#rm x reader

Possessive girlfriends checking phones, girls crying in club bathrooms because some mediocre man looked at another woman for too long, couples fighting over things that ultimately meant nothing. You used to watch things like that happen with mild embarrassment, wondering how anyone could let themselves become so consumed by another person that a simple interaction could ruin their entire mood.

And yet there you were.

Standing backstage with a makeup sponge in your hand, trying not to feel irrationally irritated over a joke Namjoon had made less than ten minutes ago. Not even a real joke, barely a conversation.

One of the members had mentioned the sign in the crowd— a clever one with double meaning —and the whole thing had immediately spiraled into teasing because Namjoon’s reaction had apparently already gone viral online before the concert was even over. Someone joked about bringing NDAs back. Namjoon laughed. The conversation moved on.

That should’ve been the end of it. Instead, the thought had been sitting beneath your skin ever since, hot and ugly and impossible to ignore.

Not sadness. God, no. You weren’t sad. If anything, you were annoyed… annoyed that random women thought they could get his attention so easily. Annoyed that he even entertained it for a second. Annoyed because some stupid, deeply narcissistic part of you genuinely believed no one should’ve been able to hold his attention the way you did.

Which was insane considering Namjoon wasn’t yours, never had been.

You two had never even discussed whatever this thing between you actually was. Months ago, one drunken night had turned into another, then another after that, until eventually sleeping together became as natural as breathing. Neither of you asked for more. Neither of you pulled away either. It settled into something dangerously comfortable.

You worked around him constantly, which meant there were too many late nights, too many lingering touches, too many moments where he’d look at you like he knew something about you nobody else did. Somewhere along the way, your body started reacting to him before your brain could catch up. The sound of his laugh from another room. His rings tapping against tables. The lazy way he spread his legs whenever he sat down like he owned whatever space he occupied.

You hated how aware you were of him at all times.

More embarrassing still, Namjoon seemed just as aware of you.

By the time the concert finally ended and the staff cleared out for the ending ment pictures, your irritation had settled into something more serious and meaner which felt almost pathetic. You weren’t some jealous girl in love with a guy she couldn’t have. If anything, Namjoon should be worried about you getting bored of him first.

That thought settled you instantly.

Yes, that sounded better .

You kept yourself busy reorganizing your makeup products while everyone rushed around backstage. The noise slowly died down as people moved elsewhere, voices fading into distant echoes beyond the hallway.

Then the dressing room door opened again.

Namjoon walked in still glowing faintly with post-concert adrenaline, slightly wet hair pushed away from his forehead, his black Arirang shirt making him look softer than he meant to. He shut the door behind him with his foot and exhaled heavily.

“There’s my favorite employee,” he said tiredly.

You snorted softly without looking up. “You say that to every person that wipes your face for a living?”

“Only the mean ones.”

You heard him drop into the sofa in front of the vanity mirror with a groan. The familiar sound of rings clinking against the armrest followed immediately after.

For a second, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t awkward, you and Namjoon had passed awkward months ago. Now everything between you felt strangely domestic in the worst possible way, like you’d known each other too long, like your bodies had memorized each other before either of you realized it was happening.

You walked toward him with a bottle of micellar water and cotton pads, stopping between his spread knees.

His eyes flicked up to yours immediately. There was always that moment. That split second where his attention sharpened completely when you got close enough to touch him. You pretended not to notice it even though secretly it thrilled you every single time.

“Hold still,” you murmured, pressing the cotton pad against his cheek, harder than intended.

“Ow.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re violent tonight.”

“You’re stupid tonight.”

Namjoon watched you for a second through the mirror while you grabbed another cotton pad, lazy but attentive in that way he always was with you. Like even relaxed, part of him is still focused entirely on you.

“You in a bad mood?” he asked.

“No.”

“That was quick.”

“Because it was a stupid question.”

“Mm.”

You move to remove the makeup around his eyes, tilting his chin slightly with your fingers. He let you, always let you.

“You know,” he said after a second, “most makeup artists are nicer to me.”

“Then go flirt with one of them too.”

The words left your mouth so naturally you barely register them. But Namjoon did. And you saw it immediately, that tiny shift in expression, not really surprise but interest.

Namjoon hissed quietly when you pressed the cotton pad against his cheek again, rough. “Jesus. Did I do something to you?”

“Your makeup separated.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You ignored him, dragging the pad slowly beneath his eye. Up close, you could see the exhaustion settling into his features now that the stage lights were gone. Smudged eyeliner, flushed skin, slightly swollen lips from dehydration.

Pretty. Disgustingly pretty.

You hated that your first instinct around him was always hunger.

“You are staring again,” he said lazily.

“You look rough.”

“Wow.”

“It’s true.”

He laughed softly under his breath, head tilting back slightly while you wiped makeup from his jaw. His hands rested on his sides at first, relaxed, but eventually one drifted absentmindedly toward your thigh. Not grabbing but fingers tracing the back of your skin.

Like he needed some part of his body connected to yours at all times.

You should’ve moved him away. Instead, you let him.

“You were weird earlier,” he said after a moment.

“There were seventy thousand people screaming your name. I think you’d recover from me being weird.”

“Mhm.” His thumb brushed once against your leg. “Still weird though.”

You grabbed another cotton pad. “Maybe I was overwhelmed by your intense celebrity status.”

“There she is.”

“What does that mean?”

“That tone.” His mouth twitched slightly. “The one you get when you are pretending not to be annoyed.”

You rolled your eyes automatically, but the truth was Namjoon noticed you too easily. It was irritating. Sometimes you genuinely thought he studied you the same way people studied languages.. or prey.

“I’m not.”

“Is it about me?.”

“Hell, no.”

“So it is.”

“Your ego has gone insane lately,” you muttered.

“My ego?”

“Yeah, not everything is about you. God, men get attention once and start acting stupid.” You rolled your eyes.

It took him a moment to understand your comment. And you realized it too late.

Namjoon let out a surprised laugh. “That’s what this is about?”

You shrugged casually, focusing on removing the makeup near his neck. “What?.”

“That girl with the sign?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh my god,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You are jealous.”

The word landed between you heavily, not because it was true but because he sounded so pleased realizing it.

You scoffed immediately. “Please.”

“You are.” His smile grew slowly, eyes dragging over your face like he was putting pieces together in real time. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, I’m so jealous of a girl holding cardboard,” you said sarcastically.

“No?” His fingers tightened slightly against your thigh. “Then why had you been glaring at me for the last hour?”

“I always glared at you.”

“That’s true.”

You hated that he said it fondly.

The room suddenly felt warmer than before.

Namjoon leaned back in the sofa, watching you openly now, completely entertained by himself. By you. By this entire situation. It made something ugly flare inside your chest again. Because the worst part was he genuinely didn’t understand.

Namjoon flirted naturally. Breathed attention naturally. People orbited him constantly and he walked through it without thinking twice. But you knew him better than anyone else in this building did. You knew how different he got when he actually wanted something.

And lately, he’d wanted you constantly.

The late night texts. The unnecessary touching. The way his eyes searched for you first every time he walked into a room.

Sometimes you genuinely thought Namjoon would crawl inside your skin if you let him.

“You are thinking too hard,” he said softly.

You blinked back into the moment. His gaze was steady on you now, a little curious, a little too perceptive, a little dangerous.

Without really thinking, you set the makeup wipe down onto the vanity and stepped closer until you were straddling him, legs on each side of his thighs.

Namjoon’s eyes darkened immediately.

“There,” you murmured quietly. “That look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you think you figured me out.” Your fingers hooked beneath his jaw lightly, forcing his head back enough to keep him looking at you. “You get so cocky.”

His breathing changed almost imperceptibly. “You are the one on top of me now.”

“And you are the one letting me.”

Neither of you moved.

The tension sitting between you felt almost violent now. It wasn’t really romantic or too soft, it was something greedier than that, like the two of you were constantly trying to consume each other without admitting it out loud.

Namjoon’s hands slid higher along your thighs slowly. “You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You think you own me.”

You smiled slowly. “Wouldn’t you like that?.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth instantly. That alone nearly drove you insane. There it was again, that overwhelming awareness he had of you, like no matter how many people screamed his name every night, he still looked at you like you were the only thing capable of actually holding his attention.

The thought stroked something deeply possessive inside you.

Good.

He should.

You leaned down until your mouths were barely apart, feeling his grip tighten instinctively against your thighs.

“Tell me something honestly,” you murmured against his lips. “Have any of those girls ever made you look at them twice?”

Namjoon went still.

Then his eyes lifted slowly back to yours. “No,” he said quietly.

The answer came too fast to be fake. Satisfaction curled warmly through your stomach. Your thumb dragged once across his lower lip before you finally smiled against his mouth.

“Thought so.”

And then you kissed him. And Namjoon kissed you back instantly.

Of course he did.

One of his hands slid up your thigh hard enough to leave warmth behind while the other moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your hips pressed against him. The angle felt really intimate, close enough that you could feel him growing beneath you.

You kissed him harder, possessively, like you wanted to prove him seomthing— something you didn’t know what yet. Or maybe you did but you didn’t want to admit it.

His mouth opened against yours with a quiet sound that nearly made something snap inside your chest. You hated how reactive he was with you sometimes. Hated how quickly his composure disappeared the second you touched him a certain way.

No one else got this version of him. The thought alone made your stomach tighten pleasantly.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to force his head back slightly. Namjoon exhaled sharply against your mouth, grip tightening on your waist immediately.

“There you are,” he murmured breathlessly, lips brushing yours again. “Didn’t know what reaction would get of you tonight.”

You laughed softly against his mouth. “You say that like this isn’t your fault.”

“My fault?” His eyes opened briefly, dark and lazy beneath half-smeared eyeliner. “You are the one looking at me like you want to kill somebody.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Mhm.” His thumb dragged slowly against your hip beneath your clothes. “Violent and jealous. I never got this combination out of you.”

You kissed him again before he could keep talking. Mostly because you hated how smug he sounded, and mostly because you loved it too.

The kiss turned rough quickly after that, all teeth and heat and too much wanting crammed into one small dressing room backstage. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew someone could walk in eventually, but the possibility only made your pulse spike harder.

Namjoon’s hands wandered greedily over your body like he’d been thinking about touching you all night. Maybe he had been. You knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs— the slight loss of control, the way his breathing changed whenever he got too fixated on you.

Obsessive.

That’s what this thing between you two really was. Not love, not casual either, something ugly and tabu.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, fingers still tangled in his hair. His lips were swollen now, makeup almost completely ruined beneath your hands.

Pretty.

You liked him prettiest when he looked wrecked.

Namjoon watched you carefully from beneath heavy eyes, hands resting possessively on your thighs now like he expected you to stay exactly where you were.

“What?,” he muttered.

“You look better like this.”

“Like what?”

“Messed up by me.”

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “You’re kind of sick, you know that?”

You leaned down again until your lips brushed the corner of his jaw. “You like that about me.”

His grip tightened instinctively.

God.

The worst part was how perfectly you fit together in moments like this. Like every ugly possessive instinct inside both of you found relief whenever the other gave in first.

You kissed down his jaw slowly, feeling the way his body reacted underneath you immediately. The sound he made was quieter this time, almost swallowed by the room itself. Satisfied warmth spread through your chest. Good. He should react to you like this.

Your hands slid down from his shoulders, over his chest, lower until your fingers hooked briefly against the waistband of his pants. The movement made Namjoon’s head tilt back against the sofa slightly, eyes fixed on you the entire time now. Not teasing anymore, focused, hungry.

“You’re acting jealous.”

You smiled against his throat. “And what?.”

His hand slid up your back slowly. “You really couldn’t stand it?”

“The idea of you entertaining random girls?” You pulled back just enough to look at him again, fingers toying lazily with the button of his pants. “Please.”

Namjoon watched your hands carefully, then your face, like he was trying to figure out which one he wanted more.

“You’re possessive,” he murmured.

You hummed lightly. “Don’t you like it?.”

Something dark flickered across his expression at that, not discomfort but more like enjoyment. He liked you like that. Because Namjoon was exactly the same for you.

“I do,” he simply said. “I like everything you do.”

You couldn’t stand him.

Your hand immediately unbuckle his pants, slowly putting them down. Your eyes still fixed on his face. Namjoon’s eyes were dark. He was losing it too.

“Touch yourself for me,” you whispered to him.

Namjoon could come from your voice only.

You kissed his neck slowly, moving away until you were finally kneeling between his legs. You looked up as he started pumping himself over his clothes, getting harder at the sight of you. He groaned breathily, eyes getting lazier and hand moving a little harder. You could see the wet spot just right where his linen tip was, hitting his underwear so softly it made it look delicious.

You moved your hands to his thighs, slowly creasing them until you reached to his underwear. He threw his head back when your fingers touched his clothed cock, teasing him slightly with the tip of your fingers, rubbing them up and down to feel it in your hand. He tried not to moan when your hand finally wrapped around his underwear, you pulled it down. Namjoon looked delicious. His cocked jumped out hitting his long shirt. His cock was big, veiny and looked so pretty. You couldn’t wait to put it in your mouth, missing it after days of not touching each other.

Your hand moved the base of his cock, squeezing it slightly. His veins bulged under the skin, thick and ridged, pulsing when you gave another tentative squeeze. One fat vein snaked right along the underside, throbbing harder every time your thumb brushed over it.

“Shit— that feels good.” his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he threw his head back, breathing ragged. “S-sorry. You’re doing s’good.”

He was hard as a rock and his tip was shinny with pre cum and red, begging to be taken care of.

You stuck out your tongue, slowly licking from the base to the head of his cock. His back arched slightly, head thrown back as he gripped the sofa. “Look at me,” you demanded. And he did. “I want you to look at me while I make you feel good.” Your lips kissed his mushroom tip. “I want you to remember who makes you feel this good.”

He was going to cum so fast.

Your lips wrapped around his tip before sucking it in. Namjoon tried not to throw back his head back to the sofa, mind getting dizzy. You started sucking his cock so slow and hard that he felt like it was the first time he was receiving a blowjob. You could see the satisfaction in his eyes, in a way he liked you like that, possessive, sick to prove a point.

Namjoon was losing his mind. Mouth opened, his fingers sinking into your hair to push you closer to his cock, trying to take some control over the situation. His cock popped past your lips with a wet sound, thick and hot on your tongue. You tasted skin and salt and him, his veins dragging along the flat of your tongue as he pushed deeper, inch by inch disappearing into the wet heat of your mouth.

Your tongue circled his cock tightly before sucking again, he gritted his teeth hard at the sensation. Your right hand squeezed the beginning of his cock, moving it up and down as you sucked his tip with determination.

Namjoon felt so close.

No. Wait.

There wasn’t too many things that bothered Namjoon’s mind. Lately, the list had reduced to just two. The first one was you, you and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about whatever was going on between you two— the second one he clearly couldn’t remember right now.

Namjoon knew he was fucked. The moment you got drunk one night months ago and you finally let him touch you the way he had dreamed for months. It was game over for him. But he knew there was something between you two that couldn’t be tamed in the moment. There was a missing commitment that he knew you two weren’t able to get in that time. Still, it bothered him that maybe you could be seeing other people.

He could too, but he didn’t want to.

He only wanted you. He only wanted to make you feel good. He only wanted to touch you. He only wanted to talk to you.

Only you.

There was no one else in his mind except you. And in that moment, specially in that moment, there was absolutely no other thought that making you feel good, making you feel like you actually belonged to someone, him. He liked you like that, crazy in your feeling, not knowing why you were acting like that. So possessive over someone you didn’t know you wanted.

Namjoon was a patient man. He could wait for you to find out.

But he wasn’t so patient about other things.

“Umm— wait, wait.” He pulled you from your hair. Looking at you kneeling in front of him. Mouth swollen, lips red, a line of saliva connecting you to his hard cock. “I’ll cum inside you— I wanna make you feel good first.”

“But—”

“Stand up,” he demanded you. “I said I wanna make you feel good first.”

Namjoon didn’t give you too much time to think, pulling you from your arms and pushing you to the counter in front of the mirror. He took a seat on the chair. His hands moved your skirt to your hips and he quickly made you sit in the cold wood, opening your legs to see what he most desired. He put himself between your legs, panties already soaked. Even as your chest rose and fell, you held yourself up, letting him put your feet on the edge of the desk and spread your legs apart completely.

His rough palm caressed your thighs before he started biting them, plump lips marking your skin.

“Joon—”

“Yes. Now moan my name, baby. Gonna touch what is mine.” He said, eyes dark as he looked at your panties and your cute wet mound sticking to the material. His thumb stroking your inner thigh. “Already soaked, you’re always this ready for me, huh.”

“Yes, always ready for you.” You nodded, already fucked up by his touch.

“Good. Now you know who owns you.”

He easily hooked a finger and slid your panties to the side, leaning down, tongue sticking out as he licked a wet strip up your sweet cunt.

“F-fuck!—”

And before you could even properly moan he was wrapping his arms around your thighs, shoving his face even deeper making you jolt and whimper loudly.

He wasn’t soft and didn’t go slow. Namjoon was hungry. Intoxicated of you.

His hands went to the back of your thighs to hold you in place and he went straight to suck your clit. You threw your head back and moaned. His tongue flattened to moved it around your clit, trying to stimulate you more. He was going crazier than before, hungrier, hornier. His teeth trying to grabbed your clit and making you moan louder at the sensation.

His lips started kissing your pussy before licking your entrance with desperation, his tongue tried to reach your insides while his nose moved around your clit. He kept doing that for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t see you anymore, only being able to hear you while he was making out with your cunt. He was making a mess with his face, trying to drink all your juices and making you feel good.

He went back to your clit, sucking with more vigor now, wanting more every time. Your fingers buried in his hair, slightly pulling off them before pressing his head harder to your core. Looking for more friction. He moaned at your desperation, looking to come undone. He could swear he was about to come untouched.

“Mhmm, s’good— Baby I’m gonna—”

He suddenly stopped, making you whine.

It took everything in him not to go back to finish his job. But he wanted you to come undone in his cock. He knew how he wanted to wrecked you.

Namjoon didn’t even clean his mouth to kiss you, lips moving hungrily over yours before taking a seat back to the sofa. Legs spread wide, jeans down to his the middle of his thighs and cock looking red and hard pointing at the ceiling. He looked so good like that, waiting for you to take what was yours.

He patted his thighs. “Come on now. Take whatever you want, baby.”

In less than a second you were straddling him again, kissing him messily to prove him you were going to do exactly what he said do. You were going to take whatever you want, whatever that was yours.

“I want you.”

With your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you bucked your hips up, eyes locked on the way his length gleamed with his pre-cum, drooling from his tip so yummy. It was all so lewd, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. Your hips moved slightly upward. You grabbed his cock with one hand so you could line it up at your entrance. Your other hand pressed down hard on his abs, throwing your head back as you slowly lowered down to take him.

“I said take it. Take it like you mean it,” Namjoon didn’t let you take it slow. He moved his hips upward with strength so you could take him the way he wanted you too. Hard and mean. “Take it like it’s yours— Uhm, y-yes, yes. Like that— uhmm.”

You whimpered when he filled you up. Feeling every vain, every inch of him inside you. His fat tip touching your favorite spot.

Slowly, you lifted your hips, then bring them back down again, trying to find a good pace. His jaw clenched a little and he pinched at your waist, and then his own hips bucked up against yours so you did the same thing again until you found a steady pace and before long, you were bouncing up and down on his cock.

You started to ride him. Moving slowly up and down at the beginning so you could get use to his length. It always felt like the first time you two fucked. It felt so good, stretching you completely. His big fat cock, you could feel every vein and twitch inside you. His warm, it felt so good wrapped around you

“It’s mine,” you said. Fucked up already. Too drunk of him, too honest. “You’re m-mine.”

He looked at you, eyes already too gone. He looked mean, like a dragon. “Then do a better job. Ride me good.” He slapped your thighs.

You whined at his mean words before starting to fuck him faster and moving your hips better.

The sounds were obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness with each bounce of your knees, the sofa moving dramatically against the floor. Your clit hitting the lower part of his stomach in such a right way. You could feel your juices dripping on him making an even bigger mess.

You didn’t care. You didn’t care if people were waiting for him or how much time it would take to clean off all the mess. You just cared about showing him he wouldn’t find anyone better. No one would make him feel better than you, no one could do a better job than you.

“Come on, baby.” He slapped your ass. “Gonna make me do all the hard work?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Lazy girl, making me do everything.” He wrapped his left arm around your waist and with his right fingers he began to rub your clit, with intention. You moaned into his mouth and he took the opportunity to insert his tongue into your mouth, licking every part of you. Tasting every inch of you. He was the one leading, as always.

“No, no—”

“Uhmm, you feel good.” He bit down your jaw until he reached for your neck, leaving bruises with his lips. “S’kay, lemme take care of you now, okay?.”

He started fucking you, moving his hips upward faster and meaner. His dirty fingers left your clit and grabbed your hair to kiss you again. You moaned in his mouth, his lips eating you with lust and hunger. His arm around your waist grabbed you in a possessive way, tighter, leaving bruises, pushing you down every time his hips went upward to slammed into yours. The sounds were almost pornographic, it felt too good, too much.

Namjoon kissed your mouth again before his fingers buried themselves in your hair and he pull it hard, making you throw your head back. He started kissing and biting your jaw and neck, leaving more marks on your skin.

You were his. Only his.

You moaned loud when he hit the right spot inside you, not caring if anyone outside could hear you. You hoped they will. That way they’ll know you were the one to get him see like that, you were the only one he get to touch and kiss like that.

He was being so good to you, hitting the right places, making you break apart. Your knees began to slip slightly, your thighs burning, no longer having almost any strength to keep going. You pulled his hair and started kissing his neck too, you wanted to leave marks too, even if you shouldn’t. Even if you really shouldn’t. He knew you shouldn’t. It was wrong, it was dangerous — but fuck it, he loved it. He loved you possessive, obsessed for him.

It made him go insane the fact the you wanted to mark him as yours too.

He was. He was yours. He so badly wanted to be.

Namjoon moved his hand on your hair to grabbed your neck. His fingers pressing hard around the lower part of your neck, his cold rings against your sweaty skin. You opened your mouth to complain but his gripped hardened around you, becoming almost difficult to breathe correctly.

“Say it— say it.” His lips ghosted yours but he didn’t kiss you, just teasing you. “Say ya’ mine. Moan my name— shit, s’ good— moan my name and say you’re mine.” You whined and he smirked slightly before slamming his hips harder onto yours, fucking you faster, meaner. “Say it for me, baby. S-shit, you’re takin’ me s’good — Say you’re mine, p-please…”

You squeezed him so good he was losing it. His mouth found yours again. He could feel your warm and wetness swallowing his cock. He feel every inch of you wrapped around him. It was so good. It was perfect. You were perfect.

You cried out. “I’m yours.”

Namjoon felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven. Your thighs burning like hell. You broke apart in his arms.

“I’m yours too.”

Namjoon’s cock twitched inside you with one last thrust. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw. His forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs.

It felt so good. Having you in his arms, making a mess of you. You making a mess of him.

It took you both a couple of seconds to come back to reality. The high of that sensational orgasm still feeling in the air.

You moved slightly away just enough to be able to rest your forehead in his shoulder. Namjoon pushed you slightly closer, still inside you. His hand rubbing your back sweetly.

“You know,” he said softly, voice a little rough and tired, “this is a crazy reaction to a cardboard sign.”

You snorted, feeling insanely embarrassed.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter anymore what label you and Namjoon had. You knew he was yours anyway.

you know exactly what inspired this….. okay bye!! hiatus back on!!

— leaves little reminders of himself around the apartment without realizing it. books stacked beside the bed. hoodies over chairs. half-finished notes in his handwriting tucked into random places :(

— the type to stand in the kitchen late at night talking to you about absolutely everything before he leaves. music, life, fears, dumb observations, future plans. conversations with him always somehow feel endless

— buys you books before tour starts because “you’ll think of me when you read this part”

— definitely writes things in the margins too :( underlined sentences that reminded him of you or tiny “this is us” notes beside paragraphs

— starts sleeping closer to you before leaving. one arm heavy across your waist while he reads until he falls asleep halfway through the page

— acts composed the morning he leaves but keeps pausing before walking out the door like his body physically doesn’t want to go yet

during tour boyfriend!namjoon :(

— sends you long paragraphs at random hours because something reminded him of you and suddenly he has a lot to say

— the type to send pictures of ordinary things instead of glamorous tour stuff. a museum he visited. rainy sidewalks. coffee cups. trees he passed during walks :(

— facetimes you while sitting on hotel floors surrounded by his open laptop, unfinished lyrics, and clothes he still hasn’t unpacked properly

— likes hearing about your day in detail. not just “it was good.” he wants the small parts too. what you ate. what annoyed you. what made you laugh

— sometimes goes quiet after concerts because the adrenaline crash makes him miss home harder than usual

— admits he misses sleeping beside you more than he expected :( says hotel rooms always feel too cold and unfamiliar no matter how nice they are 

— sends voice notes while walking alone at night coming from the gym after schedules. low sleepy voice mixed with city sounds in the background

— keeps one of your sweaters draped over hotel chairs during tours because it makes unfamiliar rooms feel a little softer somehow

— when he can’t sleep he rereads old conversations between you two instead of texting because he knows you’re probably asleep

after tour boyfriend!namjoon :)

— coming home with him feels grounding :) like the entire apartment relaxes the second he walks back into it

— stands in the doorway for a second after getting home just looking around quietly before smiling to himself like “okay. i’m back”

— absolutely the type to pull you into the kitchen while he makes coffee in the morning just so he can stand there talking to you sleepily while sunlight comes through the windows

— domestic routines become sacred to him after tour :) museum dates. grocery shopping together. sitting on opposite ends of the couch reading while your feet touch

— gets soft seeing all your little habits again. the way you organize things. the mugs you always use. hearing you moving around in the mornings

— spends the first few nights back tangled up beside you talking until late because there’s too much he wanted to tell you in person

— honestly looks happiest doing the most boring things with you :) game nights, watering plants together, sitting quietly while music plays from the tv in the apartment

— after tour he loves you in an even steadier way. calmer. deeper. like every time he comes home to you he remembers what parts of life actually matter most

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)

They were.

Though now, he looks like nothing more than a neutered puppy. The man's whimpering certainly doesn’t help with the picture either. It almost makes Seokjin want to laugh.

Namjoon is crouched on the other side of the body– body because that is simply what this man is, if he doesn’t start to give them answers. He doesn’t have much of a face left now anyway, so he might as well be.

The pack alpha’s hand is fisted into the betas hair, the tendon in his arms twitching from the effort of forcing the man's head into the ground over, and over, and over again. Slamming his head into the cold hardwood floor of the office, other bodies scattered around their forms. 

The pool of red is still growing.

The pack alpha is huffing, there is a glorious fire in his eyes. Seokjin thinks he looks beautiful. 

“Should I ask you again?” Seokjin questions, head tilting to the side. A small, placid smile dotting the corner of his lips, condescension radiating from his entire being as Namjoon pulls the man's head up just high enough once more.

What an ugly thing he has become. Maybe he’s the unlucky one, the lucky ones are probably the corpses scattered across the floor. At least they didn’t have to undergo their combined fury. 

He should have just given Seokjin the answers he wanted already. 

Seokjin sighs once more, looking up at Namjoon, “It doesn’t seem like he wants to, does it?”

Seokjin registers the opening of the office door. Huh, he really did not think anyone else was in the house today. Not that it matters much, Seokjin will deal with them the exact same way. 

He sighs, closing his eyes as he stands. His arms feel tight in his suit, but he raises one anyway. Cresting it on the same side of his neck where Namjoon had left his bite, using its force to aid him in cracking his neck. 

Seokjin doesn’t have time to dilly dally. He’ll be sure to make this quick. 

The intruder relieves a sharp gasp from his lungs, the lazy drawl of Seokjin’s lids to draw upwards, taking him in for the very first time.

Soft, perfectly cut straight brown hair. Large doe eyes. Perfectly sculpted nose with little moles dotting around his face in constallations.

Seokjin’s recognition of him is instantaneous. 

Jeon Jeongguk. 23. Important. 

The Jeon pack alpha’s only child. The last progeny remaining in their all-alpha familial line. 

Well damn, Seokjin was sure he wasn’t here. From the information Seokjin gathered before setting out to the groups's territory, the kid was practically treated as royalty. Spoiled rotten, coddled. There were even rumours he had never gone outside before. 

Seokjin didn’t believe them, of course not, that would be a rather auspicious thing to do. But with how much he had heard about Jeongguk’s treatment, he didn't think they would just let the kid wander around on his own in a clan meeting house like this. He doubted Jeongguk would be involved in territorial conflicts at all. He was a member of the familial pack, not the territorial one like Seokjin… interogates… now. The distinction is clear as clear as day. 

Looks like his intel may have been wrong. 

Not only is he here and involved with them, he looks like a deer in headlights. His cheeks are turning a bright shade of red. It looks as though there are sparkles in his eyes. To be honest, Seokjin is taken aback. He isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but not something so… passionate. Something so devoted. 

Is…. is this kid staring at  Namjoon with… admiration…? While Namjoon has Jeongguk’s mom’s right hand is in a bloodied heap on the floor?

Huh. Well, this is certainly a surprising change of tune.

“S-Sir! Please leave! Don’t get yourself involved with this!” Huh, so the body still did have a voice. He was sure Namjoon had squeezed it out of him by now. Regardless, the words have Seokjin turning his head back towards the mess on the floor, back towards his alpha. 

Oh. Seokjin’s eyes go wide. 

Namjoon is staring right back at Jeongguk, that same star-crossed lovers expression on his face. Looking at him like the universe just changed for the better. 

Turning back towards the younger, Seokjin confirms it– they are simply enamoured with one another.

When he makes the motion, when all the attention in the room is directly only at Jeongguk, it is clear the kid notices. His posture straightens, his chest puffing out just slightly. The most determined look that Seokjin has ever seen is as obvious as ever written across his features. 

One of his arms raises up– certainly not the arms of someone who has had experience fighting– a single finger pointing towards both Seokjin and Namjoon. A cocksure smile on the pure alphas lips. 

The world spins. This is nothing like Seokjin had been expecting out of the day. 

“I want you.” He pauses, the determined smile blooming brighter. Seokjin doesn’t know how the kid could be so positive in such a thing– Seokjin needs time to fall, he guesses Jeongguk doesn’t. “Both of you.”

A sickening crack sounds throughout the room, the betas death as clear as day, though no one really pays attention. Instead, everything revolves around Namjoon rising to a stand right next to Seokjin, a similar smile on his own face.

“I feel like there are a few questions you should be asking instead of just saying something so bold.” All the rage Namjoon spoke with before the entry of Jeongguk is gone, a similar confident air in his tone. “Like who are we, why are we in your office. Why we just killed your clans beta.” 

“I don’t care.” Jeongguk, though Seokjin just met him, looks like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “I didn’t like him anyway. He was shitty at taking care of me.” 

Spoiled. 

Namjoon hums, “Shouldn’t you be worried we’re going to kill you, too?”

Jeongguk thinks for a second, eyes looking up at the ceiling as he considers. “No. You want me.” 

Maybe not spoiled. Maybe just sheltered if he thinks that simply about such things.  

“You’ll have to deal with a few more than just us.” Namjoon leans forward a bit, the air around him bending to his will. Haughty. Attractive. “We have 4 other mates.” 

Oh. Jeongguk now looks as though he is simply vibrating with delight. His teeth– ones Seokjin notices look like a bunnies– make an appearance, biting his lower lip. 

“I want them, too.” 

Well, Seokjin’s dealings are certain to become a lot more smooth from this point onwards. 

NOW.

Jeongguk hasn’t slept. 

Well, okay, to be honest, he’s not sure he remembers the last time he actually had a full nights rest. 

Wait– no, that isn’t true either. The last night he did it was the night after he saw you for the first time, he remembers it clearly, actually. He would rather die than forget it. He would never in a million years forget dreaming of you. 

He was in the woods, you were there too, obviously. Scampering between trees, looking so cute and playful. God, you were so fucking adorable– calling out to him, asking him to chase you. 

Fuck, who was he to say no? He simply he complied. He would be an idiot to deny you of anything ever. 

When he caught you? It felt like the last of his dreams had finally come true. 

You were giggling underneath him, his body pinning you down by your shoulders. Your eyes in the prettiest little crests that he kissed over and over again. 

He remembers the end, where you made him promise to find you when he woke up, too. 

…Yeah.

He hasn’t had a full night's rest since then. But especially last night, last night he didn’t get a wink. Not even the half-hearted nap he usually gets by on. 

How was he supposed to sleep after Joon broke the news that they would be going to your house the very next day? The house that he knows belongs to you now, all thanks to Yoongi. The house where– where–

Jeongguk clenches his fist, lets his nails dig into the skin of his palms as a way to manage the putrid smell that was already beginning to leak from his pores. In the tight confines of the armoured truck, he knows everyone else will be able to smell it. 

Should he really care? Probably not. But he doesn’t want the second– first?--  time you smell him to be so… so unpleasant. He wants you to smell the real him. The alpha who your heart and soul belong to, the one you’ll build a future with. The one that can provide for you, that can take you out of whatever hell you’ve been keeping yourself in–

How long would it take before you let him give you a bite? How long will it take for you to give one to him?

Soon, hopefully. God, he can’t even count how many times he’s stroked his cock to the thought of your cute little fangs piercing the skin of his neck. How blown out your eyes would be with pretty red dotting your mouth. Do you even know that he saved the left side of his neck for you? Waited so many years just for his perfect omega to leave tangible evidence on his skin of your simple belonging to one another. 

… Well, he hasn’t thought about it in awhile, but the point still stands. He hasn’t been able to, not since your face began to retain the essence of a shadowless blob whenever you appear in his mind, when you appear in front of him. Just…just out of reach. 

Fucking had been in reach for over two weeks. 

His top lip curls at the thought. He reminds himself to stop thinking such shitty things. 

It doesn’t work.

He just needs to see you, and then everything will be right again. He’ll be able to protect you. His pack will be complete. The last piece of his soul, the part that felt like it has been missing will finally click into place. 

Everything will be perfect. 

You’ll be perfect.

Jeongguk forces his head back into reality as the wheels of the vehicle roll to a stop. His neck cocking to the side, deep eyes locking on Seokjin in the driver's seat. The clicking of metal registers in his ears, his hand clenching around the barrel of his semi-automatic a little tighter, the gun propped up against the floor, muzzle facing the sky.

“We're here.” Seokjin hums, completely carefree. Jeongguk isn’t sure how, to be honest. “We have a bit of a hike, if Jimin’s map is right.” 

Today determines the rest of his future… do they not get that? Of course they don’t. They don’t understand what you and him have, no matter how much they might try to. They don’t understand the levels at which his entirety calls out to you. 

He’s already reaching for the handle of the door, his entire body itching to leave, when another voice stops him– Joons’, “Gguk-ah, do a scan for us.”

His nose scrunches up while a little wrinkle finds itself between his brows, “Huh? Why me?” 

That isn’t his job. He’s not good at that sort of thing. 

At that, Joon only shrugs, handing the binoculars back behind him, “I trust you more to do it.” 

Heat washes over Jeongguk instantly. The simple words have an even simpler effect on his body– his ears and eyes perk up a bit more, right alone with his chest swelling. No matter how much he just wants to get moving, that line has Jeongguk already hauling his upper half through the sunroof of the armoured vehicle, eyes scanning the distance. 

From the top of the hill the pack has managed to find themself on, looking off into the distance is an easy task. Any subtle clearing is discovered, especially the very one they think contains your cabin. 

Jeongguk sees it easily, mentally comparing it to the map he had been studying the entire ride over– the piece of paper that Jimin and Taehyung marked your approximate location on. Seems like they were paying enough attention to get that right, at least. Even if they might have messed up your potential first meeting. 

No. As much as Jeongguk is angry at them, he’s even more upset with Yoongi. At least Jimin and Tae could plead ignorance. What they did was only a reaction to Yoongi.

What Yoongi did to him was straight malice. 

Hiding you. Keeping you after he found out you were an omega. Only confirming it after Jeongguk was on the verge of a breakdown because he couldn’t fucking remember–

He takes another deep breath, centering himself. He’s lucky he’s been practicing the breathing exercises Seokjin-hyung has been prescribing and that the thought of meeting you soon is somewhat settling.

“Yeah. House is where Jimin said.” Jeongguk states, plain as day. Giving one final sweep before getting ready to hop down. Nothing much falling along the dense forest tree line. 

Lucky that autumn was on their side– if it was any warmer out, the tree leafs may have kept you covered. 

“It looks–” Wait, what was that? 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of light in the distance. Too solid to be a solar flare, too obvious to be a trick of the mind. Twisting the lens to make it focus, something different comes into view.

A truck, hardly hidden at all against the trees. Standing out so loudly it might as well be a homing beacon to anyone who wanted to discover its presence. 

“Wait, hyung, I think–” Jeongguk scrunches his eyes, the hard plastic of the binoculars digging into his skin as he pushes his face into them deeper, like that will help him see better. “I think there's a truck over there?” 

“Mm.” He hears the shifting of guns, probably Joon following the direction of his pointed finger from where the first car had already unloaded onto the ground. “About the same distance away as the house?” 

Fuck if he knows, Jeongguk has always been shit with distances. It’s normally Yoongi’s job to take note of the perimeters like this– he still doesn’t know why he’s been put on the case instead. Why has he been given a job when all he wants to do is think about you. It's annoying. 

He doesn’t need to be managed. He doesn’t need to be distracted. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” Jeongguk pulls the binoculars from his face before taking a second to inhale, tasting the scent of the wind on his tongue. He won’t make the same mistake again. 

He pulls himself the rest of the way out of the sunroof, heavy gun clattering against his shoulder as he jumps to the ground with a practiced ease only gained from experience. His form landing with a thud, both feet on the ground as he squats, one balled hand taking the brunt of the force not received by his knees. 

He stands, eyes glued into the distance. 

“We didn’t see any cars out here before.” Jimin’s voice is in his ears, but he half ignores it. He’s not focused on the conversation of his mates right now, all he can think about is the alpha in his head. The one telling him that these are your woods. 

“Tracks.” Taehyung is supplying his mate, just like he always does. 

“Yeah, there were tire tracks, but they didn’t lead to a car or anything.” 

“Hm.” Joon is too analytical. Seokjin, too. 

“Does it really matter?” Hoseok groans out the words– Jeongguk hears him cracking his knuckles, “We don’t have all fucking day, and if these two don’t stop laying it on thick there won’t be hiding from the little doe.” 

Jeongguk knows Hoseok is referring to the pheromones he’s releasing, but he really doesn’t give a shit. At least the alpha is speeding the whole thing up– Jeongguk can feel his muscles burning. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves and just goes to get you himself. 

His patience is a tether that is not withstanding gale force winds. 

“We're triangled right between them.” Jeongguk’s eyes roll, unable to stop himself at the sound of Yoongi’s gruff voice chiming in. He guesses at some point he set up shop looking out of the top of the other car with his sniper. “About 750 meters that way is the car, 875 to the house. 1000 between ‘em, too.” 

Soon, Jeongguk hears the footfalls of Yoongi jumping, followed by the scribbling of a pen on a map. He’s starting to get frustrated with all these semantics. These alleged important parts of the job. 

He still doesn’t understand why they have to be so careful about this. 

You’re his soulmate, you’ll understand even if you are a little scared at first. 

“It would be worth it to check it out, at least.” Seokjin’s voice is there– one of Jeongguk’s only hyungs along with Joon that seems to care about how hungry Jeongguk is to have you already. “If Jimin and Taehyung wrecked her house, she could be staying there for cover.” 

What? Jeongguk’s alpha is howling in pain. How could he let his omega live inside of a car?! Even if it’s just for the night, that’s too much for you to go through. It’s just too much. 

You deserve to be in a nice big house, bundled up in his clothes– not anyone elses right now– relaxing in his big bed, the softest blankets surrounding you while he feeds you the meat he’s hunted.

Joon nods his head, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, you go to the truck. Radio us with what you see.”

. . . Jeongguk blinks. 

He blinks again. 

He’s not half listening to the conversation anymore. 

“What?!” His head snaps before his brain can process the words, eyes finally leaving the distant trees you resided in for so long. So long, all alone. So long without him. 

…You missed him, right? Don’t worry, you won’t have to for much longer. 

They want him to go with them to the fucking car?! To the fucking car instead of your house?! They’re insane. Fucking insane. The growl is already in his tone before he can manage to stop it. “No.”

Hoseok’s expression is bored, Namjoon’s is blank, Seokjin’s is sympathetic. Jeongguk couldn’t give any less of a shit. 

“Gguk-ah…” Seokjin is using that tone of voice he always does when Jeongguk gets riled up like this, the one that means he’s treating him like a pup. Sometimes he likes it. Today is not one of those days. “We need Yoongi with us at the main house…”

Wrong thing to say. 

Jeongguk scoffs, “So he gets to see her before me? Are you joking?” 

His bonds pang– the internal urge of half of him wanting to soothe the others displeasure combating with his temperament still burning from the night before. The rest are lucky Hoseok managed to calm him down before he took off on his own last night. 

“No.” There could be something more to it, something they’re not telling him. They never tell him things. Or maybe they do– either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s pissed right now. All he can feel is that. “We just…” 

“They don’t want you to see what the others did and freak out.” Jeongguk has never been more thankful for Hoseok’s blunt tone– at least someone will tell it to him like it is, even when he is worked up like this. 

“Thats…” He would like to argue against their stance– that he totally would not blow up and pounce seeing what Jimin and Tae had done– but the words die on his tongue. He knows it's more than likely, so… he chooses a different route to argue his case. 

He stands a little taller, “I just want to see. I should get to know how my mates been living.” 

“You can see that after, can’t you?” Jimin grumbles, finally merging himself back into the main conversation from where Taehyung had him dragged away before. 

Oh, of course, it would be Jimin saying that very thing. The one who wants to avoid Jeongguk seeing whatever state they left his soulmate's den in. 

“Jimin, be quiet.” Seokjin sighs, trying once again to be the mediator. Jeongguk normally thinks it’s an incredible skill to have. He respects Seokjin a lot for him stepping up as second in command of the pack, but he’s having trouble retaining any of that sense now as he feels the biting breeze against his cheeks. As he feels the woods trying to speak to him. 

“We need you to take the lead here, okay? Manage these 2 and direct them if she’s at the truck instead of the house.” 

He feels like he’s going to scream. 

See, the issue here is that Gguk doesn’t give a shit about pack dynamics. 

He feels like a broken record due to how often he repeats it, but all he cares about is you. 

He doesn’t give a shit that more people are needed to case a house than a truck. He doesn’t care that Jimin and Yoongi can’t be in a group together out of fear of them fighting. Doesn’t care that he can’t be with Yoongi either due to the fact he will definitely be fighting him. 

Hell, it doesn’t bother him that Hoseok doesn’t see the point in getting you, or that Seokjin is only following along because of Joon’s lead. Sure, he’s frustrated by the way Yoongi’s eyes light up whenever you are discussed, and by the way that Tae shrinks away at the same mention. He didn’t even argue last night when he was excluded from Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin’s meeting last night while they were plotting today out.

He doesn’t care that the groups split makes the most logical sense– that the packs 3 highest in command should all be at the larger site. He doesn’t even care that the rest of them probably don’t even realise that he understands all of it– that he accounts for every minor detail, too.

He doesn’t give a shit about fucking anything other than getting to you and it feels like the others just aren’t listening to how his wolf howls for you. 

He feels like he’s going in circles. 

His head certainly is. 

He should just go. He should just start listening to his instincts just like everyone else does. He should– 

Namjoon’s solid hand comes down on his shoulder, his frame leaning down just slightly to look in Jeongguk’s eyes. “Gguk-ah. I’m counting on you. If you find her, you’ll catch her.” 

Fuck. Jeongguk does care about that. 

Cares about Joon. About the other pure-alphas approval. 

As his heart begins to beat a little faster, he takes a step back while tossing the strap of his gun over his shoulder. His boots crunch against the solid soil as he turns his back to the rest of the pack, making sure his face is hidden before any sort of blush tries to rise to his cheeks. 

Joon always makes fun of him for that.

“Whatever.” He grunts out, trying to keep it a secret how affected by his pack alpha he is. He’s not the pack’s pup anymore. He shouldn’t get so worked up over little things. “Let’s go.”

“If you see anything, radio.” Hoseok reminds, a slight strain in his voice from what Jeongguk can only imagine is another stretch. Another part of the generals routine. “Kill anything you see, infected people or alive ones. Doesn’t matter to me.” 

As if Jeongguk doesn’t know that already. 

He grunts, marching off down the unbeaten path with his two elder packmates in tow. His brain tuning out the words of the other four as his brain already moves onto the next thing. As the woods start to feel more and more familiar the deeper he finds himself going inside.

…He’s going to make sure the promise he made to the you in his dreams stays alive and well.

Yoongi's pace meanders a few behind the rest of the group, the heavy metal of his favourite gun thunking against his back with every step he takes. The smell of the damp forest floor invades his nostrils with every small pant he takes, the morning dew making the floor wet as mud decides to cling to his boots. 

He never thought he would be out in the woods again. 

His head tilts towards the sky as he thinks, lets his mind wander away from the sounds of birds while he has a moment to do so. His body instinctively following the guidance of the rest of his mates without having to put any conscious effort into doing so, something in him knowing they would keep him safe even if he got a little distracted. 

The last time Yoongi stepped foot into the forest… into any woods like these… it had to be at least 10 years ago.

He doesn’t know how you live in them. How you survive it.

He knows the crushing weight of the trees.  

He’s been trying to figure out how since last night, to be honest. Ever since Jimin mapped out roughly where you had been staying, he’s been wondering why you forced yourself out here. How long you’ve been managing.

The woods are so tall, how do you fight against them all on your own? 

Yoongi couldn’t. Still can’t, probably. 

Logically, he has to remind himself, something dense like this is probably safer from intruders– not safe enough, if Jimin and Taehyung were able to find you–  and zombies. There were far less out here than there were constantly battering against the walls of their compound. Hoseok had only managed to spot 2 on their hike so far, both are double-dead now. So comes safety from others in isolation, he guesses. Maybe that’s how you view it. He almost wishes he could, too. 

Still not safe enough. 

Yeah, for once Yoongi has to agree with his inner alpha. You’re not safe enough. Not if two of his pack mates were able to track you down. Not if what they say is true about you having been out here alone for who knows how long. 

As much as he hates the idea of taking that decision away from you, he hates the idea of you dying even more. He hates the idea of not being able to keep you safe from pain, from letting you rot out here.

That’s all forests do. They infest your brain with rot. 

Yoongi can’t stand the idea of stumbling upon you, fungus covering your skin. 

He can give you back other freedoms later. It’s what he’s promised himself. You’ll– okay, you probably won’t like his pack at first. He would be the first person to admit that, regardless of how much he cares for them. But… but eventually you might come around. You might like hi–

Yoongi shakes his head, forcing himself away from the train of thought his alpha keeps forcing him down. 

He’s coming to get you, to protect you as a friend. Someone he considers a friend, even if it was only one night spent together under fictional stars. Even if he did just plan to let it all blur away.

He’s not coming to you as an alpha with a prerogative. He just… he wants you to be okay. Especially after what Jimin and Taehyung did. He just wants to make sure that you're safe. That you’re not spiralling like he would be under the same circumstances. 

Yoongi hates the woods. 

…Yoongi wants Jeongguk to forgive him. 

He probably won’t. 

He should probably stop worrying himself over it. He has more pressing matters to deal with– ones that are only a few meters away, not in an entirely different group, heading to another location. 

The guilty part of him hopes Jeongguk will find you first, but the selfish part of him, the ever present one that seems intertwined with his wolf, hopes that he will get the honour.

It isn’t good for you to be alone. You shouldn’t have to suffer through it.

Yoongi is projecting, he knows it. He also can’t stop it, and honestly, doesn’t want to. He wants to feel connected to you. Maybe he’s being selfish again by allowing himself to do so.

…Well, he is the only one who’s actually met you. He’s the one you felt– feel safe with.

 His fingers twitch, he wants to just hurry up with it all, already. He wants to get you out of here, bring you to the house. Comfort you, if you’d let him.

…Would you let him? 

His heart starts beating a little bit faster. That can’t be good. 

“You’re thinking too much.” Hoseoks’s hushed voice makes its way into his muddled mind, a broad shoulder bumping into his unsteady frame. 

Yoongi’s eyes slowly draw back from the sky, instead finding their place upon Hoseoks’s handsome face instead. Too handsome. It looks like it was carved by one of the greats. It isn’t fair. 

“That’s rich coming from you.” Yoongi deadpans like he definitely wasn’t just admiring the pack's chief of combat. 

He totally wasn’t. “You never think when Namjoons’ ‘round.”

God, they’ve been together how many years and Yoongi still pretends to be coy. He knows Hoseok sees through it, though, so there’s really no harm. Not like when the Jeongguk first joined the pack and became acquainted with Yoongi’s sharp, unrelenting tongue. Yoongi will never forget the complete embarrassment of having to explain what Jimin dubbed his ‘cuteness aggression.’ 

Bleh.

It was the most embarrassing day of his life. 

Thankfully, Hoseok likes it when Yoongi gets mean. Says it ‘gets him going’. 

Hmph. 

“Yeah, well it’s their job. I’m not on the clock right now.” Hoseok smiles, both of his arms raising up to hold the back of his head up. “Let Seokjin deal with it. Looks like he has a stick up his ass, anyway.”

Yeah, Yoongi guesses that’s true. Hoseok isn’t leading the pack’s recruits on any kind of clearing mission, nor is he leading anyone into war. Still, he doesn’t know how he is just so relaxed about everything when Yoongi feels like he’s dying inside. 

Still, he doesn’t think he agrees with the idea of it being anyone else's job, especially not Seokjins’.

Yoongi hazards at the body next to the pack alphas. He still doesn’t understand why Seokjin acts like a saint. Their rooms are next to each other, he’s heard the elder’s rants. Yoongi’s one of the few other than the pack alpha that knows his position. 

Huh, maybe Seokjin never realised how thin the walls are. 

“Bullshit. You’re a control freak.” Yoongi grunts, “If Namjoon didn’t force you out of taking the lead, you’d be up there instead.” 

Hoseok simply hums, acknowledging Yoongi. Probably agreeing that it's true in his head.

“Jin!” Hoseok calls up ahead, pulling Seokjin back towards the tail end rather than the front. Yoongi watches as he turns, as he lets his footsteps slow to allow for Yoongi and Hoseok to catch up. 

Yoongi feels Hoseok’s hands on his shoulders, forcing him up in front, a big heart-shaped smile on his lips, “This one’s thinking too much. Calm him down.”  

“Yah. Stop it.” Yoongi tries to shrug off the younger, but fails miserably. Hoseok’s grip is tight, his fists massaging the flesh, “That’s not his job.”

The conversation feels easy. Too easy, for the current conditions. Zfor the way Yoongi is feeling. He doesn’t fully feel like he deserves their care.

“Aish! What are you talking about! It’s what I was recruited for!” Seokjin huffs, a fake glare directed at Namjoon’s back steady across his features.  

“Receuited?” Yoongi almost wants to laugh, “Not the story I heard.” 

As much as Yoongi likes to feign disinterest, he certainly does not miss the colouring of red rising to Seokjin’s ears. The corners of his hips curl, already completely aware the elder is going to go on one of his tirades. 

Cute. Seokjin is cute. 

“Yah!” The elders whisper raises a hair, his lips pouting out a bit more as his words increase in pace. “That brat wouldn’t leave me alone— what did you expect me to do?! He wasn’t even in my department—“

Yoongi shakes his head, eyes staring at the ground. Yoongi doesn’t even try to deny the expression is out of fondness. “You trying to let the whole forest know we’re here?”

“I—“ Seokjin pauses, eyes going wide as he realises just how loud he was getting. His ears get just a bit darker, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, the eldest in the pack just clears his throat, standing a bit straighter. “What were we discussing?” 

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth quirks, “How Namjoon pursued you for years before you gave into him.”

“Other than that.” 

He shrugs, not really remembering. He wasn’t paying much attention, more so looking for a distraction. 

“Ah,” The weight of Seokjin’s arm is dropped over Yoongi’s shoulder, his head shaking along with the addition. “That’s right. You were thinking too hard. Is it being out here?” There's a slight pause before Seokjin continues, “You don’t need to think about back then anymore.” 

He wishes it was that easy. 

Hoseok’s echo of the past blinks fresh in his mind— ‘Live in the moment with me.’ That’s what Hoseok had said back then. 

Seokjin’s smile feels warm when it’s directed just at Yoongi, “Just let hyung take care of it, okay? We’ll be home soon.” 

Now he is sure his heart is moving at a faster pace than before. 

Hyung.

Yoongi never used those sort of honorifics with Seokjin— it just wasn’t in the nature of their relationship. The elder never outwardly seemed to care, anyway, other than in half-assed jokes. It’s only in times like these that it felt like it mattered. 

Suddenly, Seokjin’s face loses all sense of peace, a cold mask of stone falling over it at the exact same time his body freezes in place, the hike coming to a close. Namjoon’s hand in the air being the direct cause. 

Well, it was nice while it lasted. It is time for action now. 

Namjoon's fingertips curl towards his palm in a silent instruction to lower their frames closer to the ground. The slow, controlled approach to the house already having been planned out since the night before.

Namjoon sends a glance towards the pack’s general, signalling the change of power between them, Hoseok taking over direction.

Yoongi follows it silently without question, waiting for Hoseok’s motion to continue the pursuit forward. He’s always been in awe of the way Hoseok is able to direct everything, to make the motions of a unit seem fluid and conjoined rather than just heaping bodies following orders.

It only takes a glance from Hoseok before Namjoon is moving– the pack alpha gliding through the underbrush as he makes his way around the back of the cabin where he is meant to be stationed in case you try to make a quick exit from the rear. 

Yoongi’s job is a lot more simple than the rest of theirs, he is only meant to be a lookout. Honestly, he’s thankful for it. He’s not sure he could manage much more upon seeing you again. Upon seeing the new conditions of your home.

A few seconds pass, a soft cooing whistle from Hoseok along with the tilt of his head telling Yoongi it’s his turn to move. He does as ordered, moving up from his squat, though certainly not returning to full height as he takes a light jog through the underbrush. Only settling himself down when he finds the angle he was looking for. 

Checking left, checking right– yeah, here will do just fine. He can see your front door, as well as both sides of your house. He’ll be able to spot you if you try to make it through a window. With fewer guys, it might be a little more difficult to catch you, but Yoongi knows Hoseok enjoys the chase.

… He hopes it doesn’t come down to that, but if he does, he’ll try his best to comfort you even if he isn’t the best at it. 

Carefully, Yoongi lowers himself down to the forest floor, pulling the gun off his shoulder right along with the action. He clicks the legs of it down, lowering himself to his stomach to check the view. 

Just as he suspected, it’s perfect. He can see everything. Will definitely be able to spot you if you try to move. 

Fucking hell. Those goddamn assholes broke most of your windows– he can only assume they weren’t like that before. 

It isn’t long before Hoseok and Seokjin come into view, their bodies doing similar low jogs to the ones Yoongi just performed himself. Though their angle was towards the door– if you were here, they were going to get to you first.

Yoongi shakes his head, forcing the jealousy out of his gut. It’s fucking stupid. There isn’t any guarantee you’re still here, anyway. Yoongi knows he would have cleared out first thing if it was hi–

His  breath stops in his throat, his head raising from his site. Pupils darting around the scene in front of him. 

Fuck. Fuck. No, no no. Why is this happening now? Why?

Everything should be fine. Everything is going smoothly. Namjoon should be positioned around the rear of the building by now, Hoseok and Seokjin are counting down in front of your door, ready to make their move. Yoongi is keeping an eye out as he lays against the forest as Hoseok’s hand raises, starting from 5. There are no zombies around, nor other people that Yoongi can smell.

So why why why why why is this happening right now?

Why is something wrong?

That same sensation that settled over him yesterday has returned at a ten-fold. 

Yoongi feels an overwhelming sense of dread in his gut. Worse than he’s felt in a decade. 

Panic starts to take over before he’s able to calm it down, his body rising to a stand. Something shakes against his thigh, but he can’t comprehend it. Not when he knows something is about to go wrong, but he doesn’t know what yet.

The universe had to curse him with the ability to know, but not with the ability to do anything about it before it’s too late.

His legs are moving before his mind can catch up, his body rushing towards the door to stop them. He can’t breathe, he can’t think. Words are willing themselves to leave him. They have to regroup, they would understand. They trust him. They trust his judgment. 

Just a little bit further. A little bit further.

He should have said something. 

The last of Hoseok’s fingers fall, Seokjin’s shoulder slams into the door, breaking it from its hinges. He thinks another figure swoops in, but he isn't really sure. 

The entire world has just become red. 

Yoongi, he can’t move. He can’t do anything. The world stops rotating on its axis, everything moves to a standstill right along with Yoongi’s form. He’s positive things are happening around him, but he can’t process a single one. He can’t.

One second, everything is red. The next, it’s white.

He can’t hear anything, he can only feel red hot pain blossoming in his gut as something hits him. As he is tossed backwards several feet. 

The trees quake due to the force.

Boom.

It doesn’t take Jeongguk long to get to the truck– or maybe it does. He doesn’t remember half of the journey. 

He remembers splitting off from the pack, Jimin and Taehyung trailing behind him. He remembers hearing something reminiscent to a giggle beyond that was similar to the ones in his dreams. Remembers deciding that they meant he was on the right track to find you, that his alpha would never steer him wrong.

He didn’t talk at all the entire journey there, staying focused on the prize. There isn’t time for  any distractions. He needs to see if you’re at the truck, then rush over to the cabin in case you’re there instead. He needs to hold you, tell you that you’re safe now, and bring you home.

Simple enough. There isn’t really much to do but actually do it. He can stop fantasizing about you once you’re actually in his arms. Maybe then the wolf inside of him will finally settle.

He just wants to breathe you in. For you to build a nest in his room.

He promises he won’t go in it! Not until you give him permission to. But just knowing you feel safe enough around him, safe enough around his scent, shit he wants it more than anything else. 

He even has the perfect corner picked out for you already, he’s cleared out space in his closet, too, if you’d rather go there. Sure, he did that forever ago when he still remembered your face, but he’s been keeping it open ever since. He’ll keep it open forever waiting for–

A large hand tugs at the back of his shirt, halting him in his advance forward. The heat of it is almost blinding, but Jeongguk doesn’t let himself get distracted. Of course not, he’s an alpha on a mission.

A haphazard glance over his shoulder is the only thing he offers, finding Taehyung standing there, Jimin still quite a ways away, keeping himself separated. Hm. He’s been like that since yesterday, keeping himself a bit more closed off. 

Good. He should feel bad, even if it was a mistake. Even if Jimin didn’t know you were his.  

Another tug and Jeongguk is brought back to the moment again, a grunt signalling from his throat as a question meant to ask Taehyung what he wants. 

Taehyung’s tongue comes out to lick at his bottom lip lazily, his eyes moving from their stare on Jeongguk to farther ahead on the path. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Taehyung wants him to look, too.

His head turns back to the main trail, vision narrowing. 

Fuck. He didn’t notice that.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Jeongguk’s heart swells, hope filling him to the very brim. Butterflies already dancing in his gut as his eyes go wide, as he feels a gentle heat curve into his cheeks. 

Footprints. There are footprints on the same path they’re following now. 

If Taehyung’s insistence is anything to go by, shit, it means your scent still dots the trees, too. Means that recently you followed the same path Jeongguk trails now. That you might just be living in the very truck Jeongguk is called towards now. 

You– are you really waiting at the truck for him? 

God, his entire being in inflating. His alpha is howling at him to go get you– that something as perfect as you shouldn’t be living out here. You shouldn’t be subjected to living in your truck because of what his idiot mates did. 

Jeongguk’s legs are moving faster than before– he doesn’t really know when his pace picked up, but he knows the others are close to follow. 3 pairs of heavy thuds are marking up the forest floor, along with the sound of clanging guns against shoulders. 

Within a few minutes he’s there. He’s standing in front of something you call your own. 

It takes his breath away. Of course his omega would drive something cute like this– it makes perfect sense for you. Even if he doesn’t know you well yet, he’s sure of it. Oh, or wait… maybe you only use this one cause it’s convenient? Maybe another vehicle style suits you better? He’ll get you a hundred cars, if you want. That way you can know what all of them feel like. It’ll feel so good to provide for you. 

He moves in without really thinking, stalking towards the car, his noise unable to stop itself from the constant sniffing, attempting to weed out your scent from the rest of the woods. It’s difficult for him to, if he’s being honest. He always gets overwhelmed when so many different odours surround him, but he tries for you anyways. 

He thinks he gets some of it, something that smells like beta– he knows better, he knows that even if you smell wrong, you’re still an omega– with hints of eucalyptus. Like some kind of herb used for healing, if he were to guess. 

He frowns. 

Now, standing only a few feet away from your truck, away from the source, he can tell it’s at least a day old. There isn’t anything that smells more fresh, there’s no sign of life within the cabin even with how forgetful he was at the volume of his approach.

It isn’t his fault though! He knows he was supposed to be quiet just in case but you distracted him. It doesn’t look like it matters anyway, you’re clearly nowhere to be found. 

Jeongguk’s shoulders drop– all that hope that had been welling up drifts out. A laboured sigh from Jimin behind him, along with a kick to something– when Jeongguk turns his head, he identifies it as a fishing net with brush interlaced with the rope– signals that the others are sure of the same thing. 

“She’s not here.” Even though Jeongguk is on better terms with Jimin than Yoongi, he still would rather not hear him talk right now. It’s not really any fault of his own, but stating the obvious when it’s clear Jeongguk is already irritated? When he can clearly see that you’re not here? It just makes Jeongguk’s teeth clench together a little tighter.

“I can see that.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, one hand closing around the passenger cabin handle. The muscle in his arm straining in preparation for it to resist the movement, for the door to jerk back. 

It doesn’t. It’s unlocked. 

Jeongguk grunts as he stumbles just slightly, not enough to cause worry or for him to actually fall, but enough for his eyes to go wide. One hand reaching to steady himself on the top of the interior doorframe. His shoulders hunching just slightly while a small, growled ‘fuck’ slips from the back of his throat. 

Thank god you aren’t here. That would’ve looked totally uncool.

He grunts, forcing himself to stand straight and only give half checks to his right and left to re-confirm your absence. Even if he wants to see you, he doesn’t want to look so lame. “We’re still checking. Maybe she left something to say where she’s going.”

“Or maybe she’s at her house.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow, the back of his throat itching with a warning growl that wants to be let through. Didn’t Jimin hear Joon? Jeongguk is in charge, he shouldn’t be–

Jeongguk hears a sniffing sound right next to his ear, distracting him. It’s Taehyung taking the chance to scent the inside of the cabin, he guesses. Doesn’t really know what the other is looking for though. All he can smell is a slightly distressed undercurrent to your beta– it’s okay, he knows what you actually are, even if your scent is trying to lie to him– scent, most significantly clinging to the bag lying right across the passenger seat in a heap.

His frown deepens. Probably those two that made you smell like that. Made you scared with no one around to comfort you. There is a 0% chance Jeongguk is going to feel less bitter about it any time soon.

In the back of his head, Jeongguk realises the sniffing has stopped 

He doesn’t offer Jimin any kind of response, instead focusing on the bag. Maybe you had left a map in there? Some supplies? Maybe just anything that would make him feel closer to you?

He should take it, right? That way, when you come home, you won’t be missing whatever's inside. 

His lips purse just slightly, head nodding in agreement as his hand reaches out to grab it. 

Well, he was grabbing it. Now, he’s on the forest floor, his head banging against the surface. Taehyung on top of him, his head pressed into Jeongguk’s throat, not even thinking about letting him up. 

The growls begin to leave Jeongguk instantly, a second nature swelling up to the top. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off of me!” He still won’t let up. He’s keeping Jeongguk pinned with everything he has. Jeongguk can’t see Jimin either. Can only feel the pounding in his head and shoulders from being throttled to the ground. 

Is this a fucking coup or something? Were they just waiting to get Jeongguk alone so he wouldn’t be there to protect you anymore? 

Jeongguk’s growls increase in volume, his limbs thrashing to try and get out from underneath Taehyung. He can’t believe this. He can’t believe they would fucking try something like this.

“Bomb.” Taehyung’s panicked baritone sends a lightning bolt through Jeongguk’s spine. He’s not fighting anymore. “Bomb inside. Bomb in bag. Don’t touch. Don’t touch! Can smell it! Intentional! Bomb! Don’t touch! Don’t!”

There’s…? You left a…? 

Jeongguk looks back towards the car, his entire face morphing into that of complete disbelief.  

You were trying to protect yourself… did you…? They said they didn’t see your car yesterday.. The covering was pulled off to the side, making the truck noticeable. Your footprints were in a clear line in the mud when you could just have easily veered off the beaten path, covered up your trail.

This was on purpose. You were trying to protect yourself if Jimin and Taehyung came– 

What would have happened if Taehyung wasn’t there?

Jeongguk’s blood runs cold. 

Joon doesn’t have a Taehyung at the house. 

His mates can’t smell if the same trap has been laid just beyond the door.

Jeongguk shoves Taehyung off of him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. A newfound strength adorning his features as he manages to rattle the big puppy off. His frame rolling onto its stomach, reaching for the radio in his belt loop as he looks towards the direction of your cottage, his pupils shaky. 

“Joon– Joon! There was a bomb in the truck! Abort the pursuit! Abort it!” His voice is yelling, crackling as it bounces through the radio. 

Time feels like it’s extending itself, 30 seconds morphing into half an hour as he waits for a response. 

There is none.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Shit! SHIT! 

Jeongguk bolts upright, forgetting about the car, leaving it in the past while his mates are in danger in the present. “Fuck! Go! We have to go now!” 

His pheromones, the same ones Joon used last night are unintentionally leaking from his pores, his body already beginning to rush through the tense trees. His head is spinning– he doesn’t know if the others followed. Only that he has to get to the rest of his mates before, before–

The sound rattles the trees, a deep ball of red rising above them. 

Jeongguk freezes, his mind blank as he stares towards the distance in awe. 

If it wasn’t his mates you were targeting, he would think you’re incredible. But right now, you’re not a thought in his mind. He’ll be upset with himself later over that fact. The fact of the matter, he knows where his bonds lie. He knows how much they’re in pain.  

You didn’t know it was them. You don’t know it’s your soulmates. You’re just so scared, just so… everything hurts. His body is on fire. 4 spots across his form are radiating a pain he’s never felt before. 

It hurts so bad. 

So bad. 

He wants to crumple to the floor. He wants to sob. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Get a fucking hold of yourself!!” Oh, Jimin’s screaming at him. He wonders when that started. When the shorter of the two grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him, when the look in his eyes became so deadly that they lost all of their spark.

The slap to his face stings, but he’s thankful for it. It finally brings him back to the moment, finally forces him to do what he needs to do. 

“Stupid purebred! Fucking move! You’re useless to them if you can’t even do that!” Jimin’s shouting should sting, but it doesn’t in the slightest. He knows the words are true. 

Jeongguk is running again, faster than he thinks he’s run in his entire life. He doesn’t really remember the rest of the interaction with Jimin, his memories feel jumbled. He knows at one point Jimin began dragging him towards the house, then he remembers overtaking Taehyung on his own while running. 

The sight he sees when he finally reaches the cabin is one he’ll never forget. 

He’s so lucky he’s never had the experience of his mates being in abject danger before. He doesn’t know if he could ever take feeling like this again.

The house, what's left of it, is up in flames. Wood panels have been blown off the side, half of the covered porch has caved in upon itself. 

His chest heaves as he finally spots his pack. His soulmates. The ones he loves the most in the world. Namjoon’s form is on top of Seokjin and Hoseok’s bodies, looking like he pushed them out of the way just in time. Wood scattered debris lays around them still burning bright, though none directly on top.

A whizz of air passes by Jeongguk, Jimin’s shorter form running past him in the direction of Yoongi.

Yoongi. 

Jimin is hauling a piece of burning wood off Yoongi’s stomach, his hands shaking his shoulders. His voice is yelling, but Jeongguk can’t really hear it. At some point he began to move, too. His body acting for him while his mind remains scattered. 

His arms haul Namjoon off of the others, it’s clear all of them are injured– they’ll need to get medical attention when they get home. Seokjin, as much as he wants to, likely won’t be in the state to provide it. Jeongguk will yell at him if he tries.

Taehyung frame finally joins Joengguk too, following his lead in grabbing Seokjin instead, propping his body up rather than continuing to let him lay against the forest floor. From Jeongguk’s extremely limited medical knowledge, he knows his knee looks bad. But so does Hoseok’s shoulder. And god, Jeongguk has never been more thankful for the fire-resistant lining of the gear they wore today. He can’t imagine what the state of Namjoon’s back would be without it. 

“Hyung! Hyung!” Jeongguk hears his voice, but he doesn’t remember willing it to sound. He finds himself in the same place as Jimin, his hands shaking the pack alpha's shoulders, trying to wake him from his passed out state.

Fuck. If only he was faster getting to the truck, if only Taehyung was able to tell him sooner none of this would have happened! He would have been able to tell them and, and, and– 

“”M fine.” Jeongguk feels air enter him for the first time at the sound of Joon’s voice, even if it does sound a little weak. When Joon wheezes, his heart still pangs, “‘M fine. No one died. Take care of the others, they need it more.” 

Jeongguk has never wanted to sob more in his life from relief. 

The relief is short-lived when his eyes shift towards Seokjin being coddled by Taehyung.

Hoseok has propped himself up, too. He’s looking off in the distance. 

He’s smiling. 

You know, when Hoseok said he wasn’t interested in having an omega, you didn’t have to go and be such a fucking brat about it. 

Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever. He was going to let his packmates have their new little toy until they got bored of it– he didn’t mind. Pretty pussy is pretty pussy, and alphas have their urges. Hoseok has never minded sharing a beta between a few of them for a night in the past, though that stopped when Jimin joined and started killing them. 

Hoseok still didn’t really care. 

He didn’t have any loyalties to them. Didn’t wanna bite them. They were just for fun.

If the youngest wanted a new pet, he wouldn’t deny him. He bets he would look cute staring at you like you were the world. Teetering after you while Hoseok had his.. Fun. 

He wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of playing with you, too. Again, pretty pussy. 

And sure, Hoseok never really cared much for the second gender that seems so– his upper lip wants to curl– mystifying, almost like mythical creatures with their decline. He remembers even back in school when he was learning about them, being bored out of his mind. 

Everything about them just seemed so boring.

Helpless. 

Culling. 

Too much work for what? Something that just likes to sit around the house all day pretty? God, sounds like his fucking nightmare.

Hoseok has always thrived on the exciting. On whatever could get his blood pumping the fastest. 

It’s what Namjoon promised him. The alpha never did disappoint. 

Months ago, when Namjoon first came to him about the idea of getting an omega, Hoseok thought that it might be the first time he would. He never expected a desire so… simple, baseline… traditional, from the pack alpha. He agreed, sure, but he didn’t expect anything from it. Thought that the alpha might finally be becoming boring. 

He should be admonishing his past self for ever doubting him, but his present self feels high as a kite. 

This is certainly a motherfucking treat.

Even with the pain radiating from his shoulder socket– it’s definitely popped out– he doesn’t deny it. His tongue, despite its pain from biting through the meaty flesh during the blast, runs over his teeth. Copper tang in every breath he breathes. 

Awwwww, and you planned it all yourself, huh? Laid out a little bomb to catch the wolves in a trap? What an adorable little doe, thinking you could be big. 

He raises himself up on his forearms, flinching a little at the weight put onto his shoulder. He should be screaming from it now, right? That’s what anyone else would do. His cock is hard.

“Hyung! Hyung!” Shit. He really can’t hear now. Most of it just rings. Call it love the way he was still able to hear Jeongguk through it. Whatever. It’ll come back soon. He’s got other things to focus on. 

His eyes continue to scan the tree line, looking for something. He’s not sure what. 

He’ll find out soon. 

Ha, you really did a number on all of them, huh? Did alllllllll of this just for them? Wow, you must really care. You must really want Hoseok to think you’re worth it, huh? That you’re better than all those other little omegas out there?

You want him? That's the message you were trying to send, huh? That you want a chase? 

You’re fucking lucky Hoseok loves them. You want him to love you, too? Are you ready for something like that? You really think so?

His lips crack open, a splash of red coating the inside edge. Another trail of blood running down his cheek from where he nosedived into the dirt. 

You wanted his attention? That’s why you pulled this bratty little stunt? Well now you have it. 

He sees a glint of light in the distance, way beyond the trees. Light reflecting off of glass. Binoculars, huh? Cute. 

His smile grows, blood on his teeth. The taste of copper still coming through on his punctured tongue. His canines have never been more excited to bite. 

Found you, baby. 

Let’s play red riding hood. 

“Boom.” 

Your voice is soft, cusping just on the edge of the wind. Certainly nowhere near as loud as the sound that just permeated the forest, but felt as though it was even greater than it. A beautiful, radiating fire lighting the trees in the distance, a new glow.

On your face rests a satisfied, self serving smile. 

You, and your predictions, had been right. They came back. 

Now, there was no way you could be certain it was the same alphas that came to destroy you yesterday, of course not. It would be silly to completely presume but… it was nice to think it was, anyway. Had your legs feeling lighter as they rest against the wooden edge of the fire escape, your body slumped against the high-back stool that you just so happened to find in the fire tower. 

Ha. Fire tower. Ironic. 

Either way, you knew they would be back, and now they knew the consequences of doing such a thing, even if it is a pity the second bomb hadn’t gone off alongside the first.

The corner of your lips quirk a little higher, hand finally reaching to grab the binoculars from their place hanging against the chair. The cool metal raising to your eyes, allowing you to see even more of the beauty you had just created. 

Mmm, the view isn’t too much better– you suppose you did walk pretty far– but still. The act of seeing everything is divine. Your house, the place you had crafted for years, may now be in shambles, but so are the alphas. Poor things. 

Well, you’ll build your life back better, anyway. Every new start has become more and more easy. Lessons have taught you the proper steps, especially the steps to properly disappear. That everyone should have the tools and the knowledge to make an out if need be. 

Your bottom lip perks out in a bit of a mocking pout, head tilting to the side as the fire begins to grow. It won’t make it far, you know that. The conditions aren’t great for it to actually spiral, but it feels prophetic almost. It feels perfect.

Leave no witnesses.

Mhm, and after they saw your nest, you knew you had to. Fixed up the house to make it look like you were planning on trying to stay, left your car uncovered as a second honeypot. Disabled your trip wires to make it seem like you didn’t know what you were doing. Packed all the suppressants you could. Made sure to leave a little trail to each. 

Agitated clucking sounds from your left, drawing you out of your thoughts. The binoculars leaving your eyes as your head twists down towards her, instead. 

Ah. Of course, there was Cheryl, too. 

To be honest, you tried to leave her. To let her go back to the woods and live with the wild flock but… she wouldn’t stop following you.

Pack has to stick together, you suppose.

“Shhhh, shhh shh…” Your fingers slowly stroke down Cheryl's back, her plumage puffed up from the noise that rang throughout the forest. “You gotta be quiet. They could be watching us back.” 

You stand from your spot, moving back towards the interior of the little fire tower. One hand scooping up Cheryl from her tummy, the other slinging your pack over your shoulder. A continued soft hushing leaving as you walk. 

You have no plans of unpacking, you’d be leaving this location soon enough. 

A small buzzing sensation runs through your entire being, the aftereffects of your successful plan still migrating through every one of your nerves, lighting each up like little stars in little galaxies. 

Your lips curl once again, little sharpened canines hanging from below your upper lip, the corner of your smile tweaking upwards. “Well, if they’re still alive, that is.”

chapter 4 <- index -> chapter 6

⌬ : notes:

"oh, these weren't homemade. they were made in a factory. a bomb factory."

🧍‍♀️

ha..haha.. right guys?

*a tomato is thrown at me*

DAMN! Fine! Lemme just pack my shit and--- lmaooooo I'm joking!! Seriously though, I am desperate to hear what you guys think about this chapter. What I have been teasing for awhile has finally kicked off!! Like i said, reader still had a few things up her sleeve. She's crafty, huh? Either way, it isn't too much longer before she meets the guys!! it should be happening next chapter, isn't that exciting? It is to me!!

I am desperate to hear all of your thoughts on this chapter-- it really is my favourite one that I've written so far. Especially now that we have 6/8 povs unlocked for the main cast... mwahahah, hoseok is certainly a treat, isn't he? I have full confidence you will either hate him, or think he is entirely too hot (i am of the later group lmao, I know what I am) (a freak, if that wasn't clear LMAO)

Jeongguk too, with how desperate he is to have you :'< poor guy. Plus a look into the way he joined thep pack ?! Either way!! As always, please let me know any and all of your thoughts, I absolutely love hearing them!! Everything coming together, and the objects set in motion are rolling super fast now, even if it doesn't totally seem like it yet.

Ahhh, anyway, this is entirely too long! As always, thank you for reading and falling into the story of summer rain just like I have!!! We have officially hit 100 pages in my google doc! See you guys when the next chapter finishes out!! MWAH!!!

"Joon-" You can't even finish saying his name when you feel his cock harden, barely separated by his swimtrunks and your bikini bottoms. And then it's your turn to have your mind blank because Namjoon's lips are sucking one of your nipples into his wet mouth while his cock is throbbing against your covered, puffy folds.

He uses his tongue to flick, lick, and lap the nub until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your fingers are threading into his hair to pull him closer.

He makes you forget where you are. The only reason you two came to this beach was to relax, and Namjoon now planned to do that while sucking on your pretty titties. Once he was satisfied that you were wet and wanting, he planned to drag you back to the car to fuck you stupid and take you home to do it again. He wasn't going to last long for this beach day, but he was going to make it up to you.

Jin - You're at the beach, but on Jin's boat, far out in the ocean. You can see the many colorful dots of people lounging around on the sand, waddling into the ocean, or walking to find a place to tan, and you're happy that you get the privacy of relaxing with your boyfriend alone.

You knew that he most likely brought you onto this trip so he could go fishing while still spending time with you, and you were more than happy to come along. You didn't always fish with your boyfriend; sometimes, you would take advantage of the small yacht to tan or read inside, enjoying the soft waves lapping at the boat as you got lost in your latest book.

Today, you decided to tan first.

Jin was barely two feet away from where you lay, his posture relaxed as the sun beamed down on both of you. It was a perfect day. And you hadn't even realized he was watching you and not the ocean when you slipped your top off, closing your eyes and sighing happily. Your hand was resting just under your breast, and you were about to move it to your side when Jin spoke up.

He's soft but firm as his eyes rake over you slowly, his tongue licking his lips as he hums. "Move your hand up."

You furrow your eyebrows, blinking over at your boyfriend in confusion until you see the way his eyes hood and his cock twitch under your gaze.

"I want you to touch yourself for me, Baby. Move your hands up."

Jin's eyes stay on your pretty tits, ready to show you another way to relax, waiting for you to follow his orders. And you're always so good at taking his orders.

Yoongi - The strings to your swimsuit are already undone as you lie on top of your beach towel. You're lying on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as the sun rays beam down on you, and you're pretty positive you could nap just like this.

Yoongi is lying right next to you, but in the shade of the beach umbrella you two brought. His hair was wet from the ocean after you two had been swimming around for an hour before, trying to spot little schools of fish, and now, after another layer of sun lotion was rubbed on you, you were tanning as your boyfriend took in the beautiful day.

Waves lapped at the shoreline, the clouds were fluffy in the sky, and for the amazing day it was today, hardly anyone was on the beach but the two of you. It was perfect, and Yoongi didn't think it could get any better until it was time for you to flip over.

Your pretty tits grab all of Yoongi's attention the moment you turn over, making his lazy grin turn into an amused smirk. "If you wanted my attention, Baby, all you had to do was ask."

His teasing made you grin, your eyes rolling playfully as you shook your head. But then Yoongi was leaning closer, his thumb brushing over one of your nipples, and making you suck in a breath as he chuckled.

"I think you should take a break from the sun, c'mere, let me help you cool off."

Hobi - The day was warm, the ocean was cool, and Hobi was spending his free day with you on the beach. He wanted to have you all to himself; the long days of his job keeping him busy and away had taken a toll on him, so any chance he could have with you, he was going to take it.

It's why he lugged the beach towels, the umbrella, the sunscreen, etc., while you took care of the picnic basket full of snacks and drinks for both of you to share.

Hours of sun, sand, and swimming had left Hoseok tanner, his smile brighter, and your eyes gleaming as he swam closer to you. You two weren't far from the shoreline, but you were far from people, and it's why you forwent your top.

Your giggles rang in his ears as Hobi's eyes took you in. You were wet, hair drenched with ocean water, droplets sliding down your neck and into the valley of your breasts before joining back into the ocean. Your smile was mischievous, a knowing sparkle swirling in your eyes as you took in the way Hobi's breath caught.

He had pulled you in closer, his hands brushing along the curve of your breasts as your own hand teased the top of his swim trunks. He wanted to know if you had taken your swim bottoms off, too, suddenly wishing he was home alone with you instead of on this beach as your hand slipped under his swimtrunks in the ocean to grab his aching cock.

If you wanted to play, then Baby, he'll play. His cock was already growing hard under your touch, his pupils dilating as you gave him another playful giggle.

Jimin - Jimin is just finishing setting up your spot on the beach when you take your top off.

You two had taken a drive to a little trail that led to a private beach. It was the perfect getaway after both of you had the busiest workweek and had finally made it to the weekend.

Good weather, and belting to your favorite songs with your loved one had cured multiple long days at your day job, and feeling the sand underneath your feet had revived the energy you hadn't realized was depleted until now.

And it's how you end up taking a leap, untying the strings around your back and neck, and allowing the thin fabric to slip off your body as you look back at Jimin with a grin.

He watched as your grin grew bigger, his shocked face amusing you to bend over and slip your swim bottoms off next. "Catch me if you can!" You taunted, and then you were off, racing into the ocean with him short-circuiting under the umbrella he had carried all the way here.

It takes him three blinks to realize what you've said, and then his grin matches yours, and his swim trunks are pooling at his ankles as he chases after you. Your laughter rings in his ears, pushing him forward, eager to hear it again.

Taehyung - The moment you are topless on the beach is the exact moment Taehyung contemplates how he can convince you to follow him back to the car.

He doesn't care if anyone sees you; if anything, it makes a confident and smug grin dance on his lips because you're his, and he's proud to show you off.

Honestly, he isn't above fucking you in front of everyone if that's what you want. And he does ask you as he kneels between your legs, dipping his head down to lick a stripe up the valley of your breasts with a sparkle in his eyes. "You want to play, Baby?"

His tongue swirls the question mark over one of your nipples, his teeth grazing the little nub just to see you whimper in response.

"Are you going to take everything off? Want me to help you?" His fingers play with the strings of your bikini bottoms, brushing along your inner thighs until his knuckles are dragging over your puffy folds. "I can use my mouth, if you'd like?"

Taehyung forfeits the idea of sneaking you into the car. You're the one who caused his cock to harden, twitching pathetically in his swimtrunks as he presses it into your thigh. Now, he expects you to solve it.

Jungkook - Any thoughts in his head disappear the minute you take your top off at the beach.

You two were here to enjoy the sunny day, a little beach weekend if you will, where you two had planned to laze about on the beach and do nothing else.

But Jungkook's plan to swim around is immediately put onto the back burner in his mind as you lie back on your beach towel, topless, and looking like his wettest dream. "Fuck you're gorgeous." Jungkook is brought to his knees, his hands reaching for your waist and sliding up your sides until he can cup your pretty tits in his hand.

"Babe, I'm just trying not to create any tan lines." You giggle and then gasp as his fingers pinch your nipples, pulling them softly until your cute cunt clenches needily in response.

"Yeah? Are you gonna strip completely naked then, and show everyone your pretty body?" His hands move down from your tits and over your stomach to your bikini bottoms, teasing the little strings keeping the fabric covering the one thing he wanted most right now. "Are you gonna show me your pretty pussy, too? I've always wanted to fuck you on the beach, Baby. Want me to fuck you right here, right now?"

대박 - you made it to the end!

Tell me about it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated ♡ . Tumblr is based on reblogs, not likes, and they help writers like me to get a better reach. Thank you for your support!

You were seven when you learned your father hugged like a politician.

Quick. Calculated. For cameras only.

After the flash, he would straighten his suit, pat your head like you were a puppy, and walk away without looking back.

To everyone else you were “the Minister’s daughter.” To your father you weren’t even that. You were… “just an investment.” A future bargaining chip.

Only Chairman Kim ever treated you like a kid.

Every Saturday afternoon, he showed up for tea with your father while discussing politics. He always brought you strawberry candies in golden wrapper.

“For you, little princess,” he’d say, tapping your head, handing you candies while you smiled brightly.

His son always stood behind him. Tall. Quiet. Too serious for a kid.

Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t pay attention to him at first. But at nine, you noticed him properly for the very first time. He was twelve, wearing a navy suit, hair neatly combed. He looked like a tiny adult who had forgotten how to be a child.

You were sitting under the grand staircase with a sketchbook, drawing princess dresses made of candy wrappers.

He walked past.

Then stopped. and looked down at you.

You froze with your pencil mid-air.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even say a word. He just stared at you for five quiet seconds... long enough for your heartbeat to learn something new, then kept walking.

That night, you tried to draw him.

It was terrible. His head was huge, his body tiny. But you kept the drawing with you like a treasure anyway.

You didn’t know he stopped at the top of the staircase that day, looking back over his shoulder, wondering why a little girl designing candy wrapper dresses felt more alive than the whole house.

National Foundation Day.

It was your first grown-up banquet. You wore a yellow silk sundress embroidered with daisies. Your mother said it made you look “too bright.” Your father said nothing.

Namjoon was also here. He was twenty-one now. Taller... Sharper... Even more handsome in a way that hurt to look at. You saw him from across the ballroom. He was talking to a senator, but your heart already tripped over itself.

When he finally stood alone by the balcony doors, you took a deep breath, lifted your dress slightly so you wouldn’t trip, and walked toward him.

“Hi, Oppa,” you said, trying to sound casual and not like you’d practiced that exact greeting fifty times in the mirror.

He turned.

His eyes skimmed down your yellow sundress… then immediately lifted back to your face.

Too fast. Too controlled.

“Hello,” he said gently, voice and smile polite but distant.

You hated how cold it sounded.

Still, you tried.

“I, um… I saw your speech last week,” you said. “It was really, really good.”

He blinked at you like he wasn’t expecting genuine praise.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Then... “Excuse me.” He stepped around you and walked away.

You stood there alone, gripping your glass so tight your fingers ached.

But.. what you didn’t see was, Namjoon slipped behind a marble pillar twenty feet away, leaned his forehead against the cold stone and whispered under his breath, “…Why did she have to wear yellow? Why did she have to look so bright and cute?”

He stayed there until he calmed his breathing.

Because you were eighteen. And he was twenty one. And he wanted things he absolutely should not want.

At nineteen, you left your hometown to chase your bachelor’s degree—finally free from the suffocating walls of politics and expectations. You ran as far away as your world allowed. Your mother supported your dream.

Into color palettes. Into soft fabrics.

Into a life where people chose you because you made things beautiful, not because you fit into a political chessboard.

Your father fought you for years.

“This career is useless,” he scolded. “You’re embarrassing me.” “Come back and try to join politics.”

You didn’t. You kept sketching. Kept sewing. Kept breathing in a world full of art, not strategies. But when Autumn Festival came around, you had no choice but to return home.

And after a full day of polite smiles, fake compliments, and your father’s constant reminders of “behave,” you needed air. You needed space. You needed escape.

So you slipped away the first chance you got. Straight to the National Assembly library... your secret escape since childhood.

Quiet. Dusty. Safe.

A place where no one asked you to be perfect. A place where you could breathe again. A place filled with old books that smelled like freedom.

You didn’t expect him to be there.

Namjoon was twenty-two, round glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by policy reports. He looked annoyingly attractive in that serious, bookish way.

You hesitated before walking to his table.

“Hi... I didn't expect you here,” you said, softly.

He looked up. And for a second, his expression softened like sunlight touching snow. “You’re home for Chuseok,” he said. It was not a question... cause he already knew.

You nodded. “My house is too loud. I needed to hide.”

He smiled a little at that. “Same.”

You sat across from him.

You talked for forty minutes. Softly. Comfortably. About nothing and everything.

You: “Do you ever get tired of all the grey suits?” Him: “Grey is safe.” You: “Safe is boring.” Him, after a long pause: “…Some of us don’t get to pick exciting.”

At one point, you reached for his pen—even though you had three of your own. Your fingers brushed. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his hand back like you’d burned him.

You pretended not to notice.

When you left, he watched you walk all the way to the door. And when the library finally closed, he was still staring at the spot where your fingers had touched his.

Few months later, chairman Kim passed away unexpectedly, it felt like all the color drained from Namjoon’s world.

At the funeral, he stood expressionless. Those deep, thoughtful eyes carried a grief so restrained it almost hurt to look at him. He bowed and thanked guests, all robotic and polite.

It was the first time you saw Namjoon truly break.

You placed a single strawberry candy on the funeral wreath—one he used to give you every weekends.

Namjoon stared at it for a long moment.

When he looked up at you, his eyes were red, his voice rough.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

You wanted to hug him so badly your chest hurt. But you didn’t. You walked away before you cried.

After that, something hardened inside him. He returned to politics sharper, colder, impossibly composed. He became ice who forgot how to melt.

You approached him once at a diplomatic dinner months later. You wore a dress you designed yourself—lavender silk, soft draping, delicate straps.

Your heart was fluttering like always.

“Oppa… you look thinner,” you said quietly.

“I’m fine.” He replied.

Short. Cold. Clipped.

His eyes flicked away the moment your friend approached.

It hurt. You told yourself he didn’t care. Didn’t feel anything. Never did. But you never knew he went home that night and punched a wall, furious at himself for reacting to you that way.

After that, you stopped trying to get close. He always stepped back anyway. Always kept his distance. Always refused warmth.

To you, it looked like indifference.

But in truth, he kept his distance because you made him feel things... dangerous, irrational things, and in politics, feelings were fatal.

Senior year felt like breathing after holding your lungs tight for ten years. Semester exams were done. Your brain was empty. Your heart finally felt light.

And that night… you wanted to forget everything.

The silver slip dress you wore clung to your skin like moonlight made of silk. You didn’t dress for anyone. You dressed for yourself... for freedom.

“Come on, babe, don’t overthink. Just dance tonight,” your friend Hyejin yelled over the music, pulling you to the center of the crowded Gangnam club.

The bass hit your body first.

The peach soju washed away the last bit of doubt. And the moment you started moving, everything—politics, your father, expectations, Kim Namjoon—blurred into nothing.

Jimin, your classmate, spun you around with a grin.

“You look dangerous tonight,” he joked, laughing.

You rolled your eyes. “Please, I look like someone who needs sleep.”

He laughed louder and pulled you closer. “Lets have fun and just dance before real life crushes you.”

You giggled, letting him guide you. Just harmless fun. Just dancing.

His hands slipped lower on your waist.

You didn’t notice... didn't care... cause he was just a friend. But someone else did.

Namjoon had not planned to stay.

He only came to discuss a campaign donation. He wore a black suit jacket undone, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked like sin in human form.

He lifted his whisky glass. He was mid-sip when he saw you.

And the world… stopped.

One of the donors said, “Assemblyman Kim, shall we go over the proposal—?”

“Hold on,” Namjoon said without looking away.

Because there you were. Shining... Laughing... Dancing with another man. You spun, silver dress flashing under neon lights. Jimin’s hands settled on your waist.

Namjoon’s fingers tightened around the glass.

He whispered under his breath, “No… absolutely not.”

His jaw flexed. His shoulders locked. He shouldn’t look. He tried not to look. But he failed.

Jimin leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re seriously glowing tonight,” he shouted.

You laughed, warm and drunk. “It’s just glitter! Hyejin dumped half a bottle on me!”

He grinned. “Well, it's working and you are shining.”

You smiled back without thinking.

Namjoon saw that smile. And the way Jimin’s chest pressed to your back and how naturally you leaned into the touch. His heart slammed inside his ribs.

One donor asked, “Kim Namjoon-ssi? Are you listening?”

“No,” he said honestly, eyes locked on the dance floor.

“Namjoon-ssi, about the contribution—”

“Not now,” he said, voice clipped, icy.

He barely heard himself. All he heard was the blood roaring in his ears, one thought slamming over and over.

She’s mine. Why is he touching her? Why is she letting him touch her? Why wasn’t I there first?

Your laughter floated up to the balcony.

Something in him snapped.

Namjoon didn’t let them finish. He stood so fast his chair scraped loud across the marble floor. “Excuse me,” he said sharply. He didn’t wait for an answer.

He was breathing too hard. He reached the middle of the staircase and stopped. His chest hurt with how badly he wanted to drag you away from that boy.

He wanted to storm across the floor. He wanted to pull you into him. He wanted the whole club to see who you belonged to. But then another thought punched him.

She still thinks you don’t want her. She still thinks you’ve never looked at her that way.

He squeezed the railing until the metal groaned.

“Not like this,” he whispered. “Not drunk. Not in a club. Not when she doesn't know.”

He forced himself to turn around. Forced himself to walk back up. Forced himself to finish his drink. The glass cracked in his hand before he even realized he was squeezing it that hard.

Blood dripped down his palm, warm and slow.

He was too busy staring at the back of your silver dress in his mind.

Too busy remembering the very first time he wanted to kiss you—in that stupid yellow sundress years ago. Too busy losing the last bit of restraint he had left.

He left early.

He didn’t trust himself to stay.

Not when he knew exactly how good you’d feel pinned against the wall. Not when he knew exactly how easy it would be to claim your mouth and whisper, “I never stopped wanting you.”

He sat in his car for a long moment, hands shaking on the steering wheel. Then he whispered into the dark. “I’m done waiting.”

Meanwhile, You… You danced until your heels hurt and your hair stuck to your neck. Jimin offered to walk you home.

You shook your head. “I’m fine! Taxi is enough.”

He ruffled your hair. “Your loss.”

You laughed and waved goodbye.

You fell into bed at 4 a.m., cheeks flushed, heartbeat warm, mind airy.

And you didn’t think about Namjoon even once. Because you still believed he didn’t want you. You had no idea that the man you thought was cold and uninterested…

…just walked away because he was terrified he’d kiss you in the middle of a crowded club.

Terrified he’d finally lose control.

And deeply unaware that his control was already gone.

The dining room in your family’s official residence was always cold, even in summer.

Crystal chandelier, long mahogany table, portraits of presidents staring down like they were judging the food.

You were twenty-one, home for the weekend from university, wearing an oversized cream sweater and soft linen pants, hair still damp from the shower.

Your father sat at the head of the table, tie loosened for once but jaw locked tight. The staff brought the food in, quietly as always, never making eye contact. He didn’t let them finish.

He put his phone on the table—flat, heavy, decisive. “We need to talk about your future.”

You paused mid-bite, chopsticks hovering. “My… future?”

You tried to smile. Failed. “Dad, I already told you and mom. I got that internship in Paris. Remember? The eco-fashion collective? They only choose seven people in the whole...”

“I’m not talking about hobbies,” he interrupted, dismissing your dream with one flick of his hand.

You froze. “Hobbies?”

Your chest pinched. “Dad, it’s not a hobby, it’s my—”

“A marriage proposal has come for you and you will marry Assemblyman Choi’s son,” he continued, calm and cold. “Next month. You can finish rest of your last semester from here. I know attendance isn’t mandatory for this semester.”

The words slammed into you like a fist. Your chopsticks slipped and clattered onto the bowl. The sound echoed far too loudly.

“…What?” you whispered.

Your father didn’t flinch. “It’s already arranged. The Chois are powerful allies. This is a good match.”

“No.” You pushed your chair back. “Dad, absolutely not. Minhyuk is—”

“A respectable young man,” he cut in.

“A creep!” Your voice cracked. “He hits on my friends! Last month at the gala he cornered Ji-eun—”

“Rumors,” he snapped. “Girls exaggerate.”

Your jaw dropped. You felt sick.

“Dad, he’s a walking scandal. He literally bragged about cheating on his ex because she was ‘too clingy.’ I’m not marrying a man like that—”

“You will,” he said, slamming his palm on the table.

The glasses jumped. So did you.

“Because I said so.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Tears piled hot behind your eyes. “I’m building something. Fashion is important to me. I’m actually good at it—my professor said my designs could get into Seoul Fashion Week...”

“Enough.” His voice boomed. “Stop embarrassing yourself with glitter and fabric scraps. You have my name. That means something. And you will honor it.”

Your throat burned.

“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice trembled. “A tool? A deal? A pretty bargain chip?”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even hesitate.

“You are a disgrace to this family! Wasting your time on useless creative fields... drawing dresses like some starving artist! Do you know how many doors my name opens? And you throw it away for fabric scraps and glitter?”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and angry. “It’s not useless! It’s my life! You never even asked what I want!”

“What you want?” He stood too, towering over the table, face red.

“You want to embarrass me? Parading around in those ridiculous clothes, partying with those artsy nobodies? No daughter of mine will live like that. You will marry Minhyuk. You will smile at events. You will give me grandchildren who will carry this legacy. End of discussion. Or I pull every penny of your tuition, your apartment, your precious little fabric budget. You’ll be on the street by Monday.”

You went still. Absolutely still.

“Dad…” Your voice was barely air. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he said simply. “And I will.”

Then he buttoned his jacket.

“Dinner is over.”

He walked out, door slamming behind him so violently the chandelier trembled. You sat back down slowly, shoulders trembling, tears falling silently into your lap.

You whispered into the empty room, “I hate you… I hate you so much.”

The staff pretended not to hear. But everyone did.

Namjoon’s office was dim, lit only by a desk lamp as he reviewed policies. He’d been working for hours; exhaustion clung to him like smoke.

His chief of staff entered quietly.

“Sir… there’s news. I think you should know.”

Namjoon didn’t look up. “What is it?”

The chief hesitated. “Minister Park just informed Chairman Choi… that his daughter agreed to marry Minhyuk.”

Namjoon’s pen froze mid-sentence.

“…What?” His voice was so low, it barely counted as a word.

“They’re planning the wedding for next month.” Chief replied.

Namjoon slowly lowered his pen, staring at nothing. “She agreed?” he repeated, like he needed confirmation.

“He says so...” The chief nodded, but continued, “... but I heard she was threatened too.”

Snap...

The pen broke clean in half in Namjoon’s hand. Ink bled over his skin, but he didn’t feel it. Namjoon stood abruptly, grabbing his coat.

“Sir... where are you—?”

“Get the car.”

“Sir?”

“Now.” He roared.

He drove faster than he should have through the quiet streets of Seoul. Every muscle in his body was tight. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. His jaw was locked so hard it ached.

She agreed? Did she really? I can't believe it... I know her father force her? Does she think she has no choice?

His heart hammered.

He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t. He knew your father might have forced you or threatened you.

You were his... No one can dare to touch you... He couldn’t even finish the thought without losing control of the car. He reached your father’s residence in minutes. Security let him in without question.

Your father looked up from his brandy as Namjoon entered unannounced.

“Namjoon,” he said calmly, “it’s very late.”

Namjoon didn’t bow... Didn’t sit... Didn’t even breathe properly.

“I’m here to discuss about your daughter.”

Your father smirked faintly. “You heard the news.”

“I did.” Namjoon stepped closer. “And I’m here to tell you something.”

Your father raised an eyebrow. Namjoon’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm was something dangerous.

“She will not marry Choi Minhyuk.” He pause a beat. “She will marry me.”

The amused expression disappeared from your father’s face. “You’re serious.”

Namjoon’s chest rose and fell once. “Completely.”

Your father set his glass down slowly. “Namjoon… you are an excellent young man. Too excellent for someone like her. You can easily aim for someone from a stronger political family.”

Namjoon’s jaw flexed. “I’m not asking.”

Your father stiffened. “…What did you say?”

Namjoon stepped directly in front of the desk, lowering his voice.

“I’m telling you. I will marry her... Not Choi... No one else... Only Me.”

Your father narrowed his eyes. “And why should I agree to this sudden… demand?”

Namjoon leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “Because I’m the only man in this country who can give you what Choi never will... stability. Power. Control.”

Your father blinked.

Namjoon continued, tone razor-sharp. “Choi Minhyuk will embarrass you within a year. His scandals will drag your legacy through the dirt. But with me? Your family name becomes untouchable. I don’t lose. I don’t slip. I don’t fail. Tie your daughter to me, and your future is secure.”

Your father stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then he slowly reached for his phone. “Prepare the marriage documents for Kim Namjoon,” he said into it. “Have them sent to his office by morning.”

Namjoon straightened.

Your father looked up. “The wedding announcement will be next week.”

Namjoon nodded once. “Thank you, Minister.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “One more thing.”

Your father looked up again.

Namjoon’s voice dropped to a quiet, deadly softness.

“If you ever threaten her tuition, her career, or her freedom again, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your career counting paper clips in a provincial office. Do we understand each other?”

A flicker of fear crossed your father’s face. “…We understand each other.”

“Good.” Namjoon left.

Outside, in the cold night air, he leaned against his car, finally letting the breath he’d been holding escape.

His hands were still stained with broken pen ink.

He closed his eyes, head falling back.

He’d waited eight long years to claim you... Eight years of distance, of control, of swallowing every feeling.

Now? You were finally, undeniably his.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, heart pounding.

“I’m coming for you,” he whispered to the night.

“And this time… I’m not stepping back.”

The hallways smelled like polished wood and ambition.

You didn’t call ahead. You didn’t care that his secretary tried to stop you. You shoved past her, heels clicking like gunshots on the marble, coat half-on, hair wild from the wind outside. You pushed the heavy oak door open so hard it banged against the wall.

Namjoon was standing at the window, phone pressed to his ear, back straight, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He ended the call without turning.

“I wondered how long it would take you to find me,” he said, calm, almost too calm.

You slammed the door behind you. Your hands trembled.

“How dare you,” you said, voice shaking with anger. “How dare you walk into my life like you own it and decide who I marry!”

He finally turned, slowly, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t decide anything,” he said. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. “Your father did. I just changed the name on the contract.”

Your feet pounded across the floor until you were standing right in front of him, barely an inch apart.

“Who the hell asked you to play hero, Kim Namjoon?” you spat, chest heaving.

He looked down at you, jaw tight. “You preferred Choi Minhyuk?”

The name tasted like poison.

“I prefer no one!” you said. “I want to finish my degree, open my own studio, live my life... my way!”

He chuckled, low and sharp. “And you think your father was going to let you do that?” His eyes darkened. “He would have sold you to the highest bidder the second you walked across that stage. I know it. You know it.”

Your hands flew to his chest, shoving, angry, desperate.

He didn’t budge. Not an inch.

Instead, in a move so fast it stole your breath, he caught your wrists and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, crashing into him, palms flat against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath your fingers.

Your faces were inches apart. His breath brushed your lips... warm, faintly minty, with a rich undertone of coffee that made your stomach clench.

You hated how good he smelled.

You hated how your anger faltered for a split second, leaving your body betraying your mind.

“You should be thanking me,” he said, voice low, rough.

“Thanking you?” you spat, trying to pull away. He didn’t let go. “For what?”

“For saving you from him.” He glanced at your chest, then up at your eyes. “Choi Minhyuk would have destroyed you. Made you quit your passion, smiled at cameras while crying alone in bathrooms. I’ve seen what he does. I’ve seen the bruises he leaves on hearts like yours.”

Your stomach sank.

Namjoon’s voice dropped even lower. “I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I will never ask you to be less than you are.”

He leaned in until his forehead almost touched yours. “With me, you graduate. You design. You travel to Paris, Milan, New York, wherever the hell you want. You keep your name on the label. You keep your freedom.”

His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. “You’ll just have my last name too.”

You trembled. Rage mixed with something hotter, something dangerous.

“And what do you get out of this, Namjoon?” you whispered. “A political boost? Bragging rights? Or… a pretty little trophy wife?”

His jaw flexed.

He let go of one wrist to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like you were fragile glass. “I get to sleep peacefully at night knowing that you are safe and no one else is touching you.”

The words landed between you, raw and sharp. You sucked in a breath. He saw it, eyes darkening.

Then he stepped back, regaining control.

Cold, smooth control that had nothing to do with kindness.

“Two days,” he said. “Think about it.”

He walked back to his desk. He didn’t glance at you again. You left, shaking, slamming the door behind you.

You drove to your mother’s apartment, the one your father pretended didn’t exist after the divorce. She opened the door in loose silk pajamas, hair falling around her face, eyes tired but alert.

You collapsed into her arms, crying like a child.

When the story spilled out, she didn’t flinch.

She poured chamomile tea, sat you on the couch.

“I married your father because I had no choice. I was young and scared,” she said quietly. “I thought love would grow. It didn’t. Every year, I got smaller.”

She held your hands. “Namjoon… that boy has watched you since you were sixteen. He’s never smiled much, but his eyes… they were always on you. Keeping you safe. Waiting.”

You swallowed hard. “He… he doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s in love with you,” your mother corrected gently.

“He’s giving you a door your father wants to slam shut forever. Take it, baby. You can always choose whatever destination you want later through that door.”

Next Morning, you walked into his office again. The secretary didn’t even try to stop you this time. He was at his desk, pen in hand, signing papers. He looked up as you closed the door softly.

Hands shaking, you forced your voice steady. “I have conditions.”

He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours. “Name them.”

“I finish my degree, my internship. No interference.”

“Done.”

“I keep my studio, my brand, my name on every label.”

“Done.”

“I am not a doll. I will not quit my life to smile next to you at banquets.”

He stood, crossed the desk until he was in front of you. “I don’t want a doll. I want you. Safe and peaceful.”

Your throat tightened. “One more,” you whispered.

He waited.

“If you ever try to control me the way he does—”

“I won’t,” he said, voice steady, eyes locking with yours.

You exhaled, relief, fear, and something wild all at once. “Then… yes.”

For the first time, Kim Namjoon smiled.

A real smile, like he’d been holding his breath for years.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

“You won’t regret this,” he murmured, softer.

You lifted your chin. “I’d better not.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Welcome home, Mrs. Kim.”

You rolled your eyes, heart thundering for a completely different reason. “Technically I’m not Mrs. Anything yet.”

“Give it one month,” he whispered, stepping closer. Close enough that stepping back wasn’t an option anymore.

And for the first time, you didn’t even try to.

The wedding had been quick.

Too quick.

A blur of black suits, white flowers, and your father’s satisfied nods. Nothing warm, nothing soft... just contracts, handshakes, and a single fleeting glance from Namjoon that left your stomach twisting for reasons you couldn’t name yet.

Moving into his penthouse felt like stepping into another world... luxury that almost hurt your eyes, marble floors that echoed every step, and a quiet so deep it was suffocating.

You unpacked in your separate room, the one at the far end of the hall. He had his own, just a few doors away. That night you lay in that big bed and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

You came down the stairs at 9:15 a.m., legs bare in those tiny silk shorts, drowning in your oversized hoodie. You were still sleepy, still warm, still looking like trouble.

He was already at the kitchen island in fresh suit, sleeves rolled up, black coffee steaming beside a tablet full of boring government stuff.

He heard your footsteps. He looked up once... just once, and his eyes stopped dead on your legs.

A quick inhale. A tiny freeze in his action.

Then he ripped his gaze back to the screen like his life depended on it. You shrugged and pretended not to notice.

You grabbed a bowl and poured cereal. The clinking sounded like a loud gunshot in the silent kitchen.

Still, you tried.

“Good morning,” you said softly.

He didn’t look up. Not even a little.

“Morning,” he answered, voice low, careful… like if he looked at you again he would do something stupid.

You sat down three stools away, dramatically... like a queen claiming her territory.

Then… silence. Awkward, heavy, warm silence.

You stared at him. Then at his shoulders. Then at the tiny muscle twitching in his jaw. You lasted forty-three seconds.

“Do you always eat alone?” you blurted, poking at your cereal like it offended you.

He finally glanced at you—this controlled, composed look with eyes that were way too soft for someone pretending not to care.

“I’m used to it,” he said. Not coldly but honestly.

You huffed, stirring your cereal aggressively. “Yeah, well… you have a wife now. So get unused to it.”

His mouth twitched. The closest thing to a smile he’s allowed himself at 9 a.m.

“Noted,” he murmured, voice warm this time.

You tried not to smile.

He tried not to stare at your legs again. Both of you failed.

Soon, he finished his coffee, slipped into his blazer, and paused by the front door. “I’ll be late,” he said. “Long session at the Assembly.”

You nodded, sipping your coffee. “Come home safe.”

He froze for half a second—like the words did something to him, but then he nodded, voice lower now.

“I will.” And then he was gone.

You didn’t see him again for 18 hours, but the warm echo of that tiny, hard-won smile stayed with you the whole day.

It was 6:12 a.m., another morning at house where silence lived more louder than the conversations you two ever had.

It was way too early for your brain to function, but cravings don’t care about sleep schedules. You stood on your toes, tiny cotton shorts riding up your thighs as you reached, struggling—for the top-shelf.

You didn’t hear him come in.

But you felt him first.

A warm breath hit the back of your neck... soft, slow, like he was tasting the moment. You stiffened, fingers curling on the cabinet edge.

And then his bare chest—still faintly damp from his early gym session, pressed against your back.

Hard muscle. Hot skin.

A silent, dangerous wall of him.

He reached past you, arm brushing your cheek, body pinning you to the counter without even touching you intentionally. Your breath caught. He didn’t move away.

For five heavy, stretched-out seconds, the whole world narrowed to heat radiating from his body, your pounding heartbeat, and the thin layer of your shirt separating your spine from his chest.

He spoke low, voice rough with sleep and sweat. “This shelf is too high for you.”

Your throat tightened. “I'll manage.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just lowered the cereal box… slowly… setting it on the counter with deliberate care.

His knuckles skimmed your hip on the way down.

A soft graze. Barely a touch.

But your breath hitched like he’d put his hand under your shirt.

His chest finally pulled away from your back, and you exhaled without knowing you’d been holding anything in.

You turned to face him.

He was already halfway across the kitchen, shoulders stiff, jaw flexing so hard you saw the muscle jump near his cheek. Like he was holding something back. Like touching you, even accidentally, was a test he barely passed.

You opened your mouth to say something but he didn’t look back.

Just tossed over his shoulder, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to struggle for basic things.”

Then he disappeared into his room.

The next morning, you shuffled into the kitchen, hair messy, eyes half-shut and froze.

Everything... Every single thing, was rearranged.

The cereal. The snacks. The spices. The ladles. The jars. All placed lower. All placed where you could reach without stretching.

You blinked, stunned. “This wasn’t like this yesterday…”

You heard his voice behind you, softer this time but with the same deep rumble. “You don’t have to struggle for anything in this house.”

You turned.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

“Why did you…? And when...?” you asked.

His jaw flexed again before he admitted, quietly, “Because I didn’t like seeing you struggle.”

Your heart did a stupid flip.

Every morning started the same way and night ended the same way.

Maybe it was the brush of his fingers against yours when he handed you a glass, the touch so light it felt like an accident but lasted just a second too long.

Maybe it was a care and love hidden under those tiny acts and moments. Or maybe it was the way your eyes met in the dim hallway, his gaze sliding down to your mouth, yours flickering to his collarbone, silence stretching warm and unbearable between you.

Someone always looked away first, pretending nothing had happened… even though you both felt it.

That unfinished moment followed you to your separate rooms, settling under your skin, making the air heavier the next morning. Nothing was ever resolved.

Nothing was ever said.

And every night the tension just… lived there, growing thicker, waiting for one of you to finally stop walking away.

It was supposed to be a quick phone call.

Instead, your father’s voice sliced you open like it always did. “Three months married and not even a single public appearance! Do you want people to talk? Do you want to embarrass me again? And along with me Namjoon too!”

Your throat tightened. “Dad, I’m finishing my degree... I need to submit my designs...”

“Nonsense. Namjoon is being polite, but that doesn't mean you will take advantage of it. He is gonna run for Mayor soon and he needs a proper wife beside him. Get your priorities straight.” He hung up before you could breathe.

You sank onto the cold marble floor of the hallway, hugging your knees, trying to swallow the knot in your chest, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

You didn’t even hear footsteps.

Just a sudden shadow falling across you.

“Hey…” Namjoon’s voice dipped low, gentle in a way that cut deeper. “Hey. What happened?”

You shook your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s nothing. I’m just… being... dramatic.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you so fast it startled you.

“No.” He took your shaking hands, prying them away from your face. “You don’t cry like this unless someone hurt you.”

Your lips parted, breath trembling. “I... I talked to my father.”

Namjoon went still.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. Something dark moved behind his eyes.

“What did he say?” His voice was so calm it was dangerous.

“That I’m… embarrassing him... and you too. That I’m not being a proper wife. That I should forget my stupid degree and—” Your voice cracked.

His thumb brushed a tear off your cheek.

Then another.

Then the next.

“Live your life the way you want,” he whispered, inching closer. “I’ll handle everything else.”

You swallowed, a sob escaping before you could hold it back.

He cupped your face with both hands—warm, large, steady. Your breaths tangled. His forehead almost touched yours.

You could feel his heartbeat.

Fast. Hard. Uncontrolled.

For a moment, you thought he’d kiss you. His eyes flicked to your lips but he stopped himself. Pulled back like your lips were fire.

His hands fell to his lap.

He looked away, breathing unevenly.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t…”

You didn’t understand what he meant cause he never completed the sentence. You only knew your chest hurt when he stood up and helped you to your feet, careful not to touch you too long.

“Let me take care of my campaigns,” he said gently. “You focus on your dreams.”

You nodded, thinking he was just being kind.

He walked away with fists clenched, jaw locked, like he was punishing himself for wanting you too much.

A week later, you were hunched over your laptop in the living room, surrounded by fabric swatches and sketches. Your leg bounced restlessly, your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

You didn’t hear him come in until he spoke. “You’re overthinking.”

You jumped. “Uh... I’m working.”

“Torturing yourself isn’t the same thing,” he replied calmly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he walked closer.

You glared. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His voice was unshakeably gentle. “Tell me what you are struggling with. Tell me what you need.”

You shook your head. “Materials. But the supplier is out. And the backup is too expensive. And the design idea is good but I can’t finalize it because the fabric isn’t right and—”

“Okay.” He stopped in front of you, lowering his voice. “Slow down. Which materials?”

You blinked, surprisingly.

He listened as you rambled, your hands moving animatedly, describing textures, cuts, colors, structure.

He didn’t interrupt. Not once.

He looked at you like the world’s gone quiet and you’re the only thing worth hearing.

Hours later, when you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, you noticed boxes stacked neatly by the wall.

Your heart stopped.

Everything you mentioned. Even the items you said were “impossible to get at very short notice.”

You found him in the hallway, sleeves rolled up, opening the last box.

“You did all this?” you whispered.

“I told you,” he said without looking up, “I’ll handle everything else. And I hate seeing you struggle.”

The next morning, he led you to a door you had never opened.

Inside?

A full studio. Your dream studio.

Tailored exactly to the way you work.

You turned to him, stunned. “Namjoon… this is—this is too much.”

“No,” he said, meeting your eyes steadily. “It’s not enough.”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer, gaze gentle. “You deserve space to build your future. You’re not supposed to fit your dreams into a corner of the living room.”

Your chest tightened. “You made this… for me?”

“I made it because I like watching you work,” he said, then immediately looked away like he didn’t mean to be that honest. “It—uh—it’s important to you. That’s all.”

But you heard it.

Two weeks later, everything had blown up—posters everywhere, meetings stacked on meetings until he was nothing but a shadow passing through the house. You hardly saw him anymore... except in the quiet hours of the morning.

And the day he officially filed his candidacy, you dressed him in the first suit you’d finished for him.

A midnight–navy wool-silk… smooth, rich, beautiful with hand-stitched lapels. A thin silver pinstripe that showed only when he moved.

He looked unreal in it. But you pretended you weren’t staring.

He stood in the center of your studio like a perfectly-behaved mannequin, while you circled him with pins in your teeth and your heart somewhere in your throat.

“Arms up,” you said, tapping his elbow.

He lifted them instantly. No hesitation. No argument. Just complete obedience to your soft little command.

You pretended it didn’t affect you.

He watched you in the studio mirror, eyes following every move you made.

Your palm slid over his shoulder, smoothing the fabric. You stepped closer, fingertips smoothing down the length of his bicep, then flattening the jacket across his chest.

His chest was warm. His heartbeat was fast.

You tried to pretend you didn’t notice.

“Is it too tight here?” you asked softly, pressing your hand over his heart to check the fit.

A low sound escaped him... half-laugh, half something else. His eyes flicked to yours in the mirror.

“If it were any looser,” he said, “I’d look like I borrowed my father’s suit.”

You smiled under your breath and moved behind him to check the vents. Your hands skimmed lightly along his waist to adjust the back seam.

He inhaled sharply—so sharply that you felt it through the fabric.

“Stop moving,” you scolded, nudging him with your knee.

“Believe me,” he muttered, “I’m trying.”

You stepped to his front again, reaching for the tie you dyed yourself—a deep burgundy that warmed against his skin. You slid it under his collar, your knuckles brushing his throat.

He swallowed. You felt everything.

“Hold still,” you whispered.

He didn’t. He swayed almost imperceptibly closer.

You tied the knot slowly, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Your hand smoothed down the tie, down the firm line of his chest… and lingered over his heart again without meaning to.

Your voice dropped. “There. You look…”

You swallowed the rest.

He turned his head, meeting your eyes through the mirror like the way a man does when he’s trying very hard not to cross a line.

“How do I look?” he asked, voice deep and rough.

You let out a shaky breath. “Like you’re going to win.”

His eyes dropped immediately to your mouth. “And if I do win?”

You stepped back a tiny bit—barely an inch. “Then the city gets a mayor who dresses well.”

He gave a soft, humorless laugh, like it hurt him. “That’s all?”

Your fingers were still brushing his chest, even though you were trying to drag them away. His heartbeat was wild under your palm—louder, faster, like he was afraid you’d hear everything he’d been holding back.

“Mhmm...,” you said quietly.

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing like he needed to calm himself, then stepped back with visible effort. His hands clenched at his sides.

“One more month,” he told himself in mind, almost like a promise. “Just one more month…”

He left before you could say anything further, afraid he’d grab you, afraid he’d kiss you, afraid he’d ruin the careful control he’d been holding onto.

You watched him on the television from your new studio—half-finished sketches on the table, fabric scissors forgotten in your hand.

He stepped onto the stage for his first town-hall speech wearing the suit you made for him.

Under the bright lights, the midnight navy shimmered. Every turn caught the silver pinstripe. The burgundy tie glowed against his throat.

He looked powerful... Confident... And heartbreakingly handsome.

A reporter leaned forward. “Mr. Kim, your suit looks fantastic today. It's different than what you usually wear. May we ask who designed it?”

He smiled—small, soft, secret.

“My wife,” he said.

Those two words hit you harder than the studio lights above you. You felt your breath catch, your chest tighten, your heart race against your ribs.

He said it with pride. With ownership.

With something warm and protective in his voice that made your knees weak.

You pressed a hand to your chest as he continued speaking on screen, his voice steady and strong. But all you could hear was the smile in his voice when he said it.

My wife.

You’d promised one night for yourself before finals took over everything. Just one night to forget the weight on your shoulders. One night to laugh with the friends who pulled you out of the suffocating world of politics and lit up your college days.

One last night before all of you drifted toward your own futures.

So you went out with your friends to a rooftop bar in Itaewon—fairy lights hanging above you, cheap cocktails in plastic cups, music loud enough that your overthinking finally shut up for a few hours.

Jungkook, your playful, chaotic friend, offered to drive you home when your cab cancelled. At 2:13 a.m., his matte-black Jeep stopped in front of the entrance to the penthouse.

You leaned over the console to side-hug him, laughing at something stupid he had said. “Thanks for the ride, Kook. Seriously.”

He hugged you back briefly and grinned. “Anytime. Text me when you’re alive tomorrow.”

You hopped out, still giggling, hair messy, heels dangling from your fingers.

You didn’t know someone else had watched the entire thing.

Namjoon had been pacing the living room for two full hours, phone in hand, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you. He saw the hug. He saw you smiling. He saw another man’s hands around you.

And something inside him burned.

The moment Jungkook’s car drove off, you stepped inside—humming softly, completely unaware of the storm brewing for you.

You stopped dead.

Namjoon stood in the dark living room, facing the window, the city lights outlining his tall frame. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly wild like he had been dragging his fingers through it.

His voice cut through the darkness like a knife. “You should have told me you’d be late.”

Your heart jumped. “God, Namjoon. Don’t stand in the dark like that. It’s creepy.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said without turning. “I was waiting.”

“For what?” you asked, dropping your heels by the door.

“For you,” he said simply.

You blinked. “I texted you. You didn’t reply.”

He finally turned toward you. His eyes were sharp. “I was in a strategy meeting until 11.”

You let out a breath. “Okay… then what’s the problem?”

He stepped forward. Slowly. Controlled.

But his jaw was tight, and you saw the muscle tick.

“The problem,” he said softly, “is coming home and watching some guy put his hands on my wife.”

Your lips parted. “Jungkook just hugged me. He was driving me home...”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It DOES matter. He’s my friend!”

“I don’t care,” Namjoon growled, taking another step. “I don’t care about him. I care that his hands were on you. I care that you were laughing in his car. I care that you didn’t tell me you’d be with him that late.”

You stared at him, stunned.

Then a sharp, humorless laugh escaped you.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you said. “You don’t even TOUCH me, Namjoon. You barely LOOK at me. You treat me like a roommate you’re forced to live with—”

His voice cracked open, raw and ragged. “Because I’m trying not to ruin you before you graduate.”

The room fell silent. You swallowed, the anger melting into hurt.

“Then why... why do you act like you don’t want me?” Your voice shook. “Every time I get close, you step away. We sleep in separate rooms. You treat me like I’m made of glass. You don’t even love me. You’re just stuck with me. So why the hell do you care who drops me home?”

Something inside him broke. You could feel it.

He moved faster than you could process.

In two strides, he had you caged against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, chest rising and falling, breath shaking.

He wasn’t touching you. But the air between you felt electric.

His voice was low, furious, trembling. “You think I don’t want you?”

Your breath stopped.

He leaned closer, lips almost brushing your cheek.

“I have wanted you,” he whispered, “since you were sixteen and I was nineteen. And it was wrong. It was illegal. And I hated myself every single day for it.”

Your eyes widened, heart slamming against your ribs.

He continued, voice breaking, “I married you because the thought of another men breathing near you made me want to burn the world down. I married you so no one else ever would.”

His forehead pressed gently against yours. His whole body shook with restraint.

“I count the hours until your graduation,” he murmured, “because if I touch you now... if I kiss you now—I’m afraid I won’t let you leave that bed for days.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer until your lips hovered an inch from his.

“Then stop being fucking coward,” you whispered.

“I’m twenty-two. I’ve been yours on paper for three months and yours in every way that matters. So fucking show me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His breath hitched. His grip tightened on the wall. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was starving.

And that was the moment... everything snapped inside him.

He made a sound you’d never heard from him before—half-groan, half-growl, like something wild had finally been let out of its cage.

Then his mouth crashed onto yours. There was nothing soft about it.

No pause. No hesitation.

Just years of hunger slamming into you all at once.

His lips were hot, desperate, almost angry with how long he’d held himself back. Your teeth bumped, your tongues tangled, breath mixing in messy gasps that tasted like whiskey, jealousy, and every held-back fantasy he’d buried for years.

You moaned into him... high, needy—and he swallowed the sound like he’d been starving for it. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling tight, controlling your head with an ease that sent heat pooling between your legs.

The other hand grabbed your thigh, hauled it up around his hip, dragging you flush against the thick, hard heat straining against his slacks.

His hips rolled, rough and frustrated.

“Fuck…” he breathed against your lips, voice torn open. “Feel that? That’s what you’ve been doing to me for years, sweetheart. Every damn day.”

You couldn’t even speak.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed at his shirt, popping buttons, pushing fabric aside until your palms met his bare chest.

Hot. Solid. Trembling.

His heart hammered so hard you felt it against your fingers.

He groaned—a deep, broken sound, and dropped his mouth to your neck. The first kiss was hot. The second was harder. Then he sucked, teeth dragging, leaving a mark that made your knees almost give out.

“Tell me to stop,” he gasped against your skin. He was breathing like he’d run miles. “If you say stop, I swear to God I will. But this is the last time I’m asking you. Last chance, baby...”

“Don’t you dare,” you panted, nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

Something in him snapped clean in half.

He spun you so fast you gasped, your back hitting the wall as his body pressed into yours from behind. His mouth found the nape of your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like he’d been drowning in restraint.

His hands slid under your cropped sweater, warm palms gliding over your stomach, up your ribs, until they cupped your breasts completely. He groaned into your skin as his thumbs brushed your nipples through the lace—slow first, then firmer when he felt you shaking.

“God,” he whispered, voice shaking, “I dreamed about this. I dreamed about touching you like this. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You arched back, grinding against the hard line of his cock. He cursed—low, filthy, helpless.

“Baby…” he rasped, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot on your skin. “If you do that again, I’m gonna lose every bit of control I have left.”

You did it again.

And he broke all over you.

“These clothes,” he snarled, yanking your sweater over your head, bra following in one impatient tug. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your shoulder, your spine, licking a hot path downward as he dropped to his knees behind you.

He spun you so fast the room tilted, hands rough on your hips as he folded you forward, palms slamming flat against the wall for balance. Your skirt was already bunched at your waist, panties dangling uselessly around one ankle now.

Cool air kissed your soaked skin for half a second, and then his mouth was on you, no warning, no mercy.

“OW... FUCK... Namjoon—”

He groaned, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste better than I dreamed,” he rasped, voice muffled against you. “So fucking sweet.”

Another long, deliberate lick, slower this time, flattening his tongue so he could feel every shudder that rolled through you. When he reached your clit he circled it once, twice, then sucked it between his lips, hard.

Your knees buckled.

You would’ve hit the floor if his hands weren’t gripping your hips like iron.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Legs open. Let me eat this pretty pussy the way I’ve been dying to for months.”

He spread you wider with his thumbs, exposing you completely, and dove back in. This time his tongue speared inside you, thrusting deep, curling, fucking into you like he couldn’t get far enough.

You felt the wet drag of it, the obscene sounds of him drinking you down echoing off the walls.

“Namjoon... oh god—”

You whimpered, pushing back against his face shamelessly.

He moaned again, louder, the vibration making you clench around nothing. “That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my tongue. Show me how bad you wanted this.”

You did, rocking back, chasing his mouth.

He let you for three desperate strokes, then took control again, tongue flicking fast over your clit, relentless, before sucking it hard enough that stars burst behind your eyes.

“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name,” he promised, words slurred against your slick folds. “Then I’m gonna do it again with my cock.”

Two fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling hard, and you cried out, palms slapping the wall for balance.

“So wet,” he growled, voice muffled against your skin. “Been wet for me for months, haven’t you?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—” You clenched around his fingers so hard.

“Come for me, baby,” he demanded, voice raw. “Come all over my face, right now, let me taste it...”

The orgasm crashed over you so hard you screamed, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking helplessly as wave after wave tore through you.

He didn’t stop, just kept licking, gentler now, drawing it out until you were sobbing from overstimulation, pushing weakly at his forehead.

Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes black with lust, your wetness glistening on his chin. He stood slowly, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was savoring the taste.

“Turn around,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He made you stand in one motion, spinning you again to face him. His belt clinked open, zipper rasping down. You reached for him desperately, fingers wrapping around his cock... hot, thick, leaking—and he hissed, head falling back.

Your back hit the wall again as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick and burning.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice shaking.

You did.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown, lips swollen from your kisses. Sweat glistened at his temple.

“I love you,” he said, raw and reverent. “I love you so much it’s fucking killing me.”

Then he pushed in... one long, slow, devastating thrust that stretched you open and seated him to the hilt. You both froze, trembling, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.

He didn’t move yet.

Just held you there, buried deep, pulsing inside you.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always was.”

His control snapped a second time.

He pulled back and slammed inside again, hard enough that your moan cracked in half.

“Fuck—” you sobbed, head banging back against the wall.

Namjoon didn’t give you time to breathe.

He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps of skin on skin, the wall trembling behind you with every relentless drive. Each stroke dragged the ridge of his cock over that spot inside you that made your vision spark white, made your toes curl.

Your nails raked down his shoulders, carved burning lines across his back, and he hissed through his teeth, fucking you harder.

“Like that?” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “You want it rough, baby? Been dreaming about splitting this tight little pussy open for years.”

“Yes—yes... Fuck... harder—” you chanted, barely sane.

He shoved one hand between your sweat-slick bodies, fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick, and started rubbing fast, merciless circles that matched the brutal pace of his cock.

“Listen to you,” he rasped, breath scorching your throat. “Listen to how wet you are for me. Can hear it every time I fuck into you—soaked down my balls, dripping on the floor.”

The obscene sound of it filled the room... slick, rhythmic, filthy, mixed with your broken moans and his low, animal groans.

“Namjoon—please—”

“Please what?” He slowed just enough to grind deep, rolling his hips so the head of his cock pressed hard against your wall, making you see stars. “Tell me what you need.”

You clawed at his back again, legs shaking around his waist. “Make me come... want to come on your cock... please—”

He snarled, snapped his hips faster, fingers working your clit in tight, ruthless circles. “Gonna give you everything,” he promised, voice cracking. “Gonna fill this pussy up so good you’ll feel me for days. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember who you belong to.”

The pressure coiled viciously tight, your walls fluttering around him.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, dark and filthy. “Squeeze me... fuck... milk my cock, baby, show me how much you love this—”

His fingers pressed harder, rubbing side-to-side now, fast and perfect, and you shattered.

The orgasm hit you sooner than earlier, ripping a scream from your throat as you clenched around him, vision whiting out.

He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a broken groan of your name.

You stayed locked together, shaking, sweat-slick, his cock still twitching deep inside you, your legs trembling around his waist.

After a long moment he lifted his head, eyes soft now, almost scared.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “I lost it. Did I hurt you?”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. “You better do that again in approximately five minutes.”

Relief flooded his face.

He kissed you slow this time, tender, like he was memorising the taste. “Bedroom,” he murmured against your lips. “Now. I’m nowhere near done proving how much I love you.”

He carried you there without pulling out, your bodies still joined, and kicked the door shut behind you.

Neither of you slept that night.

The gala felt unreal.

It was Namjoon’s first major campaign event after your graduation, and he stood in the centre of the room in the deep wine-coloured suit you had made with your own hands. The silk lapels caught the light every time he moved.

He looked powerful. He looked calm.

He looked like the future of the city.

And he looked like yours.

You stood half a step behind him in your backless blood red dress, silk flowing around your legs like spilled wine. The diamond choker around your throat glimmered with each breath.

Namjoon had clasped it himself before you left, his fingers warm on your skin, his lips brushing the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Perfect.”

You had felt warm and proud and so unbelievably happy.

Until she arrived.

Councilwoman Lee Soojin.

Young. Elegant. Confident. And very aware of her beauty.

She moved through the crowd like she owned the floor, eyes locked on Namjoon before she even reached him.

“Mayor-to-be,” she said in a silky voice, placing her hand on his forearm like it was a habit. “You absolutely must tell me who designed this suit. It should be illegal to look this good.”

Her fingers travelled along the lapel, far too close to his throat.

You felt heat rise in your chest.

Namjoon stiffened almost instantly. His smile froze into something polite and cold.

“My wife designed it,” he said, turning slightly so he could gesture toward you. He said it calmly, proudly, like there was never any question.

Soojin’s gaze flicked to you... one quick, dismissive glance, before she turned back to him as if you were decoration.

“Well,” she said with a soft laugh, “she must have measured every inch of you very carefully. It fits you perfectly.”

Your hand tightened around your champagne flute.

Namjoon’s jaw tightened in the way you knew meant he was seconds from snapping.

You stepped forward before he could.

“Every inch,” you said sweetly, letting your voice glide like honey over steel. “Twice, actually.”

Soojin blinked, startled.

You slid your arm through Namjoon’s, pressing your palm firmly against his chest. “Enjoy your evening, Councilwoman.”

She stepped back. Her smile finally cracked.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But his heart was slamming against your palm like a drum.

He stayed silent the entire walk to the car.

The drive through Gangnam was a slow burn.

Neon lights flashed across the windshield, slicing across the tense air between you. The city looked alive outside, but inside the car everything was quiet and heavy.

Namjoon drove himself tonight.

No driver. No witnesses. No escape.

You sat with your arms crossed, face turned toward the window, trying not to show how furious and jealous and stupidly, painfully in love you felt.

He kept glancing at you.

Once. Twice. Every few seconds.

“Baby—” he tried.

“Don’t,” you said sharply.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. “I didn’t like how her hand...”

“I said don’t.”

Your cheeks were flushed, chest rising and falling, your lipstick bitten off from how hard your teeth dug into your lip.

And Namjoon?

He looked like he was seconds away from either apologising or pulling over and kissing the breath out of you.

At the next red light, he reached over... slowly, as if not to startle you. His hand brushed the seatbelt strap across your chest… sliding down to adjust it.

Completely innocent. Until it wasn’t.

His knuckles grazed the soft swell of your breast. His hand paused.

Your breath caught.

His fingers stayed there—just barely—but enough to make your entire body tighten.

“Namjoon,” you warned, voice low, trembling.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move his hand. Didn’t even blink.

Green light.

He jerked his hand back and accelerated, jaw clenched so tight you could see the strain in his neck.

Next red light.

You unbuckled your seatbelt.

His head whipped toward you instantly. “Baby… what are you—”

You didn’t wait.

You climbed onto his lap in one smooth, furious motion. Silk sliding, your dress riding up, knees pressing into the narrow space between the seat and the console.

His hands snapped to your waist on instinct, eyes wide, breath gone.

“Drive,” you ordered when lights turned green, voice shaking with possessiveness, like you ruled the whole damn city.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His body reacted before his mind did, hardening against you inside his suit pants.

“B-Baby…” he breathed.

You rolled your hips once—a slow, deliberate grind that made him choke.

His head fell back against the seat with a thud. “F-Fuck...”

“You’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “How dare she flirt with you? No one touches you. No one leans in like that. No one puts their hands on what belongs to me.”

You bit his earlobe... hard enough to make his breath shatter. He jolted, hips bucking up helplessly.

“Say it,” you demanded softly. “Say you’re mine.”

His answer came without hesitation, voice raw.

“I’m yours... Babe,” he rasped. “Only yours. Always. I swear... no one else even exists to me.”

You started grinding.

Slow, deliberate, filthy circles that dragged the soaked lace of your panties over the thick line straining his trousers.

The friction was perfect, maddening, every roll of your hips grinding your clit against the rigid line of him until your breath came in sharp little gasps.

Namjoon’s head fell back against the headrest with a thud, throat bared, Adam’s apple working as a broken sound tore out of him, half groan, half prayer.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasped, voice shredded.

“Keep moving on me, baby. Make me feel who I belong to.”

You leaned in, lips brushing the frantic pulse hammering under his jaw. “Gonna leave marks,” you whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “So tomorrow, when she sees you again, she’ll see my marks all over you.”

His answering growl was feral. “Do it. Mark me so deep I feel you for days. Want the whole fucking world to know I’m taken.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You latched onto the spot just below his ear, sucked hard, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.

Then lower, yanked his collar aside with impatient fingers, buttons straining, and sealed your mouth over his pulse. You sucked until you felt the skin give, until the hickey swelled hot and purple under your tongue.

His cock jerked against your clit, a fresh flood of wetness soaking through your panties onto his trousers.

You pulled back just enough to admire your work, lips swollen, eyes glittering. “Sensitive here, husband?” you purred, tracing the fresh bruise with your thumb.

He laughed, breathless, wrecked. “Only when it’s you.”

You rewarded him by grinding down in one slow, torturous circle, dragging the lace seam right over the head of his cock. His hips snapped up to meet you, chasing the pressure.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re soaked. I can feel you through my suit. Gonna ruin these trousers, baby?”

“Good... I can design 10 more,” you whispered, nails raking down his chest, catching on the buttons.

His hands slid from your hips to your ass, fingers digging in, spreading you wider so you could feel every inch of him.

“Take whatever you want,” he said, voice raw and desperate. “Use me. I’m yours, every part of me, fucking take it.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He jerked the wheel, turned into a narrow service alley behind closed boutiques, cut the engine.

City sounds disappeared.

Only your breathing and the soft tick of cooling metal. He stared at you... eyes black, chest heaving. You didn’t wait.

You finally attacked his mouth, teeth scraping, tongue sliding deep, pure, feral possession. He met you with the same violence, one hand fisting your hair, the other already shoving under the silk of your dress, fingers sinking into the bare skin of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he snarled against your lips, “do it. Take me. Right here.”

Your hands dropped to his belt... metal clinking, leather whipping free. You tore the zipper down, reached inside, wrapped your fingers around him.

He was scorching.

Thick, pulsing, slick with precum that smeared over your palm as you pulled him free.

“F-Fuck—” His head slammed back against the headrest.

“Look at you,” you whispered, stroking once, slow and firm, thumb circling the wet tip.

“So fucking hard for your wife.” You leaned in, voice poison-sweet. “Did you like her fingers on your arm, Namjoon? Did it feel good when she laughed while standing too close?”

“No,” he growled, hips already fucking into your fist, frantic. “Only want you. Only ever you. Swear to God...”

You squeezed, just hard enough to make him choke on the words.

“Then prove it.”

You shifted, shoved the soaked lace of your panties aside with trembling fingers, and lined him up.

Just the head. One cruel inch.

You sank down.

His groan was guttural, broken, hands flying to your hips like he was trying to stop himself from slamming you down the rest of the way.

“Wait... fuck... baby—”

You didn’t wait.

You took him in one slow, relentless glide until he was buried to the root, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly your vision blurred.

“Holy shit...” His voice cracked. “So tight... so fucking perfect—”

You rolled your hips once, slow and deep, clit grinding against the base of him.

“Mine,” you breathed against his mouth, starting to ride him in deliberate, punishing strokes. Every downward slide took him to the hilt... every upward drag tore a curse from his throat. “This cock is mine. This body is mine. These sounds—”

“Yours,” he panted, fingers bruising your ass as he guided you harder, faster. “All yours... fuck... take it, take everything—”

You found the angle that made you see stars and ground down, circling, owning.

He lost it.

One hand shot up, fisted the front of your dress, and ripped.

Silk tore with a sharp, satisfying sound. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your breast, hot and wet, sucking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out.

“N-Namjoon—Yes... Fuck!”

He growled around the sensitive peak, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, while his hips snapped up to meet every roll of yours. The car rocked violently, windows completely fogged.

“Say it again,” he rasped, switching to the other breast, leaving it swollen and shining. “Tell me who I belong to.”

“You’re mine,” you moaned, nails raking down his scalp, holding him to your chest. “Only mine. No one else gets this—no one else gets to hear you fall apart...”

He released your nipple with a wet pop, head falling back, throat exposed, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone.

“Never,” he swore, voice shredded. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you. Fuck... look at me.”

You did.

His eyes were wild, wrecked, completely gone for you.

“I love you,” he said, raw and desperate, hips still driving up into you. “Love you so much it fucking hurts. Want you on me, in me, around me.. always—”

The words snapped the last thread of your control.

You slammed down hard, grinding in tight circles, clit dragging against him with every thrust. The pleasure coiled vicious and bright.

“Come inside me,” you ordered, voice trembling on the edge. “Right now. Want to feel you lose it while I’m wrapped around you.”

He groaned your name, hands forcing you down one final time as he erupted... hot, thick pulses flooding you, cock jerking deep inside as he came apart with a broken groan.

The feeling of him spilling pushed you over.

You shattered, walls clamping down, milking him through it, your own release crashing so hard your vision whited out.

The car was a haze of sex and shattered breathing.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, your heartbeats thumping in the same fast rhythm. His arms wrapped around you instantly, strong and warm, like he wanted to keep you pressed to him forever.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the warm skin there, brushing your lips over the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. Your voice came out softer now, almost tender.

“No one touches you like that,” you whispered. “No one gets you like that. Only me. Understand?”

He let out a weak laugh... the kind that sounded breathless and almost shy, but so, so happy. “Understood, Mrs. Kim,” he murmured, and you felt his smile against your hair.

His fingers slid slowly down your spine, not rushing, just tracing you like he was memorizing every inch.

Then his lips brushed the top of your head.

“I love it when you’re jealous,” he confessed quietly. “I love knowing you want me just as much as I want you. It… does something to me.”

Your lips curved into a smile against his skin.

“Then get used to it,” you said softly.

He tipped your chin up with two fingers, guiding your face to his. His kiss was slow this time.... deep, sweet, almost fragile.

Like he was pouring his whole heart into it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you spilled acrylic paint on my shoes at sixteen just to get my attention.”

You froze.

Your mouth slowly opened.

“You… you knew I did that on purpose?”

He smiled—the soft, shy kind he never showed anyone else. “Baby… you looked up at me like I hung the moon. How could I not know?”

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling painfully.

After several long minutes of quiet breathing and soft touches, he whispered, “Stay still.”

You blinked up at him. “Why?”

He shrugged out of his blazer and wrapped it around you carefully, covering the torn front of your dress with slow, protective hands.

“Let’s go home,” he said gently, touching your cheek with the back of his hand.

And as he pulled the car back onto the road, both of you wrapped in each other’s warmth and outside, Seoul kept passing by in streaks of neon and streetlight.

Sunlight spilled gold across the sheets.

You were tangled in Namjoon’s arms, face buried in his neck, one of your legs thrown over his hip, his hand resting possessively on the curve of your ass like it belonged there... because it did.

He stirred first, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice gravel-rough from sleep. “I have to get up. Assembly budget meeting at nine.”

You made a small, wounded sound and tightened your arms around his neck. “No. Stay… I wish we could stay like this the whole day.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “You know we can’t. I have a meeting at the assembly…”

You nuzzled closer, lips brushing his throat. “Mhmm… just five minutes…”

He didn’t argue. He never could when you asked like that. Instead he rolled you both so you were fully on top of him, your hair spilling over his shoulders like silk.

His palms slid up your bare back, tracing lazy circles.

“Why so clingy today, Mrs. Kim?” he murmured, thumb brushing your spine. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You hesitated for too long.

He noticed instantly. His fingers stilled. His eyes searched your face.

“What happened?”

You lifted your head, biting your lip.

“I got the letter yesterday,” you whispered. “The internship… in Paris. Starting next week.”

The room went perfectly still. His arms locked around you tightly. “How long?” he asked, voice suddenly careful.

“Three months.”

He exhaled, long and slow, and stared at the ceiling.

You felt his heart hammer against your chest. Then, without a word, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. You watched, confused, as he dialled.

You blinked. “Joon… what are you doing?”

“Calling in sick,” he said simply, already dialling.

Your mouth fell open. “What?! You never call in sick... Wait... Stop—”

“Hyung,” he said into the phone the moment it was answered, “I’m not coming in. Fever. Cancel the meetings, reschedule everything. All of it. I’ll update you tomorrow.”

He hung up.

You stared at him. “You actually did that?”

He tossed the phone aside like it meant nothing and flipped you beneath him in one smooth, warm, authoritative motion.

His body hovered over yours. “Of course I did.”

“I can’t stop you from going,” he said, voice low, serious. “And I won’t. I told you the day we got married... I never want you as a trophy wife. I want you chasing every dream you have, even if it takes you across the world.”

He brushed your hair back, eyes fierce.

“But the next three months are going to be hell for me. Campaign, debates, polls… and you won’t be here. So today...” he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, “...today is ours. I’m not letting anyone else take a single second from us.”

You laughed through the sudden tears. “You really want me to go?”

He smiled... small, pained, proud.

“I’m proud of you,” he said fiercely.

“I want you to fly. And when you come back, I’ll be waiting exactly like this. Besides... his grin turned wicked, “...I’m going to wear the suits you designed for every single campaign stop. They’re my lucky charm and I'll feel you close.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly.

He kissed back slowly, deeply… then broke away to stare at you with an expression you’d never seen before.

“Can I tell you something? The things you never knew... The things that I kept hidden for so long under my cold personality.” he whispered.

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to kiss you senseless years ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

His eyes softened as memory pulled at him. “That day you came to the banquet wearing that yellow sundress. You remember? You came to me and praised me for my speech…”

He shook his head, almost embarrassed. “You looked so bright I swear it hurt to look at you. All I could think was... if I kiss her right now, I won’t stop.”

Your heart thudded. “Namjoon…”

“And the library,” he continued, voice getting lower, warmer. “When you reached for the pen and your fingers brushed mine… later you walked away like nothing happened.”

You blinked. “But back then... I thought you were not into me—”

“No... that's not true.” he said. “I stared at my hand the entire damn night like a teenager. I didn’t sleep. I kept touching the spot where your fingers brushed.”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t done.

“And at my father’s funeral…” His voice cracked—the memory still sharp. “I saw you standing with that candy.”

You swallowed. “I... I wanted to hug you. But there were reporters and people—”

He shook his head. “Baby… I wanted to walk straight to you. Fall on my knees. Put my head in your lap and cry like a child. You were the only person I wanted that day.”

Your chest tightened with something fierce and tender.

“Joon… I promise... You will always have me by your side.”

You lifted your arms around his neck and pulled him down until your foreheads touched again.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His smile was pure devotion. “I love you more. Now come here...” He slid his hands down your sides, gripping your hips.

“...we have only one day to make up for ninety nights.”

Three Months Later... Jamsil Stadium.

Forty thousand people... Cameras everywhere... Screens lit up with Namjoon’s face. He stood at the podium, looking powerful, calm, every inch the man Seoul had placed its faith in.

“And together...” he said, voice rolling through the speakers like thunder, “...we will build a Seoul where—”

His breath caught.

Because he saw you.

You’d just arrived from Paris, suitcase still in the car, still wearing the cream coat you’d left in. Your hair was a little longer now, your eyes a little tired but glowing, and you stood at the very back of the VIP section.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

The crowd went silent, confused.

Then he smiled. That helpless, warm, completely ruined by you smile. He cleared his throat, trying to recover.

His voice softened as he continued, almost trembling... “…a Seoul where every dream...” His eyes stayed on you. “...no matter how far it takes you… always finds its way home.”

He drew a steady breath and continued, voice rising with purpose— “A Seoul where every citizen has the chance to work with dignity, where passion and opportunity isn’t a privilege but a right, and where our growth is shared... not by a few, but by all.”

The crowd roared, moved by the promise. People didn’t know why the line hit so hard.

But you did. And he did.

The stadium erupted, forty thousand people screaming his name. He won by a landslide. But the only victory that mattered walked back into his life was wearing a cream coat and tired eyes.

That night, you barely stepped inside before the door of penthouse slammed shut behind you. Namjoon grabbed your face and kissed you so desperately it knocked the breath out of you... like he’d been starving for three months straight.

Your coat slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor.

You were laughing, breathing his name, tears slipping down your cheeks because you’d missed him so much it hurt.

His hands slid into your hair, gripping gently.

“God,” he breathed against your lips, “you’re really here. You’re really—”

You cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tear he tried to hide. “Of course I’m here,” you whispered. “Where else would I go?”

You kissed him again, harder. He broke into a messy laugh that almost sounded like a sob.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “how many nights I imagined this.” His mouth found your neck, your jaw, your lips again.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, voice shaking.

He didn’t answer.

He just lifted you... effortlessly, and carried you down the hallway, kissing you the whole way like he was making up for every day you were gone.

He laid you on the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Then he crawled over you, suit jacket already on the floor, shirt half-open, tie loose around his neck.

He cupped your face with both hands.

“You showed up,” he said softly, breath uneven. “You came back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” you whispered, fingers brushing his cheeks. “You’re my home, Joon.”

His eyes went glossy. “Baby…”

His voice broke. “I thought I’d be strong... you know? If I keep myself busy with all these elections stuff, I thought I’d be fine while you were gone. But every night, I… damn, I missed you so much it hurt.”

You pulled him closer, your hands sliding into his hair. “I missed you too.”

He kissed you... slow, deep, like he was memorizing you all over again. When he finally pulled back, he hovered above you, chest rising fast.

“You’re the only person,” he said, touching your lips with his thumb, “who keeps me sane… but also makes me completely fucking insane at the same time.”

You laughed softly, eyes wet.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m going to keep doing that for the rest of our lives.”

His smile... your favorite dimple smile... spread slowly, beautifully. “Promise?”

You hooked your finger around the front of his shirt and tugged him down until his weight settled on you just right, warm and solid and his. “Promise.”

He exhaled like you’d just given him air after months of living underwater.

Outside, the city celebrated its new mayor.

Inside the penthouse, the man himself only cared about the woman beneath him.

And somewhere between the city lights and the sound of his name on your lips, Seoul crowned its new king and queen.

Obsessed. In love. Unbreakable.

A/n: First of all… my brain was short-circuiting whole time while writing this story. Because let’s be honest... Namjoon as a political leader? We all know that man would look unfairly hot standing behind a podium, sleeves rolled up, addressing nation in his deep voice.

And the driving part? Yeah... well... I know, he doesn’t have a license in reality… but if he did? Lord have mercy on me.

Because the thought of him driving... One hand gripping the steering wheel… The other resting on your thigh… Eyes focused on the road with his clenched jaw... Ahhhhhhhh.... He’d look as dangerously sexy driving a car as he looks driving all of us abso-fucking-lutely insane.