You sat ramrod straight in the third pew, the picture of devout perfection. Your flowing white dress, modest yet elegantly tailored with delicate lace at the collar and cuffs, whispered softly against the wooden seat as you shifted. Over your hands lay pale lace gloves, their intricate pattern like spiderwebs spun from purity itself— fragile, beautiful, and meant to hide nothing while revealing everything about the girl who wore them.

Next to you, your mother sat with her head bowed slightly, her own gloved hands folded tightly in prayer, knuckles pale from years of gripping both Bibles and the reins of a respectable household. Your younger sister, barely thirteen, mirrored her on your other side, her small face solemn, lips moving silently along with the words of your father.

Reverend Elias's voice rolled through the sanctuary like thunder wrapped in velvet, very deep and commanding, each word carved from the same righteous stone that built this town. He stood tall behind the pulpit, his black coat severe against the white collar that marked him as God’s chosen mouthpiece in this corner of the South. Today, like so many Sundays lately, his sermon burned with warnings against the creeping sins of the modern age, the flappers with their scandalously short hems and painted lips, the men who chased whiskey and easy women instead of honest labor, the godless tide of the Roaring Twenties threatening to swallow up decent Christian souls.

“Brothers and sisters,” he intoned, his gaze sweeping over the congregation like the eye of the Lord Himself, “the devil does not always come with horns and flames. Sometimes he arrives in the form of a smooth tongue, a lazy eye, a heart that knows no fear of the Almighty. He preys on the weak-willed, those who would trade their immortal souls for fleeting pleasures. How many daughters have been led astray by wicked men? How many sons have traded their birthright for cigarettes and idle hands?”

His words settled over you like a heavy quilt, warm yet suffocating. You kept your hands folded perfectly in your lap, eyes fixed forward on the large wooden cross behind your father, but your heart beat a traitor’s rhythm beneath your breast. Innocent you were, raised on scripture and Sunday school and the certainty that your path was already written in the Book of Life, but you were not foolish. You understood every layered warning in your father’s voice. You knew what the town whispered about boys like Kim Taehyung.

And still, you loved him.

He was there, as he always was on Sundays when the loneliness grew too sharp or the pull of you became too strong to resist. Several rows behind you, tucked into the shadowed back corner where the light barely reached, sat the orphan boy the whole town loved to scorn. You could feel his presence like the low rumble of distant summer thunder, he was unseen, yet impossible to ignore. No family beside him. No respectable suit. Just a worn jacket that hung loose on his lean frame and that unruly dark hair that always looked like he’d just come from running through the fields or fighting in some back alley.

Your mind wandered from the sermon, drifting to memories of last week beneath the cherry trees. The way his calloused fingers had brushed yours as he offered you that forbidden cigarette. The sharp, acrid taste of smoke filling your lungs, making you cough and laugh all at once while he watched you with those dark, knowing eyes that always seemed to see straight through your carefully constructed halo. You had vowed never to try it again, truly, you had, but the memory of his low chuckle and the way he’d pulled you close afterward, whispering wicked little secrets against the shell of your ear, made heat bloom low in your stomach even now, in the house of God.

Your mother’s soft voice joined the collective prayer rising around you, and your sister followed suit, their words blending into a gentle murmur of devotion. You moved your lips in time with them, the familiar verses falling automatically from your tongue, but your soul was elsewhere. Slowly, carefully— heart hammering like a caged bird— you turned your head just enough to steal a single glance over your shoulder.

Taehyung leaned back against the pew, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his posture too relaxed for this sacred place. His eyes— those beautiful, dangerous eyes, were already waiting for you. When they met yours, the corner of his mouth lifted into that crooked, private smile that always felt like sin wrapped in silk. Your breath caught. You answered with a small, coy curve of your own lips, the kind he had once told you made his chest ache with want. Just a fleeting second. Just enough.

Then you turned back around, cheeks warming beneath the weight of potential discovery, pulse fluttering. The service continued, your father’s voice rising and falling like waves against an unyielding shore, preaching of temptation and ruin and the narrow path to salvation. But all you could think about was the moment the final amen would sound. The way you would slip away under the guise of helping dear Delia with the Sunday feast, as you always did.

Mercifully the final “Amen” rolled through the sanctuary like a dying echo of thunder, so very heavy and lingering in the thick, humid air. Sunlight poured stronger through the tall windows now, painting the wooden floors in warm gold and catching on the faint haze of incense that still clung to the rafters.

The congregation stirred as one, the creak of old pews and rustle of starched clothes filling the space. Hymns had been sung, sins had been named, and for a brief hour the town had bent its knee before God. But now the world outside called once more, temptation waiting patiently just beyond the whitewashed doors.

As the preacher’s family, you remained in your place while others began to file out. It was tradition. An expectation. Your father stood tall at the end of the pew like a sentinel, his black coat absorbing the light, while your mother smoothed the front of her modest navy dress with practiced grace. Your little sister fidgeted beside you, her white gloves now slightly askew. You rose with them, heart still racing from that stolen glance earlier, the lace of your dress brushing softly against your ankles like a secret caress. The air felt heavier now, charged with the scent of warm wood, candle smoke, and the faint sweetness of spring drifting in from outside.

One by one, the townsfolk approached, offering hands and murmured thanks. You smiled the way you had been taught, with the gentle, demure image of a preacher’s daughter touched by divine light. Your gloved hand met calloused palms and soft ones alike, your voice a quiet melody of “Thank you for coming” and “May the Lord bless your week.” Your father conversed deeply with several of the elder men nearby, their voices low and serious, discussing crops or politics, and the moral decay they saw spreading like mold across the South. You kept your posture perfect, chin slightly lifted, the picture of purity in your flowing white dress.

Then he came, Taehyung moved through the thinning crowd with that loose, careless stride that always set him apart, almost like a wolf who had wandered into a flock of sheep and decided he liked the view. His worn jacket hung open over a simple shirt, dark hair slightly tousled. He approached your family with deliberate slowness, hands in his pockets, that faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips— a challenge to the very air around him.

“Good morning, sir,” Taehyung said smoothly as he reached your father first, extending his hand.

Your father’s eyes narrowed, sharp as the edge of a sermon blade. “Refer to me as Father,” he corrected, voice low but carrying the weight of authority honed from years in the pulpit.

Taehyung’s grin widened into something slow and unbothered, as he flashed just enough teeth to border on insolent. He gave a small nod, dark eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. “Yes, Father.”

The word dripped from his tongue like honey laced with sin. You watched your father’s jaw tighten, a flicker of annoyance crossing his stern features. The two men shook hands with your father’s grip firm and testing, Taehyung’s was steady, almost lazy. The moment stretched into something thick with unspoken judgment. To the town, Taehyung was little more than an orphan boy destined for nothing but trouble and an early grave. He smoked cigarettes, got into fights, had idle hands that refused the path of righteousness. But to you… he was the living pulse beneath your skin.

He moved on to your mother next, polite as could be, offering her a respectful nod and a gentle handshake. “Ma’am.” Your mother’s smile was tight, polite but cool, the way one might greet a stray dog that had learned a few manners. Then to your sister, who gave a shy little curtsy as he shook her small hand, his voice softening just a touch for her.

And finally… you.

Taehyung turned to you, and the world seemed to narrow to the space between your bodies. His eyes locked onto yours. They were deep, knowing, full of every wicked secret the two of you had shared beneath the cherry trees. A slow, private grin curved his lips, meant only for you. When your gloved hand slipped into his, his fingers closed around yours with deliberate pressure, tighter than he had held anyone else’s. The warmth of his skin bled through the delicate lace like fire through silk. For one heartbeat, two, three, he held on.

“Good day, Miss,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could catch the velvet edge beneath the words.

The touch lingered half a second too long— long enough for heat to bloom across your cheeks like wild roses in summer. Your breath caught, a soft flutter in your chest, innocent heart racing with the thrill of something forbidden and holy all at once. He released your hand at last, but not before his thumb brushed once, slowly, across your knuckles in a secret promise.

You watched him walk away, unable to stop yourself. His shoulders moved with easy confidence through the remaining crowd, disappearing toward the heavy oak doors and the bright sunlight beyond. The blush on your face felt like a brand. When you finally turned back, your younger sister, Alma, was staring up at you with wide, curious eyes— too observant for her age. The silence between you stretched like a taut string.

“What are you looking at?” you asked softly, trying to keep your voice light and steady, though your pulse still betrayed you. She only shook her head, small lips pressing together in that stubborn way children sometimes do when they sense something they don’t yet have words for. Her gaze flicked once toward the doors where Taehyung had vanished, then back to you. No accusation. Not yet at least, just quiet watching. And for some reason that frightened you. Yet, you shook the feeling away.

The churchyard slowly emptied under the heavy golden light of late morning, the light turning the dust on the road into floating specks of fire. Cars— some new and gleaming with the reckless optimism of the Roaring Twenties, others old and coughing like weary sinners, began to rumble to life along the gravel path. Their engines growled low and reluctant, as tires crunched over loose stones as families piled in, waving polite goodbyes and clutching Bibles to their chests like shields against the coming week.

You stood just beyond the wide front steps, the flowing white fabric of your dress catching the breeze. Your father remained deep in conversation with a cluster of the congregation’s men near the oak tree by the gate, their voices were low and serious, discussing the price of cotton and the latest rumors from the city as men did.

His black coat absorbed the sunlight, making him look like a shadow cast long across the grass. Nearby, your mother held court with several of the other wives, their pastel Sunday hats bobbing like delicate flowers as they exchanged recipes and quiet judgments about who had worn what to service that day. Their laughter was soft and restrained, always mindful of God’s listening ear.

Your younger sister Alma had already escaped the weight of it all. Little Beth, her freckled best friend, had whisked her away with giggles and conspiratorial whispers. The two girls now knelt in the dirt beside the church steps, playing marbles with a carefree joy you envied. The glass spheres clicked and rolled like tiny, colorful sins scattering across the ground, catching the light in brilliant flashes. Alma’s white stockings were already dusty at the knees, but no one scolded her yet.

For one precious moment, you were alone.

You turned slowly, heart fluttering like a moth against lantern glass, and let your gaze drift past the side of the whitewashed building toward the hidden grove behind the church. There, beneath the cherry trees, was a small, unmistakable figure, lazily reclined against the trunk of the largest one like he belonged to the shadows themselves. Your Taehyung. Even from this distance he looked every bit the beautiful ruin the town whispered about: long legs stretched out before him, one arm draped casually over a bent knee, dark hair falling into his eyes. As you watched, he reached up with idle grace and plucked a ripe cherry from a low-hanging branch. The fruit disappeared between his lips, and he chewed slowly, almost thoughtfully, a faint smear of red staining his mouth like the evidence of some small, delicious transgression.

A soft smile bloomed across your face, morphing into an expression unbidden and unstoppable. He couldn’t see it clearly from where he lay, half-hidden by dappled shade and drifting petals, and yet you felt certain he could sense it anyway. The he could sense that invisible thread pulling taut between you. In that moment he looked like temptation made flesh: He was dangerous, lovely, and utterly free from the expectations that chained everyone else in this town.

You lingered only a heartbeat longer before turning back toward your mother. The lace gloves still felt warm where Taehyung had gripped your hand earlier, the memory burning against your skin. With careful steps, you approached her small circle, the hem of your dress brushing the grass.

“Mother,” you said softly, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, “I’m going to head over to Delia’s now. She’ll be waiting for help with the Sunday feast.”

Your mother turned, her face softening with that familiar mix of pride and mild concern. The other wives offered polite smiles, their eyes flicking over your perfect white dress and modest posture with approval. “Alright, dear. Be sure you’re back before dark,” she said, brushing an invisible speck of dust from your sleeve with maternal affection. “And mind your manners. The world out there isn’t as kind as it seems on the Lord’s day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied obediently, lowering your eyes the way you had been taught since you could walk. The lie tasted strangely sweet on your tongue— like the cherry Taehyung had just eaten.

With one last nod to the group, you slipped away from the gathering, heart pounding a steady, traitorous rhythm beneath your ribs. The sounds of the churchyard faded behind you: car doors slamming and their engines sputtering to life, along with the distant laughter of Alma and Beth still clicking marbles across the dirt. You moved with purpose but not haste, circling around the side of the church where the grass grew longer and wilder, hidden from prying eyes by the building’s broad shadow.

Each step carried you further from righteousness and closer to him. The air grew sweeter here, heavy with the perfume of the blooming cherry trees. Leaves drifted lazily through the air like scattered silk, brushing against your cheeks and catching in the lace of your gloves. Your white dress seemed almost too bright against the dappled green and pink of the grove, a symbol of purity walking willingly into the arms of sin. And there he waited, lounging against the tree. As you drew closer, Taehyung lifted his head, dark eyes finding yours with that slow, knowing smile that always made your stomach twist in the most unholy way.

You lowered yourself beside him with natural grace, the grass yielding softly beneath the flowing fabric of your Sunday dress. There was no hesitation in the movement; this spot beneath the largest cherry tree had become your unspoken altar over the past months. Taehyung’s dark eyes tracked you the entire way, a slow, hungry gaze that made heat bloom beneath your skin. The moment your body settled near his, his arm slid around your waist with quiet certainty, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of his chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his thin shirt, feeling it thump strong and alive against your cheek as he tucked you closer.

“I missed you,” he whispered, the words rough and low like smoke curling through the air. His lips pressed tenderly to the crown of your head, lingering there as if he could breathe you in. The faint scent of cigarettes and wild summer clung to him, a smell that should have repelled a girl like you but instead made your stomach flutter with forbidden longing.

You let out a soft, breathy giggle, tilting your face up to look at him. The sound was light and musical, similar to the sound of wind chimes in a place where such innocence felt dangerously out of place. “Taehyung,” you murmured, amusement dancing in your voice, “it’s only been less than a week since I last saw you.”

He gave you that crooked, devastating smile, the one that always made your resolve crumble like dry communion bread. “Even that is too long,” he replied, voice dropping into something deeper, a little more intimate. His fingers brushed a stray petal from your hair with gentleness.

Reaching up with his free hand, he plucked a plump, glistening cherry from a low-hanging branch. The fruit was deep crimson, almost sinful in its ripeness, juice already beading at the stem where he’d pulled it free. He brought it slowly to your lips, eyes never leaving yours. You parted them obediently, letting him place the cherry on your tongue. Sweetness exploded across your mouth as you bit down— warm, tart, and perfectly ripe. A small drop of juice escaped the corner of your lips, and Taehyung’s gaze darkened as he watched it.

You swallowed, still smiling up at him. “You really got under my father’s skin today,” you said softly, tracing a gloved finger along the edge of his jacket. “The way you called him ‘sir’ instead of Father… I thought he might start preaching at you right there in the aisle.”

Taehyung let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Good,” he said simply, no trace of regret in his tone. His eyes gleamed with quiet defiance, it both thrilled and terrified you.

The breeze picked up slightly, sending another flurry of leaves swirling around you both like pale silk veils. You nestled deeper into his embrace, savoring the solid feel of him. “What have you been doing all week?” you asked, your voice gentle but threaded with concern.

He was quiet for a long moment, staring out through the trees toward some unseen horizon. His jaw tightened. “Looking for work,” he finally answered. “It’s harder than it should be right now… with so many men coming back from the war, everyone’s scrambling for the same few jobs. Doors don’t open easy when your last name doesn’t mean anything and your hands have calluses instead of clean fingernails.”

You felt the weight behind his words, the quiet frustration of a boy the world had already decided was going nowhere. Then he added, almost too casually, “I’ve been thinking about enlisting.”

Your head snapped up immediately, eyes wide with bewildered fear. The thought of him leaving— of him walking into smoke and gunfire and uncertainty— sent a cold spike through your chest. Taehyung looked down at your expression and his features softened. He lifted his hand and gently patted the top of your head, smoothing your carefully pinned hair with affectionate patience.

“I won’t,” he assured you quietly. But something in his eyes made you unsure if you could fully believe him. There was a restlessness in Taehyung lately, a shadow that even the beauty of these cherry trees couldn’t quite chase away.

You hesitated, then offered softly, “I could ask my father if there’s any honest work around the church. Mending the roof, tending the grounds, anything like that…”

Taehyung shook his head before you could finish, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Not a good idea, sweetheart. I only show up to that church to see you anyway. Can’t imagine your father would take too kindly to me working there while thinking about his perfect daughter every Sunday.”

You sighed, resting your hand over his heart. “It’s not so bad to go to God for guidance, you know,” you whispered earnestly. “I’ll pray for you to find proper work soon. Real work that lets you stand tall.”

He stayed quiet after that, his large hand running slowly up and down your arm in long, soothing strokes. The touch left trails of warmth beneath the thin fabric of your sleeve, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Then his voice came, low and raw, almost cracked at the edges: “I just want to be worthy of you.”

The confession pierced straight through your innocent heart like a thorn hidden beneath rose petals. You shifted in his lap, turning fully toward him until you could cup his face between your lace-gloved hands. His skin was warm, jaw sharp and slightly rough beneath your palms. Those beautiful, troubled eyes met yours, carrying the weight of every hardship the world had thrown at him. “Kim Taehyung,” you whispered, voice trembling with fierce, heartfelt conviction, “you are worthy of me… and so much more. Just as you are.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly. The press of your lips was gentle at first, sweet and lingering, tasting faintly of the cherry he had fed you. Taehyung smiled against your mouth, that heartbreaking, beautiful smile, before kissing you back with quiet hunger. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you close as the world around you faded into nothing but the steady rhythm of two hearts beating too close to damnation.

The kiss lingered between you, sweet and trembling on the edge of something deeper. Slowly, you pulled away, just enough to rest your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled in the narrow space between you. The world felt suspended in this hidden grove— time stretching like warm taffy under the late May sun. His skin was warm against yours, slightly damp from the humid Southern air, and you could smell the faint trace of cherries and smoke that always clung to him like a second shadow.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply breathed him in, eyes closed, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchor you. Then, unable to resist, you tilted your head and kissed him again, softly this time, more reverently. Your lace-gloved hands remained cupping his face, thumbs brushing along his sharp cheekbones with all the tenderness your innocent heart could offer.

Taehyung let out a quiet sigh against your lips before pulling back just enough to speak, his voice low and rough, threaded with the weight of things unsaid. “Namjoon enlisted two months ago,” he murmured, dark eyes searching yours. “I got a letter from him last week. He says the benefits are good… decent pay. The families of soldiers are being taken care of— food, housing, respect even. He told me I should think about it. That it might be the only real chance a guy like me has.”

The words landed heavily between you, like stones dropped into still water. You felt your chest tighten, a cold bloom of fear spreading through your ribs. You shook your head slowly at first, then more insistently, your perfectly pinned hair loosening slightly as a few strands fell across your flushed cheeks. You didn't want to talk about this again, not when everything felt so perfect suspended in this moment, you needed it to last.

“No,” you whispered, voice trembling but fierce. “I don’t care about any of that, Taehyung. I don’t need benefits or money or the town’s respect. I’d rather have you here— alive— than any of those things. I’d rather struggle with you beneath these trees than watch you leave and wonder every night if you’re coming back.”

He watched you carefully, his expression solemn, the playful spark in his eyes dimming into a quieter, heavier shade. The cherry trees seemed to lean in closer, their leaves falling thicker now as if the very air mourned the possibility. Taehyung nodded once, the movement somewhat slow and deliberate, but he remained silent.

That silence stretched between you like a taut wire, vibrating with everything he wasn’t saying and the restlessness that lived in his bones, with the shame of having nothing to offer, the pull of a world that promised purpose to broken boys like him.

You lifted one hand and gently kissed his cheek, right where his jaw met his ear, your lips brushing against the faint stubble there. Your fingers slid into his dark hair, running through the soft strands with slow, soothing strokes, trying to memorize the feeling in case the future ever tried to steal him away. The petals caught in his hair like tiny stars against midnight.

“What are you thinking?” you asked softly, still cradling his face, your innocent eyes wide and searching.

A slow, beautiful smile curved Taehyung’s lips, very gentle this time, almost reverent. He leaned into your touch, eyes half-lidded as he studied every detail of your face in the dappled light. “I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” he said quietly, the words rolling off his tongue like warm honey, just the way you loved. “Sitting here in your white dress, petals in your hair, looking at me like I’m worth something. Like I could be more.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter wildly, a traitorous bird trapped beneath your ribs. Heat rushed to your cheeks, painting them a delicate rose that rivaled the blossoms overhead. You let out a soft giggle, a sound like light and music, bubbling up from that deeply innocent part of you that still believed love could rewrite fate. The sound danced through the grove, mingling with the whisper of leaves and the distant call of a mockingbird.

“You’re going to make me blush even more,” you murmured between giggles, hiding your face briefly against his neck, though the smile never left your lips. His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you impossibly closer. The air felt heavier now, thick with the ripe scent of cherries, warm grass, and the faint, earthy promise of rain gathering somewhere beyond the horizon.

You reached upward again, your lace-gloved fingers brushing through the leaves until they closed around another perfect cherry. It was heavy and warm from the sun, its skin a deep, glistening crimson that looked almost sinful against the pale innocence of your Sunday dress. Taehyung’s eyes followed every movement, dark with intent, as you plucked it free and brought it slowly to his lips.

“Here,” you whispered, voice soft and shy but still laced with something bolder. You pressed the cherry gently against his lower lip, watching as he opened his mouth to accept it. He took the fruit between his teeth with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving yours. The way he bit down, the subtle movement of his jaw, the faint smear of red juice that stained his lips— it all stirred thoughts in you that made heat rush to your cheeks and lower places you dared not name.

Lord, forgive me, you prayed silently, eyes fluttering for just a moment. Forgive these wicked thoughts. I am still pure for him… I am saving myself for our future. But these feelings… they burn so sweetly.

You were a virgin, body untouched in the most sacred sense, and you clung to that truth with quiet conviction. One day, you believed with all your innocent heart, you would stand before God and your father as Taehyung’s wife. But the two of you had already wandered down shadowed paths— trembling touches beneath clothing, breathless explorations that left you gasping his name beneath these very trees. Secrets you could only confess to God alone in the dark hours of the night, never daring to speak them aloud where your father might hear. He would skin Taehyung alive if he knew.

Taehyung chewed the cherry slowly, almost seductively, his tongue darting out to catch the juice. A small, knowing smile curved his stained lips.

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and rough like velvet dragged over gravel. “Got something on your mind?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward and captured his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. Your tongues met instantly, intertwining with growing heat as the sweet taste of cherry passed between you. The stem was caught in the dance, and with playful skill you had learned from him, you worked it together until it knotted neatly. When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, you drew the tied stem from between your lips with a shy, delighted giggle, holding it up between your fingers like a small trophy.

“Look,” you said softly, showing him the perfect knot. “We did it again.”

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with affection as he watched you, his large hands sliding slowly up and down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist through the thin white fabric. “My sweet, clever girl,” he murmured, voice warm with praise. “You taste like heaven and summer cherries. So damn sweet it hurts.”

You ducked your head, a fresh wave of shyness washing over you even as pleasure bloomed in your chest. “Taehyung…” you whispered, half-protest, half-plea.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. I love when you get all shy like this. Makes me want to ruin you even more… in the best way.”

His lips found your cheek first, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses there before trailing slowly downward. He lingered at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, then moved to the delicate line of your collarbone, sucking gently enough to draw a trembling breath from you. His hands continued their slow exploration, sliding from your waist up to your ribcage, thumbs brushing teasingly just beneath the swell of your breasts through the modest fabric of your dress.

You leaned into his touch without hesitation, arching your back slightly to give him more access. A soft, breathy sigh escaped your lips, melting into a quiet, needy moan as his palms ghosted higher, barely grazing over the peaks of your breasts.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered against your skin, lips brushing the neckline of your dress. “Tell me, honey.”

“Yes…” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… so good, Taehyung.” He smiled against your collarbone, pressing another lingering kiss there before moving lower, lips trailing over the fabric covering the top of your breasts. His hands grew bolder but still gentle, cupping and caressing with reverent hunger.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he murmured, voice husky. You let out another soft moan, fingers threading through his dark hair as you pulled him closer. The air felt thicker now, humid and sweet with the scent of overripe cherries and warm skin, wrapping around the two of you.

Taehyung captured your mouth again in a deeper kiss, slower this time, more consuming. His lips moved against yours with deliberate hunger, tongue sliding in to taste the lingering sweetness of cherries and innocence. As he kissed you, one large hand rose to fully cup your breast through the thin white fabric of your Sunday dress, squeezing with gentle possessiveness. The heat of his palm bled through the layers, making your nipple tighten instantly beneath his touch. His other hand trailed downward, sliding slowly over your ribcage, across the soft plane of your stomach, and then lower still, resting heavily on your thigh with clear intent.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You feel so good… so perfect.” Then he began kissing down the elegant line of your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin until you shivered. His hand continued kneading your breast, thumb circling slowly over the peak.

“Sweetheart…” he murmured against your collarbone, voice rough with restraint, “can I move your dress down? I want to see you.”

Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, a mix of pure innocence and reckless desire. You knew this was crossing another line. You knew you should feel more shame. But all you felt was love, burning hotter than guilt. “Yes,” you breathed, barely audible. “Yes, Taehyung.”

With careful, almost worshipful hands, he tugged the front of your modest white dress downward. The fabric yielded easily, slipping over your shoulders and pooling around your waist, finally baring your full, beautiful breasts to the warm Southern air and to his hungry gaze. They were soft and heavy, nipples already pebbled from his earlier touches, glowing faintly in the dappled light filtering through the warm sun. Taehyung let out a low, reverent sound, a half-groan, and half-prayer. “God… look at you.”

He leaned in without hesitation, his mouth attaching to one rosy nipple. The wet heat of his tongue circled it slowly before he sucked, gentle at first, then with more pressure, drawing the sensitive peak deeper into his mouth. His hand continued to caress the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers in time with his sucking.

A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips. “Taehyung…” The sound was delicate, trembling with both pleasure and the lingering weight of your upbringing. You arched into him instinctively, one hand threading through his dark hair, holding him closer to your chest as another quiet moan slipped free.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight through you. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same slow, devoted attention— licking, sucking, gently grazing his teeth until your moans grew a little louder, a little needier. Leaves kept falling around you both, landing on your bare skin and in his hair like silent blessings from a God who was surely looking away.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered against the wet skin of your breast, voice husky. “My perfect girl…" You could only respond with another soft moan, body trembling in his arms.

Taehyung lifted his head from your chest, lips glistening, eyes dark with hunger and reverence. He looked up at you through his dark lashes, his breath warm against your damp skin. “Sweetheart…” he whispered, voice low and rough like smoke curling through honey. “Can I taste you? Please. I know you’re sweeter than any cherry on these trees.”

Your heart stuttered violently in your chest. Heat flooded your face and lower, a rush of innocent shame warring with desperate want. You bit your lip, eyes wide, but the word slipped out before you could stop it. “Yes,” you breathed, barely audible.

A slow, devastating smile spread across his lips. With careful hands, he helped shift you until your back rested against the rough trunk of the ancient cherry tree where he had been leaning earlier. The bark pressed into your skin through the fabric bunched at your waist— a small, grounding discomfort that only heightened every sensation. You leaned back, white dress pooled around your hips, breasts still bare and flushed from his earlier worship, leaves scattered across your skin like fallen stars.

Taehyung sank to his knees before you in the soft grass, looking every bit like a sinner at prayer. His hands were rough from hard living, yet so gentle with you as he gripped your knees with tender reverence and slowly parted them. The cool evening air kissed your inner thighs as he pushed the fabric of your dress higher.

He took his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your knee, then lower to your ankle, as if every inch of you was sacred ground. Your lace-gloved hands clutched desperately at the grass on either side of you, fingers digging into the earth as your breathing grew shallow. “Taehyung…” you whimpered softly, watching him with wide, innocent eyes.

He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your underwear, glancing up at you once for permission. When you gave the smallest nod, he slowly dragged the fabric down your legs, letting it slip away completely. You were bare before him now, completely exposed under the swaying cherry trees. The vulnerability made you tremble.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Look at you… all pink and perfect for me.”

He leaned in, pressing reverent kisses along your inner thighs, moving higher with agonizing slowness. Soft, breathy moans kept falling from your lips, growing needier with every touch. Your gloved hands tightened in the grass as anticipation coiled tight in your belly.

Finally, Taehyung leaned forward and latched his mouth to your core. The first slow, deliberate lick drew a broken moan from deep in your throat. His tongue was warm and skillful, tasting you with devoted hunger, savoring every drop of your sweetness like a man starved. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

“Oh— Taehyung…” you gasped, head falling back against the tree trunk. Your hips twitched involuntarily toward his mouth, chasing the overwhelming sensation. He gripped your thighs gently but firmly, holding you open for him as he devoured you with slow, filthy reverence— licking, sucking, exploring every sensitive fold with his tongue. The wet sounds mingled with your soft, trembling moans and the whisper of leaves overhead.

Taehyung’s mouth moved against your core with slow, worshipful hunger. His tongue traced long, deliberate strokes over your most sensitive parts, savoring you like the rarest fruit. He alternated between broad, soothing licks and gentle suction on your swollen bud, each movement precise and full of reverence. Soft, breathy moans spilled from your lips before you could stop them. You quickly pressed your gloved hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds as best you could, though the lace did little to silence the trembling pleasure.

Your other hand sank into his dark hair, fingers tightening in the soft strands as waves of sensation rolled through you. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck, sent sparks dancing up your spine. Your white dress remained bunched around your waist, your breasts still exposed to the warm breeze, nipples tight from both the air and overwhelming emotion.

“Taehyung…” you whimpered into your gloved palm, voice muffled and sweet. Your hips rolled gently against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he so willingly gave. Tears of overwhelming feeling pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I love you… I love you so much.”

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, breath warm against your slick skin. His dark eyes looked up at you with such raw adoration it made your heart ache.

“I love you too,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “More than anything in this world, my sweet girl.” Then his mouth returned to you, even more devoted than before. He licked and sucked with tender intensity, pouring every ounce of his love into each movement. Two fingers gently joined his tongue, sliding inside you with careful reverence, curling softly as he worshipped you.

Your moans grew sweeter, higher, muffled against your lace-covered hand as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. “Taehyung… oh, Taehyung,” you gasped, voice trembling with love and release. “You feel so good… I’m yours… only yours…”

He hummed against you in response, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge. His free hand stroked soothingly up your thigh, grounding you even as he unraveled you completely.

The pleasure crested slowly, beautifully, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Your thighs began to tremble around his shoulders. Your fingers tightened desperately in his hair as the wave finally broke over you. “Taehyung—!” you cried softly, the sound full of love and wonder. “I love you… I love you…”

Your release washed through you in gentle, pulsing waves, sweet and pure and overwhelming. Small, breathy moans of his name spilled from your lips like prayers as you came, body arching against the rough tree trunk. Your hand stayed pressed to your mouth, muffling the sweetest sounds of your surrender, while your other hand held him close, keeping him there as pleasure sang through every inch of you.

Taehyung stayed with you through every tremor, licking you gently through your climax until you were soft and trembling in his arms. When the last wave finally ebbed, he pressed one final, reverent kiss to your core before rising slightly to rest his head against your thigh, looking up at you with pure, unwavering love.

Taehyung rose from his knees with careful respect, his hands gentle as they helped you readjust. He pulled the front of your white dress back up over your shoulders, covering your breasts with slow, almost worshipful movements, as if dressing you was another form of devotion. His fingers brushed your skin softly, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Then he reached for your discarded lace underwear, sliding them carefully up your legs and into place, smoothing the fabric of your dress down over your thighs with the same tender attention.

He leaned in and kissed you, soft, lingering, full of quiet love. “I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “You need to remember that, alright? No matter what happens… remember it.”

You smiled up at him, eyes still dreamy and half-lidded, the blush of your release still painting your cheeks. “Of course I remember,” you murmured, brushing your gloved fingers along his jaw. “I love you too, Taehyung. More than anything.”

For a while longer you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the fading scent of cherries and shared sin. But the sun was setting fast now, painting the sky in fiery streaks of orange and rose, reminding you that your stolen time was coming to an end. “When will I see you again?” you asked softly, a note of longing threading through your voice.

Taehyung pressed one last kiss to your temple. “Should be soon,” he promised, though something shadowed flickered behind his eyes. “I’ll find you, sweetheart. I always do.” You kissed him once more before reluctantly pulling away. As you slipped from the grove and made your way back toward the road, a blissful, secret smile played on your lips.

By the time you reached home, the sky had turned a deep indigo, and the scent of your mother’s Sunday roast chicken and fresh cornbread drifted through the open windows like a warm embrace. The house stood proud and white against the growing dusk, lamplight glowing softly from within.

Your mother greeted you at the door with a gentle smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “There you are, darling. Right on time.”

Alma was already seated at the dinner table, her small hands folded in her lap. She watched you with those same wide, observant eyes from church earlier, she eerily quiet, knowing, but saying nothing. You offered her a soft smile, but kept silent, hanging your light shawl on the hook by the door.

“How was Delia’s?” your mother asked, setting another plate on the table.

“It was great,” you replied easily, the lie slipping from your tongue like silk. “We got a lot done for the Sunday feast next week.”

Your father soon joined you all, his heavy footsteps announcing his presence as he took his seat at the head of the table. The air in the dining room felt thicker than usual, weighted by the scent of roasted meat, candle wax, and the serious tone in his voice as he unfolded his napkin.

“The war is in full swing now,” he announced gravely, passing the bowl of mashed potatoes. “More boys shipping out every week. The devil’s work is never done, and neither is the fight for righteousness.”

Your stomach sank like a stone dropped into deep water. The thought of all those men— young, hopeful, terrified— dying in foreign fields, never returning home to their mothers, wives, or sweethearts, made your chest ache. You thought of Taehyung’s restless eyes earlier that day and felt a sharp twist of fear.

Your mother sighed, passing the cornbread. “The Callums’ son, Jett, is enlisting soon. Poor Catherine is beside herself. She came by the sewing circle yesterday with red eyes.”

Your father nodded solemnly, cutting into his chicken with precise movements. “It’s an honor. Jett is an honest, God-fearing young man. He’s doing right by his country. Some boys around these parts could stand to learn from his example.” He paused, then muttered darkly under his breath, “Like that good-for-nothing Kim boy.”

Your ears perked up sharply at the name, your heart clenching. You kept your eyes on your plate, but your grip tightened around your fork until your knuckles turned white. Your father continued, voice laced with disdain, “Might actually be good if the likes of Kim Taehyung did something worth a damn for once. Maybe the army could make a man out of him.”

The words burned like acid in your throat. You wanted to speak, you wanted to tell him that Taehyung was looking for work, that he was trying, that the town’s cold shoulders and closed doors made it nearly impossible. That he was more worthy than any of them knew. But you remained silent, the obedient preacher’s daughter, biting down on your tongue until you tasted copper. Your fork trembled slightly in your hand.

Your mother bowed her head. “Let us pray.”

You closed your eyes along with them, but as the familiar words of gratitude washed over the table, your mind drifted far away, back beneath the cherry trees, to warm hands, whispered love, and the boy who held your heart in his calloused palms. The prayer felt distant, hollow. All you could think about was Taehyung, the setting sun, and the uncertain future stretching out before you both like a long, shadowed road.

After dinner, the house had settled into that deep, watchful silence that only old Southern homes possess at night. Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains of your bedroom in silvery threads, pale and cold, painting the walls in ghostly luminescence. The air still carried the faint scent of lavender soap from your bath, mixed with the distant perfume of night-blooming jasmine drifting through the cracked window.

You sat on the edge of your quilted bed in your modest white nightgown, legs tucked beneath you, slowly brushing your long hair. Each stroke of the brush was deliberate, almost meditative, the bristles whispering through damp strands still heavy with water. Your mind wandered back to the cherry grove: the taste of Taehyung’s lips, the warmth of his hands, the way he had worshipped you so tenderly beneath the falling petals. A secret, blissful smile curved your lips even as a quiet ache bloomed in your chest.

A soft knock sounded at your door, pulling you from your reverie. “Come in,” you called gently.

The door opened with a faint creak, and little Alma slipped inside like a small ghost. Her pale nightgown swallowed her slight frame, and her braided hair hung neatly over one shoulder. She closed the door carefully behind her and padded over to your bed, climbing up to sit beside you without invitation. For a moment, she simply studied you with those wide, far-too-observant eyes.

“Have you prayed tonight?” she asked, her voice soft as moth wings in the quiet room.

“Not yet,” you answered, setting the brush down in your lap and offering her a warm smile.

“May I pray with you?”

The innocence in her request made something tender twist inside your chest. “Of course, Alma. I’d like that.”

You both slid from the bed and knelt side by side on the cool wooden floor, the braided rug soft beneath your knees. The oil lamp on your nightstand flickered gently, casting dancing golden light and long shadows across the walls. You clasped your hands together, bowing your heads in unison. The familiar evening prayer rose between you in hushed, harmonious whispers— thanking the Lord for safe passage through another day, asking for protection from sin and temptation, seeking forgiveness for hidden transgressions.

When it was your turn to speak your private prayers, your voice dropped to a trembling whisper, barely audible even to your sister beside you. "And please, Lord… watch over Taehyung. Help him find honest work. Guide his steps and let him see the worth within himself. Protect him from harm. Amen.”

Silence lingered after the prayers ended. The two of you remained kneeling, the weight of unspoken things growing heavier in the room like humidity before a storm. Finally, Alma lifted her head and turned to look at you fully. “I know about Taehyung.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to keep your expression calm, smoothing the fabric of your nightgown over your thighs with suddenly unsteady hands. “What do you mean, Alma?”

She didn’t waver. “I know you’re in love with him. I’ve seen the way you look at him during service. The secret smiles. The way you disappear after church on Sundays.”

The truth sat heavy on your tongue. You opened your mouth to deny it, to weave some careful lie, but looking into your little sister’s earnest eyes, the words wouldn’t come. Your shoulders slowly deflated as the confession slipped free in a shaky breath. “Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I am in love with him, Alma. Deeply. More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

Alma’s small brow furrowed with genuine worry, her hands twisting together in her lap. “But how can you be in love with a man who’s going to war?”

The words struck you like ice water poured down your spine. You shook your head quickly, almost desperately. “He’s not going to war. You’re wrong, Alma. He told me himself today that he wasn’t going to enlist.”

She shook her head, braids swaying gently. “I saw his name. After dinner, when Father went into his study… a messenger brought a new list. Names of the young men from our town who enlisted this week. The ones we’re meant to pray for in service.” Her voice grew quieter. “Taehyung’s name was at the very bottom.”

For a moment, the entire room seemed to tilt. The flickering lamplight blurred at the edges of your vision. Your pulse roared in your ears like distant thunder rolling across the cotton fields. “You’re lying,” you whispered, though your voice cracked with uncertainty.

Alma only looked at you with quiet sorrow, saying nothing.

The truth hit you like a physical blow. You rose to your feet so suddenly that the rug bunched beneath your bare toes. Your nightgown trailed behind you like a mourning veil as you moved swiftly down the darkened hallway, heart pounding violently against your ribs. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet, each step echoing your growing panic.

The door to your father’s study stood slightly ajar, warm lamplight spilling out into the hallway like spilled blood. You didn’t knock. You pushed the door open with trembling hands.

Your father startled where he knelt in prayer beside his heavy oak desk, Bible open before him on the floor. His eyes widened in shock at your sudden appearance.

“Daughter? What is the meaning of—” You didn’t answer him. You moved straight to his desk like a woman possessed by some desperate spirit, hands shaking as you rifled frantically through the scattered papers, letters, and church documents. Envelopes fluttered to the floor like dying moths. Your father’s voice grew sharper, demanding an explanation, but the words barely registered through the roaring in your ears.

And then you found it.

A single crisp sheet of paper, freshly delivered, listing the names of Willow Creek’s young men who had recently enlisted. Your eyes scanned down the page with frantic desperation until they landed on the final name at the bottom.

Kim Taehyung.

The letters blurred. The paper trembled violently in your grip as the world seemed to fracture around you. The room spun slowly, your father’s alarmed voice fading into a distant, meaningless hum.

Taehyung had enlisted.

He had looked you in the eyes beneath those cherry trees, kissed your skin, told you he loved you… and still chosen to leave. The world fractured the moment your eyes landed on his name.

You dropped the paper as if it had burned your fingers. Your father’s voice rose behind you, sharp, demanding, laced with righteous fury, but it sounded like it came from underwater, distant and meaningless. Without a word, without a backward glance, you turned and fled.

“Daughter! Get back here this instant!” His heavy footsteps thundered after you down the hallway, but you were already gone, a white ghost in your thin nightgown, bare feet slapping against the cool wooden floors. You burst through the front door into the humid Southern night, the screen door slamming violently behind you like the final note of a funeral hymn.

The May night air wrapped around you like a damp shroud. Gravel and dirt bit into the soft soles of your bare feet as you ran, but the pain barely registered. Your nightgown billowed behind you like surrendered angel wings, pale fabric glowing faintly under the moonlight. Tears blurred your vision as you tore through the sleeping streets of Willow Creek, past darkened houses with their judgmental windows, past the church where cherry blossoms still drifted silently in the breeze behind the white steeple.

You ran until your lungs burned like hellfire and your heart felt ready to shatter. The orphanage loomed at the edge of town, an old, sagging building with peeling paint and creaking shutters, the only home Taehyung had ever truly known. Your fists pounded desperately against the weathered wooden door, the sound echoing into the quiet night like frantic prayers.

The door finally creaked open. Madame Lovell stood there in her faded robe, gray hair in a loose braid, her weathered face shifting from irritation to bewilderment at the sight of the preacher’s daughter standing barefoot and wild-eyed on her doorstep.

“Where is he?” you gasped, chest heaving, voice cracking. “Please… where is Taehyung?”

Understanding dawned in the old woman’s eyes, followed by deep, pitying sorrow. She sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as if the weight of a thousand lost boys pressed down on her. “Oh, honey…” she said softly, her Southern drawl thick with sadness. “He left already. Just before dinner. Came by to say goodbye. Packed what little he had and walked off with the recruiter.”

Your breath caught in a broken sob. Madame Lovell reached inside and pulled out a folded envelope, worn at the edges, your name written across it in Taehyung’s familiar, slanted handwriting.

“He left this for you.” Your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the dirt like a broken doll, nightgown pooling around you in the dust. The letter trembled violently in your hands as you tore it open, tears already streaming down your cheeks in hot rivers.

My dearest love,

By the time you read this, I’ll already be gone.

I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you today beneath our cherry trees, but I couldn’t bear to watch your heart break in front of me. I’m a coward in that way. You deserve better than the way I love you— reckless and desperate and selfish.

I enlisted this afternoon. Namjoon’s letter got to me deeper than I let on. He said there was honor in it. Purpose. A way for a boy like me to finally become something more than the town’s favorite sinner. A way to maybe, one day, be worthy of standing beside the preacher’s daughter without shame.

But mostly… I did it because I love you too much to keep dragging you down with me. You’re light. You’re everything good and pure in this rotten world. And I’m smoke and trouble and dead ends. I can’t ask you to wait for a man who might come back in a box draped with a flag.

Still, I need you to know this, I have never loved anyone the way I love you. Not once. Not ever. Every stolen kiss under those cherry trees, every time you looked at me like I was worth saving… those moments are the only heaven I’ve ever known.

’ll find you again somehow. In this life or the next. I swear it on every falling petal, on every prayer you whispered for me. But please, my sweet girl… don’t wait for me. Live. Be happy. Marry someone who can give you the life you deserve. Someone your father would approve of. Someone who won’t ruin you.

Keep a piece of me in your heart if you can. And when the cherry trees bloom next spring, think of me. I’ll be thinking of you.

Forever yours, even when I’m gone,

Taehyung.

The letter slipped from your numb fingers, fluttering to the dirt like a dying blossom. Sobs tore from your throat, raw, guttural, heartbroken sounds that echoed into the quiet night. You curled in on yourself in the dust, arms wrapped around your knees, nightgown soiled and torn at the hem. The moon watched silently overhead, cold and indifferent, as the girl who had once believed love could conquer everything shattered completely beneath its indifferent gaze.

Madame Lovell stood in the doorway, one hand pressed to her mouth, tears glistening in her own eyes. Somewhere in the distance, a lonely dog howled at the moon. The cherry trees behind the church continued to shed their leave into the wind, the beautiful, fragile things that bloomed so brightly only to fall and be forgotten by morning.

And you remained there in the dirt, a broken preacher’s daughter in white, clutching the last words of the only boy who had ever made your heart feel truly alive… knowing that some loves were never meant to survive the weight of the world.

The night swallowed your sobs whole, leaving only silence, dust, and the faint, fading scent of cherries on the breeze.

it was a late, blazing july afternoon with the kind of california heat that sticks to everything.

your beater car had just given up on you in the worst possible place it could—pulled over on the stretch of a busy road with no shade, just heat shimmering off the black asphalt and distant palm trees that don't feel helpful at all.

you already tried the obvious things. ignition, gas, trying it all again like it might change something.

it never did.

you leaned back against the passenger door of your car letting out a frustrated breath, hair sticking to your neck as you watched cars pass by with the soft sound of your hazards blinking in the background.

of course it's today. of course it's here.

that was when you suddenly heard the low hum of an engine slow down beside you. a sleek, black bmw—expensive, but not loud about it. it pulled in front of your car, and for a second you think the car is just stopping briefly.

that was before the driver door opened.

he steps out like he’s not in a rush to be anywhere else.

tall—noticeably so, he moves towards you easily, like he’s used to taking up space without ever forcing it.

sunglasses sit low on his nose, shielding his eyes, but not enough to hide the way his attention lands exactly on you. his shirt is simple—lightweight, slightly open at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. nothing flashy.

but it fits him too well. everything about him does.

dark jeans, clean shoes, watch on his wrist that you can't recognize but can tell is expensive. you notice all of him in the mere seconds he takes to walk over to you, the feeling hitting you all at once.

dear god, he was fine. the kind that made you straighten up a little bit without realizing; running a quick hand through your hair and fixing your jewelry.

he walks toward the front of your car, unhurried, one hand sliding briefly into his pocket before resting against the hood of your car.

up close, it’s worse.

sharper features than you expected. clean, but not overly polished. there’s something slightly worn in about him—like experience and maturity that sits on him well.

“everything alright?” he asks, voice is low and steady.

you blink for a second longer than necessary before responding. why does he look like that... helping me with my car?

"uh-" you stammer before clearing your throat. "it's- it's dead."

"yeah..." he says, eyes examining your car closer. "i can see that."

you nod and suddenly there's a pause, small but noticeable.

he comes around the side of your car, closing the distance between you to look inside of the window. you fumble while taking a few steps back as he looks at your dashboard then back at you, suddenly flustered by his presence.

"you got jumper cables?" he asks.

you simply shook your head.

"didn't think so," he says simply.

he walks back to his car, and you stand there feeling so helpless in the hot sun as he turns his car around to face yours in a swift manner, opening the door casually before coming around to his trunk like he's done this plenty of times.

when he comes back with the cables, he quickly slides his sunglasses in a way you almost miss a glimpse of his whole face.

you assumed it was because of the sun. but little did you know, it wasn't.

because before he walked back to his car, he had looked at you a little too closely. it wasn't some polite, quick glance. it was one that lasted a second too long.

he noticed everything about you.

the way your top fits—not overly revealing, but just enough to catch his attention without trying. the fabric light, slightly clinging from the heat. your skirt—shorter than it probably needed to be, riding just a little higher from the way you shifted against your car door.

his gaze dropped, brief, controlled—then came back up. your legs, your hands, the thin bracelet at your wrist. rings that don’t match perfectly but somehow work. jewelry that feels personal to you.

he takes note of that. of course he does.

then, your face. slightly flush from the heat, skin warm toned and sun-kissed. there's something effortless about you, like you spent more time living in the sun than hiding from it.

your expression—somewhere between annoyed and trying not to be. and your eyes, focused on him, but not softened. not entirely impressed by him, but more appreciative.

and when he closed his trunk, he forgets to look away. so he pulls his sunglasses back over, quick and casual. like it's nothing.

and not because of the sunlight, but because he was looking at you a little too openly. and he knew it.

he arrives at your car and connects everything smoothly, no hesitation and big hands steady. it was unfairly attractive.

“so,” he says, glancing up while he works, “you live out here or just enjoying the scenic breakdown experience?”

a smile pulls at your mouth despite yourself. “neither. i was just trying to get home.”

“mm.” he clicks something into place. “dangerous thing to try in LA.”

that gets a small laugh out of you, softer now and less defensive.

when the car finally sputters back to life, you visibly relax. he steps back, wiping his hands lightly. “there you go."

you should've just said thank you and left. but something in you doesn't act immediately. because now that the problem was gone, the silence between you two felt different now.

“so how do i… repay you?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious.

he tilts his head slightly. "you don’t.” a beat passes. "just don't break down in the worst place possible next time."

you rolled your eyes a little, a smirk tugging at your lips. "no promises."

that earns a small smile from him. he steps back toward his car, then pauses like he’s deciding something.

“i’m—” he starts, then stops himself, like he’s choosing not to introduce himself the usual way. "i’ll see you around.”

"yeah... thank you."

and you watch him get back into his car, driving away and getting lost in the sea of los angeles traffic as you realized two things;

you didn't get his name, and you would likely never see him again.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

one week later

he's just getting off the phone when it happens.

“yeah, send it over tonight,” he says, already half-distracted. “i"ll listen then.”

a pause. “mm. yeah. i got it.” he ends the call before the other person finishes their last sentence.

he slips his phone into his pocket, stepping onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun hitting just right—warm, a little blinding, the kind of los angeles light that makes everything look softer than it is.

but he's not really paying attention at first.

he's thinking about work. about a track that still isn’t sitting right. about whether he even wants to go to the next session he has lined up.

and then—he sees you.

just down the block, wired headphones plugged into your ears as you walk towards a small coffee shop.

it takes him half a second too long for him to register it. he slows before stopping in his place on the scorching sidewalk just to be sure.

same walk. same unintentional confidence—like you're not trying to be noticed, which somehow makes you stand out more. your outfit catches his attention again without effort. something light, slightly different from the first time he saw you, but still you.

skirt again—of course. not the same one, but same idea.

he notices that. he notices everything.

you push the door open to the shop before disappearing inside. and for a second—he considers just letting you go, letting the roadside interaction stay that way, a one time street kind of thing that didn't need to turn into anything else.

he exhaled quietly before shaking his head, "yeah, no." he changed his direction subtly like he was always going that way.

by the time he reaches the door, he's already composed again. no rush or urgency in him, just the same steady stride he always carried around.

inside the cafe, it’s quieter than the street. low music, soft conversations, and the smell of coffee swirled in the air.

he scans the space once and it doesn't take long for him to find you, standing near the counter, slightly turned away, looking up at the menu like you're stuck deciding between the same two things.

he watches you for a second. not long, but enough. and suddenly, there's that feeling again rising up in his chest.

he steps into line behind you—close enough to matter, not close enough to be obvious. he lets the moment build naturally. of course he does. he lets you stay unaware just a second longer.

then, as you shift your weight and turn slightly back—he steps forward at the exact right time. light contact, your shoulder to his chest. just enough to capture your attention.

"oh, sorry—" you say automatically before looking up. it took a moment for you to process that the same, gorgeous man who jumped your car last week was the one currently blocking your vision.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s just as surprised. “well,” he says, calm, almost amused, “this is becoming a pattern.”

you blinked. "you... helped me with my car."

"i did," he agrees. "and now apparently i'm following you around LA."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "are you?"

he puts a hand over his chest, mock offended but calm. “i prefer ‘running into you repeatedly by tragic coincidence.’”

that earns a laugh from you, the first real one between you. the barista calls you next in line, and he trails behind you like you're a couple ordering together. his presence alone makes your heart thump against your chest.

the barista takes your order and before you can even unzip your purse to pay, you already see a large hand coming from behind you, inserting a card in the machine.

the barista hands the man behind you the receipt and you turn around abruptly, tilting your head up to fully face him as you both drift away from the register. "i can pay for myself," you said.

"i know," he says simply.

"i was supposed to pay," you corrected as you picked up your freshly made coffee order.

"why?" he asked genuinely, tilting his head to match the angle of yours. it sent a light pink blush up your cheeks.

you look at him like the answer is obvious. "because you jumped my car."

his eyebrows pulled together. "that was like five minutes of my time." you all but blinked, suddenly at a loss of words under the intense gaze of this mysterious, confident man.

he begins to walk towards a table and you follow him, still protesting under your breath. "that doesn't mean you get to—"

“get to what?” he glances back at you, sunglasses now off, and it’s worse without them in a way—more direct, more readable. more of his perfectly chiseled face exposed to you. “buy you coffee?”

you open your mouth, then close it. because the way he said it made it sound ridiculous to argue.

you both end up choosing a table by the window. endless blue, moving slowly under the late afternoon sun. a few people pass by on bikes, others walking along the sidewalk with iced coffees in hand, like time moves differently here.

not sat too close to him, not too far—just enough space that it could still be casual if either of you decided to pretend it was.

“so, what do you do?” you ask finally, wrapping your hands around the cup.

he leans back slightly in his chair. “music.”

“that’s vague.”

“it's intentional.”

you give him a look. “oh, so you’re mysterious.”

“i’m tired,” he corrects lightly, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “there’s a difference.”

that makes you smile. “what, like a band?” you press.

“no,” he says. “behind the scenes.”

“oh.” you tilt your head. “like a manager?”

he pauses for a moment. "something like that."

it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. you nod like you accept that answer, but the curiosity doesn't go away.

“and you?” he asks.

you almost laugh. “i don’t do music.”

“didn’t say you did.”

“i mean…” you gesture vaguely. “nothing like that. i work. i live on the edge of LA where nothing interesting happens.”

his gaze holds on you a second longer than necessary. "that’s not true,” he says.

you frown slightly. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know you broke down on the side of a road in peak heat and didn’t immediately panic,” he says. “that tells me something.”

"like what?" "that you're stubborn," he replies calmly.

you lean forward a little, eyes analyzing his expression. "that's not a compliment."

“it can be,” he says. “depends who it’s about.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and him slip into easy conversation—half started stories, simple questions, the kind of conversation that doesn't feel like you're trying too hard.

you're mid-sentence, explaining something about where you live—how everything feels slower out there—when he interrupts you, but gently. “how old are you?”

you pause, caught off guard. “that’s random.”

“it’s relevant,” he says, like that should be obvious.

“to what?”

he lifts his cup slightly, studying you over the rim for a second before answering. “to how seriously i should be taking you.”

your eyebrows lift immediately. “excuse me?”

there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “i’m kidding,” he says, calm, unbothered. “mostly.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “twenty four.”

he nods once, like he expected that. “yeah,” he murmurs.

“yeah what?” you press.

“nothing,” he says, setting his cup down. “it makes sense.”

“that’s so annoying,” you say. “you don’t get to say that and not explain.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he leans back slightly, relaxed, completely comfortable letting you be a little frustrated. “you carry yourself younger at times,” he says. “but not in a bad way.”

you narrow your eyes. “that still feels like an insult.”

“it’s not,” he says, softer now. “it’s honest.”

you look at him for a second longer than you mean to. “okay,” you say quietly. “then how old are you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he’s deciding how much to give. “what do you think?” he asks.

you study him now, more deliberately. he doesn’t look older, not really. no obvious lines, no tiredness. and of course, he looks put together in a way most guys your age aren’t.

“twenty-seven,” you say finally. “maybe twenty-eight.”

he lets out a soft laugh—low, almost under his breath.

you frown immediately. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly with amusement.

“no, what?”

“you’re off,” he says.

“by how much?”

he pauses, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “enough.”

“that’s not an answer,” you says leaning forward closer now.

“it is,” he replies calmly. “just not one you like.”

you stare at him, half-annoyed, half-curious. “you’re not going to tell me?”

“not yet.”

your eyes narrow. “why?”

he meets your gaze fully this time. “because i want to see if it changes anything for you.”

you lean back slightly, thrown off in a way you don't show completely. “why would it?” you ask.

he shrugs after a small pause. he glances down at your cup. “you drink your coffee too slow, by the way.”

your mouth falls open a little as the moment quickly softens again. “oh my god.”

“just saying.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re still here,” he points out lightly.

the conversation drifts again after that, easier now. you talk more without meaning to—little things, fragments of your life. he listens in a way that feels attentive, but not invasive. like he’s not collecting information, just understanding your pace.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you both drift toward the door without really deciding to. the conversation doesn’t end—it just slows, like both of you are aware it has to, eventually.

outside, the afternoon has softened. the heat isn’t as sharp anymore, but it’s still there, hanging in the air between you.

you shift your weight slightly, glancing down the street, then back at him. “this was…” you start, then stop, like you don't want to overdefine it. he watches you, gazed fixed on you patiently.

“unexpected,” you continue on.

he nods once. “yeah.”

“i still owe you,” you say.

he glances down at you. “you don’t.”

“i do.”

“you don’t,” he repeats, softer but final. but after a small beat, “if it makes you feel better, you can get the next one.”

you narrows your eyes. “there’s going to be a next one?”

he paused again, but only for a fraction of a second too long before he shrugged slightly like it was nothing. "if you break down again, i might start thinking it's planned."

you rolled your eyes, but a smile pulled helplessly at your lips. as you stepped out into the light of the sun, you realized two things at once. this man still hadn't told you who he is or his name, and that you somehow already agreed to see him again.

"let me see your phone," he said lowly, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once again. it wasn't really a question.

and so you reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone, and without asking—he takes your hand gently, turning your palm slightly towards his. the faintest brush of his fingers sent an unexpected warmth up your arm in a way you couldn't ignore.

he picked up your phone that now seemed so small in his hands, typing something quickly before handing your phone back. you looked down at your screen, squinty slightly from the sun.

his name. a number.

joon 213-555-0010

when you look back up at him, he's already watching you—unreadable in a way that sent a pink flush throughout your cheeks.

"joon," you said, like you needed to say his name out loud. like you knew it was just a nickname.

he simply nodded, something small like a smile tugging at his lips from the sound of you hearing his name. "yeah."

he paused, low eyes peering above his sunglasses as he looked at you closely. "you gonna tell me yours?" he asked lowly, the baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

so you told him, and he repeated it a few times under his breath like he had to let it sink on his tongue. "y/n," he said finally, voice quieter than usual. "pretty name for a pretty girl."

your eyes couldn't help but widely slightly at his bold words, the pink on your face turning into a deep red.

a small pause filled the air before you swallowed, trying your best to lock in your confidence in front of this man. "you didn't ask for my number," you said.

"i know."

"that's a little backwards."

"not really."

you titled your head. "why?"

he took a step back, giving you just a little more space. "because now it's your choice."

you study him for a second, like you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of game. some kind of reality tv show where they prank you with some hot mysterious man. but it didn't feel like one.

"and if i don't text you?" you ask.

a small pause before he shrugged easily. "then i'll assume you didn't want to." but his tone didn't have any pressure or persuasion in it.

"confident," you mutter.

"selective," he corrected.

you almost rolled your eyes—but you don't quite let it happen. he glances past you for a second, like he's remembering that he actually has somewhere to be. then, they quickly averted back to you.

"if you do," he continues, quieter now. "don't over think it."

you let a small laugh. "too late."

that earns a small smile from him, dimples tugging at his cheeks in a way you noticed immediately. "i figured."

another pause before he steps back swiftly, like he's deciding that he couldn't stay any longer than necessary—even if he wanted to. "i'll see you around," he says, for the second time.

before you can respond, he's already turning and stepping away, suddenly gone in the same effortless and casual way he arrived.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

that night, you tell yourself you're not going to think about him.

and you failed immediately.

you failed when you went to dinner with your friends, when you did chores around your house; in the shower and when you laid in your own bed that night—the bed that was supposed to make your thoughts go away. it was the small things at first.

the way he didn’t rush anything. the way he answered questions without really answering them. the way he looked at you like he already understood something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

and as the night continued on, the bigger things settled in your brain, making heat shamefully pool between your legs.

he didn't ask for your number. he didn't try to lock you in. instead, he just left his number with you.

who is he?

your phone sat next to you with the screen dark and off, but it felt louder than anything else in the room. you fell into a cycle of picking it up and putting it back down.

finally, you picked it up again, finding his contact. you flipped it shut, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought of messaging him. you found your thumbs typing, deleting, then typing something again.

you exhale softly, leaning back against your pillow trying your hardest not to overthink it, his voice replaying in the back of your head.

he wasn't some typical guy—you could tell in the way he carried himself. he walked casually, but with assurance. he dressed with stride, but still managed to blend in. he talked with confidence, and every line was coated with experience.

so now, it wasn't just about texting him. it's about what it would mean if you did. because somehow, after one roadside encounter and a cup of coffee—you already wanted more than you should have.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's drive back was quiet. not because he wanted it to be—but because nothing else fit how he felt at the moment.

not even any of his music.

he had driven these streets thousands of times. the same turns, the same streets, the same palm trees. usually his mind is somewhere else entirely—work, mixes, deadlines, people who expect things from him.

but not tonight. because tonight, it kept circling back to you.

it all kept replaying in his head—the way you looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. he noticed the way you didn't try too hard. you didn't perform like everyone else in LA.

you didn't know what he is, who he is, or what kind of world he's involved in.

that was the part that was stuck in namjoon's head so deeply. because most people that meet him are already adjusted to him—already well aware, careful with their words and their tones, their intentions.

but you certainly weren't.

because you argued with him. you rolled your eyes and called him annoying. and you meant all of it.

a faint smile pulled at his mouth as he came to a stop at a red light. "twenty-seven," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and laughing slightly.

but still, you didn't hesitate.

he pulls into his place, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out right away. he glances at his phone, sitting in the center console of his car, dark and quiet.

but he doesn't reach for it. because namjoon was a patient man—he always had been. in work, in life, in everything that mattered.

once he gets inside his spacious, sleek home, he dropped his keys on the counter, running a hand through his hair, exhaling.

namjoon had been with plenty of women before. older, younger—in his world and outside of it. he always knows how it goes. he knows how to keep it light and uncomplicated.

but this didn't feel like that. because it felt like something that could get complicated. but instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he leaned into it. just a little.

an hour passes. then two.

namjoon tells himself he's not checking his phone. but it turns out to be a lie, because throughout night—he checks it without picking it up. glancing every time he walks past, like it might light up if he looks long enough. but it doesn't.

he tells himself to relax, that you have a life or that you might not be interested at all. but still—he wonders what you're up to. if you're thinking about him the way he's thinking about you. if you're overanalyzing that moment outside of the coffee shop.

suddenly, his phone buzzed. he doesn't look right away. he just looked at it before reading the unsaved number, no name attached. he picks it up and opens it almost immediately.

unknown: do you always leave girls with this much pressure or am i just special?

he lets out a quiet breath—half a laugh of amusement, half something else. there you finally were, exactly the way he had anticipated. he begins to type before he stops and quickly deletes it.

he leans back against the counter, thinking—not about what to say, but about how much he should give. because namjoon didn't want to rush this. he didn't want to come on too strong.

but he couldn't pretend that he was unaffected either, because he most certainly couldn't even if he wanted to. not with you.

he types again, this time sending it.

him: i was starting to think you wouldn't.

he watches the screen for a second longer than necessary, saving your contact before setting his phone down. it wasn't far, but it was just enough. because now, you know that he was waiting too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you exhale softy, rolling onto your back with a smile that couldn't help but tug at your lips.

you: oh so you were waiting

a pause settled on the screen before the typing bubble popped up again.

joon: i was curious

you: that sounds like a more mysterious way of saying waiting

joon: you can call it whatever makes you feel better

and now, you definitely smiled at that. because he was already doing that thing again—side stepping without hesitation.

you: you're too difficult to read

joon: you're trying too hard then

you: i think you're just confusing

joon: only for you sweetheart

you actually laugh out loud at that, shaking your head and ignoring the way the nickname made pink tint your cheeks.

you: wow so is this how you talk to every girl you buy coffee for?

his reply comes faster this time.

joon: i don't buy anyone coffee

you: good answer

joon: an honest one what are you doing right now?

you glanced around your room like he could somehow see.

you: nothing important

joon: doesn’t sound convincing

you: i could say the same about you

joon: i’m working

you: doing your very mysterious job?

joon: still stuck on that?

you: a little

joon: you'll figure it out eventually

you bit your lip slightly, thinking of an answer.

you: you're very sure i'm going to stick around long enough to figure it out

joon: aren't you?

your heart does that annoying little jump again, and you don't answer right away. and he doesn't send anything else. instead, he waits. three minutes later;

you: maybe

joon: that's a start

another painfully long beat passes before your cellphone vibrates again.

joon: you busy tomorrow night?

you stare at the message, blinking twice to make sure you read it right. but somehow, half of you wasn't surprised. you were practically waiting in a way you couldn't admit. but the other half was incredibly in shock.

you started to type.. deleted it.. then typed again.

you: depends what are you planning?

joon: something better than coffee

you smiled immediately, even though you tried not to.

you: that's a little confident

joon: doesn't seem like you hate it

you: i don't

joon: good

a pause settled on the screen again.

joon: 8?

you exhaled slowly, the reality creeping in as you stared at the screen. you were really going to go on a date with this man. the same, confident and attractive man that had jumped your car and saved your day. the same man who's age and job you couldn't quite detect.

you: okay

joon: i'll pick you up don't overthink it

you rolled your eyes, smiling.

you: too late

joon: i know

and just like that, with one text conversation, it definitely was more than just a street thing.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you almost regret saying yes the moment you hear a car pull up outside, engine rumbling lowly outside your apartment window.

not because you didn't want to go, of course. but because now, it's real.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the bumps in your hair and coating your lips with gloss one last time. simple, but intentional. something that said you tried... but didn't try too hard.

your phone buzzed.

joon: i'm outside

when you step out, you see the car first. the same sleek and clean car that had pulled over in front of you on that busy highway engulfed in heat.

then him.

leaning slightly agains the driver's side door, towering over the car with his sleeves pushed up, looking like he's only been there for a minute—but completely settled anyway. he wore a costly-looking dress shirt, glimmering chain around his neck and a sparkling watch wrapped around his built arm. you swallowed hard.

his eyes flick up from the ground immediately when he notices you. and for a second, he just looks at you. completely, unashamedly taking you in with his eyes slowly.

"yeah..." he says lowly, dragging his lips ever so quickly along his lips as you approached him, heels clicking beneath you. "you're going to be a problem tonight."

you couldn't ignore the heat that sent down your spine, but you simply peered up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently. "aren't i always?"

"i haven't seen you always," he replied.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile pulled at your lips anyway. then, he stepped back, opening the door for you. you don't the miss the way he does it without hesitation. and when you sit inside, you don't miss the way his gaze burns into you before closing your door.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive was easy, music low in the background, city lights coming to life as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

namjoon doesn't fill every silence—and somehow it makes it easier for you to talk.

"so where are you taking me?" you ask eventually.

"you'll see," he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested between you.

"that's not helpful."

"it's not supposed to be."

you shook your head, smiling out the window. he pulls up to a restaurant that sits right by everything—the beach, the water, and the city. it was definitely upscale, but nothing intimidating.

inside, the lighting is warm yet dim, swift music playing and low conversations humming.

you were seated quickly. no waiting or confusion. you didn't quite realize the line of people who were standing for a table, and how you and him were able to breeze right past it.

when you arrive to your seat, it's right in front of the window, city lights and palm trees stretching on the glass in front of you. he pulls your seat out for you, helping you take off your coat and placing it along your chair.

after you place your orders, the conversation flows faster this time. less guarded, and more natural.

"so," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. "what do you actually do?"

you sigh softly, like you already know the answer isn't impressive, even compared to his incredibly vague one. "i’m a waitress," you say. "nothing exciting."

he watches you for a second. "you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

"or because you think it's supposed to be."

that made you pause. "it's not exactly... impressive," you admitted.

he shrugs lightly. "most things that are don't matter."

you let out a small breath, like you didn’t expect that answer. “you always talk like that?” you ask.

“like what?”

“like you know something i don’t.”

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. “sometimes i do.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and namjoon are laughing a few minutes later—about something small and stupid—and it feels easy. too easy.

the song currently playing comes to an end and the music shifts. a different song comes on—smooth, familiar, something that's even playing everywhere recently.

you perked up immediately. "oh my god, i love this song."

he stills ever so slightly. it's quick and barely noticeable, but there's a flicker of something across his face. he glances down at the table, then back up at you. "yeah?" he asks, casual.

"yeah," you nod, smiling. "it's so good."

he hums in response, leaning back in his seat like it's just background noise. "not bad."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "not bad?" he shrugs. "it's alright."

you laugh. "you're impossible."

and he doesn't argue. but there's a faint smirk but he doesn't fully hide this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the dinner stretches longer than you expected. because neither of you seem to be in a rush to end it.

by the time the check comes, you reach for it instinctively. because at the cafe, he said he would let you get it this time.

but he's faster. of course he is.

"you don't have to—" you start.

"i know."

"that's not fair," you protest.

"it doesn't have to be," he said.

you sigh, but you're already smiling again.

as he hands the card over, the server pauses. "sorry," the server says, almost hesitant. "are you... are you—namjoon—"

namjoon already knows what's coming. he exhales softly, not annoyed at all, just used to it. "yeah," he says with a polite smile. you blinked.

"sorry- i thought so. i didn't want to assume."

he gives a small, reassuring nod.

"do you think i could-" the server gestures awkwardly. "just like, a quick autograph? my brother and i are huge fans."

you completely froze.

fan?

huge?

he doesn't make it a big deal. "yeah, no problem," he says, like it was normal. like this happens all the time. because it does.

he signs something quickly, hands it back with a polite smile.

"thank you—i appreciate it. you two have a great night," the server said before walking off.

silence settled between you for the brief a second. you were completely staring at him now, trying to control your facial expressions as you processed what just happened.

"you didn't tell me that happens to you," you said.

"i didn't think it mattered," he replied casually.

"well," you said slowly. "what exactly do you do?"

there it was. the question he definitely couldn't avoid this time. he leans back slightly, studying your expression. it was curious, but not intimidated or totally impressed. just curious.

"i told you," he said. "music."

you shook your head. "no, you said behind the scenes."

he huffed a small breath, close to a laugh before he paused. "i produce," he said finally. it was simple and direct—no bragging or boasting.

you blink again. "like... that song?"

a beat passes for a small moment before he nods once. "yeah."

and now, the air between you shifted. because now you knew; he wasn't just some guy who stopped to help you on the side of the road.

and somehow, it almost made things worse. because now, you had to figure out why he's here... with you.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the air outside feels cooler than before. or maybe it’s just because of the way everything shifted inside.

namjoon pushes the door open for you, stepping slightly to the side to let you walk out first—but as you pass, his hand settles lightly at the small of your back.

guiding. not grabbing or lingering too long. just there, resting on your back. it's subtle, but you can feel the intention seeping through you, especially in the way it instantly sends a shiver up your back.

your steps slow for half a second—not enough for him to comment on, but enough for you to notice yourself.

but he notices too.

you both walk a few steps in the parking lot in silence. it wasn't awkward, it was just both of you recollecting the entire night—including who he really was.

“so,” you say finally, glancing over at him, tone light like nothing’s changed, “you’re kind of a big deal, namjoon.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “no.”

“that guy literally asked you for an autograph.”

“that happens sometimes.”

you narrow your eyes. “that’s not normal.”

“it is for me,” he says simply. it wasn't cocky or defensive, just the honest truth. it should've been intimidating. but you didn't let it land that way.

you shrugged slightly. "okay. but that still doesn't mean i'm impressed."

there's a pause before he looks at you—really looks this time. and something shifts in his eyes, subtle but sharper. more interested and intrigued by the young woman standing before him.

"good," he said lowly.

you blinked. "good?"

“i’d be a little concerned if you were.”

your lips press together slightly, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

you both reach his car, but neither of you move to get in right away. he leans back against it slightly, arms relaxed and eyes fixed on you.

you cross your arms again. not closed off, just grounding yourself under his gaze. "so you just... make songs people know?"

"sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"ugh, that's such a non-answer."

his lips fought a smile at your remark. "it's an accurate one."

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. "you're so annoying."

"but you keep talking to me," he points out.

you finally glance up at him fully, and for a second, the eye contact lingers for a moment too long. it causes you to look away first, pink tinting your cheeks.

and namjoon notices everything.

the way you're holding eye contact a little less now. the way you're slightly more aware of yourself. the way you're trying not to let it change anything. but it doesn’t turn him off—it only pulls him in more.

“you got quiet,” he says.

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

you look away for a second, then back at him. “i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate. “nothing,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. instead, he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you, but enough to spark the energy in the space between you even more.

“you’re doing that thing,” he comments quietly, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

your brows knit. “what thing?”

“trying to act like nothing changed.”

your stomach flips—annoyingly and immediate. “because nothing did,” you said.

a pause fills the air. he studies your face, like he’s deciding whether to call it out further. “alright,” he says finally.

you exhale softly. “you’re not going to say anything else?”

“i don’t need to.”

“that’s so—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

he watches you, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “say it,” he murmurs.

you look at him, trying not to react to the way his voice dropped slightly. “it’s just… a lot,” you admit.

your answer was too honest for your liking, yet he didn't laugh or dismiss it. "yeah," he said quietly. "it can be."

a beat passed. "but i'm still the same guy you had coffee with," he said softly. and those words land, harder than anything else he's said.

you study him for a second, searching for something—ego, arrogance, anything that would make this easier to categorize.

but you don’t find it. instead, you're only able to find that same calm, steady version of him. the one who stopped his car for you. the one who let you decide whether to text him. the one who didn’t even bother to impress you.

“…okay,” you say finally. and you mean it.

there was a small shift in the air between you, the tension softening— but not totally disappearing.

“so,” he says, pushing off the car slightly, “you still letting me drive you home?”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i have a choice?”

“you always have a choice,” he said. a beat passes. "but i’d prefer if you said yes," he confessed playfully.

you huffs out a quiet laugh. “you’re very subtle.”

“i try.”

and for the second time that night, namjoon opens the passenger door for you. and this time, when you got in, it felt different; reality swirling around you and settling into your head.

the drive back was quieter than the one there. it wasn't awkward or empty—just filled with unspoken words and incredibly thick tension.

his gaze was fixed on the road, but you couldn't ignore the way you caught him glancing over at you multiple times in the corner of your eye. the music is low, humming softly through the speakers before another song comes on.

you glance over at the console, then over at him. "did you make this one too?" you ask, half teasing.

he doesn't look at you right away, a smirk pulling at his lips, leaving a sharp shadow along his jaw. "maybe."

you roll your eyes, fully smiling now. "you're never going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"not all at once, pretty girl."

there it is again. not just the nickname that sent heat through your spine and in between your legs—but that confident, indirect promise of you sticking around long enough to unlock every thing about him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're looking out the window, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes everything feel more noticeable. but you're not really seeing or looking at anything, because you're too aware.

too aware of namjoon. the way he drives—one veiny hand on the wheel, relaxed but precise. the way the scent of his expensive cologne and shampoo made your knees weaken. the way he continues to glance over every now and then, quick, like he’s checking something without making it obvious.

you shift slightly in your seat every time he does.

suddenly, his hand moves from the wheel for just a second—resting briefly against the center console as he adjusts his grip. but through that movement, his large fingers brush lightly against your thigh.

he dragged them ever so softly on your thigh for what felt like forever—but only lasted two seconds—before moving his hand back to the center console. his fingers were barely there, not lingering or deliberate enough to call out. but it wasn't exactly accidental enough to ignore either.

your breath catches for just a second, but he doesn't react or apologize. he doesn't even look at you, and somehow that makes it worse.

you swallow hard, turning your head slightly towards the window again. but now you're even more hyper-aware of the space between you. your heart was doing something very annoying again, and you knew it.

he knew it.

he slows the car as you reach your place, parking smoothly before killing the engine. and just like that, everything went still.

neither of you moved right away. you looked down at your hands, then back up like you were about to say something. but you didn't.

he simply watches you for a second, less teasing in his eyes and more focus. he took in every inch of you, sitting so still and pretty in his car. looking at him like he was still the same guy who jumped your car, not like he was a guy who made every hit song. "you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you keep saying that."

"because you keep doing it."

you glance at him. this time, you don't look away immediately. "i'm just thinking."

"dangerous," he murmurs, pulling a small smile from you.

you reach for the door handle. "thanks for dinner," you say, like you're trying to keep it normal.

"yeah," he replies with a soft smile.

you open the door, stepping out thinking that the night is wrapped up. that he'll pull away and let you go. but then, you hear his door open too.

he rounds the front of the car, meeting you halfway up the short path to your door. he took his time not rushing—because he never did.

when you stop in front of your door, you turn to face him. and suddenly, it's close. closer than it's been all night. there wasn't a table, a center console, or any distractions now. just him, towering over you and filling your entire vision with nothing but him. his musky cologne quickly filled your nostrils, throwing your mind off balance.

"you don't have to walk me up," you say quietly, close to a whisper.

"i know," he says. but he doesn't step back.

a long pause fills the air, stretching long enough for the tension to feel intentional. his gaze drops briefly, to your lips—then back up to your eyes.

your breath catches again, softer now. but you were too close for namjoon to not notice it. "are you always this—" you start, then stop.

"this what?" he asks lowly, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the mere sight of you fumbling with your words in front of him.

you shake your head slightly. "i don't even know."

a faint smile pulls at his mouth. "good." he took another step closer, not enough to trap you, but enough for the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

then, his hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he does it carefully, like he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away. but you didn't.

"you're overthinking again," he murmurs, low eyes scanning every inch of your face.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "you keep saying that like it helps."

"it does," he suggests casually.

"how?"

he leans in barely. he doesn't completely close the distance between you, but it was enough to send a bolt of warmth down your body. "because you're still here."

you tilt your head up just a little, before he leans in just a sliver more. and for a second, the moment is right there, sitting heavy in the little distance there was between you.

and then, he stops. just barely, coming to a small still when you could practically feel his breath on you. just enough that it didn't happen.

your eyes flicker across his face, confused, a little breathless. he watches your reaction carefully, low eyes trained onto your every movement.

and suddenly, there's that faint smirk again—but it's softer; barely there and more restrained than usual in a way you almost didn't catch.

"goodnight, doll," he said lowly. "sleep well."

like nothing had almost just happened.

he steps back, ripping the thick air that had just sat between you like a third person. breaking it and leaving you there standing with it.

“you’re—” you start, but you don't even know what to call him.

he tilts his head slightly, licking his lips and averting his gaze down you one last time. “what?”

you exhale half-laugh and half-frustration. “annoying.”

he smiles, dimples pulling at his cheeks. “i know," he says, before turning around and walking back to his car.

from the doorstep, you watch him get in, turn on the engine, and leave. leaving you there with more thoughts than your racing heart could keep up with and a miserable dampness in your panties.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's place is quiet again. too quiet.

he tosses his keys down, walks a few steps in, then stops—like his body forgot what he was about to do.

because his mind was entirely somewhere else.

it was still at your door. still immersed into that moment.

he leans back against his kitchen counter, exhaling. he's replaying everything now, like dinner—the way you didn't switch up when you found out what he did. you weren't suddenly impressed or started asking the wrong questions.

you stayed the same. maybe you were a little quieter, a tad bit more aware. but you didn't completely fold.

that absolutely sat under namjoon's skin now. he was completely enamored by you, and didn't want to pull a girl like you into his chaotic world. didn't want you to adjust to him because of who he was, like most people did.

but you didn't. you just took it in, and kept going. you stayed exactly the same—you still called him annoying and told him he wasn't impressive.

he looks at his phone sitting a few feet away. he already gave you control once. he let you decide whether or not to text him, to decide if it was going to go anywhere or not.

but he wasn't going to do that tonight.

him: you always look at people like that or was that just for me?

he sets the phone down, but not far. because you've consumed every inch of his mind again without even trying to. he thinks about the your eyes dropped to his lips, the way you didn't pull away.

his jaw tightened slightly. he knew he was in trouble.

his phone lit up again.

her: like what?

he lets out a quiet breath, a smile pulling at his lips. the way you played it off, like you always did, made him only want more. made him think that maybe he should've kissed you right then and there—should've forgot about being a man and taking his time with you and—

he slowly took in a deep breath through his nose, dragging a hand across his face.

him: like you were about to do something you'd regret

her: don't know if i'd call it regret

namjoon liked that a little too much, licking his lips and leaning back. because now, he knows you felt it too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days and several text conversations later, namjoon sends you a text on a night he knows you're not working. no question or explanation, just;

joon: be ready at 7

when he picks you up, the air already shifts when you walk outside. it was in the way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't hiding it at all anymore. he takes his time, eyes trailing from your shoes, to the way your skirt falls, the jewelry at your wrist, to your face.

"you always dress like this, doll?" he asks lowly, stepping closer to you.

you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way the name made your brain feel like mush. "like what?"

"like you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked that."

your lips pressed together slightly, trying not to smile. "maybe i did."

a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "yeah," he agreed. "i think you did."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the driver is longer, along the coast again. his tinted windows are cracked, music low with the sky fading into the darkest blue that only happens by the water.

you and namjoon talk, but it's far from that careful, first date way. the conversation flowed between you easily. you interrupted each other, went off on tangents. doubled back to things you both said earlier. like you both have done this together longer than you actually had.

when you arrive, the place is even more secluded than last time. a quiet overlook with soft lights and the ocean extending endlessly in front of you. the sound of waves clashed below in a way that was steady and grounding.

it felt private, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

you and namjoon sit closer this time without question. dinner stretches and the conversation flows. you don't even discuss all the big things, but it's the way you talk about the small ones that makes it feel different.

you tell him about what hobbies you have, about your job—how it's routine, how people underestimate it, and how sometimes you feel stuck. and he doesn't brush it off or give you empty encouragement like most people did.

"you're not stuck," he corrected you firmly.

you scoff every is slightly. "that's easy for you to say."

"it's not about me," he replies softly. "you just need to find what you want."

you pout slightly in a way that makes his heart falter. "and you have?"

he pauses for half a second. "yeah." that same confidence remained in his tone, and for a second it felt like he might have been talking about something else.

at some point, his hand settles at the back of your chair. but this time, it stays. it wasn't touching you directly, but it was close enough to make you aware of it. aware of him.

you shift slightly and his slender fingers brush at your shoulders. they rest there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back. his warmth and his actions sent an unbearable heat between your legs.

after dinner, you both step away from the table, walking along the edge of the overlook. the night air is cooler now, ocean breeze slipping through you. you and him walk a little closer than before, shoulders lightly brushing with every few steps.

you wrapped your arms around you slightly, and his jacket is already around your shoulders before you can say anything.

you glance back at him, stopping in your steps to look at him properly. "you know... you're very sure of yourself."

"that bothers you?"

"no," you admit honestly. "it's just—different."

he pauses for a small moment. "from what you're used to?" he asks.

you nod slightly. he studies you for a second. "you're trying to figure out how old i am again."

your eyes widen slightly. "i'm not—"

"you are."

you exhale. "okay, maybe a little."

he lets your confession sit in the air before he nods slightly toward a couple walking past you two—a generation older than you, quieter, and settled. "you think i'm closer to them, or closer to you?" he asks.

you look back at the couple, then back at him. you really look at him, thinking about the way he carries himself. the way he speaks. the way he doesn't rush anything.

your expression shifts. "...okay," you say slowly. "how old are you?"

he pauses for longer than just a few seconds. "thirty-three," he answers finally.

you can't help but blink. once. twice. "...really?"

"yeah."

you study him again, like the answer didn't quite align with what you were seeing. "you don't look thirty-three."

"i know," he answered casually.

"that's kind of unfair," you said playfully.

he smiled softly. "i've heard that."

a quiet beat passes as namjoon watches you carefully, curiously watching your expression.

you shrug slightly. "okay."

he tilts his head. "that's all?"

"what?" you ask. "were you expecting something else?"

"most people... adjust," he stated.

you look at him deeply, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "well i'm not most people."

he steps closer, lightly closing the space between you. his scent filled your head once again, making your breath catch.

"yeah," he said lowly. "i noticed."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

later, when you leave the restaurant together, you don't rush out. you never do.

namjoon walks slightly behind you first as you both headed towards the entrance, one hand finding its way onto the small of your back. it became natural now, something you didn't react to—externally, at least.

his hand was there, guiding you carefully down the steps.

two hostesses near the front glance up. then they glance at namjoon. then to you, then back at him.

a quick look exchanged between them followed by a few whispers and positive smiles. he catches it immediately. of course he does.

namjoon doesn’t look directly at them—he doesn’t acknowledge it—but there’s the faintest change in his expression. then his hand presses just slightly firmer at your back.

a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. not to show off. just to keep you close—and slightly focus the attention on you.

you don't notice the whispers, but you do notice the presence of his hand grow warmer. "what?" you ask, glancing back at him.

"nothing," he says easily.

the lights from the restaurant glowed behind you, the cool night air and a soft breeze coming off the water hitting you all at once.

there's a small set of marble steps leading down towards the parking area. you start down them without thinking—mind entirely captured by namjoon—and suddenly your heel catches slightly.

it's quick—barely a stumble, but it's enough to throw you off balance slightly. his large hands instantly find their way to your waist firmly, tightening his grip and steadying you before you could even process anything.

"careful, baby," he murmurs, low and close. the name slipping out like it had always belonged there.

you freeze for half a second, breath catching slightly before you steady yourself, hand instinctively brushing against his arm.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, beginning to continue a careful ascend down the steps and ignoring the heat on your cheeks.

namjoon however, doesn't move his hands right away. they linger on your waist a second longer than necessary, making sure you're fully balanced. "i know," he says calmly.

you look up at him, trying to play it off. "you don't have to—"

"i know," he cuts in softly.

and when you reach the bottom of the steps, his hand doesn't leave your back. it stays there, steady, guiding you towards his car like you're already part of his space.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive back is quiet, the low vibration of the music and the city lights and palm trees flickering past practically lulling you to sleep.

and namjoon's presence, of course.

his large hand rested on the wheel, the other on the center console. close enough. by the minute, you swear it continues to get closer.

"tell me about him," namjoon says suddenly, the deep baritone of his voice making your thighs press together slightly.

you frown slightly from confusion. "about who?"

"your ex."

it catches you off guard. "...why?"

he shrugs lightly, sharp eyes still on the road. "i'm curious."

you hesitate before sighing. "he was..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word. "lazy."

half a second passed. "immature," you added. "didn't really pay attention to me unless it was convenient."

and as you talk, namjoon's jaw tightens slightly. it's subtle and controlled in a way you don't notice, but it's there.

"he just-" you shook your head slightly, looking out the window. "i don't know. it felt like I was always asking for the bare minimum."

for a long second, silence fills the car. namjoon's fingers tap once against the console. then, they shift. his hand moves unhurriedly, eventually finding its way to rest against your thigh, making a sharp bolt of warmth shoot down your body.

"yeah," he says finally, voice low and rough. "that sounds about right."

you glance at him. "what does that mean?"

he paused for a second. "guys your age," he continues, calm but edged with something sharper now. "they don't know what to do with a woman like you."

your stomach flips in a way that is impossible to ignore. "and you do?" you ask teasingly, trying to keep your tone steady.

his thumb shifts slightly against your thigh slightly. butterflies erupted in your stomach and your thighs shifted in a way you couldn't help, trying to disregard the heat between your legs.

"i wouldn't ignore you," he says simply.

the air in car seems to shift as you swallow hard, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "you barely know me."

"i know enough," he answers.

your breath catches slightly. namjoon's hand stays sat on your thigh steadily, like he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

"and i definitely wouldn't have you asking for anything," he adds. his words land deeper than they should, etching themselves into the back of your mind without asking.

you let out a quiet, almost nervous laugh. "you're very confident."

"i'm honest," he says. he pauses for a moment. then, his voice drops just a little—"big difference."

you look at him again, thoroughly scanning his face this time. "you always talk like that?" you ask.

"only when i mean it."

another silence settles between you, this time sitting thick; heavy with everything both of you haven't said. his hand finally shifts, but not away from you. it only slides higher along your thigh before settling again.

"relax, doll," he murmurs softly, voice low and deep.

you exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?"

you shake your head slightly. "you know exactly what."

a faint smirk pulls at his lips. "yeah," he answers. "i do."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the rest of the drive feels too short.

namjoon pulls to your curb, parking swiftly with one hand before cutting the engine. silence fills the space, neither of you reaching for the door immediately.

you look down at your hands, then back up, like you're about to say something—but the words don't come as easily now. because everything, from the restaurant, the drive is still sitting in between you. his hand, his voice. doll.

"you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you make it hard not to."

he stills ever so slightly, like your words had pulled something out of him. "do i?" he asks.

you look at him, holding his intense gaze this time. "yeah."

he pauses for longer than normal, eventually moving his hand before his mouth. he starts slow—not to your thigh this time—but higher. his fingers lift, brushing lightly along your jaw. just the tips, tracing the line like he needed to memorize it.

your breath catches immediately, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you seemingly couldn't look away from his face. he tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction closely.

"you always look like this when you're thinking?" he murmurs.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "like what?"

his thumb lingers beneath just beneath your chin for just a second. then it shifts slightly, guiding your face just enough so that you're looking directly at him and nothing else.

"like you're trying to figure out if this is a good idea," he says.

your heart practically stumbles. because he absolutely was right. "and?" you ask quietly.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. but this one was softer, like it was more certainty than teasing. "i think you already decided," he murmurs. his gaze drops briefly, down to your lips, then back up again. this time, he doesn't even try to hide it.

"you're dangerous, you know that?" you say, barely above a whisper.

he leans in slightly, his scent taking over your lungs. "yeah?"

your breath is uneven now. "yeah."

his gaze drifts again, over your face, slower this time. fully taking you in. "you still thinking about the age thing?" he asks.

"no," you respond, holding the burning eye contact.

he studies you for half a second, like he's deciding if you're telling the truth. then, he exhales quietly, almost amusedly. "yeah," he says. "didn't think you would."

his hand lifts from your chin before resting lightly at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly before easing.

"probably better for you," he adds, voicer lower now, teasing but grounded in something real and deep, "if you didn't get used to someone like me."

your stomach flips instantly. "who says i'm getting used to you?" you shoot back, trying to play it off.

a smile tugs at his lips. "doll," he murmurs, softer and closer, the warmth of his breath hitting your neck. "you're already here."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days later, namjoon sends you an address located in the corner of a private street in LA telling you to meet him there. telling you that he wanted to show you something.

a building tucked slightly off the main road, close enough to the water that the air already feels different when you step out of the car.

you hesitate for a half a second before going in. not nervous, but just a little too aware of what you were walking into. with a few instructed taps on the door buzzer, you were let in.

inside, the hallway light is dim, soft lights lining the walls that were decorated with award cases, album posters, and framed vinyls. the floors were sleek and bass echoed through the walls.

you followed the sound the sound down the hallway, until you find a studio door that's slightly open. the gold plate on it reading, "kim namjoon" then below it, "head executive producer."

you exhale softly, heart slightly stopping at that and swallowing a little too hard before you push it gently, and that's when you see him.

sitting at the main console, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting near the soundboard. one hand adjusting a dial, the other resting against his chin like he's listening too closely.

he was so immersed that he hadn't noticed you yet.

the room was lowly lit—colored LEDS instead of overhead lights, the glow from the equipment reflecting softly against his face.

and there's something about him like this—focused, quiet, and completely in his element—that hits differently, making your stomach twist into a knot.

his sleeves are pushed up again, glistening watch catching the light as he moves his hand. a chain rests below his collar, barely visible, but sparkling in the light.

everything about him is so simple, but it fits him all too well. you don't mean to stare, but you definitely do.

and then, like he felt it—namjoon finally glances up. your eyes immediately meet, and you swear you felt a spark flash through your body.

for a split second, he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, gaze taking you in deliberately.

then, he licks his lips so lightly you almost don't catch it. "you just going to stand there," he says, voice low and soft. "or are you coming in?"

you blink, snapping out of your trance slightly. "i-i didn't want to interrupt."

"you didn't," he replies easily. but his eyes linger on you for a second longer, almost like he knew you were watching him.

you step inside, softly closing the door behind you. the white lighting from the hallway had disappeared now, fully engulfing you into his world—his studio, his creative space—the place where he made every hit even possible. the big room suddenly felt smaller now, more private.

you look around, taking it all in. the walls are boarded with soundproof panels, and large speakers are placed around the sleek equipment. there's two chairs, a beanbag, and couch with folders of music sheets and lyrics scattered on the floor and on counter tops. "this is... really nice."

"mm," he hums, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly. "it works."

you glance at him. "you say everything like that."

"like what?"

"like it's not a big deal."

a faint smirk. "it's not."

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. he gestures towards the seat next to him. "come here." it wasn't a question.

you walk over, sitting beside him—closer than expected, immediately greeted by his warmth and the musk of his cologne.

he turns towards the console, grabbing a pair of high-end headphones. "listen to this," he says. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before carefully placing them over your head.

music plays—smooth and layered. it had no lyrics, but it was already catchy. you hummed in delight. "it's really good," you said softly, gently taking the headphones off.

"i know," he replies casually.

you laugh. "you're insufferable."

he glances at you, a smirk forming. "you're still here though."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

after a few minutes of namjoon showing you some buttons, he glances at you. "you want to try something?" you look at him, a bit hesitant. "like what?"

he shifts slightly, turning your chair just enough so that your angled more towards the board. "come on," he says, nodding towards the controls. "i'll show you."

"...i feel like i'm going to mess something up," you say.

"you won't."

"how do you know?" he leans in slightly, his breath hitting your neck ever so slightly. "because i'm right here."

your stomach flips again. he reaches around you slightly, one hand bracing lightly against the edge of the console near you, the other guiding your hand toward a dial.

“turn this,” he says, voice lower now, near your ear.

you try to focus. you really do. but namjoon is close. too close. his warmth spilling all over you, hitting you in all the places that made your thighs pull closer together.

you turn the dial slowly—and immediately the sound distorts in a ridiculous way. you both pause.

"...was that supposed to happen?" you ask.

he stares at the board for a second before a short laugh escapes him, dimples tugging at his cheeks. "no," he says.

you burst out laughing. "i told you!"

he shakes his head with another laugh, reaching forward to fix it, his arm brushing yours again. "you didn't break it," he says. "relax."

"i definitely did something."

"you did," he replies with a smile. "just not what i said."

you laugh again, softer this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're standing now, not sitting anymore.

because namjoon told you to.

“stand here,” he said, guiding you lightly by the waist until you were in front of the soundboard. no asking, just placing you there. you stiffened under his touch that sent a light shock through you.

"relax, doll," he murmurs behind you. the deep baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

you exhale slowly, trying to focus on the board in front of you—but it's hard when you can feel him right behind you. he steps in closer, practically pressing you together.

one hand reaches around you, bracing against the console. the other finds yours, fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grip on one of the controls. "not like that," he says, low. "too quick."

"i'm not doing anything fast," you defend weakly, trying your best to sound steady.

you hear a quiet, almost amused exhale behind you. "yeah?" he murmurs deeply.

his chest brushes lightly against your back as he leans in closer, guiding your hand again—slower this time. "you rush when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous."

"mm," he hums, unconvinced. his hand tightens slightly over yours, turning the dial with you. the sound shifts, smoother this time. "like that," he says.

but he doesn't move away, not even a little bit. you swallow, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. his hand over yours, his chest behind you, his voice vibrating your ear. and you definitely tried to ignore something hard resting against your ass.

"you do this with everyone?" you ask.

"no," he answered simply.

at to that, your heart stumbled. his hand left yours, but only came to settle at your waist, firm and steady. in his grip he turned you slightly—not fully, but enough to turn your attention away from the board and onto him. "you're distracted again," he murmured.

you let out a soft breath. "you keep saying that like it's my fault."

a smirk pulls at his lips, one that you can practically hear in his voice. "doll," he says lowly, "you haven't been focused since you walked in."

your stomach flips as you turn your head slightly, giving just enough space to look back at him—but it's a mistake. because he's already looking at you, his face much closer than expected and barely any space left between you now.

"you always get like this?" he asks softly.

"like what?"

his gaze drops slowly, then back up again. "quiet." he pauses. "...when you feel something."

your breath catches. "you act like you know me," you say.

"i do," he replies casually. those words shouldn't hit you as hard as they do, but they do anyway—causing your heart to leap.

he shifts you fully this time, making you fully face him as his large hands still rested at your waist, thumbs pressing in ever so slightly.

"or maybe," he adds, voice quieter now. "you're just not used to someone who pays attention."

your chest rises slowly. "and you do?"

"to you?" he asks quietly, something flickering across his eyes. "of course i do."

a small pause. "i wouldn't ignore you," he mutters in your ear, breath hot down your neck in a way that makes your hairs stand up. his hand tightens slightly against you. "not like they did."

his words land, striking the base of your heart deeply. "and i definitely wouldn't have you guessing where you stand."

your breath is uneven now, but you can't seem to look away. "confident," you murmur.

"experienced," he corrects simply. his voice and his head dips lower just slightly—"difference is...i know how to treat a woman like you properly."

and suddenly the last thread holding you steady is already gone. you exhale softy, almost a laugh, but not quite. "you always talk like this?"

"only when i mean it."

silence fills the space around you, heavy and close. one of his hands lifts from your waist slowly before coming to your jaw and tracing along it deliberately, just like he did before.

his thumb sits at your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. it takes everything in you for your knees to not buckle right then and there, taking in his low, piercing gaze.

"you keep looking at me like that," you whisper.

"like what, hm?" he asks, voice low as he tilts his head lower, leaving little space between your noses. you felt like your whole world was spinning, trying to ground yourself properly without clinging onto him.

"like you're about to do something."

he pauses for a split second, licking his lips while his eyes practically swirled with darkness. then—low and certain—"i am."

and this time, namjoon doesn't stop himself. he leans in, fully closing the last bit of distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours. it's immediate—but not rushed. he kisses you slow, deep, like he's been holding it back for too long and finally had decided he was done.

you respond quickly, completely melting under the contact and moving your lips into his. your breath catches against his, one hand instinctively finding one of his big arms, while the other gripped on his shirt to steady yourself— because it hits you all at once.

the way he pulls you closer against him, one of his hands firmly settled at your waist while the other holds your head possessively, gently tilting your head at an angle that allowed him to kiss you deeper.

you lean into him without thinking—and he feels it, of course. he hooks his fingers around the belt loop of your denim skirt, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens—but it isn't overwhelming. it's certain, like he wanted to take his time with his lips against yours.

your fingers tightened against him, causing him to exhale quietly against your lips, like he had been waiting for that exact response from you.

when you both pull back, you barely move an inch. foreheads close, breath uneven, and neither of you pulling away. his hands remain at your waist, yours still on him.

and after a second of catching your breath—namjoon leans in again. not because he's testing it anymore, but because he wants it—no, he needs it again. and you seem to meet him there just as fast.

his lips capture yours for the second time that night, practically taking your breath with him. your thighs press together slightly as you kiss him back, your hand sliding higher along his arm, gripping his bicep and pulling him closer without even realizing it.

his grip tightens slightly. "don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he murmurs quietly against your lips, voice rough.

the kiss suddenly shifts, not messy or rushed—but hungry. namjoon's hand slid shamelessly down your waist and onto your ass, sliding up and down its curve like it was already his.

that pulled a gasp out of you, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. you allow him, opening your mouth more to let him further explore it with his tongue. your lips practically molded together, saliva mixing as he swirled his tongue around yours.

"look at you..." he mutters, barely pulling back, his thumb brushing your jaw again. "so responsive."

your stomach flips more times than you can count. "don't—" you start, breath uneven, but you can't even finish the sentence before you feel dampness between your legs.

"don't what, baby?" he asks lowly, smirking faintly against your lips. "don't notice you?" he kisses you again before you can answer. his hand slides up from your ass, up your waist to your side—slower and more deliberate, before settling it there again, like he's grounding you there with him.

your grip on him tightens, deepening the kiss without intending to. "doll..." he murmurs, quietly now like it's a warning.

but he doesn't stop, and you most certainly don't want him to. all of a sudden namjoon is moving, guiding you back without breaking the kiss, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

you exhale softly in surprise—before you're sitting and he is too, pulling you with him. now, you find yourself on his lap—straddled on top of him with his hands firmly gripping your thighs and with everything much closer.

your hands find his broad shoulders, this time holding onto him like you desperately need to steady yourself, leaning into him once more. and namjoon notices, like he always does.

a low exhale leaves him, almost like a quiet laugh. "not pulling away anymore, are you, baby?" he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw slowly while his big palms drag up and down your thighs.

his plush lips trace the line of your jaw, littering soft kisses and your head tilts slightly to give him space without even thinking about it. "good," he praises quietly against your skin, lips trailing their way down your neck.

as he presses soft kisses along your neck, one of his hands presses a little firmer into your thigh, keeping you against him as the other rested gently at your neck—not enough to put pressure—but enough for your mind to go blank and make your thighs noticeably shift.

your breath hitches just above him, and his other hand soothes slowly against your thigh to steady you. "you have no idea..." he murmurs, lightly digging his teeth into your skin, making you shudder. "how hard i was trying to take my time with you."

your fingers tighten against him, struggling to ignore the unbearable ache in your core. "then why aren't you?" you manage softly, voice weaker than usual, knowing you didn't want that.

he paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tingling down your neck and through your spine. his voice comes lower this time, but steadier. "because you stopped me from wanting to."

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, dark and low eyes trailing every inch of your face. his hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear slowly, slower than before.

"you're trouble, princess," he says lowly, another nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. "but i like it."

your breath is still uneven, your heart racing faster than your mind—but you don't look away. "good," you murmur.

namjoon's jaw tightens slightly at that—not in frustration, but in complete restraint. what's left of it, at least.

his hand that rested along your neck slid up, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb once again, making sure that you were really looking at him. "you sure about this, doll?" he asks lowly.

you nod without hesitation. "yes."

a small pause fills the thick, small space between you, but his smoldering gaze doesn't leave yours. his gentle hold on your jaw tightens ever so slightly—not to harm you, but to ground you into the moment. "you understand...i'm not the kind of man you forget after this."

your breath catches, but you don't pull back. "i know," you say softly, holding his gaze.

his hands return to your waist, firmer this time, pulling you just slightly closer to him—close enough that space barely existed anymore. "yeah..." he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly along your skin. "then stay with me."

you nearly shuddered from his words, the warmth of his body on yours surrounding you and making your skin tingle. "i will," you nearly whispered, praying that he couldn't feel the dampness between your legs at the thought of never leaving his side.

"good," he grunted in your ear, hot breath spilling down your neck. he pulled back just slightly before closing the space between you once again, tilting your head with his thumb and pulling your lips in with his unhurriedly.

you immediately softened into him as you moved your lips together, your chest immediately becoming flush against his and practically folding underneath his touch. his hands left your waist, finding their grip lower and onto your ass, holding you steadily against him while his tongue explored you once more.

his lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses—sloppy and open-mouthed this time, sucking harder and marking a trail of red marks down to your collarbone. you whimpered with every suck, thighs noticeably shifting against his legs.

namjoon's slender fingers found their way underneath your top, sliding it up slowly—like he was waiting for you to stop him—but you never did. you only complied, lifting your arms up. and in one swift motion, your top was off, and his lips already found themselves on your cleavage.

"so beautiful, baby," he murmured into your skin, tongue lightly lapping against the mark he had just made on top of your breast.

suddenly you felt his big palms on your waist once again before he manhandled you—lifting you up and lying you gently across the couch before his large figure quickly filled your vision and filling up your entire view.

all you could see in the ambient light of his studio was his broad shoulders, his low, piercing eyes, and glimmering chain now hanging in front of your face before he captured your lips again. you practically moaned into it, fingers gripping tightly into his shirt like you needed more.

"fuck," he murmured against you between kisses, intertwining his long fingers with yours, dragging your palm deliberately up his chest. your hands moved before your mind, tugging him closer by his shirt and immediately fumbling with the buttons.

he smirked, large hands moving to help you take it off. once he tossed it somewhere in the room, your hands danced around his body greedily, trailing over his abs, from his chiseled chest and to his swell back.

"should be taking you to my house like a fuckin' man. should fuck you in my bed slow 'n proper. but i've lost my patience with you, doll," he breathed lowly, licking his lips with hunger.

you could only bring yourself to whimper, as namjoon's big palm creeped around your thigh, trailing every so slowly inwards before stopping. your legs couldn't help but twitch helplessly underneath his touch, causing him to let out an amused breath of air.

"but you don't want that, do you?" he asked lowly in your ear, the desire in his voice making your core ache with unbearable need. his hands trailed closer to your heat, dragging his fingers leisurely against your inner thigh.

you shook your head desperately, but that wasn't enough for him. his fingers hooked around your skirt. "wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours, baby."

"i—yes—" you blurted breathlessly, struggling to find the words. "i want it—want you. here, joonie. right now."

his cock strained even harder against his pants. "good girl," he muttered before pulling your skirt down. when it was disregarded, namjoon's hands found your thighs again and you suddenly felt his long fingers trace against slowly against your sopping heat barely shielded by your lacy thong, sending a shiver down your entire body.

"wet for me already and i haven't even started with you," he smirked, finally hooking your panties to the side and letting your soaking core be hit by the cold air. your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but he quickly stopped them with his big hands.

"so sensitive, doll," he murmured, placing one big thumb just above your clit while the other fingers outlined your inner thigh. "guys your age don't take their time like this, do they?"

you shook your head immediately, whining out before his fingers glided up slowly against your wetness, his index finger swiping in between your folds. his thumb rubbed your clit in a long circle, pulling out a desperate whine out of your mouth.

finally, he pushed one long finger in between your folds, sliding into your hole that sucked him in, your wetness gushing his fingers. you whined loudly as he dragged it along your walls before plunging back in.

namjoon closed the distance between your faces, capturing your lips in with his and sucking on your bottom lip as he inserted another finger, thrusting into you at a steady pace while his thumb remained on your clit.

when he pulled away, it was only to align his face at your entrance. his hand firmly gripped onto your thighs, holding you in place. his fingers slowed inside of you as his nose came close to your core, the warmth of his breath directly hitting your pussy and making you twitch underneath him.

a small smirk pulled at his lips before he poked his tongue out, licking a light, gentle stripe against your folds. "mm, taste so sweet, baby." you reacted immediately, thighs clenching around his head in a way he enjoyed a bit too much, his free hand wrapping around your leg firmly as he lapped delicately at your entrance.

you moaned his name, legs finally relaxing under his grip as he took his time with soaking your taste on his tongue. namjoon couldn't help but smirk against your folds, his plump lips completely enveloping your pussy into his mouth and sucking your wetness in hungrily.

it wasn't long before you felt his tongue greedily prying through your entrance, crying out in breathless moans. his two fingers stretched open your walls to allow more room for him to explore you with his tongue.

namjoon was absolutely driving you over the edge—his tongue plunged through your tight walls like no other, slender fingers stroking your insides while his thumb massaged your clit vigorously. he ate at you like he had starved for this—your back immediately curving off of the couch as you felt unbearable pressure twine into your stomach.

"that's it, doll," he cooed against your folds, his nose sitting on top of your clit. then, his voice dropped lower—"cum for me."

and so you did—completely letting go as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. your legs shook around namjoon's head, his free hand rubbing against your thigh gently while his two fingers slowed inside of you. his tongue moved against your folds slowly, taking in every last drop of your release between his lips.

when your body was finally at ease from the state of euphoria he took you to, namjoon trailed kisses from your stomach and up, his hands gently caressing your sides.

"look at you taking me so good," he murmured between kisses, lips on yours now. "think you're ready for my cock, hm, baby?"

you nodded quickly, practically squirming beneath him. "yes joon—need it so bad." your fingers found his belt loop—his large hands finding yours immediately, helping you take off his pants entirely.

it was then when you saw the largest imprint strained tightly against his boxers, making you swallow hard without even realizing. his fingers looped around the hem, taking them off in a swift motion as he stood up.

his cock sprung out in front of you—thick, long, and angry with pre-cum glistening at the end. you sat up straight, jaw slightly slack without even realizing. namjoon's lips fought a smirk as he hovered over you, large shoulders swell and thick member curving up.

his low eyes looked down at you, clouded with darkness. he wrapped his large hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking slightly while taking in the sight of you in front of him.

"fuck," he grunted, "don't got any condoms, baby." "it's okay, joon," you replied softly.

"you sure, doll?" he asked, tracing his fingers lightly against your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him fully.

you nodded. "wanna feel all of you," you said almost shyly.

"have no clue what you're doing to me," he responded lowly, almost to himself. then namjoon leaned down, grabbing your hips and lifting you up swiftly. you yelped in surprise as he sat down, bringing you back on top of his lap. only this time, you were skin to skin, your arousal miserably smearing onto his legs.

but he didn't seem to care. his large hands rubbed softly down your sides as he licked his lips. "you're so small, baby," he muttered in your ear, his thumb pressing into the side of your hip. "might break you."

"that's okay," you whispered, peering up at him with big, needy eyes.

"yeah?" he asked darkly, like your response had just snapped the last bit of restraint left in him. he held onto your hips firmly as he pulled you up, aligning your entrance with his cock. "gonna ruin you then, baby."

your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders immediately to steady yourself, his fat tip pushing through your folds and breaking into your tight entrance. you moaned out in a mix of pleasure and pain, feeling every inch of his width pushing slowly into your walls as you sunk down fully on his lap.

his grasp on you became tighter as he guided you further down, hissing in pleasure as he split you open widely with his cock. your eyes shut tight as your inner thighs kissed his. slowly, the tip of his member found the back of your walls, your head throwing back from the overwhelming stretch.

namjoon held you against him firmly, allow you to fully adjust to his length before he captured your lips into a kiss. "it's okay, doll," he murmured against you. "you're taking me so well."

after a minute of soft, warm coos in your ear—namjoon began to slide you up and down his vast length slowly with his large hands, emitting a loud whine from your lips. soon, he picked his pace, his cock repeatedly kissing the deepest part of your hole. "good baby... that's it," he praised lowly.

your head was filled with nothing but the thought of you, him, and his fat cock curving up inside of you and exploring your walls. he took you to a pure state of euphoria as he thrusted up in you. his hold was firm on you as he bounced you up and down his cock.

your eyes fluttered at your view, melting under his piercing gaze— his jaw tightened in pleasure and concentration, low eyes scanning your fucked-out expression hungrily. you nearly screamed in pleasure.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted in your ear, one large palm trailing up your sides before resting along your neck. his fingers wrapped around it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to apply pressure that made your mind dizzy and your pussy clench his member tightly.

his other hand came firmer around your waist before suddenly you were moving—your head being guided back down on the couch while your body was being manhandled by namjoon while he kept his cock buried deep inside of you. one hand settled beside your head while the other remained grazing your throat lightly.

once you both fully adjusted to the new position, namjoon continued to thrust in you, roaming your pussy at an entirely new angle. your wetness gushed around his cock sloppily, filling the room with lewd slapping noises. "you fit around me so well, doll," he muttered breathlessly, breath shooting down your spine as he littered messy kisses along your neck.

his hand traveled from your throat down to your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it softly. you were a moaning mess beneath him as he fucked you relentlessly now, tip slapping messily against the spongiest part of your walls, making your mind go blank.

his palm found its way around your thigh, lifting it above his shoulder. he closed the distance between you two, cock greedily marking a place inside your hole in a way no one had ever done before as his chest pressed against yours.

he rutted his length inside of you, making your eyes roll back and the couch move back and forth with every movement. "gonna fill you up tonight, doll. gonna make you mine," he murmured. "what do you think, baby?"

you could only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his cock buried so deeply inside of you. "nuh uh," namjoon ticked lowly, his thrusts becoming brutal. "wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby."

"mmph—yes~ make me yours, joon," you whined breathlessly.

you cried out—heat coiling unbearably in your stomach, pure bliss clouding your mind as namjoon picked up his pace, feeling your walls hugging him in tightly. "yeah... right where you belong baby," he muttered. "taking me so good like this."

your second orgasm of the night hit you even harder this time—ripping through you like a monstrous ocean wave. he fucked you through your high, your legs shaking violently against him; release spilling all over his cock as you moaned out his name breathlessly.

"that's it, baby," he grunted lowly as he made his final, slower thrusts, burying himself inside you as deep as possible before releasing his hot seed into your walls. "come on my dick, pretty girl."

your vision was practically filled with stars as your body became limp under his grasp. he milked his cock deep in your walls before he pulled out with a sharp hiss, laying down beside you—lengthy body half on the couch and half off of it.

you both laid there next to each other breathless, chests moving up and down in sync as you processed what had just happened.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the studio is quiet again.

it wasn't completely silent—just the low hum of equipment filling the room with one of his tracks still looping quietly in the background.

clothes half-on, curled against him on the couch with his large arm around your waist, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting you drift away.

for awhile, neither of you say anything. namjoon's fingers moved slowly against your side, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. the movement only grounded you into him more.

then finally, a low exhale left namjoon's lips. "c'mere," he murmurs softly, even though you were already pressed against him. his big hands slid higher along your back, pulling you in even closer anyway until your head was resting properly against his chest.

it only made your cheeks flush a bright red—the moment feeling possessive in a way that was ever so gentle. like he just needed to make sure you were still there. now, you can hear his heartbeat. it thumps steadily now against his large chest.

"you okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod against him. "yeah," you reply softly.

then his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss that lingers. "good," he murmurs.

something about the way he said it made warmth spread through your chest again. his hand settles at your waist once more, thumb brushing lightly beneath the fabric of your top. "you still overthinking?" he asks after a minute.

you let out a small laugh against his chest. "maybe a little."

a quiet hum leaves him. "don't."

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. his expression is softer now. his gaze still intense—because he always looks intense when looking at you—but softer. "you regret it?" he asks gently.

you shook your head immediately. "no," you replied, meaning it with everything in your chest.

at your words, something in namjoon's expressions shifts. it wasn't surprise, it was only something deeper. his hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.

"good," he says again, quieter this time. then, like his confidence had just made a return—"would've been a problem if you did."

you laugh softly, cheeks warming again. "you're crazy, joon."

"for you?" he murmurs. "starting to think maybe."

your stomach flips all over again. namjoon studies you for a second, gaze moving slowly across your face like he's memorizing it. like he still can't believe that you're here. with him, and in his arms.

his hand slides along your thigh gently. this time, it isn't teasing. instead, it feels familiar and warm. "come back to my place," he says quietly.

you hesitate for maybe half a second, but only because your heart is racing faster than your mind. his thumb brushes lightly against your leg. "you don't have to leave, doll," he murmurs.

"you sure?" you ask quietly. because in your past, once guys were done, they were done with your presence for the night—or even forever.

"of course," he says. then, a faint smile touches his mouth, voice dropping a little. "i'm not doing being around you."

and it only seemed that you weren't exactly done being around him either.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

two months later, being with namjoon feels easy. and it wasn't because he was simple. it was the exact opposite.

he's still intense, but still composed. he still walks through every room like he owns it without needing attention from anyone in it. but with you? he's soft in all the places it matters.

namjoon becomes part of your life so naturally it almost scares you sometimes.

mornings tangled up in his expensive sheets while sunlight pours through the massive windows of his house that overlooks the city. his large hand resting on your waist while he scrolls through emails lazily with the other. his bright smile on display every time he made you laugh or blush.

in his free time, he'd show up to your work with your favorite dinner meal. sometimes, he'd sit at a table in your section and order food just to be able to talk to you any chance you'd get.

afternoons where he pulls you into his lap while he's working on music. he'd barely let you sit more than a foot away from him before he was already touching you again somehow.

his fingers through your hair, your legs draped over his. his mouth against your temple when he quietly tells someone important over the phone that he'll "call back later."

and of course, he spoils you constantly. it wasn't in a loud way either. it was more like taking care of you and putting a smile on your face had just become his instinct.

he buys you things you casually mention liking once. he leaves designer bags on the bed like it's nothing. he'd get annoyed when you'd check price tags. he would sneakily place things in your basket at sephora as he trailed behind you, filling it up with everything you simply picked up and looked at.

you even tried to avoid going shopping with him sometimes because you never happened to pay for anything again.

"doll," he murmured one night, pulling your back against his chest, wrapping his large arms around you while you stared at a pair of brand new, christian louboutin red bottoms that he bought you. "if you like them, they're yours. stop thinking so hard."

and god, he hated it when you worked too much. he hated it even more when work stressed you out.

"you should call out," he tells you one morning, voice rough from sleep while you're leaving his bed for work.

you laugh softly. "some of us have to work, joonie."

his buff arms loop around your waist, pulling you back into the mattress effortlessly. "i know," he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling his nose into your warmth. "that's the problem."

eventually, namjoon starts saying it more seriously.

"quit," he says.

you look at him like he's insane every time. "be serious, joon."

"i am serious."

his hands slide along your thighs as you stand between his knees while he sits at the edge of the bed, looking up at you with that same, calm certainty he’s always had.

“i’ll give you whatever you need,” he says simply. “why are you stressing yourself out when you don’t have to?”

and the craziest part of it all to you, was that he meant it entirely. it wasn't because he wanted control—it was because taking care of you pulled at his dimples and his heart more than anything else ever had.

somewhere along the way, you became each other's favorite part of life. people notice too and eventually, the internet catches on.

a photo of you two start surfacing of you leaving restaurant in west hollywood, his hand firm at the small of your back. then, photos of him opening the door for you. and photos of him looking at you instead of the camera.

one set of paparazzi pictures blow up incredibly fast—you climbing into his car while he stands beside you in sunglasses and all black. one hand casually resting against the roof above your head, the other firm on your thigh as you settled into the seat.

neither of you comment on it, not publicly at least. but namjoon doesn't hide you either. because if anything—he loved being seen with you.

you noticed it in the small moments. the way his hand settled on your thigh more confidently when people recognized him on a date. the way he pulled you closer when cameras appeared. the way he looks almost amused by attention instead of irritated.

it was like he was always thinking, yeah, she's with me.

namjoon flexed you more than the music plaques on his wall or the collection of sleek cars in his driveway.

because throughout his entire career, no success, no hit record, or no amount of money—had ever made him look at proud as you do sitting beside him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

4 months later~

the city outside namjoon's windows is glowing gold and white beneath the dark sky, soft music playing quietly somewhere in his giant house.

you're curled against him on the couch in one of his hoodies. legs across his lap while he scrolls lazily through something on his phone with one hand resting absentmindedly along your thighs.

you both had been like this all evening. quiet and comfortable; surrounded by the kind of silence that only exists when two people know everything about each other completely.

honestly, it could scare you a little. because somewhere along these four months, you and namjoon had stopped feeling temporary. it stopped feeling like some kind of whirlwind or fling.

instead, it just started feeling right. it just felt like you and him and nothing else completely belonged.

you looked over at him. observed the sharp line of his jaw that was softened by the warm lighting. the expensive watch sitting around his wrist. the reading glasses he only wore at home that sat low on his nose while he checked emails.

the realization hit you about a month ago so hard and your chest had felt tight ever since. you were completely, undeniably, and utterly in love with him. but now, you couldn't seem to hold it in anymore.

"you're staring again."

your heart jumps slightly. namjoon doesn't even look up from his phone when he says it. you roll your eyes. "you're obsessed with yourself."

a smirk touches his lips. "no," he murmurs calmly, finally looking over at you. "just obsessed with you."

you look away before he can see your flushed face, but of course he already noticed it. because there simply wasn't a thing he didn't notice about you. his phone turned off immediately. "hey," he said gently.

your eyes lift back to his. immediately his expression changes into something softer, but more serious. his hands slide up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you a little closer across the couch until you're practically in his lap. "what's going on in that head, hm?" he asks.

"nothing."

"liar."

the words are gentle, affectionate in a way. you laugh softly, but it comes out nervous. he catches that too. one hand comes up, brushing lightly along your jaw. "talk to me, doll."

you swallow. your voice comes out quietly—"what if... i love you more than you love me?"

the room goes completely still. namjoon stares at you for seconds that stretch far too long, like you had just said something completely. unbelievable.

his brows pulled together. "baby," he says softly, confused, "what?"

your heart pounds instantly at the name. you try to laugh it off, suddenly embarrassed now. "i don't know, i just—"

"no," he cuts in, hands tightening gently at your waist. they weren't harsh, but it was enough to stop you from spiraling away. "no, don't do that."

you looked back at him. and the way he was looking at you now—god. like this mattered. like you mattered.

"you really think you're ahead of me here?" he asks quietly, eyes boring into yours.

your breath catches as namjoon shifts closer, forehead resting lighting against yours. "i've been in love with you for a while now," he admitted softly.

for a second, you felt like you actually stopped breathing. his thumb brushed slowly against your cheek. "you just took longer to realize it."

a shaky laugh leaves you instantly, eyes burning now. namjoon smiles softly at that, an expression you only ever get to see.

"i love you," he says again, quieter this time. but it was certain, as if it were the most obvious thing it the world.

and suddenly every fear you had—about the age gap, about his fame, about his feelings for you—had totally disappeared. because this man—this calm, confident, impossible man—loves you so deeply that he didn't even hesitate to say it.

your eyes fluttered in disbelief, laughing away the butterflies in your stomach. "i love you too."

the smile that breaks across is face is small, but almost disbelieving. but it was unquestionably proud, like he had just won something prized. after that, he kissed you slowly. he enveloped your lips with his tenderly, soaking in all of your warmth beneath him.

"there you are," he murmurs softly. like you were always meant to end up here with him.

and somewhere between the side of the road and his arms, your little street thing had become everything.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a/n : hope u guys loved this as much as i do eee! sorry there was so much relationship building... this is the longest bts fic i've made (on this app at least) omg..but joon is actually so sexy i could die.

read part two here

it was a late, blazing july afternoon with the kind of california heat that sticks to everything.

your beater car had just given up on you in the worst possible place it could—pulled over on the stretch of a busy road with no shade, just heat shimmering off the black asphalt and distant palm trees that don't feel helpful at all.

you already tried the obvious things. ignition, gas, trying it all again like it might change something.

it never did.

you leaned back against the passenger door of your car letting out a frustrated breath, hair sticking to your neck as you watched cars pass by with the soft sound of your hazards blinking in the background.

of course it's today. of course it's here.

that was when you suddenly heard the low hum of an engine slow down beside you. a sleek, black bmw—expensive, but not loud about it. it pulled in front of your car, and for a second you think the car is just stopping briefly.

that was before the driver door opened.

he steps out like he’s not in a rush to be anywhere else.

tall—noticeably so, he moves towards you easily, like he’s used to taking up space without ever forcing it.

sunglasses sit low on his nose, shielding his eyes, but not enough to hide the way his attention lands exactly on you. his shirt is simple—lightweight, slightly open at the collar, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. nothing flashy.

but it fits him too well. everything about him does.

dark jeans, clean shoes, watch on his wrist that you can't recognize but can tell is expensive. you notice all of him in the mere seconds he takes to walk over to you, the feeling hitting you all at once.

dear god, he was fine. the kind that made you straighten up a little bit without realizing; running a quick hand through your hair and fixing your jewelry.

he walks toward the front of your car, unhurried, one hand sliding briefly into his pocket before resting against the hood of your car.

up close, it’s worse.

sharper features than you expected. clean, but not overly polished. there’s something slightly worn in about him—like experience and maturity that sits on him well.

“everything alright?” he asks, voice is low and steady.

you blink for a second longer than necessary before responding. why does he look like that... helping me with my car?

"uh-" you stammer before clearing your throat. "it's- it's dead."

"yeah..." he says, eyes examining your car closer. "i can see that."

you nod and suddenly there's a pause, small but noticeable.

he comes around the side of your car, closing the distance between you to look inside of the window. you fumble while taking a few steps back as he looks at your dashboard then back at you, suddenly flustered by his presence.

"you got jumper cables?" he asks.

you simply shook your head.

"didn't think so," he says simply.

he walks back to his car, and you stand there feeling so helpless in the hot sun as he turns his car around to face yours in a swift manner, opening the door casually before coming around to his trunk like he's done this plenty of times.

when he comes back with the cables, he quickly slides his sunglasses in a way you almost miss a glimpse of his whole face.

you assumed it was because of the sun. but little did you know, it wasn't.

because before he walked back to his car, he had looked at you a little too closely. it wasn't some polite, quick glance. it was one that lasted a second too long.

he noticed everything about you.

the way your top fits—not overly revealing, but just enough to catch his attention without trying. the fabric light, slightly clinging from the heat. your skirt—shorter than it probably needed to be, riding just a little higher from the way you shifted against your car door.

his gaze dropped, brief, controlled—then came back up. your legs, your hands, the thin bracelet at your wrist. rings that don’t match perfectly but somehow work. jewelry that feels personal to you.

he takes note of that. of course he does.

then, your face. slightly flush from the heat, skin warm toned and sun-kissed. there's something effortless about you, like you spent more time living in the sun than hiding from it.

your expression—somewhere between annoyed and trying not to be. and your eyes, focused on him, but not softened. not entirely impressed by him, but more appreciative.

and when he closed his trunk, he forgets to look away. so he pulls his sunglasses back over, quick and casual. like it's nothing.

and not because of the sunlight, but because he was looking at you a little too openly. and he knew it.

he arrives at your car and connects everything smoothly, no hesitation and big hands steady. it was unfairly attractive.

“so,” he says, glancing up while he works, “you live out here or just enjoying the scenic breakdown experience?”

a smile pulls at your mouth despite yourself. “neither. i was just trying to get home.”

“mm.” he clicks something into place. “dangerous thing to try in LA.”

that gets a small laugh out of you, softer now and less defensive.

when the car finally sputters back to life, you visibly relax. he steps back, wiping his hands lightly. “there you go."

you should've just said thank you and left. but something in you doesn't act immediately. because now that the problem was gone, the silence between you two felt different now.

“so how do i… repay you?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious.

he tilts his head slightly. "you don’t.” a beat passes. "just don't break down in the worst place possible next time."

you rolled your eyes a little, a smirk tugging at your lips. "no promises."

that earns a small smile from him. he steps back toward his car, then pauses like he’s deciding something.

“i’m—” he starts, then stops himself, like he’s choosing not to introduce himself the usual way. "i’ll see you around.”

"yeah... thank you."

and you watch him get back into his car, driving away and getting lost in the sea of los angeles traffic as you realized two things;

you didn't get his name, and you would likely never see him again.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

one week later

he's just getting off the phone when it happens.

“yeah, send it over tonight,” he says, already half-distracted. “i"ll listen then.”

a pause. “mm. yeah. i got it.” he ends the call before the other person finishes their last sentence.

he slips his phone into his pocket, stepping onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun hitting just right—warm, a little blinding, the kind of los angeles light that makes everything look softer than it is.

but he's not really paying attention at first.

he's thinking about work. about a track that still isn’t sitting right. about whether he even wants to go to the next session he has lined up.

and then—he sees you.

just down the block, wired headphones plugged into your ears as you walk towards a small coffee shop.

it takes him half a second too long for him to register it. he slows before stopping in his place on the scorching sidewalk just to be sure.

same walk. same unintentional confidence—like you're not trying to be noticed, which somehow makes you stand out more. your outfit catches his attention again without effort. something light, slightly different from the first time he saw you, but still you.

skirt again—of course. not the same one, but same idea.

he notices that. he notices everything.

you push the door open to the shop before disappearing inside. and for a second—he considers just letting you go, letting the roadside interaction stay that way, a one time street kind of thing that didn't need to turn into anything else.

he exhaled quietly before shaking his head, "yeah, no." he changed his direction subtly like he was always going that way.

by the time he reaches the door, he's already composed again. no rush or urgency in him, just the same steady stride he always carried around.

inside the cafe, it’s quieter than the street. low music, soft conversations, and the smell of coffee swirled in the air.

he scans the space once and it doesn't take long for him to find you, standing near the counter, slightly turned away, looking up at the menu like you're stuck deciding between the same two things.

he watches you for a second. not long, but enough. and suddenly, there's that feeling again rising up in his chest.

he steps into line behind you—close enough to matter, not close enough to be obvious. he lets the moment build naturally. of course he does. he lets you stay unaware just a second longer.

then, as you shift your weight and turn slightly back—he steps forward at the exact right time. light contact, your shoulder to his chest. just enough to capture your attention.

"oh, sorry—" you say automatically before looking up. it took a moment for you to process that the same, gorgeous man who jumped your car last week was the one currently blocking your vision.

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s just as surprised. “well,” he says, calm, almost amused, “this is becoming a pattern.”

you blinked. "you... helped me with my car."

"i did," he agrees. "and now apparently i'm following you around LA."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "are you?"

he puts a hand over his chest, mock offended but calm. “i prefer ‘running into you repeatedly by tragic coincidence.’”

that earns a laugh from you, the first real one between you. the barista calls you next in line, and he trails behind you like you're a couple ordering together. his presence alone makes your heart thump against your chest.

the barista takes your order and before you can even unzip your purse to pay, you already see a large hand coming from behind you, inserting a card in the machine.

the barista hands the man behind you the receipt and you turn around abruptly, tilting your head up to fully face him as you both drift away from the register. "i can pay for myself," you said.

"i know," he says simply.

"i was supposed to pay," you corrected as you picked up your freshly made coffee order.

"why?" he asked genuinely, tilting his head to match the angle of yours. it sent a light pink blush up your cheeks.

you look at him like the answer is obvious. "because you jumped my car."

his eyebrows pulled together. "that was like five minutes of my time." you all but blinked, suddenly at a loss of words under the intense gaze of this mysterious, confident man.

he begins to walk towards a table and you follow him, still protesting under your breath. "that doesn't mean you get to—"

“get to what?” he glances back at you, sunglasses now off, and it’s worse without them in a way—more direct, more readable. more of his perfectly chiseled face exposed to you. “buy you coffee?”

you open your mouth, then close it. because the way he said it made it sound ridiculous to argue.

you both end up choosing a table by the window. endless blue, moving slowly under the late afternoon sun. a few people pass by on bikes, others walking along the sidewalk with iced coffees in hand, like time moves differently here.

not sat too close to him, not too far—just enough space that it could still be casual if either of you decided to pretend it was.

“so, what do you do?” you ask finally, wrapping your hands around the cup.

he leans back slightly in his chair. “music.”

“that’s vague.”

“it's intentional.”

you give him a look. “oh, so you’re mysterious.”

“i’m tired,” he corrects lightly, a smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. “there’s a difference.”

that makes you smile. “what, like a band?” you press.

“no,” he says. “behind the scenes.”

“oh.” you tilt your head. “like a manager?”

he pauses for a moment. "something like that."

it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. you nod like you accept that answer, but the curiosity doesn't go away.

“and you?” he asks.

you almost laugh. “i don’t do music.”

“didn’t say you did.”

“i mean…” you gesture vaguely. “nothing like that. i work. i live on the edge of LA where nothing interesting happens.”

his gaze holds on you a second longer than necessary. "that’s not true,” he says.

you frown slightly. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know you broke down on the side of a road in peak heat and didn’t immediately panic,” he says. “that tells me something.”

"like what?" "that you're stubborn," he replies calmly.

you lean forward a little, eyes analyzing his expression. "that's not a compliment."

“it can be,” he says. “depends who it’s about.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and him slip into easy conversation—half started stories, simple questions, the kind of conversation that doesn't feel like you're trying too hard.

you're mid-sentence, explaining something about where you live—how everything feels slower out there—when he interrupts you, but gently. “how old are you?”

you pause, caught off guard. “that’s random.”

“it’s relevant,” he says, like that should be obvious.

“to what?”

he lifts his cup slightly, studying you over the rim for a second before answering. “to how seriously i should be taking you.”

your eyebrows lift immediately. “excuse me?”

there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “i’m kidding,” he says, calm, unbothered. “mostly.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “twenty four.”

he nods once, like he expected that. “yeah,” he murmurs.

“yeah what?” you press.

“nothing,” he says, setting his cup down. “it makes sense.”

“that’s so annoying,” you say. “you don’t get to say that and not explain.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t.”

he leans back slightly, relaxed, completely comfortable letting you be a little frustrated. “you carry yourself younger at times,” he says. “but not in a bad way.”

you narrow your eyes. “that still feels like an insult.”

“it’s not,” he says, softer now. “it’s honest.”

you look at him for a second longer than you mean to. “okay,” you say quietly. “then how old are you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he’s deciding how much to give. “what do you think?” he asks.

you study him now, more deliberately. he doesn’t look older, not really. no obvious lines, no tiredness. and of course, he looks put together in a way most guys your age aren’t.

“twenty-seven,” you say finally. “maybe twenty-eight.”

he lets out a soft laugh—low, almost under his breath.

you frown immediately. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly with amusement.

“no, what?”

“you’re off,” he says.

“by how much?”

he pauses, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “enough.”

“that’s not an answer,” you says leaning forward closer now.

“it is,” he replies calmly. “just not one you like.”

you stare at him, half-annoyed, half-curious. “you’re not going to tell me?”

“not yet.”

your eyes narrow. “why?”

he meets your gaze fully this time. “because i want to see if it changes anything for you.”

you lean back slightly, thrown off in a way you don't show completely. “why would it?” you ask.

he shrugs after a small pause. he glances down at your cup. “you drink your coffee too slow, by the way.”

your mouth falls open a little as the moment quickly softens again. “oh my god.”

“just saying.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re still here,” he points out lightly.

the conversation drifts again after that, easier now. you talk more without meaning to—little things, fragments of your life. he listens in a way that feels attentive, but not invasive. like he’s not collecting information, just understanding your pace.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you both drift toward the door without really deciding to. the conversation doesn’t end—it just slows, like both of you are aware it has to, eventually.

outside, the afternoon has softened. the heat isn’t as sharp anymore, but it’s still there, hanging in the air between you.

you shift your weight slightly, glancing down the street, then back at him. “this was…” you start, then stop, like you don't want to overdefine it. he watches you, gazed fixed on you patiently.

“unexpected,” you continue on.

he nods once. “yeah.”

“i still owe you,” you say.

he glances down at you. “you don’t.”

“i do.”

“you don’t,” he repeats, softer but final. but after a small beat, “if it makes you feel better, you can get the next one.”

you narrows your eyes. “there’s going to be a next one?”

he paused again, but only for a fraction of a second too long before he shrugged slightly like it was nothing. "if you break down again, i might start thinking it's planned."

you rolled your eyes, but a smile pulled helplessly at your lips. as you stepped out into the light of the sun, you realized two things at once. this man still hadn't told you who he is or his name, and that you somehow already agreed to see him again.

"let me see your phone," he said lowly, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes once again. it wasn't really a question.

and so you reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone, and without asking—he takes your hand gently, turning your palm slightly towards his. the faintest brush of his fingers sent an unexpected warmth up your arm in a way you couldn't ignore.

he picked up your phone that now seemed so small in his hands, typing something quickly before handing your phone back. you looked down at your screen, squinty slightly from the sun.

his name. a number.

joon 213-555-0010

when you look back up at him, he's already watching you—unreadable in a way that sent a pink flush throughout your cheeks.

"joon," you said, like you needed to say his name out loud. like you knew it was just a nickname.

he simply nodded, something small like a smile tugging at his lips from the sound of you hearing his name. "yeah."

he paused, low eyes peering above his sunglasses as he looked at you closely. "you gonna tell me yours?" he asked lowly, the baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

so you told him, and he repeated it a few times under his breath like he had to let it sink on his tongue. "y/n," he said finally, voice quieter than usual. "pretty name for a pretty girl."

your eyes couldn't help but widely slightly at his bold words, the pink on your face turning into a deep red.

a small pause filled the air before you swallowed, trying your best to lock in your confidence in front of this man. "you didn't ask for my number," you said.

"i know."

"that's a little backwards."

"not really."

you titled your head. "why?"

he took a step back, giving you just a little more space. "because now it's your choice."

you study him for a second, like you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of game. some kind of reality tv show where they prank you with some hot mysterious man. but it didn't feel like one.

"and if i don't text you?" you ask.

a small pause before he shrugged easily. "then i'll assume you didn't want to." but his tone didn't have any pressure or persuasion in it.

"confident," you mutter.

"selective," he corrected.

you almost rolled your eyes—but you don't quite let it happen. he glances past you for a second, like he's remembering that he actually has somewhere to be. then, they quickly averted back to you.

"if you do," he continues, quieter now. "don't over think it."

you let a small laugh. "too late."

that earns a small smile from him, dimples tugging at his cheeks in a way you noticed immediately. "i figured."

another pause before he steps back swiftly, like he's deciding that he couldn't stay any longer than necessary—even if he wanted to. "i'll see you around," he says, for the second time.

before you can respond, he's already turning and stepping away, suddenly gone in the same effortless and casual way he arrived.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

that night, you tell yourself you're not going to think about him.

and you failed immediately.

you failed when you went to dinner with your friends, when you did chores around your house; in the shower and when you laid in your own bed that night—the bed that was supposed to make your thoughts go away. it was the small things at first.

the way he didn’t rush anything. the way he answered questions without really answering them. the way he looked at you like he already understood something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

and as the night continued on, the bigger things settled in your brain, making heat shamefully pool between your legs.

he didn't ask for your number. he didn't try to lock you in. instead, he just left his number with you.

who is he?

your phone sat next to you with the screen dark and off, but it felt louder than anything else in the room. you fell into a cycle of picking it up and putting it back down.

finally, you picked it up again, finding his contact. you flipped it shut, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought of messaging him. you found your thumbs typing, deleting, then typing something again.

you exhale softly, leaning back against your pillow trying your hardest not to overthink it, his voice replaying in the back of your head.

he wasn't some typical guy—you could tell in the way he carried himself. he walked casually, but with assurance. he dressed with stride, but still managed to blend in. he talked with confidence, and every line was coated with experience.

so now, it wasn't just about texting him. it's about what it would mean if you did. because somehow, after one roadside encounter and a cup of coffee—you already wanted more than you should have.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's drive back was quiet. not because he wanted it to be—but because nothing else fit how he felt at the moment.

not even any of his music.

he had driven these streets thousands of times. the same turns, the same streets, the same palm trees. usually his mind is somewhere else entirely—work, mixes, deadlines, people who expect things from him.

but not tonight. because tonight, it kept circling back to you.

it all kept replaying in his head—the way you looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. he noticed the way you didn't try too hard. you didn't perform like everyone else in LA.

you didn't know what he is, who he is, or what kind of world he's involved in.

that was the part that was stuck in namjoon's head so deeply. because most people that meet him are already adjusted to him—already well aware, careful with their words and their tones, their intentions.

but you certainly weren't.

because you argued with him. you rolled your eyes and called him annoying. and you meant all of it.

a faint smile pulled at his mouth as he came to a stop at a red light. "twenty-seven," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and laughing slightly.

but still, you didn't hesitate.

he pulls into his place, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out right away. he glances at his phone, sitting in the center console of his car, dark and quiet.

but he doesn't reach for it. because namjoon was a patient man—he always had been. in work, in life, in everything that mattered.

once he gets inside his spacious, sleek home, he dropped his keys on the counter, running a hand through his hair, exhaling.

namjoon had been with plenty of women before. older, younger—in his world and outside of it. he always knows how it goes. he knows how to keep it light and uncomplicated.

but this didn't feel like that. because it felt like something that could get complicated. but instead of pushing it away like he normally would, he leaned into it. just a little.

an hour passes. then two.

namjoon tells himself he's not checking his phone. but it turns out to be a lie, because throughout night—he checks it without picking it up. glancing every time he walks past, like it might light up if he looks long enough. but it doesn't.

he tells himself to relax, that you have a life or that you might not be interested at all. but still—he wonders what you're up to. if you're thinking about him the way he's thinking about you. if you're overanalyzing that moment outside of the coffee shop.

suddenly, his phone buzzed. he doesn't look right away. he just looked at it before reading the unsaved number, no name attached. he picks it up and opens it almost immediately.

unknown: do you always leave girls with this much pressure or am i just special?

he lets out a quiet breath—half a laugh of amusement, half something else. there you finally were, exactly the way he had anticipated. he begins to type before he stops and quickly deletes it.

he leans back against the counter, thinking—not about what to say, but about how much he should give. because namjoon didn't want to rush this. he didn't want to come on too strong.

but he couldn't pretend that he was unaffected either, because he most certainly couldn't even if he wanted to. not with you.

he types again, this time sending it.

him: i was starting to think you wouldn't.

he watches the screen for a second longer than necessary, saving your contact before setting his phone down. it wasn't far, but it was just enough. because now, you know that he was waiting too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you exhale softy, rolling onto your back with a smile that couldn't help but tug at your lips.

you: oh so you were waiting

a pause settled on the screen before the typing bubble popped up again.

joon: i was curious

you: that sounds like a more mysterious way of saying waiting

joon: you can call it whatever makes you feel better

and now, you definitely smiled at that. because he was already doing that thing again—side stepping without hesitation.

you: you're too difficult to read

joon: you're trying too hard then

you: i think you're just confusing

joon: only for you sweetheart

you actually laugh out loud at that, shaking your head and ignoring the way the nickname made pink tint your cheeks.

you: wow so is this how you talk to every girl you buy coffee for?

his reply comes faster this time.

joon: i don't buy anyone coffee

you: good answer

joon: an honest one what are you doing right now?

you glanced around your room like he could somehow see.

you: nothing important

joon: doesn’t sound convincing

you: i could say the same about you

joon: i’m working

you: doing your very mysterious job?

joon: still stuck on that?

you: a little

joon: you'll figure it out eventually

you bit your lip slightly, thinking of an answer.

you: you're very sure i'm going to stick around long enough to figure it out

joon: aren't you?

your heart does that annoying little jump again, and you don't answer right away. and he doesn't send anything else. instead, he waits. three minutes later;

you: maybe

joon: that's a start

another painfully long beat passes before your cellphone vibrates again.

joon: you busy tomorrow night?

you stare at the message, blinking twice to make sure you read it right. but somehow, half of you wasn't surprised. you were practically waiting in a way you couldn't admit. but the other half was incredibly in shock.

you started to type.. deleted it.. then typed again.

you: depends what are you planning?

joon: something better than coffee

you smiled immediately, even though you tried not to.

you: that's a little confident

joon: doesn't seem like you hate it

you: i don't

joon: good

a pause settled on the screen again.

joon: 8?

you exhaled slowly, the reality creeping in as you stared at the screen. you were really going to go on a date with this man. the same, confident and attractive man that had jumped your car and saved your day. the same man who's age and job you couldn't quite detect.

you: okay

joon: i'll pick you up don't overthink it

you rolled your eyes, smiling.

you: too late

joon: i know

and just like that, with one text conversation, it definitely was more than just a street thing.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you almost regret saying yes the moment you hear a car pull up outside, engine rumbling lowly outside your apartment window.

not because you didn't want to go, of course. but because now, it's real.

you check yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing the bumps in your hair and coating your lips with gloss one last time. simple, but intentional. something that said you tried... but didn't try too hard.

your phone buzzed.

joon: i'm outside

when you step out, you see the car first. the same sleek and clean car that had pulled over in front of you on that busy highway engulfed in heat.

then him.

leaning slightly agains the driver's side door, towering over the car with his sleeves pushed up, looking like he's only been there for a minute—but completely settled anyway. he wore a costly-looking dress shirt, glimmering chain around his neck and a sparkling watch wrapped around his built arm. you swallowed hard.

his eyes flick up from the ground immediately when he notices you. and for a second, he just looks at you. completely, unashamedly taking you in with his eyes slowly.

"yeah..." he says lowly, dragging his lips ever so quickly along his lips as you approached him, heels clicking beneath you. "you're going to be a problem tonight."

you couldn't ignore the heat that sent down your spine, but you simply peered up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently. "aren't i always?"

"i haven't seen you always," he replied.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile pulled at your lips anyway. then, he stepped back, opening the door for you. you don't the miss the way he does it without hesitation. and when you sit inside, you don't miss the way his gaze burns into you before closing your door.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive was easy, music low in the background, city lights coming to life as the sun started to dip below the horizon.

namjoon doesn't fill every silence—and somehow it makes it easier for you to talk.

"so where are you taking me?" you ask eventually.

"you'll see," he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested between you.

"that's not helpful."

"it's not supposed to be."

you shook your head, smiling out the window. he pulls up to a restaurant that sits right by everything—the beach, the water, and the city. it was definitely upscale, but nothing intimidating.

inside, the lighting is warm yet dim, swift music playing and low conversations humming.

you were seated quickly. no waiting or confusion. you didn't quite realize the line of people who were standing for a table, and how you and him were able to breeze right past it.

when you arrive to your seat, it's right in front of the window, city lights and palm trees stretching on the glass in front of you. he pulls your seat out for you, helping you take off your coat and placing it along your chair.

after you place your orders, the conversation flows faster this time. less guarded, and more natural.

"so," he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. "what do you actually do?"

you sigh softly, like you already know the answer isn't impressive, even compared to his incredibly vague one. "i’m a waitress," you say. "nothing exciting."

he watches you for a second. "you keep saying that."

"because it's true."

"or because you think it's supposed to be."

that made you pause. "it's not exactly... impressive," you admitted.

he shrugs lightly. "most things that are don't matter."

you let out a small breath, like you didn’t expect that answer. “you always talk like that?” you ask.

“like what?”

“like you know something i don’t.”

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. “sometimes i do.”

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you and namjoon are laughing a few minutes later—about something small and stupid—and it feels easy. too easy.

the song currently playing comes to an end and the music shifts. a different song comes on—smooth, familiar, something that's even playing everywhere recently.

you perked up immediately. "oh my god, i love this song."

he stills ever so slightly. it's quick and barely noticeable, but there's a flicker of something across his face. he glances down at the table, then back up at you. "yeah?" he asks, casual.

"yeah," you nod, smiling. "it's so good."

he hums in response, leaning back in his seat like it's just background noise. "not bad."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "not bad?" he shrugs. "it's alright."

you laugh. "you're impossible."

and he doesn't argue. but there's a faint smirk but he doesn't fully hide this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the dinner stretches longer than you expected. because neither of you seem to be in a rush to end it.

by the time the check comes, you reach for it instinctively. because at the cafe, he said he would let you get it this time.

but he's faster. of course he is.

"you don't have to—" you start.

"i know."

"that's not fair," you protest.

"it doesn't have to be," he said.

you sigh, but you're already smiling again.

as he hands the card over, the server pauses. "sorry," the server says, almost hesitant. "are you... are you—namjoon—"

namjoon already knows what's coming. he exhales softly, not annoyed at all, just used to it. "yeah," he says with a polite smile. you blinked.

"sorry- i thought so. i didn't want to assume."

he gives a small, reassuring nod.

"do you think i could-" the server gestures awkwardly. "just like, a quick autograph? my brother and i are huge fans."

you completely froze.

fan?

huge?

he doesn't make it a big deal. "yeah, no problem," he says, like it was normal. like this happens all the time. because it does.

he signs something quickly, hands it back with a polite smile.

"thank you—i appreciate it. you two have a great night," the server said before walking off.

silence settled between you for the brief a second. you were completely staring at him now, trying to control your facial expressions as you processed what just happened.

"you didn't tell me that happens to you," you said.

"i didn't think it mattered," he replied casually.

"well," you said slowly. "what exactly do you do?"

there it was. the question he definitely couldn't avoid this time. he leans back slightly, studying your expression. it was curious, but not intimidated or totally impressed. just curious.

"i told you," he said. "music."

you shook your head. "no, you said behind the scenes."

he huffed a small breath, close to a laugh before he paused. "i produce," he said finally. it was simple and direct—no bragging or boasting.

you blink again. "like... that song?"

a beat passes for a small moment before he nods once. "yeah."

and now, the air between you shifted. because now you knew; he wasn't just some guy who stopped to help you on the side of the road.

and somehow, it almost made things worse. because now, you had to figure out why he's here... with you.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the air outside feels cooler than before. or maybe it’s just because of the way everything shifted inside.

namjoon pushes the door open for you, stepping slightly to the side to let you walk out first—but as you pass, his hand settles lightly at the small of your back.

guiding. not grabbing or lingering too long. just there, resting on your back. it's subtle, but you can feel the intention seeping through you, especially in the way it instantly sends a shiver up your back.

your steps slow for half a second—not enough for him to comment on, but enough for you to notice yourself.

but he notices too.

you both walk a few steps in the parking lot in silence. it wasn't awkward, it was just both of you recollecting the entire night—including who he really was.

“so,” you say finally, glancing over at him, tone light like nothing’s changed, “you’re kind of a big deal, namjoon.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “no.”

“that guy literally asked you for an autograph.”

“that happens sometimes.”

you narrow your eyes. “that’s not normal.”

“it is for me,” he says simply. it wasn't cocky or defensive, just the honest truth. it should've been intimidating. but you didn't let it land that way.

you shrugged slightly. "okay. but that still doesn't mean i'm impressed."

there's a pause before he looks at you—really looks this time. and something shifts in his eyes, subtle but sharper. more interested and intrigued by the young woman standing before him.

"good," he said lowly.

you blinked. "good?"

“i’d be a little concerned if you were.”

your lips press together slightly, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’ve been told.”

you both reach his car, but neither of you move to get in right away. he leans back against it slightly, arms relaxed and eyes fixed on you.

you cross your arms again. not closed off, just grounding yourself under his gaze. "so you just... make songs people know?"

"sometimes," he said with a shrug.

"ugh, that's such a non-answer."

his lips fought a smile at your remark. "it's an accurate one."

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. "you're so annoying."

"but you keep talking to me," he points out.

you finally glance up at him fully, and for a second, the eye contact lingers for a moment too long. it causes you to look away first, pink tinting your cheeks.

and namjoon notices everything.

the way you're holding eye contact a little less now. the way you're slightly more aware of yourself. the way you're trying not to let it change anything. but it doesn’t turn him off—it only pulls him in more.

“you got quiet,” he says.

“i didn’t.”

“you did.”

you look away for a second, then back at him. “i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate. “nothing,” you say.

he tilts his head slightly, unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. instead, he steps a little closer. not enough to crowd you, but enough to spark the energy in the space between you even more.

“you’re doing that thing,” he comments quietly, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

your brows knit. “what thing?”

“trying to act like nothing changed.”

your stomach flips—annoyingly and immediate. “because nothing did,” you said.

a pause fills the air. he studies your face, like he’s deciding whether to call it out further. “alright,” he says finally.

you exhale softly. “you’re not going to say anything else?”

“i don’t need to.”

“that’s so—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

he watches you, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth now. “say it,” he murmurs.

you look at him, trying not to react to the way his voice dropped slightly. “it’s just… a lot,” you admit.

your answer was too honest for your liking, yet he didn't laugh or dismiss it. "yeah," he said quietly. "it can be."

a beat passed. "but i'm still the same guy you had coffee with," he said softly. and those words land, harder than anything else he's said.

you study him for a second, searching for something—ego, arrogance, anything that would make this easier to categorize.

but you don’t find it. instead, you're only able to find that same calm, steady version of him. the one who stopped his car for you. the one who let you decide whether to text him. the one who didn’t even bother to impress you.

“…okay,” you say finally. and you mean it.

there was a small shift in the air between you, the tension softening— but not totally disappearing.

“so,” he says, pushing off the car slightly, “you still letting me drive you home?”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i have a choice?”

“you always have a choice,” he said. a beat passes. "but i’d prefer if you said yes," he confessed playfully.

you huffs out a quiet laugh. “you’re very subtle.”

“i try.”

and for the second time that night, namjoon opens the passenger door for you. and this time, when you got in, it felt different; reality swirling around you and settling into your head.

the drive back was quieter than the one there. it wasn't awkward or empty—just filled with unspoken words and incredibly thick tension.

his gaze was fixed on the road, but you couldn't ignore the way you caught him glancing over at you multiple times in the corner of your eye. the music is low, humming softly through the speakers before another song comes on.

you glance over at the console, then over at him. "did you make this one too?" you ask, half teasing.

he doesn't look at you right away, a smirk pulling at his lips, leaving a sharp shadow along his jaw. "maybe."

you roll your eyes, fully smiling now. "you're never going to give me a straight answer, are you?"

"not all at once, pretty girl."

there it is again. not just the nickname that sent heat through your spine and in between your legs—but that confident, indirect promise of you sticking around long enough to unlock every thing about him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're looking out the window, surrounded by the kind of silence that makes everything feel more noticeable. but you're not really seeing or looking at anything, because you're too aware.

too aware of namjoon. the way he drives—one veiny hand on the wheel, relaxed but precise. the way the scent of his expensive cologne and shampoo made your knees weaken. the way he continues to glance over every now and then, quick, like he’s checking something without making it obvious.

you shift slightly in your seat every time he does.

suddenly, his hand moves from the wheel for just a second—resting briefly against the center console as he adjusts his grip. but through that movement, his large fingers brush lightly against your thigh.

he dragged them ever so softly on your thigh for what felt like forever—but only lasted two seconds—before moving his hand back to the center console. his fingers were barely there, not lingering or deliberate enough to call out. but it wasn't exactly accidental enough to ignore either.

your breath catches for just a second, but he doesn't react or apologize. he doesn't even look at you, and somehow that makes it worse.

you swallow hard, turning your head slightly towards the window again. but now you're even more hyper-aware of the space between you. your heart was doing something very annoying again, and you knew it.

he knew it.

he slows the car as you reach your place, parking smoothly before killing the engine. and just like that, everything went still.

neither of you moved right away. you looked down at your hands, then back up like you were about to say something. but you didn't.

he simply watches you for a second, less teasing in his eyes and more focus. he took in every inch of you, sitting so still and pretty in his car. looking at him like he was still the same guy who jumped your car, not like he was a guy who made every hit song. "you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you keep saying that."

"because you keep doing it."

you glance at him. this time, you don't look away immediately. "i'm just thinking."

"dangerous," he murmurs, pulling a small smile from you.

you reach for the door handle. "thanks for dinner," you say, like you're trying to keep it normal.

"yeah," he replies with a soft smile.

you open the door, stepping out thinking that the night is wrapped up. that he'll pull away and let you go. but then, you hear his door open too.

he rounds the front of the car, meeting you halfway up the short path to your door. he took his time not rushing—because he never did.

when you stop in front of your door, you turn to face him. and suddenly, it's close. closer than it's been all night. there wasn't a table, a center console, or any distractions now. just him, towering over you and filling your entire vision with nothing but him. his musky cologne quickly filled your nostrils, throwing your mind off balance.

"you don't have to walk me up," you say quietly, close to a whisper.

"i know," he says. but he doesn't step back.

a long pause fills the air, stretching long enough for the tension to feel intentional. his gaze drops briefly, to your lips—then back up to your eyes.

your breath catches again, softer now. but you were too close for namjoon to not notice it. "are you always this—" you start, then stop.

"this what?" he asks lowly, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the mere sight of you fumbling with your words in front of him.

you shake your head slightly. "i don't even know."

a faint smile pulls at his mouth. "good." he took another step closer, not enough to trap you, but enough for the warmth of his body to wrap around you.

then, his hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. he does it carefully, like he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away. but you didn't.

"you're overthinking again," he murmurs, low eyes scanning every inch of your face.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "you keep saying that like it helps."

"it does," he suggests casually.

"how?"

he leans in barely. he doesn't completely close the distance between you, but it was enough to send a bolt of warmth down your body. "because you're still here."

you tilt your head up just a little, before he leans in just a sliver more. and for a second, the moment is right there, sitting heavy in the little distance there was between you.

and then, he stops. just barely, coming to a small still when you could practically feel his breath on you. just enough that it didn't happen.

your eyes flicker across his face, confused, a little breathless. he watches your reaction carefully, low eyes trained onto your every movement.

and suddenly, there's that faint smirk again—but it's softer; barely there and more restrained than usual in a way you almost didn't catch.

"goodnight, doll," he said lowly. "sleep well."

like nothing had almost just happened.

he steps back, ripping the thick air that had just sat between you like a third person. breaking it and leaving you there standing with it.

“you’re—” you start, but you don't even know what to call him.

he tilts his head slightly, licking his lips and averting his gaze down you one last time. “what?”

you exhale half-laugh and half-frustration. “annoying.”

he smiles, dimples pulling at his cheeks. “i know," he says, before turning around and walking back to his car.

from the doorstep, you watch him get in, turn on the engine, and leave. leaving you there with more thoughts than your racing heart could keep up with and a miserable dampness in your panties.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

namjoon's place is quiet again. too quiet.

he tosses his keys down, walks a few steps in, then stops—like his body forgot what he was about to do.

because his mind was entirely somewhere else.

it was still at your door. still immersed into that moment.

he leans back against his kitchen counter, exhaling. he's replaying everything now, like dinner—the way you didn't switch up when you found out what he did. you weren't suddenly impressed or started asking the wrong questions.

you stayed the same. maybe you were a little quieter, a tad bit more aware. but you didn't completely fold.

that absolutely sat under namjoon's skin now. he was completely enamored by you, and didn't want to pull a girl like you into his chaotic world. didn't want you to adjust to him because of who he was, like most people did.

but you didn't. you just took it in, and kept going. you stayed exactly the same—you still called him annoying and told him he wasn't impressive.

he looks at his phone sitting a few feet away. he already gave you control once. he let you decide whether or not to text him, to decide if it was going to go anywhere or not.

but he wasn't going to do that tonight.

him: you always look at people like that or was that just for me?

he sets the phone down, but not far. because you've consumed every inch of his mind again without even trying to. he thinks about the your eyes dropped to his lips, the way you didn't pull away.

his jaw tightened slightly. he knew he was in trouble.

his phone lit up again.

her: like what?

he lets out a quiet breath, a smile pulling at his lips. the way you played it off, like you always did, made him only want more. made him think that maybe he should've kissed you right then and there—should've forgot about being a man and taking his time with you and—

he slowly took in a deep breath through his nose, dragging a hand across his face.

him: like you were about to do something you'd regret

her: don't know if i'd call it regret

namjoon liked that a little too much, licking his lips and leaning back. because now, he knows you felt it too.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days and several text conversations later, namjoon sends you a text on a night he knows you're not working. no question or explanation, just;

joon: be ready at 7

when he picks you up, the air already shifts when you walk outside. it was in the way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't hiding it at all anymore. he takes his time, eyes trailing from your shoes, to the way your skirt falls, the jewelry at your wrist, to your face.

"you always dress like this, doll?" he asks lowly, stepping closer to you.

you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way the name made your brain feel like mush. "like what?"

"like you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked that."

your lips pressed together slightly, trying not to smile. "maybe i did."

a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "yeah," he agreed. "i think you did."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the driver is longer, along the coast again. his tinted windows are cracked, music low with the sky fading into the darkest blue that only happens by the water.

you and namjoon talk, but it's far from that careful, first date way. the conversation flowed between you easily. you interrupted each other, went off on tangents. doubled back to things you both said earlier. like you both have done this together longer than you actually had.

when you arrive, the place is even more secluded than last time. a quiet overlook with soft lights and the ocean extending endlessly in front of you. the sound of waves clashed below in a way that was steady and grounding.

it felt private, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

you and namjoon sit closer this time without question. dinner stretches and the conversation flows. you don't even discuss all the big things, but it's the way you talk about the small ones that makes it feel different.

you tell him about what hobbies you have, about your job—how it's routine, how people underestimate it, and how sometimes you feel stuck. and he doesn't brush it off or give you empty encouragement like most people did.

"you're not stuck," he corrected you firmly.

you scoff every is slightly. "that's easy for you to say."

"it's not about me," he replies softly. "you just need to find what you want."

you pout slightly in a way that makes his heart falter. "and you have?"

he pauses for half a second. "yeah." that same confidence remained in his tone, and for a second it felt like he might have been talking about something else.

at some point, his hand settles at the back of your chair. but this time, it stays. it wasn't touching you directly, but it was close enough to make you aware of it. aware of him.

you shift slightly and his slender fingers brush at your shoulders. they rest there for a second longer than necessary before pulling back. his warmth and his actions sent an unbearable heat between your legs.

after dinner, you both step away from the table, walking along the edge of the overlook. the night air is cooler now, ocean breeze slipping through you. you and him walk a little closer than before, shoulders lightly brushing with every few steps.

you wrapped your arms around you slightly, and his jacket is already around your shoulders before you can say anything.

you glance back at him, stopping in your steps to look at him properly. "you know... you're very sure of yourself."

"that bothers you?"

"no," you admit honestly. "it's just—different."

he pauses for a small moment. "from what you're used to?" he asks.

you nod slightly. he studies you for a second. "you're trying to figure out how old i am again."

your eyes widen slightly. "i'm not—"

"you are."

you exhale. "okay, maybe a little."

he lets your confession sit in the air before he nods slightly toward a couple walking past you two—a generation older than you, quieter, and settled. "you think i'm closer to them, or closer to you?" he asks.

you look back at the couple, then back at him. you really look at him, thinking about the way he carries himself. the way he speaks. the way he doesn't rush anything.

your expression shifts. "...okay," you say slowly. "how old are you?"

he pauses for longer than just a few seconds. "thirty-three," he answers finally.

you can't help but blink. once. twice. "...really?"

"yeah."

you study him again, like the answer didn't quite align with what you were seeing. "you don't look thirty-three."

"i know," he answered casually.

"that's kind of unfair," you said playfully.

he smiled softly. "i've heard that."

a quiet beat passes as namjoon watches you carefully, curiously watching your expression.

you shrug slightly. "okay."

he tilts his head. "that's all?"

"what?" you ask. "were you expecting something else?"

"most people... adjust," he stated.

you look at him deeply, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "well i'm not most people."

he steps closer, lightly closing the space between you. his scent filled your head once again, making your breath catch.

"yeah," he said lowly. "i noticed."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

later, when you leave the restaurant together, you don't rush out. you never do.

namjoon walks slightly behind you first as you both headed towards the entrance, one hand finding its way onto the small of your back. it became natural now, something you didn't react to—externally, at least.

his hand was there, guiding you carefully down the steps.

two hostesses near the front glance up. then they glance at namjoon. then to you, then back at him.

a quick look exchanged between them followed by a few whispers and positive smiles. he catches it immediately. of course he does.

namjoon doesn’t look directly at them—he doesn’t acknowledge it—but there’s the faintest change in his expression. then his hand presses just slightly firmer at your back.

a quiet, almost instinctive gesture. not to show off. just to keep you close—and slightly focus the attention on you.

you don't notice the whispers, but you do notice the presence of his hand grow warmer. "what?" you ask, glancing back at him.

"nothing," he says easily.

the lights from the restaurant glowed behind you, the cool night air and a soft breeze coming off the water hitting you all at once.

there's a small set of marble steps leading down towards the parking area. you start down them without thinking—mind entirely captured by namjoon—and suddenly your heel catches slightly.

it's quick—barely a stumble, but it's enough to throw you off balance slightly. his large hands instantly find their way to your waist firmly, tightening his grip and steadying you before you could even process anything.

"careful, baby," he murmurs, low and close. the name slipping out like it had always belonged there.

you freeze for half a second, breath catching slightly before you steady yourself, hand instinctively brushing against his arm.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, beginning to continue a careful ascend down the steps and ignoring the heat on your cheeks.

namjoon however, doesn't move his hands right away. they linger on your waist a second longer than necessary, making sure you're fully balanced. "i know," he says calmly.

you look up at him, trying to play it off. "you don't have to—"

"i know," he cuts in softly.

and when you reach the bottom of the steps, his hand doesn't leave your back. it stays there, steady, guiding you towards his car like you're already part of his space.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

the drive back is quiet, the low vibration of the music and the city lights and palm trees flickering past practically lulling you to sleep.

and namjoon's presence, of course.

his large hand rested on the wheel, the other on the center console. close enough. by the minute, you swear it continues to get closer.

"tell me about him," namjoon says suddenly, the deep baritone of his voice making your thighs press together slightly.

you frown slightly from confusion. "about who?"

"your ex."

it catches you off guard. "...why?"

he shrugs lightly, sharp eyes still on the road. "i'm curious."

you hesitate before sighing. "he was..." you trailed off, trying to find the right word. "lazy."

half a second passed. "immature," you added. "didn't really pay attention to me unless it was convenient."

and as you talk, namjoon's jaw tightens slightly. it's subtle and controlled in a way you don't notice, but it's there.

"he just-" you shook your head slightly, looking out the window. "i don't know. it felt like I was always asking for the bare minimum."

for a long second, silence fills the car. namjoon's fingers tap once against the console. then, they shift. his hand moves unhurriedly, eventually finding its way to rest against your thigh, making a sharp bolt of warmth shoot down your body.

"yeah," he says finally, voice low and rough. "that sounds about right."

you glance at him. "what does that mean?"

he paused for a second. "guys your age," he continues, calm but edged with something sharper now. "they don't know what to do with a woman like you."

your stomach flips in a way that is impossible to ignore. "and you do?" you ask teasingly, trying to keep your tone steady.

his thumb shifts slightly against your thigh slightly. butterflies erupted in your stomach and your thighs shifted in a way you couldn't help, trying to disregard the heat between your legs.

"i wouldn't ignore you," he says simply.

the air in car seems to shift as you swallow hard, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "you barely know me."

"i know enough," he answers.

your breath catches slightly. namjoon's hand stays sat on your thigh steadily, like he knows exactly what it's doing to you.

"and i definitely wouldn't have you asking for anything," he adds. his words land deeper than they should, etching themselves into the back of your mind without asking.

you let out a quiet, almost nervous laugh. "you're very confident."

"i'm honest," he says. he pauses for a moment. then, his voice drops just a little—"big difference."

you look at him again, thoroughly scanning his face this time. "you always talk like that?" you ask.

"only when i mean it."

another silence settles between you, this time sitting thick; heavy with everything both of you haven't said. his hand finally shifts, but not away from you. it only slides higher along your thigh before settling again.

"relax, doll," he murmurs softly, voice low and deep.

you exhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?"

you shake your head slightly. "you know exactly what."

a faint smirk pulls at his lips. "yeah," he answers. "i do."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the rest of the drive feels too short.

namjoon pulls to your curb, parking swiftly with one hand before cutting the engine. silence fills the space, neither of you reaching for the door immediately.

you look down at your hands, then back up, like you're about to say something—but the words don't come as easily now. because everything, from the restaurant, the drive is still sitting in between you. his hand, his voice. doll.

"you got quiet again," he says softly.

you let out a small breath. "you make it hard not to."

he stills ever so slightly, like your words had pulled something out of him. "do i?" he asks.

you look at him, holding his intense gaze this time. "yeah."

he pauses for longer than normal, eventually moving his hand before his mouth. he starts slow—not to your thigh this time—but higher. his fingers lift, brushing lightly along your jaw. just the tips, tracing the line like he needed to memorize it.

your breath catches immediately, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you seemingly couldn't look away from his face. he tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction closely.

"you always look like this when you're thinking?" he murmurs.

your voice comes out quieter than you expect. "like what?"

his thumb lingers beneath just beneath your chin for just a second. then it shifts slightly, guiding your face just enough so that you're looking directly at him and nothing else.

"like you're trying to figure out if this is a good idea," he says.

your heart practically stumbles. because he absolutely was right. "and?" you ask quietly.

a small smirk pulls at his mouth. but this one was softer, like it was more certainty than teasing. "i think you already decided," he murmurs. his gaze drops briefly, down to your lips, then back up again. this time, he doesn't even try to hide it.

"you're dangerous, you know that?" you say, barely above a whisper.

he leans in slightly, his scent taking over your lungs. "yeah?"

your breath is uneven now. "yeah."

his gaze drifts again, over your face, slower this time. fully taking you in. "you still thinking about the age thing?" he asks.

"no," you respond, holding the burning eye contact.

he studies you for half a second, like he's deciding if you're telling the truth. then, he exhales quietly, almost amusedly. "yeah," he says. "didn't think you would."

his hand lifts from your chin before resting lightly at your waist, thumb pressing just slightly before easing.

"probably better for you," he adds, voicer lower now, teasing but grounded in something real and deep, "if you didn't get used to someone like me."

your stomach flips instantly. "who says i'm getting used to you?" you shoot back, trying to play it off.

a smile tugs at his lips. "doll," he murmurs, softer and closer, the warmth of his breath hitting your neck. "you're already here."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a few days later, namjoon sends you an address located in the corner of a private street in LA telling you to meet him there. telling you that he wanted to show you something.

a building tucked slightly off the main road, close enough to the water that the air already feels different when you step out of the car.

you hesitate for a half a second before going in. not nervous, but just a little too aware of what you were walking into. with a few instructed taps on the door buzzer, you were let in.

inside, the hallway light is dim, soft lights lining the walls that were decorated with award cases, album posters, and framed vinyls. the floors were sleek and bass echoed through the walls.

you followed the sound the sound down the hallway, until you find a studio door that's slightly open. the gold plate on it reading, "kim namjoon" then below it, "head executive producer."

you exhale softly, heart slightly stopping at that and swallowing a little too hard before you push it gently, and that's when you see him.

sitting at the main console, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting near the soundboard. one hand adjusting a dial, the other resting against his chin like he's listening too closely.

he was so immersed that he hadn't noticed you yet.

the room was lowly lit—colored LEDS instead of overhead lights, the glow from the equipment reflecting softly against his face.

and there's something about him like this—focused, quiet, and completely in his element—that hits differently, making your stomach twist into a knot.

his sleeves are pushed up again, glistening watch catching the light as he moves his hand. a chain rests below his collar, barely visible, but sparkling in the light.

everything about him is so simple, but it fits him all too well. you don't mean to stare, but you definitely do.

and then, like he felt it—namjoon finally glances up. your eyes immediately meet, and you swear you felt a spark flash through your body.

for a split second, he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, gaze taking you in deliberately.

then, he licks his lips so lightly you almost don't catch it. "you just going to stand there," he says, voice low and soft. "or are you coming in?"

you blink, snapping out of your trance slightly. "i-i didn't want to interrupt."

"you didn't," he replies easily. but his eyes linger on you for a second longer, almost like he knew you were watching him.

you step inside, softly closing the door behind you. the white lighting from the hallway had disappeared now, fully engulfing you into his world—his studio, his creative space—the place where he made every hit even possible. the big room suddenly felt smaller now, more private.

you look around, taking it all in. the walls are boarded with soundproof panels, and large speakers are placed around the sleek equipment. there's two chairs, a beanbag, and couch with folders of music sheets and lyrics scattered on the floor and on counter tops. "this is... really nice."

"mm," he hums, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly. "it works."

you glance at him. "you say everything like that."

"like what?"

"like it's not a big deal."

a faint smirk. "it's not."

you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. he gestures towards the seat next to him. "come here." it wasn't a question.

you walk over, sitting beside him—closer than expected, immediately greeted by his warmth and the musk of his cologne.

he turns towards the console, grabbing a pair of high-end headphones. "listen to this," he says. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before carefully placing them over your head.

music plays—smooth and layered. it had no lyrics, but it was already catchy. you hummed in delight. "it's really good," you said softly, gently taking the headphones off.

"i know," he replies casually.

you laugh. "you're insufferable."

he glances at you, a smirk forming. "you're still here though."

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

after a few minutes of namjoon showing you some buttons, he glances at you. "you want to try something?" you look at him, a bit hesitant. "like what?"

he shifts slightly, turning your chair just enough so that your angled more towards the board. "come on," he says, nodding towards the controls. "i'll show you."

"...i feel like i'm going to mess something up," you say.

"you won't."

"how do you know?" he leans in slightly, his breath hitting your neck ever so slightly. "because i'm right here."

your stomach flips again. he reaches around you slightly, one hand bracing lightly against the edge of the console near you, the other guiding your hand toward a dial.

“turn this,” he says, voice lower now, near your ear.

you try to focus. you really do. but namjoon is close. too close. his warmth spilling all over you, hitting you in all the places that made your thighs pull closer together.

you turn the dial slowly—and immediately the sound distorts in a ridiculous way. you both pause.

"...was that supposed to happen?" you ask.

he stares at the board for a second before a short laugh escapes him, dimples tugging at his cheeks. "no," he says.

you burst out laughing. "i told you!"

he shakes his head with another laugh, reaching forward to fix it, his arm brushing yours again. "you didn't break it," he says. "relax."

"i definitely did something."

"you did," he replies with a smile. "just not what i said."

you laugh again, softer this time.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

you're standing now, not sitting anymore.

because namjoon told you to.

“stand here,” he said, guiding you lightly by the waist until you were in front of the soundboard. no asking, just placing you there. you stiffened under his touch that sent a light shock through you.

"relax, doll," he murmurs behind you. the deep baritone of his voice hitting a little too close.

you exhale slowly, trying to focus on the board in front of you—but it's hard when you can feel him right behind you. he steps in closer, practically pressing you together.

one hand reaches around you, bracing against the console. the other finds yours, fingers sliding over yours, adjusting your grip on one of the controls. "not like that," he says, low. "too quick."

"i'm not doing anything fast," you defend weakly, trying your best to sound steady.

you hear a quiet, almost amused exhale behind you. "yeah?" he murmurs deeply.

his chest brushes lightly against your back as he leans in closer, guiding your hand again—slower this time. "you rush when you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous."

"mm," he hums, unconvinced. his hand tightens slightly over yours, turning the dial with you. the sound shifts, smoother this time. "like that," he says.

but he doesn't move away, not even a little bit. you swallow, your body hyper-aware of every point of contact. his hand over yours, his chest behind you, his voice vibrating your ear. and you definitely tried to ignore something hard resting against your ass.

"you do this with everyone?" you ask.

"no," he answered simply.

at to that, your heart stumbled. his hand left yours, but only came to settle at your waist, firm and steady. in his grip he turned you slightly—not fully, but enough to turn your attention away from the board and onto him. "you're distracted again," he murmured.

you let out a soft breath. "you keep saying that like it's my fault."

a smirk pulls at his lips, one that you can practically hear in his voice. "doll," he says lowly, "you haven't been focused since you walked in."

your stomach flips as you turn your head slightly, giving just enough space to look back at him—but it's a mistake. because he's already looking at you, his face much closer than expected and barely any space left between you now.

"you always get like this?" he asks softly.

"like what?"

his gaze drops slowly, then back up again. "quiet." he pauses. "...when you feel something."

your breath catches. "you act like you know me," you say.

"i do," he replies casually. those words shouldn't hit you as hard as they do, but they do anyway—causing your heart to leap.

he shifts you fully this time, making you fully face him as his large hands still rested at your waist, thumbs pressing in ever so slightly.

"or maybe," he adds, voice quieter now. "you're just not used to someone who pays attention."

your chest rises slowly. "and you do?"

"to you?" he asks quietly, something flickering across his eyes. "of course i do."

a small pause. "i wouldn't ignore you," he mutters in your ear, breath hot down your neck in a way that makes your hairs stand up. his hand tightens slightly against you. "not like they did."

his words land, striking the base of your heart deeply. "and i definitely wouldn't have you guessing where you stand."

your breath is uneven now, but you can't seem to look away. "confident," you murmur.

"experienced," he corrects simply. his voice and his head dips lower just slightly—"difference is...i know how to treat a woman like you properly."

and suddenly the last thread holding you steady is already gone. you exhale softy, almost a laugh, but not quite. "you always talk like this?"

"only when i mean it."

silence fills the space around you, heavy and close. one of his hands lifts from your waist slowly before coming to your jaw and tracing along it deliberately, just like he did before.

his thumb sits at your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. it takes everything in you for your knees to not buckle right then and there, taking in his low, piercing gaze.

"you keep looking at me like that," you whisper.

"like what, hm?" he asks, voice low as he tilts his head lower, leaving little space between your noses. you felt like your whole world was spinning, trying to ground yourself properly without clinging onto him.

"like you're about to do something."

he pauses for a split second, licking his lips while his eyes practically swirled with darkness. then—low and certain—"i am."

and this time, namjoon doesn't stop himself. he leans in, fully closing the last bit of distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours. it's immediate—but not rushed. he kisses you slow, deep, like he's been holding it back for too long and finally had decided he was done.

you respond quickly, completely melting under the contact and moving your lips into his. your breath catches against his, one hand instinctively finding one of his big arms, while the other gripped on his shirt to steady yourself— because it hits you all at once.

the way he pulls you closer against him, one of his hands firmly settled at your waist while the other holds your head possessively, gently tilting your head at an angle that allowed him to kiss you deeper.

you lean into him without thinking—and he feels it, of course. he hooks his fingers around the belt loop of your denim skirt, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens—but it isn't overwhelming. it's certain, like he wanted to take his time with his lips against yours.

your fingers tightened against him, causing him to exhale quietly against your lips, like he had been waiting for that exact response from you.

when you both pull back, you barely move an inch. foreheads close, breath uneven, and neither of you pulling away. his hands remain at your waist, yours still on him.

and after a second of catching your breath—namjoon leans in again. not because he's testing it anymore, but because he wants it—no, he needs it again. and you seem to meet him there just as fast.

his lips capture yours for the second time that night, practically taking your breath with him. your thighs press together slightly as you kiss him back, your hand sliding higher along his arm, gripping his bicep and pulling him closer without even realizing it.

his grip tightens slightly. "don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he murmurs quietly against your lips, voice rough.

the kiss suddenly shifts, not messy or rushed—but hungry. namjoon's hand slid shamelessly down your waist and onto your ass, sliding up and down its curve like it was already his.

that pulled a gasp out of you, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. you allow him, opening your mouth more to let him further explore it with his tongue. your lips practically molded together, saliva mixing as he swirled his tongue around yours.

"look at you..." he mutters, barely pulling back, his thumb brushing your jaw again. "so responsive."

your stomach flips more times than you can count. "don't—" you start, breath uneven, but you can't even finish the sentence before you feel dampness between your legs.

"don't what, baby?" he asks lowly, smirking faintly against your lips. "don't notice you?" he kisses you again before you can answer. his hand slides up from your ass, up your waist to your side—slower and more deliberate, before settling it there again, like he's grounding you there with him.

your grip on him tightens, deepening the kiss without intending to. "doll..." he murmurs, quietly now like it's a warning.

but he doesn't stop, and you most certainly don't want him to. all of a sudden namjoon is moving, guiding you back without breaking the kiss, step by step, until the back of your legs hit the couch.

you exhale softly in surprise—before you're sitting and he is too, pulling you with him. now, you find yourself on his lap—straddled on top of him with his hands firmly gripping your thighs and with everything much closer.

your hands find his broad shoulders, this time holding onto him like you desperately need to steady yourself, leaning into him once more. and namjoon notices, like he always does.

a low exhale leaves him, almost like a quiet laugh. "not pulling away anymore, are you, baby?" he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw slowly while his big palms drag up and down your thighs.

his plush lips trace the line of your jaw, littering soft kisses and your head tilts slightly to give him space without even thinking about it. "good," he praises quietly against your skin, lips trailing their way down your neck.

as he presses soft kisses along your neck, one of his hands presses a little firmer into your thigh, keeping you against him as the other rested gently at your neck—not enough to put pressure—but enough for your mind to go blank and make your thighs noticeably shift.

your breath hitches just above him, and his other hand soothes slowly against your thigh to steady you. "you have no idea..." he murmurs, lightly digging his teeth into your skin, making you shudder. "how hard i was trying to take my time with you."

your fingers tighten against him, struggling to ignore the unbearable ache in your core. "then why aren't you?" you manage softly, voice weaker than usual, knowing you didn't want that.

he paused for a moment, the warmth of his breath tingling down your neck and through your spine. his voice comes lower this time, but steadier. "because you stopped me from wanting to."

he pulls back just enough to look at you again, dark and low eyes trailing every inch of your face. his hand comes up, brushing your hair behind your ear slowly, slower than before.

"you're trouble, princess," he says lowly, another nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. "but i like it."

your breath is still uneven, your heart racing faster than your mind—but you don't look away. "good," you murmur.

namjoon's jaw tightens slightly at that—not in frustration, but in complete restraint. what's left of it, at least.

his hand that rested along your neck slid up, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb once again, making sure that you were really looking at him. "you sure about this, doll?" he asks lowly.

you nod without hesitation. "yes."

a small pause fills the thick, small space between you, but his smoldering gaze doesn't leave yours. his gentle hold on your jaw tightens ever so slightly—not to harm you, but to ground you into the moment. "you understand...i'm not the kind of man you forget after this."

your breath catches, but you don't pull back. "i know," you say softly, holding his gaze.

his hands return to your waist, firmer this time, pulling you just slightly closer to him—close enough that space barely existed anymore. "yeah..." he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly along your skin. "then stay with me."

you nearly shuddered from his words, the warmth of his body on yours surrounding you and making your skin tingle. "i will," you nearly whispered, praying that he couldn't feel the dampness between your legs at the thought of never leaving his side.

"good," he grunted in your ear, hot breath spilling down your neck. he pulled back just slightly before closing the space between you once again, tilting your head with his thumb and pulling your lips in with his unhurriedly.

you immediately softened into him as you moved your lips together, your chest immediately becoming flush against his and practically folding underneath his touch. his hands left your waist, finding their grip lower and onto your ass, holding you steadily against him while his tongue explored you once more.

his lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses—sloppy and open-mouthed this time, sucking harder and marking a trail of red marks down to your collarbone. you whimpered with every suck, thighs noticeably shifting against his legs.

namjoon's slender fingers found their way underneath your top, sliding it up slowly—like he was waiting for you to stop him—but you never did. you only complied, lifting your arms up. and in one swift motion, your top was off, and his lips already found themselves on your cleavage.

"so beautiful, baby," he murmured into your skin, tongue lightly lapping against the mark he had just made on top of your breast.

suddenly you felt his big palms on your waist once again before he manhandled you—lifting you up and lying you gently across the couch before his large figure quickly filled your vision and filling up your entire view.

all you could see in the ambient light of his studio was his broad shoulders, his low, piercing eyes, and glimmering chain now hanging in front of your face before he captured your lips again. you practically moaned into it, fingers gripping tightly into his shirt like you needed more.

"fuck," he murmured against you between kisses, intertwining his long fingers with yours, dragging your palm deliberately up his chest. your hands moved before your mind, tugging him closer by his shirt and immediately fumbling with the buttons.

he smirked, large hands moving to help you take it off. once he tossed it somewhere in the room, your hands danced around his body greedily, trailing over his abs, from his chiseled chest and to his swell back.

"should be taking you to my house like a fuckin' man. should fuck you in my bed slow 'n proper. but i've lost my patience with you, doll," he breathed lowly, licking his lips with hunger.

you could only bring yourself to whimper, as namjoon's big palm creeped around your thigh, trailing every so slowly inwards before stopping. your legs couldn't help but twitch helplessly underneath his touch, causing him to let out an amused breath of air.

"but you don't want that, do you?" he asked lowly in your ear, the desire in his voice making your core ache with unbearable need. his hands trailed closer to your heat, dragging his fingers leisurely against your inner thigh.

you shook your head desperately, but that wasn't enough for him. his fingers hooked around your skirt. "wanna hear you use that pretty mouth of yours, baby."

"i—yes—" you blurted breathlessly, struggling to find the words. "i want it—want you. here, joonie. right now."

his cock strained even harder against his pants. "good girl," he muttered before pulling your skirt down. when it was disregarded, namjoon's hands found your thighs again and you suddenly felt his long fingers trace against slowly against your sopping heat barely shielded by your lacy thong, sending a shiver down your entire body.

"wet for me already and i haven't even started with you," he smirked, finally hooking your panties to the side and letting your soaking core be hit by the cold air. your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but he quickly stopped them with his big hands.

"so sensitive, doll," he murmured, placing one big thumb just above your clit while the other fingers outlined your inner thigh. "guys your age don't take their time like this, do they?"

you shook your head immediately, whining out before his fingers glided up slowly against your wetness, his index finger swiping in between your folds. his thumb rubbed your clit in a long circle, pulling out a desperate whine out of your mouth.

finally, he pushed one long finger in between your folds, sliding into your hole that sucked him in, your wetness gushing his fingers. you whined loudly as he dragged it along your walls before plunging back in.

namjoon closed the distance between your faces, capturing your lips in with his and sucking on your bottom lip as he inserted another finger, thrusting into you at a steady pace while his thumb remained on your clit.

when he pulled away, it was only to align his face at your entrance. his hand firmly gripped onto your thighs, holding you in place. his fingers slowed inside of you as his nose came close to your core, the warmth of his breath directly hitting your pussy and making you twitch underneath him.

a small smirk pulled at his lips before he poked his tongue out, licking a light, gentle stripe against your folds. "mm, taste so sweet, baby." you reacted immediately, thighs clenching around his head in a way he enjoyed a bit too much, his free hand wrapping around your leg firmly as he lapped delicately at your entrance.

you moaned his name, legs finally relaxing under his grip as he took his time with soaking your taste on his tongue. namjoon couldn't help but smirk against your folds, his plump lips completely enveloping your pussy into his mouth and sucking your wetness in hungrily.

it wasn't long before you felt his tongue greedily prying through your entrance, crying out in breathless moans. his two fingers stretched open your walls to allow more room for him to explore you with his tongue.

namjoon was absolutely driving you over the edge—his tongue plunged through your tight walls like no other, slender fingers stroking your insides while his thumb massaged your clit vigorously. he ate at you like he had starved for this—your back immediately curving off of the couch as you felt unbearable pressure twine into your stomach.

"that's it, doll," he cooed against your folds, his nose sitting on top of your clit. then, his voice dropped lower—"cum for me."

and so you did—completely letting go as your first orgasm tore through you like lightning. your legs shook around namjoon's head, his free hand rubbing against your thigh gently while his two fingers slowed inside of you. his tongue moved against your folds slowly, taking in every last drop of your release between his lips.

when your body was finally at ease from the state of euphoria he took you to, namjoon trailed kisses from your stomach and up, his hands gently caressing your sides.

"look at you taking me so good," he murmured between kisses, lips on yours now. "think you're ready for my cock, hm, baby?"

you nodded quickly, practically squirming beneath him. "yes joon—need it so bad." your fingers found his belt loop—his large hands finding yours immediately, helping you take off his pants entirely.

it was then when you saw the largest imprint strained tightly against his boxers, making you swallow hard without even realizing. his fingers looped around the hem, taking them off in a swift motion as he stood up.

his cock sprung out in front of you—thick, long, and angry with pre-cum glistening at the end. you sat up straight, jaw slightly slack without even realizing. namjoon's lips fought a smirk as he hovered over you, large shoulders swell and thick member curving up.

his low eyes looked down at you, clouded with darkness. he wrapped his large hand around the thick base of his cock, stroking slightly while taking in the sight of you in front of him.

"fuck," he grunted, "don't got any condoms, baby." "it's okay, joon," you replied softly.

"you sure, doll?" he asked, tracing his fingers lightly against your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him fully.

you nodded. "wanna feel all of you," you said almost shyly.

"have no clue what you're doing to me," he responded lowly, almost to himself. then namjoon leaned down, grabbing your hips and lifting you up swiftly. you yelped in surprise as he sat down, bringing you back on top of his lap. only this time, you were skin to skin, your arousal miserably smearing onto his legs.

but he didn't seem to care. his large hands rubbed softly down your sides as he licked his lips. "you're so small, baby," he muttered in your ear, his thumb pressing into the side of your hip. "might break you."

"that's okay," you whispered, peering up at him with big, needy eyes.

"yeah?" he asked darkly, like your response had just snapped the last bit of restraint left in him. he held onto your hips firmly as he pulled you up, aligning your entrance with his cock. "gonna ruin you then, baby."

your hands gripped onto his broad shoulders immediately to steady yourself, his fat tip pushing through your folds and breaking into your tight entrance. you moaned out in a mix of pleasure and pain, feeling every inch of his width pushing slowly into your walls as you sunk down fully on his lap.

his grasp on you became tighter as he guided you further down, hissing in pleasure as he split you open widely with his cock. your eyes shut tight as your inner thighs kissed his. slowly, the tip of his member found the back of your walls, your head throwing back from the overwhelming stretch.

namjoon held you against him firmly, allow you to fully adjust to his length before he captured your lips into a kiss. "it's okay, doll," he murmured against you. "you're taking me so well."

after a minute of soft, warm coos in your ear—namjoon began to slide you up and down his vast length slowly with his large hands, emitting a loud whine from your lips. soon, he picked his pace, his cock repeatedly kissing the deepest part of your hole. "good baby... that's it," he praised lowly.

your head was filled with nothing but the thought of you, him, and his fat cock curving up inside of you and exploring your walls. he took you to a pure state of euphoria as he thrusted up in you. his hold was firm on you as he bounced you up and down his cock.

your eyes fluttered at your view, melting under his piercing gaze— his jaw tightened in pleasure and concentration, low eyes scanning your fucked-out expression hungrily. you nearly screamed in pleasure.

"such a good girl for me," he grunted in your ear, one large palm trailing up your sides before resting along your neck. his fingers wrapped around it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to apply pressure that made your mind dizzy and your pussy clench his member tightly.

his other hand came firmer around your waist before suddenly you were moving—your head being guided back down on the couch while your body was being manhandled by namjoon while he kept his cock buried deep inside of you. one hand settled beside your head while the other remained grazing your throat lightly.

once you both fully adjusted to the new position, namjoon continued to thrust in you, roaming your pussy at an entirely new angle. your wetness gushed around his cock sloppily, filling the room with lewd slapping noises. "you fit around me so well, doll," he muttered breathlessly, breath shooting down your spine as he littered messy kisses along your neck.

his hand traveled from your throat down to your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing it softly. you were a moaning mess beneath him as he fucked you relentlessly now, tip slapping messily against the spongiest part of your walls, making your mind go blank.

his palm found its way around your thigh, lifting it above his shoulder. he closed the distance between you two, cock greedily marking a place inside your hole in a way no one had ever done before as his chest pressed against yours.

he rutted his length inside of you, making your eyes roll back and the couch move back and forth with every movement. "gonna fill you up tonight, doll. gonna make you mine," he murmured. "what do you think, baby?"

you could only moan in response, lost in the feeling of his cock buried so deeply inside of you. "nuh uh," namjoon ticked lowly, his thrusts becoming brutal. "wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby."

"mmph—yes~ make me yours, joon," you whined breathlessly.

you cried out—heat coiling unbearably in your stomach, pure bliss clouding your mind as namjoon picked up his pace, feeling your walls hugging him in tightly. "yeah... right where you belong baby," he muttered. "taking me so good like this."

your second orgasm of the night hit you even harder this time—ripping through you like a monstrous ocean wave. he fucked you through your high, your legs shaking violently against him; release spilling all over his cock as you moaned out his name breathlessly.

"that's it, baby," he grunted lowly as he made his final, slower thrusts, burying himself inside you as deep as possible before releasing his hot seed into your walls. "come on my dick, pretty girl."

your vision was practically filled with stars as your body became limp under his grasp. he milked his cock deep in your walls before he pulled out with a sharp hiss, laying down beside you—lengthy body half on the couch and half off of it.

you both laid there next to each other breathless, chests moving up and down in sync as you processed what had just happened.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

suddenly, the studio is quiet again.

it wasn't completely silent—just the low hum of equipment filling the room with one of his tracks still looping quietly in the background.

clothes half-on, curled against him on the couch with his large arm around your waist, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting you drift away.

for awhile, neither of you say anything. namjoon's fingers moved slowly against your side, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. the movement only grounded you into him more.

then finally, a low exhale left namjoon's lips. "c'mere," he murmurs softly, even though you were already pressed against him. his big hands slid higher along your back, pulling you in even closer anyway until your head was resting properly against his chest.

it only made your cheeks flush a bright red—the moment feeling possessive in a way that was ever so gentle. like he just needed to make sure you were still there. now, you can hear his heartbeat. it thumps steadily now against his large chest.

"you okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod against him. "yeah," you reply softly.

then his lips brush lightly against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss that lingers. "good," he murmurs.

something about the way he said it made warmth spread through your chest again. his hand settles at your waist once more, thumb brushing lightly beneath the fabric of your top. "you still overthinking?" he asks after a minute.

you let out a small laugh against his chest. "maybe a little."

a quiet hum leaves him. "don't."

you tilt your head slightly to look at him. his expression is softer now. his gaze still intense—because he always looks intense when looking at you—but softer. "you regret it?" he asks gently.

you shook your head immediately. "no," you replied, meaning it with everything in your chest.

at your words, something in namjoon's expressions shifts. it wasn't surprise, it was only something deeper. his hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek.

"good," he says again, quieter this time. then, like his confidence had just made a return—"would've been a problem if you did."

you laugh softly, cheeks warming again. "you're crazy, joon."

"for you?" he murmurs. "starting to think maybe."

your stomach flips all over again. namjoon studies you for a second, gaze moving slowly across your face like he's memorizing it. like he still can't believe that you're here. with him, and in his arms.

his hand slides along your thigh gently. this time, it isn't teasing. instead, it feels familiar and warm. "come back to my place," he says quietly.

you hesitate for maybe half a second, but only because your heart is racing faster than your mind. his thumb brushes lightly against your leg. "you don't have to leave, doll," he murmurs.

"you sure?" you ask quietly. because in your past, once guys were done, they were done with your presence for the night—or even forever.

"of course," he says. then, a faint smile touches his mouth, voice dropping a little. "i'm not doing being around you."

and it only seemed that you weren't exactly done being around him either.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

two months later, being with namjoon feels easy. and it wasn't because he was simple. it was the exact opposite.

he's still intense, but still composed. he still walks through every room like he owns it without needing attention from anyone in it. but with you? he's soft in all the places it matters.

namjoon becomes part of your life so naturally it almost scares you sometimes.

mornings tangled up in his expensive sheets while sunlight pours through the massive windows of his house that overlooks the city. his large hand resting on your waist while he scrolls through emails lazily with the other. his bright smile on display every time he made you laugh or blush.

in his free time, he'd show up to your work with your favorite dinner meal. sometimes, he'd sit at a table in your section and order food just to be able to talk to you any chance you'd get.

afternoons where he pulls you into his lap while he's working on music. he'd barely let you sit more than a foot away from him before he was already touching you again somehow.

his fingers through your hair, your legs draped over his. his mouth against your temple when he quietly tells someone important over the phone that he'll "call back later."

and of course, he spoils you constantly. it wasn't in a loud way either. it was more like taking care of you and putting a smile on your face had just become his instinct.

he buys you things you casually mention liking once. he leaves designer bags on the bed like it's nothing. he'd get annoyed when you'd check price tags. he would sneakily place things in your basket at sephora as he trailed behind you, filling it up with everything you simply picked up and looked at.

you even tried to avoid going shopping with him sometimes because you never happened to pay for anything again.

"doll," he murmured one night, pulling your back against his chest, wrapping his large arms around you while you stared at a pair of brand new, christian louboutin red bottoms that he bought you. "if you like them, they're yours. stop thinking so hard."

and god, he hated it when you worked too much. he hated it even more when work stressed you out.

"you should call out," he tells you one morning, voice rough from sleep while you're leaving his bed for work.

you laugh softly. "some of us have to work, joonie."

his buff arms loop around your waist, pulling you back into the mattress effortlessly. "i know," he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling his nose into your warmth. "that's the problem."

eventually, namjoon starts saying it more seriously.

"quit," he says.

you look at him like he's insane every time. "be serious, joon."

"i am serious."

his hands slide along your thighs as you stand between his knees while he sits at the edge of the bed, looking up at you with that same, calm certainty he’s always had.

“i’ll give you whatever you need,” he says simply. “why are you stressing yourself out when you don’t have to?”

and the craziest part of it all to you, was that he meant it entirely. it wasn't because he wanted control—it was because taking care of you pulled at his dimples and his heart more than anything else ever had.

somewhere along the way, you became each other's favorite part of life. people notice too and eventually, the internet catches on.

a photo of you two start surfacing of you leaving restaurant in west hollywood, his hand firm at the small of your back. then, photos of him opening the door for you. and photos of him looking at you instead of the camera.

one set of paparazzi pictures blow up incredibly fast—you climbing into his car while he stands beside you in sunglasses and all black. one hand casually resting against the roof above your head, the other firm on your thigh as you settled into the seat.

neither of you comment on it, not publicly at least. but namjoon doesn't hide you either. because if anything—he loved being seen with you.

you noticed it in the small moments. the way his hand settled on your thigh more confidently when people recognized him on a date. the way he pulled you closer when cameras appeared. the way he looks almost amused by attention instead of irritated.

it was like he was always thinking, yeah, she's with me.

namjoon flexed you more than the music plaques on his wall or the collection of sleek cars in his driveway.

because throughout his entire career, no success, no hit record, or no amount of money—had ever made him look at proud as you do sitting beside him.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

4 months later~

the city outside namjoon's windows is glowing gold and white beneath the dark sky, soft music playing quietly somewhere in his giant house.

you're curled against him on the couch in one of his hoodies. legs across his lap while he scrolls lazily through something on his phone with one hand resting absentmindedly along your thighs.

you both had been like this all evening. quiet and comfortable; surrounded by the kind of silence that only exists when two people know everything about each other completely.

honestly, it could scare you a little. because somewhere along these four months, you and namjoon had stopped feeling temporary. it stopped feeling like some kind of whirlwind or fling.

instead, it just started feeling right. it just felt like you and him and nothing else completely belonged.

you looked over at him. observed the sharp line of his jaw that was softened by the warm lighting. the expensive watch sitting around his wrist. the reading glasses he only wore at home that sat low on his nose while he checked emails.

the realization hit you about a month ago so hard and your chest had felt tight ever since. you were completely, undeniably, and utterly in love with him. but now, you couldn't seem to hold it in anymore.

"you're staring again."

your heart jumps slightly. namjoon doesn't even look up from his phone when he says it. you roll your eyes. "you're obsessed with yourself."

a smirk touches his lips. "no," he murmurs calmly, finally looking over at you. "just obsessed with you."

you look away before he can see your flushed face, but of course he already noticed it. because there simply wasn't a thing he didn't notice about you. his phone turned off immediately. "hey," he said gently.

your eyes lift back to his. immediately his expression changes into something softer, but more serious. his hands slide up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you a little closer across the couch until you're practically in his lap. "what's going on in that head, hm?" he asks.

"nothing."

"liar."

the words are gentle, affectionate in a way. you laugh softly, but it comes out nervous. he catches that too. one hand comes up, brushing lightly along your jaw. "talk to me, doll."

you swallow. your voice comes out quietly—"what if... i love you more than you love me?"

the room goes completely still. namjoon stares at you for seconds that stretch far too long, like you had just said something completely. unbelievable.

his brows pulled together. "baby," he says softly, confused, "what?"

your heart pounds instantly at the name. you try to laugh it off, suddenly embarrassed now. "i don't know, i just—"

"no," he cuts in, hands tightening gently at your waist. they weren't harsh, but it was enough to stop you from spiraling away. "no, don't do that."

you looked back at him. and the way he was looking at you now—god. like this mattered. like you mattered.

"you really think you're ahead of me here?" he asks quietly, eyes boring into yours.

your breath catches as namjoon shifts closer, forehead resting lighting against yours. "i've been in love with you for a while now," he admitted softly.

for a second, you felt like you actually stopped breathing. his thumb brushed slowly against your cheek. "you just took longer to realize it."

a shaky laugh leaves you instantly, eyes burning now. namjoon smiles softly at that, an expression you only ever get to see.

"i love you," he says again, quieter this time. but it was certain, as if it were the most obvious thing it the world.

and suddenly every fear you had—about the age gap, about his fame, about his feelings for you—had totally disappeared. because this man—this calm, confident, impossible man—loves you so deeply that he didn't even hesitate to say it.

your eyes fluttered in disbelief, laughing away the butterflies in your stomach. "i love you too."

the smile that breaks across is face is small, but almost disbelieving. but it was unquestionably proud, like he had just won something prized. after that, he kissed you slowly. he enveloped your lips with his tenderly, soaking in all of your warmth beneath him.

"there you are," he murmurs softly. like you were always meant to end up here with him.

and somewhere between the side of the road and his arms, your little street thing had become everything.

‧₊˚📀✩♬ ₊˚.

a/n : hope u guys loved this as much as i do eee! sorry there was so much relationship building... this is the longest bts fic i've made (on this app at least) omg..but joon is actually so sexy i could die.

read part two here

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.

Inside your apartment, it's a different kind of quiet. Not the peaceful kind. The restless kind, the type of silence that makes your thoughts feel louder.

Soft pop melodies play faintly in the background, but you're hardly listening. You've been pacing between your bedroom and the bathroom for the past hour, towel-clad, caught in that familiar loop of excitement and nerves that comes with getting dressed for a date.

A real date.

Your first real date in a long, long time.

You catch your reflection in the mirror and pause.

You look…pretty. Your skin is still warm from the shower, your cheeks a little flushed, your lips soft and pink. There's nothing particularly different about you tonight, same face, same hair, same favourite earrings lying on the vanity.

And yet…everything feels different.

It hits you all at once how long it's actually been since you let yourself do this. Dress up. Wear perfume. Wait for someone to ring the doorbell and look at you like you hung the stars.

The last time you felt this nervous before a date was with Sunghoon.

Your chest tightens at the thought, at the memory of all those nights you got ready just to be met with mediocrity, or a cold disinterest, or an argument that would end in cancelled plans and tears. How you used to take so long getting ready, thinking maybe if you looked pretty enough, if you seemed effortless enough, he'd love you the way you deserved.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the vanity, exhaling shakily.

You're not that girl anymore, but some part of her still lingers, curled up somewhere deep behind your ribs, whispering, "What if it happens again? What if you're still not enough?"

You swallow the thought.

This is different. This isn't Sunghoon.

It's Jungkook. Your Jungkook.

It's the man who would drive for an hour to get your favourite late-night snack, who pays attention to the way you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater when you're overthinking something. The man who's seen you at your best and your worst. Who loved you even after you pushed him away.

It's Jungkook, who makes you feel safe and comfortable. Who makes you feel wanted, like you're not too much or not enough for him, but just right, exactly as you are.

You straighten up and glance over to the bed.

Miso stares at you from her usual perch, her tail flicking as she makes herself comfortable.

"I'm spiraling," you mutter flatly. "Can you not look so smug about it?"

She yawns.

You sigh and drop your towel, slipping into your robe and heading to your closet to finish getting ready. "You don't get it. It's my first real date in forever. And I know he's Jungkook and he loves me and he's perfect, but still."

Another blink. Another flick of her tail.

"Okay," you mumble. "Maybe I do know he's not going to hurt me. And maybe I do feel really good about this. And maybe I've never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss him every time I look at his stupid, big-eyed, beautiful face."

Miso meows as if to say, "drama queen" and hops off the bed, strolling out the room.

You scoff to yourself. "God, I need help."

Your nerves start to settle the moment you step into your dress. It's new, you bought it while shopping with Jihyo. It's elegant, feminine. It hugs you in all the right places, dips just low enough at the neckline to remind yourself that you're allowed to feel desired by this man. That you want to look and feel beautiful for him.

You add your favorite jewellery and the same perfume he told you made him lose focus during a meeting last year.

You laugh softly as you mist it onto your wrists. "Yeah. You're done for."

You step in front of the mirror once more, smoothing down your dress, your fingers trembling only slightly. You look at your reflection and see someone who's still healing, yes, but also someone brave enough to try again.

You take a deep breath.

You're ready. At least, you want to be. And for Jungkook…that's enough.

Your heart stutters when you hear it. A soft knock at the door. He's right on time. Your breath catches.

He's here. It's finally time.

You open the door and for a moment, you just…stare.

Jungkook stands there, his hair swept back in gentle waves, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a thick coat that envelopes his broad frame. Slim black trousers, polished boots, and snowflakes clinging to the edges of his lashes like they were placed there by fate itself.

He's holding the largest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. Not roses because he knows you're not really a rose girl.

It's a mix of soft pinks and creams, an array of petals like something from a vintage painting. Delicate. Thoughtful. Utterly and disgustingly romantic.

He doesn't speak right away. He just looks at you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted like he forgot how to breathe the second you stepped into view. And maybe he did because there you are, standing in your doorway in a dress he's never seen on you before, glowing from the inside out. Your hair is styled softly around your face, gold glinting at your neck, your lips painted the shade of lust and sin. You look like something out of his dreams.

And he knows that because he's dreamed of this exact moment for months, years even.

"…Hi," you finally whisper, smiling shyly.

Jungkook blinks, exhales, then chuckles under his breath. "Sorry. I kinda...forgot how words work."

You scoff, heat creeping up your neck. "You clean up nice."

"You look…" He shakes his head slowly, like he still can't believe he's about to take you on a date, your first real date together. "You look breathtaking, ___."

You glance down bashfully, brushing your fingers over the fabric of your dress. "You said you were going all out with this date, so I wanted to do the same."

"Yeah, no kidding." He holds the bouquet out to you. "These are for you."

Your eyes widen. "Jungkook…"

"Don't say they're too much. If anything, they're not enough."

You gently take the bouquet, your heart squeezing as you inhale the soft floral scent. "They're perfect."

You step aside to let him in. He brushes past you gently, smelling of fresh cologne and snow-kissed air, and you swear you nearly sway from the combination of it all.

"I'm just gonna put these in some water," you murmur, already padding toward the kitchen.

You find a tall vase, fill it with water, and arrange the bouquet carefully. Your hands tremble slightly, but you try to hide it. Jungkook leans against the kitchen counter, watching you with the softest look on his face.

"You handle flowers like you're afraid to break them," he murmurs.

You glance over your shoulder. "Maybe I am."

In a way, he sees you as his flower, your delicate petals in need of a gentle touch and endless care.

"They're lucky."

"Why's that?"

"They get to be held by you..."

You pause at that, blinking down at the petals, forcing your emotions down as they threaten to spill out before the date has even started. The silence stretches for a beat too long, heavy, full of meaning.

You turn around to find him standing a few inches from you, close enough to feel his warmth radiating through his coat.

"I don't want to ruin your lipstick," he murmurs, his voice low.

Your breath hitches, your lips parting.

"So I'll start here."

He gently takes your hand, turns it over, and presses the softest, most reverent kiss to your knuckles.

Your heart melts.

Something about it, the way he holds your hand like it's the most sacred thing in the world, the way his eyes stay locked on yours as his lips touch your skin, feels more intimate than anything you've ever known.

You blink rapidly, breathing out an airy chuckle. "You're going to kill me."

He grins, straightening up. "Not tonight. I have dinner plans with a very beautiful woman after four years of loving her."

You roll your eyes, a smile spreading wide across your face. "She sounds like a handful."

"She is. But I'm completely whipped, so..."

You're both still smiling when you reach for your coat. He helps you into it, ever the gentleman, brushing your hair out from under the collar with gentle fingers. His touch lingers for a second too long at your shoulder.

"I can't believe this is real," he whispers against your ear.

You tilt your head and glance up, your eyes wide. "What, dinner?"

"This," he says simply. "You. Me. This."

You reach for his hand, your fingers sliding easily into his. "Well...better get used to it."

The air is cold and crisp as you make your way into the parking lot downstairs, snowflakes drifting lazily from the dark sky. Your breath comes out in soft clouds, yours and his hands tucked inside his pocket, fingers intertwined.

His car is parked in the same spot it always is when he comes over to your apartment. He opens the door for you without a word, like it's the most natural thing in the world. When you sit down, the passenger seat warm from the heater already running, you look up at him and smile.

He grins back and shuts the door.

When he gets into the driver's side, he adjusts the temperature and the volume on the radio before glancing over at you. "Warm enough?"

"Mhm," you hum, buckling in while he starts the engine to get going. He pulls onto the road with ease, navigating through glowing streets. Snowflakes cling to the windshield, melting under the wipers. The city looks magical tonight, quiet and lit with the golden haze of winter charm.

The playlist is exactly what you'd expect; soft indie love songs with a little R&B.

You look over at him as he drives, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, his eyes focused, his jaw flexing every so often. You take him in like a secret you're allowed to keep this time. And for the first time in a long time, you're not scared or anxious.

You're just happy.

"You're staring," he murmurs without looking.

"You're hot," you counter shamelessly.

He glances at you with a cocky grin. "You think I'm hot?"

"Incredibly so."

He lets out a deep chuckle, gripping the steering while just a tad harder. "I'm flattered."

You don't notice where he's taking you at first. It's only when the city begins to shift into quieter streets that you sit up straighter, eyes narrowing at the familiar route.

"Wait…where are we going?" you ask suspiciously.

"Somewhere nice."

"Jungkook."

He bites back a smile. "You'll like it, I promise."

You round another corner, and suddenly, there it is. Lit up beautifully against the snow, grand and glimmering like something out of a dream.

The museum.

You blink, looking a bit stunned. "You're taking me to the...museum?"

He puts the car in park and turns to face you fully. "Not just any museum. The museum we went to four years ago."

Your heart practically explodes.

It was back when you were just two coworkers-turned-friends who texted a little too often and lingered a little too long after meetings. The museum visit was your idea, a casual weekend plan thrown out over coffee one Friday afternoon. You didn't expect him to say yes, but he agreed almost instantly. He spent the entire afternoon trailing beside you, his hands shoved deep inside his slacks pockets, too nervous to let them accidentally brush against yours. You didn't know it then, but he spent most of that day trying to work up the nerve to tell you he was developing feelings for you.

"You remember that day?"

"Of course I remember. You made me read every plaque out loud like we were doing an oral exam for one of your classes."

You laugh, your cheeks flushed. "You did all the voices too."

"I was committed. Still am."

You look up at the building, then back at him. "It's closed by now though."

"Not for us," he shrugs and gets out the car, jogging around it to open your door and help you out.

You step out of the car, the cold nipping at your cheeks and nose. The museum is even more stunning up close, blanketed in white, soft light spilling across the marble steps. It looks surreal, like a still from a romance film, or a dream you haven’t fully woken from yet.

You glance over at him as he walks you over to the steps, the snow crunching beneath your shoes.

"You pulled strings for this?"

He grins, his cheeks pink from the cold. "Well, technically Namjoon pulled the strings for me. Having a friend who's the executive director of the museum has it's perks. He was kind enough to let us in after hours. And I kinda…guilt-tripped him and then promised to make him my best-man at our wedding."

You snort as you step inside. "You're an idiot."

The warmth of the museum envelops you instantly, and your eyes drift off, taking in the surroundings.

It's completely empty.

The entire space is silent, no bustling tourists, no rowdy school groups, no guards reminding you not to get too close. Just warm, ambient lighting and the soft sound of instrumental jazz humming gently through the overhead speakers.

Your heels echo faintly against the marble floors.

Jungkook watches your expression closely, his fingers sliding through yours like silk. "You like it?"

Your lips part as you turn in place, your eyes wide. "Like it? Jungkook…this is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."

He pulls you closer to his side, lowering his voice. "Good. I wasn't going for second place."

—

The two of you stroll through the museum, not rushed, not talking too much at first, just absorbing it all. The hush of the space, the warmth of his body next to yours, the quiet thrill of being alone in a place meant to be shared with crowds.

"I forgot how peaceful it is in here without a hundred school kids screaming at ancient pottery," you whisper.

"I forgot how much I like pretending to know things about art."

You glance up at him, smiling. "Oh? And how many lectures are you planning on giving tonight, Professor Jeon?"

He leans in conspiratorially. "As many as you'll let me."

You laugh softly as the two of you come to a slow stop in front of a painting, one of your favourites. The one you first showed him four years ago, the first time you came to this very museum together. Warm colours, soft brushstrokes, a tiny couple holding hands beneath a sun-drenched tree.

He follows your gaze. "That's the one, huh?"

You nod. "It always made me feel like…like love could be soft. Not scary. Not hard work."

He's looking at you, not the painting. "That's what you make love feel like."

Your eyes dart to him, your heartbeat thumping in your ears.

He smiles softly. "You love like that painting. Even when you're scared. Even when you think you're broken."

Your throat tightens.

He glances back at the painting, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter. "I didn't get it the first time we were here. But I do now."

—

You slowly drift through the next few rooms, occasionally stopping in front of something ridiculous or bizarre, like the abstract metal sculpture Jungkook swears looks like a tangled coat hanger.

"This is art?" he whispers dramatically.

"It's...expression," you respond in your most pretentious voice.

He tilts his head. "Looks like my earphones after a day in my pocket."

You let out a loud laugh, lightly swatting his bicep.

The two of you find a bench tucked between two tall marble columns and sit for a minute, shoulders brushing. The air between you buzzes, full of things unspoken.

You glance over at him. "You really remembered everything from that first time here, huh?"

"I remember you stopping to read every single plaque because you just had to know the history and the meaning behind every piece," he grins. "I remember you getting excited about the hidden signature on that oil painting. I remember the way you looked under that skylight like you belonged there."

You blink, trying to find the right words. "That was four years ago," you breathe.

"I know," he nods. "And it's been stuck in my head ever since."

Your breath hitches.

His hand finds yours once more, warm and sure. "You changed everything that day. I just didn't know it yet."

You don’t move for a long time. The two of you just sit there, hands clasped as snow falls softly outside the large windows.

You lean your head against his shoulder. "I never imagined this would be where we ended up."

"Me neither," he murmurs, brushing his lips against the top of your hair. "But I'm so glad it is."

The two of you linger in the silence for a moment longer before Jungkook gently tugs on your hand, his eyes sparkling.

"Come with me," he murmurs, his lips curling into a secretive smile.

You blink up at him. "There's more?"

He leans in, whispering like it's a conspiracy. "We haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

You let him guide you, your steps echoing softly as you walk past darkened exhibit halls and marble sculpted into masterpieces. The museum feels like it belongs only to the two of you tonight, each room waiting to witness this new beginning.

Then you turn a corner and stop in your tracks, your eyes growing wide.

Tucked away in the center of a private gallery, beneath a high domed ceiling and framed by floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, is a small table set for two. A white linen tablecloth drapes over the edges, delicate flickering candles clustered at the center. Two wine glasses sparkle beside simple, elegant dinnerware, and a bottle of red rests in a silver bucket nearby.

There's soft jazz floating through the air, blending with the stillness of the space. And just beyond the table, lining the walls, are portraits from the Romanticism collection, tender scenes of longing and devotion.

You blink once. Then again. "You didn't."

He grins. "But I did."

"Jungkook."

"Namjoon helped. He even picked the wine. He said it would pair well with our dynamic."

You snort. "What the hell does that even mean?"

He gently tugs your coat off and drapes it over the back of your chair. "No idea, but he used the word 'juxtaposition' twice, so I stopped asking questions."

You laugh, your heart full to the brim as he pulls your chair out for you like a total gentleman.

He pours the wine with a flourish, then takes his seat across from you. The candlelight dances in the shadows of his face, warming the corners of his smile.

You raise your glass. "To Namjoon, I guess?"

"To Namjoon," he agrees, clinking his glass softly with yours. "And to finally having a real date."

You sip. The wine is smooth, velvety, just a touch sweet. It's really good.

"I feel like I should've worn something fancier," you joke, looking around at the intimate setting.

He eyes you across the table. "You're perfect. Like...you're wearing the dress version of a love song."

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "Don't start getting cheesy on me now."

"I'm pacing myself."

Dinner is delicious. Namjoon made sure to quietly heat it up in his office and sneak it in after Jungkook sent him a quick text. It's a simple but beautifully plated meal catered by some place he insisted was "Michelin-adjacent." There's perfectly roasted vegetables along with grilled chicken in a delicate cream sauce and a side of parmesan risotto. It's the kind of food that feels fancy but not too pretentious.

You talk between bites, glasses refilled once, then twice. He doesn't drink all that much, mainly because he still has to drive home, but also because he's too distracted by the woman sitting across from him. It's easy conversation, full of familiarity and quiet laughter.

"So…" he grins, poking at the last of his risotto, "how was your week?"

You chuckle. "Are we really doing the 'how was your week' small talk on our first date?"

"I'm trying to be civilized," he grins. "I didn't want to immediately launch into asking how long it took you to read all thirty-four of my love letters."

You give him a sly look over the rim of your wine glass. "Thirty-five."

He blinks. "Wait. Thirty-five?"

You lean forward, looking smug. "You miscounted, baby."

His jaw drops. "But I numbered them."

"Poorly apparently."

He bursts out laughing, covering his mouth with his napkin. "I can't believe you caught that."

"I teach research methodology, Jungkook. My job is literally finding inconsistencies."

He shakes his head, grinning widely. "God, I'm so in love with you."

The words slip out so naturally, so easily, it takes you both a second to notice.

He blinks. Then his eyes widen. "I mean...sorry, is that too forward?"

You smile, setting your wine glass down. "You've said it before. We both have."

"Yeah but that was in the heat of reconciliation passion."

You hum thoughtfully. "Well, this time it was over risotto, which makes it even more serious."

He laughs again, reaching for your hand across the table. You let him take it, his fingers warm and slightly calloused from all the endless hours spent writing in his office.

"You're kinda perfect," he sighs.

You tilt your head with a faint smile. "I can be grumpy and stubborn."

"You're passionate and determined."

"I take up the entire bed."

"Good. I sleep better with you there."

You narrow your eyes. "I eat cereal for dinner at least three nights a week."

"I'll stock up the pantry."

You stare at him, trying very hard not to melt into the seat. "You're gonna make a great boyfriend."

The meal lingers on, comfortable and relaxed. You talk about work, about students and faculty gossip and how Taehyung once accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall and gave a ten-minute monologue on Shakespeare to a calculus class.

You talk about small things, music you've been listening to, TV shows you've been meaning to binge, how he still hasn't finished that book you lent him a year ago.

You keep reaching for each other. A hand across the table. A finger brushing the back of his palm. His knee nudging yours under the tablecloth like it’s muscle memory. And through it all, there's that same electric thread connecting you to each other. Something you don't want to name too loudly, in case the universe is listening and decides something must go wrong.

Luckily for the two of you, tonight everything goes exactly how you wished it would.

Eventually, your plates are empty, your glasses only half-full, and the jazz has faded into a quiet, twinkling piano melody.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, smiling at you. "You full?"

You nod. "I don't think I've been this full and this happy in…ever."

He studies you for a moment, then rises from his chair, walking around the table and holding out his hand for you.

You look up at him, looking puzzled. "What?"

He shrugs. "Just want to hold you for a second."

You take his hand and bite your lip to stop your smile from growing any wider. He gently pulls you to your feet, into his arms and into the slow rhythm of the music.

No one is watching. Nothing else matters.

Just two people, swaying beneath a gallery dome, surrounded by paintings of old love and the soft scent of wine and wax. The candles flicker. The marble floors echo quietly under your steps. You loop your arms around his neck and he slides his hands to your waist, warm and sure, pulling you in until there's barely any space between you.

You rest your forehead against his. "This is ridiculous."

He smiles. "I know."

You play with the hair at the base of his neck, closing your eyes. "It's perfect, Kook."

He tilts his head just slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. "I had to make it memorable."

"It would have been memorable wherever you decided to take me."

"Yeah, but...this is where I think I first realized I was falling for the new political science professor who only saw me as a friend."

You freeze and look up into his eyes.

He meets your gaze, his eyes full of something so tender and sincere. "That day…four years ago. You didn't know it, but watching you walk through this place, the way you lit up when you saw something that moved you...that was it for me. I was done for."

You open your mouth to say something, but your voice fails you. Your heart's too full. Your eyes sting.

Then you hear it.

A soft swell in the music overhead, slow piano, the unmistakable voice of Nat King Cole:

"I love you for sentimental reasons…"

Your breath catches in your chest. You glance up at him, your lips parting. "I love this song."

He nods, suddenly growing shy. "It's your playlist."

"My playlist?" you whisper, your eyebrows furrowing.

"The one I made for you. It was a while back. I didn't have the guts to say how I felt about you, so I made a playlist instead and just…never played it for you."

It's the playlist. The one you caught a glimpse of on the plane to Jeju all those months back. The one he quickly scrolled past out of fear of you catching onto his true feelings.

You stare at him, completely stunned. "Jungkook…"

"I used to play it in my car when I was driving home from work. When I missed you. When I was trying to convince myself that you'd eventually feel the same."

You step even closer, your hands moving from his neck to his face, cradling his jaw.

His eyes flutter shut for a second under your touch.

"I wish I had known," you whisper.

He opens them again, his voice low and thick. "It wouldn't have made a difference back then. You weren't ready. I'm glad you know now."

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering. And then another, closer to the corner of his mouth. And when you finally kiss him on the lips, it's gentle and tender. A little bit sentimental.

His arms tighten around you. Your fingers slip into his hair. The music plays on.

You keep dancing.

And if your cheeks are damp when he kisses you again, neither of you says anything.

You grab your gloves from inside your purse and tighten your coat around your body. The cold air hits you as you step out of the museum, your gloved hand clasped tightly in his bare one. He insists he doesn't need gloves, says he likes how your fingers feel against his, but you catch him subtly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he tries to keep warm.

"You know," you tease as snow flurries swirl around you, "you could just wear gloves like a normal person."

"But then I wouldn't get to hold your hand like this," he responds without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. "God, you're annoying."

He grins, tugging you closer. "Just wait till dessert."

"You already fed me risotto and slow danced. What more do you have planned?"

"Chocolate cake."

Your eyebrows raise. "Really?"

"There's this café two blocks away. Namjoon said they do this insane triple-layer slice. I figured...museum first, cake later. Isn't that how all first dates go?"

You laugh. "Only the ones with men like you."

The café is cozy, tucked into a quiet corner with fogged-up windows and the smell of espresso in the air. Dark wood frames the space and soft bossa nova plays from somewhere behind the pastry case.

Jungkook picks a booth in the far corner, dimly lit and half-hidden by a bookshelf filled with half-read novels and mismatched mugs.

You settle in next to him, shrugging your coat off and letting out a content sigh. "Okay, I admit this is the perfect ending to the perfect date."

He smiles, gently slipping your gloves off your fingers for you. "Don't call it the ending. I still plan to kiss you a million times before the night's over."

A blush creeps up your neck. "Only a million?"

He shrugs. "Pacing myself, baby."

You chuckle, shaking your head as the waitress arrives. Jungkook orders for both of you; two lattes, one slice of their signature chocolate cake, and a side of whipped cream "just because."

When the drinks and dessert arrive, it's almost sinful. The slice of cake is tall and glossy, layered with dark chocolate ganache and drizzled with more fudge than any reasonable person needs. You barely manage a bite before Jungkook scoots closer, fork in hand.

"Open up," he whispers.

You eye him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "What are you doing?"

"Feeding my girl cake. Don't make it weird."

You stifle a laugh. "It is weird!"

"It's romantic," he insists, gently nudging the fork toward your mouth.

You roll your eyes but lean forward anyway, letting him feed you a bite.

It's rich and decadent. It's perfect.

You hum softly in approval as you chew, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When you open them, Jungkook's watching you like he's completely undone.

"What?" you ask, licking a bit of frosting off your lip.

"Nothing," he breathes, his voice hoarse. "You're just…fuck. You're beautiful."

You try to laugh it off, but he leans in and steals a kiss before you can say anything. It's quick, just a soft press of lips, but you feel it all the way down to your toes.

"That's not how you're supposed to eat cake," you murmur, feeling a little breathless.

He grins. "Tastes better that way."

You feed him the next bite just to get revenge, smearing the tiniest bit of ganache on the corner of his mouth in the process.

He grins wider. "You did that on purpose."

"Who, me?"

He leans closer, his eyes hooded. "You trying to play dirty now?"

"You started it," you chuckle.

He kisses you again, longer this time, with tongue, until you're leaning into him and the cake is completely forgotten. His hand rests on your thigh under the table, his thumb brushing back and forth.

"God," he groans when you finally part, his lips brushing your cheek. "I'm never taking you on a date again."

You blink. "What? Why?"

He smirks. "Because I'll just want to make out the whole time."

You snort, lightly smacking his chest. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me, don't you?"

You do.

He pays the bill once the cake and coffees are up, tugs your coat back over your shoulders, and kisses your temple as he holds the door open for you. You step out into the night with a full heart and his hand on your back, guiding you back toward the car. Somehow, even though the night has already been perfect…you know the best part's still waiting at home.

The drive back is quiet.

Thick snow dusts the streets, clinging to rooftops and softening every harsh edge, and soft music hums low from the car speakers, the same playlist from earlier, playing in the background like the soundtrack to your romance.

You glance over at him while he drives, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His jaw is sharp under the glow of the dashboard lights, and his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. His coat is unbuttoned and you can just barely see the thin line of his neck peeking from beneath his shirt collar.

You're trying not to stare. Really, you are, but he's just so sexy.

Like, unfairly so.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "So…"

You try to act casual despite your heart doing full gymnastics.

He casts you a sideways glance. "Where to next?"

You know what he's really asking. You know. But still, the question floats in the air between you, waiting to be answered.

You chew on your lip, playing with the edge of your coat sleeve. "Your place…maybe?"

He chuckles, then immediately tries to cover it with a cough.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile. "Too forward?"

His lips twitch, trying not to laugh, but it slips out anyway. He shakes his head slowly, his gaze flicking over to you, warm and intense.

"You're gonna kill me," he mutters under his breath.

You lean back in your seat, feeling proud. "What, just because I invited myself over?"

"No, because I've spent the last couple of hours trying to behave, and now you're giving me permission to stop."

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Who said I wanted you to behave?"

He exhales sharply through his nose. "You're playing with fire, baby."

You grin, turning toward the window so he doesn't see how flustered you actually are.

Jungkook doesn't speak for a few beats, too busy trying to not speed through a red light or grip the wheel too hard. He finally murmurs, "You know you're staying the night, right?"

"Jungkook. It's our first date," you scoff, pretending to be scandalised.

"Oh, shut up," he laughs, reaching across the console to intertwine your fingers. "You're the one who said 'your place maybe?' with that little smile like you knew exactly what it would do to me."

You try to act innocent. "What smile?"

"That one."

You squeeze his hand, bringing it up to your lips to pepper his skin with kisses. "I missed your bed," you whisper. "And your shower. And your hands...your mouth..."

He groans, trying desperately to keep it in his pants. "We're still fifteen minutes away."

"Guess you better drive faster."

He shoots you a look, his eyes dark with intent, and shifts gears like a man on a mission.

You try not to giggle or squirm but it's hard to sit still when every nerve in your body is buzzing with anticipation.

When he pulls into his driveway and turns off the ignition, there's a pause. A heavy moment where he just looks at you like he's drinking you in all over again. Like he already knows how the rest of the night's going to go, and he's ready for it.

He leans in slowly, a hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth.

"Ready?" he asks softly.

You nod.

"Yeah."

He kisses you once, slow and sure. Then he opens his door and you follow.

The warmth of Jungkook's home wraps around you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the icy chill of the night air outside. The faint scent of cedarwood and fabric softener lingers in the air and you breathe it in after a week of missing it.

Bam lifts his sleepy head from his cozy corner on the couch, his floppy ears perking up when he sees you. He trots over with a groggy little tail wag, clearly torn between excitement and staying half-asleep.

"Hey, big boy," you coo, crouching down to ruffle behind his ears. "Were you waiting for your daddy to get home?"

Bam lets out a little huff and leans into your touch, his tail wagging a bit harder now that you're giving him attention.

Jungkook watches from behind you, grinning as he closes the door and sets his coat aside.

"Sorry, bud," he scoffs, giving Bam a few scratches behind the ear. "She's mine tonight."

You glance up at him, your eyebrows raised. "Possessive much?"

He smirks. "Sue me."

When you rise to your feet again, there's a charged silence hanging in the room. A soft crackle of something sensual in the air.

Jungkook slips past you into the kitchen, rolling up his shirt's sleeves. "You want something to drink?" he asks, already heading toward the fridge. "I've got white wine, ginger ale, coconut water—"

You don't let him finish.

You grab a fistful of his shirt and tug him toward you with zero warning, crashing your mouth into his after waiting to do it all night.

He barely has time to react before your lips are slanting over his, desperate and starving. He lets out a low grunt of surprise, but it melts into a groan as he immediately kisses you back, his hands flying to your waist and yanking you in until your bodies are pressed up against one another.

The fridge door slams shut behind him, forgotten.

You stumble together, step by clumsy step until your lower back hits the kitchen counter. His palms slide up your sides, his fingertips grazing the curve of your waist through your coat, the heat between you buzzing like a live wire.

"Could've warned me," he mutters against your mouth.

"Couldn't wait," you breathe, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

And holy hell, the way he kisses. It's pure sin.

Hot, open-mouthed and needy.

His tongue slides over yours with practiced ease, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that makes your knees buckle. He pushes a thigh between your legs like an expert, and suddenly you're grinding against him without thinking.

Your hands roam up his chest, over the fabric of his shirt. You feel him everywhere. You taste him on your tongue. And then...

"Woof!"

Both of you freeze as a soft snort breaks through the moment.

You look down.

Bam is sitting a foot away, his big head cocked to the side, staring very intently at your bodies pressed up against the counter.

"Jesus, Bam," you mutter, half laughing, half mortified.

Jungkook groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "I forgot he would follow us."

"Do you wanna stop?" you whisper.

He shakes his head and turns to Bam, his voice half serious, half exasperated. "Go to bed, buddy. Please."

The dog doesn't move.

"Bam. Now."

Jungkook only uses that tone with him when he really means business, and you can't lie, it's kinda sexy.

Bam lets out a huff and saunters back to the living room like he's disappointed in you both. You can hear his nails clicking on the floor until he plops dramatically onto his dog bed.

You chuckle. "Do you think we traumatized him?"

"I think," he mutters as he cups your jaw and leans in to kiss you again, "he'll get over it."

And just like that, you're right back where you left off.

His mouth finds yours with renewed urgency, messier now, his hands hungrier, his lips more demanding. He presses you against the counter like he practically wants to devour you, his tongue sliding between your lips while his hands slip beneath your coat, starting to tug it off your shoulders.

You toss it aside on the counter without thinking, your fingers already working to unbutton and push his shirt off, but you can barely focus with the way his hips roll against you, deliberate and slow, giving you just enough friction to need more.

It all feels so good and yet, it's not enough. It's never enough with him. You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just a little.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips, his hands trailing down to grip your ass through your dress.

"You," you whimper, breathless and already trembling. "Just...you, baby."

His hold on your ass tightens like he's been holding back, like your words unlocked something deep inside him.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs, lips brushing past your jaw as he kisses his way to your ear.

You shake your head, already aching to feel him. "Don't stop."

His hand slides down the front of your body, his fingers lifting the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches at your hips and his touch is bold as it skims up your inner thigh.

His touch moves higher...higher, devastatingly slow and calculated until he finds the damp heat between your thighs.

You gasp, jolting a little when he rubs over your thin panties, slow, deliberate strokes of his fingers against the soaked fabric.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath. "You're already wet."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your whines muffled as your hips start to rock into his hand without even thinking.

"You like making me wait, don't you?" he rasps, his other hand gripping your waist to keep you in place. "Driving me crazy all night with those eyes, that smile. This dress. The way you look at me like you know I'd die for you."

You don't even try to deny it. He's right. You do know.

He slides your panties to the side, and your breath hitches when the soft pads of his middle and ring fingers finally slip through your sopping folds, trailing higher to rub your clit.

"Oh my god," you gasp, your head falling back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of his fingers massaging your clit.

"Fuck," he breathes, kissing along your throat. "You're so soft...so wet. I can't believe this is all mine."

You clutch his wrist, moaning into his shoulder as two fingers slide deep inside your entrance without warning. It's so slow and steady, long strokes that drag pleasure through your pussy like thick molasses.

It feels so good you swear your knees give out, but he catches you, holding you firmly against the counter, grinding his palm against your clit while his fingers curl inside your gummy walls.

"Oh f-fuck, Jungkook..."

"I know, baby," he coos, thrusting his fingers deeper before slowly dragging them out, only to push right back in. "I know."

He pumps his fingers in and out of you with skillful control, hitting that perfect rhythm, teasing, deep, then faster when he feels your cunt clench.

You can barely breathe.

His hand is soaked. Your thighs are trembling. And the messy sound of your wetness makes it all feel even better.

He kisses you hard. It's open-mouthed and messy, like he wants to drown in you, and you moan into the kiss as your climax starts to creep up on you. It's fast and sharp, curling low in your belly.

"You gonna cum for me?" he whispers against your lips, his thumb circling your clit faster, gliding with the perfect amount of pressure. "Right here in my kitchen? Gonna cream all over my fingers, baby?"

You nod, gasping for air, your eyes squeezing shut, your nails digging into his bare shoulders. "Yes...yes, fuck..!"

"Let go, baby. Cum for me..."

You shatter with a soft cry, your body arching against him, your walls fluttering around his fingers as he finger fucks you through it, drawing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling frame.

He gradually slows down, letting you come down from your orgasm with gentle strokes, soft kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for some relief.

You're panting. Completely dazed and pinned between him and the counter like a wrecked mess. And he's smiling, wicked and full of pride as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

You groan, watching the way his lips wrap around his fingers, the way his tongue darts out to get every last drop of your delicious juices.

He pulls them out of his mouth and pushes them against your lips as a silent command to open up. You comply and welcome his fingers into your mouth, you tongue swirling around the wet digits, sucking the way you plan to suck something bigger, thicker in a little while.

It's filthy and oh so sexy.

He pulls his fingers out and presses his lips to yours once more. It's slower and sweeter but there's still that edge to him, that heat simmering just beneath the surface.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he's scooping you into his arms, one strong arm beneath your thighs, the other wrapped firmly around your back. You yelp in surprise, giggling as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

"Baby...!"

He cuts you off with a kiss, walking steadily down the hall like you weigh nothing, mouths fused together and bodies still humming from the heated moment in the kitchen.

When he reaches the bedroom, he gently sets you down on the mattress. The soft sheets cradle your back, your dress bunched around your hips, your thighs slick and trembling from your first orgasm of the night.

He stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes sweeping over you like he's trying to memorize every inch. The click of his belt being undone fills the room like a thunderclap in the silence.

Your breath hitches as his fingers move to his fly, undoing his pants with that slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your mouth go dry. He pulls the zipper down with one smooth drag, the metal teeth parting like an invitation.

You sit up on your elbows, then slowly scoot to the edge of the bed. You rest your hands on his hips, just above the waistband of his boxer briefs, looking up at him through your lashes.

His chest rises and falls like even the sight of you is enough to knock the wind out of him.

You gently chew on your bottom lip, the tips of your fingers curling beneath the waistband of his briefs, tugging his pants and underwear down to his thighs in one slow, teasing motion. He lets out a soft grunt when his cock springs free, already hard after making you cum with his fingers, the tip glistening and begging to be sucked on.

You wrap your hand around his shaft, slowly and deliberately, watching the way his brows pinch and his lips part.

"Jesus," he mutters, his head tipping back as your hand begins to stroke his cock. Your strokes are languid, from base to tip with just enough squeeze to make him groan.

You lick your lips, keeping your eyes locked on his face. "You look so good like this."

His hips stutter, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, willing himself to stay patient. Your thumb traces lazy circles around the tip, collecting the slick there and dragging it down his length.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes. "You keep doing that, baby, and I'm gonna cum really fast."

You smile sweetly, batting your lashes up at him. "Poor thing. Can't have that, can we?"

He chuckles, sucking in a breath as you give his cock a little squeeze. "You're evil."

You lean in, kissing just above his hip. "Shhh...just enjoy it..."

His breathing grows ragged and uneven, every muscle in his body pulled taut as your hand works his aching cock in slow, steady pumps. His abs flex with every movement, his thighs tense, a light sheen of sweat beginning to glisten on his chest.

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes; up, down, squeezing gently at the base, teasing the sensitive head with your thumb. You watch every flicker of pleasure that crosses his face, every twitch of his brows, every hitched breath.

It's addictive.

But then…

You lean forward and press the softest, most delicate kiss to the tip.

Jungkook shudders, a sharp, involuntary gasp and his hand immediately shoots out, his fingers tangling in your hair like it's instinct.

"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes blown wide.

You meet his gaze, looking up at him with sweet, intentional eyes.

And then you take his cock into your mouth.

Just the tip at first, slow, warm, wet, sucking gently as your hand continues stroking the base. Your lips wrap around him like you've been waiting for this all night, and the low, guttural groan that slips out of him makes your thighs clench.

"Oh sh-shit, baby..." His voice is already wrecked, his jaw slack as he watches you. "That mouth. Fuck."

You hum around his cock and sink down a little further, your tongue swirling as you begin to bob your head.

Jungkook loses it. His hand tightens in your hair, gripping like he's barely holding himself together.

"You're unreal," he pants. "You're so...so sexy..."

You glance up at him through your lashes, sucking harder.

"You look so fucking pretty like that," he whispers, his voice hoarse and breathless. "Keep those eyes on me, baby. Don't look away."

You don't.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you take him deeper. Your jaw relaxes, your lips stretching as you slide down until his tip hits the back of your throat, and you hold him there for just a second, swallowing around his cock.

He groans deep and gravelly, his hips twitching forward before he catches himself. "Jesus Christ—"

You pull back slowly, a trail of spit connecting your lips to the aching tip, smiling wickedly before licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft.

His body trembles, his shoulders taut, his abs clenching at the pleasure. But even in the haze of it, there's a softness in the way he looks at you.

"God, I love you," he breathes. "You're so good to me."

You smile up at him, your bottom lip grazing his tip. "Love you too."

And then you take him back in again, slower this time, more focused, your hand gliding along the fat shaft while your mouth works the rest. You moan around it, letting the vibrations travel through him, and he bucks into your mouth with a choked gasp.

"Fuck, baby, if you keep going, I'm gonna—"

You pull off just in time, your lips wet and cheeks flushed, and he stares at you in complete awe.

"Not yet," you whisper, stroking the shaft gently. "I want to feel you cum inside me."

That does it.

He lunges forward and pulls you up into a hot, messy kiss. His tongue licks into your mouth like he wants to taste himself on you, his hands roaming your body, searching for skin.

He doesn't say a word as he grips the hem of your dress and tugs it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor.

"Lie back on the bed," he growls. "Now."

You crawl up the bed, breathless and buzzing, your heart racing as you lay back against the pillows in nothing but your panties and a look that says 'come get me'.

And he will.

Jungkook's eyes darken the second you're sprawled across his sheets, your panties damp and clinging to your pussy, your chest rising with every breath. His abs flex with every breath, and your mouth practically waters when he shucks off his pants completely, leaving him gloriously bare.

You reach for him without thinking, your legs parting in silent invitation, but instead, he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed.

You gasp at the sudden movement, grinning as he crawls up over you, caging you in with his body. His hands slide up your thighs, then down again, his fingertips catching the waistband of your panties.

"These need to go," he whispers.

You lift your hips and he drags the flimsy fabric down your legs slowly, watching every inch of skin revealed like he's unwrapping a gift on Christmas morning.

He drops them to the floor without breaking eye contact and leans in, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself as he presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance.

"You ready?" he whispers, his breath ghosting your lips.

Your hands fly around him, your nails lightly trailing down his back. "I've been ready all night."

He groans and pushes in. It feels deliciously slow and deep, his cock fitting nice and snug.

Your lips part with a gasp as his cock stretches you open, filling you inch by inch until he's fully settled inside your pussy, his hips flush against yours. The weight of him, the feel of him, it's enough to make you see stars along his bedroom ceiling.

"Fuck," he grits out, his head dropping to press his face into your neck. "You're so tight."

You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms sliding around his back. "Move, Jungkook."

And when he does, it's everything. He rocks into you with slow, powerful thrusts, his hips snapping with perfect rhythm, his cock dragging against your walls just right. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, your moans spilling freely as he fucks you like he's making a point.

Your hands roam over his back, his shoulders, gripping him tighter every time he sinks in deeper.

"You feel so good," you pant.

He kisses you, messy and hungry, his tongue sliding over yours, and then pulls back, bracing himself on his forearms as he starts thrusting deeper, harder, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

But before you can get lost in the pleasure, he slows, his hips gradually coming to a complete stop. He pulls out, his eyes dark and gleaming.

"On top," he mutters, flipping over onto his back. "Wanna watch you ride me."

You don't hesitate, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. His cock rests heavy and thick against his stomach, glistening with your slick.

You align his cock with your entrance and sink down slowly. Both of you moan at the feeling of the stretch, the heat, the fucking pressure.

Once he's fully inside again, you start to move, grinding your hips in deep circles. Jungkook's hands immediately find your waist, then slide up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as you roll them against his palms.

"Shit, baby," he groans. "Just like that. Ride me."

You pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock, your hands resting on his chest for balance, your head tilted back as pleasure rolls through you. The combination of his cock inside you paired with his fingers playing with your nipples feels heavenly.

He watches you, completely captivated, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "You're so fucking sexy on top."

Your hips move faster, going up and down, grinding hard on the downstroke, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding your rhythm.

"Come on, baby," he grunts. "Use me. Fuck yourself on this cock. That's it. It's all yours."

You slam down harder, chasing that high, your moans sharp and breathless. The head of his cock hits deep, right where you need it, and your body starts to tremble. You reach a hand down to rub your clit, your fingers rapidly circling it.

"I'm gonna c-cum..!" you gasp.

"Do it," he growls, sitting up and catching your mouth in a kiss, his arm wrapping around your waist while the other holds himself up. "Cum for me."

You cry out as your orgasm abruptly slams into you, your hips stuttering as your walls clench around his cock, your entire body convulsing with pleasure. Jungkook grits out a curse and flips you over to lie beneath him again, thrusting into you deep and fast until he lets out a filthy, guttural groan and spills his thick cum inside you with a shudder.

You're both breathless. Boneless. Completely drenched in sweat and absolutely wrecked.

He collapses beside you, an arm draped across your stomach, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving. You both lie there for a moment, the only sound coming from the soft rhythm of your breathing and the thudding echo of your hearts finally beginning to settle.

Jungkook huffs out a breathy laugh, his eyes fluttering open. "Okay…maybe the museum date wasn't the highlight of my night after all."

You let out a soft snort, staring up at the ceiling. "Are you saying I beat out a private museum exhibit?"

He turns his head and looks at you, all smudged lipstick and sex hair, and still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "Oh, baby," he scoffs with a lazy grin, "you demolished it."

You shake your head, hiding your smile in his neck. "You're so dorky."

"And yet here you are," he smiles, his eyes glimmering as he runs his fingers through your hair. "Two orgasms down."

You hum contentedly. "Worth it."

He chuckles and kisses the crown of your head. "Best. Date. Ever."

You both have goofy smiles on your faces, the kind of sleepy, satisfied smile that only comes after total physical and emotional destruction.

The water is already running by the time he scoops you up, his strong arms around your thighs as he carries you into the bathroom. You giggle against his shoulder, your legs wrapped around his waist, still dizzy from the way he just wrecked you.

"You're gonna spoil me if you keep carrying me everywhere," you murmur, your lips lightly trailing along his jaw.

He grins, nudging open the glass shower door with his hip. "Good. That's exactly my plan."

The steam envelops you instantly, warm and thick, curling around your bare skin like a blanket. He sets you down gently in the large walk-in shower, and the second the water hits your back, you both let out soft sighs.

You reach for the body wash, but he gently takes it from your hands. "Let me."