too filled with committing your lovely face to memory.

He moves instinctively, circling your waist with his arm to pull you close to him. You let out a soft ‘oh’ of surprise at the touch. Your bravado seems to drop, your movements robotic as Namjoon guides you through the dance.

“Now who’s getting cold feet?” he teases low before pressing his cheek on your head. He's unable to stop the smile from crawling up his face at the quiet sound of indignation from you.

“Shut up,” you complain. Namjoon's dismayed when you shrug him off from you, but he's quickly relieved to learn that you're not angry when you stick your tongue childishly at him. “You’re lucky I love you or else I’ll divorce you right now.”

Namjoon gasps scandalously, despite having a difficult time trying to keep his smile at bay. “You wouldn’t dare!”

The two of you burst into laughter while still swaying along to the music, lost in the world of each other's arms. In the comforting silence, Namjoon prays that this dance doesn't end, and if this happens to be some sort of dream, he hopes he never wakes up.

You're holding onto each other tightly, not even an inch apart between your bodies. And when the music reaches its peak, Namjoon stops dancing to lift your chin upwards before lowering his lips to meet yours. He hears the gasps from the crowd, and he smirks into the kiss, feeling a sort of pride from being the only person who's able to do this to you.

Alas, you are in public, so Namjoon reluctantly pulls away, but not before ensuring that your breaths come out staggered as though oxygen isn't the only thing he's taken.

“Oh, you'll rue the day you break my heart, Mr. Kim, because I swear that you’ll know pain,” you pout with a poke on his ribs.

Namjoon knows you're not the biggest fan of public displays of affection, but how can he stop touching you when you're just so lovely?

“You wound me, Mrs. Kim,” he counters with a snicker gracing you with a serene smile. He cradles your cheek, staring deep into your eyes as he promises, “You know that I would never break your heart, my love.”

But as soon as he utters those words, the music stops, and the room’s occupants freeze in place, the once boisterous laughter cut short, like when you turn off the TV in the middle of a laugh track. The sudden silence is so eerie that it causes Namjoon to falter, dropping his hands to his sides as he surveys the room with terror. What’s happening this time?

“’Never’, you say?”

It’s nothing more than a whisper, but in the deafening silence of the room, your words carry themselves to his ears, and Namjoon has to suppress a chill that runs down his spine. He doesn’t dare to turn around and face you, afraid of what he might find.

Why does your voice sound so… cold?

“You swore,” clack. “That you’d ‘never’,” clack. “Break my heart,” clack.

Namjoon’s shivering now, and if the clicks of your high-heels, coupled with your clipped words, are indications of a warning, he should probably start running for the hills by now. He takes a small step forward, and another, but his attempts are futile at best because the crowd is an unmoving wall, refusing to part for his trembling figure.

With a deep breath, he turns around, eyes expanding in fear. Namjoon must be brought here, to the past or whatever this world may be, for a reason… but that fear, the very same one that spikes his heart rate to a million miles an hour, only melts away at the sight of your face.

Grief swims in your once sparkling eyes, but what surprises him most is how exhausted you looked – like you’ve been holding yourself back from breaking numerous times, only to be disappointed by something repeatedly.

Or someone.

“Did I... do this to you?” he whispers, taking a step forward to meet you toe-to-toe. He moves to touch your cheek, but his hand freezes in the air when a single tear escapes.

However, you lean into the touch, closing your eyes before heaving a sigh. Instead of an answer, you wave your hand into the air. A mirror appears in front of Namjoon, decorated with ornate gold trimming. He could only gape as he stares into his reflection, but truthfully all the panic and anxiety over the past few hours has rendered him incapable of surprise. Nothing in this world, and probably the next, could ever phase him anymore.

“What’s this?” he asks, though he has a feeling he’s about to find out.

Sure enough, the sad smile reemerges. “Just watch and you’ll see.”

Namjoon only nods. Before him, the surface of the mirror swirls until a scene begins to play out like a grand TV.

There you sit in your living room, wearing a deep-plum gown, anxiously checking your phone for the time before fiddling with the gold band that adorns your finger. Namjoon smiles warmly at your little habit, the intricacies that make you all the more lovely even after years of living together.

You looked beautiful, that's no surprise, matching the floor-length gown with the dangly earrings he got you for your birthday the year before. He remembers the garment vividly; having seen it hang on the door of your shared wardrobe because you were planning on wearing it… to your fifth anniversary dinner. The very same event that he cancelled last minute because he chose to work.

His smile drops.

It’s the first of many promises that he’ll fail to keep.

Namjoon could only stare helplessly as you continue to wait. The scene skips forward a few times until the mirror shows you pacing around your living room with your phone pressed into your ear. You've bunched up the plum-coloured gown by your knees to make it easier for you to move.

His heart sinks. How many times had you called him that night?

You keep trying his phone, and with every call that he ignored that night, the panic inside you continued to build. He can’t hear what you’re saying – your words overpowered by the sound of guilt and regret – but at this point, you’re probably calling everyone you know to see if anyone could get a hold of him.

“Jimin?" You carded your fingers in your hair as you sighed in relief to hear Namjoon's secretary's voice. "Is he okay? Where's Namjoon? I’ve called him again and again and—What? He’s… where?” Your voice in the mirror is slightly distorted, but Namjoon can hear the tightness in your words before the tone switches to disbelief. He doesn’t have to hear the rest of the conversation to remember where he was that night.

“No, don’t bother him. Yeah, I’m fine," you lie. "Good night.”

When your call with Jimin ends, you sink to the floor and weep.

The mirror swirls again, showing more scenes of you waiting around for him in various shades of refinery – an emerald gown, a scarlet cocktail dress… the list goes on. With each passing scene, Namjoon could see the hope in your eyes diminishing, and with It, regret piling high on his shoulders. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

In one scene, only after waiting for what seemed to be an hour, in a blush-coloured top that he hadn't seen before, you left and returned with an open bottle of wine. After cursing Namjoon under your breath, you brought the neck to your lips and drank, and drank, and drank. Never once taking a breath for air, until a fourth of the bottle is gone.

Yet even through your grief, he could see the sliver of hope you held onto, because you kept on agreeing to his promises, giving him chance after chance that he doesn't take. His heart breaks continuously, the already shattered pieces crumbling further into dust as he could do nothing else, but watch.

Then the mirror shifts once more to a scene from this morning, focusing on how you lingered at the large portrait of the two of you on your wedding day. He watches you shuffle into the living room and stare at something on the coffee table, but it’s not before the angle shifts again that he could see what it was. He could do nothing else but stare at the bolded words on the stacks of paper with his heart lodged in his throat.

It’s only when his vision begins to swim that Namjoon realizes that he’s crying.

After the last scene, the vision shuts off, returning the looking glass into a normal, albeit unsually ornate, mirror.

The after-images of you dance in Namjoon’s mind: of you drinking, of you worried, of you waiting for him. All of a sudden, it doesn’t matter that he’s the president of his company, everything ceases to have meaning when there’s a chance that he could lose you forever. And he's sure that nothing, no amount of expensive gifts in the world or pretty words, will bring you back once you leave him.

“How do I fix this?” he cries, wiping the tears away with his sleeve. “I wanna go back to my world.”

Your expression remains doubtful, but Namjoon presses on. "Please, I want to make this right," he begs, falling to his knees while pressing his forehead on the back of your hand. The gold band you wear glints in the light, and he cements his final promise with a light kiss on your finger. "Please."

"Okay," you relent quietly. “I’ll return you to your world, but Joon… can you promise me that you won’t break her heart—our hearts again?”

It’s his turn to offer a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’ll take a miracle to convince you that he’s changed, but he’s willing to risk it all. Namjoon is more proud of his title as your husband than the president of his company, and he hopes that the ambition in his eyes convinces you of that.

“I swear it.”

And the world fades to black.

---

Namjoon gasps awake.

The ballroom is gone – replaced by the familiar surroundings of his office, but he has no time to rejoice in his return because he has to leave. Now.

Just as he puts his coat on, he spots your gift sitting prettily on his desk. He almost took it with him, but he remembers what the present symbolized – empty promises and apologies – and decided to leave it and run. His footsteps pounding against the pavement is indistinguishable from the sound of his heart hammering against his ribcage; his breath coming up in puffs as he yanks door after door open, taking the stairs two–sometimes three at a time, in his quest to get to his car.

The snow that pelts against his windshield makes it hard for him to see the road. Even his fog lights are of little use with the storm raging outside. The tires slide against the sleek pavement, unable to find purchase on the unpaved ground.

“Come on!” Namjoon snarls, white-knuckles gripping on the steering wheel as he squints to find a path through the glittering snow.

This trial, however, is nothing. No mere element will stop him from coming home to you.

Wait for me for one last time, he prays, powering through the sleet and flurry dancing outside. Please. Just this once.

---

It’s your last night sleeping in this giant bed.

When the morning comes, you’ll head to Namjoon’s office and hand him the papers yourself, ones that contain your signatures to dissolve your current arrangement. Will he cry? Beg you to stay? Maybe once upon a time he would have, but you’re not sure if the current Namjoon’s the same person you married all those years ago.

The clock had chimed twelve times before you decided that Namjoon wasn’t going to make it home for Christmas again this year, and you had to peel your weeping self back to the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Now, in the darkness, little else matters. Come morning, you’ll be gone, leaving only the photographs lining the halls of this empty house as evidence of your presence.

Still, you hope he’ll think of you fondly from time to time.

---

Just a little bit more.

With the roads devoid of its usual traffic, Namjoon’s able to make it inside his neighbourhood in a quarter of the time it would normally take. Turning the corner into his street, his heart sinks when he sees that the house is dark. You’ve turned all the lights off, save for the one that shines above the front porch.

She’s just asleep, he thinks as he takes the front steps two at a time. Please, god, let her be asleep.

The only time he stops is to discard his wet shoes and coat into a pile by the front door. He doesn't bother with the lights, not when he's too much in a hurry to be by your side. He walks briskly past the couch where you sat, and the beautiful portraits of the two of you, hammering home the promise that he hopes to make things right.

Yet when he reaches his destination, he stutters to a stop, his hand hovering in the air. The door to your shared bedroom has never been this imposing. It towers over him like a giant, mocking his small figure despite Namjoon being close to six feet tall. This was far more nerve wracking than when he proposed to you all those years ago. With a final plea that you haven’t left him for good, his clammy hand wraps around the door handle, and Namjoon walks inside.

“Baby?”

He would have otherwise been terrified of the silence, but in this case, Namjoon’s relieved. He spies your curled up frame in the covers, with half your face buried into the pillow. Even though there’s a storm raging outside, there you lay, a vision of peace.

Namjoon could feel his throat close up again, the tears threatening to spill out from inside of him. He could watch you all night, counting the breaths while watching the rise and fall of your chest. In the shadow of the night, he stands, debating on if he should wake you. It’s no doubt an urgent conversation, but could it wait until tomorrow?

With shaky fingers, Namjoon sweeps his fingers across your cheek. A tear escapes, falling into the sheets. How long did you wait this time? How many hours did you spend checking your phone and looking outside before you realized he wasn’t coming home? Guilt and regret stabs at his chest. All this pain, this sorrow that lines your beautiful face, it could have all been avoided if he just listened.

“Baby… I’m sorry,” he whispers.

At the sound of Namjoon’s voice, your eyes flutter open. “Joon?” you croak, your own voice thick with sleep as you sit up. “Is that really you?” Your eyes expand at the sight of your husband’s eyes, ringed with red and full of anguish. What's going on?

“Yes,” he cries. Namjoon's fingers graze your cheek, before his palm cradles your face. “It’s me. I’m here. I’m late, I’m sorry, but I swear that it’s the last time I’ll make you wait for me.”

Your own eyes well with tears at the raw emotion in his voice. Your hand moves to touch his face. Though his cheekbones are cold, there's an undeniable realness to this. It isn't a dream. Namjoon's really here.

You have spent countless nights wishing for him to return home and into your arms, but now that it's happening, you can't find yourself to forgive him so easily. Willing your tears at bay, you move away from his touch. You try not to wince at the crestfallen look on Namjoon's face.

"Why are you here?"

He doesn't reply, though his mouth opens and shuts a few times. "I came… to make it right," he finally utters in a small voice.

Heat rises to your cheeks. How dare he say that without knowing anything; not how long you've waited or how much you've cried? And how convenient, just as you're about to leave, he somehow miraculously comes to his senses?

"I can't believe you!" The weather outside can't eclipse your fury. "You have no right coming back here to seek forgiveness." You can't stop the hot tears from falling, causing the edge of your words to sharpen more than any knife you could wield. He's going to feel it all; your grief from having to wait, and the results of your patience wearing thin.

"Namjoon… I waited for you for months. I tried talking to you about it too, but you didn't listen," you accuse, trying not to be swayed when he winces at the truth. "The first time it happened, do you have any fucking idea how scared I was? Every time I call, no one seems to know where you are! I was worried that something bad had happened."

He sits in front of you solemnly, with his chin tucked into his chest.

"But everything was fine, wasn't it?" you chuckle bitterly. "It wasn't until I called Jimin that I realised… you've changed. You stopped caring about me, and about our relationship.

"And now, you want to come here and apologise? All I ever wanted,” you hiccup, but you don't let the sob stop you from talking, “All I ever needed was you, Joon. I couldn’t have cared less about the expensive presents.”

“I’m sorry," he cries, tears flowing steadily from his eyes. “I’m an idiot for taking you for granted, and I can't believe how long it took me to figure out just how badly I've fucked up. Please," Namjoon offers you a hand. "Just give me one more chance."

Funny. How long have you extended your own hand only to be met with refusal?

You shake your head, clenching the blanket tightly under your grip to avoid the temptation. “Why couldn’t you have prioritized us sooner, Joon?” Your words come out broken, exhaustion seeping into every word. “You kept pushing me away, and I don’t get it. I just wanted it to be you, only you."

The silence takes over as you let the words sink in. But from the lack of response from Namjoon, you continue after a heavy sigh, "God. I'm stupid," you laugh ruefully with a shake of your head. "I should’ve left you a long time ago, back when I first realized that our relationship was no longer a priority—but a convenience.”

Your husband in front of you only repeats his apologies, hanging his head so his hair covers his face. The 'sorry's… they ring hollow now, having been repeated so frequently without change that it ceases to have all meaning.

And for you. After spending so much time wishing, there is truly nothing more to be said; no more tears to shed.

The fury has died.

All that's left of you is an empty shell, a person completely devoid of emotion, aside from this heavy weariness.

You don't spare him a glance, staring straight at the storm outside instead.

"You’re right. I took you... I took us for granted," Namjoon whispers, his voice just as seemingly exhausted as yours. Even if you wanted to be angry at his audacity, you couldn't. There's truly no more you can give him. What good is a relationship without trust?

Yet when his shaky fingers clasp around yours, you can't stop the seed of hope from planting itself in your heart, and finally, you bring your eyes to meet his.

"I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that this doesn’t happen again," he vows, marking the promise with a squeeze of his hand. "Please. Is there any way that you can give me a second chance?”

Your heart shatters as though it hasn’t been broken before. You want to give in; to believe that things have changed, but you can’t hold out hope that this sudden revelation of his would last, because there's no way you'll survive if this all turns out to be a farce.

“I can’t forgive you yet, Namjoon.” You could feel him stiffen, but you can't care about that. You're just tired, so tired. “I just… I just need some time away to gather my thoughts.”

He lets go of your hand then, but his eyes continue to bore holes into you. It’s funny how, after all this time, you finally understand one another, just at the possible end of your relationship.

You expect his pride to pull out all the stops; to oppose - not above begging for you to stay, and you know you'd give in if he had, but to your surprise, Namjoon only nods.

“Take all the time you need,” he sighs, trying to smile, though gravity keeps pulling the corners of his lips downward. “But I want you to know that I won’t stop trying to make it up to you.”

And maybe, just maybe, that little seed of hope can grow into something beautiful; something that marks a new beginning.

But only time will tell. And you're willing to wait only until spring.

---

The next few years were hard.

Though you decided against moving away, you and Namjoon spent most of it in counseling as you learned to communicate with each other again. The progress was slow, and it’s often frustrating when you don’t see eye-to-eye, but when you started feeling distrustful, you held on to the promise that Namjoon made that night.

Even when the seasons changed and his work got busier, and you worried that he’d return to his old habits, Namjoon stayed true to his word, shifting his priorities so that your relationship came ahead of his job.

You're proud to report that the two of you have let the grief be a turning point to forge for a better future.

The holidays came early this year, it seems, because by the middle of November, your house was all decked in streamers and lights. Namjoon had purchased a real Christmas tree last week, claiming that it was more festive than the fake one you normally used. Much to your dismay, he also purchased some red and green sweaters for the two of you to wear while posing for the camera.

“Ugh, it’s a scam!” Namjoon complained as you descended down the stairs. “How could you make an ugly sweater look good?”

“Remember that this was all your idea, okay? Sorry that I have a super model body,” you laughed as you came to greet him with a kiss.

Namjoon joined you in your laughter before throwing you a wink. “Ah, you finally acknowledged your good looks! God I'm the luckiest man in the world.” He smiled before pulling you in for another kiss, and you couldn’t help but smile as his lips glided over yours. “Should we just forget about the presents? I don't think I can stop kissing you."

You giggled before pushing him away. "No! You bought these wonderful and definite not itchy sweaters. It would be a shame to take it off," you wink.

"Actually, I can't think of a better idea," he grins before pulling you into his arms.

The heat from his kisses have returned - just like the old times when you first fell in love, but along with it, comes a quiet reassurance built from years of hardship, something neither of you take for granted. When you part ways, you sigh, already longing for the moment when your lips could reacquaint with his.

Oh, how you used to recoil away from his touch, and look at you now, unable to spend five seconds apart from each other.

And Christmas, once as dreary as the season that it belongs to, has returned with laughter. And even though the wind had kicked up a storm again, your body’s warm against Namjoon, and your heart is finally safe as it remains nestled in his hands.

moon's notes: were you surprised!!! i hope you loved it ash!! your prompt choices were so interesting, so i hope you liked the way i tied it all together. cheers, my dear. i hope you have the BEST holiday 🎄

to ash: i decided to write something a bit extra because i really wanted to sneak this in, but couldn't figure out where to place it in the story. but i hope you enjoy this! consider it a bonus present ;)

ash's stocking stuffer:

You saw him everyday.

On his way to his sweet little daughter's playschool, him holding hands with her tight and secure, as they together passed by your coffee shop.

And to you, nothing seemed more wondrous, fascinating than the man's beauty, raven-eyed glee poised on his face as he answered his little one's questions that were childishly inquisitive and occasionally humorous in their absurdity.

"Papa, what's that?" A shrill cry cut through the air, grabbing your attention and coercing you to peek outside the glass doors.

He paused for a while, and your eyes met. You immediately averted his gaze, biting onto your lip so hard you drew blood, too shy and already melting in the wake of his chocolatey irises.

He was definitely saying something to his kid. Explaining something you could have got the gist of because the glass doors and windows were see-through and not soundproofed. But instead you let the warm baritone of his seductive voice wash over your senses, and you had lost yourself completely in reading those thick, kissable lips of his that seemed so inviting...

A strong hand shook your shoulders gently, thus shaking you out of the trance-like state that you had gotten engulfed in.

...that you hadn't even noticed that the man of your dreams and his daughter had already pushed past the double doors and were now standing in front of you. Your heart jumped to your mouth as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and willed yourself to lock eyes with his.

"Excuse me, how much are these nougats worth?" He asked, a thick digit pointing in the direction of the confections counter, where you kept your handmade nougats.

"They are worth...I...wait...ummm...twenty dollars. They are caramel...caramel nougats ." You stuttered helplessly, definitely not on purpose, but feeling hypnotized by the magic of his unmoving orbs.

He nodded quickly and rummaged through the contents of his tan leather wallet. "Here..." he produced two tens and gave them to you as your hands brushed past his for the slightest of moments. The infantile softness of his vascular hands left you in a fascinated amazement.

You remembered you had to draw up the check as well.

"What is your name, sir?" You spoke clearly this time and prided yourself on the achievement.

"Namjoon. Kim Namjoon." He replied, eyes still unmoving, face stoic as ever. But you had this lingering feeling that no matter how much he played it cool, he was studying your every move.

You typed his name out, elated, now that you knew something about him. He always seemed to have this mysterious aura about him, and to think of getting his personality unraveled step by step got you all worked up.

"Thank you for choosing to buy from us." You smiled as you handed him the receipt. "Have a nice day."

His lips too curved into a warm, polite smile. "Nice day to you too..." And that was the most beautiful smile you had ever witnessed, those cute, deep dimples hollowing in his cheeks.

You lay sprawled on your bed, back in your apartment.

That warm touch, though. And that warm smile. How the hell could he be so full of warmth? His alluring baritone too had turned out to be warm.

You exhaled deeply. All this thinking had muddled up your head. And now all you wanted to picture in your mind was his sculpted body, that stood five inches taller than yours. How you would love to be held in those arms that had those rippling muscles...what all you would give to just get his thick long fingers inside your cunt. How strong would those vascular hands be when he would grip onto your waist tightly, fucking up hard into you....and how he would flash that strikingly dimpled smile of his when you lay down next to him, faces flushed, as you admire each other after you're done. How you would love to place your lips on his thick and luscious ones...suck on his tongue and hopefully his d-

Much as you imagined yourself in different sexual scenarios with him, you knew it was something that would never happen. Ever. He was a fucking father, for God's sake. And that clearly meant he was married.

But you wouldn't let that bother you, would you?

And now you were being a slut, please.

You couldn't care less about his marital or paternal status as you slipped a finger down, tracing the soft skin of your stomach and past the waistband of your shorts, feeling your wetness from the outside of your panties. And once you began rubbing at your clothed core, all you wanted was Namjoon...yes that was his name...to pull your lace underwear off.

Moaning in a low voice, you slipped your wet finger inside your panties, separating your folds with it.

Ahhh...God!

The finger went easily into your dripping hole and you threw your head back in ecstasy, hearing your own wetness with each thrust and greedily inserting a second one.

"Na-Namjoon..." his name was what slipped out of your lips, hips bucking up in the quest for more. With your hair slowly getting disheveled and those dark brown strands encircling your flushed face, you looked down and watched with an indescribable fascination your two fingers as they disappeared into wetness and emerged coated with lots of it.

Whimpering as you spread your legs wider, you removed your fingers and placed one instead on your lips, proceeding to lick at your pleasure slowly and relishing the sweet and salty taste it left in your mouth.

Taste of love, maybe?

It could be him, too. With his thick fingers inside of your womanhood, whispering your name into your thirsty ear, bringing you eons of pleasure.

And as if on cue, his face painted the back of your closed eyelids...sexy and strong.

A phone call from your best friend snapped you out of your euphoria.

"Hey Y/N...what's up?" Jung Kook's voice boomed through the earpiece as you took his call reluctantly, heart beating loudly out of your chest.

"Nothing doing...just resting. What about you?" You lied, a little cross with him and inhaling deep breaths as slow as you can, Namjoon still inhabiting your subconscious.

And from then on, much to your heart's happiness, Kim Namjoon came to your shop daily. Without fail. To buy caramel nougats for his daughter.

"She says they're the best sweets she's ever had." He rested his elbow on your desk, leaning dangerously close to you against it as you were sitting on the chair...enticing you to consider kissing him on the mouth.

"I'm glad she approves of it." You smiled back, averting eyes from him, heart fluttering in your chest as you took a short glimpse of his sculpted fingers that was enough to melt you into a puddle. "That's appreciation for my work." You said, drawing up his receipt for him. Your hands brushed past again, the skin-to-skin contact inciting your heart to beat louder than bombs. And you hoped he couldn't hear it.

Don't be a dumbass, Y/N...he can't hear hearts...

He took your hand in his, just as he was leaving, and kissed the back of it. Then he exited, without another word...leaving you standing there in an ecstatic puzzlement.

...or can he?

"Jungoo, I don't know!" You cried, throwing a cushion at him just to get a reaction from him. "I honestly don't know if he likes me or not but I like him a lot..." You sighed dreamily.

"Yeah..." Jung Kook affirmed absentmindedly, dodging the cushion you threw and and grabbing a potato chip from the plate on the coffee table.

"I can't understand why he kissed me when he left-"

"He kissed your hand, not you."

"Whatever. Not that it makes a difference anyway-" You plopped yourself down on the couch, exhaling heavily.

"It does." He cut you off.

"Shut up, Jung Kook." You rolled your eyes.

"Okay..." He relented, lunging quickly forward to grab the last chip from the plate but you were quicker. He made a pouty face. "Hey, I wanted that one!"

"Fifty-fifty, okay?" You broke it in half and shared it with your best friend. His face lit up.

"You're such a sweetheart, Y/N. Sometimes I wonder if I actually, factually deserve you." He popped his half into his mouth.

"You do. Now don't say shit that would make me cringe."

"Doesn't fantasizing Namjoon in your blessed head make you cringe?"

"NO!" You practically yelled at him. A cute giggle and comic quiet followed.

"I think he's enamored with you." Jung Kook's voice tore through the veil of silence.

You looked at him in disbelief, pulling on one of your meme faces. "Since when did you start using big words?"

"I've been to college."

"Haha." You pulled your hair back into a ponytail. "Where did that shit come from, though?"

"Believe me, Y/N. It's true." He leaned in, eyes twinkling as his voice turned a pitch lower. "Why else would he give you a parting gift as sweet as that, that infidel man?"

And that surely did move you to think.

You were not going to do as Jung Kook had said. Never. It was against your principles.

But still, you found yourself going to work in a smaller than small skirt, and a tighter than tight top that was small in an equal measure.

What if Namjoon didn't turn up today, though?

You'd go down in town history as the most skimpily clad barista ever. And for no apparent reason.

For once, you really considered dropping the whole scheme of things and staying at home, propped up in a comfy armchair and watching Netflix. But here you were, because you had to bring home the bacon AND seduce the guy you were lusting over.

Not many hours into your shift, Namjoon walked in. You inhaled sharply, trying to ease your heart that had suddenly started beating on full throttle.

"Good morning, Mister Kim." You bowed all smiley, and he took the bait, making no effort at all to hide the fact that he was peeking at your cleavage.

"Good morning, Y/N." He licked his lips, lustful anticipation dripping from his voice as his raven eyes settled on your pretty face. "You look different today, a good kind of different I mean..."

"Thank you, sir..." You let the honorific roll on your tongue, giving it an emphasis that was much needed. Namjoon gulped as you sat on the top of your desk, ruffling your hair with a much practiced shake of a hand while with the other you grabbed the collar of his cream colored shirt, pulling him closer until he stood between your legs. Your ebony eyes glared into his as you smirked at him.

"You're turning me on." Namjoon breathed, eyes darkening in the wake of lust. "And I'm not gonna let you go until I get my prize."

You bit your grin back as his hands felt their way up your inner thigh from underneath your skirt, your core tensing as they neared the waistband of your blue lace panties. A wink later, he had pulled the pair off and thrown them somewhere behind him while you moaned lightly, responding to his touch. He practically ripped your skirt off, but the sting of the tear got dampened by the action of him pressing his thumb at your clit while rubbing his index finger in between your folds. Your breath hitched at his touch.

"Dripping wet. The way we like our ladies." He observed, a sly, cocky smile adorning his thick lips. You simply whimpered, irritated when he removed his hand from your area.

"Aww...baby girl wants me to make her come, doesn't she?"

He slapped your thigh hard, seeing that you didn't answer. "Answer me, baby girl."

"Yes...daddy." You moaned as he again pressed his thumb on your clit, his touch hitting the right spot every time.

"That's right." The satisfaction in his husky voice couldn't be masked. He directed his dark gaze to your core, and bit his lip. "Good girl, now let me eat you up."

Positioning himself between your legs, he dug into you. And soon you were a moaning mess, breaths getting uneven, your long fingers gripping onto his soft hair, legs spread as wide as possible with Namjoon holding your thighs securely in place with his large and strong hands. His lips and tongue worked their magic, lapping up the juices of your cunt. You pushed your hips forward with every dip he took, matching his rhythm and begging to reach your high.

The friction on your heated core was too much to bear, and soon you found yourself savoring a powerful orgasm. "Fu-uck..." The way your body trembled told him you had come, and he licked off all of your cum, helping you ride out your high.

He chortled, the vibrations of his sound getting into your bundle of nerves, making you shudder. He moved upwards, planting butterfly kisses starting from the middle of your thighs going up your stomach and up to the area between your breasts.

"You came too soon...were you this needy for daddy?" His vascular hand had now begun squeezing your breasts.

Moaning as hell, you replied. "Ever since I first saw you I've been addicted to the idea of you..."

"Weren't you discouraged when you saw I have a daughter?" He licked his lips, the corners of which turned up into an amused smile.

"Nah...in fact it was something new. Kind of a turn-on for me, wanting to sleep with a married man." You exhaled slowly. "You seem too young to be wedded to anyone."

"I know..." His voice trailed off as he began biting and sucking at the skin of your neck. In between kisses, he whispered into your ear. "Turned out to be a bad choice, that. We got divorced early this year."

"I am sorry to hear that." You bit your lip as he gently gripped your jaw and smashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was soft and urgent, with him slipping his long tongue in at the first opportunity he got. In the battle for dominance that followed, your tongues twisting together, he won. Naturally.

Pulling away from you, Namjoon looked lovingly into your eyes. "You don't need to be sorry. From what I have gathered, you seem to be a far better choice for me. Your nougats are the most delicious. My daughter likes you a lot, and not to forget your pussy is the best." You smiled, a shy one.

Just at that moment, Jung Kook burst in through the door. "Could you get yourself a private room with a bed coz everyone's able to view the show from outside...? The glass windows are see-through!" It seemed as if he was having a hard time keeping on a straight face.

Realization hit you hard that you being eaten up by Namjoon might have gotten witnessed by the whole damn public. And that made you even more horny. You snapped your legs shut, trying to contain your arousal within you.

"Sure, thanks bud." Your new beau winked at him. Jung Kook winked back. It almost made his day.

Looking up at him to see his face properly for the first time that morning, you smiled fondly at his puffy eyes and sleepy expression. Neither of you had gotten much sleep last night and you could tell you were both not ready to be awake. “You’re so cute,” you cooed, “It’s too early.”

Namjoon couldn’t hold back his dimply grin as he leaned toward you in a search for your lips, you pulling back to mess with him, the man shooting you a glare. Snickering at yourself, you lunged forward to kiss him.

“You’re mean,” he mumbled into the kiss, you giggling against his mouth.

“Mhmm,” you agreed, resting your hand on his bare side. Pulling away just slightly, your eyes level with each other’s as you both rested your heads against the pillow, you scanned over his handsome features. “I should be a good girlfriend and make you breakfast or something,” you grinned, Namjoon chuckling.

“That’s not necessary, babe,” he told you, you giggling in response.

“Well, good, ‘cause I’m not leaving this bed for another hour at least,” you stated as you nuzzled your face further into the plush pillow, Namjoon laughing fondly at you, squeezing his eyes shut cutely. “I don’t know if I can even walk properly yet,” you joked, Namjoon’s smile widening as he shook his head at you.

“Is that my fault?” He questioned in a suggestive tone.

“Shush,” you said before letting out a breathy laugh, Namjoon’s gaze dropping down to your chest that was slightly exposed underneath the comforter and sheets. “When do you think you’ll be done tonight?” You asked, smirking at your boyfriend when his eyes lifted to meet yours once again.

He smiled, slightly embarrassed by his brazen ogling. “Not sure,” he told you, bringing his hand to your face, gently soothing his thumb across your cheek as his orbs traveled your face. “You can come by the studio later though. I like when you visit.”

“I’m not a distraction?” You asked with a smile, Namjoon’s dimples popping out as his lips curved upward.

“The biggest distraction,” he answered, you giggling as his thumb swiped over your bottom lip before capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger. “But I love you so it’s fine,” he told you, your eyes instantly widening in surprise.

“You what?”

Namjoon’s brain caught up to his mouth in an instant, his own orbs popping wide open as he stared at you in panic. You both gaped at each other as he thought of what to say and as you comprehended the words. He didn’t want to take the confession back, but he also didn’t really plan to tell you he was in love with you in such an otherwise routine moment of the day.

Unable to hold back your giddiness anymore, you broke out into a massive grin, leaning forward and kissing him fervently. “I can’t believe you,” you mumbled against his mouth, Namjoon chuckling into the kiss. “I love you too,” you assured him.

“You do?” He asked, continuing to interrupt the kiss, you giggling as you nodded, moving your lips against his more eagerly. His hands found your hip and thigh, moving you so you were partially on top of him, your leg slotted between his.

“I thought you had to go to work,” you pointed out, pulling your face from his as you looked down at him with a loving smile.

Shaking his head, his hands ran up and down the back of your thigh. “I’ll be late.” Raising you eyebrows at him, he shot you a stunning dimply smile. “My girlfriend just told me she loves me too, work can wait.” Beaming at him, you kissed his chin before trailing your lips to his cheek, leaving a peck to his dimple. “Can you believe we were only supposed to spend one night together?” He asked you, you letting out a single breathy laugh, looking into his warm brown orbs.

“Thank god we changed our minds, huh?” You responded, watched as Namjoon’s eyes traveled across your face as if he was seeing you for the first time again. When his gaze lingered on your lips, you connected your mouths easily, Namjoon immediately deepening the action as he rolled you both over.

Namjoon and you really stood in the grey area sometimes, when it comes to trespassing each other’s boundaries. It’s really difficult to read him sometimes, because he keeps so much to himself. It was something you both mutually understand when you both ended up together. The go-no-go point had always been a grey. There’s so much at stake and your intricated mind combined with his sometimes doesn’t allow room for negotiation. When something like this happens, you have to analyse where he stands. And sometimes you miss your hit. The more time you miss, the more frightened you are where the next one comes. They say, if you don’t have to watch your words with someone, you’ve found the right one. But when it comes to Namjoon, you refuse to say the wrong words because you don’t want to hurt him. Not after all he’s been through. So you took light, careful steps towards the door to his home studio. Watching him bended over his chair, mouse running wild. His face shone by the light from the computer screen.

“Hey,” you softly whispered. Leaning your face against the door frame, hand clasping the edges of the door.

He hollowed his cheek, tutted his tongue out and said, “Hey” to the screen instead. A short silence followed. Then,

“I didn’t know they were coming to see me. They lied to those kids saying they’ll meet me, and they didn’t. They must have felt so betrayed.” He hung his head low. He rubs his nose. “What can you do? It’s a show… It doesn’t make you a bad person,” your voice, gentle, persuasive as ever. It was the only way you think would get to him.

Since when did it matter what others think of him? You would be foolish to say that. Knowing Namjoon as long as you did, you know criticism no matter how constructive or harsh, they dent the same deep to him. Be it his music, be it his words. Silence from his side, yet again. Moving away you decided to say one last thing for his consideration.

“There’s always more than one way… My husband used to tell me,” you shut the door behind you, a lopsided smile on your lips.

Stunted by the pitch darkness he sat in, your words resonated in his mind and he looked down the keyboards and grinned. You are right, there’s always more ways than one.

More ways than one. To say that Namjoon had a perfect childhood would be vastly inaccurate. His brilliant mind was not without a cost. You both hid behind words you didn’t say. The pain that felt so familiar and the fear that is mutual. For a while, he somehow convinced you to push through. And with him, the glass is always half full. And by glass full, Namjoon’s quiet determination and drive would inspire you to keep going. When he is sound asleep at night, the dim light draws the shape of his body, you would place your palm on one side of his face, thumbing his cheek, just to feel him there. His breathings would slow down. His most vulnerable state, and just hours ago, he was reading to you a poem he wrote. The stirs would stop and you pulled the blankets further up his chin. You brushed his bangs back and placed a kiss on his forehead, letting your lips linger a second longer than usual. It just felt a while. Like it was a dream.

Gravitating towards Namjoon, it only seemed natural. The bike nights rides along the Han River, he bulleted through the summer night breeze while you opened your arms wide sitting behind him. The moon and the stars were witness to it all. He blew air bubbles to the sky while you tried to catch them all with your open palm. Sitting on the grass, his arms around your waist. You were falling heavenly, recklessly. Sharing lilac cotton candy, and meeting each other's lips through it. He tasted like cotton candy, sticky and sweet. You could feel him smile against your lips. “We can’t save everyone, Joonie,” you spoke softly, “Those we can, we could…”

With his shut eye, he said, “I did all that I could… but why didn’t it feel enough?”

It’s a terrible thing to feel helpless. To feel restricted, to feel limited. The barricades are held up and for someone like Namjoon who is adamant to strike barriers head on, there seems to be places he couldn’t break through. And that feeling is discouraging. It is limiting and groundless. Namjoon is determined to make changes in the world, wherever it fits. There are places he couldn’t go though, despite the remarkable footsteps he had already pioneered. Namjoon is brave, relentless. He refused surrender and the louder his voices are, the more shackles they put on his ankles. It is only due time that he would explode. He just had hearts too big for his body, and if you think he doesn’t have more to give, you’re wrong. He is as possessive to the things that are his, you just need to name it.

Possessive. The word would seem so harsh. But it was everything Namjoon is. You had just bawled the night away for having to marry a family friend’s son who had gotten divorce from two of his wives. You had never been so scared because not only was the man twice older than you are, he was also your tutor when you were 15. He had been eyeing on you since then, and it disgusted you so. With no words from Namjoon for days after you told him the story, your faith in him was fading. You felt so unprotected and sold away by your own parents. No one cared. The next day, the predator will come and he will take your hand in marriage whether you want it or not. You considered running away. But where would you go? Anywhere would have been just fine.

That same night Namjoon stormed into your parent’s house, drenched in the rain, pounding on the door. Then you heard your father open the front door to the porch.

“I may not be the son-in-law you dreamt of, nor am I a perfect son to my parents. I have nothing to give her. I am not adequate but I have dreams larger than myself, and that dream is to have your daughter as my wife. I am not the son-in-law you want, but I am the husband your daughter needs. My name is Kim Namjoon and I cannot let her marry anyone else but me.”

His wedding vows were immaculate. The night before your wedding, you asked him, “You want to take care of my heart?”

“Absolutely,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation and crinkly eyes, with a big smile.

When you think about those impeccable moments, you know his devotion is pure. That’s why loving him is easy and difficult.

What do you like most about me? What an odd thing to ask. Watching the people cross the road as the traffic light turned red for them. The fine dust reading shoots off the roof again today. The wedding ring on your ring finger, curled around the steering wheel of your worn out car. The diamond catching the light, decorating the roof of your car with little rainbows. You smiled to your chest then to the side. When is it ever not strange when it comes to Namjoon. Of course he had to ask you the easiest yet the most difficult question as you were rushing out the door with minutes to spare. Hopping on one feet, holding on to his stomach to keep your balance.

But you couldn’t forget those eyes. Those pleading eyes. Felt like it mattered to his life what your answers were.

The light turns green. You dropped the brakes and gently pressed on the accelerator. It could have been easily his heart, or his mind, mostly both. And possibly everything in between; no, most definitely everything in between. Or is it his arms, that feels like an asylum or a fortress, depending on the situation? Or his lips, with the things it says or the things it does? Or his ears that continue to earnestly listen to you whining or screaming or the static silence he demanded to make sense of?

Why did it have to be what he offers you? Why can’t  you love him for what he didn’t offer you?

The answers aren’t simple at all.

And as the answer you said loomed over you, hours on end at work and through lunch and important meetings, you feel like the clock is ticking in your ear. Why didn’t you look at his expressions when you left? What were you rushing for? You made it on time but you left things unsettled at home. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all.

“Namjoon, you’re a firework.” The words you threw ringing in his ear like it was only yesterday, since he said he wanted you. It was the most remarkable, most detrimental, most damaging words he had ever heard someone say to him. It didn’t help that he was deeply enthralled by you. He was broken, so beautifully broken. The way his edges are both sharp and blunt and in patterns unique to him; he was a deliberately planned masterpiece. He understood what you said; and you talk in riddles he is fluent in. You hide in metaphors and intricate words of a poet. Your true feelings never fully revealed. Sometimes he feels like he is walking in circles, or falling in a bottomless pit. Sometimes he feels like he’s found home away from home and finally talking in a language someone spoke.

Firework. It could be a compliment and an insult. They are the prettiest in the darkest night, the glittering lights, the adrenaline inducing sound of explosion; always the highlight of a celebration, an achievement, the peak--everything good in life. But when the fireworks ended, the darkness loomed again, the adrenaline fell as the silence grew; anticipations dug its grave with each moment passing without sound--excitement, plummeting to the ground. Fireworks are temporary happiness. You said you were a mere spectator. It was both a compliment and an insult. Namjoon realised that what he projected wasn’t the same thing you were looking for. You wanted forever. He looked in your eyes the same way he looked at you when you left for work this morning; with longing he didn’t quite fathom the depth of.

When he sits in his room, getting lost in the words carried by the author, he forgets about all the things that worry him. With the desktop lit up of a wallpaper of you mashing his face between your hands, face so close to each other, smiling contently, behind him. This house is littered with love. They are in the walls, on the floor and all over the ceiling.

“I am terrified of you,” you said, laying next to him in bed one night. It felt like an untimely confession. The words he never expected from you. At first, he thought it was due to how intimidating he looks. He’s almost six feet tall, he frowns at everything, almost tactlessly blunt to anything about quality-- terrified is a weak word. He looks like he hates everything and won’t stay behind for anything that doesn’t interest him. But it wasn’t. Your fear was not from how he is built but the way that he stayed. You always expected people to leave after a certain time spent. But he just keeps coming back and everytime he does, you get scared.

“I had never had anyone stay that long before,” you looked up at the ceiling while he looked at you, counting your eyelashes.

“I don’t know what to do…” you turned to him and casted your eyes downwards, “People like you aren’t supposed to be with people like me.”

Everyone deals with pain differently. In the commotion of a subway station, in front of the crowded cafes, the congested road and the beeping from the cashier’s counter. These faces staring at the floor, these fast-paced steps, the little jogs to the closing elevator door. The beginning of the year always feels overwhelming. The expectation is high, the spirits and passion is off the roof. Guess it was the disappointment that scares you the most. How many years did January begin the same way and December had it all taken away or drained till you are hollow on the inside?

A pair of supple lips, butterfly kisses trail up your shoulders to your cheek, a pair of strong arms snaked around your hips, pulling you in a rib-cage squeezing hug. A smile grew on your lips.

“What are you thinking so hard of, it's’ not even noon yet?” the deep grovel of his voice disrupted your train of thoughts, much to your dismay. Then you switch to face him, pointing your index finger to the ceiling as his hand rests on your bum.

“There’s a time in your life that you’re scared of me pushing you away when you kiss me,” your eyes twinkle at him and he wanes in his stance.

“Why are you making me nervous so early in the morning?” throwing his head back, showing you his frustration, “We’re married now, you can’t push me away…I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

When the light caught his luminacing brown eyes, you thought about how astonishing it was; to be loved, to be understood, to be broken and healed at the same time--all by the same set of eyes. The way it catches the sun, rain and storm. There’s something a pair of eyes could say without words.

In autumn, when those eyes cried a river, head filled with broken dreams and dreaded nights, and you caught the net, the whirl of the still moments stole your spineless sanity. The dizzying concoction of despair and anger the year had. And in a few more days, the new year will come. With every year passing, the more you dreaded the things you didn’t do. You blame yourself for the things you couldn’t change. The year felt like a dream; floating in the air, weightless. With no stone to keep you in place, you wandered like a lost soul, the only thing familiar was those lumineering brown eyes. Those eyes, when you see them--home.

As he sat there, talking, endlessly, chuckling, showing you his phone screens and wishes he got for both of you, you drifted into space. You didn’t hear a thing he said, you just, existed. And you watched him, in all that he is. All the troubled nights he didn’t speak to you about, the pain he hid away, the things he didn’t say and everything he felt. Then you think about all the times that he saved you when you’re in pain. When his hugs were as strong as the deteriorating war in your head, when his whispers were louder than the demons, and the hand he held tighter than the things you couldn’t fight against. There’s forever in his eyes. And you hadn’t seen that in years.

In winter, when the cold is numbing and the only thing warm is his breaths, the world is white in snow and those eyes searching the crowds land on you and turn into a pair of crescents. No stones left unturned, the battles he faced-- Namjoon was the war you chose. It was then you realised that even if the world collides and the ground turns to skies, it's his hand you want to hold. Driving along the same route you came from, your tired eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror, you heard yourself asking, “What do you love most about you?”

Namjoon. Loving Namjoon is what I love most about me.

He shows you that no matter how self centred you were, you were capable of infinite love.

Namjoon might have lain awake for hours before you did. Arduously, he loved. Silently, he thought. In his mind, he would have kissed you awake. Then, when he asked you what you loved most about him, he least expected a deep answer, not at the time frame that was given to you. He felt found and kept safe. He found forever in you. No words would have sufficed. 

“Bones.” “Bones?” “Bones… I love your bones. They make up everything you are.”

Curling his arms around your waist while you sleep soundly, he nudges his face in the back of your hair as he pulls you close. These bones love you too. Ferociously, immensely, profoundly. . . . . . Namjoon sent a video to the kids that wanted to see him that day. The kids are more excited than ever. They may not have met, but Namjoon’s sincerity flourished through the video message. You are absolutely right, there’s always more ways than one. We can’t save everyone, but we could save those we can. .

.

.

.

Namjoon had displayed his brilliant smile as soon as the two of you pulled away and, seriously, to this day, you still replay that moment often.  

He may have been bold enough to kiss you all passionately up against your door but, kissing, was all the two of you did for quite some time. However, one night, while the two of you were watching Netflix, the tension became too much for either of you to handle and, you ended up making good ol passionate love to the sound of some awful b rated horror film.

Cheesy right?

Wrong, it was one of the best nights of your life and, yes, the two of you confessed your undying love for one another in your post-sex haze.

Duh.

Namjoon was one of the best physicians in your city and, had recently started his own practice in a fancy, yes we have a Keurig, building downtown. For the first two years of your relationship, you were working in your own fancy, yes we also have lemon water, building, climbing up the corporate ladder, working your ass off, in a field that you really hated.  

You saw how happy Namjoon was when we went to work in the morning and, over time, you started to realize that you wanted what he had. You wanted to pursue something you were passionate about. You wanted to love going to work in the mornings.  

So, with your boyfriends full support, you quit your stupid fancy job and, started your own business. You worked day and night to cultivate your dream until finally, after a years worth of effort, you opened your own store downtown.  

The store had done so well in its first year, that you started gaining attention outside of your city. You spent a lot of time travelling for work, promoting your brand and, by the time the second year of your business had passed, you had opened up four more stores across the globe.

The travel had settled down for awhile, which was good cause, Namjoon had really missed you.  

And, you really missed Namjoon.  

For most of this year, you hadn’t left home until, a business conference had sent you half way across the world for an entire month.

An entire month, away from your beautiful, dimpled, intelligent, goofy boyfriend?

No fucking thanks.  

The month had ended yesterday when Namjoon had picked you up from the airport and, well...

Lets just say...

A month is a long time and, you tore each other to shreds.

So much so that, now, as you’re waking up groggy and sore the next morning, the first thing you notice is the soreness between your legs. Upon dragging yourself to the bathroom to wash your face, you notice the splotches of purple and red littered all over your skin. Your hair is an absolute wreck and, you genuinely look like you had been in a brawl the night before.  

Namjoon is a gentle giant in many ways, however, you had soon figured out that he could fuck you into next week if the mood was right.

And boy was the mood right.

You smirk at your reflection, biting your lip as you turn in front of the mirror, spotting a hand print on your ass. The skin is reddened and still slightly irritated and, upon poking it curiously, you wince at how tender the skin is.  

A shower is probably be your best option at this point as the hot water is likely to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, you really miss your favorite body wash...well Namjoon’s body wash.  

Namjoon was a stickler for hygiene and, you can honestly say that out of the four years you’ve been with him, the only time you remember him smelling bad, is after someone threw up all over him.  

And by someone...you mean you.

Tequila is not your friend.

Anyway,

Back to his body wash...

It had a simple scent, clean and woodsy with a few citrusy notes.  

It was hard to describe but, it was 100% him. He’s used it ever since you’ve known him and, lately you’ve taken up to using it too. Normally, Namjoon hates it when people use his things but, he didn’t mind it all.

In fact, he may get off on the fact that you walk around smelling like him.  

But, he’d never tell you that.  

You step into the shower, sighing out as the water pressure tends to the knots in your shoulders, the steam already working wonders on all the tension in your body. You turn to face the water, closing your eyes as you let it run off the back of your scalp, your hands coming up to rub over your face.  

“Damn...” A low, rough voice sounds behind you causing you to jump out of your skin. You turn around to face your boyfriend, who had taken the liberty of stepping into the shower with you, his tanned skin decorated very similarly to your own. Reds and purples scattered up his neck and across his chest, his arms donning a few bite marks that may or may not have match your mouth, his black hair slicked back against his head, the steam from the shower beginning to dampen it.  

“Do you mind if I shower with you?” Namjoon’s voice hits you right in the stomach, his mouth turned up in a smirk as he regards you, his hooded eyes scanning all over your body

You nod, biting your lip and, you couldn’t understand why he was making you so nervous. Maybe it was the darkness collecting his eyes or the fact that, after four years, Namjoon could still reduce you to a trembling mess if he wanted to.  

Hence, last night...

He steps forward then, his hands sliding in against your hips, pulling you to him. You could feel your breath growing shaky as you respond to his movements, your arms encircling the back of his neck, your lips leaning up towards his, which were still turn up in a smirk.

“Is there something you want?” His eyes hold the same amount of darkness but, there’s a fondness to them, his soft lips just inches away from your own.  

A whine presents itself at the back of your throat as you lean up towards him more, your lips pouting.  

He chuckles darkly, raising his brows, “I asked you a question jagi...”

Your pouting intensifies as you further your efforts to connect your lips with his. You weren’t in the mood to be denied, not after being without him for a month and, to be quite honest, you didn’t understand how he could be in a teasing mood after being apart for so long.

“I wanna kiss you.” You surrender, leaning the last bit that you can before Namjoon chuckles again, his dimples making an appearance as he presses his lips to yours.

He moves you slowly, teasingly, like he has all the time in the world, his hands squeezing your hips, pressing his own against yours as he deepens the kiss. His tongue running softly against your bottom lip.

“You’d never kiss anyone else but, me right?” Namjoon mutters his question against your lips, his own lips becoming more and more eager as he backs you under the shower stream. The question takes you off guard but, something about the way he’s kissing you and, the way his hands are musing over your skin is making you crazy.

“Never.” You affirm and, your response causes a low groan to rumble in the back of his throat, his hands guiding you against the wall. You hiss slightly as the cold hits your back but, the discomfort is short lived as Namjoon tucks his face into your neck, his lips finding a spot that isn’t marked and attaching his mouth to it.

“Never huh? Cause you’re with me...right jagi? You’re only mine...no one else’s.” Namjoon’s tone grows slightly more urgent as he bites down on your skin, causing you to whimper, your head leaning back on the tile wall, the space between your legs aching for attention.

“I’m yours...of course I’m yours...” Your fingers tangle in his hair, which is soaking wet, the contracting muscles in his back, covered with the stream of the shower. You press kisses to the side of his head, unsure of where his need for reassurance was coming from but, you were willing to give it none the less, growing more desperate for him.  

Another chuckle passes his lips whilst he nods to himself, his eyes coming up to meet yours. He’s soaking wet, his chest heaving slightly with bated breath. His hands come up to brace on either side of your head as he slides himself between your legs, his dick throbbing against your skin.  

“You wouldn’t let anyone inside of you right?” His dark eyes flit to where the two of you are connected, his hips shaking with anticipation. You rut against him and grinds right back into you, his dick centimeters away from where you wanted him the most. You shake your head vigorously, eyes desperately trying to convey your sincerity, lips leaning into his. He kisses you hard, the force pressing your head back against the tile, one of his hands coming up to entrap both of your wrists, pinning you against the wall.  

“Say it for me...say it and, I’ll make you cum so hard...I promise jagi, just let me hear it...cmon.” He’s begging you now, very out of character for him, tilting his head so his ear is angled towards your mouth.

“I don’t want anyone else...only you. It’s always been you, it will always be you...please, please...”

Namjoon groans, softer this time, his free hand moving between your bodies, fist wrapping around his dick, sliding and angling it up against your entrance. The swollen tip is close, so close you feel yourself contract around nothing, you look down between you before looking  back up at your boyfriend, who has turned his eyes back to yours, a dark smile tugging at his lips.

“Say please...” He orders, his eyes daring you to disobey.

“Plea...fu-fuck.” You whimper as he slides into you unexpectantly, the angling of his hips hitting the inside of you just right. Your legs are weak and, you feel like you could collapse, your eyes finding Namjoon’s.  

With a hazy look, Namjoon just smiles, an expression of pure bliss on his face as he quickens his pace. He leans in, sucking at your bottom lip, his teeth knocking against yours slightly.

“Only me right? No one else? No one else can fuck you like this right?”

His speed isn’t slowing and, you feel your words getting caught in the back of your throat, the sensations, the words, the angling of his hips, it was already too much. You knew you weren’t going to  last long.  

“No one else...I promise...I don’t want anyone else...”  

You feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as you near the edge of your orgasm, your entire body seizing up in preparation. Namjoon bites his lip as you respond, his eyes focusing on where the two of you were connected, another smirk gracing his features.

“No one else...just me...only me for my girl...am I gonna make you cum jagi? Are you gonna cum all over me?”

“Can I? Please? I’m so close...please...” You feel Namjoon’s grip slip on your wrists, his own pleasure becoming too much to handle as he continues to fuck you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Cum...cum for me...” He mutters, his hand dropping as both of them come up to grip your hips, his own increasing their strength as he fucks himself into you. You feel it then, an orgasm coming from deep within, the pleasure spreading throughout your hips down to your toes, you hold onto your boyfriend for dear life, who was already struggling to keep the two of you standing.

“Fuck...i love you...” He moans into your neck as you feel cum inside of you, the warmth of him intensifying your own release.  

You kiss his head, the two of you slowly sinking to the floor as your orgasms begin to ebb away. Namjoon leans back against the other wall, positioning you between his legs as he holds you to him, the two of you panting, Namjoon’s heart hammering against your back. His arms wrap around you, securing you in place as his lips place tender kisses against your shoulders. A hazy smile graces your features as you relish in his touch.  

“I love you too.”

You feel him smile then but, he remains silent, the only sound between the two of you being your own breathing and, the shower stream bouncing off  the floor.  

The two of you stay like that for a moment, enjoying one another before your boyfriends low murmur breaks the silence.

“I...I saw a lot of snapchats of you and Jimin and, I know it’s stupid and, immature but, it made kind of...feel jealous. He’s really handsome...”  

Ah, so that was it.

Jimin was a very close friend of yours that you had met in college. He had been helping you with your business and, encouraging your inner party animal for quite a few years. Jimin was great but, he wasn’t Namjoon and, even if there weren’t a million reasons why you and Jimin would never work out, you would still choose your boyfriend any day.

A frown grows on your mouth before you turn your head slightly so he can see you. A hand reaches up towards his face, tilting it to your own before you place a kiss on his lips.

“Jimin is happily married to his husband Jungkook...and you are so fucking perfect that I would be the world’s biggest idiot if I ever, ever,” You emphasize the world, kissing his lips again, causing him to erupt in a dimpled smile, “...decided I wanted anyone else.”

Namjoon’s smile doesn’t falter as he kisses you this time, his lips moving against yours with enthusiasm.

“Right... and, you’re definitely not the worlds biggest idiot...” He trails off smirking, kissing at you more when you fight against him.

“YOu’re mean...” You whine and, he laughs, kissing you deeper this time, pouring some feeling into it before pulling away, his thumb smoothing over your lips.

“I’m really glad I spilled coffee on you...”

“I guess I’m glad you did too.”  

He smiles, leaning in to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”