Seokjin.

It was almost like a bad dream, and out of everything that could have happened to me, us, I just had to ran into my mother. It's fucked up how the universe just has a way to ruin my day, or my happiness for that matter, choosing my most excited moments to dampen my moods by foul, vile memories from the past.

I haven't seen my mother for seven years, oddly I haven't even ran into her since I came back to Korea. It was strange, given the closeness of the industries that we worked in, one I knew she still took seriously. Her office quarters were downtown, her name appearing in a few guest lists events I had attended, and although I always prepared myself for an impromptu run in -ironicaly really - I never once saw her.

I've always thought she was hiding, not necessarily from me, and not from the harm that she's caused me and my loved ones either, but more of because we don't have any type of relation anymore. It would be undeniable if we're together to spot the similarity, and that's the problem, because we are not related anymore, and those under her shadow and her wings would find out of her past, and she wouldn't want her image ruined.

Yet today when I spotted her, there was a type of shock, a weird kind of mesmerization that I haven't ever seen on her. She had been perplexed, looking almost guilty. She had just been standing there, like always, in her all white, equally white heels shining on her still pretty toes. Her purple Gucci handbag had stayed limply on her side, her shoulder length hair even shorter. Her usual menacing eyes had held no malice, no glint or secret agenda, she had just  been there, her lean figure a bit slimmer than I remember.

She looked like an entirely different person.

Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me because I hadn't seen her for so long, but I could have sworn there was relief in her face at my sight, a bit of delight, maybe rejoice too, and I may have caught her eyes watering. It was strange to say the least. Although all that didn't stop me from comprehending all that was going on. She was still Soojin, and I would have been damned if I ever let her near me or any of family again.

Her eyes had moved from Namjoon who had just stared back at her with a blank expression, to me, then our son. It had lingered on Jeonghan a while longer, and something about the realization that crossed her eyes had made me snap. She had made the connection, of him being mine, mine and Namjoon, and it made me boil, even further when I thought about all that she had put us through.

Namjoon had seemed to think so as well, and without another word he had heaved Jeonghan to his arm, before grabbing my wrist with his free hand and leading us out of the mall. It was almost protective, the silence speaking more than he let on. It made me wonder of what he must have been going through, reliving the traumatic memories of us splitting up, of him leaving, and of Taehyung's suffering. He must have had it worse, and I had stayed in my passenger's seat silent, too scared and guilty to ask him out he felt.

It was still because of me that he had gotten hurt, I was still the reason Soojin came into their lives, and left that impact on them. Admittedly, she caused me pain too, tremendous pain with how she took the love of my life from me, how her lies and her scheming pushed me to the further end, and how horribly it had eventually played out for me and Jungkook- who she wanted for me - and for the son that I kept from his father, but that was nothing compared to what Namjoon must have been experiencing.

We had had dinner at Solar's, the meal uneventful, at least for the adults who knew what was going on. Jeonghan was fortunately his playful self, and hadn't caught much of the interaction earlier, or the change in moods that we tried so hard to keep it under the radar. He had snuggled up with the girls, showing them pictures of his Halloween costume that Taehyung had sent, before he fell a sleep on one of the bean bags when exhaustion took over. I had wanted to take him home, but Solar had insisted I have a bit of time to myself, perhaps talk to Namjoon, seek comfort or point of views.

Namjoon hadn't objected, so we'd left our son at Solar's, before he drove me home. We ought to have talked, said something in the least, but he had just buckled himself up and reeled in the silence. It had been deafening, a somewhat reminder of what was probably going on in his head. For a few minutes there I thought about him possibly blaming me, thinking about how much pain Soojin and I had caused him in this life, but partly he had looked like he had just been in thought, his own world, angrily in his own world, and I decided to just let him be.

Now standing on my front door with him, fishing for my keys, I don't know if he wants to come in or not. He had escorted me up to my condo, still speechless and wordless, and it's driving me insane. I make a quick work of the door, gaze meeting his, intending to ask if wants to come in, but his eyes glue to mine, narrowed, watching like they've been for a while now. He searches, his rather stoic face making me worried in the slightest. Is he ok? Oh, who am I kidding? Of course he's not alright, he just saw that woman, and every ounce of fibre in him right now is probably struggling to stay sane.

"I am not gonna let her anywhere near our son." There is conviction in it, but a worrying lack of emotion at the same time. His eyes are compelling, not exactly for an answer, more of an acknowledgement of what he just said. I know he wouldn't let anything happen to Jeonghan, but the thought of my mother knocks off any rational secure thought that I have.

Admittedly, we are grown now, we are smarter, richer, and just as much of power, and if she wanted to do anything to harm us she'd have to work extra hard, but thinking about Soojin, all I see is pain, harm, everything that could befall my son if she ever steps foot into our lives again, and I hate to admit the intimidation, the slight fear, and lack of belief that I have in Namjoon's statement. It's a promise, but I don't know if he could ever keep it.

I nod nonetheless to him, not uttering anything further as I walk into the coziness of my house. He follows me in as well, locking the door behind, but stays put by it, silent. I feel his eyes one me, and I imagine them searching, like always attempting to draw something from me, fishing for more that I am hiding.

"You don't believe me." He mutters in the silence as I take off my coat, like always expertly deciphering my feelings. I refrain from turning to face him, not wanting to disappoint him or make him feel bad about a part of myself being doubtful. He's sufficient enough, and I know he will protect Jeonghan with everything in him, especially from Soojin, but I am just...I am scared, I am terrified of me or my son reliving it again.

I hear his footsteps approach me, and I turn around from hanging my coat, just in time for him to stand in front of me. He narrows his eyes once more, not hurt, not disappoint. His hands comes up, brushing the few strands shrouding my eyes. He tucks them gently behind my ears, cold fingers tips grazing gently on my warm skin, sending a chill down my back.

"I mean it. Nobody is ever going to hurt our son. Or you for that." He adds the last part, deathly serious, cupping the side of my face, directing my eyes to his piercing gaze. He needs an answer, more than an acknowledgement, a response of sort.

"I know. The reverse goes for me as well. I would die before I ever let her hurt you again." It rolls off my lips freely, protective, but sounding venomous in the same. It feels good to finally say it to him, to assure him of my watchfulness for him. His eyes glow with acceptance in the dim, and it warms my heart that I have his back, and he has mine. I'll protect him just as much as he protects me, care for him just as much as he cares for me, love him just as much as he does me....

I should step back, I should let him go, keep our usual boundaries, but instead I find myself leaning into his touch, my eyes dropping with the need to loose myself in his feeling of his soft hands. I stare up at him, his own eyes unusually vulnerable, but oddly unrestrained. There is this raw look on him, heavy, feral, and it makes me shiver once more, the thought of him looking at me like that, making me think of things, impossible things.

I shouldn't, I shouldn't look at his eyes let alone think of him like that, but I can't help it, I can't think of anything else other than this intense need to forget, to not think about that woman, or to not think of anything at all. His is incredibly close to me, lips parted and I can't help think of how fine they look, how good they glow as he purses them, making them moist and soft. Can't help think of how much they'd make me forget if I could have just one taste of them.

He tilts my head up so that I can look at his eyes once again, and quickly I realise just how far I had slipped to be fantasizing about him. I gulp, make to apologize, but his own eyes deny me the chance as they travel to my lips, before he leans into me and boldly presses his lips onto mine.

Obviously, his are soft, warm, and god, taste just like I remember. Naturally my eyes close on their own, and not a second later I find my lips mingling with his, too entranced to think about boundaries, consequences or anything about that. It's just him and me, and the familiar taste of him kissing me, tasting me and awaking things in me.

Almost immediately I sense the urgency, the hunger and thirst, and  just as quickly as it started, it turns wild, untamed, and his hands come around my waist tightly, pressing me to every inch of him while I wrap my hands around his neck, head tilting as I open up for his tongue.

I don't know what I am doing, but I know I need it, I need it to breath, to feel and forget. I need him to kiss me until I fucking forget, about all these fuckers, all this pain and betrayal, all of it that is surrounding us.

I whimper lightly into the kiss, electricity going through me as his tongue roughly strokes with mine, teeth clashing and lips molding with mine. His hands tighten on me, fingers pleasurably digging into my skin, and it makes me moan on him, lips parting gently over his to produce the sound that makes him pause.

He pulls back a second to stare into my hooded eyes, his own untamed, free. He's searching, for hesitancy of any kind, his own strings of controlled already snapped. I want him. I want him just as much, and I make him know as I smash my lips onto his a second time, fingers tangling in his hair as my tongue probes onto his lips this time. He relents, but doesn't allow me control as his hands move further down my waist to grab in his palm a handful of my ass, making me moan.

It's hurried, and dirty and rough, and fuck, I like it.

I let him lead me backwards, until my legs knock on the couch, which he gently lowers me into. His space is right between my legs, and he takes it, towering over me, lips finding mine once more. It's like our lives depend on it, I know mine does as I kiss him back with just as much vigour, shivering in the slightest when his hands find their way inside my shirt.

There is no thought, at least not anything other than us, no complains, no consequences despite every other thing that is pending between us. It's just him with me, on me, over me....
My shirt comes off, and the first feeling of his lips and teeth on my skin makes my toes curl, my insides twist with butterflies, the pit of my stomach tingling with need, the same one that shoots straight to my member, making me harder than I was already. He hungrily licks up my neck, humming to himself before trailing open mouthed kisses over my neck and jaw.

"Beautiful, your beautiful..." He rasps on my ear, biting and nipping at my skin, while I bite at my lips, the new  sensation of his lips and tongue and teeth on me reminding me so much of what I've missed. 

I hold tight onto his back, palms and nails scratching under his shirt as he sucks my skin, my mouth opening occasionally with sounds I haven't made in years, legs opening even wider for him, and all of it from only a few kisses.

His lips skim lower, the contrast in temperature and the sensitive nerve endings of my being perking up as he takes one nipple into his mouth. I arch onto his face, the feeling foreign, yet so familiarly pleasurable.

"Joon-ah." I cry out, choking as one of his hands hold at my waist, his hips rolling into me, his crotch rubbing to mine, the contact knocking of my breath. Fuck, that feels so good. He grunts as well at the feeling, quickly and roughly switching onto my other nipple, lewdly sucking onto it, tongue swirling as he rolls his hips onto mine, his equally harden member grazing me over our clothes.

"Lube." He growls as he relents on my chest, trailing now gentle kisses all over my neck that's thrown back for him. "My closet, bottom drawer." I answer just as urgently, unable to process the magnitude of what's about to happen. We are gonna have sex, after all this while, after all the boundaries we've put in place, yet I can't find it in myself to want otherwise.

I want him in me, pleasuring me further than he has already. I want him to fuck me, to make me forget of anything. Anything other than the feeling of his cock in him. "Take it off. All of it. I want you bare when I get back." He growls on my ear, biting my lobe, and I close my eyes at the feeling, somehow incredibly turned on by this side of him, this beautiful beast of man that wants to devour me.

He peels from me, standing off the couch, staring a second longer at me. At my flushed face and my already unruly hair, my bitten swollen lips and my uneven breathing. He stares at the blotches he just made on my skin, and the nipples he sucked the hell out of, and lastly to my parted legs, the bulge on my pants being the cheery on top. His gaze makes me want to squirm, but oddly makes me want to twist and turn with pleasure at the same time. Like a type of show for him, for his eyes only.

He steps back, before walking down the hall, to my bedroom in search of the needed agent, and I can't help feel like I miss his warmth already. I am however brought back with the thought of his earlier command, and without thinking another second, I peel off my jeans, sitting up to get them off my legs, before grabbing my at my boxers and doing the same.

The contrast in temperature makes me harden, and I fall back on the couch, (one I need to change after this) biting at my lips as I hear him grunt and fumble around with things in my room. My legs fall open once more and I whimper at the thought of him being between them in the next few seconds.

Oddly, I am not conscious of how I look, how he might perceive my physical appearance, and I am strangely not worried about messing this up or being awkward. It's almost like, at the back of mind I know how to be with him, the thought feels almost natural, like a routine that I've mastered before, and would never forget.

His footsteps sounds down the hall again, and when he appears before me on the couch, I am taken aback my the sight of him. He's clearly more masculine than I thought, his arms, pecs, and boards of abs, signs of his physical hard work. He's only in his Calvin Klein, the piece of fabric stuck to him like a second skin, highlighting every corner of his curves, down to the huge bulge that's resting on the left side of his tattooed thigh, the bulbous head peaking from the opening. I can tell by it's outline that it's big, he's grown over these past few years, and I gulp at that, at fear and the excitement that battles inside of me, unconsciously clenching around nothing.

Is he really gonna rail me with that?

His own eyes trail over my naked body, before gluing over my spread legs, my raging boner, and my clenching hole. Fuck, I need him, and he knows so, feels the same as he visibly twitches in his underwear, equally gulping at a peak of me.

He uncaps the lubricant he thankfully found, taking his place once more between my legs, before spreading a fair amount on his hands. His fingers glide easily with it, but hurriedly at the same time, his earlier urgency showing once more as he quickens the process.

"Up." He simply says, and it's funny how after all this time I already know what he means. My legs come further up my chest, and despite the exposure to his eyes, despite the slight embarrassment to being bare before, him, I still open up and make space for him as he comes over me. He towers me, lips finding mine once more as his hands take hold of my straining dick. I gasp on his lips, immediately feeling overwhelmed by the brutal pace he sets as he smoothly jerks me, his own hips rolling onto mine, clothed cock gliding over my ass he kisses me.

He pulls back to watch me, and I can't help it as I throw my head to the top of the couch, eyes closing and mouth opening in a moan as he skillfully fists me in his hands. "Fuck...." I can't help spill, mouth forming into an  'o' under his feral but attractive gaze. It's pleasure, something I haven't felt in a while, in a long time really, and I fish for his lips again, desperate to silence myself, and have a taste of him at the same time. I hold each side of his face in my palms, fingers splaying all over him, kissing him within an inch of my and his life.

He adjusts further on me, and I hold my breath as his fingers slide lower, eyes trained on him, a bit nervous, but begging all in all. He leans on his knee as he spreads me further for his eyes, his nose skims all over my thighs and my legs, while his other hand grabs and kneads the flesh of my ass.

"Joon-ah..." I don't how but I beg him, deeply aroused, need for him growing more urgent by the minute. Gently he runs a finger over me, keeping my hooded gaze as he inserts a digit in to the hilt. My breath catches at the breach, toes curling in air at the mild pain, yet pleasure that I haven't received in ages. I haven't had anything in me for close to six months now, not even myself, and a part of me rejoices at the thought of Namjoon being the first in a while.

I am basically a moaning mess as he moves his finger in me, head thrown back as he lets me adjust before adding another then another. I feel incredibly full, stimulated as he strokes me with his other hand, his authoritative voice bringing me on edge several times as he commands me to keep my thighs up and apart.

He just watches as I reel in pleasure, eyes glinting in amazement at the happiness and delight written on my face as I beg for him not to stop. It's a giving part of him that I've always known, but quite frankly missed all these years. How he takes care of me whenever we are together, how he ensures my pleasure before anything else. It's his nature, especially when I am with him, I come before anything else.

When he's done stretching me I am a panting mess, I am ruined, honestly on the verge of crying, but god do I feel so good. He takes his fingers out of me, and I whimper at the emptiness, clenching around nothing, needing him to fill me. He curses under his breath at the action, his equally swollen lips gliding over each other in a sensual lick. Fuck, that tongue of his....He is sweating on every inch, his unruly hair from my raking fingers making him ten times more attractive.

He sits back before taking off his underwear, and my breath catches as he frees his cock, letting it spring to his lower abs, twitching. He's big, bigger than I remember, lengthy, veined and oh, looking so meaty. I scoot up so I am leaned on my elbows, legs still parted for him, waiting.

He pauses instead, eyes glued on me despite the attention he so needs down there. I look up at him, and amongst the chaos, the rush, the anger and confusion in him, amongst the war yet the haste in his eyes, there a silent open question. Despite all we've done, how far we've come, with how many boundaries we've crossed, he's still seeking permission, or perhaps giving me a chance to back out.

I understand the hesitancy, and the little fear that I see hiding under his rage right now, but I want to, not only to forget but to finally be with him again. I've wanted to for a long time, I've wanted his touch and his kisses, his love and care, and perhaps this rush and masked lust for each other isn't the way to go about it, but I want to. I want to feel him in me, we've come too far not to, we've suffered enough not to enjoy this.

We might regret it later, but for tonight, for this hour I just want him with me, in me, loving and fucking me. Laying back down, I extend out my hands to him, grabby as he comes closer. I wrap them around his neck as I kiss him with reassurance, with passion and with need. "I want to. Please." I state, begging at the end of it, looking into his eyes with sincerity.

He gazes at me for a second longer, searching for anything that states otherwise, and when he finds none, he gently pecks my nose, soft, the first I've seen on him all night.

He however leans back on his knees the next second, the duality surprising me as he parts my knees for him, lubed up cock in his other hand. He looks all shade of sexy as he strokes himself, head thrown back and mouth spilling with low curses at each tug. That makes me moan, whine for it, for him.

He eventually guides himself into me, and the untamed look in his eyes lets me know he's not about to be gentle and loving me. He's raged, and so am I, angry, just like I am, and he's gonna be rough, and I want him to.

His head catches on my rim, and I feel myself tensing at the increase in his girth, pain shooting down my spine at his size. His large palms soothingly run over my hips, all over my belly and back at my thighs, calming and distracting me at the same time. He takes his time to lodge himself in me, and when he finally does, a few tears escape me, not only at the pain, but at the feeling of having him with me and in me after all these years. It's amazing, wonderful despite the heightened emotions shrouding everything.

He's slow, and I arch off the cushions as he drags out of me, his wide blown unbelieving eyes glued to me as he drives into me again. "Arrrgh, arrrgh fuck." I choke out, feeling every inch of him grazing into me. I am full, satisfied, filled, the best I have felt in....forever.

"Fuuuuck. So fucking tight." He drawls out himself, groaning as he rolls his hips, thrusts deep and long. His sweaty hair falls on his face, his equally sweaty chest flexing as he pumps into me. It's lewd, but so fucking right, and I clench tight around him at the sight of him moving so swiftly and smoothly in me. His cock moist from the mixture of our fluids.

"Don't stop."

"Never." He growls out in response, eyes raking every inch of my ruined form, every inch of me that's begging him to take me. He splays my thighs even further apart, and I choke out as he increases his pace, immediately locating my prostate. I once again arch off the cushions, hands grabbing the top of the couch, my own member profusely leaking at the stimulation.

"Ah, ah-fuck." Its brutal how he rails on the same spot, quite aware of my prostate, and the torture he reigns on it. It feels good, wonderful the way he takes me, fucks me. I look to him to find him just as incredibly bewildered. His lips are parted in low grunts, eyes set in concentration as he snaps at a blinding pace, his hands holding at my waist and legs to keep them position he wants, while I watch the way he fucks into me.

The sight of his cock moving back and forth in me is arousing, satisfying and I internally applaud myself for being able to take him, to take that monster of a cock in me, feeling so fucking full. My stomach tightens, and so do my balls as I feel a familiar pressure build in me. I cry out, feeling his hands on my thighs move to my member.

It's already too much, and I hold back a scream, extending out my hands to him which he accepts immediately, never relenting in his pace as he bends over me to share a messy tongue filled kiss with me. "I am close. I am g-gonna cum..." I whisper out on his lips, trembling already when he fists my member.

His fists matches his strokes into me, and I clutch onto his shoulders as the knot in my stomach releases. My heaven and my earth collides, my legs shake midair, body trembling as a silent scream leaves my lips, pleasure coursing every inch of my veins as Namjoon keeps his strokes.

My eyes blur with tears, but I keep them open and on the man above me, this truck of an orgasm matching the weight of his stare on me. Heavy and intrigued, satisfied and loving. I can't think, can't speak or do anything else underneath him. I am ruined, in the best way possible, and I internally marvel at the thought of him being still rock hard in me.

This night is far from over.

Haven't written smut in forever, I am a little rusty😏

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