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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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makeyoumine69 · 2 months ago

Text

Last Memory (Memory Reboot x5)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Some time after Patrick and Evelyn got married, Bateman thought he could live a normal life and finally forget about you, but he didn't realize that he was already starting to lose his grip on reality, slowly but surely.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW, Patrick's POV, angst, lots of sex, canon violence, blood, near-death experiences, dark themes, obsession, strong hallucinations, blowjobs, pussy eating, rough vaginal and anal sex, cum eating, tainted love vibes, drug use, depressing thoughts and intentions, blackout and fainting, rough choking, spanking, masturbation, cheating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, degradation kink, self-harm and panic attacks implied, unstable Patrick is a warning himself, I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long af, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 15k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Narvent—Last Memory; Timecop1983—Back to You

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello dear readers, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I just wanted to make this chapter as good as possible! After several rewrites, I think I am finally happy with the result. I'm very sad that Memory Reboot will end in the next update, but I hope you enjoy this angsty story! Also, there are some easter eggs in this chapter, so be on the lookout! And please be aware that there is a lot of trigger material in this chapter, so be careful! Thank you so much for sticking with me, you are all incredible!

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]

An annoying, sonorous alarm sound woke me up and I had to hit it with my fist, almost breaking it, to make it fucking stop. Yawning, I sat on the bed and realized that I was still in Evelyn's apartment; these cream-colored sheets made me want to cry from how much I hate them, but instead of ripping them off, I stretched my arms. The tension in my body, coursing from my shoulders down to my groin, was an eloquent sign that I needed release. With a loud groan, I stood up and briefly grabbed my dick through my white underwear, which seemed to have been hard all night since that bitch Evelyn, who was my wife by the way, refused to have sex again. It was the second time in a row. Sliding my messy hair back, I walked into the living room and noticed that Evelyn had already left. I sighed with relief that I didn't have to see her irritated face since I was already on the verge of going nuts.

In the kitchen, I took the bottle of Evian from the fridge and made a long gulp before checking the time on my Rolex, frowning right away as I remembered Evelyn yapping about me always keeping them on, even when I went to bed.

God, why can't women have their mouths shut sometimes?

With a wry grin, I placed the bottle on the counter and paused for a moment to check my reflection in the gleaming metal door of the refrigerator. Today’s day in the office was going to be tough as hell since I had a fuck ton of stupid meetings I tried to convince Jean to cancel, but she reassured me that it would be too rude to ignore my business partners for too long. Hmmph…

A bit later, when I was almost finishing my work out, I suddenly realized that it had already been two months since me and Evelyn got married. And no, I couldn’t really believe this since all days were like one long day—a day that seemed to never end. Huffing, I did another push-up, the 50th in a row, feeling not tired at all. Small beads of sweat rolled down my tensed forehead and I could care less about brushing them off as I was so focused on the pleasant feeling of my muscles flexing each time my chest almost touched the mat. Normally, sports could easily help me to distract myself, to let off steam, to feel refreshed and clear-headed, but now I was more detached from reality than ever before. And it seemed that no amount of exercise could help. Also, my condition was aggravated by the lack of sex, proper sex. When my muscles finally began to hurt, I stopped doing everything and just lay on the mat, panting and looking at the ceiling above. Then, I slowly looked down at my groin—still hard as rock–before my hand involuntarily grabbed it, eliciting a small gasp to fall from my wet lips. Fuck, I was about to explode from my own touch. That was not normal at all. It was pathetic.

Frustrated, I was certain that even a quick release in the shower wouldn’t soothe my mounting tension. It never did, considering that over the past few days I couldn’t even sleep, and what was worse was that even violence couldn’t bring me this much-needed relief. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was thinking, literally drowning in my obsessive thoughts.

I need more…I really need to get this done. I REALLY NEED IT! I NEED THEM!

I bit my lip and turned on the shower, then got rid of my white boxers, stepped out of them, and strided on the cold marble. The water washed over me like a tidal wave. I closed my eyes and let the steam splash along my flushed face. My skin felt like it was on fire, as if I were about to crash into the sun. I couldn't find any way to relax. I felt desperate and angry. I was pretty mad, too. But would killing you have helped me find peace?

If I knew you were gone, if no one could ever be with you the way I was, would that be what I wanted?

I let out a deep, exhausted sigh and pressed my forehead against the wet tiles, ignoring the way the tip of my cock brushed against the wall, sending tingles into my very core. The images of you covered in blood, trapped beneath me, almost sent me over the edge. I didn't let myself think about it for too long, though, because I knew it would lead to addiction. As if I weren't already hooked. My breathing got a little uneven, and I started scratching at the white tiles as I got hit by a sudden, intense rush of memories. I remembered your voice, your moans, and the way you screamed my name. I wanted to ruin you, to make you bleed, to tear you apart and leave you just like you left me. The pain you caused was so deep, it lingered. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't realize what I was doing. I let my hand rest on my throbbing length while the fingers of my other hand slid down my lower back, right between my legs. The moment I touched my tensed asshole, I moaned. I was loud and needy. I was embarrassed but also aroused. I thrust into my hand, slowly at first but gradually losing control, while my digit slid inside my ass completely with ease. I couldn't hold back my whimpers as I was about to cum. My vision was filled with blood, intensifying my fantasies about you. With my eyes closed, I was on the brink of losing it when I suddenly heard some commotion coming from behind the bathroom door.

"Damn!" I groaned and hit the wall in front of me, my dick pulsing even after I let go of it.

"Honey," Evelyn's voice echoed through the bathroom. I turned to see her casually walking to the shower, her blue eyes curiously examining my bare frame as if she was seeing me like this for the first time. "You didn't close the door."

Fuck, I really didn't.

Scrunching my nose, I pushed my wet hair back and spun around completely, giving her the full view of my nakedness. "I thought I'd leave before you got back..." my reply was brash and sharp. "...at least I hoped so."

Evelyn didn't react, she just stood in front of the shower, blinking and staring at me—at the way the water flowed down my sculpted body, to be exact—and something told me that just watching wasn't going to be enough for her.

"So... are you just going to stay and watch?" I said aloud before opening the glass door and letting some steam out of the shower.

The blonde grinned broadly but remained motionless. "You're not trying to bait me like that, are you?"

Jesus Christ, this woman is really driving me crazy.

Irritated, still struggling with my boner, I wanted to drag her into the shower without even asking and make her freshly bought Chanel suit so fucking shitty that she would definitely throw a tantrum, but I managed to control myself.

Leaning against the wet glass, I watched her unclasp her jewels, gems that shone in the dim bathroom light, my hands instinctively slipping down to my aching cock as I was now the one watching Evelyn take off her jacket, the delicate shape of her collarbones forcing me to admit that my wife was, after all, absolutely gorgeous and even though I didn't feel anything... sublime towards her, I couldn't deny that every time she did things like that, she stirred up a burning desire in me.

"What if I do?" My voice dropped lower from the tension building at the base of my spine. "You'll find another stupid excuse to deny me, like you always do?" I gave myself a slow stroke, biting my lips and quickly licking them as Evelyn removed her blouse and placed her leg on the edge of the tub, pulling up her skirt so I could see her black stockings. "Why didn't you go for Bryce when you had the chance?"

My body stopped listening to me as I said these words, as if I was hypnotized, but I felt no remorse, only a pang of conscience for how pathetic I probably was right now, standing in the shower jacking off to the woman I didn't really love, who was probably having an affair with my best friend all this time as a bonus.

"And you're bringing up Bryce again," Evelyn murmured, grinning like a vixen, her hands working meticulously to remove her stockings, stopping only when she was done with her expensive clothes, leaving herself only in a white Vanity Fair lingerie I'd bought her a few days ago to stop her hysteria. "Why is this only bothering you now...after we got married?"

"W-what?" I almost choked on my breath, my hand around my cock stalled in its momentum. "What are you talking about? It...it never bothered me."

Still, her words struck a chord within me and now I was even more angry with myself than before. Evelyn obviously thought she was in control of this situation—her extra confident demeanor, the way she moved and talked, even her blue eyes looked different now, as a wicked spark glinted in them.

For a fleeting moment, I just stood there, trying to lose myself in the warm streams of water, not really knowing what to say, and a suffocating panic crept into my chest, but then, as I found myself gripping the glass shower door with all the force I could muster so that it wouldn't shatter, my vision blurred for a second before I noticed Evelyn's slender body pressed against the glass, her small but pretty breasts looking so damn inviting that I couldn't hold back a groan.

"What were you saying?" She asked indifferently, the water gurgling mixing with her voice inside my head pulling me into a trance.

"Nothing," I replied, leaning forward and pressing myself against the glass door from the opposite side, my dick brushing against it ever so slightly, but even this mere contact made me close my eyes for a dear moment. "I said nothing..." my eyes darkened, pupils dilated. "Now...get in...will you?" I grinned and tilted my head, watching my wife flutter her thick eyelashes like bird wings.

Evelyn didn't answer, standing still with her body pressed against the shower door, and I couldn't hold back anymore—I just dragged her in, not caring about her expensive lingerie getting soggy—I'd buy her a new one if I had to. With a surprised squeal, she then giggled as the streams of water ran down her fit body, her elegant fingers stroking my cheek for a fleeting moment before I picked her up and turned her around to press her against the cool marble wall. Evelyn's gasp echoed through the bathroom, sending a shiver down my spine, as if I were really into her, into all of this, and if that was not me imagining you in her place, if that was not making me want to be somewhere else right now.

Somewhere where nobody could find me. Us.

"Patrick," Evelyn's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Can you hear me? The water's too hot..."

"Too hot?" I repeated, finding her statement so funny for no reason, but I cooled the water with my free hand anyway, still holding Evelyn in my arms as if she weighed nothing. "I'd say something like..."

"It's not the water that's making it hot, it's me," she cut me off, her face turning into a serious grimace, and for a second I felt like I was going to lose my shit. Is she making fun of me? "I've heard that enough, honey."

Frowning at that fucking nickname I really hated, I noticed the way she was pressing on my shoulders, implying that she wanted me to get her down on the floor, and I did—I didn't want to think, I didn't want to guess what was going through her mind—I just wanted to follow. To feel at least something beyond hatred and disgust. But I guess that was too much to ask.

Without saying a word, I knelt before Evelyn, leveled myself with her perfectly waxed pubic area, her breath hitching as I planted a soft kiss on her mound before tracing a finger along her wet from the water folds through the absolutely drenched fabric of her panties, which were now clinging to her like a second skin. I looked up at her with a mischievous grin, the water hitting my eyes painfully, but I held on to watch that raw need emanating from her body—savoring it like a vampire thirsty for blood.

My actions were smooth, calculated. When I got rid of her damp lingerie, I let the wet clothes that were now spread out on the shower floor fall to the ground, forgotten, and I was sure that Evelyn would have to throw them in a garbage can when we were done. The involuntary arch of her back, her hips brushing against my face and the moan she let out when the tip of my tongue flicked around her feverish clit, that was something I could live with.

Letting Evelyn grind against my face, I began to eat her pussy more feverishly, my one hand holding her open while another was wrapped tightly around my hard dick as I jerked off in sync with my oral ministrations. It was actually a turn-on, but only because I managed to block out all thoughts of you... In another situation they would have helped me to orgasm, but now... now they would only destroy everything.

I groaned when Evelyn pulled my hair harder than I liked, but I didn't want to punish her for it, not now, because I was still going to fuck her and this would be a perfect moment to show her how I felt and what I really needed. But then again, all of this made me feel pathetic in some odd, twisted way, that I was a starved dog who had to struggle to find barely any food to survive—what was my life—I was not living, I was surviving.

"Yes...yes...just like that," Evelen keened again as I tongue fucked her flushed cunt. "Keep...g-going..."

I could feel that she was so close to collapsing, it was kind of amusing how fast I could always make her cum, if only she knew that I always did it for myself, not for her, but for me. "Cum around my face," I spat out, my overalls buzzing from the tensind at the base of my cock; these little tingles were going to make me explode, but I didn't hesitate, increasing the pace of my own stroking. "Let it go. Now!"

My voice was muffled, gruff, I was sure its vibration only added to the overwhelming rush of bliss that was about to descend upon my wife as her legs began to tremble, her thigh on my shoulder jerking as I dipped my tongue inside her while my thumb caressed her oversensitive bud. And then she climaxed, convulsing and barely holding herself from screaming, I watched as she silenced herself with her palm, her eyes closed tightly, I reveled in such reactions, I always had, so I didn't stop as I wanted to prolong this scene—a scene full of fake emotions and this was just an echo of something I had experienced and lost— because if I stopped, I would fucking die.

Maybe this is what I always needed? Just to...stop existing?

Panting, I finally moved away from her hot, now swollen cleft, my own heart pounding so fast, but I couldn't move, I just stayed on my knees, the water falling on me like a heavy rain from that day I followed you to the airport and watched the plane take you away from me. For the second fucking time in a row.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was slowly coming down from her high, her chest heaving and falling so fast that for a moment I thought she was going to pass out, but then she turned and leaned against the wall, swaying her hips in the most inviting gesture I'd ever seen her make.

"Shit," I murmured almost imperceptibly, my basic instincts finally taking over. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gasping, she nodded and craned her neck to look back at me, I quickly stood and hugged her from behind, my lips tracing a short trail of kisses along her shoulder as I aligned myself with her entrance, she was so aroused and ready for me that I felt no resistance as I pushed myself into her malleable body. Just a few fleeting seconds for both of us to adjust before my pace picked up, the sound of wet flesh against flesh filling the room, and I pressed closer to Evelyn, her high-pitched moans fading in my delusions as I gave in—the images of you were so clear in my mind now that I clenched my teeth to hold back my own moans—I was weak and I hated myself for it.

Luckily Evelyn was on the pill so I didn't have to worry about a sudden pregnancy, but there was still some fear I tried desperately to ignore, my thrusts became ragged, raw and deep, I was about to spill myself inside her, both palms cupping her breasts, rubbing soft mounds, but then I squeezed them quite roughly and Evelyn's loud whimper was a sheer testament to my ferocity. Feeling my whole system shatter, I managed to stop myself from sinking my teeth into her neck as my vision turned white as I reached my peak with your name on my lips, though I never let myself say it out loud.

A little later that morning, as I dressed in my freshly tailored dark charcoal flannel double-breasted suit with wide white pinstripes, the sun was high in the zenith and its rays bathed Evelyn's bedroom in a soft golden hue. This brief encounter of intimacy with my wife gave me some hope that maybe there was still a chance to live a normal life, the one my mother and father always wanted for me, the American dream family they always told me about, but my parents never really tried to understand me, but since Sean chose a different path in life, not the RIGHT one, the legacy of my family fell on my shoulders.

Trapped in my thoughts, I didn't even notice the phone ringing somewhere next to me, I turned around to see a small black phone on the nightstand. At first I decided to ignore it, since I didn't really care about Evelyn's business, I didn't care at all, but this time something inside of me started to sting.

Who can call her at this hour?

With a soft click of my tongue, I finished adjusting my cufflinks and looked back at the buzzing phone, deciding to pick it up and find out who the hell was calling my wife. "Yes? Who's this?"

"Hello, Patrick," your voice crawled into my brain like a parasite, I swallowed, my skin covered in goosebumps and I sweated almost instantly. "How's it going? Don't you think it's a bit pathetic to think of me when you're banging your lovely wife?"

"You?" Was the only thing I managed to say. "Where did you get this number?"

I heard you laughing as if you were right next to me. "Tim gave it to me," you replied with blatant audacity. "Uh...you're not happy to hear me? That's a shame because I thought you missed me."

"Listen," I spat into the phone, gripping it so tightly that it was about to break in a half in my hand. "I don't know who you think you are...but believe me when I say I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR FUCKING LIFE! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Patrick? Who are you talking to?" I turned to see Evelyn standing in the doorway, her blue eyes full of concern.

Caught red-handed, I took the phone away from my ear and chuckled. "It's just...a random call...nothing serious." When I said that, her face became even more worried. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Evelyn blinked several times before answering. "I definitely remember turning off the phone before I went to sleep...I always do..."

Her words hung in the air for some time before I could actually continue, and when I finally did, I tugged at my collar from the sudden lack of oxygen in my lungs.

What the fuck?

Under Evelyn's attentive gaze, I looked up at the receiver as if seeing it for the first time in my life, then I pressed it to my ear again and all I heard was silence—a deafening, eerie silence—even a single beep could not be discerned. My throat tightened uncomfortably and I felt like throwing up from the tight knot in my stomach, for I'd never felt such fear before.

"Patrick...are you okay?" The blonde woman asked, not daring to come closer. "Are you taking the medicine your psychiatrist prescribed you..."

"Evelyn!"

"No, I'm serious! This isn't funny Patrick, I'm scared," she suddenly confessed and I swore I couldn't remember seeing her so worried. "You need help...why don't you let people help you?"

With that Evelyn stormed out of the bedroom and I was sure she was crying. Damn women, never give you a chance to explain yourself. I cursed before slamming the phone down on its station with a thud, probably shattering the plastic, but who fucking cared? All they cared about was whether I was taking those fucking pills, but no one really cared about...me.

It took me some time to calm down and finally go to work. I didn't talk to Evelyn before I left, as it was pointless in her current state. As soon as I was outside, I breathed in the fresh air and watched the passers-by walking here and there without even noticing each other, this scene I saw every day, I picked out my Walkman like in a slow motion movie, put the headphones on my head and then attached it to my belt, the next moment I heard Madonna's deep voice surging through my head.

The taxi ride to the Pierce & Pierce office took longer than usual because of the heavy traffic. When I finally entered the high-rise building, I didn't take off my headphones because I didn't really want to talk to anyone, I just walked through the long corridors like a ghost without a name. It was really interesting that I never really thought about my fucking coworkers constantly messing up my name—they didn't know who I was even though we met every week—but you—you remembered it so clearly, there wasn't a single day that you mistook me for someone else. Jean greeted me as always with her sweet smile. Today she wore a dress and high heels. I smiled at such details and pulled up my headphones so I could hear her.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked casually, thinking I was late as I often was.

Brushing her blonde hair, my secretary rose from her seat, clutching her favorite notebook to her chest. "Timothy Bryce called to ask about lunch."

My eyebrows raised in skepticism at her words.

Bryce. Wants to see me after not talking to me for almost a week. Interesting.

"Uh, right, but I thought I had a pretty busy schedule today?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Well, yeah," she quickly opened her notebook and then raised her bright eyes to me. "But you have a little window..."

At some point, Jean's voice became as much white noise as Madonna's song, the lyrics of which slipped away from me like a leaf in the wind. The thought of Tim finally revealing that he and Evelyn were having an affair behind my back, as if they really thought I could be stupid enough not to notice, brought me a strange sense of relief. It was like an itchy splinter in your finger that you couldn't bring yourself to pull out, but you knew that the longer it stayed there, the worse it would get.

"Okay, Jean," I heaved abruptly. "Be a doll and make a rez in a good place. Then call Bryce back."

Jean was noticeably confused, but I was too overwhelmed with my own chaotic thoughts that there was no room for anything else. With a devoted nod, she returned to her seat and I opened the door to my office, where everything was the same, all things in the places I had left them. At least there seemed to be something constant in my life.

The rustling of chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates mingled in a wild cacophony of sounds I was quite familiar with—I was born in the middle of this madness, to say the least, the lush life of people like me was something you couldn't really avoid, though I never tried to avoid it, I enjoyed every little benefit I got from being rich.

So now I was sitting in Delmonico's lash interior, holding a glass of J&B on rocks in one hand and a cigar in the other. I waited for Bryce to come and soon I noticed his approaching figure, his black hair slicked back as usual, and I even chuckled at how fucking punctilious this man always was. Tim ordered a glass of Russian vodka and some seafood appetizers. After a short casual conversation we both fell silent and just when I was expecting him to tell me the reason why he wanted to see me, he suddenly picked up a shiny cardholder and put it on the table, then took out a pack of cigarettes to grab one.

"New cardholder?" I asked, definitely remembering that Bryce used to have a different one. "Looks...nice."

"It's platinum," Timothy commented before lighting his cigarette, his gray eyes scanning the room before focusing on me. "It's a gift...from our mutual friend."

Friend?

I almost bit the inside of my cheek to the point of bleeding. "Really?"

Bryce let out a puff of smoke and pointed to my empty glass. "I heard you quit drinking," he grinned and dabbed the ash from his cigarette. "That you're on... some medication."

"I wonder who told you that," my jaw almost snapped in anger, I had to claw at my knee to regain some composure. "And yes, I had to take medication for a while...but I'm on a break now." I hoped he could tell by the tone of my voice that I wasn't going to continue this conversation. "Who else would know how it works better than you since you went through rehab. Am I right, Bryce?"

I knew how much he hated talking about it, so his recent bravado faded like a cloud of smoke, but his cheeky grin never left his face.

"I get it, I get it," he laughed softly before sipping his drink. "You definitely got off on the wrong foot today, but it's okay," the man swirled his glass in his hand, watching the ice cubes clink against its walls. "I just wanted to tell you that... you're definitely missing something. Or maybe I should say—someone."

Narrowing my eyes, I tilted my head to the side. "Maybe you can tell me something more...specific, or are we going to play that crappy guessing game?"

Bryce shifted in his seat and wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by two familiar voices—Craig and David.

Shit, why did those two idiots have to come right now?

The moment was ruined, and so was I.

"Wow, I can't believe my eyes! See, I told you they had a date," McDermott let out a loud chuckle, my fists clenched, and if we were somewhere else, preferably alone, I'd fucking break my glass against his smug face. "I called Jean and she said you two were having lunch together. Isn't that sweet?"

"Oh, fuck you, McDermott!" Bryce retorted, but he wasn't really angry. "Fuck you and your cheap jokes. Your sense of humor is as flat as the ass of that chick you met in the Tunnel yesterday. Besides, how was she?"

The Tunnel, that damn club that started all this shit. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the unwelcome memories of that day, but all I wanted to do was leave this place. Bryce's words became a breaking point, they helped a cup of weights to turn to another side without him even knowing it. Slowly I rose from the table, ignoring any questions, dismissing them with a clumsy gesture.

This evening was destined to be spent in the Tunnel after everything that happened today. I didn't tell anyone about my spontaneous venture to find some escape in the nightclub full of drug-addicted chicks and yuppies like me. My mind was racing with the idea of doing some coke, all I had to do was find the dealer that Bryce and I always hang out with and get a gram. A very simple plan to forget about all the shit that was going on in my life for a while.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say.

As I strolled across the dance floor, I noticed the bar was pretty empty, so I decided to have a drink before finding the dealer, as the glass of whiskey I had at lunch was not enough. The bartender greeted me with a polite smile as he cleaned the bar.

"Good evening, sir," the man took a shiny glass and set it in front of me. "What would you like to drink?"

"A J&B straight and a Corona." I replied, taking a seat and fumbling for my wallet.

The bartender nodded and went to get my drinks. While I waited, I looked around when I noticed the only person sitting at the bar—it turned out to be a redheaded girl, a very good looking one—I hummed to myself, absolutely sure that such a girl was definitely not alone tonight.

"Your drinks, sir." The bartender placed an open bottle of Corona next to my glass, now filled with my favorite whiskey.

"Thank you." I handed him a few bills before he could even tell me how much I had to pay.

The young man babbled something incoherent that I couldn't even make out, but after I gave him a dead stare, he just took the money and finally left me alone. Annoyed, I checked the time on my Rolex before grabbing a bottle of Corona to take a sip, but I was interrupted again. This time not by the bartender.

"Hey," a soft female voice hung over my ear, sending a massive wave of excitement through me. I turned to see that the chick from the other end of the bar was now standing so close to me that I could smell her flowery perfume. "Are you here alone?"

I wish I could say that, but my thoughts of you were always here, with me, but instead of saying that bullshit, I nodded and grinned, checking her body in the most humiliating way, thinking it would scare her away from me, but the gleam in her green eyes only increased after my move.

God, she doesn't know what she's asking for.

"Yeah, you could say that." I smiled again as she sat down next to me. "What about you?"

The girl leaned against the bar, her ginger hair cascading down her elegant shoulders, and for a moment I couldn't take my eyes off her. "I wasn't supposed to be alone tonight, but...you know how it is...most men are total jerks."

I could barely keep myself from bursting out laughing. "Did someone offend you?" She played with the gold bracelet on her wrist and nodded shyly, a move I suddenly found very sexy. "Do you mind if I get you a drink?"

"First, tell me your name," she muttered in a challenging way—a blatant provocation that I ate like a starved man. "Then I'll think about it."

This girl is so sweet, I bet her insides are the same.

At first I wanted to use a fake name, like I always did, but then I just gave her my real name, because in the end it would make no difference. "Patrick....Patrick Bateman," I finally took a sip of Corona and savored the taste. "And you?"

"Nicole," the girl said, still fiddling with her jewelry. "But I used to have a lot of different names."

"I like this one," I chuckled, smiling charmingly. "It suits a girl like you."

"A girl like me?"

"A beautiful girl...very beautiful I must say." My voice was deep and soft like silk, I noticed the way she straightened her shoulders, slowly but gradually relaxing.

"You really think so?" She asked me, her eyes roaming over my mischievous face, then down to my lips.

Instead of answering, I just smiled in the most enchanting way possible before calling for the bartender to order her a drink. Nicole and I talked for a while—she told me she was from Canada and didn't really have any friends in New York—it was strangely satisfying but I tried to be sympathetic and supportive even though my mind was so far away from here. The ginger girl didn't even notice how she finished one cocktail and then another, while I didn't even touch my whiskey, just idly sipped my bottle of Corona because for some reason I wanted to be as sober as possible.

As the club was getting more and more empty, Nicole was ready to give me a blowjob right at the bar, but I convinced her to go to my place and to be honest, I didn't expect it to be that easy since I hadn't really planned anything like that. I forgot about the drug dealer because now I had to worry about what I was going to say to Evelyn tomorrow because I was definitely not going to spend the night with her.

"Patrick..." Nicole nestled into my side as we sat in the cab. "Did I tell you I know...F-French?"

I crossed my arms and shook my head in dismay. "No, you didn't," I said, looking down at her red, messy hair. "But it's nothing special...you're from Canada and French is your second official language."

Nicole let out a cartoonish giggle that made me cringe. "Oh...you know it? Damn, you're such a smart man...Mr. Bateman...so fucking smart...most guys I've slept with....didn't know that..." she giggled again and tried to pinch my nose, but I shooed her away. "Can you believe that?"

At a certain point, I was even starting to regret bringing her along, but I hoped I'd be able to shut her mouth with something...sharp and maybe deadly. "It happens, Nicole. Like you said, there were so many bad people in this town. Fortunately, you're lucky to have met someone like me."

The girl hugged me at my words, I could feel her drunk breath next to my lips, but instead of turning away I let her kiss me and it felt better than I expected. Soon the cab pulled up to the American Gardens Building. The walk up to my apartment didn't take much time, I was already thinking about how I was going to dispose of her body after I was done with her. Nicole, completely unaware of my dark thoughts, walked around my apartment barefoot as she kicked off her shoes, complaining about how fucking uncomfortable they were.

"Oh, this place is so fucking...c-cool!" She managed to say, swaying from side to side while moving. "Jesus, is that a telescope? Why do you even need that?" Nicole giggled like a child seeing one for the first time, but who knew, maybe she really was seeing it for the first time. "Do you... spy on people with that... thing?"

"No, Nicole." I replied curtly, standing next to her with my hands hidden in the pockets of my tailored pants.

"Are you...an astronaut...from NASA?" She asked, then winced when she finally noticed my looming figure. "Are you... going to send me to the moon tonight, handsome?"

"I'll do more than that," I crooned, placing my hand on her waist and pulling her closer. "But I must say one thing you may not like..." a short pause, then a soft rumble left my throat. "I prefer that beautiful mouth of yours to be closed. Do you understand?"

I was expecting anything other than this bitch dropping to her knees and immediately working on unbuckling my belt. The way she was behaving was both amusing and enticing, but what I enjoyed most was that she was so naive and completely dumb.

"Look at you," I murmured before grabbing a handful of her ginger curls that were blocking her vision. "So inpatient, huh?"

By the time she managed to undo my pants, I was already so hard that my dick sprang out of the confines of my clothes and almost slapped her face, but it didn't bother her at all—I could only see an uncontrollable desire in those big green eyes that were now looking at me as if asking for my permission.

Shameless, pathetic whore.

With a practiced move, I grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer to my crotch, then pressed my engorged dick against her lips, sliding it along them and making her lick off my pre-cum. "Yeah," I croaked, biting my own lips. "I definitely like you more like this...open your mouth, bitch."

Nicole obeyed and the next thing I knew I was thrusting into her mouth, her warmth welcoming me and making me grunt as I bucked my hips into her face, pushing myself further until I heard her gag around my shaft.

"'C'mon, choke on my dick," I snarled, pulling on her hair with brutal force, her nose rubbing against my pubis and I snaked my hand down to rest on her throat, wanting to feel my cock slide along it. "I'm sure no one has ever face fucked you like that...am I right, honey?"

I used that ugly nickname Evelyn always gave me and pulled myself out of her mouth to hear her answer, but she just gulped desperately for air and grabbed my legs for any semblance of support.

"Oh-Christ...you're...s-so fucking big," she wept, trying to wipe the liquid mixture off her chin, but I wouldn't let her, pulling her head back. "Shit...you're really one of those guys...who likes it rough?"

With a devilish smile, I gave myself several quick strokes before answering. "Oh, darling. You can't even imagine how MUCH I like that kind of thing."

Panting, Nicole was not ready for me to invade her mouth again, but I didn't care, just as I ignored her little protest when I fucked her throat and felt the curve of my dick slide into her wet, tight channel. It was a bliss I had always sought, that fleeting moment of raw control over another human, once you tasted it you couldn't stop yourself.

Perfection.

As time passed, I came at least twice in her abused mouth, each time making sure she swallowed every drop, but then I got bored of fucking her face and left her sprawled out on my expensive living room floor, which I would definitely have to call the maid service to clean. Barely alive, Nicole literally vomited my sperm mixed with her blood, her plump lips swollen and bruised from my beatings—I couldn't stress her pathetic whimpering anymore, so I had to act—but she would last a while longer, I was sure of it.

As I rummaged through my stuff in the bedroom to get a condom, Nicole's pathetic whimpering was like music to my ears, but at some point I considered turning on some real music to muffle the girl's screams, although to my surprise she was not that loud. But just in case, I returned to the living room and stepped over Nicole, who was still lying on the floor, to get to my stereo and put on the latest Talking Heads album, True Stories.

"I didn't ask you what kind of music you like," I suddenly chuckled and moved closer to the sobbing girl to crouch down beside her. "But I doubt it would change anything."

After that, I stood up and decided to strip completely, every move I made calculated and mastered to perfection. One second, two seconds....ten seconds and I was almost naked, when the only thing left on me was my gold Rolex, I heard her weak, shaky voice:

"Whitney Houston," she murmured, barely audible. "I love Whitney Houston."

I stopped in my tracks. "Oh...really? What is your favorite song?"

My lips were curled in a smile that came dangerously close to something insane as I carefully placed all my clothes on one of my black chairs before picking up the girl and moving her to the window—away from my white couch that I didn't want to stain with her fucking blood. She didn't struggle, she didn't struggle at all as I positioned her against the window, pressing her bruised face against the cold glass.

"Take Good Care of My Heart," the redhead added as I began to poke at her soaked pussy, which was not shaved like most of the girls I used to have, and to be honest, I really liked it. "I...I really love the whole album."

"Oh yeah," I chuckled into her ear, fixing her in place as the tip of my cock plunged into her, causing her legs to shake. "This is such a good album..."

With that I bottomed her out completely, my balls slapping against her ass, red from my spanking, I thought I could see the outline of my hand. Her little cunt felt no worse than her mouth, but it was not as tight...after being with you, nothing seemed tight enough to me.

Fuck it!

Cursing under my breath, I sped up to pound into her as hard as I could. Thank God the glass didn't break, but I changed our position anyway. Now Nicole was bent over my black leather chair, her ass wiggling every time I thrust into her and I couldn't stop myself from spanking her, I wanted her to fucking scream and cry out in pain but all I could get from her was nothing that could signal that she was in pain. On the contrary, this girl seemed to enjoy it so much, as her hips moved in rhythm with mine, she bucked in my direction to meet my movements.

"Shit, you fuck like a whore," I blurted out, grabbing her hair in a self-made ponytail. "Is that why you came to America? To be a fucktoy for men like me?"

"Mmm...f-fuck me...please...fuck me!" Nicole didn't seem to hear me, I had to squeeze her throat to shut her up. "Ye-yes...fucking...c-choke me...please!"

Stupid bitch.

In one swift motion, I pulled out only to slam into her unprepared asshole, making her scream in pain and fuck, she sounded amazing. Quickly wiping the sweat from my forehead, I pushed her down on my cock, noticing the crimson drops of her blood on my dick, which only spurred me to move faster and more ferociously. This bitch didn't see it coming, but she was still pretty obedient, which started to seem pretty weird to me, because usually by this time women start to panic, fight and try to escape, but this fucking hoe didn't even say a word about the way I was treating her.

And that started to disappoint me.

When I thought I was not going to climax, I closed my eyes and let my imagination take control of my brain. Huffing, I rammed into Nicole harder, fantasizing about you—how we could go 69, your fingers buried deep inside my asshole - I could fucking feel the sensation of them and it sent an electric shock right through my tensed sac.

"Oh, fuck," I gripped her waist with both hands, fucking her with pure abandon. "You...fucking...arrogant prick...I hate you! I hate you s-so fucking much!"

All my curses fell on deaf ears as Nicole only whimpered in response, gripping the back of the chair and the next second I found her cumming around my cock, her inner walls spasming around me, triggering my own orgasm.

When I was finally finished with her, I stood over her trembling body as she lay on the floor again. The girl was shaking and giggling, I thought she probably lost her mind already, so instead of using a knife or something, I decided to just strangle her with my bare hands. I wanted to see life slowly leave her body. I fucking craved it.

"Nicole," I shook her before getting on top of her, pressing her down with the weight of my muscular body. "Look at me."

Nicole's bloodshot eyes couldn't focus on mine for some time, she was stunned, dazed, ruined and intoxicated, I had to slap her face several times before she finally locked her hazy gaze with mine. The sweet anticipation of the kill enveloped my mind, my cock grew hard again as I placed both hands around her fragile neck, I began to squeeze it, lightly at first but then more and more forcefully.

"You made a big mistake coming to America, Nicole." I let out a taunt, not really expecting her to hear it or respond to it.

Everything was going according to plan when she suddenly smiled and covered my hands, not to take them off, but to stroke them with a wicked... attraction?

"Please...kill me already...I beg you..." She couldn't stop herself from crying and laughing.

This was a psychotic episode I had experienced so many times, but I never expected to see it with my own eyes. I froze in shock, losing my grip, and as I did, Nicole pulled my hands back to her throat, shaking me as if to wake me up.

"No, no, no, no! Please...don't stop...please...I want to die! Patrick, please...set me free!" Nicole's voice cracked and I could finally see the sheer desperation in her green eyes, but this kind of desperation was different.

This wasn't the kind of despair I'd seen before...this was something completely different. It was kind of a turn-off for me. The whole evening was fucking ruined, I couldn't believe it. Shaking my head, I stood up and stepped away from her as if from a fire.

"Patrick...please!"

"Shut up!" I yelled, looking down at my own hands—they were shaking so badly. "Shut the fuck up!"

In a panic, I rushed to the bathroom to wash my hands for who knows what reason, then grabbed my robe and put it on. I couldn't really explain what was happening to me, but when I got back to the living room, I picked up Nicole's clothes and threw them at her.

"Get dressed," I ordered, and then I went into the bedroom to unlock my safe and take out several bundles of money. What was I doing? Panting, I paused in the doorway to watch her get dressed, then walked over to her and handed her the money. "I want you to take this, go to a hospital and get back to Canada. Do you hear me, Nicole?"

The redhead was silent, just looking at me with her pleading eyes. "But I don't want to go..."

"You have to." I emphasized the words by lowering my voice. "Just do what I say and everything should be... okay."

"But I don't want it to be okay." Nicole tried to touch me, but I pulled away.

"Just go," I repeated my previous words, this time in a more serious voice. "And never come back."

I spent the rest of the night sitting in the shower, literally sitting on the floor, crying. A lot. My eyes were so red and puffy that I didn't know which ice mask would help me look normal tomorrow. The hatred of myself that rose from my chest to my cheeks and made me nauseous—I hated myself so much that I finally admitted that I had changed—you had changed me and there was no going back. The man I was before died, now I was just an empty being, or maybe a new man had been born in my shallow soul?

When I finally managed to drag my ass out of the bathroom, the phone rang and I was sure it was Evelyn trying to fuck my brain for not coming back to her apartment and to be fair, I wasn't ready for anything like that at that moment, but considering how much of a pain in the ass she was, I didn't want any more consequences if I didn't pick up the fucking call.

As I walked into the bedroom, I took the phone from my nightstand and finally answered the call. "Yes?"

"Patrick! Jesus, I thought you weren't going to answer the call!" It was you, damn it, it was you.

My teeth almost creaked with anger and disbelief. "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off?! Are you stalking me or what? How the fuck did you know I was in my apartment?"

"I... I didn't know... I just decided to try my luck and here we are," you replied, your voice was different than it sounded this morning. "Listen Patrick, I'm in New York right now...maybe we can see each other?"

"See each other?" Those words made me sick. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I know that...things are pretty tense between us, but...maybe we can at least talk about it?"

"No, we can't," I clutched the phone as tightly as I could. "I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear you. Do you understand? If you ever call me again, I'll fucking find you and KILL YOU!"

With that, I dropped the phone on the floor and screamed so loudly that my throat began to hurt. Right now I was nothing but a living madness, the things that were happening in my mind were like an open chasm to hell—a place I'd be one day, I had no doubt about it.

The few days I spent in a dizzy state, I couldn't really remember what I was doing, but the only thing I was sure of was that I couldn't stop thinking about you. Also, I didn't kill anyone for lack of thrill, there was no more adrenaline or excitement—you changed me and now spilling some blood couldn't help me to relieve myself anymore. I felt like I was being shattered into pieces, decomposed into something primitive, for the first time I saw myself as being even more inhuman than I really was.

Inhuman.

What a perfect word to describe everything about me, but I still couldn't understand where I belonged? If not here, could there be a place for a creature like me?

This question was swirling around in my head like a brain worm; that damn rainy evening when I decided to stalk my dear wife. After my rather long absence, Evelyn was about to go to the police, but then I showed up at the door of her apartment at night, high as hell, but she didn't seem surprised at all. I expected her to be mad and angry, but instead she treated me really nice, I could hear her crying and her desperate touch when she hugged me, weeping and sobbing something about being so scared and worried about me and although I didn't believe a single word that came out of her mouth, something stirred inside of me.

The raindrops were falling on my umbrella like Morse code, hitting the surface with such a precise rhythm that I really thought maybe something or someone was trying to send me a sign. The level of absurdity was over the top, and if I were in a different state mentally and physically, I'd be laughing my ass off at this shit, but today I couldn't do anything funny. I couldn't smile, I couldn't sneer, I was like a ghost, a shadow of the person I was before I met you. So here I was, following Evelyn down the street after the taxi ride until I saw her stop at some hotel—a luxury hotel in Upper Manhattan to be exact— and then, after some time, when I thought nothing interesting would happen, a sleek black Cadillac stopped by the street and I saw Timothy Bryce get out of the car—he was holding a black umbrella just like me. Evelyn was so excited to see him that she didn't even wait for them to go inside the hotel, she kissed him now and then without holding back her emotions. This scene made the stone fall off my shoulders; I was so damn happy that I was right and that this fake marriage was about to collapse, but I still couldn't understand why Evelyn married me at all. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, when we finally had a serious talk about it, she would confess that she loved both of us—me and Bryce— and suggested that we all live together.

Say hello to an altered version of the American dream family.

The reality was always cruel, and I knew it too well.

A loud clap of thunder echoed through my apartment, waking me up in my living room, drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily, I turned around to register some pornography playing on my TV, my robe was undone, I was completely naked underneath, some remnants of my cum stuck to my stomach.

Shit, I just blacked out jerking off? This porn really sucks.

And this was the 5th or maybe 10th porn tape I had watched, and I only managed to cum once. Cursing and scowling, I fidgeted on my couch to find a remote control. I was disgusted with my current situation, but then I noticed two thin lines of white powder on my glass coffee table and a twisted $100 bill. Now everything started to fall into place.

Fuck, where did I even get this gram?

I rubbed my head, and instead of turning off the porn, I turned it up louder—two perfect bimbos making out, their oiled bodies wrapped around each other like two snakes—my hand instinctively sliding back to my hard cock, throbbing and soaked with my cum.

"Oh-fuck..." I murmured through clenched teeth as I pumped myself, watching the girls play with their large breasts. "Yeah...suck her tits...suck them like a fucking pacifier..."

The louder their moaning got, the more excited I got, and just when I thought I was about to climax again, I heard... a fucking phone ringing loudly—it hurt my hearing. Confused, I stopped doing anything, ignoring the fact that one slut was now riding on the face of another. There was only one thing I could think about right now— had I turned off my phone or not? Because I definitely remembered pulling the fucking cords out of it, but that thing kept ringing?

Slowly I got up on my stiff legs and walked to the kitchen island to grab the phone, the only light coming from my playing TV and I bumped into something pretty hard before the fucking receiver was in my hand.

"Patrick Bateman's apartment..." I almost whispered, pressing the receiver harder against my head.

"...Pat..." the echo of a familiar voice wailed from the other end of the line, but I still couldn't make out who it was. "...need... -h-help!"

"Who...am I talking to?"

"Patrick, please, help me," your voice sounded so clear now that it echoed inside my skull, drowning out all the sounds of the bad weather outside. "I'm...I'm at Paul Allen's...I need help...please...I think I'm gonna die..."

Was this some kind of prank?

I turned around and scanned my apartment as if someone was watching me right now. I felt insane and cornered, if I was really losing my mind the best option now would be to take more coke and trigger an overdose and then...

"Can you hear me? Please, come here, I'll... give you the address..." and then I heard loud interference and noise, so I had to pull the phone away for a second. "Patrick? Please...talk to me!"

"What...what happened?" I asked, still not believing what I was doing. "Are you in pain?"

"No...yes....Patrick...listen...you should write down the address..."

Without thinking, I grabbed the Vogue magazine lying next to the phone and a pencil, and the next second I was writing down the address where Paul Allen was supposed to live.

"Hold on! I'll be right there!" I suddenly said into the phone, but all I could hear was the agonizing beep. "Hey...I'll be there...do you hear me? I'LL BE THERE!"

Fuck!

I dropped the phone and took several deep breaths before I finally came to my senses, or so I thought. Then I rushed to the bathroom to clean up and put something on without worrying too much. So I grabbed the first suit out of my closet, fixed my hair and left my apartment to take a cab. All the way to Paul's, I was holding a crumpled page of Vogue that I had to rip out. At first I didn't even notice that I wasn't surprised when the cabbie just nodded and we drove off, so this address was real? It meant you really called me? And what about all the previous calls?

Perplexed, I leaned against the cool glass of the car window and watched the nighttime cityscape blur into something unrecognizable, almost falling asleep, but the driver turned on the radio with some cheesy pop songs that kept me awake, as I was too irritated to ignore how much I disliked such music. When the car stopped in front of a towering building like the one I lived in, I paid the driver twice what I was supposed to and got out of the cab. There were no pedestrians and for a moment I really thought that maybe I was still asleep and had to pinch myself to wake up in my living room?

As I entered the building I saw a table where the concierge should be sitting, but there was no one, so I casually opened the journal to find the number of Allen's apartment—I felt a creeping shock when I actually found his name in the journal.

Okay… this feels…too real.

Feeling a strange thrill of the rush, I closed the journal and sauntered quickly across the large lobby to the elevators. Paul's apartment was on the 15th floor, so when the door opened on the floor I needed, I stepped out of the elevator with a heavy weight in my chest. Every step I took resonated with the fast beating of my heart, and when I reached my destination, I didn't know what to do - whether to ring the bell or knock or…

Shaking myself off, I first rang the doorbell—nothing. Then I knocked several times, then again, still no answer. Finally, I put my ear to the door to listen, but I couldn't hear a single sound. Anger overcame me, so I kicked the door and turned to leave. How stupid was I? Maybe mixing my pills and coke wasn't the best idea, but this...

When I got back to the lobby, an old man, who must have been a missing concierge, greeted me with a fake polite smile. "Greetings, sir. How can I help you?"

Annoyed as hell, I stopped next to his small table, adjusted my leather gloves, and pointed to his journal. "I was looking for Paul Allen's apartment, he's my friend and I wanted to see him, but it seems...he's out tonight."

"Oh, Mr. Allen left on a business trip this morning." The concierge said casually, but then he noticed how pale I'd become. "Sir, is something wrong?"

"Did you say he left this morning?" I asked again, feeling a few beads of sweat on my tense forehead.

"Yes, sir," the old man opened the journal and began to leaf through it. "I can even tell you the exact time he left..."

"No need. Thank you." Was all I said before I turned on my heels and headed for the exit.

Outside I noticed that the taxi that had brought me here was still standing by the side of the road. It was strange but I didn't even think about it. I got in and asked the driver to take me back to my place, but first I asked him to give me a moment to sit and think. With shaking hands I picked up the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it, I traced my handwriting before throwing it out the window, my temples pounding so hard I thought my head would explode. Exhausted both mentally and physically, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, not noticing that the concierge I was talking to literally ran out of the building, looking around, seeking someone.

"Let's go." I ordered the cab driver with my eyes still closed. "And can you please turn off the music...my head is killing me."

The taxi drove off and I didn't see or hear the old man following the car. "Sir, wait! I made a mistake about Mr. Allen-"

Today, after I refused to go shopping with Evelyn and help her choose a fucking curtain for her living room, she finally told me that she never loved me, that she wanted a divorce and nothing else from me. The relief I felt was comparable to a good orgasm, to say the least, Evelyn was shocked at my reaction—did she really expect me to beg for forgiveness? But the single mention of Bryce made everything come to its place, I wasn't angry, no, I just couldn't solve this fucking puzzle, what was all this for? If she really liked Bryce, why couldn't she just tell me and go for him? How many times had I told her that? A hundred? A thousand? Millions? Luckily, I wasn't inclined to leave my stuff in her apartment, so I finished my busing with 'moving out' pretty quickly and smoothly, because something glorious and important was waiting for me. The last moment of my drama.

I imagine that maybe someday there will be a show on Broadway based on my life—a great example of a life that no one should have lived—I smiled at the thought, as I always liked to romanticize things in the most clichéd and poetic way. After all, Bryce was right, I was mental, and no matter how hard I tried to run away from the dark version of myself, it would catch up with me one day. And that day seemed to have finally come.

As I walked down Wall Street, wearing my favorite headphones and listening to Huey Lewis and the News, I stumbled by the phone booth—a random idea plagued my mind before I could really think about it. Opening my briefcase, I found my notebook, and soon I was dialing your office number, hoping you wouldn't answer. But my hopes were never to be fulfilled.

To my surprise, I heard a male voice coming from the phone and all the words stuck in my throat like a lump. "Uh...hi...can I talk to..."

"Sorry sir, I can't hear you properly...it might be the bad connection," the voice replied and it made me really nervous. "I'm sorry, but if you want to talk to my boss, they are out of the office right now."

Out of the office…shit.

"Who am I talking to?" I asked, almost fainting.

"Vinc..." an unpleasant static noise came over my brain and I held my eyes closed for a second from the stabbing pain in my temples. "My name is Vincent...I'm .... assistant."

"Listen, Vincent..." I started to speak, not even knowing that he could hear my words. "I want you to tell your boss that...Patrick Bateman called and...this would be my LAST call," I laughed hysterically, leaning against the phone booth door. "I'm going to, uh... disappear..."

A short pause seemed like an eternity.

"You mean you are leaving New York City, sir?" Vincent's question surprised me.

My lips twitched in a wicked smile. "No...I mean...yes..."

"Are you going somewhere in particular, Mr. Bateman?" The man asked me and I stopped breathing for a second.

"I'm going...to a place where no one will ever...find me..."

And with that I hung up the phone. There was already a line of people by the phone booth, and as I walked away, they looked at me with the most disdainful look I could ever dream of mastering. Unfortunately, I wouldn't need it anymore.

Soon the white walls of my apartment would be the only witness to my last confession. My apartment smelled so fresh and good, the maid had just finished cleaning, and I was glad that if the police found my body, they would see that wealth and money were not a panacea for a happy life, although I had believed in it fervently for almost all these years. With deliberate steps, I walked into my bathroom, grabbed a small bottle of medicine prescribed by my psychiatrist, and popped a handful of pills at once. Then I looked at my reflection in the mirror and somehow realized that the mask I had worn for most of my adult life was about to slip. Right now, at this very moment, I was about to die. An abnormal dizziness washed over me, I could barely stand on my feet when I suddenly saw your silhouette behind me in the mirror. I gulped and turned around to see nothing but the empty doorway, my hands shaking so badly that I failed to put the bottle back in its place, dropping it on the floor and scattering pills all over the bathroom.

Holy shit.

A strong gag reflex suddenly took over me and I managed to get to the toilet faster than I could throw up—I threw up all the pills—Jesus Christ, I was so weak I couldn't even finish this... I was so pathetic. In the end, I finally accepted that as the darkness took me in its cold embrace.

Knock…knock…

What is this? Am I still alive?

I kept questioning myself because I didn't feel anything, no pain, no remorse, nothing. But if I were dead, I wouldn't hear that strange sound, would I? I opened my wet eyes and looked up at the white ceiling—I was still in my bathroom— lying on my back, covered in my own vomit, saliva and bile. My mouth smelled like a rotten rat and I knew what I was talking about. The annoying knocking kept coming from my front door, and although I didn't want to get up, I felt that if I didn't, this fucking knocking would never stop.

With careful, unhurried movements, I crawled to the sink and, leaning on the bathroom counter, managed to stand up and quickly brush my teeth, avoiding looking at my reflection because I was sure I looked like shit. After that, I took off my stained clothes and put on a new robe that I had bought myself for no reason a few days ago.

As I approached the front door, the knocking stopped and I thought it was just another hallucination, but I decided to open the door anyway and to my surprise I saw my concierge who looked very worried and even scared.

"Mr. Bateman, thank God you're all right!" The man blurted out, holding his concierge hat in his hands.

"Of course I'm okay," I replied nonchalantly. "What happened? Or did you just come to check on me?"

"Well," the concierge looked away before rubbing his gray mustache. "Someone was looking for you..."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I peered out into the long corridor. "Who was it? Did they give a name? Was it a policeman or something?"

"No, sir." The old man gave me an awkward smile that made me even more angry. "They were so desperate...they were literally storming around the lobby...constantly saying things about you not answering calls and not opening the door...I told them maybe you just left..."

The rest of what he said fell on deaf ears, because now I was absolutely sure who was looking for me. "What time is it now?"

"11 a.m., sir."

"Today is Friday, right?" I asked, my head spinning. "It should be Friday."

The concierge paused. "It's Sunday, sir."

Sunday?

A sharp pang of nausea crept into my stomach, nearly breaking me in half, but I managed to grab hold of the doorjamb for support. "Where is this person?"

"Mr. Bateman, I had to call the police because they were being...kind of aggressive," the concierge explained, stepping back a bit. "The cops arrived pretty quickly...they found out this person had drugs, sir."

I stagger to the side as if from the hard blow. "And what happened next...did they arrest them?"

"I...I guess so?"

I let out a tired sigh, rolling my eyes and trying to keep it together - this poor guy was not guilty, it was just an accident, but how did you get caught with drugs? It was so fucking illogical to me.

My voice was unnaturally soft as I tried my fucking best not to snap at the man across from me. "Did the cops really take them away? Did you see that with your own eyes?" The concierge just nodded, and I could tell by his nervousness that he felt it was his fault at some level. "All right, thank you for your information, remind me to tip you next month." And with that, I closed the front door, leaving the man in a completely bewildered state.

Shit...this whole situation seemed like a fucking joke, but I had to think fast—I needed a plan how to solve this bullshit and maybe I could get some answers if I could help you. I took a moment to collect myself and told myself that one way or another I had to go there...to rescue you.

I'll do it even if I have to burn down this police station.

In record time, my impeccable appearance was ready, and now I confidently walked down the long, dimly lit corridor of the police station that was closest to where I lived—I hoped you were in that station, but if not, I would visit all of them until I found you.

Finally, I reached the reception area, where a pretty policewoman greeted me with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for..." I opened my briefcase and showed her my notebook with your full name written in it. "Are they here, in this department? I believe they were arrested today."

The officer smiled at me before she turned around and started to rummage through some papers, folds, notes... With each passing moment I was getting more and more impatient, but I had to play it cool.

"I think I found the person you were looking for," the woman said, placing several documents on the reception desk, implying that I should take a look at them. "They were delivered here an hour ago."

"Can I see them?" I asked, putting on my casual, seductive smile.

“And what is your relationship to the suspect?”

Damn, not this fucking question.

I was a little stunned at first, but then I quickly tugged at my red tie and tilted my head in a condescending way. "I'm their lawyer, and I need to see them as soon as possible."

I noticed that her expression suddenly changed, her eyes gliding over my massive form—she was obviously trying to access my appearance and compare it to the look of a successful lawyer living in New York City—when I gave her an intense look and then winked, she visibly blushed.

After a small cough, she took the documents and only then dared to look at me again. "The suspect is now in interrogation room number one. Don't get lost."

"Thanks." I grinned broadly and, after closing my briefcase, left the reception.

It didn't take me long to find the interrogation room I needed. As I stopped right next to the door, I checked myself in the reflection of the nearby window—I looked perfect, not as perfect as I used to be, but not too horrible either.

A light knock on the door before I opened it. "Good afternoon, sorry for the long wait. How is my client? I hope you haven't done anything inappropriate in my absence?"

The moment our eyes met, I could see a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something beyond human understanding.

"And who the hell is that?" One of the officers—a rather fat guy with a messy beard—asked his partner, then looked at you. "You said you were from Chicago and your lawyer had to catch a flight here."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said. Why are you telling me my own words?" You crossed your arms and gave me a scorching gaze, I seized the moment of your confusion to nestle into the empty chair next to you. "Probably...my lawyer has handed this case over to his colleague in New York, so he doesn't have to come here."

Both policemen looked at us as if we were idiots—which we definitely were—but I hoped this affair would work out.

"But you asked to be allowed to make a phone call... the whole damn time," another policeman replied, pointing his finger at you and then at me. "I'm going to send you both to jail if you don't tell me what-"

"Jesus Christ, I told you several times...I was at a party...I took someone's coat by mistake and there was...this fucking bag of cocaine, but it's not mine! You can check the fingerprints and you won't find mine on this fucking bag! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?"

"My client is right. Before we get the results of the fingerprint analysis, the presumption of innocence should not be forgotten." I started in the most serious tone I could manage. "Remember that."

Both officers started arguing with each other almost immediately, using many different insults that I would definitely have to remember so that I could present them to Tim— he would love to hear them. I was about to say something clever when the door suddenly opened and a woman with dark hair stepped into the room.

"What the hell is going on?" The woman asked her colleagues, looking disappointed and quite angry. "Everyone can hear you outside."

"Oh, Miss Moore," one of the officers murmured like a guilty child. "Well, we..."

"Detective Moore to you, Rogers," she replied, her posture radiating confidence. You and I both stared at her for a while, I noticed her tanned skin and thick curly hair, she was definitely Hispanic, the accent was also quite noticeable. "Can I confide in you at least once?" Officer Rogers looked at his partner, neither of them said a word, and that made the detective even more annoyed. "We'll talk about it later, now go."

The cops didn't dare protest, and soon they left. Now it was just you, me and Detective Moore in the interrogation room. The tension was palpable in the air, my hands were sweaty and shaking, I had to brush them off my open coat, but before I could, you caught one of them and squeezed it barely sensibly—I gasped, almost choking on my saliva.

After a brief examination of the documents, the woman across from us raised her brown eyes and smiled, not too friendly, but not too menacing either. "So, my name is Andrea Moore," she turned to look at you, holding a piece of paper in her hand. "I already know your name," her piercing gaze finally stopped on me. "May I have your documents, sir?"

Swallowing hard, I unlocked my briefcase to hand her my ID. "Yeah, sure."

"Mr. Bateman...have we met before?"

"No...I don't think so."

Andrea hummed to herself. "Well, I hope you brought your law license with you?"

Your grip on my palm tightened, I almost let out a hysterical squeal. "I... I must have left it in my office."

"Listen," you suddenly spoke up, gesticulating as if you were at a school presentation. "I need to call my assistant, Vincent Eisenhower...he will help sort things out-"

"Wait a minute...did you say Vincent Eisenhower?" Andrea suddenly stopped you, obviously surprised.

"Uh, yeah, he's my assistant at the company I work-"

"...in Chicago?"

"Yes..." you replied in confusion. "Is there something wrong with that?"

The detective didn't answer, and it made me nervous as hell, but you holding my hand in a gentle manner was strangely comforting, even though I despised such displays of affection.

Looking puzzled, Andrea finally took the pen and a clean piece of paper. "Can you give me the number...I'll call Mr. Eisenhower and ask him for...a real lawyer. Mr. Bateman, I hope you understand the consequences of your actions-"

"Leave him alone, it's not his fault," you cut Andrea off before I could say anything in my defense. "He didn't know what he was doing coming here...please...he hasn't done anything bad...he's just going through a hard time in his life and..."

"Enough," the detective raised her hand in a halting gesture. "I hope I can reach out to Mr. Eisenhower....You two better pray for that."

Andrea left as abruptly as she had come. We were finally alone. Both confused, frightened, and lost.

"Why did you even come here?" You asked, not looking at me, but not parting our hands. "How stupid of you to come here and act like you were my lawyer."

"I HAD NO CHOICE!" I almost screamed, turning in my seat to cut the mere distance between us. "Not after you terrorized me with those damn phone calls..."

As I said that, time stood still for us and I could see the inner conflict in your deep, mesmerizing eyes—you were broken and lost just like me—I looked down at our intertwined hands, waiting for your answer.

"What calls, Patrick? What are you talking about?"

"You know WHAT I'm talking about...don't try to fuck with my brain," I husked, inches from your lips. "You think this is funny, huh?"

"And you think it's funny to call my office and tell my assistant about your suicidal intentions?" Your warm breath wafted pleasantly around my face as you moved closer. "You think it's funny to appear and disappear in my life like I'm a toy you can play with whenever you feel bored?"

At first I didn't answer. Instead, I just kept eye contact with you, then I lowered my eyes to our hands again—my palm was bigger than yours, this little detail always made my heart flutter. Did I ever think that such a small thing would stir such strong emotions in me? Probably not.

Definitely not.

"By the way, did you manage to find out anything about that machine you told me about?" I questioned abruptly, putting my arm around your shoulders.

You frowned and chuckled in disbelief. Well, at least the tension was relieved.

"What machine?" You fidgeted in your seat as I pulled you closer. "Hey, don't change the subject..."

"A memory reboot machine," I crooned, leaning forward so our noses rubbed against each other. "If you're here... that means you probably didn't find it."

The urge to indulge in this moment, to follow the passionate momentum and just kiss these lips I'd been thinking about all along, was unbearable, but I didn't want to be the first to fall apart and drop my defenses.

"Maybe I never needed this machine," you replied, pressing your forehead against mine for a brief moment. "Because I never wanted to forget...you?"

Was it a question or a statement—we never knew as we both moved towards each other, my burning lips pressed against your soft ones as we shared the most desirable kiss I could ever imagine. Gasping into my mouth, you let go of my hand only to wrap both of them around my neck as you responded with no less favor than mine. It was so hot, so desperate, so tragic. And it was all mine— your pain, your anger, your hatred.

Because you were my salvation.

With precise deftness, I carefully tilted your head back a little to deepen the kiss, my arms eagerly but not persistently roving around your back, knowing every little detail of your body, every dent and bump. As much as I wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were for me, I didn't want this kiss to end, but as if you could read my mind, you suddenly pulled me away a little too abruptly and roughly.

"God, I hate you..." you wept, covering your face so I couldn't see your tears. "I really... I really thought you were going to do something bad... I was afraid it was too late..."

I was at a loss, I didn't know how to react or what to say—everything about you confused me, made my brain overload with different thoughts about what you said and why—now was no exception.

"But I'm here now...in one piece," I decided not to touch you, my hand resting on the back of your chair, ready to hug you at any moment if it was needed. "You should understand that...if I really wanted to do this, no one would be able to stop me..." I whisper above your ear and place my hand on the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on the table. "Even you."

I knew that this confession would mean nothing, just like all my previous ones, but as soon as I said it, you raised your tear-stained eyes and whimpered. "Don't say that...don't fucking say that! You can be a total asshole, but that doesn't mean you deserve to die..."

"Darling," I gently brushed your stray locks from your face, trying to distract you and keep you from saying words that would only make things worse. "You know so little about me...but I don't want you to say something you'll regret..."

"I've already said too many things that I now regret," you replied, turning away from me. "Have you ever thought about your family and how they would react if something bad happened to you? Have you thought about Evelyn?"

My eyebrows knitted together, the words you said pierced my heart like sharp daggers, but I didn't want you to stop, because you were right, I was always selfish, but you knew so little about my family, who would surely be sad about the loss, but they would recover pretty quickly, since they still had Sean. And Evelyn? I would laugh if things were not so sad.

Trembling and sobbing, you still sat with your back to my face. "I'm not going to ask you for anything except to promise me that you'll never even think about...hurting yourself."

Oh, dear.

With a soft clink of my chair, I stood up and placed both of my hands on your trembling shoulders. "I promise... if you stay with me, I'll never look back... on my previous life." I felt your body tense under my touch. "We can't reboot the memory, but we can...reboot our lives?"

This was it—the moment I had fantasized about so many times, considering different outcomes, scenarios—I was waiting for your answer when the door creaked and Detective Moore appeared in my vision. She was much more cheerful than before, which worried me a bit.

"So," she took a seat, opened a folder with documents and wrote something on it. "I spoke to Vince, and luckily for you, he has already contacted your lawyer-"

"Vince?" You asked in shock, but at least you stopped crying.

Andrea stuttered and cleared her throat. "I mean..." she paused and twirled the pen in her hand. "It happened that Vincent and I used to know each other..."

What?

We were both speechless, how the hell could such a coincidence have happened?

"Well... I really didn't see it coming..." You murmured, brushing the remnants of tears from your face.

"Neither did I," the detective chuckled curtly before resuming her work on some papers. "Listen, we should wait for the results of the fingerprint analysis, and while we wait, you are forbidden to leave the city. Please put your sign here."

"What is this?"

"Your ticket to freedom," she explained. "A street bail."

I saw you hesitate, so I gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and you looked at me, I simply nodded, and you placed the sign.

"And how long have you known Vincent?" You asked after you handed the document back to Andrea. "Just asking."

"Since childhood, I think."

"Oh... that's... a lot."

"Vince has always been known for being a good boy..." the woman paused, coughing awkwardly. "Uh, you can talk to him about... that if you're interested." Andrea closed the folder and shifted her gaze to me. "And you, I highly recommend that you never do anything like this again."

"So you're not going to put me in a cell?" I replied in a slightly teasing manner.

"No...not this time. But the officer who allowed you to come here will be severely punished, maybe even fired," Andrea explained, getting up from her chair. "It's her first day at the police station, but she let a man go through without even checking his papers. Such violations are very serious."

And although I didn't feel sad for this woman I would probably never see again, I looked at you and your big doe eyes. "Maybe there's a way not to fire her? I assured her that I was a lawyer and...I could pay a fine if I had to."

Detective Moore said nothing, she just grinned and beckoned us to follow her.

An hour later we finally left the police station. For some time we walked in complete silence, the surrounding commotion drawing out my shallow breathing, my mind overclocked with the search for topics to talk about after all the shit that had happened.

"So... where did you stay?" I asked casually, looking at you from above, your eyelashes shimmering in the sunlight. "In the Plaza?"

"No," you replied almost immediately. "Not the Plaza this time...it was all booked up."

"You were really in New York... for the whole time?"

"Depends on what time you mean exactly," your slight smile made me almost stumble, but I pretended to see someone familiar. "Maybe I haven't left New York at all?"

No, that can't be.

"You know, since you can't leave the city... maybe we should spend some time together and... you didn't answer my question."

My offer made you stall, and I followed suit. Passers-by walked past us, not paying attention even though we were standing in the middle of the street.

"Was it really a question?"

"And what do you think it was?"

"A plea?" You smiled and stepped closer to me until there was no space between us. "If you weren't so stubborn...everything could be so much easier."

"And YOU tell me that?" I let myself pull you closer to me. "I have an idea...fuck the place where you stopped! We should go to Newport."

"Newport? Would it count that I left New York?" you asked me a little shyly. "Do you have a house there or...?"

"My family has a house there and since they are out of town we can use it to kill time...have you ever been to Newport?" My hands rested possessively on your waist and before I knew it, I added. "Me and Evelyn are getting divorced..."

"No, I haven't," you replied, finally resting your hands on my shoulders. "But I really want to...since I've heard a lot of good things about this place..." then you suddenly froze. "What... What did you say? Are you kidding me? God, I can't believe this...I..."

You continued to bubble something that made me smile in amusement and I couldn't help but hold you tightly in my arms— the place you always belonged to, though I understood it too late. The fresh breeze of change swirled around us, playing with our hair and clothes. Yesterday I didn't know if I would make it to tomorrow, but today I was sure that there would be so many tomorrows because I wasn't alone anymore.

With you, for you, in your name—I was still alive and finally free.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader

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absolutebl · 2 months ago

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This Week in BL - Boyfriend Era is a Go

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

NOV 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - I have to say it, the heist stuff is stupid and all the sidekicks are idiots to the point of annoyance. But Yin and War are truly stellar at these parts. And in general in these roles. Can’t knock 'em. It’s been a year of some very good kisses and this has to have been the best. So this show is top of the standings this week for that kiss alone. Like srs boys? I mean to say, BOYS! How dare. Breaking the internet like that.

Honestly, let's be clear, these two have had killer chemistry since the En of Love and we all expected great things. And now, here we sit, suffering great things from these kings. Thank you, Sirs, may we have another?

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 8 of 15 - I'm chronicling my experience with 2024 as compared to 2014 here. The Per Win story arc never interested me in 2014 and I’m not enjoying it now either. But Mick and Ohm are better in 2024. Nong Mick is a standout character, and a brilliant glow up in this version and he’s a confident little shit (affectionate). The mains are good too, but Phun and Noh always were great characters, and these actors are quite good. Possibly better than the original.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - More bf era delightful diabetes. They are the best boyfriends and the cutest family in the entire world. No exceptions. Next week is definitely doom tho.

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - Talk about making consent and communication sexy! *fans self* Whoah! That was unexpectedly great. The blatancy of the lust in this one was fun too. And the general casual switch nature of the relationship = delightful.

I like the little acting course we're getting from these tw. They are both quite good. I’m not sure I really enjoy the stories that they’re telling, but I do like how they are telling them.

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 6 of 16 - Hill is the premier torch carrier of this year. My goodness. He sure nursed that crush. While I really like this main couple, I’m happy to have some of the others start to creep into the narrative at this juncture. Alone HillTer are a bit intentionally miscommunicative and saccharine. But the screen-time distribution amongst couples seems a little strange. That said, couple 2? No thank you. I really don't like North as a character at all. I find him incredibly unappealing. Ordinarily I'd be on his side because....... blackmail trope renders Johan automatically a complete arse. But at least this is 2 unlikable characters being jerks to each other?

Perfect 10 Liners (Thai Sun YouTube?) ep 2 of 24 - Say it with me Thailand: negging is NOT romantic. Frankly, Arc is just an asshole and a bully with anger issues. But…… Yay cute sides! PondSand they funny. (Book, to me = never very funny. I don’t think comedy is his bailiwick. Look, comedy is HARD ya’ll and usually not in that way.)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 1 of 11 - They’re doing some interesting stuff with the framing (both filming style and narrative) that makes this extremely old-fashioned feeling (like Takumi-kun level). I keep saying that this year, but it feels like BL is doing a lot of rediscovering its roots right now. This one even had a goldfish. And abuse. (The two, oddly, often go hand-in-hand in JBL ) And overall...... it’s a bit weird. Which I don’t mind from Japan. Japanese BL can get weird in a good way. Oh I like it. Bully meats smart loaner, total opposites attract, both are lonely and broken and NEED each other, and all that.

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 13 - Oh dear, our poor little rich boy is very broken indeed. The sides are utterly ridiculous.

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 6 of 7 - I don’t normally like a love triangle, but I kind of like this one since it gave our uke a bit more depth and agency. And charm, quite frankly. So far he’s been a very dower character.

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 9-10 of 12 - Okay boyfriend era is a go. Goodness but they sure are adorable.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 7 of ? - The slow burn is really very slow. To the point of frustration. But I'm still enjoying the show, just not as much as I was.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 8 of 10 eps - Even Japan is going through a bf era rn I see. How unusual.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I’m slightly less annoyed by this one than the original (but I was VERY annoyed by that). I think mame is being tempered by a few things:

There’s so much less time spent on the back-and-forth, because this is a much shorter show, so I have less time to be frustrated by it and the utter uselessness of 75% of these characters.

Also, there's that innate Japanese awkwardness of portrayal & social interaction, which makes the unpleasantness of the characters' behavior and touch more understandable.

This, in turn, is married to the natural kink factor of JBL.

There’s a clearer Dom sub from the get go with this version, makes the blackmailing a little bit more tolerable because it's clearly Play. (negotiated or not) Simply put, daddy wants his brat to beg. And honestly? So say we all.

On a completely different note, the wardrobe for this show is terrible. Like truly bad BAD.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China Sun iQIYI) eps 3-4 - Well I guess that’s that disability dealt with. Meanwhile, competitive bullying art students? I am very amused. Zoo date was cute. This is unquestionably a BL (I’m even more scared now). Still, the gay boys dealing with the straight dude’s crush was truly hilarious. So much "our gay drama doesn’t have time for your het bullshit." Classy move, I smell some Taiwan in this show.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) eps 4-8 end - I was reliably informed this has an HFN end so I decided to watch. Noble and self sacrificing with both of them taking the blame.

My thoughts are...... mixed.

High school student Do Hoe lives with his brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym. When cheerful Ju Young arrives to train, they fall in love. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite over a decade years later. Essentially this is a brilliant narrative about finding love at the worst possible time, surviving chronic abuse, and the way we process mental, emotional, and physical trauma overtime. Yes it’s also a romance, but that’s not primarily what this story is actually about. I can recognize its genius, but this type of narrative is not for me. I’m reminded of bittersweet painful shows like To My Star 2, or The On1y One, or even Not Me. Is this BL tangential or is it some other genre entirely? Am I questioning my own taste because I did not like its content, or because I do not like its genre? And if it’s not BL should I even render judgment? I think I have to lean into the way I approached some of those other shows, which is to say: it is not for me but I recognize that it is of an extremely high-quality that is certainly for someone else.

Recommended, but only if you like masochistic cinema. Under those circumstances 9/10

(but know that if i were rating for my personal taste? 7/10 I’m never re-watching this, and there is a small part of me that wishes I never had)

It's airing but......

Love for Loves Sake got some kind of special supposed to air 11/9. Not sure what, why, or where. Only the rumor that it...... is. I'll believe it when I see it...... literally.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) 10 eps - I've been reliably told not to bother, so I won't.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - I DNF'd at ep 7, I couldn't make it. I am weak. Life is hard enough right now, this show is making it harder. It’s not what I want from my entertainment.

Bad to Bed (Taiwan Sat YouTube) 10 eps - This is a little too low production value even for me. And just very very odd. DNF

In case you missed it

Uncle Unknown finished its run on YT. Censored Chinese BL with paralytically bad production levels. But certainly BL. Boys reunite after a break up only to discover one of them is the step-Uncle of the other. Much to my own shock and surprise I watched all 12 episodes of this. Fortunately, each episode is about 5 minutes long. Under those circumstances is it worth it? Maybe. It’s bad. But not offensive. So that's a win. And you know me, I love a weird take on the stepbrother’s trope and incest taboos. 5/20 watch it only if you have nothing better to do

Next Week Looks Like This:

Gosh there's a lot on right now.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

November BL:

11/15 Caged Again (Thai Fri Gaga) 10 eps - Penguin escapes zoo by turning into a human. Gets trapped again and a panther falls in love with him.

11/17 Your Sky (Thai Sun iQIYI) 12 eps - A naive freshman and the campus’s popular senior agree to pretend to be a couple - but their fake deal begins to generate real feelings.

11/20 Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai Weds YT) ?? eps - Criminals who meet in prison fall in love

11/20 The Heart Killers (Thai Weds YT iQIYI) 12 eps - Jojo directs FirstKhao & JoongDunk in an action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) who meet a tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and a mechanic (Dunk). I'm highly amused that Joong plays the older brother to Khao and that we have a take on the Taming of the ShrewBL. I like that everyone is morally gray. This has all GMMTV's best chemistry in one BL and some fresh concepts that I've only seen tackled in m/m romance novels (check out Amy Lane's Racing for the Sun, thank me later). I'm excited. My only quibble is Jojo, I like his style but his characters can get unreliably messy so…... this gonna be interesting.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

The insane level of his babygirl heart eyes.

Just, have mercy.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

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foreverisntenough · 2 months ago

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‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

P.S. Thank you so much for completing this series. 'Act II' has been a massive labor of love and so much fun to write. I hope you have enjoyed all 25 chapters! ... The End.

The Final Chapter | Chapter 25- 'Fiancé' | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.9k

The next morning, the trip carried on, and you were headed back to Spain. Jude surprised you with a visit to a museum that had captured your heart since he had first taken you there. The moment you stepped inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and aged paper enveloped you, instantly transporting you to a place where art and history intertwined in a beautiful dance. He’d set up another private evening there. It was different though. This wasn’t a big show, this was calm, this was you, this was you and Jude. The viewing felt intimate, just the two of you wandering through the expansive halls, surrounded by masterpieces that had sparked countless conversations between you. You didn’t know why things were so good lately between you two but you weren’t complaining about these moments. As you strolled together, Jude glanced around in awe.

“I can’t believe I’ve gotten to a place in my life where this is what I want to do in my spare time,” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I used to think I’d want to be at home playing video games with Toby, but now…” He trailed off, his gaze shifting back to you, warmth in his eyes. “I genuinely…” He sighed. “I just want to be in these halls with you, angel.” His words wrapped around your heart like a warm embrace, filling you with a sense of joy. You paused to admire a vibrant painting, the colors almost pulsating under the soft lighting.

“I love that you want to share this with me,” you replied, turning to meet his gaze. “Art has a way of connecting people, don’t you think?” You asked sweetly, trying to reassure him it was okay to have that change of preference.

“Yeah, think so. Didn’t know that before though,” he agreed, stepping closer. “Can you talk to me angel… I know it sounds stupid but I want to hear you talk about it all—about color theory, the way you see things. I know I talk a lot,” he said, a teasing smile creeping onto his face, “and ironically, I’m doing a lot of talking right now, aren’t I?” He asked you with that signature Jude smile that always got him out of any trouble. You chuckled, shaking your head as you stepped in front of a piece that caught your eye.

“You’re not wrong, you talk a fucking lot…but it’s okay. I love hearing your thoughts, too. I like when you talk to me too. Just… maybe let me get a word in if you want to hear about something” You teased. He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay! I’ll try to give you a chance to share your brilliance with me. This one…” He pointed to abstract painting littered in colors. “What’s all this about?” He asked. You couldn’t help but grin at his playful banter, the way he made light of his own chatter.

“You know, there’s so much more to this,” you said, gesturing to the painting. “Every brushstroke has a purpose, and the colors evoke emotions that can be incredibly powerful. It’s like they’re speaking a language of their own.” Jude leaned in closer, his attention fully on you. “Sorry…” You started to giggle hiding in your hands embarrassed by your own pompousness.

“Nah, baby, keep going, I want to hear everything you have to say. Your opinions, what you love and what you hate about the art… about the world. It’s all so much more interesting than anything I could come up with,” he admitted, sincerity shining through his playful demeanor. You felt a rush of warmth at his words, knowing how much it meant to you that he truly valued your insights, whether or not he knew what the fuck you were talking about was besides the point. He was listening. He cared.

“I just think art like this is such a reflection of life,” you began, your voice steady as you delved into your thoughts. “It can tell stories, evoke feelings, and even challenge perceptions. The way colors interact with one another can create a mood, a feeling that resonates with people on different levels. Like what you think when you see a color versus what I feel when I see one.” Jude listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke. You could see how much he cherished these moments, how he wanted to understand the world through your lens. This wasn’t his world but you were.

“That’s beautiful,” he said softly, his admiration evident. “I love how passionate you are about this… I like that you like something like this. I know we’ve talked about this before but it’s how I feel about footie, like the history and why things happened matter. But this…” He gestured to the art. “This I don’t understand but I like learning from you.” Jude explained and you nodded in agreement. As you moved through the galleries, you pointed out various pieces that sparked your interest, each one igniting a spark of excitement in your chest. Jude’s questions were thoughtful, encouraging you to dive deeper into your analyses. The two of you debated the meaning behind a particularly abstract piece, your voices mingling with the silence. The more you talked, the more you felt the connection between you deepening. It was as if the walls of the museum weren’t just housing art; they were enveloping your relationship, wrapping it in layers of shared experience and understanding. Each new exhibit was an opportunity to explore not only the art but also each other’s minds.

“Honest, I know I said it before but I never imagined I’d be having conversations like this,” Jude said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “This is what I want to do—explore, learn, grow. With you.” He spoke like this with you often but… it just felt different. You felt a flutter in your chest, a sense of belonging that only seemed to strengthen as you continued your tour.

“I want that too, Jude. This—sharing something I’m care about with you—it makes everything feel more complete.” He smiled, and you could see the appreciation in his eyes.

“You give me a reason to want more, to see things differently. It’s inspiring.” As you stepped into the next gallery, you knew this was just one of the countless adventures you would have together, discovering new art and each other in the process. And with Jude by your side, every moment felt significant, filled with the promise of what was yet to come.The museum’s grandeur surrounded you like a quiet hum, the towering ceilings and pristine walls filled with centuries of creativity and stories. Your footsteps echoed softly as you and Jude strolled through the vast, quiet space, but the world outside felt far away. It was just the two of you, wandering through an endless gallery of masterpieces, each more breathtaking than the last, though none more captivating than the feeling of his hand wrapped securely around yours. Jude had gone unusually quiet, his gaze flickering between the art and you, as though trying to absorb everything at once. You stole a glance at him, catching the light frown of concentration on his face before he turned to you, his eyes soft.

“Do you ever think about having one of your pieces in a place like this?” he asked, his voice casual but tinged with sincerity. You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“It doesn’t work like that, Jude,” you replied, your voice warm with amusement. “It’s not really the goal. You don’t just…get your art in a museum.” He stopped walking and turned fully toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“I don’t know,” he said, feigning contemplation. “I think I could pull a few strings.” Rolling your eyes, you nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Please. You’re not that big of a deal.” He grinned but didn’t let go of the thought.

“Nah, not yet, but for you angel. I’d sort it…” he teased, pulling you closer as the cold air from the tall windows brushed past. His arm wrapped snugly around your waist, anchoring you to his side. You continued walking, but his words lingered between you, and you knew there was something deeper behind them. “It’s just that…” Jude’s voice softened, his gaze returning to the paintings around you. “I think there’s something beautiful about the idea of being remembered like this. I wish footie could be cemented like this. That the art, the artist, all of it becomes part of history. It’s admired, preserved—kept safe. ” He turned to you again, his eyes searching your face, a new intensity there. You felt your breath catch, and suddenly, you weren’t talking about art anymore. You felt that way. That might have been your favorite part of museums. It felt like a dormitory for artists with infinite leases on life. Jude’s words held more weight than the fleeting conversation about museums or paintings. They were about something bigger—something that made your chest tighten in the best way.

“I agree, baby. Are you just saying that… or…” you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You asked nervously, curious and hoping that this wasn’t just a blip that someone might have finally understood why the juxtaposition of the impermanence and permanence in art was so amazing and yet he was throwing you in with it all. Jude smiled softly, stepping in closer, his hand finding its way to the small of your back.

“What I’m saying is that you’re like my piece of art,” he said, his voice tender. “I want to keep you safe, to admire you every day, to learn every little detail about you—like the way people do with paintings. They don’t just glance at them. They study them. They see something new every time… they love them… forever” His fingers lightly traced a line along your arm, his touch gentle, reverent, as though you were the most fragile and precious thing in the room. “And at the end of it all,” he continued, his eyes locking with yours, “I want to make sure the signature at the bottom is mine.” His hand lifted, mimicking the motion of signing his name across your skin, his touch so light that it sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the signature you’d seen thousands of times drag across your skin. It felt like a vow, a promise that extended far beyond words, deeper than any conversation you’d ever had. Your throat tightened, emotion welling up inside you. You swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes.

“I like that,” you whispered, your voice catching. “Maybe just being yours is the only goal that matters to me.” Jude’s expression softened even more, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his eyes before he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. The kiss was soft, lingering, a silent affirmation that said more than any words could.

“Not theirs,” he murmured, confirming, his breath warm against your skin. You knew he meant the world—the prying eyes, the public, the constant scrutiny that came with your lives. “Just mine.” He double downed. You nodded, resting your head against his chest as you stood there in the center of the gallery. The art around you seemed to fade into the background, as though the masterpieces on the walls were mere echoes of the feeling that coursed through you in that moment. You weren’t just two people standing in a museum; you were something more—something eternal, like the art itself. After a while, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, almost bashful smile.

“I never thought I’d find someone who made me feel this way,” you said quietly. “Like I’m something worth protecting.” Jude’s eyes softened further, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

“You are,” he whispered. “You’re the most precious thing in my life.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you felt that familiar warmth spreading through you, the kind that only Jude could give you. It wasn’t just love—it was deeper than that. It was the feeling of being cherished, of being seen, of being held as something irreplaceable. And for the first time, truly, standing there in that gallery, you felt truly at peace. It didn’t matter what the world outside thought, or how chaotic life could be. Jude was your safe place, your home. You realized that wherever you went, whatever happened, as long as you had him, you had everything you needed.

“Jude… I think I need this forever… you forever,” you whispered, glancing around the museum. “Here and everywhere.” You clarified for him. Jude’s lips curled into a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled you close again.

“I promise, angel. I am going to give you forever.” Jude whispered gently. Your heart felt like it momentarily stopped beating. “You will never have to need it, because I will give you this every day of my life,” he said, pressing another kiss to your temple, “every day of your life you will have me in every place.” And in that moment, surrounded by centuries of art, you realized that no matter where life took you, Jude would always be yours and you’d be his. And the world—its eyes, its noise—didn’t matter. What mattered was this. Him. You. The quiet spaces in between where love lived, where you both flourished.

The exhaustion from all the traveling had finally caught up with you as you made your way to the next place. Your body ached, and the thought of another country, another stop on Jude’s whirlwind schedule, seemed unbearable. As the plane touched down in Greece, you leaned back into your seat with a sigh, feeling the weight of it all press down on you.

“Jude, I’m so tired,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Why are we here?” You complained. Jude glanced at you with a soft smile but didn’t offer much in response. You frowned, slightly annoyed. “No, seriously, baby,” you pushed, adjusting your seat belt as the plane rolled down the runway. “Do you actually have work here? Like you in Greece? Is this another shoot or meeting or whatever? Because I still have my bags from New York. This is getting out of hand.” You whined. You were half-joking, but the weariness in your voice gave you away. You momentarily stopped in Madrid but not long enough for you to even unpack your toiletries. Jude reached over, squeezing your hand in that way he did when he wanted to calm you, but the mystery of it all was starting to wear thin. The car ride from the airport didn’t help either. You were too tired to really take in the scenery, the familiar landscapes of Greece passing by like a blur. You stared out the window, trying to piece together why Jude had dragged you here of all places. You couldn’t place how he could possibly have work here. It didn’t make sense. But then, the car slowed, pulling up to a secluded villa perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. Your brow furrowed as you glanced at Jude, still not fully understanding what was happening. But as soon as you stepped out of the car, things began to click. The moment the villa came into view, the memories hit you like a wave, flooding your mind with nostalgia. This was the villa — the place where you and Jude had first met. “Oh my god…” you gasped, the sight of the villa hitting you like a tidal wave of nostalgia. “Wait—this is where we stayed, baby!” You yelped, tiredness leaving your body. Memories rushed back, vivid and overwhelming. You could see it all—Whitney, Trent, the laughter, the late nights, the conversations that stretched until dawn. This was where it had all started, where you and Jude had first properly met. You grabbed Jude’s arm, pulling him closer as you took it all in, your heart racing with a strange mix of disbelief and excitement. “I can’t believe this. Do you remember this? This is where we stayed, where everything started. This is wild. Is this actually a coincidence or did you know?” Jude hummed in response, feigning surprise, but you caught the subtle smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“So fucking crazy, what are the odds” he murmured, pretending to be as shocked as you were, but it was clear he’d planned this all along. You turned to him, eyes wide, still processing it all. You could sense his tone was a bit facetious.

“Jude…seriously…did you plan this?” You asked. He shrugged, that smirk now fully visible.

“Maybe.” He cooed with a glint in his eyes and you felt a bit of nausea washing over you. The exhaustion from the flight still hitting you hard now laced with fear. You were still processing all the travel and back-to-back commitments, so when you realized where you were, confusion quickly had settled in. Confusion, wondering if your traveling had even been for his work at all. You stood frozen, your brain struggling to connect the dots, unable to fully comprehend why you were back here after all this time. Jude watched as the realization slowly escaped you, the shock plain on your face. He couldn’t help but laugh softly at your speechlessness. He approached you with that same boyish charm that had first drawn you to him, his smile growing wider as he gently pulled you into his arms. “Come on, angel,” he whispered into your ear, swaying you gently as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Will you come with me?” He asked gently and patiently. You shook your head, still too stunned to move, your emotions all over the place.

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, still in disbelief. You had a hard time understanding what the fuck was happening. You were stunned, like a deer in headlights. Jude laughed again, pressing soft kisses against your neck in that playful way that always made you melt. He swayed with you, his warmth so familiar, so grounding. His lips grazed your skin once more, and you could feel him smile against your neck as he teased.

“Please?” His voice lilted into a sing-song, pressing another kiss to your neck, each one softer and more coaxing than the last. You giggled despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension.

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice shaky with a mix of nerves and affection. You could feel yourself softening, your body relaxing into his. He kissed you once more, a bit more cheekily this time.

“Please, angel?” he asked again, his lips lingering just long enough to make you giggle through the overwhelming emotion. Finally, with a soft sniffle, you nodded, resting your forehead against his chest for a moment.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with emotion. You weren’t sure what was about to happen but in that moment, you felt safe in his arms, ready to follow him anywhere. You had an inkling but you couldn’t disillude yourself. Jude grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand gently wiping away the small tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“Let’s go, angel,” he said softly, taking your hand as he led you toward the back garden of the villa, the sun casting a golden glow over the shoreline, setting the perfect scene for what was to come. He walked you down the grand staircase. The beach was calm. Empty so although it was clear that this wasn’t some sort of photo shoot for Jude’s work, you weren’t sure what was going on, you couldn’t believe it. Jude’s hand was wrapped tightly around yours as he guided you down the stairs, carved into the cliffside. Each step brought you closer to the beach, where the calm waves lapped gently against the shore. There was a soft glow over everything, the pinks and oranges of the sky blending into the horizon like a painting. You hadn’t questioned it at first but now, the villa, the quietness of the beach, and the absence of a crew—all of it seemed terrifyingly anticipatory. In fact, you had thought this was going to be just another thing Jude’s had to do for work. You assumed maybe he took it because it could overlay as a moment for the two of you to steal away together. But there was something about the air that felt different right now, something almost charged, though you couldn’t quite place it. Something much bigger than a moment away. But you needed to act normal, if it was nothing, like it had been for days you didn’t want to feel disappointed… and if it wasn’t, you didn’t want to ruin Jude’s plan. As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you let go of Jude’s hand walking a bit further before you plopped down in the sand with a sigh, smoothing out the fabric of your dress. The remnants of the day’s heat lingered in the sand beneath you, warming your legs. You looked up at Jude and smiled, extending your hand to help him sit beside you.

“Baby,” you teased, “you’re not going to make me sit here alone, are you?” Jude smiled nervously, his gaze flickering between you and the horizon as he sank down beside you. The sand shifted under his weight, but he seemed restless, like something was bubbling beneath the surface. Both of you awkwardly expectant of something. He was trying to act natural, but his efforts were making him act entirely not. But putting nerves aside, you leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder, oblivious to the storm of thoughts running through his mind, focused on your own. For a moment, you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves lulling you into a trance. But then, faintly carried on the breeze, you heard music. Not just any music—your favorite song, but played by a small orchestra. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “Is that…?” you began, turning your head to listen more closely. Jude’s smile grew, though there was something tight about it, like he was holding his breath. “Whoever is listening to that,” you murmured, “they’re lucky.” You had let yourself fall into ignorance, you couldn’t think straight. There was no way this was happening so the only option you had was to focus on the present moment, and the present moment was pretty perfect, one you didn’t want to leave.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “They are.” Jude chuckled softly, his hand finding yours again, squeezing it gently. You didn’t notice the way he inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself, or how his thumb brushed nervously over your knuckles. You were too distracted by your thoughts blurring with the music, the soft notes floating through the air, the beauty of the moment. He let you sit there, hoping you thought it was all a coincidence, just a beautiful, serendipitous afternoon on the beach. Maybe in retrospect you should’ve put it together but you couldn’t wrap your head around the possibility. It was too scary. Jude’s heart was racing, pounding against his chest like it might burst. This wasn’t just any moment—this was the moment. The orchestra’s music swelled in the background, perfectly timed with the setting sun, casting the scene in a golden glow. Jude shifted beside you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, and you finally glanced over at him, noticing the tension in his posture.

“Jude?” you asked softly, your brow furrowing as you caught the nerves in his eyes. “What’s going on?” He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to catch himself, exhaling slowly instead. He looked away for a moment, out toward the water, gathering the words he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his mind. But now, sitting here with you, in this moment that felt impossibly perfect, every practiced line seemed to slip away.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Jude began, his voice barely above a whisper. You felt a shiver run down your spine, not from the afternoon breeze, but from the tone in his voice. Something was happening. It was happening.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart starting to race as you sat up straighter. Jude smiled softly, his eyes full of something you hadn’t seen before, something deeper.

“This place, this villa, this beach—it’s where everything started for me. And I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s the perfect place for something new to begin.” He reached into his pocket, and your breath caught in your throat. The realization hit you all at once, like a wave crashing over you, and suddenly, the music, the sunset, the villa—it all made perfect blissful sense.

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice trembling, almost cautioning him.

“Angel, c’mere.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you up. Your breath hitched as Jude asked you to stand. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, and your heart pounded in your chest as things slowly began to click in your mind. Everything—the whirlwind of travel, the quiet dinners, the significant places, the sudden romantic gestures—it wasn’t work. It was you. It was your relationship, played out place by place, word by word. Jude’s hand was warm around yours, grounding you as you watched him slowly descend to his knees in front of you. The world around you seemed to blur, your vision narrowing to the boy in front of you—tall, tan, and brighter than the sun itself. The golden light of the setting sun washed over him, illuminating his features, making him look almost ethereal. You felt like you were going to black out. Your mind raced, each realization hitting you like a wave—this was what all of this had been about. “You’re my world,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve changed everything for me, and I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to.” He cooed softly. Tears welled in your eyes as you watched him reach into his pocket, his gaze soft and steady, you shook. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill as the magnitude of the moment fully sank in. “All the places…” he kept speaking, his voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Every stop, every country…” Jude smiled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s you and me, forever, Angel,” he said quietly, his voice full of love, as steady as the waves in the background. Your tears slipped down your cheeks, and a choked laugh escaped your lips as you tried to process everything.

“I just thought you really liked me and wanted me there for work,” you interrupted him unable to help yourself, your words broken by the overwhelming emotion swelling inside you. Jude shook his head, his smirk filled with affection, with knowing.

“No, angel” he whispered, still kneeling before you. Every breath seemed too shallow, and your hands trembled as he finally pulled out a small, velvet box, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he held it out in front of you. “It’s you and me, anyplace, anywhere. That’s all it’s ever been. That’s all it’s ever going to be.” His words wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and comforting, the moment became surreal as he opened the box. Inside was the fattest diamond you’d ever seen, sparkling brilliantly in the fading light of the day, reflecting the hues of the setting sun. It was breathtaking, but not as much as the man in front of you, kneeling there with his heart laid bare. “Will you marry me, mon ange?” he asked softly, his voice steady despite the gravity of the moment. And you didn’t even notice the mispronunciation anymore because it was his pronunciation. His eyes were full of hope, of love, of everything you’d built together. Your whole body trembled as you looked down at him, this boy who had turned your world upside down in the most beautiful way. Tears blurred your vision, and all you could do was nod at first.

“Yeah… Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, baby.” You managed choking out the words. Jude grinned, wide and relieved, his eyes sparkling brighter than the diamond in his hand. Jude slid the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite everything. Then, without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was full of promise, full of love, full of forever. You were speechless, your heart swelling with so many emotions that you didn’t know where to start. You could feel the tears slipping down your cheeks as you held him, this man who had brought so much love and light into your life. The orchestra’s music swelled, the sky painted in vibrant hues of pink and gold, and the world around you seemed to disappear. All that mattered was this moment, this place, and the man in your arms. You kissed him deeply, his lips warm against yours as the waves gently lapped at the shore. You were dizzy with love, with happiness, with the overwhelming realization that your life was about to change forever. Everything felt like it was meant to be. And as you stood there, wrapped in Jude’s arms, you knew this was the beginning of something even more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. The beach, the villa, the setting sun—it all seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you standing there, in love, in awe, in the beginning of something new.

At first, you couldn’t stop sobbing, the weight of it all too much to hold back. Jude kept you close, arms wrapped around you as you stood on the Grecian shoreline for what felt like an eternity, just swaying together in the golden light of the setting sun. Sometimes you just didn’t need words. The sea’s gentle rhythm mirrored your own breathing as you tried to catch your breath between the tears, but the emotions kept coming and going, like waves crashing and retreating. Jude’s grip on you never faltered though, it hadn’t the whole time you knew him, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. You could feel his chest rising and falling steadily, though you knew he was feeling it too—the tears quietly slipping from his eyes, the magnitude of this moment as real to him as it was to you.

“Can I tell everyone you’re my fiancée now?” Eventually, he leaned down and whispered into your ear, his voice soft but filled with so much joy. You let out a small, shaky giggle, though still confused as you pulled back slightly to look up at him. His hands moved instinctively to wipe away the lingering tears from your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin with such tenderness that it made your heart swell all over again. As you took a deep breath, your eyes widened as he turned, his arm still around you. You followed his gaze, your breath catching once more. The staircase you’d descended earlier—the one leading back up to the villa—was now adorned with an elaborate floral arrangement. Beautiful blooms in soft, romantic shades of, white and green lined the steps, twining around the railing, draping down like something out of a dream.

“Oh my God…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stared in awe. Jude just smiled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before tugging you gently toward the stairs. You took a few hesitant steps, but when you reached the first floral-draped step, your heart fluttered again, realizing that this was not just about the two of you anymore. Back up at the villa, you could hear the faint sound of chatter and laughter, and as you made your way up, it became clear—Jude had planned everything. The grand party awaiting you, the surprise of it all. As you climbed higher, you caught glimpses of familiar faces—your family, his family, your closest friends, all gathered in celebration. The moment you reached the top, a wave of applause erupted. You looked at Jude in astonishment, overwhelmed again, but this time by the sheer love surrounding you. Everyone was there—your parents, Louis, Jobe, Whitney—waiting to congratulate you both. Jude squeezed your hand once more, beaming as he raised your entwined fingers for everyone to see, announcing to the world what you both already knew: you were his, and he was yours, forever. You giggled but tears welled up again, this time they were happy tears. You were embraced by your family, laughter and congratulations filling the air, the joy shared by everyone around you as you and Jude stood there, soaking in the moment, now engaged and surrounded by love. As soon as you caught sight of Whitney, her eyes welled up, tears streaming down her face as she pushed through the crowd to reach you. The moment you embraced her, both of you melted into each other’s arms, the years of friendship and every shared secret rushing back in an instant. You both clung tight, feeling like the younger versions of yourselves had finally taken a deep sigh of relief, knowing you’d both found partners who were right for you.

“I’m so happy for you you gorgeous gorgeous girl” Whitney sobbed into your shoulder, her voice breaking with emotion. You pulled back slightly, giggling through your own tears, seeing her eyes bright with pride and happiness for you.

“You’re crying more than I am!” you teased, wiping at your face with a sniffle. The two of you laughed, the sound muddied with sobs of joy. Whitney wiped her tears with a shaky hand and beamed at you.

“I found out the other week,” she gushed, “and oh my God, I had to turn my location off just to keep it a secret! I’ve been dying to tell you.” She smiled. You giggled harder, the emotions bubbling over, feeling like it was all too perfect.

“You’ve fucking known this whole time?” you asked, incredulous. "You liar!" You yelped. She shook her head, laughing through her tears.

“No! No, I found out after Paris I swear! I’m just glad I didn’t slip since! You don’t know how hard it was. But how good did he dooo” The two of you shared another tight embrace, and in that moment, it wasn’t just about you and Jude or Whitney and Trent—it was about the bond you and Whitney had, one built over years of friendship, now seeing each other finally finding the happiness and love you both deserved. It was like a sigh of relief for your younger selves, a moment of pure joy, knowing you had come so far together.

As the laughter of the party swirled around you, you found yourself in the middle of a group of women you loved, each one beaming with happiness for you. Whitney was dabbing her eyes, trying not to ruin her makeup from crying tears of joy. Winnie was playfully teasing you about how Jude had managed to surprise you despite all your ‘sharp instincts.’ Your mum, still slightly in shock, kept looking at the ring on your hand, shaking her head with a smile. Her eyes gleamed with pride, but you could also see a trace of emotion, the weight of the moment not lost on her. The ring, a symbol of so much more than a simple proposal, gleamed as the women continued to gush over how perfectly it suited you. Whitney’s mum chimed in, joking that she wished she had a Jude to pick out jewelry for her. The conversation was light and airy, filled with the kind of shared happiness only women who have known each other for years could have. Everyone was buzzing, their energy as golden as the light from the setting sun. And then, a tiny, familiar giggle cut through the conversation. You glanced over to see Teddy, breaking free from Trent’s grasp, her chubby little legs carrying her swiftly across the lawn toward you.

“Mama!” Teddy squealed, clinging to Whitney’s leg, hugging her. Whitney, still emotional from the evening, smiled warmly and beant down to kiss her hair but Teddy’s attention was quickly diverted when she spotted you. Her wide eyes, full of innocent curiosity, locked onto you, and you could see the wheels turning in her little head. She slipped from Whitney’s arms and made a beeline for you, determination in every tiny step.

“I sorry,” she said, her voice a soft babble, tugging at the hem of your dress. You bent down to her level, confused but charmed by her earnestness. Teddy’s eyes were so big, her tiny face serious as she seemed to be weighing something in her mind.

“Sorry? What for, sweet girl?” you asked, your voice soft as you brushed a curl from her face. You crouched down to her level, letting her know she had your full attention. Teddy shifted on her feet, biting her lip slightly before finally spilling the beans.

“Judey told was gonna marry you,” she confessed in a rush, the words stumbling over each other in her eagerness. “Daddy and Judey and me had pinky promise. So they told I can’t tell auntie … I sorry.” She frowned feeling guilty. Your heart melted instantly. You felt an overwhelming warmth at her sincerity, the way her tiny shoulders dropped slightly as if she’d been carrying the weight of this secret. You chuckled softly, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow.

“A pinky promise, huh? Well, that is very serious.” You cooed. Teddy’s giggle was like a bell, her face lighting up at your playful tone.

“Yeah huh,” she nodded, her small fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. “Serus.” She emphasized the word as if she were letting you in on a great universal truth. You grinned, scooping her up into your arms and hugging her close.

“I understand Ted. Pinky promises are important,” you said, brushing your nose against hers. She burst into another fit of giggles, squirming with joy in your embrace. It was a small moment, but it was filled with so much love and innocence. And as you held her, her little arms wrapping tightly around your neck, you felt something incredibly precious about this child’s naive understanding of love and promises. After a few moments, Teddy leaned back, her eyes still wide with wonder.

“You most lucky, tay?” She looked at you with the seriousness only a child could muster. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in her voice.

“Why’s that, Teddy girl?” You asked. Her little voice dropped to a whisper, as if she was sharing a secret meant only for you.

“Judey the nicest.” Her words hit you squarely in the chest, and your heart swelled so much it almost hurt. You swallowed a lump in your throat, holding back more tears that threatened to spill over. You smiled, hugging her a little closer.

“Yeah, Ted,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion. “I’m really, really lucky. Judey is the nicest.” You concurred kissing her cheek. Your eyes flicking to find Jude amongst your friends and family. She nodded firmly, clearly satisfied with her conclusion. The simplicity of her words, spoken with such conviction, left a profound mark on you. It was a reminder of all the reasons you’d fallen in love with Jude in the first place. In her innocence, Teddy had perfectly summed up what mattered most: that Jude was good, that he was kind, and that you were lucky to have found him. You stood, still holding her close, as you turned back to the group of women who had been watching the entire exchange with knowing smiles on their faces. Whitney reached over and adjusted Teddy’s dress, tears in her eyes once again.

“She’s not wrong,” Whitney said softly, glancing at you. “You are lucky, Y/N. But so is Jude.” You laughed through the tears that were finally spilling over, your heart full to the brim with love—for your family, for this life you were building, and for the man who was waiting for you just across the garden, probably grinning like an idiot, already planning the next moment to make you feel even luckier. That evening, the villa came alive with the glow of celebration. The Grecian coast hummed with the sounds of your family and closest friends gathering for a dinner that felt like something out of a dream. Long tables were set beneath the open sky, draped in fine white linens and adorned with candlesticks. Soft candlelight flickered against the rich blooms of flowers spilling across the table in blush tones—roses, peonies, and wild greenery interwoven with the delicate coastal breeze. The air smelled of salt and sea, a cool breeze rolling off the water and mingling with the scents of grilled seafood, freshly baked bread, and olive oil. The sky shifted from deep orange to lavender as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the scene. The waves lapped gently against the shore, the rhythm of the ocean setting a peaceful backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter bubbling from the guests.

As you sat next to Jude at the head of the table, you felt like the luckiest person in the world. You were surrounded by your family—your mum, who hadn’t stopped smiling since you arrived; your brother Louis, who kept clinking his glass to toast your engagement; Whitney and Trent, who were beaming with joy at their seats across from you, with Teddy in their lap. Winnie was there too, making jokes and keeping the mood light with her witty banter. Aurelien, your dad, Jobe, Denise and Mark, the list goes on. Everyone you loved was gathered in this perfect moment, toasting to you and Jude, the two of you at the heart of it all. Jude sat close, his hand never leaving yours. He was glowing with happiness, his smile wide as he toasted along with everyone, his fingers laced through yours beneath the table. Every now and then, he would lean in to kiss your temple or whisper something sweet in your ear, making you blush and giggle. You couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect everything felt. The conversations, the laughter, the music—it was like a symphony of love playing out under the stars. As the night deepened, the candles grew shorter, their flames flickering in the soft breeze, but the warmth around the table only grew stronger. Your family shared stories of love and laughter, of memories they held dear about you and Jude, of all the adventures yet to come. The stars above seemed to mirror the sparkle in your eyes as you glanced over at Jude, who looked more handsome than ever in the dim glow of the candles. As dessert was served—sweet honey-drenched baklava and rich chocolate torte—you and Jude shared a quiet moment amidst the revelry. He squeezed your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your engagement ring, and gave you a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“How’s it feel being the most beautiful girl in the world?” he asked, his voice low and full of affection. You blushed, leaning into him, the warmth of his words wrapping around you.

“It feels pretty surreal,” you whispered. “How’s it feel being engaged to her?” You cheekily replied.

“Pretty surreal.” He echoed you with a smirk.

“No, seriously, it feels like I’m living in a dream right now.” You cut in with a warm smile. He kissed your temple with a hum.

“It’s not a dream, angel. This is our life. You and me, forever.” He smiled, his eyes softening.

Later, as the party continued into the night, you and Jude quietly slipped away from the table, leaving the laughter and love to continue around the table without you. He led you back to the villa, up the winding staircase to your private bedroom suite. The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the room, leaving the glow of the celebration behind for something more intimate, more personal. The bedroom was softly lit by a few candles flickering in the corners, the scent of jasmine and sea air filling the space. Large glass doors were open to the balcony, letting in the breeze from the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore. The bed was draped in soft, luxurious linens, and there was an air of quiet serenity, a stark contrast to the lively party outside. Jude pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, kissing the soft skin there.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Forever.” You smiled, your heart swelling with love as you ran your fingers over his hair.

“I’ve always been yours.” The intimacy between you both deepened as the night unfolded in the privacy of your suite. His kisses grew more passionate, his hands more eager as he undressed you slowly, savoring every moment as if it were sacred. You slipped out of your dress, you let it pool at your feet, revealing your naked body for him. You admired your reflection in the mirror, running your hands over your soft skin, your fingers lingering on your nipples, making them harden. Jude’s eyes raked over your body, taking in the sight of your bare tits. He stood behind you, his eyes never leaving you, as he slowly began to undress himself.

"There’s no way you’re real, Y/N," he says, his voice hoarse with desire and a shake of the head.

“You going to let me taste every inch of you?" You cooed as you bit your lip, feeling a surge of power as you watched him reveal his muscular body through the mirror. You turned around to face him. His hands went to the button of his pants, but couldn’t help but stare at the impressive bulge you knew well in his boxers.

"Come here," he says, his voice low and commanding. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across your skin as you made love, the connection between you two more intense than ever before. Every touch, every whispered word felt like a promise—of love, of forever. Afterward, you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies warm and content under the soft sheets. The sound of the ocean lulled you into a peaceful quiet, your heart still racing from the emotion of the evening. Jude brushed his fingers across your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours, full of a love so deep it felt infinite.

“Tonight was perfect,” you whispered, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But it’s only the beginning, angel. There’s so much more ahead of us.” And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the distant sound of laughter and the sea breeze filling the room, you knew he was right. This was just the start of a lifetime of perfect moments with him.

The morning Jude left for his away game as your fiancé felt heavier than usual. The air between you two was thick with the weight of separation. For days, you had been wrapped up in each other—barely giving one another an inch of space since the proposal in Greece, basking in the joy of your new future together. But now, it was time for him to leave, and neither of you was ready to part. You stood in the doorway of your Madrid home, watching as Jude packed his bag into the back of the car service waiting to take him to the airport. He moved slower than usual, as if stalling for time, and you couldn’t help the way your heart tugged painfully. You wanted so badly to go with him, but with your gallery opening in just a day time, it wasn’t possible.

“I hate this,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the engagement ring on your finger, a pout forming on your lips. You felt a little childish for it, but it didn’t matter. The thought of him being away even for a short time felt wrong now. Jude zipped his bag and turned, walking back over to you with a soft smile. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the worry that was etched into your expression.

“Angel,” he said, his voice soft but reassuring, “don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. And soon I’ll be coming back home to you, as my wife, for the rest of my life.” Hearing Jude say that made your heart leap. ‘My wife.’ It sounded so surreal, so blissfully permanent. You felt a giddiness bubble up inside of you, like you were still that girl who had fallen for him—lucky that he had chosen you, out of everyone, to spend his life with.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing your hand over his on your cheek, leaning into his warmth. “But I’ll still miss you.” You cooed softly. He chuckled softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips.

“I’ll miss you too. More than you know.” He replied gently. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to delay the inevitable, Jude sighed and pulled back. His hand slipped from your cheek, fingers brushing over your arm until they finally let go. He looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with love and the faintest trace of reluctance, before heading down the steps to the waiting car. You stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself, watching as he got into the backseat. Your heart twisted painfully, and the urge to call him back rushed over you. But you knew he had to go, and now when he came back, it would be like he said—he’d be coming back to you, always, for the rest of his life. As the car began to pull away, Jude looked back at you through the window, his eyes locked on yours. You raised your hand, waving softly, your lips curved into a small pout. He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and blew you a kiss from the window. You caught it playfully, pressing it to your lips before kissing your engagement ring, feeling the cool metal and diamonds against your skin like a reminder of the promise he made. As the car disappeared out the drive and around the corner, the world felt a little quieter, a little emptier. But in your heart, there was nothing but warmth. You knew that no matter where he went, he’d always come back to you.

The next day, you were sitting on the couch alone, you hugged your knees to your chest, the tension in the room mirroring the tight scoreline on the screen. It was the Champions League, and Madrid was locked in a 0-0 stalemate as the game ticked away, every passing second making you more nervous. Your chin rested on your knees, your eyes flicking between the screen and the clock, before you gave in and buried your forehead against your legs, too anxious to watch the final moments unfold. The commentators’ voices boomed through the speakers, heightening your sense of dread. Time was running out, and you couldn’t help but feel the nerves crawling through your skin. Then suddenly, you heard it—Bellingham, goal in the 92nd minute! Your head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. You blinked, and there he was, Jude, sprinting towards the corner flag, arms outstretched, his face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart soar. The entire stadium erupted around him, but all you could focus on was the way he slowed down, kissed his ring finger, and pointed directly at the camera mouthing ‘for you angel.’ The same ring finger you had kissed when he left for the game. A celebration just for you. A laugh bubbled up from your chest, a mixture of relief and joy. You felt the weight of the distance between you lift, just for a moment, as if he was there with you. The feeling of being apart, of missing him so deeply, faded in the glow of that moment. It was these little things—these private gestures in public spaces—that made everything feel so special. Your heart swelled with pride and love, knowing that even though you were miles apart, he was thinking of you, playing for you, celebrating for you. You smiled, biting your lip to stop yourself from tearing up, and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, feeling that connection bridge the gap between you. Being apart was awful, but moments like this were everything.

You stood in the dimly lit bathroom of your gallery, staring at your reflection, your fingers lightly tracing the line of your lips. You were obsessing over the lip liner, not because it wasn’t perfect but because your nerves had nowhere else to go. The voices from the event, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversations drifted in from outside the door. Tonight was supposed to be about the art, about the work you had spent months curating. Yet, your mind felt scattered, your thoughts circling the fear that this night was about more than that now. You placed your hands on the sink, taking a deep breath, your mind trying to recall the details of every conversation you’d had in Spanish. Your fluency had improved, but with each person you greeted, each question about the pieces, you wondered if you were truly coming across as the confident curator you needed to be. The stakes were higher now—not just because it was your gallery’s opening but because of who was linked to it. The whispers about Jude, even without the public knowledge of the engagement, were loud enough. The gallery was packed, largely because of the buzz surrounding him, and you couldn’t ignore the quiet unease that settled in your stomach. How long before anyone noticed the ring? You stepped away from the mirror and made your way back into the gallery, scanning the room filled with guests mingling, admiring the artwork, sipping on wine. Your eyes darted to the pieces hanging on the walls, your heart swelling with pride for the artists you had chosen, their work beautifully capturing the space. But then, the inevitable—someone brought up Jude. They asked, with a sly smile, if he was attending. You smiled, deflecting, giving an answer you hoped would move the conversation back to the art. But your smile faltered as you felt a wave of loneliness. You loved this gallery. You loved what you had built. Yet tonight, you were walking a tightrope, balancing between your identity as an art curator and the person the public increasingly linked to Jude. It was a surreal feeling—exhilarating, yes, but also heavy, like the weight of his shadow sometimes loomed larger than your own.

You stood in the middle of it all, watching the conversations swirl around you, trying to take it all in, when you felt a pair of familiar hands slide around your waist. A shiver of warmth ran down your spine, and you leaned back instinctively into Jude’s chest, closing your eyes. He pulled you into him, his chin brushing your shoulder as his presence melted away the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. He had flown back for this moment, for you. You tilted your head to look up at him, his face soft with affection, the stress and anxiety of the evening easing with just that one glance. Jude whispered something against your ear, his breath warm, and you could feel his smile as he squeezed your waist. It was like he knew exactly when you needed him most, and the relief that surged through you made your eyes sting. You blinked back the tears, not wanting anyone to see the mix of emotions flooding through you.

“You came,” you whispered, as if it were still hard to believe.

“Of course I did, angel” Jude said softly, his voice warm with sincerity. “I wasn’t going to miss this for the world. So proud of you.” His hands rested protectively on your waist, and as you turned to face him, your hand instinctively touched his cheek. The noise of the gallery dimmed, everything else faded as you stared into his eyes. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a shared knowledge that this moment, this life you were building together, meant more than what anyone else could see. Jude tilted his head, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss, and suddenly, all the chatter about him, the weight of the public eye, felt distant. People might be buzzing about him, but you hoped they would notice your work, the art you had worked so hard to display. Yet, even with that thought, there was something undeniably comforting about his presence here. He wasn’t just a celebrity to you—he was Jude, the person who grounded you, who made you feel like you could conquer anything, whether in this gallery or in the quieter moments of your life. As he held you, you could feel the eyes of a few guests shifting toward you, perhaps wondering when you two would make your rounds together, but neither of you moved. You were content to stay wrapped up in his arms, soaking in the comfort of knowing that no matter how much attention the two of you garnered, this—his support, his love—was yours, and yours alone.

“Do you think anyone’s noticed, baby?” you asked, your voice low, as your fingers traced the outline of the engagement ring hidden beneath your sleeve. Jude chuckled softly, his lips grazing your ear.

“Don’t know… Probably were too busy wondering if I was even going to show up.” You rolled your eyes but you grinned. "Nah, angel, they're here for the gallery... for your work, the artist. I think we're in the clear." He cooed gently reassuring you. You felt a flicker of pride at the secret still safe between you two.

“Okay, good,” you said, glancing around the room. “Let’s keep it that way… at least for now.” You sheepishly told him

“For as long as you want.” Jude whispered as he kissed the top of your head. He squeezed your waist, and you felt the world slow down just a little. You were no longer standing in the gallery filled with eyes and whispers—you were standing in a quiet space with the person who mattered most, the person who had flown back just for you, and for this, your dream. The rest could wait.

The night of the Ballon d’Or ceremony had an electric charge to it, the kind of energy that makes your skin hum. You felt it from the moment you stepped out of the car with Jude, flashes from the cameras lighting up the Parisian evening like fireworks. You had dressed carefully, elegantly, and Jude couldn’t take his eyes off you from the second you stepped into the light. You were in an Attico dress they Jude almost ripped off you before you even left for the event. His gaze was all-consuming, making you feel simultaneously adored and exposed under the intense scrutiny of the media. The rumors had been swirling all over the internet for days—speculation about your engagement sparked by every subtle clue, from Jobe’s playful 'sister' comment in an interview to photos of Jude’s kissing hid ring finger after his goals. The fans were running wild with theories, and tonight, standing next to Jude on the red carpet, you knew it would only intensify. You could feel Jude’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist, guiding you through the sea of cameras and lights. He hadn’t stopped telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect you looked, but somehow, under the intensity of the moment, those words felt distant, like echoes. You tensed, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The world was watching, and it wasn’t just about the football anymore; it was about you and Jude—your relationship, your life together, and possibly the engagement.

“You look so beautiful, Angel. I’ve got you, don’t worry.” Jude whispered, sensing your nerves, he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The warmth of his words melted some of the tension, and you exhaled, relaxing slightly into the protective embrace of his arm. Jude always had this way of making you feel safe, even when you were standing in front of hundreds of cameras. He’d told you the same thing countless times tonight, but in that moment, it was exactly what you needed to hear. You let yourself settle into his hold, leaning into him as the flashes continued, grounding yourself in his presence. You both knew the engagement might come up tonight. You’d talked about it beforehand—how if it came up, you wouldn’t deny it but you wouldn’t necessarily make a big announcement either. Yet as the interviews began and Jude stayed glued to your side, you felt the nerves rise again. His clinginess tonight felt different, more deliberate, like he was trying to shield you from the chaos of the evening while still being his charming, professional self. As you approached the press, the interviews, and the swarm of photographers, the anxiety crept back in. You could feel the weight of the rumors hanging in the air, just waiting to be confirmed or denied. The ring on your finger, though visible, the news of it still hidden from the public, suddenly felt heavy, like a secret barely kept. Jude, as always, seemed completely at ease. His confidence, the way he stood so tall next to you, hand protectively on your waist, made it seem like he was untouchable. But you knew him better than that. You could sense the nerves hiding behind the way his thumb absentmindedly rubbed small circles into your side. He was trying to comfort you, but it was clear he was anticipating something too. The interviews began, and you smiled politely, staying close to Jude, letting him go on. Jude answered them with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. But the interviewer, a sharp woman with a knowing smile, turned to you next.

“Do you think Jude will win tonight?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. You smiled, shyly glancing at Jude, and replied,

“I’m a little biased but no matter I'm really proud of the year he's had,” your voice light, leaning into him as he grinned down at you. Then, without missing a beat, the moment you didn’t expect—Jude’s voice, soft and casual, but with a confidence that made your heart stop.

“My fiancée is the best thing I’ve won this year,” he said with a smirk, his voice crackling in your ear, as the cameras around you captured every second. “But I’m honored to be nominated.” You froze for a split second, your heart racing as the words settled in. Your breath caught in your throat. The word “fiancée” echoed in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t even have time to react before he pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you even closer as the realization set in—not just for you, but for everyone around you. It felt like the air around you thickened, the weight of the moment sinking in with every flash of the cameras. Jude pressed a gentle kiss to your temple again, humming contentedly, completely unbothered by the reaction he’d just set off. And just like that, it was out. You could hear murmurs, see the widened eyes of the reporters, and feel the collective buzz from everyone around you. The rumors were no longer rumors. Jude had just confirmed it—effortlessly, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were his fiancée. You blinked, turning slightly to meet his eyes, feeling a rush of emotion that made your knees a little weak. He squeezed your waist, that same reassuring smile on his face, as if to say, We’re in this together. The world might be watching, but all that mattered was the two of you, standing here, side by side.

The interviewer, visibly stunned, tried to recover, asking Jude a follow-up question, but the moment had already shifted. The attention wasn’t on his chances of winning anymore. It was on the two of you, standing there, side by side, no longer hiding the truth. Jude answered a few more questions, all while keeping you close, but the rest of the interview felt like a blur. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d just said—how natural it had been, how confident. He had called you his fiancée like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and suddenly, it was. The world knew now, and the weight of that realization settled over you in the best way possible. As the interview wrapped up and you moved through the rest of the evening, Jude never let go of you. Even when you sat down for dinner, surrounded by football royalty and celebrities, his hand remained intertwined with yours under the table. You glanced at him from time to time, still a little dazed by the enormity of the moment, but every time you did, he smiled at you, that same knowing smile that said, This is just the beginning.

And it was. The night continued, the awards were handed out, and even though Jude didn’t win the Ballon d’Or, it didn’t matter. He’d already won, and so had you. As you walked out of the ceremony, hand in hand, the buzz of the evening still swirling around you, you realized that the world had changed a little. You were no longer just Jude’s girlfriend—you were his fiancée, and the whole world knew it now. The rest of the night blurred after that moment, but you didn’t care. Jude had said it, and the truth was out there now. You were engaged. You were his. The joy you felt outweighed any nerves, and with Jude’s arm around you, you knew you could handle whatever came next.

The Ballon d’Or ceremony had already been a whirlwind, but nothing compared to the heart-pounding moment Jude declared to the world that you were his fiancée. You were still processing it, standing beside him on the red carpet, your hand resting on his chest as you leaned into his side. The heat of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat were the only things grounding you amid the chaos of camera flashes, reporters’ questions, and the weight of his revelation. Your hand instinctively tightened around his, your fingers brushing over the ring. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide, still processing what had just happened earlier. Jude looked down at you, his smile soft but full of certainty. His gaze was unwavering, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than you even realized.

The news of your engagement to Jude had ignited the internet, and while you tried to go about your normal routine, the world was already buzzing with excitement about your upcoming wedding. After the Ballon d’Or ceremony, life felt like it had been put under a magnifying glass. Every time you and Jude stepped out, people stared, speculating, photographing. And yet, despite all the attention, the little moments you shared in between—those felt like lifelines. You found yourself walking hand-in-hand with Jude through the heart of Madrid, the early afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the city. The two of you tried to stay low-key, just blending in with the crowd, but it was hard when the man beside you was Real Madrid’s biggest star. Still, Jude managed to make you feel like it was just the two of you, no cameras, no fanfare—just two people in love. As you passed by a Real Madrid FC store, Jude slowed to a stop, mischief in his eyes.

“Angel, remember when I made you buy your first Madrid jersey?” he asked, grinning down at you. You laughed, nodding. It felt like a lifetime ago—back when you first arrived in Madrid. You’d gone into that same store, just entertaining Jude’s annoying teasing, but he had insisted. He wanted you to wear his name on your back, almost like a silent promise of what was to come.

“How could I forget? Those are fucking expensive especially considering you could’ve just given me one…” You rolled your eyes with a smile. He smirk, pulling you closer.

“Well, I think it’s time for you to buy another.” He told you seriously.

“Huh? Why, baby?” You raised an eyebrow. You had plenty of Madrid jerseys now. Jude leaned down, his lips close to your ear, voice low.

“Because I’m not just your favorite player anymore,” he whispered. “Now, I’m your favorite fiancée.” You couldn’t help but shake your head, though a smile tugged at your lips. The logic made no sense. You understood the sentiment but at this point you felt like that’s all you wore was a Bellingham jersey.

“You’re my only fiancée, Jude.” You corrected him with a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s right,” he said, his hands on your waist, squeezing lightly. “And since Act II of our story has officially started, you need the right jersey to go with it. Not my girlfriend, need a fiance jersey... hmm?” His tone was playful, but there was something possessive in his gaze, something that made your heart race. You sighed dramatically but nodded, stepping out of his hold to walk into the store alone because you knew he couldn’t go with you. The inside was just as you remembered, bustling with fans excitedly grabbing their Bellingham #5 jerseys off the racks. It was surreal, watching people walk out with his name on their backs, and yet it still felt like he belonged to you in a way that no jersey or crowd could claim. You found the one you wanted and made your way back to him, holding it up with a playful smirk.

“Happy?” you asked, lifting the bag. “Act II can officially begin. My Bellingham jersey, just for you. My favorite player and my favorite fiance.” Jude’s laugh was warm, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“More than happy,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “You’re not just my biggest fan, you know,” he said, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You’re my best fan. My only fan.” There was a quiet intensity in his voice laced with playfulness and a possessiveness that made your heart skip a beat. His hands held you tighter, and you could feel the love radiating from him in waves. “Mine,” he added, and the word hung between you, carrying a weight that felt deeper than anything you’d ever experienced. You blushed, leaning into him, feeling like you’d burst with happiness. The bustling store, the busy Madrid streets, the noise of the world—it all faded into the background as you stood there in Jude’s arms, knowing that this was just the beginning of something even bigger, something that would always be yours and his.

“So once we share the last name I won't have to spend money on these anymore right?” You asked with a teasing glint in your eye.

“What’s mine is yours.” He cooed with his arm around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel proud. Proud of him, proud of your relationship, and most of all, proud of the fact that the next chapter of your life would be written together.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 The End 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Thank you for reading!

The series has officially come to a close. I really can't express how much I loved talking about this with anyone that has messaged. From. 'You're Mine' to Act II and all the one shots in between I feel like I've created a little world that I really hope readers enjoyed. <3

Please like, comment, or message what you think of the final chapter or the entire series!

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut

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heavenlyvision · 1 year ago

Text

When hell thaws

Word count: 12.6k

Pairing: Bi-Han x F!Reader

This is part 5 to my 'When hell freezes over' series, read all the other parts below :3

one two three four

A/N: It is done !!! As always, thank you for your patience, I hope it has been worth the wait. Enjoy <333

Summary: After a training move gone wrong, you are forced to deal with a minor injury, one that seems to upset Bi-Han more than it upsets you. In the end, you take the initiative to show him just how okay you are.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst (only little bit), minor injury, dirty talk, grinding, cum eating, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, overstimulation, open missionary sex, clit slapping, Soft!Bi-Han, Menace!Bi-Han, no use of y/n

In the morning when you wake up, Bi-Han is already awake, back resting against your headboard. Your head is resting in his lap, one of his hands relaxing on your back, rubbing you soothingly.

You’re a little surprised he stayed in the bed with you, “You’re still here?”

He looks down to you, his hand moves to your head and strokes your hair, “I thought if I left, you would get angry with me again.”

“You could’ve woken me up,” you tell him.

Shaking his head at you, he says, “You looked peaceful, did not want to wake you before you were ready.”

His words are sweet, they make you incredibly happy but you tell him, “From now on, if you need to leave, you can wake me up to say goodbye. You’re not trapped here with me until I wake up.”

“I like being trapped here with you,” he smiles at you.

“You’re being especially docile this morning,” you observe.

He rolls his eyes at you, finding your comment stupid, “Well excuse me for enjoying your company.”

You laugh at him and his dramatics as you pull yourself up, you rest on your legs, kneeling on the bed. You stretch up, your muscles screaming at you lightly as you do, tender from last night, “You need to be more gentle with me, I am sore all over today.”

One of his brows raise at you, “You always beg for me to be rougher.”

You pout in response at him, it’s true that you always want it rough, you just regret it in the morning.

“I can be gentle with you next time,” it sounds like a kindness but by the look on his face you feel like he would drive you mental, fucking you slowly and never pushing you over the edge.

“Why do I feel like that’s a threat?” You ask him.

He doesn’t reply and instead smiles evilly at you.

The way you look at him is filled with scrutiny and his smile turns more sincere, his arms open for you to enter them. You take him up on his offer and fall into him, he holds you in a warm embrace.

“I can be more gentle with you, if that’s what you want?” He tries again, more earnest this time.

You pull back to look at him, you feel warm in the face as you admit to him, “No I like the way we…” you trail off.

“…Fuck.” He finishes for you.

Sighing you say, “Yes… I just need a bit to recover or you’ll break me.”

He glows with pride at your words, loving that he can and does tear you apart.

“Bi-Han!” You call his name, bringing his attention back to the topic at hand.

Looking back to you he says, “I can be gentle with you, sweet girl… for a week.”

You’ll take it, “Thank you,” you smile kindly at him.

He looks soft for you before he comes back to himself, asking, “Just to be clear, that doesn’t mean no sex, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t mean no sex,” you confirm for him.

He nods once, “Good.”

“You are impossible,” you sigh again, leaning back onto his chest.

The pair of you stay like this for a while, wrapped up in each other, both not wanting to start your respective days. As you lay on top of him, you find yourself pining for more from him, the sex is great and the talk you had was more than you could’ve asked for, but you want more moments with him that aren’t sexually charged.

“Bi-Han?” He hums at you in response, signalling you to continue talking, you feel a bit hesitant as you say, “I want more from you… more than just sex.”

He pulls you away to look at you properly, “This hasn’t been just sex to me, ever.”

As you look him in the eyes and see the way he’s looking back at you, you believe him, without a hint of doubt. That doesn’t change the fact that you want more, you want more moments where you share things with each other or enjoy each other’s company. You want a relationship.

“I believe you… but that doesn’t change how I feel about this,” you motion between the two of you.

His large hand holds the side of your face tenderly, “Whatever you need from me, I will give it to you.”

“I want something like a date? I want to eat dinner with you… or something,” you mumble slightly, it feels a bit silly to tell him but you want more connection. You don’t tell him about wanting a label, maybe you’ll bring it up at a better time.

His lips rise in a faint smile, amused at your hesitation over a simple request, “Done. I will plan something.”

“You will?” You can’t hide the way you’re surprised by his unquestioning willingness.

One of his brows raise at you, “Were you expecting me to deny you?”

You feel a little sheepish as you admit, “Well… I was prepared for it.”

His smile grows as he shakes his head at you, “Sweet, sweet girl, you have no idea how much you have me wrapped around your finger.” He chuckles lightly and pulls you back into him, back in your previous positions.

The words he speaks make you giddy, having confirmation about his feelings for you always makes you happy. Knowing that he feels the same for you as you do for him is a reassuring thing to hear. Especially since you want to ask for more, more than just ‘fucking’.

His chest vibrates underneath you as he talks, “Do you have training today?”

“I think so but I don’t think it’s going to be a long day.” You hum your reply.

You know you should get up soon but you don’t want to leave him, being in his arms is probably one of your favourite places.

“I have to get up,” your words are muffled by the material of his robe.

“Go on then,” he encourages.

Lifting yourself up, you go to move away from him but just as you’re almost sitting upright, he pulls you back to him and holds you firmly.

You chuckle at him and then enquire, “Are you going to let me go?”

“When I am ready,” he answers.

“And when will that be?”

He thinks on it for a while before deciding, “Never.”

He is uncharacteristically affectionate this morning, it’s nice but it’s also mildly concerning. You decide not to say anything about it, in fear of upsetting him or causing him to draw back. Which is not what you want.

You instead ask him, “What are you doing today?”

“Whatever you are doing,” his reply is nonchalant.

You pull away just to look at him dubiously, “You’re going to join me and everyone else for training?”

“Sure,” he shrugs but his eyebrow twitches slightly, it makes you smile fondly at him.

Reaching your thumb up, you gently rub between his brows, easing the seemingly constant frown on his face. He relaxes his brows, unfurrowing under your touch.

“I think, you might injure someone if you join us for training,” you murmur, still massaging his forehead.

His eyes glint with pleasure at the idea and you roll yours at him. Sighing he says, “I will not injure any of your friends… not because I like them but because I like you.”

Of course, that’s how he feels, “I don’t think it was necessary that you add that at the end of your statement.”

“It was,” he looks to you firmly, making sure you understand that he does not like them and this kindness is only for you. It honestly shouldn’t make you feel good but you can’t help the flutter in your heart.

His hand grabs your wrist, stopping your massage. He pulls you to him and your lips lock in a tender kiss, or about as tender as Bi-Han is capable of giving. Which is considerably more than you’d think from just looking at him.

You hum against him, always appreciative of his kisses. His hands grab you and then he’s pushing you backwards. You’re on your back with him on top of you, your heads at the wrong end of the bed now. His lips never left yours, the kiss burning with need. Bi-Han’s hands pull your thighs apart enough to slip his waist between them. Your own hands grab onto the back of his neck.

The kiss deepens when you gasp against him, his cock grinding into you slightly shocking you pleasantly. His tongue is in your mouth now, his kisses insistent and full. Your legs wrap around the small of his back and hold him to you, he’s dry humping into you and it feels delicious. Your sleep addled and hazy brain thankful for the sensations he’s giving you.

Both of your movements are lazy and unhurried, the only thing that is hurried are Bi-Han’s kisses. They’re fervent and unforgiving, the way he licks into your mouth and grinds down against you has small sighs and whimpers passing your lips. Sounds that he is forever grateful for, if his groans are anything to go by.

The knock on your door is sudden and sharp, you gasp surprised by the loudness of it. You break the kiss and Bi-Han groans, extremely annoyed by the intrusion.

“What?” He growls out to whoever is at the door.

“I thought you might be here Bi-Han; Liu Kang is looking for you,” It’s Tomas, you think. You can’t be completely sure, not after you’ve just been kissed stupid.

Bi-Han rolls his eyes, “Go away.”

“I would… but you are wanted,” Tomas urges, his tone a little worried about pushing Bi-Han.

“Thank you, Tomas. He will join you shortly,” you try to sound as polite and normal as possible as you call out to him.

He’s apprehensive as he says, “Okay, uhm… Good morning,”

His kindness makes you smile faintly, “Good morning,” you chirp back to him.

Bi-Han repeats, his voice gruffer than before, “Go away.”

You frown at Bi-Han in a reprimanding manner, telling him to be kinder to Tomas. His eyes look unmoved, still completely irritated. His head drops to your shoulder, you jump when you feel he’s still hard against you, it makes your face hot.

Bi-Han’s lips start nipping at your neck lightly, pressing kisses against you. His hips lightly grinding into you again, the feeling makes your brain feel fuzzy. Your thoughts and critical thinking skills slipping away from you.

Clearly, Bi-Han is uninterested in continuing his conversation with his brother, his last words meant as just that, a finality intending to conclude the interaction.

“I will be going now, goodbye,” Tomas rushes out, wanting to get away from the two of you and understanding Bi-Han enough to know he’s not going to address him further.

If Bi-Han hadn’t begun mouthing at the side of your neck, you think you would’ve scolded him or died from embarrassment. Just because everyone knows about the two of you now, doesn’t mean you can make it obvious when you are having your more intimate moments. Moments you would rather remain between the two ofyou.

You want to say something to him but you only manage a whine as his grinding comes firmer, your hands hold his shoulders, pushing him back to look at him. The expression on his face is beyond pleased with the one you have on yours.

“I don’t have to do much to you at all for you to look fucked out,” he hums at you.

You frown at him, “Bi-Han, you’re needed elsewhere,” your words are whiney, they don’t display the seriousness you are trying to get across.

“I am needed where I am,” he replies coolly and it makes you frown at him, “How about this,” he begins, his smile is devious. “You cum in your little panties and I will leave without argument.”

His proposition makes your pussy throb and your cheeks burn, “I doubt that’s –hah– true,” though tempting you really don’t think he’d leave you with no argument.

“Only one way to find out, sweet girl,” he purrs to you, leaning down and kissing you again.

Distantly, you wonder why he was ever so annoyed about the interruption, it doesn’t seem to have slowed him down at all.

With the way the hardness of his dick ruts against you, you can’t think straight, any witty retort you would offer dying before your brain can even think of it, let alone speak it. He’s driving you up a wall and as your moans slip past your lips into his mouth, he swallows them down. His kiss is ravenous for you and he’s making you lightheaded.

He pulls back, allowing air into your lungs. You’re panting against him; his face is smug as he watches how much he’s affected you like this. Just from his clothed cock and full kisses.

“Always make the cutest faces for me,” he murmurs to you, his lips brush over yours faintly.

One of his hands hold the side of your face, while the other grips your thigh, keeping you firmly pressed against him. His grinding doesn’t stop, he’s determined to make you cum like this now. Obsessed with the idea of your cum soaking your panties.

You’re still sensitive from last night and the way he keeps grinding right into your clit has you on the edge. Dangerously close to tipping over.

He groans out to you, “Bet you’re so fucken wet right now.”

You confirm it for him, humming in agreement that yes, you are so wet for him right now. You have a filthy idea that you think would make him feral. One of your hands leave his neck and slip down, under your waist band, temporarily interrupting his grinding but only for a moment. Your fingers swipe through your folds quickly, coating them before pulling them away and presenting them to Bi-Han.

His eyes light up with how barely contained his arousal is, he’s humping into you again, needy. His hand removes itself from your face and snatches your wrist, pulling your fingers towards him, his mouth envelops your fingers, sucking them clean. You gasp out a whine at him, it’s completely depraved and has you so close to finishing.

You can feel the way his cock jumps against you as he sucks your fingers clean, he’s grunting around them, seemingly closer to finishing than you would’ve thought. Your action has caused his mask of control to slip. Your fingers withdraw from his mouth and his hand grabs your face again, his eyes are burning into your own. The assumption you made was correct because he has the most feral look on his face right now and it’s making you quiver with excitement, with pleasure.

“Dirty, you play dirty, trying to fffucken kill me,” he groans at you, his words slurring a little bit. His lips press to yours again, occupying himself with kissing you.

You’re so close to finishing, one word from him and you think you’d cum immediately. And he must be incredibly in tune with your body and its tells, because he parts from your lips and presses his right up against your ear.

“Come on, sweet girl, cum in your panties for me hmm?” He blows cold air against your ear.

It’s all too much and has you cumming, moans and whimpers falling from your mouth. Bi-Han keeps grinding into you, close to finishing himself. Both his hands are on your hips now, having drawn back to slide you up and down his clothed cock. You’re twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm and the sight of you has an evil grin plastering itself onto Bi-Han’s face.

With how he’s pulled back, he can see the wet spot on your sleep shorts from your orgasm, “Got the –ngh– creamiest little cunt, came in your panties for me, such a sweet thing.” His words are becoming more growls and moans than anything else, he’s so close to his end.

“Want you to cum too, Grandmaster,” your voice is small, fucked out and barely present.

But your words affect him deeply, he comes with a bite of your name, falling back down onto you. His hips twitch into yours, sensitive but refusing to stop his grinding movements.

He groans and tucks his head into your neck, “Got me cumming in my clothes like a damn teenager.”

“You loved it,” you singsong to him.

Lifting himself off you, he pulls your sleep shorts off, looking at your cum soaked panties. He grunts at you, “I would’ve stuffed you full if you hadn’t just asked me to be gentle with you.” He smirks, “I did love making you cum in your panties though.”

His thumb rubs over the wet spot and you twitch in response, his eyes stay on your covered cunt, enamoured by the view. He tugs your panties off too and spreads your pussy lips for his viewing pleasure, his gaze forever greedy.

Your legs fight against him, embarrassed by his bold actions. He easily holds you open, unphased by your attempts to push him away.

“Only thing I’m disappointed in, is that you aren’t full of my cum,” he says mostly to himself, his thumb swipes through your slick before he holds it to his mouth and sucks it clean.

You groan at him in embarrassment, “You say, the nastiest stuff, Bi-Han.”

“And you like it, can feel how tight you grip me when I whisper filthy shit to you,” he chuckles at your humiliation.

Leaning down, he plants a final and firm kiss on your lips before getting off the bed and standing up, stretching his muscles. You roll onto your stomach to watch him move around the room.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

He raises a brow as he looks back at you, “What for?”

“Being gentle,” your smile is bright as you look at him.

He hums at you dismissively, “Don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I know… but I will anyways,” you return.

He’s gone after that, cleaning himself up and doing the walk of shame back to his room so he can change and meet with Liu Kang. It was amusing, watching him try and make himself presentable enough to walk back, you don’t think he was planning on staying this long this morning but it’s still early enough to get back mostly unnoticed… hopefully.

You have a moment of realisation, Bi-Han kept his end of the deal. He made you cum in your panties and then he left with no arguments, it makes you laugh.

⋆⁺₊❅.

The morning goes by slowly and training is mostly uneventful, at least it is until Bi-Han shows up. You’re a little worried that he will spar with everyone like he joked, but all he really ends up doing is watch you.

“He became your guard dog real quick,” Johnny says, referencing your previous taunt of calling Bi-Han, Liu Kang’s guard dog.

“He’s not my guard dog,” you say.

Kung Lao pokes Johnny in the ribs, teasing him, “Be careful Johnny, he looks like he bites.”

He does.

You look back at him and see he’s already watching you; his arms are crossed over his chest; you can’t help the way your eyes linger over his arms. When you snap out of it and look back to his face you can see that he definitely caught your shameless staring, one of his brows raised at you.

Your head flips forward in record time, thankfully everyone was chatting amongst themselves and didn’t catch you getting an eyeful of Bi-Han. You would never have heard the end of it, though unfortunately, you know Bi-Han is staring at you. You can practically feel his eyes raking up and down your body.

Kenshi moves in closer to quietly ask you, “Have you guys decided what you refer to each other as?”

They all move in closer, being cautious, in case Bi-Han can hear you. Which you sincerely doubt.

You think you know what he means but you aren’t quite certain, “What do you mean?”

Kung Lao clarifies for you, “Like, is he your boyfriend, partner…”

“Guard dog?” Johnny jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, “I don’t really know… we haven’t spoken about it.”

“What do you want to refer to each other as,” Raiden enquires.

You think on it a bit, calling him your boyfriend feels juvenile, but it also makes you smile. “I don’t really know; I’d prefer if he stopped telling everyone we’re ‘fucking’ though.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it,” Kenshi pushes.

You look at him questioningly, “What, right now?”

“Yes! Right now,” Johnny encourages, no doubt only wanting to see what would happen between the two of you.

Kung Lao side eyes Johnny, “No, not right now.”

“When you are ready,” Raiden adds.

As you stand here, you feel mildly compelled to go ask Bi-Han now, but you don’t know how he’ll react, and you’d prefer to have privacy. The small part of you that wants to know doesn’t win out against the rational side of you.

“I already have plans to talk with him about it and it’s not going to be now,” you state very clearly, mostly for Johnny.

Johnny sighs, disappointed that he won’t be around to witness the conversation when it happens.

“Let’s just finish up for today, I am tired,” you complain.

“I wonder why,” Johnny nudges you, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Ew,” you say, pushing him off you and laughing at his stupidity.

You wish you could say that the rest of training flies by, but with Bi-Han’s eyes on you and everyone else aware of his presence, it goes by agonisingly slow. He’s throwing you off your game and when you go to kick, your stance is off, resulting in a pretty gnarly sprained ankle.

It’s embarrassing when you fall to the ground because of it, the pain is bad and honestly you don’t even know how you managed to do this much damage. You try to get up quickly, not wanting the attention on you but you fall right back down. The blood is rushing through your head, and you can’t hear properly.

The guys are all standing in front of you, asking if you’re okay and its overwhelming you. With the pain and embarrassment, you feel like you might shed a couple tears, which would embarrass you even more.

Bi-Han pushes his way past them and kneels down directly in front of you, his hand reaches out to affectionately touch your face, trying to focus all your attention on him, “Sweet girl, are you okay?” His tone is gentle as he speaks to you.

The guys behind you look shocked by him but are still concerned for you, refusing to leave until they hear you confirm that you are okay. Having so many people care for you is making you self-conscious.

“Mm okay, it’s only a little sprained,” you try brushing it off, going to pull yourself up again but he lightly pushes you back down.

“Can you wiggle your toes?” He asks, carefully he pulls your shoe off to see if you can.

You can move them, but it makes you wince, face twisting in pain.

“Some fucken sprain, I’ll need to take off your wrapping to see the damage.” He comments.

You nod to him, “Okay, I’m okay, it’s not that bad.”

That damn brow of his raises at you, knowing you’re putting on a front for the sake of your self-esteem.

His hands are light as he unwraps your leg, careful not to move you too much. When it’s unwrapped, the guys all look a little worried and Bi-Han frowns at your ankle. Looking at it yourself, you can see why, it’s very swollen in a short amount of time. It will probably bruise, and it will be a massive pain in your ass for the next couple of weeks. Great. Walking on this is going to be just downright, delightful.

You try to assure them, “This is okay, it’s not that bad,” Bi-Han is not convinced by your optimism, not in the slightest, “Honestly, I could probably walk on it,” you insist.

He shoots back at you, “Don’t be difficult, this is obviously not okay.”

“There isn’t much you can do for a sprain though,” you shrug.

“You can stay off it,” Kenshi interjects.

“You can ice it,” Kung Lao adds.

Raiden also says, “You can elevate it,”

“You can take some pain meds,” Johnny continues.

You huff at them, “Okay, thank you doctors.”

“You will be doing all of the above, especially staying off it.” Bi-Han directs.

“But that’s going to be sooooo boring,” not being able to go anywhere too far cuts out almost every place you like going to. Gods, you didn’t realise how much you liked walking until Bi-Han took it from you.

He rolls his eyes at you, fast enough that if you blinked you would have missed it, but you didn’t and you give him a dirty look to tell him as much.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.” He says.

You go to give him your hand for him to pull you up but instead he stands and then grabs your waist, hoisting you up easily. You rest all of your weight on your good foot, he goes to pick you up, but you stop him, “Hold on, I want to try walking first.”

He grunts at you but doesn’t pick you up, knowing that arguing with you is more often than not fruitless. Carefully, you put your weight onto your other foot, trying to step forwards on it but it almost immediately rejects that move and you shake, threatening to collapse. Bi-Han’s hands grab you, not willing to watch you try and do this to yourself.

He picks you up in a princess carry, beginning to walk away with you. “Wait,” you object. Bi-Han stops, and you address the guys, “Thank you all, I’m really okay though, it’s not that serious,” you smile at them, trying to convince them of your fine status.

“You know we saw it, right?” Kenshi says, his eyebrows scrunched at you.

They all nod their heads in agreeance with Kenshi and say something to the same effect, all coming to the consensus that, yes, it is that bad.

“Whatever, shut up,” you pout at them, embarrassed.

Bi-Han chuckles at you but walks away again, taking you back to your room. The walk back is uncomfortable, due to the pain in your ankle and the way you’re stewing in your annoyance. Annoyed that you managed to do something so stupid in front of everyone.

Back in your room, Bi-Han sits you gently on your bed. He walks away wordlessly to find your first aid kit and a tea towel before returning to your side, sitting beside you.

“Shouldn’t you find an ice pack or something?” You ask.

“Sweetie, you’re dating a walking ice pack or something,” a smirk is faintly present on his lips. His words make you flush, he’s acknowledging that you’re dating.

“Bi-Han I have a question,” you suppose now is as good a time as any.

He hums at you in response, the tea towel he grabbed is placed over your ankle before his hands turn to ice, trying to avoid direct contact to your skin. Softly, he lays his hands around your ankle, it’s faintly cold and your skin pricks a bit at the feeling.

It also hurts but you ignore it, determined to show no pain, too proud to admit that it hurts pretty bad. You can’t help but feel embarrassed because if it was even somewhat worse, you think you might’ve passed out.

Ignoring the pain you press forward, though you aren’t really sure how to phrase this, “Are… would you… hmm, what am… what are we?” You eventually settle on, after stumbling over your words.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he says simply, like his statement cleared everything up completely.

This time you hum at him, “But like… are you, my boyfriend?”

His eyes shoot to yours; they glint slightly. You aren’t sure if you’ve upset him or not. You feel incredibly childish asking him like this.

“You can call me whatever you want,” his tone is level, unreadable.

Looking away from him, you say, “I don’t know if I would refer to you as my boyfriend… but I’d like it if you were.” You’re still dancing around your actual question, and you think he knows it.

He smiles lightly before he suppresses it, “Cute,” is all he says.

“Bi-Han,” you whine at him, needing him to express what he’s feeling more. You’re trying to feel him out and he’s making it difficult on purpose.

He looks straight at you, his hands still holding your ankle, “What are you actually trying to ask me?”

You bite the bullet, “I want to know… If we’re in a relationship.”

“I’ve been operating under the assumption that we are, have you not thought so?” His eyes are questioning.

“You never asked or said anything! I didn’t think we were labelled,” you huff at him, “Bi-Han, you need to get better at telling me things.”

“I thought I had,” he mutters.

“When?” You are confused as to when he would’ve even brought up being in a relationship with you.

He sighs at you, “I should have been clearer…”

It’s kind of funny how unsure you’ve been, wondering what you were to him, while simultaneously, he was going about his business assuming the pair of you had been in a relationship the whole time. To be fair, you kind of had been, it just wasn’t explicitly stated and that’s where your uncertainty stemmed from. You need some kind of verbal agreement.

You tell him, “It’s not completely your fault, I could’ve brought this up sooner,” you’re itching to touch him right now, whether to comfort him or be comforted by him, you aren’t sure, “But to be clear, we are in a relationship, and we are exclusive?”

His eyebrow twitches, “You hadn’t assumed we were exclusive?”

“I mean no, I don’t know, you weren’t clear, and neither was I… I was worried you wouldn’t feel the same and wouldn’t want to be with only me, so I didn’t say anything,”

“So, you were with someone else,” he’s working himself up, you can tell.

“No!” You’re very firm and quick, not wanting him to spiral, “No, I was only ever with you… I only ever wanted you; I just wasn’t sure that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t think I had ever given you a reason to doubt that,” his forehead is creased from the way his eyebrows pull together.

“I didn’t, not really, but I’ve also felt a little in the dark about your motivations.” You’re being completely honest at the moment and it’s making you feel vulnerable. “I want to be with you.”

“And I want to be with you, only, you,” he confirms.

You release a breath you weren’t aware you were holding onto, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He questions.

“Upsetting you,” you feel guilty for the whole conversation.

“I’m not upset,” you look at him doubtfully, “Well I’m not upset at you, I’m upset with myself for not being clearer.”

You’re smiling at him, “I’m glad we talked.”

“I wish we had talked sooner, had you thinking you weren’t mine,” he grunts at you.

“I’m your girlfriend, your partner, your lover?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, teasing him, attempting to lighten the mood.

“All of the above,” his hands move away from your ankle, done with icing it for the time being. He moves further up the bed, his face close to yours, “But most importantly, you. are. mine.” He murmurs before leaning in to kiss you.

The kiss is warm and filled with so many emotions, you kiss him back, but he pulls away quicker than he usually would, “I will get better at sharing my thoughts with you.”

You think that is the most romantic thing he has ever said to you, and it makes you downright giddy, “Okay and I will ask you directly, if I am confused,” you can’t supress the smile breaking out across your face.

Poking his side, you tease, “You’re my boyfriend,” you’re teasing because it’s a stupid term for adults to use but you also like it more than you probably should.

“Are you sure I’m not your guard dog?” He teases back. The surprise on your face is obvious, “Your friends are not as quiet as they think they are.” He noses at the side of your face before whispering to you, “Do they know that I do bite?” Okay if this is what teasing really looks like, than you aren’t really sure what you were doing.

His words make you hot all over, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You find yourself forever grateful that Kenshi had enough discretion to be quieter with the second half of that conversation.

A hum is his reply to you, his hand on your face strokes your cheek gently, “I will take pity on you, since you are injured.” He presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls away.

“It’s not that bad,” you try maintaining and at the moment it really isn’t that bad, his hands successfully numbed the pain.

“I have eyes,” he counters.

You complain to him, “I don’t want to be stuck in this room all day.”

“You’ll be able to limp around in a day,” he says, though you have a feeling he won’t let you limp very far.

He reaches over and grabs a couple pillows, he carefully places them under your foot to elevate it, “I’ll wrap it after I ice it again.”

“Will you stay with me again, tonight I mean?”

“You’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me now, sweet girl.” He chuckles before adding, “And I think If I don’t watch you, you’ll probably go off wandering around the grounds and hurt yourself more.”

“I would not,” you protest but he pretty much got it dead on, if you were forced to lay down all day, you’d eventually get bored and go looking for things to do. Even if it was to your own detriment.

And by the look on his face, he knows he is right.

There’s a knock on your door and it surprises you, you aren’t expecting anyone to come see you. Bi-Han’s face pulls up into a scowl and you laugh at him, calling out you ask, “Who is it?”

“Liu Kang,” his voice is even, albeit a little concerned, maybe?

You can’t hide the surprise in your voice as you call to him, “Oh, come in.”

He walks into your room and moves straight to your side, “I heard what had happened, are you okay?”

“I am okay, it’s not that bad.” You assure him, at least you try to.

“That’s not what I heard,” Liu Kang says as his eyes look to Bi-Han, who is making a face expressing that you’re lying.

“Needless to say, you won’t be joining training for a bit,” he continues.

You don’t think it’ll be that long, “I mean, give me a couple days and I will be fine–”

“No,” Bi-Han speaks over you.

You are not quiet about your annoyance over this, “Bi-Han it’s fine, I’ll be good in a couple days, four tops!”

“It will be more like a week or two,” he shakes his head at you, “You can walk on it in a day, to encourage the healing process but actual training is off the table, for a bit.”

You sigh at him; he’s clearly not going to budge on this. Though that won’t stop you from trying to push him later.

You try looking to Liu Kang for help, but he doesn’t offer any, “I agree with Bi-Han, take it easy and focus on healing.”

You groan, “What the hell.” Quite frankly, you are not used to people showing so much concern for you, it’s foreign and a little bit annoying.

Liu Kang stays for a bit, talking with you, much to Bi-Han’s dismay but you enjoy his company, you had not spoken with him like this in a while and you missed it. He does eventually leave, once he’s satisfied with your wellbeing and the conversation naturally dwindles. You’re a little sad to see him leave, you would’ve liked to talk with him more but he’s a busy guy and Bi-Han’s annoyance at his lingering presence can only be ignored for so long.

“I’d walk you to the door, but I don’t think Bi-Han would let me get far,” you quip to Liu Kang as he leaves.

Bi-Han grunts at your joke.

Liu Kang smiles faintly at you, “I don’t think your ankle would allow you to get very far either,” he jests back. He’s gone after that.

“He stayed too long,” Bi-Han complains.

You lightly bop him on the nose with your finger, “No he didn’t, you’re just grumpy.”

He grunts at you again, but then he moves back to your ankle and ices it some more. Numbing the dull ache for you, his care for you makes your stomach have butterflies. It makes you happy, how he cares about you, but you’re also distressed, independence is something you pride yourself on and all this fuss he’s making over you is new and unfamiliar.

After he is done icing your ankle, he wraps it up, compressing it. Hopefully to help with the swelling. And like you suspected he would, he stays with you the whole day, keeping you company to prevent you from getting bored and wandering off.

It’s pleasant, having his company but that’s always true.

⋆⁺₊❅.

Later in the evening when dinner rolls around, he walks through your door with both your meals. “They all kept asking about you,” he groans.

“And what did you say,” you press, worried about what he may have said.

“Not much of anything, mostly ignored them.”

Your immediate response is to laugh but you hold it back because they care about you and want to know how you’re doing and right now, no one knows how you’re doing better than Bi-Han. Which is, very unfortunate for them.

“Tell them I’m doing well next time.”

He’s unconcerned as he says, “I told them you were fine.”

“Good,” you don’t ask for further details, not wanting to know exactly what he said for your own peace of mind.

Once you’ve finished dinner, he leaves to return the dishes and grab his sleep wear, along with some fresh clothes for tomorrow. While he’s gone you want to try and have a shower, you feel gross after training today and you haven’t had the chance to wash yourself, not with Bi-Han’s hovering.

You unwrap your ankle carefully and… yeah, it’s still really swollen and achy. Releasing a breath, you prepare yourself for standing up. You’re a little shaky but you manage and with the help of all the furniture in your room, you successfully hobble your way to the bathroom.

Speed is a concern because it won’t take Bi-Han long to get back and you’ll be annoyed if he stops you from having your shower. Undressing is a challenge but it’s no match for you and your unbridled determination.

A sigh of relief falls from you as you finally make it into the warm shower, finally able to wash yourself. Your ankle is protesting about every minimal move you make but it’s worth it for the warm water.

Right as you’re able to ignore the ache enough to enjoy your shower, Bi-Han rushes into the bathroom, startling you. You almost lose your footing in the shower, but your hands come up quickly to grip the walls, enough to steady yourself.

“What the hell?” You’re irritated, he just made an attempt on your life.

He looks almost as annoyed as you, actually… he might look more annoyed than you, “What are you doing?”

“I wanted a shower, I felt gross.” Your voice is small.

He starts angrily stripping himself of his clothes, “And you couldn’t have waited for me?”

You don’t answer, instead pouting and looking away from him. He opens the door and slips into the shower with you. There isn’t a lot of room, and it’s not even like the shower is small, he’s just a big guy.

“Should’ve waited for me, what if you fell over?” He presses.

Frowning at him, you say, “The only time I almost fell over was when you burst in here, frightening me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “But my point still stands, going to the toilet or grabbing something from across the room is one thing, having a shower is another, you could have hurt yourself while I was gone.”

You make a sound of acknowledgement at him, not wanting to be scolded any further, “You’re taking up a lot of room.” You observe.

“Deal with it, you’re either showering with me or you’re done showering,” he grumbles at you.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” you shrug, his large size is something about him that has bewitched you.

His eyes look into your own knowingly, he’s aware of how much you enjoy being manhandled in bed. He reaches behind you, a hand coming up to your back to keep you steady as he grabs the soap. His skin touching yours makes you dizzy, he’s large and wet and naked and you want to drop to your knees for him right now.

“Stop having perverted thoughts, I’m not doing anything to you until you heal,” he speaks into your ear.

You complain, “But it’s my ankle and it’s nothing serious.”

“Needy little thing,” he smirks at you.

Rolling your eyes and huffing out a sigh, you try your very best to not think about the heavy weight of his cock in your mouth but it’s a paradox and now all you’re thinking about is sucking his dick, like you had said you would. Though, he still hasn’t changed your sheets like he was meant to.

“Still present, sweet girl?” He asks you.

You’re brought back from your thoughts, and you smile at him, “I’m here, sorry.”

He checks with you, “I’m gonna wash you, okay?”

“Okay,” you confirm.

He lathers your body with the soap, it’s intimate how attentive he’s being. Making sure to clean your body properly, it’s honestly not necessary but it makes your heart feel full. Knowing that he would take care of you with no complaints, or at least minimal complaints, it’s comforting to know. It’s also confronting.

You rinse yourself under the water, once all the soap suds are off your body, you lean into him. Leaning up you kiss his lips; his hands hold your hips as he kisses you back. He only indulges you temporarily, pulling away after a bit. He’s trying his best to restrain himself, but you can feel his semi hard cock resting against the skin of your stomach.

He grabs either side of your face and looks into your eyes, “Take it easy.”

You lightly scowl at him, unhappy with the idea but knowing he’s right, for now anyways. The sprain is fresh and with the prolonged time on your feet you’re really starting to feel it. He turns the water off and guides you out of the shower, covering you in a towel before wrapping one low around his hips.

The view of water droplets running down his abs, down his pelvis and below the towel has your mouth watering. The Gods are unkind because you have never wanted to give head to a man more than you do right now.

He pulls you closer and uses your towel to dry you off, “You got clothes?”

“Yeah, I can go get them–”

He doesn’t speak but his expression cuts you off. Walking away, he comes back with some pyjamas for you. He helps dress you and then guides you back to the bed, you flatten yourself against it and Bi-Han places pillows under your foot for elevation again.

His form wanders around the room and you would love nothing more than to watch him, but you feel way too comfortable to move right now and you don’t want to jostle your ankle. You’ve put yourself through enough pain for now.

The shower has made you warm and docile and even though you’ve spent most of the day in this bed, it’s never felt more comfortable than it does right now.

When Bi-Han is dressed, he crawls into bed beside you and lays flat on his back too.

“Why are you being so resistant to my help?” He asks, clearly fed up with you and your stubbornness. Which is rich considering you think he’d be about as difficult as you’re being, if not more so.

You answer him honestly though, “I’m not used to being cared for and I don’t want to burden anyone.”

“You are not a burden to me,” his tone is firm, serious, he wants you to understand at least this much. “I care for you, deeply. Let me.”

You can’t look at him right now, whatever expression he’s making would make you cry. Opening up to people is hard. At least it usually is, it’s scary how easy he makes it for you. How easy it is for you to give him your heart, there isn’t much you wouldn’t do for him and it’s frightening.

There are a million things you want to say, or a billion things you could say but you ultimately settle on, “Okay.”

He holds himself up on his forearm so he can look over you, his hand on the side of your face. He’s searching for something in your expression, but you don’t really know what it is. His own gaze is open and soft for you, and you think this is his way of being vulnerable.

You realise he’s been vulnerable with you every step of the way, not being quiet about how much he wants you, how much he likes and cares for you. You think to Bi-Han, that is one of the most scariest things he can admit to. For you, it’s being cared for and for Bi-Han, it’s caring for another. What a pair you two make.

“Bi-Han,” you want to say more, something profound but all you manage is, “Thank you.”

He smiles so softly at you, filled with so much affection, “You’re welcome.” He replies before dipping to take your lips in his, the kiss is caring, unhurried, kissing you only to kiss you, not to take your breath away.

The night you both share is quiet, mostly filled with soft kisses and warm words whispered to each other. The only intention is to be together, nothing more. It’s frightening but only because the longer you talk with him, the more it daunts on you, with how much you have gained, there is so much more you could lose.

⋆⁺₊❅.

It been a bit over a week and your ankle has sufficiently healed – to you it has anyways, Bi-Han says it needs longer before you can train. And you agree with him on that much, it’s not ready for training, it’s still too tender for that but you can walk around freely now and that was what was most important to you.

Bi-Han spent almost the whole week with you, he did have to leave a couple days ago due to Grandmaster duties but he was attentive and borderline doting for the whole week. It was foreign and challenging, to have someone ask if you were okay regularly or remind you to wrap your ankle.

He also made sure you did stretches to help with the healing, it was all very kind of him and you are thankful. But to you, it was frustrating, normally you just brute force through pain until it either goes away or kills you. Which you keep doing because, well, you aren’t dead yet.

For the whole week he spent with you, he didn’t try anything sexual… the whole week. It didn’t matter if you wanted it or not, he refused to do anything that would move your ankle too much. You told him he was being ridiculous but he didn’t want to risk making it worse, you also suspect that if you had hurt yourself, he would’ve endlessly blamed himself. You wonder what would happen if you were seriously injured, how he would cope with it, if he would ever touch you again.

It’s sweet that he cares but it’s also stressing you out because he’s been looking at you like you’ll break. Like you’re a piece of paper and the world is a shredder, with your injury, you think he’s forgotten you are a trained fighter and a damn good one. You’ve been letting him care for you like he asked, which has been new and uncomfortable at times, but it’s literally just a sprained ankle and he’s treating it like you got shot or something.

Anyways, you’re going to show him you’re fine. Currently, it is later in the evening and you are very impatiently waiting for him, he is due back any second. He hasn’t done much more than kiss you in the last week and you know his resolve is weak. Your plan is mostly self-indulgent, you’ll have an actual talk with him about how he’s been treating you like a piece of glass but for now, the course of action you’ve decided on is getting on your knees for him.

When he’s back and sees you, he makes a beeline towards you, “Waiting for me, this late?”

“Yes.”

He smiles at you, “I missed you.”

“Good.” You tell him, grabbing his hand and walking away with him.

“Slow down,” he protests, worried about your ankle, you ignore his concern and continue tugging him forward.

He stops suddenly and it causes you to stop too, showing just how little control you actually had over pulling him.

You groan at him, “Why’d you stop?”

“What are you planning?” He’s unmoving, wanting an answer for your rush.

Looking up to him, you gaze into his eyes, his expression is questioning. The perpetual crease between his brows present as he looks back at you. He looks good right now but he always looks good, it’s not fair. His unanswered question has a single brow raising at you, prompting you to speak.

“I want to suck you off,” you state simply.

His face lights up in shock and delight, suddenly you’re upside down. He’s thrown you over his shoulder and hastily walked off to his room with you. He whispers curses about how you’re trying to kill him on the way there, grumbling mostly to himself.

Back in his room, he very gently places you on the floor, “Are you sure,” he double checks with you, still worried about your ankle – which is fine.

Your response is an eye roll before walking up to him, reaching up and grabbing his face, you pull him down to you, his face right in front of yours. The action has him grabbing onto your hips.

“Unless you stop me, I’m dropping to my knees right now.” You whisper against his lips; you’ve been forced to be bold and straightforward.

He groans at you and takes your mouth in a kiss; you sigh against him. He’s kissing you fervently, in a way he hasn’t kissed you for a while. It makes you unbelievably happy. His tongue slides into your mouth and it makes you whimper. He’s holding you firmly to him, lips greedy and hands exploratory.

His hands grab at your ass before moving up your whole body, one of them lands on your neck, holding you. He moves your head to the side and his tongue continues to lick into your mouth. The kiss is overwhelming, especially since the last time you were kissed with so much ferocity was over a week ago, you’re needy and desperate for him.

The moans that slip from you can’t be stopped, not when he’s taking over all your senses. All you can see, hear, feel, smell, is him. You aren’t capable of pulling back from him, too involved in the feeling of his lips on yours. He’s the one who pulls away from you.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper against him, and not just from the past few days but you’ve missed him while he was beside you. Missed his overwhelming presence, everything he does takes your breath away. He takes up so much space in your life but he made himself small in fear of hurting you and that devastated you.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

You look at him with an intensity you hope reaches him, “No. I’ve missed you.”

He looks struck by you, by your words. You don’t wait for his reply, dropping to your knees in front of him instead. Whatever needs to be said can be spoken about properly later. Your plan was this and you are not getting side tracked, not when he’s finally letting you do this for him.

“Sweet girl–” You look up to him, on your knees and waiting. The sight makes him groan, “You’re always playing dirty.”

You hum as you reach up to his pants, palming at his erection, it makes him growl out your name. He seems to be sensitive; you wonder how much he deprived himself. He shrugs off the outer layer of his shirt, giving you unobstructed access to his pants.

When you plant a kiss on the head of his cock over his pants it makes him twitch in response, you don’t tease too long because at the moment, teasing him is just teasing yourself. You pull his pants down enough to free his dick from them, he groans at the feeling.

Grabbing the base of him, you kiss the tip of his bare cock, obviously not completely done with teasing him. Your tongue licks along the whole underside of him and Bi-Han almost keels over at the unexpected feeling.

“Ffffuck,” he sighs out above you.

Opening your mouth on him, you suck his tip in, your tongue flicks at the slit of his head and he shudders in response. You hum around him and he grunts at the feeling.

His hand reaches out to your face, gently cradling you, his thumb strokes high on your cheek bone, “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You start moving your head up and down his shaft, sucking him in, you’re practically drooling on his fat cock. He stretches your lips with the width of him and you can barely take half of him down. One of your hands compensates for what you can’t take, gripping the base of him and twisting lightly, while the other rests on his thigh, holding him for purchase.

“Doing such a good job, sweetie,” he praises you and it makes your cunt jump.

He’s groaning above you and the sounds he releases are making you needy, arousal spiking. You try to take more of him but it has you choking on him, tears spring to your eyes, your throat spasms around him and Bi-Han moans. Your thighs clench at the sound of him, a small moan of your own falls from you.

Tears are slipping from your eyes at the sheer size and weight of him on your tongue, spit drooling down his length and the corners of your mouth.

“Ffffuck, look at me, sweet girl –ngh– wanna see your pretty wet eyes,” his words are on the verge of slurring, lost in the feeling of your mouth suctioned around him.

You hum around him and look him in the eyes, he’s fucked at the sight. Devastated by how you look with his big cock in your mouth. The longer you suck up and down his dick, the closer he is to cumming. When you pull back your tongue licks at the tip of him and he whimpers, eyes fighting against the pleasure, wanting to watch you for as long as possible.

He temporarily loses the battle and his eyes slip shut as he grunts at the feeling of your warm mouth and tongue, you’re loving how his face is pulled into a pleased expression. His hips mindlessly pull back and forth lightly, you let him use your mouth. His hand rests on your head lightly for leverage.

Your cunt is throbbing with need, your thighs are clenching together for some kind of friction. As he carefully fucks into your mouth, you can’t take it any longer and one of your hands reach into your pants, rubbing into your clit. The stimulation makes you moan around him and Bi-Han’s eyes flick back open to look at you.

His gaze is low and lidded as he says, “Sucking me –hah– off getting you all worked up, sweetie?” He moans low in his throat, still moving his cock in and out of your mouth.

You nod against him as best as you can, your hand not stopping, shamelessly horny for him at this point. Your head is meeting his thrusts and he groans at the feeling, mumbling filthy praise to you. He’s getting close based on the way he’s twitching in your mouth, you take more of him down, swallowing around him, a large moan comes from him at the unexpected movement.

He pulls from your mouth completely all at once and it makes you whine, not understanding what you did wrong. Your own hand withdrawals from your panties, waiting for him to talk to you.

His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are drawn up in concentration, “Fuck, I almost came.”

“I know, I wanted you to,” you tell him, still confused.

“Sweet girl, I’ve not been inside your pretty little cunt in over a week.” His gaze is dark, “I’m cumming inside you.”

Based on the look on his face alone, he’s trying to kill you, “I wanted you to cum in my mouth…” you pout slightly.

He tuts at you, “Sweet talker.” His hands reach for you and pull you up, he undresses you. Almost tearing your clothes in his haste to see you naked. His hands grope at your breasts, tugging at your nipples, “Mm gonna fuck your tits one day.” His words are blunt.

“Okay,” you answer simply, because yeah, he will.

His smile is evil and pleased, “Never change, my sweet girl.” He leans down and kisses you, full and heady.

He picks you up effortlessly and carries you to the bed, still gentle with you as he drops you onto it. He doesn’t follow immediately, staying standing to undress himself completely. He’s always so pretty, and as you watch him undress you feel completely captivated by him.

“Bi-Han, you are beautiful,” you tell him.

He’s stunned by your choice of words; he enjoys your compliments even though he finds the ones you give him odd in phrasing. He recovers quickly, retorting with, “Mmm and I’m gonna look even more beautiful stuffing you full of my cock.”

Crawling onto the bed, he pushes you onto your back and spreads your legs. Always shameless in how he stares at you with greedy eyes. He rubs the head of cock through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you. As he kneels between your legs, he pushes your legs open as wide as they’ll go, bending them.

His hands hold under your knees, keeping you wide open for him. One of his hands leaves your knee to direct the tip of his dick to your pussy hole, slowly pushing into you, the stretch stinging the tiniest amount.

“Gods, always so tight, no matter how much I fuck you open,” he groans as he slips his cockhead inside you. His smile turns evil as he’s struck with an idea, “You’re gonna cum on every inch on me since you’ve been so needy.”

You shake your head at him, “It’ll be too much.”

He dismisses you, not even looking you in the eyes, all his attention on how his tip sits inside you, “You’ll be fine, want as much of your cum coating my cock as possible.” You whine at his words, cunt jumping and Bi-Han feels it, his smile growing at your reaction.

The hand that guided his cock head into you moves to your clit, rubbing circles into it, tight and controlled. The stimulation makes you clench down on the tip of his dick, whimpering at the feeling. He continues playing with your clit, you realise that he probably is going to keep his promise and you will be crying and shaking by the time he’s done with you.

Embarrassingly, with how worked up you are and how full just the tip of his dick fills you, you cum quickly. Your pussy flutters around him and he groans at the feeling.

“Poor girl, I’ve so been cruel and neglectful, got you fucken needy enough you came at the smallest touch,” he’s trying to take pity on you but he’s delighted by how quick you came. The joy in his eyes cancelling out any sympathy his tone may have held.

“You’re gonna kill –ngh– me,” you pant out at him.

He chuckles at you, “Never, I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetie.”

The thumb on your clit picks back up as he slips another inch inside you, he repeats the process, playing with you until you cum on him. He adds another inch and continues, and with how the overstimulation gets worse after every orgasm, you cum faster each time.

At some point you’re able to cum just from him slapping your clit a few times, pussy jumping in shock and pleasure at each tap, eventually toppling you over the edge. What were moans, turn into wines and whimpers, tears fall from your eyes. Overstimulated to high hell and he’s not even completely inside you yet, almost, but not quite.

“You look so –mmph– cute when you cry, all fucked out and cock drunk, such a pretty girl,” he compliments you but you’re not convinced of your presence in the room anymore.

When you try to reply, it’s mostly a mumbled mess of words, mostly consisting of his name and when you look at him, his eyes are bright and beyond pleased with the state he’s reduced you to.

Because of how fucked you are, you don’t take any notice of how fucked Bi-Han is, you may be cock drunk but he’s pussy drunk. Having stopped temporarily because his orgasm is crawling up his spine, his control only able to hold on for so long before it snaps. He really wants to keep his promise and there’s only an inch of him left, it’d be a damn shame to give up so close to the finish line.

He takes a few breaths to stave off his orgasm before slipping the final inch inside you, your cunt throbs around him. A guttural groan is pulled from him, he pushes through and rubs your overstimulated clit again, his thumb slipping over your skin from how wet and messy he’s made your pussy.

You moan and whimper at the sensations, not able to do much but take what he gives you. Your cheeks are tear-stained and your vision is blurred, glazed over. Bi-Han is having a hard time, both your messy cunt and tear-stained face too much for him, both views that please him deeply and put him right on the edge.

His thumb speeds up and you cum very suddenly, a sharp whimper ripping from your lungs as your cunt creams all over him again, for the umpteenth time.

He moans at the feeling and the sight, his eyebrows pinched in pleasure, “Fuuuuuuck,” is all he manages. He slips his cock out of you until only the head remains, so he can look at the way your cum coats him. The sight of it making his dick jerk.

His eyes close, controlling his breathing for a moment. Your own breath is shuddering, you need a moment as well. Completely stupefied by how many orgasms he’s given you.

“Mmm I’m not done yet, sweet girl,” he warns.

You prattle out slurred words to him, “It’s –hah– so much –mmph– Grandmaster.”

“You can take it,” he hums at you before slamming back into you completely.

Being full again makes you borderline scream, last minute biting your lip to supress it. It doesn’t stop it but it turns into a loud strangled moan instead. Bi-Han laughs at your struggle, ecstatic at how he’s got you screaming on his dick.

He’s not slow about this part, to close to his own end and not actually wanting to kill you. He’s fucking into you quickly, still kneeling and pushing your legs back, using them as leverage. He keeps his fingers off your clit for now, which you are grateful for but each time he thrusts into you, his pelvis grinds into you and it has your pussy clenching at the stimulation.

Grunts and groans fall from his lips, they border on growls. Even with your poor vision you can see the wild look in his eyes. His control has snapped and he fucks into you like it’ll be the last thing he’ll ever do. Burying his cock so deep inside you it can be felt hitting your cervix. Lewd sounds of wet slapping fill the room, the squelch of your cunt obscene.

He’s getting closer to his end, that much you’re certain of, his cock twitching inside you. He grinds into you, his pelvis grinding into your clit. The abrupt stimulation shocking you and pushing you completely over the edge. Your cunt grips his cock hard, as you spasm around it, your release gushing around him.

He moans loudly as he cums, letting go, finally satisfied enough with how much he’s made you orgasm to allow himself the same pleasure. He grunts out your name along with various compliments, at least you think they’re compliments.

“Ffffuck, got the messiest cunt –mmph– so pretty when you cry, God– love how you look full of my –ngh– cum,” his words are filled with moans and are slurred as he babbles on about how perfect your pussy is.

He stays pressed to you for moment, letting you both ride out the high together. The amount he’s cum inside you is obscene, leaking out around him. He slips his cock out of you, sad to leave but always happy to see the sight of your cunt filled, obsessed with the way his spend dribbles out of you. You don’t even have the energy to fight off his hungry eyes, actively fighting passing out instead.

When he’s had an eyeful he pulls back, hopping off the bed and tugging on his pants before walking into the bathroom. When he comes back he sits you up and hands you water. Which you try to refuse.

He grumbles disapprovingly at you, “Drink it, I’ve just fucked you within an inch of your life.”

You feel boneless but you reach up and take the glass, you take a sip and pull away but he grunts at you in a reprimanding manner. So, you drink it all down while he watches. Once you’ve finished with it, he returns it to where he got it from, when he comes back, he sits beside your still sitting form.

“Are you okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

You’re blank for a moment before responding, “Mhm mm good,” you smile lazily at him.

It makes him chuckle, “Got you fucked dumb, sweetie.” His hand reaches up and rubs your cheeks, wiping away some of the tears there, “You really are pretty when you cry.”

“You’re pretty when you cum,” you retort.

He smiles at you, “Flatterer.” It’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “Hungry?”

You nod at him.

⋆⁺₊❅.

Bi-Han gave you a bit to recover before the pair of you wandered through the grounds to get to the kitchen attached to the main dining hall. You were still a little wobbly as you walked here but Bi-Han supported you, that and your curiosity was piqued enough to soldier through it.

When he’d asked if you were hungry, you half expected him to pull out an energy bar or something, so when he asked you to gather yourself before changing you were confused and very intrigued.

“What are we doing here?” You enquire.

He looks back to you, “I’m gonna make you something to eat.”

You’re a bit shocked at that, cooking isn’t something you considered him able to do. Though, it’d be equally surprising if he wasn’t capable of making anything at all.

You smile at him, “Can I help?”

“I’m sure you could,” his hand holds onto the side of your face, “But I’m not gonna let you.” He finishes, pecking you on the lips before turning around and looking through the cupboards of the kitchen. Pulling out everything he needs.

Pouting lightly, you complain, “Rude,” though you might not be the most help currently. Still a little spacey from the high of all your orgasms.

He chuckles at you but says nothing more, continuing to grab stuff. From what he’s pulled out, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be anything extravagant but he could boil you an egg and you’d be over the moon.

As you watch him light the stove, you wonder aloud, “Can I count this as a date?”

“No, I have something else planned for our date.” He replies, frowning, obviously having higher standards than this.

“I think I’m gonna count it,” you move closer to him and lean against the bench top.

He only grunts at you in acknowledgement, saying nothing further. Instead focusing on what he’s doing.

You wait patiently for him, watching him cook, he seems to be making some kind of noodle dish. Something simple, it smells good and it reminds you of being sick and making chicken noodle soup for yourself. Memories of cold winters and runny noses, being alone with only your plants to entertain you. Cooking and talking mindlessly to them, trying your best to find joy in the solitude.

“It smells good,” you hum to him.

He pats your head lightly, “It’s almost ready.”

It doesn’t take much longer; he dishes it up not long after his last statement. You both stay in the kitchen; you sit up on the bench and Bi-Han stands in front of you. Both holding your bowls, they’re warm and it feels nice to hold, warming your cold hands.

It’s good, not the same as what you used to make but you think you like this more. It warms your body better than yours ever did and you find yourself wishing for Bi-Han to have been present in your past.

You tell him as much, “It’s really good, thank you, Bi-Han.”

“I used to make this for my mother, when she was sick,” he reveals.

He’s shared something with you again, something private, something you didn’t ask for and it makes you happy, “I bet she loved it.”

“She did.” He doesn’t look sad right now, he looks content.

You decide to share a piece of yourself with him in return, “I used to make something like this for myself, when I was sick but it never tasted this good.” It’s not as special of a memory, but it’s a memory, nonetheless.

He frowns, “No one made it for you?”

“I didn’t have anyone,” you answer, continuing to eat rather than look him in the eyes.

He places a hand on your thigh, “You have me now.”

“And you have me,” you smile at him, placing your hand over his.

Dinner is good and you both don’t talk much, when you do speak it’s to sing him praise over the food. Enjoying it a lot, you think he blushes lightly at your unending compliments. He brushes you off, saying it’s a simple dish and you’re being silly but you only laugh and insist. You insist because it is that good to you, it makes you warm and you feel content after eating it.

When you’ve both finished he washes up all the dishes he used, cleaning up after himself, you help him. He tries to protest but you ignore him and continue helping, you can do this much. He cooked after all.

Once you both finished tidying up, you say to him, “Thank you, it was very nice.”

“You are more than welcome,” He pecks your cheek.

The pair of you are standing in the kitchen still, and in this empty moment you decide to bring up what should have been spoken about a week ago. “Bi-Han, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the last week.”

His eyes flick to yours, not saying anything but showing you have his attention.

You sigh, “I feel like you had been treating me like I’ll break, like I’m frail, but I am strong and capable. I messed up a little during training and sprained myself, it happens. It didn’t mean I was dying.”

“I didn’t think you were dying,” he objects.

“You were acting like I might.”

He groans, hand pinching the bridge of his nose, “I was worried about you.”

“And I understand that, but you barely touched me, and I don’t mean just sex. You take up so much space in my mind, in my heart, and you withdrew from me even though you were right beside me.” You pause, trying to find the right words, “You… you looked at me with so much fear… afraid of hurting me but that hurt more than any injury.”

He considers you for a moment, unsure of what to say, “I didn’t mean to but you looked so… delicate, it was a lot… seeing you like that… and it was an accident but what about the future?”

You counter, “And you? You put yourself in harm’s way more frequently but I trust you to take care of yourself,” you ask him, “What if I were to fall apart every time you went away?”

“You aren’t even done with your training yet, it’s not the same.” He argues.

“Maybe not but you didn’t know me before all this, I’ve been through worse, I’ve been through more and I am still here. I am not delicate and I will not break if you touch me wrong.” Your voice is firm, trying to convey to him that you are more than one injury, you are so much more.

“I am sorry,” He’s being genuine, he feels bad for how he’s made you feel because he knows you are capable, but anxieties are not rational. “But if something worse were to happen to you–”

“–The future is uncertain and nothing is promised. My worries are the same as yours. I worry about how I’ve gained so much and it is scary to think about losing it but I am not going to live less because of it.” You cradle the side of his face gently, “Bi-Han, if anything, you give me a reason to live more.”

His eyes are soft as he looks into yours, filled with so many emotions. He pulls you into a hug, it’s firm, he’s holding onto you tightly as he mumbles into the top of your head, “I am frightened…”

“Of what?” You pull back to look at him.

He lets you but leans down and kisses you, it’s tender in nature and when he pulls back the slightest bit, he whispers against your lips, “Of how quickly I am falling for you.”

⋆⁺₊❅. part 6

A/N: Thank you for reading !!! Illegal cliffhanger anyone???? Please forgive me <33 I hope you all enjoyed !! I am a little concerned as to how this will be received, as attention and love for this series grows I get more anxious about writing the next part. I want you all to keep enjoying it so I hope I have delivered :))) PSA !!! Don’t be silly like reader, take your sprains seriously and care for yourself appropriately <333 I have a unique insight into the sprained ankle, due to my poor coordination and bad luck, I sprained my ankle not once, not twice but three times, in the same spot on the same ankle last year and let me tell you. It’s a bitch to heal. Anywhos, as per usual, if you have any thoughts, feelings, questions, concerns or requests do not hesitate to reach out !!! I love you all, have a good morning/day/evening <333

#mk1 2023 #fanfic #mk1 smut #smut #subzero #bi han x reader #bi han x you #subzero x reader smut #subzero x reader #bi han smut #bi han x reader smut #subzero smut #subzero x you

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months ago

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Last Night in Magic Shop | pjm

You find yourself down at the local club, Magic Shop, because your best friend feels like your lovelife is dry as ice. You did not plan on meeting a handsome stranger, who moves his body like an angel, but speaks like the devil. Feeling like he might match your nasty needs, you take him home, enjoying an unforgettable night filled with pleasure.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female, “Y/N”) → Genre + AUs: strangers to lovers, one night stand, vampire!au, smut (pwp), and a little sprinkle of angst and fluff (it’s very short and minor) → Word Count: 12.5k → Rating: mature / +18 → Warnings: explicit smut, exhibitionism + semi public sex (they are in a car and kinda get caught and they stop), kissing, grinding, thighs (yes it’s a warning), a harness (as fashion, yes, also a warning), choking, dirty talk, power play (it’s very dynamic but they are both trying to be more dominant, lol), dom/sub undertones, pleasing kink, oral (female and male receiving), multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, biting, mentions of blood (it’s brief at the end), rough sex, but also very intimate, breast and nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, spitting— in general this one is very dirty, flirty and rough! → Author’s note: hi!!!! This is my gift to all you lovely people that follow me, and also to everyone else too! 💜 I really want to thank you, for following me, for reading my stories, for following my recs and library and helping me to show love to all the other authors on this platform that way 🫶 Thank you, truly. This is my gift to you— for my 1k follower milestone 🥳 It actually happened some time ago, I was still writing my long series at the time, so I didn’t really have time to celebrate it, but I really wanted to, so here I am bearing a gift! It’s another filthy one, and I have so much fun writing these, because this isn’t what I normally write (I’m more the fluffy and smutty, a lot of detail and words type of gal). I appreciate you all so much, and to those few people who really interact with me by commenting, messaging me, and just being there— thank you, you are incredible and I love you so much 🥹 Thank you, I hope you enjoy this one 💜 → Author’s note(2): this is pure utter filth yet again. I didn’t proofread this (I might do it later and find my stupid mistakes), but right now, I’m not in the mood. I hope it isn’t horrible, I’m feeling like that myself, but I really tried to make it extra filthy (more so than what I usually write). I do still hope that you enjoy and like it 🌸

Do you prefer to read on AO3? Well, it's posted there too!

Despite your usual aversion to clubbing—the cacophony of deafening music, the stifling heat enveloping you, your skimpy outfit clinging to your skin like a second layer—somehow, you find yourself succumbing to the relentless persuasion of your best friend, Hana, who insists on dragging you down to the pulsating heart of the local club scene, Magic Shop. Why you’re willingly diving into this chaotic abyss, well, that’s a fucking mystery even to you.

As Hana navigates the bustling bar to order drinks, you scan the crowded expanse for a spot to settle, but every booth seems occupied in this sea of bodies pulsating to the throb of the music. Amidst the frenzy, your gaze drifts inevitably to the dance floor, where a blonde haired man commands attention with his effortless grace, his movements a symphony of fluidity and raw sensuality. Mesmerized, you can’t tear your eyes away, tracing the contours of his physique, the chiseled jawline, the tantalizing glimpse of collarbones beneath his unbuttoned shirt. The way that he moves his hips, undulating and assaulting the air like he’s making love to it, sends dangerous spikes of arousal through your body. And then, your breath catches as you notice the daring accessory adorning his torso—a leather harness, snugly embracing his waist wrapped around him twice and being collected at his shoulders, with a tantalizing hint of danger, leaving you spellbound and inexplicably captivated.

No. That couldn’t possibly be your saliva glistening on the floor, could it?

“Have you found a place to sit?” Hana’s voice interrupts your trance, but as you remain transfixed, she tracks your gaze to the mesmerizing figure on the dance floor, drawing an eclectic crowd like moths to a flame. With a knowing chuckle, she realizes the source of your fixation.

“Ah... Jimin has caught your eye,” she chuckles, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips as she wets them with the tip of her tongue. With a playful wink, she acknowledges your attraction before swiftly scanning the room for the elusive empty booth you had overlooked.

She drags you along with your drinks to an unoccupied booth, the crimson leather beckoning like a siren’s call. You both sink into the plush seats, but your attention remains tethered to Jimin, captivated by his every fluid motion.

You’re spellbound, utterly captivated by the mesmerizing display unfolding before you. How does someone possess such mastery over their own body? With each twist and turn, Jimin exudes a level of control that borders on otherworldly, his slender frame clad in skin-tight leather pants that leave little to the imagination. His thighs, robust and powerful, evoke a primal longing within you, God, what you’d do to be crushed by those.

The sound of something snapping jolts you from your trance, and you instinctively tear your gaze away from Jimin, heat flooding your cheeks and ears as you turn towards your best friend. Your heart pounds, caught between embarrassment and exhilaration, as her fingers snap, commanding your attention back to her, a silent reminder of the real world beyond your intoxicating reverie.

“You’ve got it bad for him,” she smirks, teasing and taunting in equal measure as she swirls her straw through her drink, a wicked gleam dancing in her eyes before her lips playfully encircles the straw, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

“No, I don't,” you declare, the lie hanging heavy in the air, though you’re well aware she sees right through you. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, betraying your denial, while your gaze remains ensnared by the mesmerizing figure on the dance floor. With each pulse of the music, your heart threatens to break free from your chest, pounding an erratic rhythm of desire and apprehension.

“You and every other soul in Magic Shop,” she bursts out laughing, a knowing twinkle in her eye as she brings her drink to her lips once more, the ice clinking against the glass in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the music.

Your brows knit together in a mix of frustration and discomfort. She’s keenly aware of how long it’s been since you’ve let loose, both on the dance floor and in the bedroom. She knows the ache of longing that's settled deep within you, a silent companion during those lonely nights. And perhaps that’s why she’s orchestrated this night out, dragging you to this chaotic den of temptation, her intentions as transparent as glass: she wants you to indulge, to find release in the arms of another.

Yet, despite Hana’s persistent nudges towards potential romantic connections, you harbor little optimism for any amorous encounters tonight beyond enjoying the company of your friend. It’s not that you hold rigid standards, per se, but after navigating through numerous relationships and even dalliances with one-night stands, you’ve come to a firm conclusion: you don’t crave love, nor do you feel a pressing need for a man in your life. However, Hana sees it differently; she views your reluctance to dive back into the dating pool as a lamentable missed opportunity for some good dick, hence her relentless efforts to nudge you towards potential romantic escapades.

None of your past relationships have managed to captivate you for long; they’ve all fallen short of taming your restless spirit or fulfilling your insatiable hunger. None have been able to meet you on equal footing, to sate the voracious appetite that burns within you.

But as you watch Jimin, something shifts within you, challenging your steadfast stance on one-night stands. Holy fuck, the man’s dancing is nothing short of mesmerizing, and if you claimed you weren’t already feeling a surge of arousal just from laying eyes on him, well, that would be a blatant lie.

He might just possess the rare ability to match your intensity, your insatiable hunger for connection. He exudes an aura of irresistibility that both entices and intimidates you, knowing full well he could be too much to handle. But you revel in the thrill of the chase too much to resist the temptation of a potentially unforgettable encounter.

You find yourself unable to shake the thought: does the way he moves on the dance floor hint at his prowess between the sheets? Those hips, snapping and thrusting with such abandon, leave little to the imagination, igniting fantasies of what they could do in a more intimate setting. If only it weren’t just the air he was thrusting into…

Fuck.

A shiver of apprehension snakes down your spine as you witness the crowd parting, creating a path directly towards you. Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as you realize the magnetic force drawing him closer is aimed squarely in your direction.

His gaze, as dark as the depths of the club’s chaos, pierces through the tumult, locking onto you with a laser-like intensity. In those obsidian orbs, a potent mixture of desire, confidence, and a hint of something dangerous dances. A quick flick of his tongue over his lips sends a jolt of electricity through the air, so fleeting you almost doubt you saw it, yet you can’t shake the image of something glinting, sharp, nestled between his teeth.

Your pulse races even faster, a frantic rhythm matching the pounding bass of the music, as Hana’s kick under the table barely registers amidst the magnetic pull of Jimin’s gaze. With each step he takes toward you, the air grows thinner, suffused with the heady anticipation of his proximity. Your lungs strain for oxygen, chest heaving with each shallow breath, as he finally stands before you, a commanding presence that leaves you breathless and utterly captivated.

“Hi,” his voice is a seductive melody, dripping with a sweetness that lingers in the air like honey. His complexion, paler than the moonlight, seems to shimmer under the dim lights of the club, casting an ethereal glow that draws you in even closer.

“I haven’t seen you in The Magic Shop before. Care to dance?” His invitation is laced with an enticing charm, emphasized by the subtle swipe of his tongue over his lips, leaving them glistening with a tempting sheen. Those lips, plush and inviting, evoke a sinful allure, almost reminiscent of a Bratz doll, but with a touch of dangerous sophistication. And his eyes, simultaneously gentle yet piercing, hold a captivating depth that beckons you further into his intoxicating world.

For a fleeting moment, you’re rendered speechless, caught off guard by his proposition, until Hana’s insistent nudge against your shin reignites your senses. With a jolt, your mind snaps back into focus, racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions and desires swirling within you.

You can’t help but smile, warmth flooding your cheeks as a rosy hue paints your features. “Sure,” you reply, the word escaping in a breathless whisper, your heart pounding in anticipation of what the night may hold.

With a quick glance and an apologetic smile, you abandon both Hana and the untouched drink sitting before you, the promise of the dance floor eclipsing any lingering sense of guilt. She waves you off with a knowing smirk and a playful wink, seamlessly returning her attention to her own drink, her silent encouragement echoing in your mind as you navigate towards Jimin.

With a firm yet gentle grip, Jimin guides you back to the heart of the pulsating dance floor, his touch igniting a wave of electric anticipation. Envious gazes track your every move as he positions you in the center, his fingers finding their place on your hips with a confident precision. With each sway to the rhythm, the world fades away, leaving only the intoxicating connection between you and the music.

You’re enveloped in a trance-like state, surrendering to the rhythm dictated by his touch. While you may not consider yourself a skilled dancer, you grasp onto the simplicity of a few basic moves, but in this moment, you relinquish control, allowing the music to guide your every sway and dip, melding your body to its seductive melody.

Amidst the snickers and the encroaching dancers, Jimin remains unfazed, his attention steadfastly fixed on you and you alone. The world may swirl with whispers and glances, but in his eyes, there’s only the two of you, locked in a mesmerizing dance of desire and lust.

Drawing nearer, Jimin’s presence becomes almost suffocating, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in. His voice, dripping with a seductive allure that sends shivers down your spine, wraps around you like a venomous embrace. “What’s your name?” He murmurs, each word laced with a potent mixture of desire and danger, leaving you utterly captivated.

“Y/N,” you pant, the syllables escaping your lips in a breathless whisper, as if each letter were a confession of the wildfire burning within you. Your heart races like a runaway train, its thunderous beats drowning out the cacophony of the club around you. A flush of heat spreads through your body, igniting a primal fire that blazes from within, leaving you certain that every inch of you must be dripping with arousal, pooling at your feet like molten desire.

“I’m Jimin,” he introduces himself, the words carrying a weight of promise as his fingers tighten around your hips, almost leaving an imprint on your skin. You nod in silent acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between you, as if the intensity of his touch speaks volumes more than mere words ever could.

Suddenly, he spins you around, pulling you flush against him, his dick pressing intimately against your ass as he grinds against you with an electrifying urgency. Resting his head on your shoulder, he envelops you in his intoxicating presence, the rhythm of the music pulsating through both of you. “You know,” he whispers huskily into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, “I can smell you from here. And damn, you smell so damn good.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as he playfully nips at your earlobe, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. With a daring touch, his hand edges dangerously close to your core, his fingers trailing along the hem of your dress, hiking it up just enough to send a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

The pressure of his body against yours, the rhythmic grind of his hips, brings an undeniable awareness of the growing bulge pressing into you with every movement. Each subtle thrust sends a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting an even fiercer desire that has you practically dripping with anticipation.

Releasing your hips with a tantalizing touch, he withdraws slightly, allowing you a moment to dance before him, a silent invitation to showcase your allure. His gaze, smoldering with appreciation, traces the curves of your body as he maneuvers around you, closing the distance once more. As he resumes his sensual grind against you, you're entranced by the fluidity of his movements, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of the music and the magnetic pull of his presence.

“Are you some kind of professional dancer?” You manage to question, though the words emerge as a breathless whisper, your lip caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to contain the moan that hovers on the edge of your lips, provoked by the tantalizing roll of his hips against your own.

Awareness of the surrounding stares registers somewhere in the back of your mind, but in this pulsating sea of bodies, everyone’s lost in their own rhythm. The only thing that matters is the intoxicating sensation of Jimin’s body pressed against yours, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being.

He leans in once more, his voice a seductive melody laced with a tantalizing blend of sweetness and danger. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, “I’m a dancer.” Each word drips with an intoxicating allure, drawing you deeper into the irresistible allure of his world.

You gulp audibly, your hands instinctively finding their place on his chest, where his heart beats with a rhythm so languid, it could almost convince you it’s ceased to beat altogether. Yet, beneath the surface, it pulses steadily, a silent testament to the calm amidst the storm of his fervent movements upon the dance floor.

You lock eyes with him, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “So,” you tease, your voice barely a whisper, “are you as flexible in bed as you are on the dance floor?”

He licks his lips once more, a subtle gesture that sends a jolt of anticipation coursing through you. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of something primal, something dangerously alluring flickering in the depths of his eyes. But before you can grasp it fully, it vanishes like a wisp of smoke, leaving you both captivated and curious.

His laughter spills forth, rich and raspy, a symphony that resonates deep within you, setting your senses ablaze. His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens, transforming his face into a captivating portrait of mischief and allure. Leaning in close, his breath dances tantalizingly against your ear, each word a whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “Take me to your place,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive promise, “and you’ll find out.”

Your mind reels as a torrent of thoughts flood your senses.

Fuck. Is he for real?

Is this happening? Is he serious?

Pausing for a heartbeat, you draw back slightly, your gaze sweeping over him as you search for any hint of deceit or jest. The intensity of the moment demands clarity, and you refuse to be swept away without knowing if his words hold genuine intent or mere flirtatious banter.

“You heard correctly, darling. If you take me home, can I taste you?” His question hangs in the air, his eyes betraying an innocence that sharply contrasts with the sinful allure of his voice, each word dripping with a seductive promise that sets your pulse racing.

You swallow, hard, a surge of desire mingling with a tinge of apprehension as his words ignite a primal response within you. Your body betrays you, slick with anticipation, a physical manifestation of your yearning for the dangerous allure he exudes. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you find yourself drawn to the danger like a moth to a flame, craving the exhilarating thrill of the unknown that he represents.

“Yes,” you moan, unable to resist the primal urge coursing through you, as you press your hips into his, igniting a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the air, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from him.

With every passing moment, it feels like the world around you is spinning out of control, but amidst the chaos, one thing remains crystal clear: the overwhelming desire pulsating between you and him. Driven by an insatiable hunger, you seize his hand and lead him back to the booth where you and Hana were previously seated, your heart pounding with the anticipation of what’s to come.

As you approach the booth, the scene unfolds before you—Hana seated on a stranger’s lap, their lips locked in a passionate embrace. With a mixture of amusement and urgency, you gently tap her shoulder, disrupting the fervent kiss as you insert yourself back into the moment.

Hana’s face lights up as she turns to greet you, her smile infectious and her laughter filling the air with vibrant energy. “Leaving already?” She exclaims, her voice buoyant with excitement. “Enjoy yourselves!” With a carefree wave and a raucous cheer, she dives back into her passionate exchange, leaving you to embark on your own adventure.

With a sense of trust and understanding between you and Hana, you leave the club, confident that she can handle herself. However, you both value communication and keeping each other informed of your whereabouts. As you step outside, you swiftly retrieve your phone, shooting her a quick text to let her know that you and Jimin are heading to your place.

His fingers, cool against your skin in contrast to the warmth of the night air, envelop you in a sensation that sends a shiver down your spine. Yet, in this moment, the chill is a welcome contrast to the heat of the anticipation swirling around you.

“I’ve ordered an Uber,” he announces with a smirk, his eyes ablaze with desire, a hunger that mirrors your own. Your response is a throaty moan, an instinctive acknowledgment of the electrifying tension between you.

He draws nearer, his presence overwhelming as he pulls you into the circle of his arms. His lips tease over the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation in their wake, before tracing a path to your ear. With a husky whisper that sends shivers cascading down your spine, he confesses, “I really can’t wait to taste you.”

You whimper softly, a mixture of desire and frustration escaping with each breath. The intensity of his desire ignites a fierce longing within you, matching your own fervor for him. The anticipation is almost unbearable, every passing second stretching into an eternity as you yearn for the arrival of the Uber to whisk you away to your place where you can finally satiate the burning desire between you.

As the car pulls up, Jimin graciously holds the door open, a silent invitation into the sanctuary of the backseat. You slide in first, feeling the heat of his presence close behind as he joins you, the space between you shrinking until you’re sitting intimately close, every breath shared in the electric anticipation of what's to come.

You relay your address to the Uber driver, the words tumbling from your lips with a sense of urgency that matches the pounding of your heart. With each passing moment, you draw closer to the sanctuary of your home, to the promise of Jimin’s touch enveloping you, surrounding you, until you’re consumed by the fiery desire that burns between you.

Jimin’s lips glisten with a subtle sheen as he licks them, a tantalizing gesture that sets your senses ablaze. His touch, cool against the warmth of your skin, sends a shiver of anticipation racing down your spine as his fingers find purchase on your thigh. With your dress hitched up slightly, you can’t help but tense at the sensation, every nerve alive with the electric current of his touch.

You bite down on your lip, a surge of anticipation coursing through you as his fingers inch closer and closer to your core. Your body responds with an undeniable urgency, your arousal evident in the way your pussy clenches and glistens with desire. Every fiber of your being screams with need, your craving for him reaching a fever pitch. With his fingers poised just shy of their destination, his gaze locks with yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

“Can I?” He murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You bite down on your lip with a fervor that borders on desperation, the taste of copper flooding your senses as you draw blood. With a sharp inhale, you part your thighs, offering him unrestricted access to the throbbing ache between them, your drenched cunt aching to be touched, to be claimed by him.

His fingers remain still, a maddening contrast to the raging desire coursing through you, and frustration begins to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. In a desperate attempt to incite movement, you roll your hips, a silent plea for his touch to ignite the fire within you. Instead, his response is unexpected, his grip on your thigh tightening with a roughness that sends a jolt of electricity racing through you.

“Use your words, pretty.”

His gaze is penetrating, holding you in a vice grip of intensity that leaves you breathless and trembling. As you feel yourself drowning in the depth of his eyes, a desperate plea escapes your lips in a whispered whimper, “Please.”

You part your legs wider, a silent invitation for him to delve deeper into the intoxicating depths of your desire. In response, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own in a searing kiss that ignites a fiery passion between you. His lips, impossibly soft and pillowy, leave you yearning for more even as they reluctantly part from yours. As his hand finally descends to your bare pussy, stroking your exposed clit with deliberate intent, his words hang in the air like a taunt, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of mischief that leaves you trembling with anticipation.

You chuckle, a bold and bratty streak emerging within you as you revel in the delicious tension between you. “I’m not,” you reply, your voice laced with a playful defiance that only serves to fuel the fire between you.

He returns to kissing you with an intensity that sets your senses ablaze, the heat of his lips melding with yours in a passionate dance of desire. Each kiss is a tantalizing blend of heat and moisture, igniting a primal hunger within you. Meanwhile, his fingers continue their exploration of your core, teasing you with light strokes that send waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

Lost in the throes of ecstasy, a strangled moan escapes your lips, echoing the depth of your pleasure. As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the stern gaze of the Uber driver reflected in the rearview mirror. Without a word spoken, his disapproving stare speaks volumes, conveying his unspoken demand with chilling clarity, leaving you both startled and exhilarated by the illicit thrill of being caught in the act.

You reluctantly pull away from Jimin’s embrace, your breath ragged and labored, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you address both him and the Uber driver. “Sorry,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, a mix of apology and urgency lacing your words. With a silent gesture to Jimin, you convey the unspoken agreement to restrain yourselves until you reach the privacy of your own home, the anticipation of what's to come only adding to the charged atmosphere between you.

Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, seeking solace in his warmth, your hand finding its place on his thigh, tantalizingly close to the growing bulge in his pants.

The car ride feels like an eternity, every passing moment tinged with the tension of anticipation and the weight of the Uber driver’s disapproving gaze in the rearview mirror. As the vehicle finally comes to a halt in front of your apartment building, you’re met once again with the stern glare of the driver, a silent reminder of the boundaries you’ve overstepped. With a contrite nod, you silently acknowledge his unspoken reprimand, eager to escape the confines of the car and indulge in the privacy of your own space.

Jimin shadows your every move as you lead the way to the elevator, his presence a palpable force at your back. With a silent determination, you press the buttons, the soft chime signaling the arrival of the elevator. Stepping inside, the silence between you hangs heavy, the tension crackling in the air like electricity. As you press the button for the 7th floor, the doors begin to slide shut, sealing you in. Before you can react, Jimin’s hands are on you, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall with a force that steals your breath away.

His lips capture yours in a searing kiss, igniting a blaze of desire that consumes you both. As his tongue seeks entrance, you part your lips willingly, inviting him into a sensual dance of intertwining desires. Together, your tongues swirl and dance in a passionate embrace, each movement igniting a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through every fiber of your being.

A low, guttural moan escapes your lips, muffled by the intensity of the kiss as waves of heat and need cascade through your body. Every touch, every sensation leaves you burning with desire, your body aching for more of him, yearning to be consumed by the fire of his touch.

His roughness only fuels the fire burning within you, each forceful movement igniting a primal hunger that drives you wild with desire. The sensation of being pressed against the elevator wall sends shivers of excitement coursing through your body, intensifying the urgent need building between you. Unable to resist the intoxicating pull, you grind your core against his, the friction sending sparks flying and eliciting a guttural groan of pleasure from him, further fueling the fiery passion enveloping you both.

With a sudden ding, the elevator doors slide open, signaling your arrival at your floor with a jolt of anticipation.

A thin strand of saliva lingers, a tangible link between you and Jimin as you reluctantly part from his plush lips. The intensity of your kiss leaves you both breathless, panting heavily as if you’ve exerted yourselves far more than you actually have.

With a sense of urgency, you dart out of the elevator, tugging him along in your wake, each step quickened by the feverish anticipation coursing through your veins. As you approach your door, your movements become frantic, fingers fumbling in your purse in search of the keys, while his hands boldly explore the curves of your ass, fingers gripping with a hunger that mirrors your own.

A shiver of raw desire courses through you, electrifying every nerve as the keys slip from your trembling fingers. With a shaky breath, you bend down to retrieve them, the movement pressing your ass tantalizingly against his hardened dick, sending a jolt of anticipation surging through both of you.

A deep, primal growl escapes him, a guttural symphony of desire as you press your body against his, grinding against his throbbing cock with a fervor that leaves you both breathless. Finally seizing the keys, you straighten up, the charged silence between you, signaling the beginning of what promises to be an unforgettable night.

Before slipping the keys into the lock, you cast a teasing glance over your shoulder, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips as you drink in the sight of him. His eyes are dark pools of desire, wide and unblinking, reflecting a hunger that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. In that moment, you recognize the potent combination of lust and danger lurking within him, a heady concoction that only serves to heighten the intensity of your desire.

As you turn the key in the lock, the door swings open, but before you can even react, Jimin’s strength propels you forward, pressing you firmly against it. With a forceful urgency, he shoves you against the wall inside, your back meeting it with a thud, his movements swift as he swiftly closes and locks the door behind him. Keys tumble from your grasp once more, but in the heat of the moment, their clatter goes unnoticed. His lips find yours again in a searing kiss, a low growl rumbling from deep within him as he hungrily seeks to devour you, his desire palpable and insatiable.

“I want you so bad, please tell me I can have you,” he pants between feverish kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he pleads for permission, his desire echoing in every word. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his passion, you respond with a soft moan, your head nodding in silent affirmation, giving yourself over completely to the irresistible pull of his longing.

In a sudden rush of boldness, you recall his desire for vocal affirmation, and with a newfound confidence, you meet his gaze head-on. “I want you too,” you declare, your voice laced with a breathless urgency. “I want to suck your dick,” you continue, your words dripping with a raw desire that sets your pulse racing.

A deep, primal groan escapes him, reverberating through your shared kiss, as he breaks away just long enough to deliver his fervent response. “No,” he breathes against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I want to taste you,” he declares, his words a promise of untold pleasures yet to come.

With a commanding presence, he presses his body against yours, pinning you firmly to the wall as his lips hover tantalizingly close to your neck, poised over your throbbing pulse point. In a surge of passion, he dives in, his kisses and licks igniting a fervent blaze of desire that leaves you gasping for air, each grunt and growl a primal symphony of pleasure echoing through the heated embrace.

His hands roam hungrily over your hips, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive urgency that sends shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, your own hands, rendered momentarily powerless by the overwhelming intensity of his touch, hang limply at your sides, unable to resist his commanding hold.

One of his thighs effortlessly slots between yours, pressing intimately against your core and sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. The friction ignites a primal response, coaxing a wanton moan to escape your lips, its echoes reverberating through the otherwise quiet hallway of your apartment.

As your brain snaps back to attention, your hands instinctively find their way to his hips, tracing the lines of his body with a newfound sense of purpose. With a boldness born of desire, you seek out his hardened dick, stroking him through the fabric of his pants with a firm yet teasing touch. His response is immediate and intense, a guttural moan escaping his lips and mingling with the heat of your kiss.

Your touch elicits a symphony of sweet, needy noises from him, each sound fueling the fire of your desire until you notice a subtle shift in his gaze. In that moment, something snaps within him, a primal instinct unleashed as his eyes darken with an intensity that sets your senses ablaze.

With a sudden, electrifying intensity, one of his hands ascends to your neck, his fingers curling possessively around it as he begins to exert pressure, cutting off your air supply.

The sensation of oxygen deprivation sends a rush of lightheaded euphoria coursing through you, mingling with the overwhelming arousal that pulses relentlessly through your veins. In that moment, every nerve in your body ignites with a primal hunger, the boundary between pleasure and pain blurring into a tantalizing blur of ecstasy.

With an irresistible force, he withdraws slightly, his fingers maintaining their tight grip around your neck, a gesture of rough dominance that sets your senses ablaze with anticipation. Despite the intensity of his touch, there’s a calculated restraint in his actions, a deliberate balance between aggression and control that sends a thrill coursing through your veins. As you meet his gaze, you’re ensnared by the dark depths of his eyes, which shimmer with a potent combination of desire, danger, and an unspoken promise of untold pleasures yet to come. The sensation has your stomach knotting with a heady mix of excitement and apprehension.

“Behave,” he hisses, his words a menacing command that sends a shiver down your spine as you struggle for precious air, denied by his unyielding grip. With a wicked smirk, he releases his hold on your throat, and you stagger, your body nearly buckling beneath the weight of the intensity that courses through you, threatening to send you crumbling to the floor in a dizzying haze of desire and submission.

Gasping for air, your chest heaves with the effort as you cough, the sensation of your lungs burning only fueling your resolve. With determination shining bright in your eyes, you meet his gaze head-on. “No,” you assert, your voice trembling with defiance yet laced with an undeniable sense of strength and conviction.

With a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, you lick them in anticipation before lowering yourself gracefully to the floor, your gaze locked on his with an unspoken challenge. Swift and determined, your fingers deftly find the button of his sleek black leather pants, skillfully undoing them before defying gravity and pulling them down along with his boxers, exposing him fully to your hungry gaze.

As his cock springs free, a resounding thud fills the room as it hits his stomach, the sound echoing off the walls with a palpable intensity. Thick and girthy, it stands proudly before you. While he may not boast the longest length you’ve encountered, you recognize that true pleasure lies not in size alone, but in the mastery of technique and the depth of connection shared between two bodies.

Anticipation courses through you like a current as you contemplate the possibilities of his prowess, a hunger igniting within you at the thought of experiencing his mastery firsthand. His cock, a work of art in its own right, boasts a rosy head glistening with a single droplet of precum, a tantalizing preview of the delights to come. With a confident grip, you encircle it with your hand, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from his lips as you begin to explore the contours of his dick.

With innocent doe eyes, you gaze up at him, lashes fluttering like the delicate wings of a butterfly, as you teasingly dart out your tongue to caress the glistening head of his cock. Each lick is a deliberate stroke of temptation, your movements reminiscent of savoring an ice cream cone on a scorching summer day, the taste of him a delectable treat to be savored. And all the while, your eyes remain locked with his, a silent challenge passing between you.

“You’re misbehaving,” he pants, his voice laced with a mixture of warning and desire, yet his gaze softens with an unmistakable tenderness that belies any true threat. But the allure of pushing his boundaries further is too intoxicating to resist, so you continue your ministrations with a defiant smirk, relishing in the delicious tension that crackles between you.

“But you like it, don’t you?” You tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you bat your eyes at him once more. Your hand continues its rhythmic stroking, each movement eliciting a fervent pant of pleasure from him, as the lines between restraint and abandon blur in the heat of the moment.

“I can tell,” you purr, a mischievous smirk dancing upon your lips as you lean in to kiss the head of his cock. With tantalizing finesse, your tongue traces along his slit, teasingly exploring every contour and eliciting a shiver of pleasure that courses through him like wildfire.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice thick with desire as his body quivers under your touch, every sensation echoing with raw intensity. And oh, how you revel in it, the sheer power of your influence over him igniting a fire within you that burns with insatiable passion.

“Spit on my tongue,” you command, your voice a sultry whisper as you eagerly present your tongue before him, a bold invitation that speaks volumes of your desire. The air crackles with anticipation as you wait for his response, every moment pregnant with the promise of ecstasy.

He regards you with a questioning gaze, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re a nasty one, aren’t you?” He muses, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

“Yes. I’m nasty,” you assert, your voice dripping with unabashed confidence as you hold his gaze, unyielding in your demand. “Now spit in my mouth,” with an enticing flicker of your tongue, you beckon him to fulfill your desire, every nerve alive with anticipation for the illicit thrill that awaits.

Immediately complying, he spits on your awaiting tongue, a primal act of submission and passion that ignites a fiery intensity between you. With a seductive smile playing on your lips, you tease him with a playful sway of your hips before taking his dick deep into your mouth in one smooth motion.

You start with a deliberate rhythm, drawing him in with deliberate slowness that belies the fervent desire burning within you. Each inch of him fills your mouth, your throat accommodating his cock as you battle your own limits, a testament to your unwavering dedication to his pleasure. His fingers intertwine with your hair, a gentle yet commanding hold that guides and encourages you to unleash the full force of your prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps, his voice trembling with raw desire as you envelop him with your mouth, every movement sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body.

You mumble around his cock, the vibrations sending a symphony of pleasure through his body, each note echoing with the intensity of your desire.

He begins to fuck into your warm mouth with urgency, his thrusts gaining momentum with each slide, his grunts coming out in ragged breaths, sounding like he’s thoroughly out of breath.

“You’re doing so good, such a good girl,” he pants, his gaze fixated on you, your mouth enveloping him completely. The sight alone drives him wild, his arousal escalating as he feels his dick twitching inside your warm, welcoming mouth.

One of his hands grabs your cheek and pushes you further into him, your nose grazing against his dark brown pubic hair, leaving you gasping for air as you feel yourself choking on his dick.

“That’s what you get for misbehaving,” he grunts, a tug on your hair as he pulls you off his dick.

You gasp desperately for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, mingling with the saliva cascading from your lips.

Amidst your desperate panting, his chuckle pierces the air, laden with a menacing edge. Yet, fueled by your own defiance, you can’t resist the urge to unleash the brat within. With newfound fervor, you envelop him once more, your mouth moving in a wild, frenzied rhythm, eager to reclaim your dominance.

His hands grip your hair once more, tugging gently, an urgent plea in his touch. “I don’t want to come yet,” he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint and desire, a silent request for restraint echoed in his words.

Determined, you persist with fervor, each suction more insistent than the last, as if your very existence hinges on the rhythm of your movements. Sensing his impending release, his body becomes a symphony of tension and release, an exquisite dance to the crescendo of pleasure. Yet you press on, his hands now motionless in your hair, surrendering to the inevitable ecstasy building within him.

You moan softly, the vibration adding to the intensity of the moment, your cheeks hollowing as you draw him in, each breath drawn through your nose a desperate echo of your own need. Glancing up at him, you’re met with eyes ablaze, a visage of pure desire and disarray, his appearance a testament to the pleasure that courses through his veins, leaving him utterly ravished.

You press yourself further onto him, his cock delving deeper until it meets the resistance of your throat. His fingers tighten around your hair, a sensation that ignites a thrilling burn along your scalp, a welcomed discomfort that fuels your desire. With a frustrated hiss, he releases into your waiting mouth, warm liquid cascading down your throat. You fight the urge to gag, focusing on steady breaths through your nose, grounding yourself in the moment as he reaches the peak of ecstasy.

He gasps, his breath ragged, a testament to his spent state as you continue to coax out every last tremor of pleasure. He lets out a whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity, prompting you to release his dick with a satisfying pop, a glistening string of saliva bridging the connection between you once more.

“You little minx,” he pants, playfully slapping your cheek as a smirk dances on his lips, his eyes ablaze with mischief, like a wildfire of desire.

“I tried so hard not to come, but I guess you had other plans,” he chuckles, his gaze fixed on you as you lick your lips teasingly, each movement a silent invitation for more mischief.

“Yeah, the night is still young,” you declare, rising to your feet with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Without hesitation, you extend your tongue once more, and this time, Jimin eagerly spits into your waiting mouth, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“You’re so nasty,” he smirks, leaning in to kiss you hungrily, as if he’s eager to devour every inch of your being.

When you finally pull apart, you can’t help but chuckle softly. “And you love every bit of it,” you tease, a playful glint dancing in your eyes.

He clearly revels in it, evident as he steps back, shedding his pants and boxers until they form a pool at his feet. Even his shoes aren’t spared, kicked off swiftly as he stands there, completely bare from the waist down.

Despite his softened dick, he remains an arresting sight, captivating and dangerous in his nakedness, every contour and line a testament to his allure.

With effortless strength, he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you through your apartment, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bedroom?” He suggests, his voice laced with anticipation.

You chuckle softly, nodding towards your right, and with a casual tap of his foot, he swings the bedroom door open. A rush of heat floods through you, your arousal evident as you feel the slick warmth between your legs, undoubtedly coating him.

He opts not to flip the switch, allowing the gentle glow from the kitchen to filter into your bedroom, casting a tantalizing veil of shadows. With a playful yet confident gesture, he tosses you onto the bed, eliciting a spontaneous burst of laughter from you, reminiscent of a lovestruck fool lost in the feelings of her crush.

You’re well aware that catching feelings wasn’t part of the plan, that this was meant to be a fleeting encounter. Yet, as the intensity of the moment swells around you, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to every sensation, every touch, every whispered word shared between you. Despite your best efforts to guard your heart, you can’t help but revel in the dizzying whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, silently acknowledging that you’re utterly captivated by every moment spent in his company.

He lingers above you, a tantalizing pause that leaves anticipation crackling in the air. Then, with a deliberate yet primal grace, he sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed, his hands firmly clasping your ankles as he draws you irresistibly closer to the edge.

With a primal hunger, he yanks your scanty dress up to your waist, a guttural growl escaping his lips as his gaze locks onto your shimmering, needy pussy, the raw desire in his eyes igniting a blazing fire within you.

“Fuck. You’re practically a waterfall down there,” he remarks, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips as he surveys your drenched arousal.

You spread your legs invitingly, gazing down your body at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, have a taste,” you challenge, your voice dripping with anticipation.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he groans, his hands gripping your thighs and placing them over his shoulders. His mouth descends to your aching core, lips and tongue poised to give you the attention you crave.

His plush tongue meets your clit first, eliciting a frustrated moan from your lips. He sucks with the hunger of a starved man, savoring your taste. Moving down, he uses his fingers to spread your folds, allowing him to dip his tongue inside your throbbing entrance.

You pant, clenching around his probing tongue, every nerve alight with bliss, feeling as though you’ve been transported to heaven.

His tongue licks and laps at your sensitive skin, each stroke sending shivers through your trembling body. The need building inside you is almost unbearable—you crave so much more.

For a moment, his tongue plunges into your cunt, teasing and stimulating your hole. Growing impatient, your hands dart down to grip his blonde locks, fingers clenching tightly as you try to urge him on, desperate for more of his relentless attention.

He seems to get the hint, moving up to suck on your clit, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you release a soft scream.

Your body clenches, fingers gripping his hair tighter as a frustrated grunt escapes your lips.

The room fills with slurping noises, driving your mind into a frenzy of pleasure.

Suddenly, his fingers prod at your entrance, and you clench in anticipation. God, you want it—you want his fingers so bad. Honestly, you crave a lot more than just his fingers.

He pushes in one finger at first, and your breath hitches. Your walls clench around the single digit, and it doesn’t take long before you’re grinding into his hand and face, desperate for more.

Fuck, how is he so skilled with both his hands and mouth? His suction on your clit is relentless, alternating between perfect suction and expertly flattening his tongue, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes your bundle of nerves from side to side.

As a second finger joins the first in your tight hole, you gasp at the delicious stretch. It’s been a while since you’ve had sex, and Jimin’s girthy size alone suggests you’ll need ample preparation. Despite already feeling dripping with anticipation, you know the importance of proper preparation to avoid any uncomfortable burns from the stretch.

With a suction-like force around your clit, he sends you reeling, seeing stars with each electrifying sensation. His face withdraws from your pussy, yet his fingers remain firmly embedded within you, a tantalizing promise of what’s to come.

His face gleams with your essence. His eyes, deep as obsidian, flicker with desire, his lips curved into a teasing smirk as he licks them hungrily. “Think you’re ready for a third finger?”

You moan unabashedly as his fingers find that sweet spot within, every touch igniting a cascade of sensations that render you pliant. Biting your lip to stifle the cries of pleasure, you nod eagerly. “Yes,” you pant, your voice a fervent plea, “please, get me ready for your cock.”

A triumphant smirk dances on his lips as he responds with a pleased grunt, effortlessly sliding in a third finger. The stretch is undeniable, prompting you to draw in a deep breath of air to accommodate the delicious fullness. Though there’s no burning sensation, your body pulses with the intensity of your arousal, each sensation amplified by your slickness.

“You like it?” His voice, a sultry whisper, sends shivers down your spine as he inquires, his pace quickening with each determined thrust of his three fingers inside you. Your response is immediate, a chorus of moans escaping your lips in tandem with his relentless motion.

“Yes,” you gasp, feeling the intensity of his touch reverberate through every fiber of your being. Heat pools at your core, beads of sweat glistening along your hairline, as your body surrenders to the overwhelming waves of pleasure washing over you.

“Just wait until I fill you with my cock,” he murmurs, his voice laced with anticipation, his eyes smoldering with desire. “I want to see you fall apart on it. God, you’re so pretty,” he adds, his words a seductive whisper that sends shivers down your spine. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he returns to your pussy, trailing a teasing lick from his fingers buried inside you up to your throbbing clit, igniting a fire of longing within you.

“Fuck, Jimin. Please,” you pant, your voice thick with need. Every nerve in your body aches for his touch, craving the electrifying sensation of his tongue against your skin once more. You can sense the impending arrival of an orgasm, its tantalizing tendrils teasing at the edges of your consciousness, and you yearn for him to push you over the edge, to obliterate every last shred of restraint until you’re consumed by ecstasy.

“Please what?” He taunts again, his tongue teasingly tracing delicate patterns over your throbbing clit. The sensation sends waves of frustration coursing through you, igniting a fierce longing for more of his touch. You can feel the tension building within you, a potent mix of desire and impatience, as you yearn for his tongue to remain there indefinitely, granting you the blissful release you crave.

“Please make me come already!” You pant in exasperation, your fingers digging into the sheets beside your hips, a desperate plea echoing in the heated air between you.

With a shit-eating smirk, he dives back down, his mouth latching onto your clit with aggressive fervor. His relentless licking sends bolts of electricity through your body, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Meanwhile, his fingers continue their relentless thrusting inside you, creating a symphony of pleasure that promises to tip you over the brink of ecstasy any moment now.

As his teeth tug at your clit, a surge of electricity shoots through your body, igniting every nerve ending with anticipation. The knot in your stomach tightens with each tantalizing pull, signaling the imminent unraveling of your senses.

“Yes. Fuck. I’m gonna come, Jimin-ah! Fuck, you’re so good,” the words tumble from your lips in a breathless rush, punctuated by the primal rhythm of your panting. Your body thrashes with unrestrained pleasure, every nerve alive with the electric touch of his lips and tongue. In response, Jimin’s hand tightens around your hips, pulling you even further down into his face.

As his tongue presses down on your throbbing clit, his fingers continue their relentless thrusts, driving you wild with their rapid pace. Your muscles tighten involuntarily, signaling the imminent arrival of your climax. It’s right there, teetering on the edge, tantalizingly close as every fiber of your being aches for release.

With your body trembling on the precipice of ecstasy, he withdraws his tongue from your throbbing clit, his face shimmering with your essence. “Do you really think you deserve to come?” His question hangs in the air, a challenge laced with mischief and desire.

Frustration boils within you, your body teetering on the edge of release, craving that sweet release. With a hiss of desperation, you prop yourself up on your arms, determined to meet his gaze. “I’ll be a good girl,” you plead, your voice a whispered promise laden with need. “I’ll behave. Just let me... please, let me come.”

His tongue returns to your throbbing clit with a ferocity that reignites every nerve ending, driving you to the precipice of ecstasy faster than thought itself. Your breath catches in your throat, each ragged moan echoing the crescendo building within you. As your body tenses with anticipation, you feel the inevitable release cresting like a tidal wave, crashing over you in blissful waves. Tremors ripple through your body, held securely in his grasp, as he maintains his relentless assault of pleasure, ensuring your euphoria knows no bounds.

As the waves of ecstasy continue to crash over you, he remains steadfast in his ministrations, guiding you through the tempest of pleasure. Yet, as the intensity peaks, reaching heights almost unbearable, you signal your overwhelming sensation by grasping his hair once more, a silent plea for respite amidst the storm of sensation.

His fingers retreat, and a pang of longing fills the void they leave behind, craving the sensation of being filled with his touch once more. His gaze meets yours, ablaze with desire and urgency, mirroring the yearning that courses through your own veins.

“Was it good?” He teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at you, observing the subtle flush painting your cheeks as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck yes,” you pant, your voice husky with desire, feeling thoroughly ravished. Yet, beneath the lingering sensations, anticipation simmers, an eager yearning for him to take you with his cock, to stretch you, to fill you completely with his intoxicating presence.

He comes up to hover over you, his presence intense as he locks eyes with you. “You know what my plan is?” He murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Your eyebrow raises in curiosity, your heart beating a little faster as you wait for his next move, uncertain yet intrigued.

“I want to ruin you so deeply that every touch, every kiss, every moment with another will only remind you of me,” he whispers huskily into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your body responds to his words, your pussy clenching around emptiness at his crude words.

“You’ve already achieved that, Jimin. No other man could ever measure up to the fire you ignite within me,” you confess, your voice laden with desire and admiration, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

Your gaze, undoubtedly dazed and intoxicated with lust, fixes on him with an urgency that speaks volumes. “Jimin,” you implore, your fingers grasping at his arms, “I need you inside me. Right now. Please fuck me.”

He rakes his hand through his disheveled hair, a dangerous glint igniting in his eyes as he bites his lip in contemplation. “Fuck,” he breathes, desire smoldering in his gaze. “I want to fuck you. Badly. But I don’t have condoms. Do you or are you okay without that?”

You hold his gaze, your voice steady despite the urgency pulsing through you. “I don’t have any condoms either,” you admit, your eyes searching his for reassurance. “But I’m on birth control and I’m clean. Are you?” Your breath steadies, anticipation threading through your words.

His voice carries a confident assurance, yet there’s a vulnerability in his eyes as he meets yours. “Yeah, I’m clean,” he confirms, his tone firm, but tinged with a hint of vulnerability, as if silently seeking your trust.

“Then fuck me already,” you say, a bashful smile playing on your lips, your eyes locked with his, daring him to make the next move.

Jimin sits up, shedding his harness like shedding inhibitions, unbuttoning his white shirt with a flourish and tossing it carelessly to the floor. Now completely naked, he embodies the essence of a god, his presence both captivating and dangerous. Every line of his form speaks of strength and sin, his lean muscles rippling beneath pale skin that seems to glow in the dim light.

His touch ignites a trail of electricity along your skin as his fingers trace the curve of your sides. With a swift motion, he seizes the fabric of your dress, lifting it over your face, and then, in one fluid movement, he strips it away, revealing your body completely to his hungry gaze.

“No bra?”

With a mischievous chuckle, you shoot him a playful wink, a silent invitation dancing in your eyes.

“You really are a wicked little thing. Were you planning to seduce someone tonight?” His smirk deepens as his gaze lingers on your exposed breasts. His hands, cool against your skin, find their way to your chest, cupping them firmly, coaxing your nipples into stiff peaks within seconds.

He chuckles, his fingers dancing lightly over your skin, teasing and tempting you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as anticipation courses through your veins.

“No, I just revel in the freedom of my body. Restrictions aren’t my thing. Encountering you, though, was a delightful surprise,” you chuckle, feeling his fingertips tracing patterns over your nipples, each touch sending delicious shivers cascading down your spine.

His fingers encircle both of your nipples, pinching them just so, and your body arches involuntarily, a gasp escaping your lips as you pant for breath.

He guides you further up the bed, positioning your entire body for his pleasure. As he settles between your legs, his fingertips dance along your thighs, each touch sending electric waves of anticipation through your body, leaving you trembling in anticipation.

His voice, a low rumble, breaks through the charged air, his eyes seeking confirmation before he delves deeper into the intimacy between you two. “Are you ready?” He inquires, his gaze locking with yours, seeking not just consent, but a shared desire to plunge into the depths of pleasure together.

You respond with an urgent plea, your voice laden with need as you offer yourself fully to him. “Yes. Put your dick in me now,” you moan, your legs parting eagerly, beckoning him to claim you as your desire ignites the air around you.

With an air of command, he positions you, pulling your thighs onto his sides, his posture exuding dominance. As he rises to a sitting position, his dick completely hard again, standing tall and unyielding, eager to claim you once.

“You’re so wet, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he murmurs, his hand finding his cock, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his chest.

“Fuck me, please,” you rasp, the urgency in your voice palpable. Begging isn’t your usual style, but right now, you can’t help it. You need him inside you, filling every inch of you.

As he aligns his dick with your eager entrance, a primal urgency fills the air. The anticipation builds with each teasing prod against your folds, a delicious tension mounting between you. With a low grunt, he starts to push into you, a slow and deliberate motion that sets your senses ablaze, every inch of him awakening a craving you never knew existed.

“Fucking hell, you are tight!” He pants, the raw intensity of his voice echoing the primal desire between you. With a slick ease, he slides inside, your wetness enveloping him like a long-awaited embrace, each inch stirring a tempest of pleasure that threatens to consume you both.

“Fuck. You’re so thick! It feels so good,” you moan, your voice a symphony of desire as he fills you completely. With him buried deep within, he pauses, his gaze intense and heated, a testament to the raw hunger pulsating between you, his sweat-slicked skin glistening in the dim light.

The way he stretches you is nothing short of incredible, sending waves of sensation rippling through your body. Your hands grasp onto his arms, seeking an anchor in the whirlwind of pleasure, forging a connection to him as he pushes you to the brink of ecstasy.

Then, he begins to move, drawing out slowly only to thrust back in with an irresistible force. Your gasp of pleasure is swallowed by the room as he establishes a rapid rhythm, plunging into you with a relentless urgency.

The bed jolts against the wall, the sound echoing through the room, and you know your neighbors will hear, but you couldn’t care less. You’re being thoroughly ravished, lost in the primal intensity of it all. The sheer ecstasy of the moment eclipses any concern for discretion.

He presses his weight into you, drawing you closer in an embrace that feels almost possessive. In a sudden rush of intimacy, he leans down to meet your lips, igniting a fiery kiss that seems to consume you both. As his body melds with yours, his every movement synchronized with the rhythmic pulse of his thrusts, you feel an electric connection unlike anything you've experienced before.

With tantalizing slowness, he trails kisses along your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that sends shivers down your spine. His lips wander to your jawline, peppering it with delicate kisses before descending to the curve of your throat. There, he lingers, his mouth exploring every inch, igniting a primal desire that courses through your veins. Gradually, he moves downward, his lips now caressing your breasts with an urgency that matches the pounding of your heart.

His tongue dances sensually around your hardened nipple, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. As his skilled hand teases and strokes the other, you arch into his touch, a symphony of sensations unraveling within you. With each gentle suck, you find yourself uttering his name in a breathless plea, lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

The sensation is intoxicating, a tantalizing mix of pleasure and desire that threatens to consume every inch of your being.

His closeness envelops you, his intoxicating scent mingling with yours, creating an intoxicating blend of desire. With each meeting of your hips, his warmth and the firmness of his cock hitting your sweet spot send ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, eliciting yet another primal moan from your lips.

“Jimin!” You moan, your hands instinctively flying up to his hair, fingers entwining in the soft strands as he devours your nipple, each flick of his tongue sending shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, igniting a dazzling array of stars behind your closed eyelids.

He hums and chuckles around your breasts, the vibrations sending delightful shivers down your spine, his enjoyment evident in the way he savors every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips.

Then, he shifts his mouth over to the other nipple, the suction intense and demanding, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through your body. Simultaneously, his hand finds the other nipple, tugging at it with a tantalizing mix of firmness and gentleness.

His thrusts are relentless, driving deep into you with an intensity that leaves you reeling, each plunge sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. It’s so overwhelming, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion.

With a soft pop, Jimin releases your nipple, his lips trailing a path of fire as he moves back up to your neck, planting gentle kisses that send shivers down your spine.

You pull him tighter into your embrace, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you confess, “Shit. I’m so close.” The urgency in your voice mirrors the pounding of your heart, each beat echoing the relentless rhythm of your desire.

His voice, thick with desire, resonates in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he urges, “Come on my cock. I wanna feel you more.”

The raw, primal tone of his words sends a jolt of electricity through you, stirring an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. Every filthy utterance from his lips molds your insides like soft clay, leaving you trembling with an insatiable hunger for more.

His touch ignites a wildfire of sensation, each pinch and twist of your hardened peaks sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body again. You surrender to the delicious torment, your back arching instinctively as uninhibited moans escape your lips, a symphony of desire echoing through the room.

“Cream my dick, I know you can do it,” his words, a potent blend of desire and command, fuel your fervor even more. With each authoritative utterance, your need intensifies, the primal rhythm of his thrusts, his cock hitting heavenly places inside. His voice, a dark symphony of dominance, stirs something primal within you, urging you to surrender completely to the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

With a tantalizing flick of his fingers as he pinches your nipple again, igniting a rush of sensation through your body, and a thrust that delves deeper than before, your senses blur, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of pleasure. As his dick plunges into you, reaching depths that send shockwaves of ecstasy through your core, you’re transported to the brink of euphoria. On the tender spot of your neck, he sucks a hickey there. With a primal cry that echoes through the room, you surrender to the waves of ecstasy crashing over you, releasing your essence onto his throbbing cock.

When your walls tighten around him, a low growl of pleasure escapes his lips, punctuating the intensity of the moment. “God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he gasps, his voice laced with ecstasy. As the pressure builds within him, he can feel the impending release drawing near. “I’m gonna come soon too,” he confesses, the urgency in his tone mirroring the electric tension between you.

You pant, your chest heaving as you slowly descend from the peak of your ecstasy. Every breath feels like a blessing, leaving you in a state of serene satisfaction. Jimin’s touch has shifted, his fingers tracing gentle paths along your sides, while his hips move against yours with a newfound tenderness, each roll diving into you in a more sensual manner.

His thrusts delve even deeper, each movement driving him to the core of your being, sending shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your body. The rhythmic collision of his hips against yours, accompanied by the tantalizing impact of his balls against your pussy, ignites a fire within you, consuming you with an insatiable hunger for more.

He hisses, a primal sound escaping his lips, as you feel the telltale twitch of his cock deep inside you, signaling his imminent release. His breath quickens, each exhale a symphony of urgency, while his once graceful movements give way to a primal frenzy. With a feverish intensity, he plunges into you, each thrust a fervent pursuit of his climax.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you pant, a symphony of pleasure and need in your voice, struggling to maintain your composure as he pounds into you with unrelenting force, each thrust igniting a wildfire of sensation within you. Despite the intensity, or perhaps because of it, you find yourself surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, relishing every moment of his powerful onslaught.

“Shit. I’m losing control. I—, I can’t,” he begins to mumble, his voice strained with an unexpected vulnerability, and you observe a fleeting, pained expression flicker across his face.

You reach out for him, your hands cradling his face with a tender urgency. “Don’t be afraid,” you murmur, your voice a soothing melody amidst the storm of sensations. “Just let go. Come inside me and fill me up,” you whisper, your words a gentle invitation laced with a primal hunger that echoes the rhythm of your entwined bodies.

His gaze darkens, a tempest swirling in those depths, as if wrestling with unseen forces. With a guttural grunt, he appears on the verge of surrender, yet something holds him back, an inner conflict etched across his features like a turbulent battle playing out before your eyes.

With a few final, desperate thrusts, he succumbs, his release flooding into your welcoming depths, a primal grunt escaping his lips as he fills you with his heated essence, a potent mixture of ecstasy and raw desire intertwining in the heat of the moment.

Ecstasy floods your senses as you revel in the sensation of being completely filled, every nerve ending electrified with pleasure. Your toes curl involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the intense ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” his voice, filled with a mix of frustration and ecstasy, pants out an apology, his breaths ragged and heavy. It’s a symphony of emotions, the frustration of losing control mingling with the sheer bliss of the moment.

Confused by his apology, you chuckle softly, your hands finding solace in tracing patterns on his back, a silent reassurance amidst the continued rhythm of his movements within you.

His lips tenderly graze your neck, igniting a playful giggle within you. As his affection turns fervent, you relish in the sensation of him marking you, a primal instinct you love. Yet, the playful nip lingers longer, teeth sinking deeper than expected, sending a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. Your moans escalate, desire fueling your body’s response. But as the dizziness sets in and the need for air becomes desperate, a chilling realization dawns upon you—something is wrong.

Your eyelids flutter shut, a shiver racing down your spine as an icy chill envelops you, sapping away your energy. In the eerie silence that follows, darkness descends, swallowing you whole.

Someone shakes you gently, and you recognize Jimin’s touch. A warm, sticky sensation trails down your neck. Blood? The throb in your neck intensifies, a soreness radiating from the spot. Did he bite you so hard that you passed out?

“Y/N, oh my god, I’m so sorry!” His voice trembles with distress and worry as he gazes down at you, his eyes wide with panic.

“Why?” You ask, your voice slurred and heavy with exhaustion. Every word feels like an effort, and you’re overwhelmed by a bone-deep fatigue.

“I’m— I couldn’t stop,” he sobs, his voice cracking with guilt. You’re utterly baffled, trying to piece together what just happened.

“I should have told you sooner,” he mumbles, tears glistening in his eyes and his lips trembling. He looks like a completely different person from the confident man you met in Magic Shop.

“What’s wrong?” you groan in pain, attempting to move your body, but it refuses to cooperate, leaving you feeling heavy and unresponsive.

“I’m a vampire…” he confesses, his eyes lingering on your naked body, the sight of blood trickling from your neck and staining the white sheets.

“What?” Your eyes snap open, awareness flooding back as you see his tear-streaked face. Your heart aches at the sight, and you instinctively reach out, gently brushing away one of his tears.

“It’s okay. I had a feeling,” you murmur, doing your best to reassure him. When his tear-filled eyes meet yours again, you give him a soft, comforting smile.

“I think I drank too much from you. I’m so sorry. I should have asked,” he stammers, his voice heavy with shame. His eyes drop to the floor, reflecting his internal struggle. You can tell he takes immense pride in his self-control, and losing it tonight is tearing him apart.

“Jimin, it’s okay. I’m fine,” you reassure him, masking your own weakness as you attempt to sit up, your arms trembling slightly beneath you.

“It’s not fine. You passed out,” he grumbles, his expression a mix of concern and frustration, his lips forming a subtle pout.

"Oh. I did?" you ask, a flicker of confusion crossing your face as you piece together the fragments of your memory.

You take your hand up to your neck, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over the tender skin. Examining your palm, you find it smeared with a trace of blood, a stark reminder of the unexpected turn the night has taken. It’s not much though, and you guess the bleeding has almost stopped.

You reach out for him once more, closing the distance between you with a sudden, passionate kiss. The intensity of your embrace catches him off guard, his eyes widening in surprise, his lips yielding to the unexpected fervor of your touch.

When you draw back, your gaze locks onto his, unwavering and filled with a mix of emotions. “It’s still the best and most unforgettable one-night stand ever,” you declare, your words carrying a weight of sincerity and a hint of lingering desire.

He offers you a small smile that swiftly morphs into a mischievous smirk, as if he’s silently challenging you to another round.

“You know, I’m all for making this a regular thing, if you’re up for it. I mean, I don’t mind a little bite here and there. Maybe not to the point of blacking out, but everything before that? Damn, it was fucking hot,” you suggest with a playful wink, your sultry gaze locked with his, a subtle invitation lingering in the air as you moisten your lips.

An exasperated groan escapes him, his fangs emerging, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. You extend your hand, tracing his full lips before daringly brushing your fingertips over his sharp fangs, a mixture of curiosity and arousal coursing through you.

Your gaze drifts downwards, finding his glistening dick coated in a mixture of your essence and his, standing proudly. With a seductive nibble on your lower lip, you reach out, your hand finding his throbbing cock, stroking it with deliberate intent, eliciting a low, guttural moan from him as pleasure courses through his body.

Teasingly, you inquire, “Ready to go for another round already? Got some superhuman stamina hidden in there?” Your jest is accompanied by an increase in pace, your hand working with newfound fervor, eliciting gasps of pleasure from him as his body responds eagerly to your touch.

In between gasps and needy pants, he admits, “Something like that.”

His voice, dripping with desire, sends shivers down your spine. “I’m ready for more. And you... do you really want this to be a regular thing?” His words punctuate each stroke, his pleasure palpable as he speaks.

“I’ve never found anyone who could keep up with me and my needs like this,” he confesses, his eyes closing intermittently in pure ecstasy.

“Yes, Jimin, me too,” you breathe, your voice husky with desire. “I feel like I’ve finally met my equal. You satisfy me in ways no one ever has. Please.” Your words, a soft plea, dance across his ear, sending shivers down his spine. As you feel him quivering beneath your touch, you know this connection is something truly special.

“Let me ride you,” you suggest with a sultry smile, but you’re not one to wait for permission. With a swift movement, you push him down onto the bed, eliciting a hiss of surprise followed by a deep, rumbling laugh from him. It’s a playful exchange, full of anticipation and eagerness for what’s to come.

“Fuck, I think I might be in love,” he groans, his words punctuated by a sharp intake of breath as you straddle him, aligning yourself with his throbbing cock. With a slow, deliberate movement, you sink down onto him, relishing in the now familiar, exquisite stretch that never fails to send shivers of pleasure down your spine, something you’ll never tire off.

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