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music: ateez, bts, got7, frank ocean, brockhampton, a lot more :)
media: one piece, alice in borderland, bleach, dexter, code geass, jjk, breaking bad, better call saul
~ yunho's fingers can't get enough of you - a yunho drabble
pairing: yunho x fem!reader
genre: smut
warnings: pwp, established relationship, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, slightttt somnophilia (?), brief mention of s*x toy
notes: i'm sleep deprived once again its 3am but i couldn't stop thinking about yunho's long slender insanely hot hands so THIs came out of my brain and i wanted to share it with the rest of you all. enjoy <3 honestly this is very short but read until the end!
not proof read!! i had fun while writing this
tags: @minkisdoll @skelejor @butterbeanandsparkleface
do not copy, translate, repost, or claim my writing as your own
"oh yunho- slow down- t-too much"
you were sat on yunho's laps, your back facing him. your legs were splayed out to his advantage, wide open just perfect enough for his long and slender fingers to slide into you deliciously. you couldn't even tell how much time had gone by due to the amount of brain fog caused by the pleasure you were recieving.
that wasn't the only thing you couldn't determine. you could've sworn you just went through 5 orgasms one after another. and he was still trying to milk another one out of you.
your legs were shaking, and you were having trouble keeping yourself up on him. the only thing keeping you up was the grip yunho had on your waist.
"mm fuck. love when you say my name like that. i know you can give me another one, baby. can you do that? can you be a good girl and do that for me?" yunho said, slowly circling your clit. just when you thought you'd have a moment to take a deep breath of air, he starts abusing your clit once more. your eyes rolled back so hard as you were starting to enter oblivion.
"y-yunho.. yunho.. please yunhoo" is all that came from your mouth. his fingers wouldn't stop. soon enough, you began feeling the burning sensation of pleasure building up in your lower abdomen. your wet cunt started spasming quicker around his fingers, indicating that you were about to orgasm all over them.
"oh.. you're squeezing so tight around my fingers. if i stuck my cock inside of you right now you'd strangle it," he spoke softly, even though he was saying the nastiest things in your ear. and lord were his fingers rubbing directly on your g-spot now. "it's truly a shame you're way too sensitive right now. that pretty pussy of yours would have been sucking me straight in"
"i-i'm gonna-"
"what was that.. speak up for me darling"
"c-c- .. yunho- c-cu-"
you gasped. all of the pleasure you were receiving stopped abruptly. yunho's hand completely left you, leaving you throbbing intensively around nothing. you felt tears forming in your eyes from your sexual frustration.
sure, you begged him to stop a few minutes ago. but did you really want him to? of course you didn't. all you wanted right now was to cum all over his fingers and pass out on top of him. he practically fucked your brains out with his own fingers.. you couldn't think clearly. but the sudden absence of them left you shocked.
"what the fuck yu-"
it all happened at the speed of light, but you heard the sound of vibrating. your brain didn't process it until you felt the vibration land directly on your clit. you screamed as soon as you felt the overload of stimulation from it.
"wanted to try something new today.. i figured you would love it baby"
~
-- i'm debating if i should make a part two of this..
You’re still twitching when he pulls out, cock shiny and heavy, and the second he sees the way your cunt gapes and drips he whines.
“Nooo… don’t close up,” he breathes, voice high and cracked.
He pushes your thighs open harder, almost frantic, and shoves his face back in like he’s been denied for days.
“Gimme—fuck, gimme it. Still so wet, still so fucking open—”
He’s loud about it. Wet, sloppy, desperate sounds. He doesn’t lick clean. He devours. Tongue flat and greedy, dragging through every drop, then shoving deep so his nose is crushed against your clit.
He grunts into you, low and animal, hips twitching against the mattress like he can’t help it.
“Mmmh— ngh— tastes so fucking good, baby… can’t stop—”
You’re already moaning, open-mouthed and shameless, and it only makes him worse.
“Oh my god— Jungkook— fuck— right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”
He answers with a broken little sound, almost a sob, and starts fucking his tongue into you properly. Messy. Loud. Spit and slick everywhere.
He’s not neat about it. He’s starving. Every time you clench he groans like it hurts, like the squeeze of your pussy is too good and he needs more of it now.
“Talk to me,” he begs against your cunt, voice wrecked and whiny. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me you like it when I’m like this—”
“I do— ah— fuck, I love it, you sound so desperate, you’re so fucking messy, Jungkook—” Your voice cracks on a moan when he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks. “Yes— yes, just like that, eat it, baby, eat it—”
He does. Messier. Hungrier. Two fingers shove in without warning, curling hard, and he starts finger-fucking you while he tongues your clit, wet sounds so filthy it’s almost embarrassing.
His other hand is gripping your thigh so tight his fingers dig in, holding you open like he’s scared you’ll take it away.
“So good— ngh— so fucking good, can’t think, can’t stop—” He’s panting into you between every lick, every filthy suck.
“Gonna stay here all night. Gonna keep you dripping so I can keep tasting it. My pussy. Mine to ruin. Mine to get drunk on—”
You’re louder now, almost sobbing with it.
“Fuck— Jungkook— I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come on your tongue, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
He whines at the please, high and needy, and doubles down. Tongue, fingers, lips, all of it. Sloppy. Greedy. Completely gone.
When you finally break, thighs shaking around his head, he doesn’t pull away.
He keeps going through it, moaning into your orgasm like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, like he needs every pulse of it.
Only when you’re oversensitive and gasping does he finally lift his head.
His mouth is destroyed. Chin shiny. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy and dark.
He looks up at you like he’s high.
“More,” he whispers, already crawling up your body, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh.
spiderman had a habit of breaking into your apartment every friday to fuck, which was all fun and games until he showed up bleeding out and unmasked.
pairings. spiderman!jimin x art student!fem!reader
genre/warnings. spiderman!au, suggestive themes, fluff&crack, fwb’s/situationship, jimin’s a freak ur honor, college!au, banter as a love language, mentions of blood/mild injuries
wc. 2.8k
note. so i tried my best with that banner guys, hopefully the story makes up for it TT hope u guys enjoy this absolute dumpster fire of a romance!!! and i know i've said this like a thousand times but i have literally never watched a single spiderman movie in my life. one more reminder bc if i accidentally ruined canon or disappointed anyone i literally warned u!! enjoy <3
⟢ masterlist ⸝⸝ taglist
your window had shattered like diamond dust all over your rug the very first time he crashed into your bedroom.
he didn't leave for an hour. profusely apologizing while trying to sweep up glass shards with his bare hands.
and then, because he was “clumsy”, as he claimed, he "accidentally" tumbled through the same window three more times that month until you finally just started leaving the latch unlocked every friday.
the rain was drumming steadily against the glass of that exact same window, blurring the neon glow of the streetlights outside. inside, your bedroom was warm, smelling faintly of vanilla incense and the fabric softener that seemed permanently baked into spiderman's suit.
he was currently sprawled out across the foot of your bed, head dangling over the edge, the red mask was rolled up neatly just above the bridge of his nose, baring a sharp jawline, a pair of slightly parted lips and a dusting of dark stubble.
"so then—hey, are you even listening to me?"
"the guy threw a trash can at your head, you did a backflip off a fire hydrant, and managed to web glue him to a lamppost. riveting stuff, truly oscar worthy choreography," you murmur, not looking up as your black ink pen flies across the paper.
jimin narrows his eyes under the mask, a low, dramatic scoff rumbling in his chest.
"first of all, it was a bin, a big one." he corrects, propping himself up on his elbows. "second of all, hand it over. let me see."
you glare at him over the spiral binding with a defensive squint. "absolute not. artists don't show unpolished drafts to their ungrateful muses."
"unfuckinggrateful?" he gasps. "i give you free, high octane action stories on a silver platter every single week to doodle."
"shut up or i'm drawing you with disproportionately tiny feet."
"you wouldn't dare."
"try me."
jimin laughs before he flicks his wrist and before you even have a chance to blink or tighten your grip, a thin, lightning fast strand of white webbing shoots out from the bed, wrapping itself neatly around the top corner of your sketchbook and violently snatching it right out of your hands.
"hey!" you yelp, lunging forward with a gasp, but it's already too late.
the notebook zips across the room through the air, landing squarely in jimin's outstretched, gloved hand. he catches it smoothly, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across his exposed mouth as he flips open the cover to inspect your work.
you slump back against the leather of your swivel chair, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you shoot him a murderous glare.
"abuse of power." you grumble, watching him flip through the pages with an aggravating pace.
a low, appreciative whistle slips past his lips. "damn. look at the shading on the bicep. honestly, you're making me look like a greek god. though, to be fair, i am."
"hand it back."
"shh, i'm critiquing," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the edge of a page where you'd drawn him mid swing.
"you know," he drawls softly, lifting his gaze from the sketchbook to meet your eyes across the dim room, "if you wanted a closer look at the subject, all you had to do was ask."
"i can see you just fine from here," you counter, raising an eyebrow.
"mhm. doubtful."
his wrist flicks a second time, the chair is sent spinning backward, and you let out a startled shriek as you're catapulted across the room.
you land squarely right on top of him, tumbling onto the mattress in a mess of limbs and soft groans and his annoyingly triumphant, breathless laugh.
"what," you gasp, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, "is wrong with you?"
"everything is entirely right with me, actually," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, smug purr right beneath you. "best view in queens."
the sketchbook slips from his fingers, hitting the rug with a soft thump and his hands instantly find your waist, long fingers splaying out over your ribs.
you let out a breathy huff of sheer annoyance, rolling your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "you're insufferable."
you hook two fingers under the rolled up fabric of his mask, yank it upward and let it snap back against his face.
jimin lets out a sharp groan, his head pitching back against the mattress. "hey! violence against superheroes is a federal offense—hmpf—!"
you swallow the protest with a kiss, and his hands, warm and sure against your waist flex before sliding up to cup the back of your head, a melting sigh fans right across your mouth.
he parts your lips with a slow stroke of his tongue that makes a soft, pathetic noise escape your throat. his fingers tangle thick in your hair and you arch into it on instinct, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his suit over his chest.
"are you gonna draw this later?" he murmurs, his voice a thick, wet rasp right against your mouth as he gives your lips one last, lazy suck.
you tilt your chin back just an inch, letting out a soft tsk that turns into a sharp hiss when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.
"bold of you to assume i haven't already," you murmur back, your fingers curling into the solid muscle of his shoulders.
jimin huffs a quiet laugh against your neck, his hands mapping the path down your spine to cradle your ass in a firm squeeze. "then why haven't i seen it?"
"same reason why i haven't seen your face."
"that's completely different," he counters, his voice dipping into a lighthearted whine as his nose brushes against yours. "my secret identity is a matter of national security, your secret is just hoarding embarrassing sketches of me in a locked drawer."
"they aren't embarrassing." you snap back, though a flicker of heat hits your cheeks.
you don't even know his name. after months of late nights he was still just spidey to you. godawful, cringe inducing moaning of spidey echoing off your bedroom walls while he wrecked your nervous system. you'd complained about it out loud to him once.
he had weaponized it since.
"what?" he drawls, flashing a cocky smile. "shouldn't you be grateful that the world's best superhero is giving you orgasms?"
"with his hands and mouth," you fire back, narrowing your eyes down at him in defiance as you grind your hips down, testing the rigid line of him beneath the red and blue weave. "what about his dick?"
jimin lets out a heavy sigh, his head dropping back against the mattress. "you know i can't."
"why the hell not?" you push, tilting your chin up. "you can keep the mask on for all i care. i don't need your face to see what you're packing."
a low, throaty laugh rumbles in his chest. "sweetheart, you’d have seen literally all of me but my eyes."
"so do we know each other?" you stop dead, your hands flattening against his chest as your brain stalls out. "that's completely impossible. i'd recognize those lips anywhere." you press your thumb firmly right over his bottom lip, dragging it across the seam firmly.
he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head sharply to dislodge your thumb from his mouth. "keep touching me like that and you're not getting any answers."
"no, wait." you mutter, the gears in your head start turning at a million miles an hour. "do we know each other? like, in real life? like, in lecture?"
"i'm not revealing shit."
"fuck," you breathe out, staring down at him. "we know each other."
"mmm," he pretends to hum in thought while he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down the curve of your ass, dragging your underwear right along with them.
"stop." you huff, giving his chest a sharp smack. "you're redirecting the conversation."
"we can continue having it while i eat you out, if you're coordinated enough to talk, that is."
"i hate you," you scoff, though the smile in your voice ruins the threat.
"no, you don't," he murmurs.
he pulls you in by the nape of your neck for a brief kiss and rolls you over onto your back. your bottoms catch on your ankles for a second before he tugs them completely off.
the cool air of the bedroom hits your skin for a split second before his mouth is there, parting you with a slow, heavy drag of his tongue that makes your back immediately arch off the sheets with a sharp, pathetic gasp.
the routine had become as reliable as the rotation of the earth; every single friday night, right around midnight.
except, this friday, midnight came and went.
by two in the morning, you forced yourself to sleep. he had never missed a friday. not once.
and he didn’t, because the window shattered about two hours later.
you sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against your ribs, scrambling for the lamp. before you could even flick the switch, a heavy, groaning thud echoed from the floorboards near the sill.
"spidey?" your voice cracked, small and sharp in the dark.
you threw the covers off and scrambled out of bed, dropping to your knees beside him.
"jesus christ—" you gasped, your hands hovering uselessly over him, not sure where to focus on first.
the famous suit was shredded open across his left shoulder and ribs, dark crimson soaking rapidly through the torn spandex. and the mask, it was torn completely away from the left side of his face.
whoever he had been fighting had torn it right off him, and he’d had to bolt before they could see his face, dragging his bleeding body through the city just to reach the one place he knew was safe.
he was breathing hard, a wet, rattling sound, his eyes squeezed shut in agony as he leaned his head back against the edge of your mattress.
"hey—look at me," you stammered, your hands trembling as you reached out, panicking over the massive, ugly gash bleeding down his side. "are you out of your mind? you’re bleeding out—should i call someone? can i take the rest of it off—?"
"no." he groaned, a gloved hand weakly batted at your wrist, though he didn't have the strength to push you away. "no hospitals."
"you need stitches." you grabbed a discarded tshirt from your laundry basket, pressing it desperately against the torn flesh of his ribs. he hissed sharply through his teeth, his hand flying up to grip your forearm.
"fuck," he breathed out, his head lolling to the side.
you stared down at him, completely unsure what the proper reaction was to finding out that your classmate of three years, whom you’d barely exchanged three words with, was the spiderman you’d been secretly hooking up with this whole time.
"this face reveal is so anticlimactic."
jimin cracked one eye open, wincing heavily as he fought for breath against the crushing weight of his injuries. "what...?" he wheezed out, panting through gritted teeth.
"never mind," you huffed, shaking your head to clear the shock. you looped a strong arm around his good shoulder, hauling upward with a grunt. "come on. get up."
"i'm dying, y/n," he groaned, his tall frame dragging heavily against you as you half carried, half dragged him toward the adjoining bathroom. "at least let me write my last will..."
"help me out." you snapped back, guiding him past the bedroom door and straight into the bathroom, leaning him heavily against the sink counter.
he looked like an absolute, unmitigated mess. the suit was shredded, caked in dried asphalt, soot, and sticky, dark blood, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat as he basically yanked the mask, or what was left of it, off.
"strip," you ordered, grabbing the hem of the ruined suit.
jimin managed a weak, pained cough that sounded like a chuckle. "buy me dinner first."
"jimin, i swear to god, if you don't take this off right now, i'm getting the kitchen scissors and cutting it off you," you threatened, though your fingers were already carefully peeling the ruined fabric away from his torn shoulder.
he grumbled, helping you peel the spandex down his arms and past his waist until he was standing there in just his ruined undershorts, swaying slightly on his feet. you shoved him gently into the glass enclosed shower stall, turning the knob to warm water. steam immediately billowed up, washing away the copper stench of blood as the crimson water swirled down the drain, taking the soot and grime with it.
you stood by the sink, grabbing a towel while he leaned his forehead against the tiled wall of the shower, eyes closed, letting the warm water wash the nightmare of the night off his skin.
twenty minutes later, after digging through your clean laundry to pull out a pair of oversized sweatpants, you had him sitting on the edge of your mattress. the first aid kit was open wide between your knees.
you dabbed a soaked cotton ball against the jagged gash along his ribs. jimin’s fists twisted into the sheets, his muscles drawn taut as he fought to keep his breathing steady.
"easy," you murmured, softening your tone despite yourself as you blew a gentle stream of air over the stinging wound. "you're lucky you didn't puncture a lung, you absolute idiot."
jimin looked down at you through his damp hair, all exhausted. he looked like the college student he pretended to be during the day.
"thought i wasn't gonna make it back to this window tonight," he whispered hoarsely.
you let out a quiet breath, finishing up the last strip of medical tape across his ribs and giving it a light pat. "well, you did. somehow."
you went to pull away, gathering up the cotton balls and the antiseptic bottle to put the kit back on your desk, but gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist.
you looked down. jimin was staring up at you with those heavy lidded eyes, giving you a subtle tug, nodding his head towards his lap.
you raised an eyebrow at him. "you can barely breathe."
he let out a pathetic grumble, tipping his head back and letting his hand slide down to lightly hook his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, giving another stubborn little tug. he didn't have the energy to argue, so he just stared up at you with maximum puppy eyes.
you let out a soft laugh at the sheer audacity of him. still, you did as told. you straddled his hips carefully, making sure not to put any weight near his bandaged ribs.
jimin let out a long sigh the second you settled against him. his shoulders instantly slumped, burying his face right into the crook of your neck. his warm cheek pressed flat against your skin, and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.
you sat there for a second, staring blankly at the wall while his breath fanned against your collarbone.
"this is so weird," you muttered, your hands resting awkwardly on his bare shoulders.
jimin turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against your skin as he mumbled, "what is?"
"you," you gestured vaguely into the empty air with one hand. "because you're out of costume. and because you're...you know. jimin from college. who asked to borrow my sharpener last week and looked like he was gonna cry."
"i didn't look like i was gonna cry," he mumbled defensively, his arms tightening just a fraction around your waist.
you smiled, running your fingers absently through his damp, soft hair that you would wish to be able to tug on when he had you pinned to this exact mattress. "and now you're telling me you spend your nights getting thrown through brick walls by supervillains."
"wild hobby," he whispered, sounding thoroughly exhausted. "good thing i have a very nice friend who patches me up."
"a very nice friend," you echo flatly. "who you sneak into bed with four times a month."
"technically that was spiderman doing those things. jimin from college is a total angel who would never."
you let out a dry, disbelieving scoff, though a fond smile tugs at your lips. "truly. an angel."
jimin sighs through his nose, and shifts upward just enough to turn his face, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin right beneath your jaw.
"mhm," he hums, his lips moving lazily against your neck as he drops another slow, warm kiss right over your pulse point. "a certified angel. who is currently exhausted, but willing to make exceptions."
"a true superhero," you chuckle as his tongue traces a slow, wet path up your jawline, right to the corner of your mouth and you tilt your chin down, meeting him halfway.
in which your casual hookup - jeon jungkook - texts you in the middle of the night when he’s needy and wanting some company. except - you’re on the 2nd day of your period.
| PAIRING | : student!jungkook x student!reader
| GENRE | : university au, no strings, porn with little plot
| WARNINGS | : 18+, explicit language, explicit smut, oral (m. + f. rec), period sex, raw sex, penetration, fingering, cum/(period) blood eating???, cum play, mild nipple play, dirty talk, crying during sex, 69, face riding, missionary, making out, multiple orgasms, kinda rough sex, jk is the best fuck buddy, praise, mutual pleasure, jk has no shame
| WC | : 3.9k
| FROM ME | : ok so i know I haven’t posted anything in maybe a month and im truly sorry but I’ve just been busy and on holiday lol. I know this is just a short oneshot but I hope I’ll have more free time to write longer fics. not proofread so don’t come for me pls !!!! minors pls dni because i would not like to poison thy innocent mind with 2k words of filth :)
it had been 4 days since you last met up with jungkook. his apartment after a mutual friend’s party, both of you slightly tipsy and stumbling everywhere, and his hot mouth working on your skin like it was his final meal - your favourite combo.
you two had been hooking up for a while now, it was a mutual agreement that benefited you both perfectly. you were too preoccupied with your university studies to even think about bearing the weight of a committed relationship. and jungkook, well, jungkook was just gaming his way through university, not concerned with getting a successful degree as a position in his uncle’s company was promised to him as soon as he graduated. the idea of casual sex whenever you felt like it made him more than happy - no emotional thoughts or feelings to over complicate things.
he’d proposed the idea at a party one night after you’d stupidly drank too much and randomly blurted out to him how sexually frustrated you had been. he didn’t laugh or make fun, just shrugged and said he was up for it if you were. you weren’t strangers, jungkook always saw you around campus with your head in a book or at events where his friends frequently hung out with yours. you were cute, determined, and just seemed in need of some relief - which jungkook could definitely help with.
you always noticed him too, it was almost impossible not to. he was definitely your type - hot, confident, built with tattoos. jungkook gave major fuckboy vibes though, and you weren’t sure whether you’d be walking headfirst into an std nest. however, he quickly assured you he got tested regularly and would send you his results, which was weirdly responsible of him.
you were still hesitant to agree at first, it almost sounded too good to be true. but jungkook offered you one night with him to decide if you wanted to continue - no strings, just both of you harmlessly indulging in each other - and thank god you agreed.
because jungkook was ridiculously good in bed. you’d assumed he was experienced, as were you, but not on this level. he knew exactly where to touch, tease, and focus on to satisfy you. he was just the right level of caring and attentive, which at least showed you weren’t being completely used. he knew and gave you exactly what you needed, what you had been craving for months - you’d be a fool not to go through with it, anyone could see that.
throughout the past few months, you and jungkook met up countless times whenever either of you texted or called. you’d mostly meet at each other’s apartments, but on busier days, jungkook was perfectly happy taking you quickly in his back seats before letting you resume your daily routine or sneaking out of parties with friends just to meet you.
ground rules and boundaries between you were obviously established (mostly on your part): you two were free to hook up with anyone else as long as you got regularly tested, arrangement could be stopped at anytime, no distracting you from your studies, protection was to be used at all times, no feelings or personal life involved, etc.
it seemed both of you were actually good at the whole no feelings to complicate anything thing. jungkook liked that about you - you didn’t beg for more attention from him or expect him to act like a doting boyfriend like some other women did. sleeping over at each other’s places was frequent, but that was only because you’d both be too tired out to move and jungkook didn’t want you collapsing in the elevator on your way back. it was easy, private, and honestly exhilarating.
so, here you were, hunched over your desk on a friday night studying, no - trying to, when you should’ve been at a house party with all your friends instead. they’d begged you to come, but you kept refusing, insisting that your grades were more important (which they were). though it was impossible to study now, it felt like your brain had stopped functioning properly and the words on the textbook were just as jumbled up as your mind.
you would’ve already texted jungkook if only there weren’t two problems. 1. you weren’t sure if he was at said house party, drinking and preoccupied by other things 2. you were at the peak of your period, with a dangerously heavy flow cramps obliterating your lower half. sex was obviously a no-go right now, no matter how much you wanted it or how much better it would make you feel.
you finally huffed and closed the textbook, there was no amount of information right now that could enter your brain and stay there, it was just pointless. your phone remained on the desk as you got up to get another glass of water, the ice cold liquid soothing your dry lips.
your phone suddenly buzzed - you expected it to be another reminder from a study app or a discount for a subscription, but no. jungkook’s name popped up on your screen: 1 new message you were confused, so he wasn’t at the party then? nonetheless, you quickly opened the chat.
jungkook: are u busy tonight?
three dots, then:
jungkook: i can see u read it
another message pops up, it’s a photo of his empty bed - dark, your favourite sheets, the blanket tossed off.
jungkook: come over? ;)
you groaned mentally, why tonight? your thumb hovers over the keyboard, but another message comes before you can even type a reply.
jungkook: i've been thinking about u all day
jungkook: can't focus
jungkook: this is your fault
another photo, this time it’s lower. sweatpants sitting dangerously low on his hips, tattooed hand resting on his lower stomach, the waistband of his boxers visible.
fuck. you can tell he’s probably extra horny from the amount of messages he sends at once, it’s hard to tell him no - but you finally reply.
you: i can’t do anything right now, i’m on my period :(
his reply comes fast, almost annoyed, but then:
jungkook: does that mean you don't wanna come over?
the tone of his messages changes slightly - not angry, but wanting. almost whining.
jungkook: cuz i really need u
jungkook: not gonna lie i’ve been doing it myself all day
oh lord.
you: doing what?
his reply is instant. blunt, a little embarrassed - jungkook backspaces once before sending. your breath hitches as soon as it comes through. why is he doing this to you now?
jungkook: touching myself thinking about you
he sends another photo. the angle shows the bulge straining at the front of his sweats, fingertips just barely grazing the fabric. heat already pulses low in your stomach.
jungkook: it's not enough though
jungkook: waiting for you to say you’ll come over.
you send an eye rolling emoji then type out another message.
you: i just told you I’m on my period.
he reads it immediately. you watch the three dots pop up, disappear, pop up again.
jungkook: i know
his reply comes instantly, shameless.
jungkook: i am aware you’re on your period
jungkook: i literally do not care
another photo follows - his hand is pushed fully down his sweatpants. fucking hell. you know jungkook is completely serious right now, and you can’t help but be a little nervous. the thought of him fucking you whilst you’re on your period does excite you a little, but you’re not sure whether he’ll end up being uncomfortable or weirded out.
you: it’s blood haven right now
three dots, a long pause, then:
jungkook: y/n
jungkook: i will put a towel down
jungkook: we will shower after
jungkook: i really do not care if you don’t.
you bite your lip, then another message.
jungkook: or i can come there
jungkook: i just need u
you think about it for a moment - fuck it. there’s a first time for everything, right?
you: you come here then.
he reads it but doesn't reply. eight minutes later, there's a knock at your door. it’s impatient, two quick raps. when you open it, jungkook's breathless, like he just ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. he murmurs a ‘hey’ then shoves a plastic bag into your hands.
inside the bag is a dark towel, your favorite chocolate, painkillers, and a heating pad. you blink and realise he’s genuinely prepared and serious about this, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
but jungkook doesn't waste any more time, he shoves you back against the door the second it's closed - lips crushing yours, hands already hiking up your shirt. you pull back breathless, your hands pressing against his chest to steady yourself. “jungkook, I feel a little disgusting, honestly, and I’ve never done anything sexual on my period..” your words are quiet, maybe even a little embarrassed.
he frowns, hands freezing on your hips instantly. the aggressive energy drops away, replaced by something soft. he leans his forehead against yours. "it's not disgusting." he dips his head down to kiss your jaw then pulls back to look you in the eye, dead serious. “it's literally biology. everyone bleeds." his thumbs rub your waist. "and if you've never done it, then tonight we will.."
you nod. “it’ll be messy, though.”
he nods back seriously. "i brought a towel, remember? i don't care about messy if you don’t.”
his lips quickly find yours again, his warm tongue enveloping yours as he leads you to your bedroom. he kicks the door shut behind you, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress. the bag with the supplies hits your nightstand. he pulls your shirt off effortlessly, and doesn't hesitate to reach for your sweatpants, tugging them down along with your underwear.
he spreads the dark towel over the sheets with practiced efficiency, then pauses and looks at you. "we can stop." his voice is quieter now, thumb stroking your hip as he looks at you. "but I want you to know i don't care about any of it." he kisses your stomach. slow, deliberate, moving lower.
"just tell me if it's too much." jungkook murmurs against your skin. he pulls his hoodie off, then the shirt underneath. his body is already warm as he shifts, settling comfortably between your legs. his thumbs press gently into your inner thighs, coaxing them open.
you subconsciously resist a little, but he leans down, pressing a kiss right above your pelvic bone. "relax." he whispers. "trust me." jungkook gently hooks your legs over his shoulders, lowering his face with no hesitation. his mouth is on you instantly. soft, wet, and unbothered by anything other than making you feel good. “you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n.”
you tense automatically, instinctively trying to close your legs. his hands immediately clamp down on your thighs, holding them open, keeping you pinned. "stop moving, it’s alright." he mumbles against you, then licks a slow stripe up your center, the cold press of his lip piercing making you shiver.
“ah” you moan, hand flying to his hair - gripping, pulling. he groans against you, the vibration makes your back arch off the mattress. jungkook works you slowly and patiently. his tongue circling, his lips pulling. he reads every twitch, every gasp, adjusting for your comfort.
his eyes flick up to meet yours. dark, hungry, chin wet - he doesn't care. your eyes are already rolling back, mouth wide open as a string of breathy moans escape you. you're absolutely soaked. the blood mixes with your arousal, dripping onto the dark towel beneath you. jungkook doesn't slow. his tongue flicks harder, faster. one hand slips up your body to pinch your nipple through your lacy bra.
your back arches again, a choked sob escaping. "jungkook-" the pleasure he’s giving you is becoming unbearable. he just hums, appreciative as feels you already getting close. “so good….” your thighs shake against his ears, he tightens his grip on them, pulling you closer to his mouth. two fingers suddenly slide inside you - easy, wet. he curls them upward - hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.
jungkook pulls back just enough to breathe, thumbs rubbing the inside of your thigh. "cum on my face, beautiful.” he tells you, but his mouth is back on you before you can respond. sucking as your orgasm hits hard, violent. your thighs clench around his face, your hips bucking hard into his mouth. a loud, undignified sound escapes you, one you've never made before.
he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. jungkook swallows every drop of your release - blood and arousal mixing on his chin, dripping down his throat. once youve come down from your high, he presses a kiss to your glistening core then comes back up. when he comes back up, his mouth and chin are all bloody. you open your eyes and gasp, mortified by the vision. “oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
he sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he’s breathless and hard, pupils blown wide. he looks down at the mess between your legs - blood and cum and saliva mixed together on the dark towel.
jungkook lunges forward again, covering your body with his. his mouth meets yours - bloody, salty, still tasting of you. “don’t be. you’re the best thing i’ve ever tasted.” he whispers against your lips, breath hot. he grinds against you, hard and desperate. his cock is straining in his sweats, pressing against your wet thighs. you taste yourself on his tongue, you taste the iron of your blood - he doesn't care.
his tongue swipes over your bottom lip once more, then he pushes you back down and settles between your thighs once again - hot mouth finding your centre. “be so good again for me, beautiful.”
jungkook doesn't stop eating you out, he doesn't even pause apart from checking you’re okay every few minutes. each time you peak again, each time his mouth and chin are covered more thoroughly in the mixture of your blood and your climax. the towel is soaking.
by the third time, your thighs are trembling uncontrollably. overstimulated, tears streaming down your cheeks. your fingers tangled in his hair so tight it must hurt. jungkook’s relentless, he could eat you out like this all night if you wanted him to. he finally pulls back. face a mess, chest heaving, his lips swollen and red. he wipes his mouth with his forearm then stares down at you - wrecked, ruined, gorgeous.
"you're so fucking hot."
you whimper at his words, your fingers reaching out to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants - you need him, now. jungkook doesn't hesitate, he shoves them down along with his boxers in one rough motion, kicking them off the end of the bed. his cock springs free. thick, heavy, angry red and leaking pre-cum against his stomach. he's agonizingly hard. he strokes himself once, his thumb spreading the bead of moisture over the head. "still okay?"
you just watch him, eyes fixed on his thick length. then your eyes move back up, you nod once and bite your lip. jungkook watches you bite your lip, his eyes darkening. "don't do that." he reaches up, thumb pressing against your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth. "i want to hear you."
you know you’re already soaking again , you can feel your core pulsing for him. jungkook reaches over to your nightstand drawer where you keep the condoms, but you grab his forearm to stop him. “wait..”
jungkook raises his eyebrows, one hand still rubbing your thigh as he waits for you to continue. you take a deep breath then speak again. “we don’t have to use one this time, i want to feel you properly.”
his brain stops working properly for a second. you want him to fuck you raw? it’s not like it wouldn’t be fucking amazing, but jungkook doesn’t want to overwhelm you or make you feel pressured after always having used protection.
you study his face then continue. “it’s fine if you don’t want to. you know I’m on the pill. i know you’re clean, you know I’m clean. i just - think it would be nice.”
jungkook shakes his head so fast you think he might have whiplash, his tongue plays with his lip ring before he replies. “no - fuck, y/n. i really want to, too. i just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.” after studying your face and realising you’re serious, he moves closer and reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his voice low and sultry. “you want to, then?”
he leans down to pepper kisses all down your throat, then he sucks the sweet spot on your collarbone. “are you sure you can handle it?”
your pulse starts going erratic again, it feels like you’ve somehow forgotten to breathe. you whimper quietly at the thought. “Yes, please, jungkook, i can take it.”
the sound of your voice makes jungkook groan and just press his forehead against your neck. you sound so sweet, so needy and ready for him - he doesn’t waste anymore time.
he positions himself between your legs, hovering over you. his cock brushes against your thigh - hot and heavy. "it shouldn’t, but, tell me if it hurts." he whispers.
jungkook lines himself up. slow, careful, pushing forward. the burn is immediate. you're soaked, but the blood makes the friction different - slicker, warmer. he watches your face intently, freezing when you gasp, waiting for you to adjust. he pushes all the way in, bottoming out. you whine at the stretch. “jungkook…”
he groans. "fuck, princess. fuck, baby.." he stills above you for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breathing ragged. his arms are shaking, holding himself back. "you feel so fucking good." his voice cracks as he pulls back slowly then slides back in - deep, deliberate, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
the wet sounds between you are obscene, slick, messy. “Yes! oh. oh god, jungkook…” every thrust drags a sound out of you - high, broken, shameless - you can't control it. the wet slide of him inside you is amplified, the sensation sharper, deeper.
jungkook loves it. "there we go, babe, let me hear you." he groans into your neck, picking up the pace, the slap of skin against skin is deafening. he wants to make you feel even more - he grips your thighs, pushing them higher toward your chest. the angle changes, he hits deeper, harder. “you like that, princess? fuck.”
you're so loud - no filter, too full of him to even register his words. the coil tightening in your stomach almost violently. jungkook looks down between your bodies where you're connected. it's messy, red, slick. "look at it." he pants. "look how pretty you are."
you both come apart at the same time - him thrusting deep, you clamping down. he's growling your name into your shoulder, you're almost sobbing into his hair. jungkook’s release is violent, hot ropes hitting your cervix over and over. your walls clench around him like a vice, milking every drop out of him. the towel underneath is ruined, completely soaked through. he falls forward, chest heaving, your names both stuck in each other’s throat.
jungkook stays buried inside you for a moment, both of you recovering from what just happened. he presses soft kisses to your shoulder and neck then looks back up at you. “that was beyond fucking amazing.” he watches your face - you’re completely fucked out, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath again.
he waits another moment before sitting up suddenly, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his face without warning. his tongue immediately finds your clit, licking through the mess of both your releases. you yelp and gasp, hands flying to his hair as he begins to eat you out aggressively. "ride my face, beautiful, come on."
“oh my god, jungkook-“ you’ve never been in this position before. you’d fantasised about it a lot but never actually imagined you’d ever be sitting on his face - your face reddens again.
but jungkook doesn't let up. one hand tightens in your hair, gently pulling your head back. the other grips your ass, lifting you higher. "grind on it, baby." he commands against your wetness, and you do. you're overstimulated, you're shaking, but you move your hips anyway - rubbing against his mouth. "that's it, babe. fuck, i could die in this pussy.”
a sudden rush of boldness runs through your body. you lean forward, bracing one hand on the headboard while you grind on his mouth. the other hand slips down his stomach, wrapping around his still-hard cock. you start to stroke him fast - tight, rough, desperate. "let me taste you." you whisper.
jungkook’s back arches. he moans loud against your core, vibrations shaking through you. you lean down now, wrapping your lips around the swollen head of his cock. he chokes out a groan against your cunt, the vibration making your hips jerk. you take him deep. hollowing your cheeks, stroking the base. his hips buck up off the mattress, fucking into your mouth automatically. meanwhile his tongue works you harder, faster.
you stroke him faster. the contrast makes you both delirious - him eating you out while you take him in your mouth. your mouth is so full, you can only make muffled sounds of pleasure. jungkook groans loudly, pushing his hips up into your face, forcing himself deeper. “fuck, y/n. take all of it."
you choke on his dick, your jaw stretching uncomfortably as he pushes. his hands grip the sheets, his voice drops to something like a growl. "take all of it." His tongue is also relentless, slapping across your clit with the same aggression. the vibrations make your walls clench, your cheeks hollow deeply.
something snaps, it breaks simultaneously. your orgasm hits you violently - your hips grinding down onto his tongue, screaming around his cock. you shake uncontrollably. jungkook snaps a second later, thick ropes shooting down your throat. you swallow immediately, humming through your nose, milking him perfectly.
you are both an absolute wreck. the only sound is your ragged breathing, the wet slap of sweat and slick hitting the mattress, the ticking clock across the room. jungkook stays there, your mouth still wrapped around him, your body still twitching. your thighs continue to shake uncontrollably against his shoulders.
finally, he shifts. slowly, gently slipping out. he pulls away, his cock leaving your lips with a wet pop. thick strings connect your lips to the tip before breaking. his face is coated, your centre is coated, it looks almost like a warzone.
jungkook looks at you. eyes dark, lips swollen, panting like he just ran a marathon. "jesus christ." you both look down - the sheets, the towel, his face, your thighs, his cock, his stomach. everything is smeared a little red.
he looks at you, you look at him. you both start laughing. exhausted, maybe slightly delirious. he pulls you closer into another kiss, whilst his hand travels up to the back of your neck - it feels so good, so rewarding. “do you feel okay?” jungkook asks, hoping that wasn’t too much for you.
and it wasn’t. that was most definitely the best sex of your life. you dwell on it for a moment, how could anything else compare to this? No, y/n, you think - don’t even go there.
jungkook - sexy, attentive, strictly casual-hookup-only jungkook who just respectfully broke you in half - pulls you in for another kiss, then chuckles against your lips. "i think we need a shower." he murmurs.
and, well, the cold water from the shower was definitely not the only awakening you’d be having that night.
Warnings: established relationship, anal fingering, gagging (with panties), oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal fingering, butt plug, tied-up (by a belt), vibrators, unprotected sex (use a condom irl), some light dirty talk and offensive names (cock-slut), spanking, squirting, multiple orgasms, cream pie, soft dom!Namjoon, cum eating, fingering after sex, it somehow turned soft idk how, unedited work
Summary: you had a bad day at work, and Namjoon tries to make it better
chapter synopsis: things could always be worse. sure, you mix their names up sometimes, but it's not like a slip of the tongue could get you in trouble. could it?
warnings: MDNI, ~15k words, not proofread, characters are adults (freshmen in college), afab fem reader, no use of y/n, "baby" as petname, unprotected sex, virgin switch (sub-leaning?) mg, lying about sexual experience, p in v, insecurity, infidelity, really heated arguments.
note: part 2/8, mingi... i do apologize... i fear being replaceable too
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The dorm is the size of a shoebox.
Empty cardboard boxes are stacked on top of each other in the entryway, the scent of bleach permeating the walls. Black marks are scattered on the tiled floor, and the only window is bolted shut.
There are footsteps outside the door; you can hear your upstairs neighbors using a hammer, and some asshole next door is blasting ear-bleeding music.
Your white t-shirt is sticking to your skin, your hair is pulled away from your face, and you can feel sweat building in the space between your nose and upper lip. Nasty. You feel gross and tired.
Building furniture with no instructions was definitely not as easy as it seemed. But after a full day’s worth of work, your new rolling cart is stocked, and your tiny dresser has most of your clothes in it.
Sana exhales loudly as she walks in, almost tripping over her own suitcase’s wheels before finding her balance with a huff. She’s in a tiny tank top and shorts, hair in a knot that’s effortlessly pretty. Her chest is heaving from taking the stairs, and you try your best not to stare as she leans against the wooden door.
“My parents are gone,” she murmurs, shutting the door behind her with a soft thud, “they insisted on helping us finish setting up, but I think we got it, right?”
You glance at the mini fridge and frown. “Yeah, most of the heavy stuff is already where it should be.”
“And we’re nearly done deep cleaning,” she picks up a pair of plastic gloves. “I’ll finish up the restroom if you can put our curtains up?”
You hum in agreement, moving to balance yourself on your desk chair as you set up the curtains. The white lace adds very little to the privacy provided by the thick blinds already covering the window, but they bring a cute flair to the space.
“Oh, wait,” you hear from the bathroom as you get down from the wobbly chair, “there’s a party tonight! Some guy in the lobby handed me an ugly flyer. He said it’s like a welcome party for… fresh meat?”
“Fresh meat? Gross, it’s probably a bunch of frat guys hunting.”
“True,” Sana concedes, “Plus my hair’s kinda greasy from all the moving.”
You pinch the neck of your t-shirt and bring it up to your nose. “And I think we smell like bleach.”
Sana peeks her head out from the bathroom, “Movie night instead?”
You match the smile on her face and nod excitedly, “No rom-coms though.”
“Booooo.”
The decor slowly comes together as the two of you work side by side, rearranging furniture and adding personal touches to each side of the room.
It’s nearly one in the morning as you finish up, photobooth pictures and sentimental trinkets hanging on each side of the room. Small, but cozy. Easy to picture yourself coming back to after a long lecture or an all-nighter at the library. Not quite home, but not too far from it either.
“Cute,” Sana smiles, hands on her hips as she takes the view in. “What’s next?”
“Showering,” you glance back at your private restroom, “Wanna go first?”
“Actually,” she starts, and you can tell you’re going to hate what’s about to come out of her mouth. “We should introduce ourselves to our neighbors, don’t you think?”
“No.”
She furrows her brows like you just told her the sky is green. You shake your head vehemently. She pouts. You take a step away.
“C’mon. C’mon. What if we need help one day?”
“Help doing what?”
She pauses, looking around before pointing to the big overhead light, “Maybe we’ll need to change a light bulb. Or kill a cockroach.”
“We can call maintenance.”
“What about the cockroach?”
You scrunch your nose in distaste, imagining the creepy bug crawling around the already suffocating space. “We just… won’t get cockroaches.”
“In the oldest building on campus?”
“Sana. We’re sweaty, and people don’t just go door to door and introduce themselves.”
“Sure they do,” she decides, circling her hand around your wrist, “If not, we’ll be the firsts. C’mon, we’re here to make friends.”
You follow her with a smile you can’t suppress, “We’re here to get our degrees.”
She giggles, pulling you out into the hallway. “Wouldn’t hurt to have fun while we do.”
So you follow her down the hallway, starting with your RA’s door and going down each side of the hall. Some girls excitedly exchange social media handles with empty promises to get dinner together; others give you a tour of their room. There aren’t many guys on the floor, which you feel thankful for. Not until you reach your next-door neighbors, who are still blasting music.
“Hi, we’re right next door, the very end of the hall,” Sana says with a small grin as a man opens the door. He smiles politely, taking his headphones off to greet you back.
“Nice to meet you,” the tall man offers, glancing between the two of you. “I’m Soobin. You’re our neighbors then?”
You nod, trying not to react as Sana sends you a subtle glance. He’s handsome. Tall and on the leaner side, kind eyes and a friendly smile. You hate that pretty faces have such an effect on you. “Uh, yeah. Neighbors.”
“And we wanted to exchange info just in case of emergencies or anything like that,” Sana continues in your stead.
“Oh, sure, that’s cool,” the man takes Sana’s phone, and you can’t help but notice how his slender hands cover the entire device. He types quickly, pausing before offering the phone back. “Actually, let me give you my roomie’s number too. Just in case.”
Sana agrees with a quick nod, sending you another look over her shoulder as Soobin types. She raises a brow. You shake your head. She pouts.
“Thank you, Soobin. You can text us anytime,” Sana offers with a kind smile.
“Yeah, for sure. Nice to meet you two,” he returns the smile, still holding the door open with a foot wedged between it and the frame. He winces when the speaker behind him vibrates with a beat drop, “I’ll, um… I know the music’s loud. I’ll get him to turn it down, I promise.”
And as he promised, the music is finally silenced the second you get into the shower. Sana insisted that you go first as a reward for socializing against your will, and you didn’t argue when you could feel the beginning of a headache.
You wash your face, thinking back to Soobin. He’s handsome. Shy and polite in a way that’s uncomfortably similar to the man you’re trying to forget.
It’s like you see Yeosang everywhere. His favorite snack in every vending machine on campus. A kind stranger apologizing to a chair they ran into. A man with a birthmark dangerously close to his eye.
It’s only been a month since you last spoke to him in the entryway of your home. You didn’t tell anyone you broke up for the first week. You needed time to prepare for the onslaught of questions. What went wrong? Who initiated the breakup? Why do you still open his message thread after a long day?
You don’t know the answers. All you know is you’re haunted by a feeling that you can’t wash off with your scented soap, no matter how much you scrub.
That same feeling forces you to wonder how he’s doing. You know he moved out of his house before you. His university is six hours away, a drive that’s far enough to ensure that your paths won’t ever cross. You can’t decide whether that’s good or not.
You let the sound of the water hitting your skin overshadow the noise in your head.
Fall semester is faster-paced than you expected. A month in, and you’re already turning in major assignments. A test in Statistics 301, a presentation for Management of Information Systems, and a paper for Fundamentals of Accounting.
You spend most of your time in a private room in the library, writing on the dented whiteboard and chewing on your pen as you read over your drafts. It’s stressful, but you have the luxury of enjoying what you’re studying, and that’s more than most people can say. So you suck it up and work, keeping temptations at bay.
You barely see Sana anymore; with her morning classes and tendency to make friends with just about everyone, she’s not in the dorm most of the time that you are.
Of course, you miss her company, but what you most miss is her shamelessness. Because although it does get you into unwanted conversations with strangers, it could easily get you out of the torture you’re in right now.
You sigh, glaring at the white wall right behind you. You’re in bed, counting the deep breaths you’re taking, but you’ve lost count three times now because an obnoxiously loud song is bleeding through the thin drywall.
It’s admittedly a good song. Definitely could go on your playlist for days you need a pick-me-up, with loud bass and striking lyrics. But it’s not the best thing to relax to the night before an important test.
You knock on the wall, but it seems the neighbor either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care because the sound continues.
You groan, unplugging your phone with more force than necessary.
you | hey, great song but could u pls turn it down
you | i need to sleep early tn
soobin | hi ^^
soobin | sorry, but i’m not in the dorm rn
soobin | i already got a complaint from our RA so i texted my roomie but he didn’t answer TT
you | oh
you | i could go over and let him know
soobin | that would be great
soobin | tell him we can’t afford an actual noise complaint pls
you | lol okok will do
soobin | thank u!!! i’m sorry on his behalf, sleep well
You like the message and frown as you toss your phone on the bed. Sana would have no issue walking over and asking your neighbor to turn everything off. She’d have an easy time convincing him with her sparkly eyes. She could convince you that she’s actually a princess from a faraway land. That would be easy enough to believe.
But you don’t have the patience Sana has, and you certainly don’t intend to ask kindly when a stranger has been ruining your night for the past two hours.
So you put your slippers on and do your best to seem put together with your pajamas on.
You knock once. Tap your foot in an attempt to seem irritated. Twice, and now your foot is tapping on its own. Three times, and now your knocks are more like open-palmed slams.
The door swings open as you’re about to finish the third knock, and you nearly hit the man in the face. He flinches hard, taking a step back as he holds the door open.
“What the— are you good?” he asks, brows furrowed in what seems like concern and an inkling of fear.
Chilling doesn’t even begin to describe the view in front of you. A man a little over six feet, broader than his roommate, with a face more striking than the music you’re about to complain about. It throws you off guard, but you stand your ground. That statistics test isn’t gonna take itself.
You scoff, “Are you good? It’s like eleven, and your speakers are blasting.”
His concern morphs into confusion, “You can hear my music?”
Your jaw drops in slight disbelief, “The whole fucking building can.”
The man laughs under his breath, mostly straight teeth on display as he turns to look behind him. “Fuck, sorry, I had no clue. Genuinely.”
“You had no clue?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “I mean, yeah, but I assumed only the next door neighbors could hear me. They’re pretty loud, so I figured it wouldn’t bother them.”
You look at him with open annoyance. He stares back, blinking like he’s still confused. His full lips thin into an awaiting line.
“We aren’t loud.”
“Oh, you’re in 9024? Sana’s roommate?” he points at you and then drops his hand, “My bad. But you are loud, a little.”
“No, we aren’t,” you argue back, looking away from his face because it’s really starting to piss you off. Big and handsome, but dense. What a waste. Your eyes land on his hand gripping the door’s handle. Strong and littered with thick silver rings. You gulp, eyes flicking back up to him, “We’re considerate.”
He uses his free hand to scratch the underside of his jaw, heat climbing up his face, “Uh… listen, all power to you, but I’ve heard you two go at it like four times this past week.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like… you and Sana,” he explains a little quieter, “which— again, all power to you. I’m an ally, y’know? Or, well, I’m a little more than that, but—”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He gulps, throat bobbing with the force of it, “You and Sana aren’t a thing? I heard, uh… two girls, y’know…”
“No? No, what? She’s my roommate, I don’t know what you’re talking about. How do you even know her name?”
“Oh,” he nods in understanding, “She introduced herself in the elevator on move-in day. I guess she’s having fun without you. Listen, I’m sorry about the music. But if you could get her to quiet down, that would be great too.”
“I didn’t even know she was bringing anyone back to the dorm,” you trail off, sharing a brief moment of eye contact with the man. “Wow. Okay, yeah, sorry.”
He brushes you off with a wave, “Nah, all good. I’ll put my headphones on.”
“Okay, thanks…” You pause, waiting to get his name.
“Mingi,” he puts his free hand out for you to shake, and you take it with a firm grip.
His hand swallows yours as you gift him your name, but his hold is surprisingly gentle.
“Cool,” he replies, “Nice to meet you. I think I already have your number.”
“Oh, Soobin gave it to you?”
“Yeah, but I kinda forgot about it,” he reaches for his phone in his pocket, sliding it out to look for your contact. He flips the screen towards you, “This is you, right?”
You glance at your name and the rest of the empty contact, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Great. Then, instead of banging on your door, I’ll text you if I need anything.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “The banging was necessary.”
He steps back with his hand still on the handle, lips stretched into a smile that’s unfairly pretty. “Okay, okay. Lesson learned. Good night.”
Sana wasn’t the least bit embarrassed when you brought up the noise complaint you received. She smiled apologetically, or at least attempted to, and promised to keep her new fling quiet. You didn’t even know she was seeing someone.
But that’s just the way things always are with Sana. She takes every chance she gets to… get into people’s skirts, apparently.
It doesn’t bother you in the least. Her extreme ability to socialize is the exact reason every party you’ve ever been to has been easy and free to get into.
That’s true even now, as you stand off to the side at a frat party on a rooftop. The wind is cold, but that doesn’t stop anyone from wearing their tiniest outfits. There are cans littered on the floor, a stray shoe that people keep tripping over but won’t move, and the music is decent enough for a party full of freshmen.
You’re holding a key in your hand, absentmindedly twirling it around as Sana walks towards you with a drink in her hand.
“See? Super easy,” she says as she holds up her can, the colorful seltzer looking especially good after going so long without drinking.
You glance down at the small silver key in your hand, a frown tugging at your lips as you put it out for her to take, “Can you do it for me? Please?”
A small laugh drops from her lips as she shakes her head, “No, that’s like the whole reason I brought you, silly girl.”
You groan, glaring at your friend before closing your first securely around the key. The whole point of the party was to force people to socialize— each person was handed a key or a padlock as they entered, and then challenged to find the person with the corresponding piece. Once you found your match, you could bring the unlocked padlock up to the makeshift bar to get drinks. It was dumb and childish, but that’s how every frat party went.
You look around to see most people mingling or already drinking, which means the purpose of the game has actually been fulfilled regardless of how annoying you think it is.
So you stick your tongue out at Sana before taking a few strides to meet the first man you see. He’s in a small group, most of the people with him singing along to whatever pop song is playing as he looks around the rooftop.
“Excuse me, are you still looking for a key?”
He turns slightly at the sound of your voice, a smile climbing onto his lips automatically. “No, I’m not,” he lifts his left hand, in which he’s holding a can of beer, “but I wish I was.”
Your brows furrow in slight confusion, “Why? Are the drinks not any good?”
He turns to face you fully, “Not chilled enough. But I mean that I wish I was so I would have an excuse to talk to you.”
You struggle not to cringe. A part of you has grown to hate being flirted with. Perhaps you got so used to turning people down for two years that you conditioned yourself. Maybe that part of you didn’t hate it at all, and you were just pushing down that craving for something serious. Something tender and slow and real.
But this is your reality now. Desperate one-liners, classmates asking for your number under the guise of studying, direct messages from mutuals you’ve never met in real life. Nothing would ever move past the first “good morning” message.
Now, you can’t shake your head and point at Yeosang on the other side of the rooftop to get this man off you.
So you give him no response, taking a few steps back as you squeeze the key in your hand.
When you scan the area, most of the crowd already has drinks in their hands. The few girls you go up to have keys, and the men’s padlocks never match. You frown, signaling to Sana that you’re headed towards the bar. She doesn’t see it, too distracted by a blonde girl giving her a convincing smile.
You step over littered red solo cups, scattered trash, and what you’re hoping is spilled beer to make it to the bar. It isn’t hard to squeeze through the crowd there, most people are just idling by as you step forward.
The bartender is hot. Tall and lean, bleached silver hair parted in the middle. His pouty lips pull in amusement at something the girl beside him says. He takes a heavy bag of ice from her and rips it open, pouring it into the cooler of whatever poisonous concoction he’s coming up with.
You lean against the counter as you slide to the front, already planning what you’re gonna say to convince the man that you’re above tonight’s game rules.
He looks up from the cooler and meets your eyes, opening his mouth to speak over the music, until his gaze moves behind you.
His entire face lights up like a neon sign, and he reaches over and past you to put his hand out. “Yo! You made it? I thought you had a quiz to study for?”
A man’s voice from right behind you replies, and he’s so close you can feel his warmth through your shirt. “Nah, the prof moved it last minute, so I’m free.”
Their hands meet in a small movement, smooth and practiced, “That’s what I like to hear, baby. What’re we having?”
It’s your turn in the line. Whatever happened to chivalry?
“Uh, I was here first,” you say over the music as you turn to look behind you, eyes studying the broad chest that greets you. Your gaze moves up.
Mingi.
Surprise settles over his face before he laughs, “Oh, shit, Sana’s girl?”
You frown. He smiles wider and gestures to the bar in front of you with a lift of his chin.
You take a deep breath before addressing the man behind the bar, “Do you have any beer?”
He shares a glance with Mingi before shrugging, “‘We stocked up just for you.”
The girl beside him speaks up, “They’re more like room temp though, if that’s okay. Or you wanna try some punch?”
You look at the bright orange cooler. Even the color seems like it’s warning you that the drink it holds could put you into a coma. You wave your hand in dismissal, “I’m okay, actually. I’ll take the beer.”
“Okay,” she agrees, bending down to grab the cans, sparkly skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. You pretend not to notice the bartender immediately lock onto the view. She comes back up, fixes her hair, and puts out three options of beer for you to choose from. But then she hesitates, “Wait, sorry, almost forgot. Did you already get marked off for the game?”
Mingi speaks up from behind you, “That’s still going on?”
“It’s a themed party, we have rules,” she replies, smiling when you and Mingi both groan in distaste.
Mingi looks at his friend with desperation, “Yeonjun. C’mon.”
The man shrugs, “Rules are rules. You’re just unlucky she remembered. I kinda forgot.”
You glance back at your neighbor, he sends the girl a half-hearted glare before looking back at you. “You have a key?”
You put out your palm, showing off the small silver key, “Yup.”
Mingi opens his own fist to drop his small padlock next to your key. You hold his padlock and try your key, and to your surprise, it slides in. But once you try to turn it, it gets stuck. You try a few times before handing it over to Mingi.
His hands look comically large around the small metal object, and he tries his hardest to unlock it. “What the fuck?”
“Maybe they’re not the right match?” Yeonjun suggests, and Mingi shakes his head.
You cut in, “I really need a drink. Mingi, hurry.”
“I’m trying,” he furrows his brows, “You’re always so mean.”
“What do you mean, ‘always’? This is our second conversation.”
“And you were mean both times, so yeah, always.”
You scoff, ripping the padlock from Mingi’s hands with ease and holding it towards Yeonjun, “Can you try, please? I think he might just be weak.”
“Sure can, beautiful,” he takes the lock with slender fingers, sliding the key out and back in before turning. He twists it once, then twice, but it snaps in his hands.
The four of you look at each other in shock before Yeonjun laughs. Mingi frowns and turns to look directly at his friend. The man hesitates, biting his lip before reluctantly nodding in defeat. He brushes his lips against the pretty girl’s ear, saying something you don’t quite catch, and she agrees with an excited nod that moves her tight curls. “Okay, take your beers. I’ll stamp your hands to mark you off for the game.”
“That counted?” Mingi asks, and you nudge his ribs with your elbow to shut him up. He instinctively arches away from you, a huff of air brushing your ear as he complains.
“Thank you,” you put your hand out for her to stamp, and then take the beer can with a smile. The girl winks at you before passing a beer to Mingi with a straight face.
Mingi takes it with a victorious grin, dapping Yeonjun up one more time before following you through the crowd. “Weak?”
You meet his eyes as he catches up to your side, popping open your can. “Huh?”
“You called me weak earlier.”
“Am I supposed to take it back now?”
His brows pinch, sharp eyes following your every movement as he continues walking with you, “No, I guess not. I’m not very strong.”
“I could see that,” you smile without thinking, taking a sip of your drink.
He mirrors you, “Okay, I technically got you a drink, so I would appreciate you being a little nicer to me.”
“Excuse me?”
His grin drops at the tone of your voice, “No, I mean— I think Jun let us slide because he owes me a drink from last time I saw him. Not that you owe me anything.”
You watch him struggle to keep eye contact, ultimately settling to look down at his can. It makes your blood feel hot beneath your skin.
“We’re even now. This makes up for you keeping me up with your annoying music,” you shrug, stopping to stand by the railing.
A smile returns to his lips immediately, “Does it? I felt really bad, y’know. But I didn’t notice any noises coming from your side these past few weeks.”
“I asked Sana to not bring people over so often. Or so loudly.”
He leans his back against the railing, watching you lean forward, “I appreciate that. So does Soobin.”
You nod and take a big gulp of beer. You try to ignore the taste in hopes that it’ll feel like nothing soon enough.
Behind Mingi, you see a couple of drunk girls dancing a little too close to the railing, a group of friends passing around a digital camera to take pictures of each other, and couples off making out in the corners. The last view makes you roll your eyes.
As if you hadn’t done the same thing at countless parties.
But you don’t let the ache settle. You don’t have time to digest anything but the alcohol in your hands, so you turn back to the man beside you.
You can see Mingi’s whole outfit now that he’s not glued to your back. He’s eccentric, unafraid to wear something that might be deemed too much. You deduce that just based on his dark oversized clothing, the almost obscene amount of jewelry he’s wearing, and the dark shades pushing his black hair back. You think he thinks he’s cool. You might think so too.
“How come he isn’t here tonight?”
Mingi looks up, still leaning his long arms back on the railing, “Who?”
“Soobin.”
He tilts his head, “I dunno. We were supposed to come together. I think he went to go see his girl.”
You can’t help the downward tug of your lips. All handsome men were either taken, assholes, or gay. Sometimes all three. “He has a girlfriend?”
Mingi nods, “Yeah. Is that disappointing?”
“Kinda.”
“He used to sleep with a body pillow of some random anime character.”
The random admission pulls a laugh from you, “What? Why are you telling me that?”
“To help you not be so disappointed,” he replies, and he’s close enough that you can see the way one of his front teeth is slightly crooked. It’s cute.
“I’m not like… in love with your roommate or anything.”
“Because you’re in love with yours?”
You nearly snap your neck with how fast you turn to glare at him, “Shut up, I told you the girl making all that noise isn’t me.”
Mingi’s eyes crinkle with a laugh. It’s breathless, and you wish you could hear it a little bit clearer over the music.
“I believe you.”
He lifts his free hand to point out Sana just a few meters away, still talking to the same blonde girl you saw with her earlier. But they’re much closer now, noses nearly touching with each word they speak.
“I’m gonna need another drink,” you shut your eyes and chug the remnants of your beer.
“Let’s go then.”
You watch him tip his can all the way back to finish his drink in one go, and he’s moving back to the center of the rooftop before you can reply.
A cold gust of wind hits your side and it spurs you on, your heeled feet immediately chasing after his steps.
You didn’t count how many more beers you shared with Mingi. You stopped after the fourth emptied drink, when the cans in your hands became more like microphones for a round of karaoke only the two of you seemed to be a part of.
But they’re enough that you’re both giggling as you hop into a car together, trying your best to seem sober as the driver pulls off.
His shades are on you now, sliding down the bridge of your nose as he takes a picture of you. The driver clicks his tongue in distaste at the quick flash of light from Mingi’s phone, and the latter mumbles a quick apology.
You attempt to take the device from him, embarrassed at the surely unflattering picture, but he hides it behind his back. “Hold on, I just need a contact picture for you.”
“You took it from so high up, it’s probably fucking ugly,” you complain, still reaching around him to grab the phone.
He snorts, “It’s just for me to look at. Take one of me for my contact.”
You blink slowly before agreeing, taking out your phone to get the worst angle of him possible. He poses with his teeth bared, and then his brows furrowed, and then his tongue out. You try different angles. But even from below, he’s pretty. It makes you scoff in frustration.
“Fuck you, this is no fun,” you stumble out of the car into the cold night, your phone still in your hand. He takes hold of your forearm, guiding you to the front of your dormitory.
His grip steadies you, and you make it all the way to the elevator successfully, without waking up the RA sleeping at the front desk.
Mingi pulls you up so you’re standing straight and not leaning your weight onto him, and you press the button to the ninth floor.
“I take it back now,” you hold onto his arm, chest glued to him.
He’s looking straight at the doors, not bothering to turn, “Take what back?”
The elevator dings with every floor you pass, “You’re not that weak. You could probably manhandle me.”
He turns to look at you, forcing his eyes to remain on your face and not your cleavage pushing into his jacket’s sleeve, “Thanks?”
Metal doors finally open as you reach the ninth floor, and Mingi keeps a hand on your arm as you step out. You smile when he begins to follow you down the hall, “You’re coming with me? Do you want to manhandle me?”
The tall man chokes on a laugh, “No. No, you’re out of it. I’m your neighbor, remember? We’re walking in the same direction.”
Your heels click softly against the tiled floor and you sigh in drunken disappointment. He stumbles over a trash bag someone left right outside their door, feet stomping against the floor before he catches himself.
You cover your mouth to stifle the loud laugh that spills out, “Mingi, people are sleeping.”
His face morphs from embarrassment to amusement when he hears you, and he follows you closer, “Sorry. I think that last beer got to me.”
Once you’re in front of your neighboring doors, he takes out his keys and unlocks his door with shaky hands. You reach into your shoulder bag and search through it blindly to do the same.
Lip gloss, wallet, school ID, and a pack of gum. You freeze. Your hand feels around the bag again. A small pack of tissues, phone, and a compact mirror.
“Mingi,” your voice is barely over a whisper, “I don’t have my keys. Sana and I were planning to come back together so we only took hers.”
His brows raise in surprise, taking your bag to search for you. He pushes a few things around before sighing in defeat, “Did you tell her you were leaving?”
“No?”
His head snaps up to look at you, deep voice pitched into a whispered yell, “What? She’s gonna freak out.”
“She has my location,” you take your phone when he hands it to you, sweaty hands fumbling to unlock it and check your notifications.
Ten texts and three missed calls, all from Sana. Your stomach sinks.
“She’s gonna think some creep brought you back here.”
You eye him suspiciously, “Well…”
“Me? I’m trying to help you since you don’t know the first thing about safety.”
Your reply to his comment is a pointed glare that he backs away from. Your fingers feel slow as you type a text to your roommate to let her know you’re okay, just locked out.
“Seriously,” he continues with a tilt of his head, not stepping into his dorm room, “You don’t take your own keys and then you don’t let your friends know where you are?”
“Okay, I get it, I fucked up. She says she’ll be here in thirty,” you take your bag back from him and sling it over your shoulder, “Thanks for the ride home.”
He watches you sink to the floor and hesitates before closing the door behind him to do the same.
You whip your head to the side. “What are you doing?”
He shrugs, long legs spreading out as he leans his head back, “Waiting for Sana with you.”
You want to laugh at the ridiculous notion. But he’s already closing his eyes, ready to spend the next thirty minutes on the dirty tile with you.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“It’s not like we’re friends.”
The statement settles in the air for longer than you intended, and you hear him exhale deeply before speaking.
“I want that too.”
“To be friends?”
He’s already looking at you when you turn to get an answer. He nods decisively.
“I think so.”
You cross your legs beneath you, “You think or you know?”
Mingi pauses, watching the way the skirt of your dress rides up your legs. He leans forward enough to shrug his jacket off and drape it over the exposed skin.
“There’s a spirit org throwing in two weeks. It’s their mid-mester celebration. It’s supposed to be a great time.”
“Which org?”
He shrugs, accidentally knocking his elbow against the door, “Random, I dunno. But I’ve been before, and they’re fun.”
“Are you inviting me?”
His eyes catch on his glasses resting just below the bridge of your nose, “Yeah. Soobin and I are going. You and Sana can tag along.”
“Soobin’s girlfriend too, then?”
Mingi’s brows pinch in confusion and then he inhales, “Oh, right. Uh, yeah, maybe.”
“Sounds good,” you fix the warm jacket on your lap, already planning your outfit. Something just as tiny as what you’re wearing now, with the hopes that he’ll let you take his jacket when you ask.
He picks at his baggy jeans, snapping off a loose thread before speaking, “You wanna come in and wait in my room? Soobin’s not here.”
Your lips pull to the side as you think, taking a look at the wooden door behind him.
Mingi continues, “No pressure. We can stay here, I just wanted to offer.”
“Okay,” you huff, securing your purse over your shoulder as you scramble to your feet. He straightens, helping you up before pushing the door open.
“Ignore the mess,” he mumbles as you walk in first, “and text Sana that you’re here.”
You nod in agreement, sending a quick message before dropping your belongings on his desk and sitting up on it without asking. He picks up a few socks and bottles, tossing them into different bins as you look around.
It’s disorganized. Scattered books and papers on the desks, unmade beds, and clothes strewn across different surfaces. It smells like cologne and takeout, a weird combination that reminds you of where you are.
He flicks the bright overhead light on, apologizing when you complain and opting to turn a lamp on instead.
Mingi sits beside you on his desk’s chair, his legs spread, hands behind his head as he leans back to stretch his back. He groans and you pretend the sound doesn’t go straight to your guts.
sana | so you’re staying the night next door? or do you need me to rescue you?
You glance at the notifications on your screen.
you | neither, he’s just waiting with me
sana | bummer
sana | he’s cute, i saw you talking
you | maybe i’m tipsy but i kinda need him
sana | ;)
Your phone shuts off with a click and you place it face down on Mingi’s desk.
“So… the bartender earlier was your friend?”
He turns, nodding slowly, “Yeah, Yeonjun. He’s Soobin’s friend. They’re pretty close, so I know the guy.”
“Yeonjun,” you echo, testing the waters, “Is he taken too?”
Mingi narrows his eyes, “Soobin’s taken, so you go after Yeonjun?”
“You miss every shot you don’t take.”
That punches a laugh out of his chest, one you can actually hear this time. It’s boyish, slightly out of breath. Something you wouldn’t expect out of a face like his.
“Wow, you’re something.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know. But I like it.”
Your arm is still hot where his hands guided you earlier, and you look at his flushed neck and hope it’s not just the alcohol. He meets your eyes for a second too long, and he pushes away from the desk to stand up. He stops when you mumble his name.
“Hm?”
“I really want you to kiss me.”
He opens his mouth, closes it. His own reaction seems to surprise him because he tries to speak again, but the only sound that escapes him is a “huh?”
“Kiss me. I wanted you to, in the car. And then the elevator. But you keep backing up.”
His chest trembles with an inhale, “You’re sure? Like really sure?”
You nod, legs kicking from where they hang over his desk, “I am if you are.”
He nods so quickly you’re afraid he’ll get dizzy, “Fuck, yes.”
The smile he causes makes your cheeks hurt, and you raise your brows in surprise when he shoves the desk chair out of his way to stand between your legs.
He gets close enough for your breaths to mingle in the matter of seconds, but he stops right there, hovering by your face.
You feel him hesitate and take the initiative instead, taking a fistful of his shirt to pull him into you. He obeys easily, taking one last step to close the distance between you.
His lips are exactly what you expected, plump and slightly chapped, still tasting like cheap liquor.
He shivers when your hands move up his torso, making his shirt ride up enough to expose his skin to the air. You continue your travel up his chest, to his shoulders, around his neck. He keeps his hands on your sides, unwilling to explore.
Your teeth nip at his bottom lip, and that seems to wake him up because his large hands squeeze your flesh with little restraint. He tries to take another step, to get closer to you, but the edge of the table bumps against the tops of his thighs and he exhales in frustration. He uses his hold on you to pull you closer, and your legs spread further to accommodate him.
It’s been months since you’ve kissed someone— months since you’ve felt a man moan into your mouth and try his best to keep his hands in one place. The feeling is intoxicating, feeling so wanted and so in control of someone else’s body.
Mingi doesn’t feel like Yeosang. His hands are bigger, they’re less delicate than the latter’s. He doesn’t touch you like he knows you. He hasn’t discovered the spot between your neck and your shoulder that makes your skin rise with goosebumps. But he makes up for his lack of knowledge in sheer want— in desperation and need that Yeosang never dared to show.
You inhale sharply when he pulls back for air, eyes blown out with desire.
“You still okay?” his voice wavers slightly, roughened around the edges.
“Yes,” your voice is barely a whisper, eyes examining his features with increasing anticipation.
Mingi nods like he’s trying to reassure you, but it ends up looking more like he’s hyping himself up.
His thumb slides against the sliver of skin revealed by your shirt, “How about this?”
He pauses before leaning forward, the tip of his nose brushing the underside of your jaw as his lips make contact with your skin. The kisses start slow and experimental, barely-there grazes of nervous affection. When you shudder, pushing him closer, he gains enough confidence to trail a little lower.
One of his hands comes up slowly, index finger curling beneath your chin to tilt your head back. Your chest is heaving with heavy breaths, one arm propped on the desk beneath you while the other holds onto his upper arm.
He licks right over your pulse point, the hand on your chin moving down to rest on the base of your neck. The weight of it makes you release a soft ‘yes’, and he groans, pressing more of his front against you.
The door shakes with two knocks.
Mingi immediately releases you, straightening up like he's been caught doing something illegal. You jolt, hopping off his desk and arranging your clothes.
He clears his throat, running a hand through his black hair before stepping over to open the door.
“Hey, Sana, come in,” he says, moving aside as the shorter girl peeks past the doorframe.
“That’s alright, I’ll just wait out here,” she replies with a bright smile, waving at you as you grab your purse.
You take a deep breath before walking to the entryway. You stop right beside Sana, looking up to Mingi, “Thanks for letting me stay. Text me?”
“For sure,” he smiles as he steals a glance at your lips, “I’ll text you. Good night.”
Sana looks between you, nodding at Mingi before he shuts the door and leaves you both in the hallway.
“What was that?” Sana searches your face with a giggle, doing her best to keep her voice down despite the alcohol running through her system.
You shush her, “Open the door, I’ll tell you inside.”
She does so with shaky hands, fumbling the lock before practically pulling you in.
You tell her about the tension between the two of you, the way he desperately kissed you back, how the weight of him felt heavenly against you.
“I cockblocked you?” Sana covers her face with both her hands, “Fuck, sorry. I thought you were joking about needing him.”
“I wasn't gonna fuck him,” you shake your head, removing your heels and throwing them to the side. “It didn't feel right.”
“Really? Y’know, you’ve been kinda weird about your love life recently.”
She trails off, eyes widening like she forgot she was speaking out loud.
“How?”
“Um, y’know, ever since you broke up with Yeosang, you’ve just been like… kinda avoiding meeting new people.”
Your brows furrow, “It’s only been a few months, Sana. I was with him for two years.”
Her pink lips push out. “It was a high school relationship.”
“High school was like… practically yesterday. It still hurts, Sana. I don't wanna rush into anything.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence envelops you as she ties her hair.
“I mean… we’re in college now. You can mess around, y’know? Not every kiss or hook-up has to mean something.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“What does that mean?”
She turns to look at you, hair pushed back by a headband with bunny ears protruding from it. Half of her face is glistening with remnants of the makeup remover she’s using. It makes it hard to take her annoyance seriously.
You shrug, “You’re apparently just bringing anyone back to the dorm.”
“Are you shaming me?”
The hurt in her voice withers your resolve.
“No— no, that’s not what I mean. Sorry, it’s just… Yeosang’s the only person I’ve ever slept with, so I don’t know what to do. And I wish I had your ability to go after what I want without thinking twice. I’m a little jealous, actually. But I didn't mean to get defensive.”
She takes a deep breath, “Earlier, you said he didn't feel right. But I don't think that’s it.”
“You’re gonna tell me how I feel?”
She narrows her eyes, index finger pointed straight at your mouth, “Let me finish. I think Mingi felt different. But different isn’t wrong. It’s just new.”
You unzip your skirt, “I guess… if I got the chance, I’d kiss him again.”
“Not just because you're drunk?”
The jab lightens the mood and you put your dirty clothes in the hamper, “No. I thought he was cute the first time I talked to him. Annoying, but nice to look at.”
“So kiss him again. And don't wait for a chance to come around, create one.”
You watch her use another wipe to clean her face in the dim light of her light-up mirror. “Really?”
“Really. Don’t wait for him to text you. Kiss him, fuck him, dump him, kiss someone else.”
Sana shrugs, you tug your shirt off, “Is that how you treat the girls you bring here?”
“Of course not. Women deserve respect. I’m a one-girl kinda girl.”
A chuckle tumbles from your chest, “But I should date as many men as I want?”
“Exactly, you get it now. That’s what every girl should be doing. It’s not like guys our age care.”
So when Mingi texts you the next morning, somewhere between apologizing to you and asking you out, you knock on his door as a yes.
Dating Mingi is easy. Spontaneous late-night drives when neither of you can sleep, fast food between classes, ice cream as a reward for getting through midterms.
Make-out sessions at his dorm when Soobin pulls all-nighters at the library. But never further than that.
Your relationship bleeds into the spring semester, something exclusive that you don't exactly name until he admits that he can't stand that you introduce him as your friend.
So in early March, you’re lying on his bed, one hand threading through his hair as he rests his head on your chest. He’s scrolling on his phone, breathing softly.
“Yeo— babe,” you correct yourself quickly, nearly slapping your hand over your mouth.
“Hm?”
You almost sigh in relief when you realize he didn't catch it. “Are we going anywhere tonight?”
Mingi puts his phone down, moving so that his chin is hovering over your sternum, “No?”
“But I did my hair today,” you insist, frowning when he shakes his head.
“Mm, and you look hot. But I feel like staying in tonight.”
You sigh, head dropping onto the pillow with extra force, “We rarely go on an actual date. All we do is scroll on our phones and kiss.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.”
Your frown deepens.
He drops his head so that the side of his face is resting on your chest once more, “Okay, I get it. Let’s go to that fancy restaurant on Eighth Street that everyone is talking about.”
“For real?”
“‘Course, baby. Anything for my girl.”
Your stomach flutters and you straighten up, “I’m gonna go next door and change. Come get me when you’re ready?”
“Mhm,” he pecks your lips, “wanna match?”
You push him away, “No. Just wear something nice. No tank tops.”
He grins. “We’ll see.”
It’s not long before you’re sitting across from Mingi in a high-rise building, upscale atmosphere complete with candles in the middle of your table. The tablecloth is pristine, and every waiter makes it seem like being attractive is a requirement to work at the establishment.
The menu is short and devoid of any price tags, the only indication being how fancy the name of each dish sounded. You order quickly, but the food takes quite some time to get to your table.
When it finally arrives, you can't decide which of the two looks more delectable: Mingi in a baby blue button-down or the meal the waiter just placed in front of you.
The food is as delicious as it looks, buttery and just the right amount of salty. Dessert is even better, shared between the two of you with giggles in between.
Your boyfriend pays the tab like always, albeit a bit reluctantly, but he doesn't complain when you thank him with a kiss on his cheek.
You can't help but expect something more than a kiss when you walk back into his dorm. The date had gone perfectly, and you could feel the way Mingi kept staring at you when he thought you weren't looking. In four months of officially dating, you had expected to be put through the mattress.
But every time things started getting heated, something would come up. So you strike now, right after he locks the door behind him, and you kiss him with determination.
He kisses you back immediately, steadying himself with two hands on your waist. You trace the seam of his bottom lip with your tongue and he gives in easily, brows scrunching with arousal.
Your fingers mess with the small buttons on his shirt, slowly undoing them as he walks you back towards his bed. His shirt falls open and you take the opportunity to map out the ridges of his abdomen.
He moans into your mouth when your nails scratch lightly around his pecs, and you reward the sound with one of your own.
Mingi shudders, completely pliant as you sit on the edge of his bed and pull him down with you by the nape of his neck. The frame creaks quietly underneath you as he bends at the waist to keep his mouth on yours, one knee coming up to rest between your legs.
He chases your lips as you pull away to settle on his comforter, and he opens his eyes to admire the view below him. He bites his lips, adjusting his pants as the strap of your dress slides off your shoulder.
Mingi feels like everything is happening in slow motion. He can see every millimeter of your legs that your dress is exposing as it rides up, and he can feel how each one of your breaths shakes your entire body. He hasn’t seen you this turned on, not since the night he first kissed you. The thought goes straight to his chest and he gulps to try to extinguish the heat it causes.
“Baby,” he murmurs, sliding his palms on the sides of your thighs, “you okay? You’re trembling a little.”
“I want you,” you admire the way his frame looks even bigger from this angle. “So bad.”
He gulps. Audibly. His throat bobs with the force of it, and the view only turns you on even more.
It’s so obvious that he has little to no experience. If you’re to guess, you’d bet the furthest he’s ever gone with someone is a make-out session. His shirt isn't even all the way off, he’s letting it hang on his shoulders, and he hasn't even tried undressing you.
You guide his hands from your thighs to the already falling straps of your dress. He meets your eyes like he needs more confirmation that he has your permission, and you nod, letting him bring the front of your dress down enough to reveal the lace underneath.
His eyes nearly bulge out of his head, and you swear you hear him curse when his hands move from your shoulders to rest over your chest.
You lie to him. You're not sure why, but the words come out of your mouth as if you'd practiced them in the mirror.
“I’m a virgin too," you state, interrupting the nervous journey of his eyes all over your torso. His gaze snaps up.
He nods repeatedly, trying and failing to calm himself down as you prop yourself up on your elbows. "Really? Good. I mean, I wouldn't care if you weren't. But it makes me a little bit less nervous. Kinda. Wait, how did you know?”
His exposed chest flushes redder the more he speaks, and you distract him by tugging his shirt all the way off. That’s enough to keep him from rambling.
Guilt gnaws at your gut as he smiles down at you. To be fair, you’re clean, so it's not like you're lying about your health. And, since when were bodies before college even counted as bodies? Not that Yeosang was just a body.
"Are you nervous too?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts, "We don't have to do anything. I’d love to, I think that's obvious, but if this is too much..."
He begins to shift away from you and your legs wrap around his waist in a panic,
"No. I mean, yes, I'm nervous but I still want to."
"How badly?" he asks, regaining some confidence. His eyes regard you with a hunger he can't hide, too eager for someone pretending to be in control.
"Don’t put on that act."
"What act?"
"That... dominant daddy shit you're trying to do," you reply with a grin, "It’s not working."
The tension in his shoulders eases, “I was trying to lighten the mood.”
"You watch too much porn, just let this happen naturally," you inhale in anticipation as he leans closer.
Mingi shakes his head, his hips fitting snugly between your legs, "I don't watch porn."
"A man in college who doesn't watch porn? Please."
"I don't need to," he insists, eyes fluttering when your back arches just enough to close the distance between your chests. “Especially not now."
“What’s that mean?”
He places short kisses on your lips, “Promise you won't laugh?”
“No promises.”
He smiles against your lips, voice slightly muffled, “I just use your pictures. Or voice messages.”
Your heart burns at the admission, “What?”
He kisses you again, buying himself some time to explain, “I save all the ones you send me.”
“I’ve never sent you anything crazy.”
“I know, that's why I asked you not to laugh,” he says, climbing over you.
“So what? You jerk off to outfit pictures?”
“The selfies you send when you’re getting ready to go out. But mostly your voice.”
“Fuck, that’s hot.”
“Yeah?” he kisses down the column of your neck, “I felt guilty, asking you to send me voice messages about your day just so I could come.”
“Mingi, stop talking,” you complain even though his voice is soaking you through your underwear.
He licks a stripe up your neck, slowly figuring out what makes your heartbeat flutter, “Have you done anything like that? With me?”
You think back to all the sleepy voice memos he’d sent you and how you’d used them to get off when you were feeling especially desperate. His deep voice that made you feel like it was ringing inside you, even now. You close your eyes, pleasure shooting through your body as some of his weight settles on you. “I’ve used your voice messages.”
He pulls back, sitting on his knees with your legs spread over them, “Let me see it.”
“What?”
His eyes meet yours with an intensity you've never seen from him before. It makes your stomach flip, “I wanna see how you touch yourself.”
Your entire body feels like it's on fire at the request, but you can't find it in yourself to deny either of you the pleasure.
Mingi helps you, sliding the skirt of your dress all the way up to your hips. He sees the wet patch on your panties and groans, hands spreading your legs wider over his own.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.”
You press your lips together, trying not to make any sound to embarrass yourself further.
He continues, thumb tracing the frilly edge of your underwear, “These are so cute, I can basically see through them.”
You try to close your legs out of instinct, “Mingi.”
His eyes snap up to yours, “You still okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just getting impatient.”
He smiles in relief, “I’m waiting on you.”
“To do what?”
He replies like it's obvious, “To touch yourself. I don't know what to do. I want you to teach me. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“Just making sure,” he reassures you with a kiss to your lips, “Go ahead, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”
You gulp down a wave of nerves as your hand snakes past your hips to pull your lace panties to the side. You silently thank your intuition for pushing you to pick your cutest pair right before going out to dinner. You hear Mingi take a long breath, but you don't dare look up.
The air feels too cold against your heated skin, and you clench under his focused gaze.
He tips his head back and you follow the movement with your eyes, keeping one finger hooked around the middle of your panties.
“Sorry, fuck, hold on,” he mutters, hips moving involuntarily as he readjusts your legs over his own. “You’re so pretty and so fucking wet. I’m dizzy.”
The praise quickens your already accelerated heartbeat, “For you.”
He looks down at you, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, “Don’t say that. Fuck, why would you say that?”
You gain a little bit of confidence as you remember you have the upper hand in experience, regardless if he's aware of it or not. “It’s true. I’ve been thinking about this for months, Mingi.”
He watches intently, jaw still slack, as two of your fingers spread your arousal over yourself. You draw out the motions, eyes trained on the harsh rise of his chest and the jumping muscle of his jaw.
Mingi squeezes his eyes shut for a second but then opens them like he missed something monumental by trying to calm himself down. “Months?”
“Months,” you confirm, circling your clit just the way you like. You take a deep breath to stifle a whimper, stomach clenching at the familiar feeling, “Doing this, imagining it was you instead. Thinking your fingers would feel better.”
He moans, the hands that are keeping you spread biting into your flesh, “You’re so sexy. I wanna help you. Please let me help you, baby, please.”
“Do it.”
His hand quickly moves from the inside of your thigh to replace yours over your clit. He tries his best to replicate the movements he was observing seconds ago, his eyes continuously moving from gauging your reaction back down to your core.
His fingers are a little too light, circles too slow to get you anywhere. So you hold his wrist, “A little harder, you won't hurt me, I promise.”
Mingi nods, adjusting the pressure until he hears you choke on a groan and your fingers loosen around his wrist. He smiles at the achievement, increasing his speed as he watches your breaths pick up.
“Like this?” he asks, taking your shameless moan as an affirmative answer. ”Yeah?”
He uses his hold on your left leg to pull you closer, head turning to the side to place a kiss on the inside of your knee.
“Min— fuck, please,” you writhe, body moving on its own to fuck up into his hand. He’s panting, hips grinding into open space as he watches you suppress all the noises he so desperately wants to hear.
“Holy shit, you’re shaking,” his chest rumbles with a disbelieving laugh, sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine at the thought that he’s doing this to you. That you’re sweating, moaning his name, and trying to get more of him even though your limbs are shaky. He feels in control of everything but himself. It’s like a wet dream he can't dictate— his body shudders when he sees your flesh straining against the lace of your bra— and he can only watch as you clench around nothing.
And he understands. He finally understands why his upstairs neighbors fuck like bunnies and why your roommate brings a new girl over every week.
Because the view in front of him is addictive, his hand feels like it might cramp but he doesn't care, and he wants more than just to touch. He wants you to tell him what you need, and he wants to listen. He hasn't blasted music from his speakers for months, not since you came over to yell at him for it. But he would listen to you on loop on the highest volume, without a care in the world. Or scratch that, he would care, and he’d never want anyone else to hear this. How obscenely your pussy is squelching or the gasps of his name or the muffled moans. He thinks he’d rather keep it to himself forever, on the highest volume in his head.
Mingi doesn't let up, fingers working at the same pace, making embarrassing noises with every tight circle he draws. He’s watching you closely now, you can feel it. You can feel the shift in his energy, you can see how he went from thinking he might make you come to knowing he will.
“Don't stop,” you manage to get out, back arching involuntarily, “Mingi, I'm so close.”
“Fuck, hold on, baby,” he interrupts, voice rough with unbridled lust, “I wanna taste you. I want you to come on my face. Please?”
The plea tips you right over the edge, and you fight your own body to stay down on the bed. He groans with you, working you through your orgasm at the exact pace that got you there in the first place.
Mingi’s in complete awe as your head tips forward and then back, a moan of his name mumbled into your hand. He feels his own nerves light up and betray him, but he doesn't stop the rhythmic circles on your clit.
You take a deep breath through your mouth at the sting between your legs, and you push his hand away, “Too much.”
“Sorry, fuck, sorry, baby,” he says, pulling away immediately to let it rest on your hip instead. “You good?”
You nod, humming when he folds over you and presses his lips to yours. You reach between you to readjust your panties, to give you some semblance of dignity, “A little out of breath.”
His eyes move down to the lace still covering your chest, the fabric of your dress bunched just below your bra, “Yeah, I see that.”
“Are you good, Min?”
“Uh,” he smiles widely, looking off to the side. “Yeah. But I might’ve ruined my pants.”
“Seriously?”
He closes his eyes tightly, “Yeah. Sorry, it’s never happened before, I swear. It’s just… watching you turned me on a lot more than I thought it would.”
You shake your head, “Don't be sorry. That’s really hot.”
Mingi blinks in confusion, “It is?”
“Duh. Imagine it the other way around.”
He takes a few seconds before nodding, “That would… really turn me on.”
You laugh under your breath as he looks up at the ceiling, “You're actually thinking about it?”
“You told me to.”
“Are you just listening to orders tonight?”
His breath hitches, “Yes?”
Your arms loop around his neck and you bring him down for a lazy kiss. He reciprocates with a hum, hips grinding against yours.
You pull him off your lips by his hair, “You wanna keep going?”
His expression drops, “I don't have any protection.”
“I can just…” you trail off, guiding him down for another kiss to get his body to relax. His knees press into the mattress just below your ass, your legs still spread around his hips. You lay all the way back down, swallowing a groan from him as he cages you in with his forearms.
This kiss is slower, needier and you can feel the difference in his confidence. He had made you come. Hard. Much harder than you expected, at least. You can still feel your arousal dripping out of you, core clenching every time he unknowingly whines against your lips.
“Flip over,” you command softly as you pull away, giving him a second to process before he moves onto his back. “Sit up against the headboard.”
You follow him, straddling his lap with your legs draping on either side of him. He frowns when you slide back to seat yourself further down on his thighs, one of his hands reaching for your hip to keep you close. “Baby, what’re you doing?”
You lean forward, lips just barely grazing his as you speak, “Don’t you want me to return the favor?”
He swallows, eyes blinking rapidly, “If— if you want to.”
“I want you to do the same thing I did.”
“What?”
“Show me.”
He huffs, nodding before he tries to seal his lips against yours, but you pull away before he can. That throws him off for a moment but he recovers, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans with stable hands. You smile when he shoves them down, fingers reaching for his boxers next. You don't even have time to process the wet stain on the front or the outline of him before he’s already freed himself, half-hard and leaking.
He’s big. Definitely bigger than you're used to, pretty and long. You almost want your mouth on it, just to feel the difference. Almost. But that would give you away, so you shake the thought from your head.
Mingi’s abs clench under your stare, dick jumping slightly when you look back up at him. You lean over and kiss him, humming when his hand slides up to your back, just over the exposed clasp of your bra.
“Take it off me, Min,” you don't wait for an answer, trailing kisses down the sharp line of his jaw.
He tries his best, focusing on the clasp and not your tongue sliding against his skin. But he fumbles one too many times, so you reach back and help him. The lace slides off easily, and he helps you loop your arms out before tossing the garment to the side.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, hands reaching to feel the soft flesh, but you push both his arms down. They land palm down beside him on the mattress. “I can't touch?”
You shake your head, “Not yet.”
His breathing picks up, and he gulps, one hand moving to grip himself. He uses the pad of his thumb to spread his pre-cum all over his tip, a small gasp escaping him from the sensitivity.
You watch with bated breath, the slow tugs he gives himself as his eyes remain glued to your chest.
“Talk to me,” you push some hair out of his face, “what do you usually imagine?”
Mingi bites his bottom lip, eyebrows scrunching together with effort, “You. Looking up at me— or down at me like you are now. Touching me however you want. Using me. Riding my face, shit, I’ve dreamed of that.”
Expressive. Another thing you aren't used to in intimate moments. Your ex would never allow himself to let go too much. Always too worried about the next movement or returning favors. At some point, your sexual exchanges felt practiced. Not exactly transactional, but predictable. Surface level and routine, regardless of how pleasurable they’d been.
So the string of grunts Mingi can’t contain when he tightens his grip feels special. New and melodic and reckless.
Praise rolls off your tongue like instinct, words you’ve thought but never said before because you knew they’d be met with little response Your smaller hand takes over for him, wrapping around his length in one slow stroke, “You sound so pretty, let me help you, Min.”
“Thank you,” he sucks in a breath when you start moving your hand up and down in a torturous rhythm, “Fuck, how—? You’re so good at this. Let me touch you.”
You twist your fist on the upstroke, earning a breathy moan from him so loud it makes your insides burn. You repeat the motion, smiling when a dribble of precum trails down his tip, “No, you’re making a mess.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve never… we’ve never done this,” his head tips back and hits the wooden bed frame, throat bobbing with impatience. “How are you so fucking good at that?”
You distract him with a messy kiss, hand picking up speed on his dick as his chest presses against yours.
“Oh, fuck,” he breaks away from the kiss, a loud groan falling off his swollen lips, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me come.”
You hum in affirmation, keeping one hand around him while the other covers his mouth, “Mingi, you're being loud.”
He whines something unintelligible against your palm, eyes rolling back when you purposefully focus your strokes on his sensitive tip.
He meets your hand with weak thrusts, big palms now cupping the undersides of your breasts and squeezing like he needs to ground himself. He’s decided he’s done enough waiting and he wants to take. You let him, not reminding him to put his hands down because the action is so impatient, so needy, so him. And you feel not just wanted but needed, for once.
The feeling of soft skin against his hands only pushes him closer to the edge, and he moans loudly into your palm when you react to him taking your nipples between his thumbs and his pointer fingers.
You push your chest out instinctively, hips unintentionally grinding against him and that does it for him. He only lasts two more strokes before he's panting into your hand and shooting ropes of cum all over your dress and his abdomen.
The heel of your palm gently pushes against his face as you attempt to muffle his noises, and you slow down your pace to work him through his high. His eyes are screwed shut, brows furrowed, and he’s bucking his hips with enough force to make you jump slightly in his lap.
When he starts moving away from you, you let him go and lean forward for a kiss. His lips are barely responsive against yours, but he moves to cup your face and keep you there.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice raw and eyes glazed over.
You shake your head, or at least attempt to, “You don’t have to keep thanking me next time.”
“Next time?” Mingi’s expression immediately changes, flipping into a smile so bright it could blind you. “Next time, I wanna learn how to eat you out.”
You laugh under your breath at his undying enthusiasm, your palm splaying out on his chest to push him back playfully.
“First, you have to learn about aftercare. Go get something to clean us up with.”
“On it.”
Class was horrible.
The accounting quiz you took had an average of 35, and that professor absolutely refuses to curve grades by more than 5 points. You can only hope you’re the outlier who scored an impressive 80.
But you know you’re not, because this is the one quiz you didn't study for, and, coincidentally, were also late for. Both firsts for your spring semester. Great.
Not only that, but rain had absolutely poured on your way back to your dorm. So now your hair, clothes, and bag are soaking wet. And you nearly slipped getting into an elevator full of important-looking people in crisp suits.
The ride up to the ninth floor is torturous enough, and then you receive a text from Mingi as soon as you step into your confined space. You let it sit. He can wait half an hour while you shower.
You change into warm clothes after a lengthy shower, picking up your phone to answer Mingi.
min | can we talk? as soon as u get to ur dorm
You blink. Those were the three words you absolutely could not be hearing right now.
you | sure, come over, sana’s still in class
He types for an awfully long time. Minutes stretch by, and you stay laser focused on the screen, foot tapping nervously.
min | i was just wondering if maybe you could pay me back for dinner at eighth? i know i offered to pay but i need that fifty
What?
you | a month later? and we never split checks
you | u said splitting was for losers
min | i don’t wanna be questioned rn pls
you | i can’t tell if you’re playing
The bubble on your screen taunts you as he types.
min | is it really that big of a deal? i always pay. i’m only asking you to split this once. you insisted on going out that night, not me
you | u chose the fucking restaurant
you | i would’ve been fine w anything
you | god forbid i wanna go out w u instead of staying at ur dorm all day
min | it’s not about that
min | i just wanted to take u there to impress u and so u could show off a little
you | knowing u didn’t have the money?
you | that’s why u ordered the plain salad?
you | mingi that’s so irresponsible
min | sorry. i really don’t wanna do this right now. i wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t necessary
you | ykw i just transferred it
you | u literally blew money on pokémon cards last week i rlly don’t wanna hear about necessity
min | i’ll make it up to u tn
you | no, i need time to think
min | seriously? over this?
you | it’s not about the money
you | you’re just so immature it’s genuinely pissing me off
min | how?
you | take the fucking 50 and give me space
min | this sounds like something you’ve been thinking for a while
you | maybe it is
min | can we have a level headed conversation?
you | did u not read the parts where i said give me time and space
min | okay. yeah, talk to u tmr then
You toss your phone to the side, huffing in disbelief. Your day seriously could not get any worse.
Sana storms through the door as you’re murmuring to yourself.
She tosses her bag on the ground and immediately starts looking through her drawers. “I need to be blackout drunk like now.”
“Bad day?”
“Horrible day. Who told me international relations was an easy major?”
“Nothing’s easy at this stupid school.”
Sana raises a brow, throwing a glance your way, “Oh no. Bad day?”
“Worst day so far. Why did— y’know what? I don’t even wanna talk about him right now. Or my accounting professor. Two men ruined my day.”
“Uh-oh. Mingi?”
“Sana, I said I don't wanna talk about him.”
“Right. Sorry. You won't have to, where we’re going.”
“We?”
She smiles, pointing at your dresser, “Pick your cutest shorts and trust me.”
You take your time getting ready. After being fucked over not once, not twice, but over three times, you cannot afford getting turned away at the door because the bouncer thinks you don’t look good enough to go in.
Luckily, he doesn’t turn you away. You and Sana have an easy time getting into the house party, all the way to the kitchen where you’re sure the drinks will be.
It looks like some kind of themed party, with big circles huddled around tables and a shit ton of decorations that look like they’ve been through a dozen ragers.
You scan the area, some familiar faces you’ve seen before on nights out with Sana. You think you see Soobin off in a corner somewhere, but you blink and you lose him.
None of them matter as soon as you get two shots in, faces blurring into the background as you hang onto Sana’s arm.
“Sana,” you mumble against her ear, giggling when she turns and you realize just how close her face is, “Why’re there so many people?”
Your roomie smiles as you hand her the shot you get her, “Thank you, sweet girl. It’s some kinda like… state-wide event. The student associations at other schools are here. Our uni hosts most years.”
Your lips form a small ‘o’ as she explains, and you look around more intently this time. You see different male students wearing merchandise and colors from other schools, mingling with each other.
It’s not like you actually care who’s hosting, as long as they can wipe Accounting and Mingi from your mind, you’ll consider it a successful night.
You don't resist when Sana pulls you into the makeshift dance floor. You stick close, practically grinding up against her with how many people are crowding you.
For about an hour, you feel incredible. The shots have lowered your inhibitions just enough to make you a little giggly, but not so much that you can't keep up with the music.
But there’s something wrong.
You’re not sure if your paranoia is tequila-induced, or if there really is someone staring holes into your back. Every time you look up and search for them, you’re met with nothing. You actually make eye contact with Soobin through the crowd just once, and he raises his cup in your direction. You think you might’ve winked at him.
You don't think you've ever winked at someone from across the room before, but the person you are after a few shots isn't fully you.
Or at least, that's your excuse for when you rip away from the crowd, leaving behind a confused Sana as you stomp your way to the stairwell.
You see the figure move out of sight, up the stairs, and you follow. Your shoes click as you slither through groups of people, until you finally make it to the second floor. The door to the bathroom opens and closes. Your gut tells you to follow.
Your hand lands on the brass knob just in time to turn it without being met with resistance. You push the door back and walk into the bathroom, and you don't know if you're grateful or not that your intuition was correct.
Because the person on the other side, the one breathing heavy as they study your face, is Yeosang.
You meet his eyes with confusion, “What are you doing here?”
“Hi,” he practically squeaks out, deep voice recovering only when he clears his throat, “I’m part of the org at my school. It’s a… a joint event. I’m here for the weekend.”
You tilt your head, studying him like you’re seeing him with a new set of eyes, “Oh.”
He nods, “How’s, uh… school? The social life here?”
You shrug, leaning back against the door and locking it when you hear footsteps approach. “Fine. Different from what I expected. I’ve met weird people.”
“Yeah. Yeah, same. But more people from high school are at my uni. So… it’s like high school but with freedom.”
His hands are hiding behind his back, features morphed into something like embarrassment. The bathroom light flickers overhead and you can feel the tension in the room. You take a deep breath. It’s different to see him up close after months of separation. You don't remember the last time you didn't see him for more than two weeks at a time.
The man you had been comparing your boyfriend to, standing right in front of you, and you realize the comparison game you’ve been feeding into is pointless.
Mingi is everything you wanted Yeosang to be for so long. Spontaneous, vulnerable, unapologetic. It’s something you instantly noticed, something fundamentally different between the two of them.
But what Yeosang has is something Mingi can never make up for. Yeosang has years. Experience. Knowledge of you that you would be afraid of anyone having. He has firsts.
Tonight, in Mingi’s position, he would know that you aren’t upset about the money. He’d know that you don’t actually want space. He would know that look in your eyes right now.
“Are you dating anyone?” you ask because there’s no pretending with him. He knows you would've asked at some point, and you know the answer.
“No. I don't think it would be fair.”
“To you? Or to the other person?”
Yeosang looks away from you, to the mirror hanging up beside him, and then back. “Both.”
He doesn't ask the question back. He doesn't want to know, and he wants to pretend he doesn't care. He takes your step forward as an answer.
“I miss you,” your confession is practically whispered, breathy and wobbly.
The rest happens in a blur. It’s a dance you’ve been through several times, and you don't count the steps anymore. You don't have to lead him, he tugs your shorts down and bends you over in front of the mirror. One arm wraps around your front to keep you steady as he pistons into you with a force you can’t believe you’d ever gotten used to.
You hold onto his arm, watching him in the mirror as he moves. The liquor in your system makes your skin feel hotter than normal, like what’s pumping through your veins isn’t blood but liquid fire. It burns so much brighter when he moves his arm up so that the inside of his elbow is resting against your neck.
The loose chokehold pulls a strangled moan from you, and you lean into it, letting more of your weight drop into him.
You ignore the wandering question of who could have possibly taught him that. It only makes your head spin faster.
He’s groaning in your ear, mumbling confessions that make no sense. Or that you don't want to make sense of.
Should you be pretending it’s Mingi? Does that make this better? You don't think you care.
You’re holding onto his arm, then the edge of the sink, and then the wall as your legs buckle with the sheer amount of pleasure wrapping around you.
You don’t know who orgasms first. But you beat him to yanking your clothes back on, and you grab the doorknob before he can.
You promise you’ll text him before the weekend is over. He doesn't so much as say bye, because he doesn't think it’ll be necessary.
When you make your way down the stairs, you search for Sana like a lost dog frantically looking for its owner. Legs shaky, trying not to pant, head whipping around at any noise that sounds even remotely like your name.
You cannot stay any longer. At the party, or wherever you are in your head.
Whatever you’d once said about not caring, you take it back now.
Mingi’s in your dorm room, lips pouty as he kneels right in front of your bed. You’re sitting on the edge of your mattress, legs swinging, and you might throw up.
You’ve never cheated on anyone. You’ve never had the chance to, and you would probably silently judge someone who did.
But your actions from last night can't be fully blamed on the tequila, as much as you want them to be. The remnants of the drink in your system make you nauseous. Or maybe it's the reminders of Yeosang spread through your body. The soreness and the weight in your chest.
“Baby,” Mingi starts, voice rough, “‘m really sorry about yesterday. I could barely sleep last night since you were upset with me.”
You think about the fifty dollars. About the arguments over never going out to nice places. Or how petty Mingi could be when he was jealous. About the prioritization of his friends or his hobbies that drove you crazy.
You can't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. But you pretend. Because maybe if he's not distracted by appeasing your anger, he’ll notice the smell of cologne that's not his.
“And it was really childish of me to ask for that money back when I offered to treat you. I just… it was urgent, I needed to send money to my family, and I felt embarrassed asking anyone else to lend me some. I thought I’d pay you back double once I got paid. But not explaining myself made me seem like more of an asshole. I’m sorry.”
“You could've just said that, Mingi.”
He winces, leaning the side of his face on your knee, “I know. I don't know why I got defensive. I had a bad day but that's not an excuse. I always wanna be open with you, y’know?”
You purse your lips, nodding along.
He hates your silence. But he's not going to force you to accept his apology. So he pivots, “Did you go somewhere last night? I heard the door open and close pretty late.”
You sit up a little straighter, “Uh, yeah. Sana invited me to this… event.”
“Event?”
You nod, “Yeah, some kinda student org hosted— I don't even know. I just tagged along.”
“M’kay. Did you have fun?”
You shrug, “It was alright.”
“Did you drink?”
“Sorry, can you smell it?” You meet his eyes, threading a hand through his hair.
He hums, eyes studying your face, “Yeah. And you seem a little out of it.”
There’s a second of silence before Mingi stands abruptly, looking much taller from where you’re sitting. He puts his hands in his hoodie’s large front pocket. He looks around the room for a few seconds before speaking again, “Who was the guy?”
Your stomach drops to your ass.
“What?”
Your boyfriend exhales slowly, looking down at his sweatpants, the small patch that he accidentally splashed with bleach.
“The guy you were with. You smell like another man.”
You start panicking but you do your best to school your expression, “I don't know. I mean, it was super crowded. Like, the crowd was pressing me up against Sana at some point. Tons of people went, I even saw Soobin.”
He listens to your rambling without interrupting, “I know. Soobin saw you too.”
The way he’s looking down at you scares you. Sure, Mingi would probably lose a street fight pretty badly. And sometimes he did struggle to pop a beer bottle open. But he’s intimidatingly big, and you can tell he’s getting progressively more agitated.
So you stand as well, crossing your hands over your chest as you face him.
He doesn't let you get another word in before he steps forward, “Who was he?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You don’t? So, Soobin didn't see you go upstairs after some random guy?”
You frown but don't deny it. You can still get out of this, come up with some justifiable story that's hard to disprove. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but it climbs back down when Mingi grabs your arm and guides you towards your bathroom. He turns the light on and pushes you forward with some force.
He starts speaking before you can process anything, “I fucking defended you. I told Soobin he was crazy, that you probably had to use the restroom. I came over here to apologize because I was sick enough at the thought of you being upset with me. And when I get here, you can barely look at me. You smell, and I still try to justify it in my head. Maybe it was crowded. Maybe some guy got too close.”
“It was crowded, Mingi—”
He scoffs, “Don’t. Just fucking tell me the truth, I don't want to hear whatever story—”
“I can explain.”
“You can?” he asks, turning you towards the mirror hanging behind you, pulling the collar of your shirt down. “Go ahead, then.”
You inhale so much air that your lungs sting.
A pattern of purple splotches down the right side of your neck. They’re barely visible, but they’re there. And they look nothing like burns.
He’s looking at you through the mirror, jaw set in a way that makes you want to actually throw up.
“Mingi.”
“No, I kept—” he interrupts himself with a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, “justifying you. When you’d almost call me something else or ask me if I remembered a date you definitely didn't go on with me. I thought… she just got out of a two-year relationship. It must be hard to forget someone you probably know better than yourself. So I’d correct you without making a big deal. I was willing to compete against a fucking ghost. And then this. Soobin told me. I should've known. I should've come in asking for answers, but you had me kneeling in front of you, asking for forgiveness, and you said nothing. One argument? That’s all it took? You needed time and space to go fuck someone else?”
“Mingi, it was— I was tipsy. I didn't mean to, I didn't know he’d be there.”
His eyes widen before they narrow again, and he turns you around to face him, “No fucking way. It was your ex?”
You exhale a noise you're not sure is fully human, panic seeping into every single one of your organs.
“You cheated on me with your ex?” he shakes his head, taking a step back to look at you, “You thought you could fuck him and come back to your rebound?”
“You’re not a rebound, Mingi—”
“No, that’s exactly what I am. This,” he gestures between the two of you, “isn't even your fault. I fucked up. I was fucked as soon as I let things slide. Were you never gonna tell me? Or were you gonna keep pretending?”
You shy away from him, chest heaving with the effort not to cry.
His expression softens for a fraction of a second but he shakes his head, “I don't want to know. I hope you figure that shit out. I’ve obviously got things I need to figure out. We’re done.”
“Okay.”
Mingi takes one last look at you before walking out.
But that's not the last you see of him. He’s in the elevator, he walks out of it to take the stairs when you step in. He’s in the library, walking straight past you even when there’s only one empty seat next to you. He’s blasting music on late nights, ignoring Sana’s texts to turn it down.
You don't contact him, even when he sends you fifty dollars back. You don't contact Yeosang either.
You just need a break from everything. From group projects and men and boring parties. So you wait rather impatiently for summer, for the sun to kiss your skin the way no one else will.
PAIRING: switch!bf!jimin x awkward!f!reader. anonreq
Tags: explicit sexual content, fluff, sub!jimin💢, but he also talks her through it??😵💫, she’s very hesitant since she never topped him b4, so he SNAPS(very gently), JIMIN’S SENSITIVE NIPS, she’s very curious and into it it’s adorable, praising, lots of begging, i lied i made him a switch throughout the fic, handjob, this is very romantic it’s annoying, aftercare ❤︎
He would be laying on the bed, his chest naked wearing only his pajama pants on. He’s waiting for you to sleep together. You’re getting ready for bed as usual, as he watch with a sleepy, loving eyes.
After you put on your favorite nightgown, you crawl on the bed towards him, his soft smile slowly forming on his pretty, full lips. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his nipples are visibly hard because of the cold summer night. His tattoo adorned his skin under his lower chest. He looks gorgeous like this, all splayed out on the bed with his arm lazily open, inviting you in so warmly.
“There you are, pretty girl.” He whispered as you lay your head down on his chest, pressing a soft kiss on your temple, snuggling so tightly against his side.
Your hands are itching to touch his body, you wanna feel all of him, kiss every inch of his soft skin. But jimin had a really long day today, came in exhausted and sleepy. After dinner, he immediately went to shower and collapsed on the bed wearily. You thought you would find him already asleep, but jimin always waited for you to get in bed, he always did.
“Jimin.”
“Yes, baby.”
“Are you going to sleep?”
“Hm.. maybe in a little bit. And you?.” He murmured against your head, his palm moved in slow soothing strokes over your waist, his thumb shyly tracing under your breast.
“..maybe in a bit too,” You mumbled, almost absentmindedly. Your gaze is focused on the waistband sat low on his hips, hinting at the faint V-shaped lines disappearing beneath the fabric. Lord. You want to touch his hips and delicate waist. The itch was getting harder to ignore, hes laying beside you so beautifully like a Greek god, you want to worship him so badly, but you really don’t wanna keep him up.
“Jimin.” You really don’t wanna..
“Hm.”
“Are you tired”
“What is it, my love.” The hand that was stroking your waist, slowly slide up your chin, titling your head making you look up at him. His eyes were so droopy and soft, his gaze drifting between your eyes and lips with quiet fondness. His thumb caressing your cheek oh so gently it made you melt in a puddle.
“What got you so flustered right now, hm?.” God. His gentle whispers sing to you like a melody. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head right now. You were utterly defeated under the gentlest amount of affection. But no. You don’t wanna make it about you tonight, you want him to feel good and comfy. But you’re so embarrassed to ask, you never took charge in bed. He’s always been the one who take care of you and makes you feel so good you forget how to breathe for a second. And you wanna make Jimin feel the same way he makes you feel. You want to. You have to try.
“Can i.. maybe touch you?.” You murmured, looking at his lips unable to look him in the eyes.
“Yeah?, you wanna touch me?” Purring softly, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
“How do you wanna touch me?”
“Like make you feel good and cozy..” god why is it so hard to ask for this, it’s not like you never touched him before.
He didn’t say anything, but his hand wrapped around yours, guiding it down his chest to his stomach.
“Touch me then.” He whispered so quietly you barely heard him. The hand guiding yours on his body made your heart skip a beat. His body was lean muscle— firm beneath your hand, yet impossibly soft to the touch.
Jimin let out breathy sighs, enjoying your warm hand on his spent body. You start kissing your way up to his neck, sucking on his delicate collarbone enough to not leave any marks there, your tongue darting out your lips as you settle on the side of his neck.
Your hand never stopping the desperate touches on his body, your thumb hesitantly brushing under his dark areola, wanting to touch his nipple.
“can i-“
“y/n, please.”
His voice shaking, you didn’t notice his heavy breath, or his hand tightening on your back, fingers gripping your nightgown so tightly. He’s deeply affected, and you didn’t even notice that.
“Please.. touch me everywhere, i want you to, i need you to.”
Intentionally, you stroke his nipple gently, testing if it’s okay to go this far.
“That’s it, touch me however you like. Good girl” he whispered in your hair, his hips rolling sensually into the air, as if desperately looking for any friction to relieve his aching throbbing cock.
You can see it jerk in his pants. The reaction was fascinating, every time you flick his bud, his cock flinch from the impact. This got you spring up. Making Jimin stay still for a second until he realized why the sudden movement; you throw your leg over his toned thighs, straddling his lap as you reach over his chest and flick both his nipples, making him arch towards your hands, loving your abrupt confidence.
“Ahh fuck.. keep going, you doing so well,”
His head is thrown back, your fingers twisting his hard buds making his breath hitching violently. He never thought you would be into this, considering how much you love being submissive, and since he loves his nipples being touched, he didn’t want to scare you off by asking you too much, always taking things so slow and thoughtfully.
Your hips reflexively rocking on his lap, his cock twitching with every sway. He’s trying to keep his voice down, you can hear it in the way he mewls, biting so hard on his lip. You love his little noises so much, but you want to hear it more clearly.
As selfish as it sounds, you still lean your head towards his chest, taking his left nipple between your lips, while tugging at his right bud. Making him yelp so loud you flinch away from him,
“Did i hurt you?? Im so sorry! Im sorry! I should’ve asked b-“
“No no it’s okay, please keep doing that,” holding your hands back to his chest, “you just caught me off guard, i loved it.”
“Are you sure?” Hesitant for a moment, “you sounded like you’re in pai-“
In a swift quick motion, he pulls your face down to his lips, shutting you up with a rough kiss. His mouth moving so fast you can barely keep up with him, but it felt so good. Sucking your lower lip into his mouth, sticking his tongue in your wet mouth, his hand threading through your hair, tilting your head to the side, deepening the kiss. Hes devouring you. Both of you breathing in each other’s face, moans and lip smacks filled the quiet room.
“Please.. im okay .. just..” his lips struggling between kissing your sweet lips and talking to you.
“I loved it so much,” he leaned his forehead against yours, hands guiding yours on his chest again.
“Please” he’s almost crying now, very frustrated by the lack of attention your mouth has given, “your mouth on me.. please..”
Nodding your head once, you wrapped your lips around his nipple again, swirling your tongue around the taut bud, lapping at it, then suckling gently. Your hips proceeded its sensual pace, pressing harder on his pulsing cock, as your hands slide up and down his waist.
You switched to the other nipple, giving it the same lavish attention, sucking and laving until it was glistening and reddened. You experimented, grazing your teeth ever so lightly over the hypersensitive tip.
He screamed. A short, sharp, utterly unfiltered sound of overwhelmed pleasure. “Fuck! Do that again, please, I need it, I need you to—”
You do it again, a little less carefully, and his whole world seemed to short-circuit. His thighs are shaking, arms wrapped so tight around you, trying so hard to keep his voice low but failing. He’s shaking so hard you think he’s about to come.
You lifted your head, your lips wet, your own breathing ragged. You stared at the evidence of your effect on him, A wild spark igniting inside you. The sight of him all helpless and vulnerable, made you wonder if you’ll ever go back from this.
You looked down from his desperate, flushed face down to his visible bulge tenting his pants.
“Take it off for me,” gesturing toward his pants, you immediately obliged, sliding his pants down enough to free him. His cock sprang upwards, slapping against his hard stomach. Hes so pretty, thick and flushed a deep, angry red, the head already slick with pre-cum. You’d seen him hard before, felt him inside you, but never like this—on blatant, vulnerable display, completely at the mercy of your gaze and your touch. He was magnificent.
Tentatively, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around the base. The skin was silken hot, the shaft iron-hard beneath. You gave an experimental stroke, from root to tip, using the pre-cum as lubrication.
A ragged, punched-out groan tore from his throat. His eyes rolled back. “Yes. Just like that. A little tighter, baby. Squeeze harder.”
You adjusted your grip, firming your hold, and began to move your hand in a slow, steady rhythm. You were utterly focused, studying every minute reaction; the jump of a vein under your thumb, the way his balls drew up tight, the flutter of his stomach muscles with every pass of your hand over the sensitive head.
“Talk to me,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me how I feel.”
You were so deep in your concentration you’d forgotten to speak. “You’re… so hard,” you murmured, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. “So hot in my hand. You’re leaking everywhere.” You swiped your thumb over the slit, spreading the moisture, and he cried out, his hips bucking up into your touch.
“More,” he sobbed. “Please, more of that. Use your other hand. Touch my balls, be gentle, just cradle them…”
You obeyed, your movements becoming more confident as you followed his desperate, explicit directions. You learned the rhythm he liked—a twist of your wrist on the upstroke, a teasing press under the head. You learned where he was most sensitive—the frenulum, which made him sob when you rubbed it, and the tight seam of skin connecting his balls to his shaft, which made his whole body convulse when you stroked it.
“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, his words slurring together. “You’re too good. You’re milking me so good, just with your hands. Please, baby, I wanna come. Can I come? Please let me come.”
The sight of him bubbling and begging for you to let him come is so addictive, makes you want to give him all the pleasure he deserves.
“Come for me, jiminie,” you heard yourself say, your voice low and surprisingly steady. “Let me see it.”
It was all the permission he needed. With a shattered cry that was more sob than shout, his back arched violently off the bed. Thick, hot stripes of white painted his stomach and chest in frantic pulses, some even reaching his heaving pecs, mixing with the sheen of sweat and saliva already there. His body shook through the violent aftershocks, his thighs trembling, his toes curling.
You kept your hand moving, gently, through the very last tremor, until he was oversensitive and whimpering, pushing weakly at your wrist. You released him, sitting back on your heels, your own heart hammering, your core throbbing with a sympathetic, aching need. You looked at your hand, sticky and glistening, then back at him.
He was a vision of utter debauchery. Spent, panting, covered in the evidence of his own release, his sensitive nipples still peaked and wet from your mouth. His eyes were closed, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He looked completely, utterly ruined.
“Wait.” Before he can question you, you jumped out of the bed, pattering across your dresser, reaching for the wipes cleaning your hand, then came back hovering over him again.
“Stay still,” you murmured. He obeyed immediately, his body going slack beneath your touch. A tiny smile tugged at his lips as you cleaned him up with slow, careful strokes.
Hes in awe, how adorable and gentle you take care of him, he didn’t know he could possibly fall even more in love with you, but right now he’s utterly and completely obsessed with you.
“Baby you don’t have to-“
“You always clean me up afterwards,” you murmured.
He laughed under his breath, cheeks warming. “As I should.” His smile softened as he watched her. “But… seeing you do it for me feels unfairly nice.♡”
A/N: it’s my bday!!! Posting this as a gift for me and it would be even more nicer if i shared it with yall 💕
Hope y’all enjoyed!! Im absolutely obsessed with the reader!! I love awkward and shy characters.
synopsis: you & namjoon have been inseparable since kindergarten. as you navigate through college life that bond continues with pretty kisses and set routines. when you're in a bad mood on a busy day, namjoon has to remind you to not act out.
warnings: 8k words, no usage of y/n, somewhat underground!bts, touches of dom/sub relationship, brat tamer!namjoon, bratty/spoiled! reader, hyperfem! reader, fingering, reader is described as “little” and namjoon “big” but only in height, spanking, face slapping, reprimanding, car sex, exhibitionism (only for the foreplay,) oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise, mating press, rough & unprotected sex, creaming, choking, hair pulling, backshots, very mean!namjoon, calls himself daddy towards the end, he has a filthy mouth, size kink, AGAIN...
ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ. author's note: repost from my old account. luv joon & his short hair so that’s what i’m referring to >.<
since the first "get to know you" day of kindergarten, you and kim namjoon have been inseparable. having clicked as soon as a light blue clad joon's eyes met pastel pink and bows you during lunch time.
he could vividly remember the sloppily written lettering of your name on the small "hello, my name is" sticker laid prettily on your left shoulder, the thick curls of your hair pulled back into a ponytail with pink ribbon decorating the base.
the way your eyes lit up as you opened your hello kitty lunch box to find it full of sweets and a quick, homemade meal with chicken cut up into the shape of a bunny. watching as you pushed the box between the two of you to share, chubby cheeks stuffed to the brim.
though, he loved to leave out the part where he cried as the school day came to a close, balling a tiny yet impossibly tight fist into the fabric of your dress to the point where he had to be pried away by his eomma and promised that he'd see you the next day.
as time went on and in middle school came, you two would be seen attached at the hip: walking to school together with namjoon carrying your bag and tying your shoes, bringing you to class, and so forth and so on.
it was safe to say that from then on, the pair of you had wreaked havoc on each of the poor teachers of your school careers; gossiping in the back of class, being utterly unproductive during group projects, and many, many others that led to weeks spent in the library after school for detention.
see, as you graduated to high-school nothing changed.
sure you'd grown far maturer and became introduced to a world full of negative influences, but the bond between you two never wavered. the red ribbon of fate still connects you thoroughly by the pinky finger.
namjoon became captain of the robotics team and you a cheerleader, but your set routine as best-friends lingered—strengthening even.
he began growing protective, seeing as you were the same pretty little innocent thing you'd been since elementary, still dressed in pink and bows but now catching the unwanted attention of the outside world.
and when rumors of the two of you being together found themselves slithering into the minds of the student body, joon didn't do a thing to stop them, reveling in the comfort it gave him with assurance of your safety.
it even landed you a golden spot in the high-school yearbook of superlatives, both your names written in bold letters under 'Most Likely to Stay Together After Graduation.'
and stay together is exactly what you did.
fast forward to your senior year of college, it's the first semester and you and namjoon share a small yet comfortably luxe apartment in the heart of seoul, decorated to a distinct mixture of the two of you—lots of greenery and wooden accents for namjoon with pink throw pillows and hello kitty shaped plant pots for you.
it's endearing, seeing traces of your familiarity and passion like a juxtaposition throughout the home. wouldn't want it any other way.
about nine thirty is when you pop up out of bed, your hair strewn about your head askew to the left, proof of your habit of being quite the wild sleeper.
you make quick work of hopping the shower and starting your daily routine, lathering yourself in your favorite honey vanilla lotion and layering the scent with a lightly scented perfume.
by the time you throw on a matching set and your favorite robe, fuzzy slippers on your cold feet before trudging into the living room, you catch sight of namjoon bare chested with a pair if oversized plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist, a watering pot in hand as he tends to the plants he likes to call your children.
the morning sun beams brightly between the white, linen curtains of the room, the harsh light bothering your eyes and makes you bring a nimble hand up to try and block it out whilst grimacing.
"and she finally awakes. morning, baby," he smiles, eyes low but ever so expressive as he looks at you with nothing short of adoration.
"there's tea and oatmeal for you on the counter. go on and eat for me, okay?" namjoon's always been a morning person, finding himself awake at the ass-crack of dawn to read, meditate, and do a little bit of writing here and there.
so it doesn't surprise you that he's chipper so early, cheesing, voice a little louder than intended. though, it does make you grumble with annoyance and pout, mood sour as your head pounds.
not saying much as you walk to the marbled island counter that sits dead smack in the center of the kitchen, your kuromi mug steaming from the peach tea he'd made and next to it, a brown wooden bowl and spoon filled with warm oatmeal that's topped with berries, honey, and vanilla granola—just to your preference.
"remember, we have to stop by the studio to meet up with the guys today," he's calling out to you. "gotta leave out by eleven."
"i know, joon," you grumble, snarky and mean but you really don't mean it. you just weren't feeling the best and your words escape you without the slightest thought of how they might sound.
"don't start. fix the attitude before we leave out," he says, voice stern and commanding as he washes his hands, drying them before leaning back onto his palms when he goes to glare at you shoveling food into your mouth.
you pause, cheeks round and swollen with oatmeal. "'m just tired."
"i know, princess. once we get back home, you can take the rest of the day resting up," he's promising, kissing your forehead from across the counter, and reassuring you that it'll be quick.
you hum and namjoon finds it all too amusing when you stomp your little self over to the sink, sulking and pouting as you wash out your dishes.
it takes everything in him not to take matters into his own hands and straighten you out right then and there. spanking your lil ass raw 'till you remember your manners but it's early, and hopefully the combination of food in your system and sun on your skin puts you in a better mood.
you drag your feet up the stairs, the sound of your slippers scrapping against the wooden flooring making him groan. "pick up your feet," he says, scowling when you merely put your middle finger up in his direction.
that's strike one.
at the vanity situated on your side of the room specifically dedicated to you and your makeup process, you sniff whilst putting the finishing touches to your beat: gold highlighter in your inner corners and a black wing on the outer, pink blush on your cheeks. you put extra attention on your makeup today, hoping that it would help with your mood.
just a heads up, it didn't.
namjoon stands dressed in all black: a pull over hoodie with a white tank underneath that's peeking out at the bottom, oversized, black sweatpants, a leather bomber jacket, and pairs it with low top, nike blazer courts. he leans against the door frame with crossed arms, admiring as you line your lips with brown and fill the inside with pink gloss.
"how are you feeling," he asks as he makes his way toward you, hands grasping onto your shoulders when he stands behind your chair. you make eye contact in the mirror, him almost immediately catching sight of your lip jutting out on instinct.
"do you think i look pretty?" you disregard his prior question, responding with your own because you need confirmation on days that you feel like shit.
he smiles at your reflection, bending down to speak into your ear and takes pride in seeing your reaction. squirming in your seat. "the fuckin' prettiest, baby."
"do you really think so?" he coos at your round eyes that stare back into his within the mirror. “or are you only saying it because you have to?”
"i know so, my love.”
you commend him for his efforts but it just wasn't enough. you were too far deep.
"god, i just want this day to fucking end," you say and it makes joon press his lips together and you know why. he's always hated when you cursed, believing that pretty girls shouldn't say ugly words, and he's right, usually is. but right now, you're blind to what differentiates ugly from pretty.
the angel on your shoulder tells you to revert back to old ways, fall into line and be his good girl for the day, but the devil on the opposite reigns supreme, poking and stabbing at namjoon's buttons that are clearly lined with the warning, "do. not. touch." it’s just so tempting.
"what'd i say about today?" you hear his voice ask, eyes now low and mean, just waiting for you to give him reason to take you over his lap. you're working your way up to strike two. just about one and a third now.
"to not act out and to fix my attitude." you roll your eyes as you recite the words, standing before nudging him out of the way so you could get pass. grabbing your bag, you leave the room with knitted brows. "ugh."
it takes namjoon a moment to gather himself. you hear him speak a few sharp words under his breath before bringing the skin of his lip between his teeth to stop himself, feeling the pot start to boil with each passing moment. but he breathes, tells himself that this run should be quick, the faster it goes, the quicker he can get you in bed and figure out a way to make this tantrum go away.
joon can't help the clenching of his jaw, chewing on his tongue as he heads downstairs, your jacket in his hand. taking care of you, he helps you work your arms into the sleeves of it: his old letterman jacket from highschool in which his name decorates the back with the number "7" underneath it. ironic, right?
his eyes peer down at you when he goes to open the door for you, shutting it and making sure to lock it once you know you have everything, because you're known for leaving things behind and throwing an absolute fit once you realize.
there's been so many times where you've been late for reservations, gathering, events, because fifteen minutes into the ride, you're only then noticing that you left your lip gloss on the kitchen counter and proceed to cry until he's forced to drive back to get it.
the boys have always told him that he's spoiled you rotten. giving you anything you could ever ask for at the drop of the dime just because he likes it when you're smiling from ear to ear. he's been giving you your way for the longest because you're so pretty when you look up at him with awaiting eyes.
it's been so long catering to you, expecting everything to fall into the palms of your hands. it's gotten so bad that whenever you hear the word 'no' directed towards you, you're immediately storming off and throwing a hissy fit.
it's not your fault for being princess, is what he likes to say. trying to justify both his and your actions but when push comes to shove, there's no other possible outcome other than being faced with the fact that you're a spoiled little brat and it's ultimately his fault.
that's why you huff when he goes to grab at the passenger side door handle just so that you wouldn't have to—just because you know you've got him so tightly wrapped around your pinkie finger.
he tugs at it, waiting for you to tuck your head under the frame and when you don't, he's bringing his free hand to the crown of your head, pressing down to force you into the plush of the seat as if he were a cop detaining a suspect before slamming the door shut.
there's nothing that you want more than to curl up into a ball and run back into the comfort of your own home, hands tightening into little fists and they rest on your thighs.
you can't help but take notice on the way namjoon's jaw bulges from its clinching, pearly white teeth grinding because he's this fucking close to being mean. this close to leaving you crying because that's the way you're trying to make him feel—like a fucking asshole.
he doesn't understand it. namjoon can't see to understand for the life of him how a girl so pretty can be so utterly filled with the overwhelming urge to be such a brat despite getting everything she's ever asked.
you wanna go out shopping for your girls trip next month? one that he's funding? yeah of course, he's holding your bags and trailing behind an empty handed you from store to store.
you've been looking at that one dior bag for the longest, right? the next day, you see a pretty box wrapped up in a pink bow with a bouquet of dozens of your favorite flowers resting in the bed when you come back from your weekly luxury spa visit.
but when he asks you for one thing. that being to put your attitude aside for just a couple hours, he's met with nothing. nada. zilch.
it infuriates him. the sweet, round faced namjoon with a thick wallet and a means to please you starting to fade into the version of himself who doesn't put up with your bullshit and isn't afraid of putting you in your place.
it's a rarity that you're in trouble—or even falling close to it. he's always been patient with you, able to talk to you in just the right tone to hold you off. gets your head floating and molding you until you break away from that more brattier side of you.
it's easy to do but quite frankly, namjoon is becoming fed up with your shit.
the night before, you had been fine. he'd held you in his arms, kissed both sets of your lips as a reward, whispered in your ear sweet nothings until your eyes fluttered shut. everything was perfect. absolutely what could've changed overnight?
when he made it to the driver's side of the car, lips pursed shut and pads of two fingers to the feature as he pulled out of the parking spot, you found yourself practically compressed against the passenger side door, head leaning against the cool glass, trying to melt and camouflage into it.
you know he still cares when he motions with his fingers and tells you to put something on the radio, eyes never moving from their position on the road.
and you do so, otw by khalid sounding from the speakers. it's mellowing, soothing. has the knot at the small of your back diminishing, making you sigh as you watch the blur of tall buildings and street lights shoot past you.
it's a fairly quick ride to the studio, being midday on a tuesday, everyone's already at work so traffic is minimal. namjoon's easily able to put an extra force behind his foot on the gas, weaving in and out of lanes because the streets are pretty much dead.
parking in the small lot situated at the back of the building, joon takes a look to his right to see you dozed off. eyes closed, hands folded in your lap whilst your neck bends uncomfortably to the right.
gently, he rests his hand on the side of your face, softly hoisting you up before unbuckling your seatbelt. "mama, we're here," he speaks just above what describes a whisper.
it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, squinting once they finally open before you realize a tense groan. "mm, joon, can i just stay in here," you ask, comfortable in your spot. it's not like you were going to do anything in there but sit off to the side. could he just let you be?
"i don't know how long i'll be here for. you have to come in," he's saying, shaking his head back and forth. one good look at the way your face morphs into an unfitting scowl, he knows he's gonna have to take a different approach.
he removes his keys from the ignition, stepping out of the car before he's rounding the hood and making his way to your side. you watch as he opens the passenger door, leaning his body forward to where his upper half is in the frame, face now leveled with your own and just a few inches away. so close that you can smell the mint on his breath.
"don't get in here acting a fucking fool," he says, gripping into your chin when you go to turn your head the opposite way. his tone catches you off guard. only then do you realize that he's had it about up to here with you.
you pull your face away from his, only to get back a thick hand wrapping around your neck, fingers pressing into the base tightly to have you drawing closer and closer. his lips ghost your own as he's growing more stern and stern. "do it, and see what happens. i'll embarrass you."
"okay, joon." your eyes water, but he knows it isn't real. big, fat crocodile tears because you know its his weakness. you think they'll work but he's too far deep, grabbing your hands to guide you from the car's seat.
still, your lip is jutted out in a pout, allowing for yourself to be pulled up to the stairs of the studio, dark double doors opening before you in which you're stepping into with your free hand pulled into a fist.
the other six that make up bangtan are already situated in their designated booth, engaged in playful banter as they wait for the leader.
upon walking into the room and immediately catching sight of two free chairs seated to the far left that you just know namjoon will be pushing you into, you quickly decide against it when you see an empty chair next to jimin. you're then pulling your hand from his larger one to make a beeline directly to it.
he cuts his eyes, leaving the situation alone for now. he'll let you think you've gotten under his skin when in reality, you're just digging yourself deeper into a problem you'll have to face once you get home.
at this point, it's inevitable.
jimin stifles a laugh when you make your way over. pretty face balled up tightly and he thinks you resemble an angry little bunny. "hi, pretty," he greets, smiling when you sit and wave.
"hyung, what'd you do to her," jungkook turns to ask namjoon, a ball point pen pressed to his small notebook in which holds the lyrics of their upcoming album. "looks just about ready to knock someone's head clean off."
that makes them all laugh and you have to grab onto the underside of the chair to stop yourself from calling an uber and leaving. pronto.
its humiliating when namjoon chuckles, sitting down and making himself comfortable on the couch in which yoongi and hoseok does too, legs parted with his arms crossed at his roomy chest. "she wouldn't swat at a fly, let alone lay hands on somebody," he speaks, having zero regard for the way you glare at him from the other side of the room.
you want to say something, want to argue back with a sharp tongue and harsh words but namjoon's voice back in the car played repeatedly in your mind, the look in his eye when he grabbed onto your throat. it was grounding enough to have you pursing your lips to keep them shut.
leaning back in your chair, you pull out your phone, your case glimmers and gleams, rhinestones catching onto the iridescent light illuminating the room, and namjoon watches as you type, biting down on his tongue while a smile forms on your pretty lips.
you're typing away to someone with eager eyes, fingers tapping and your nails clanking against the screen and it drives joon mad. so utterly and completely insane. it's a little irrational but you probably could've blinked in the wrong way and his top would pop the fuck off.
you've made his patience wear dangerously thin. just a little more pressure until it snaps.
an hour and a half passes, full of paperwork signing and a few touch ups to certain tracks here and there. at least forty-five minutes of it was spent with you giggling under your breath at whatever pops up on your for you page and direct messages from friends.
a few times, you even tilted your screen into jimin's direction in between topics to show something you found funny in which he would always watch and chuckle before shooting a quick glance into his hyung's direction, welcomed with the sight of slitted eyes and a clenched jaw, and he's quick to put two and two together.
when yoongi finishes playing the tracklist for their new album, bangtan decides to call it quits, even so much as setting up an impromptu hotpot and karaoke night for celebration amongst the guys.
but unfortunately for you, namjoon has other plans. "can i rain check tonight," he asks before continuing. "i have to have to get home and do some work around the house."
your eyebrows shoot up, dropping your phone into your lap to look at him incredulously knowing damn well it's a lie, but you keep your mouth shut and wait until they exchange words, saying that it’s no problem and to get home safely.
"don't touch me," you say, wincing when namjoon tightly grips onto your forearm, neck bulging with veins as he seethes.
you're done for.
each of his buttons are pressed, control switches in gear—set in stone. there's no running or hiding because now, you're on strike three and no amount of faux tears can get you out of the lesson you're about to get taught.
"walk or i'll throw your lil ass over my shoulder," he says, voice deep, demanding, and leaving no room for back talk, and you can't make space, either. "and i dare you to try it. i really fuckin' do."
it has you pressing one foot in front of the other, legs shaky whilst your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. seems you might've bitten off way more than you could chew.
you and jimin lock eyes and immediately you're met with a smile so sickly sweet because he knows that'll be that last touch of gentle you'll get. the dark glint in his hyung's eyes tells him everything he needs to know.
you're fucked. both literally and figuratively.
good luck, he mouths over before you're being dragged out of the studio by the intense grip on your arm. you'll need it.
you shake in namjoon's hold, back flexing away from his touch when his hand moves to the back of your neck, clutching tightly. it's grounding. keeping your head from straying too far from the harsh reality of the situation at hand.
"been acting out your fuckin' ass all day," he speaks, fumbling with his keys to press the unlock button. but he waits to put you in the car, turning you around so that you face him.
you're able to see the skin of his forehead crease in annoyance, his thin eyebrows that arch with anger, and his lips that utter sharp words.
"you're being mean, joonie. don't be mean to me," you say, thinking it's gonna get you somewhere but news flash: it doesn't.
"i'm being mean," he laughs but it's humorless. tongue drawing circle on the wall of his inner cheek to stop himself from causing a scene. “you've been mean to me this entire morning and when you finally get me to where you've wanted, i'm being mean?"
"get in the fuckin' car." when you go to interject, he's grabbing your face, digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks so that your lips jut out in a pout. "don't talk to me."
he then nudges you away, going to round the trunk till he's getting situated into the driver's seat, not even opening your door like the gentleman he is. because right now, fiery hot annoyance bubbles within him and he's ready to put you in your place. asap.
you huff as you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut at your side before your arms are crossing over your chest that heaves, pretty tits pressed against your forearms and it takes everything in namjoon not to pull your top down and suck on your pebbled nipples right then and there.
"don't slam my doors. you know how i feel about that," he speaks, not bothering to look at you because he knows it'll have him crumbling. he needs you to learn. to learn that there's a time and place for everything. and the day that he actually needs to get things done is absolutely not one of them.
"i honestly don't care," you say, looking out the window so that you wouldn't have to face namjoon's intimidating eyes. "wouldn't be slamming shit if you just left me home."
that's when you feel the press of namjoon's nike clad foot to the gas pedal. "you keep talkin'," he grunts out when the driver beside him honks, continuing when he bobs the lanes in order to get around them. "keep fuckin' digging a hole you can't cry yourself out of."
"but imma tear your lil ass up when we get home. don't even worry about it."
your lips part into a silent gasp, eyes widening. "what, that's not even fair. you've been acting like an asshole to me all day! i just wanted to stay home and get some rest because my head was fucking pounding, namjoon."
"i asked you to do one thing. one thing only. gave you tylenol, fed you, and asked you to do one thing as simple as be good and you do the exact opposite." his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. "and now you wanna cry wolf because you're in trouble."
he's chuckling, low in a deep rumble from the center of his chest. you can feel the irritation bubbling up, rising to his neck in the form of stubborn veins and its suffocating. too much.
it's only when the car slows to a stop at a red light when namjoon acknowledges you, looking in your direction with mean eyes. "get in the backseat," he's saying as he presses down on the lock of your seatbelt, hearing the familiar 'click!' before he's roughing you up. "hurry the fuck up."
tears swell your eyelids at his tone. "stop cursing at me," you retaliate, voice small though the increasingly wet patch in your panties is thick, filled with arousal because the duality of him has you spinning. it's satiating.
"you only seem to listen when i speak to you like this so get in the fucking backseat. now."
it has you scrambling, your miniskirt catching onto the rounds of your ass when you go to climb over the center console and into the back, legs feeling like jelly but it feels so good.
the light turns green and off joon goes, speeding down the streets but one arm reaches behind his seat that's already slightly pushed back to accommodate his size, making it easy for his hand to grasp onto your ankles placing them onto the console before he's pulling down your skirt, never removing his eyes from the road.
he’s always been good at multitasking.
"get her ready for me," he says and now it's crazily obvious why he put you there. the backseat windows are tinted, only being able to see out but not the other way around. it blocks the view of inside the car, giving the perfect place to have you spread out and completely at his mercy.
you give him what he wants without needing further instruction, fingers shooting down to pull inside the skimpy cloth you call underwear and immediately being met with cool air directly on your clit. it makes a shiver run up your spine before you're spreading your pussy lips open, fingers in the shape of a ‘v’ as they glisten with your honeyed slick.
sucking in a breath through your front teeth in the form of a hiss, you and namjoon lock eyes in the overhead mirror, and it makes you gasp when his free hand slaps at your clit, palm hitting repetitively until you squirm.
"joon, joonie, i'm sorry, baby," you whine and hiccup, closing your legs over his hand, leaving it between your thighs that spasm from the sensitivity of your clit. but you forget namjoon's strong, easily able to get himself out of it by nudging them apart with his elbow as if it was nothing.
"hold them the fuck open. stop playing with me," he speaks and it's so mean but nonetheless has you growing wetter and wetter with each passing moment.
you put your forearms underneath the backs over your knees, toes curling when they press up against the seats up front. so undeniably spread open that it's degrading.
simultaneously, your fingers resume their thumbing at your pussy, tips catching at your entrance before dipping in, making room for the thickness of namjoon's dick that's soon to come.
the squelching is obscene, loud over joji's 'night rider.' your pussy talks, singing along to the beat that plays lowly through the speakers. you wish you could block out the sound, finding it embarrassing as is.
the pace you build up is slow but ever so needy, clenching around your digits and they drag in and out before scissoring, stretching it out. but you need more, need to feel namjoon. have him inside you.
so you beg, plead, "please, joon. touch me, please. i'm so sorry." tears run down your face, eyeliner dripping already because you've never been able to handle what you dish out, and namjoon finds it funny. the irony.
the way you're so quick to break, being so apologetic and sweet when beforehand you were nothing close. again, namjoon can't help but laugh.
"you already crying?" and in response, you nod your head, still fucking yourself as you spew. "i'm so sorry. i-i didn't mean it."
his hand finds home between your legs and you think he's gonna slip his fingers in but are sadly mistaken when another forceful slap is laid to your cunt. "shut up. i don't want to hear any of that shit. you wanted this so deal with it."
"but—"
he cuts you off before you can get the rest of your words out. "but nothing. hush." by then, he's already pulling into the garage, car being placed in park.
but when he goes to step out, he merely uses the control gears on the side of the seat to maneuver it closer to the steering wheel, providing more space for him to join you in the backseat.
when he rounds the trunk of the blacked out audi, pushing himself into the seat behind the passenger's side, he's pulling you to him, legs dangling off the side of his wide shoulders. "been acting up all day," he mumbles, lips puckering up but they don't meet the ones north. they trail downward, latching onto your clit, sucking so that he can feel it rub against his tongue.
you moan, back arching against the coolness of his dark interior, hands trying to clutch onto him, to push or pull, give some sort of relief to the emptiness of you but he's grabbing your wrists, pinning them to your stomach. "you don't get to touch me," he speaks, the breath from his words battering up against your core, leaving you shaky and defenseless.
he licks a stripe before spitting, messy in the way he eats because he wants you dripping, easy enough to slide in and out of without working up a sweat. namjoon plans on wrecking your shit, leave you walking funny for days, a reminder that pretty girls don't cry when they get what they deserve.
you have no choice but to sit there and feel him spit, suck, lick, repeat, over and over again, the sound of his smacking and you gushing loud in your ears until your muscles flex, ankles crossing over one another behind namjoon's necks, the heels of your feet digging into his back.
"stay right there. please, please, please," you cry, hands thrashing in his unrelenting hold and best believe your pleas aren't anywhere near quiet. it has him bringing his free hand up to your mouth, middle and ring fingers tapping on your glossy lips.
you know what he wants, so like the good girl you're trying so hard to be, you open, letting the pads of his fingertips rest heavily on your tongue before you're wrapping your lips around them, tongue swirling around the length of them as a welcome.
he's momentarily given you a reason to shut up, fucking your mouth with his fingers whilst he eats your pussy like it's the last supper. namjoon has always found pleasure in pleasuring you, loving the way you tasted like honey on his tongue, the way your moans would pull him in like a siren would a sailor. it was a danger, the way you had him wrapped around your little finger.
your thighs tighten around his head in which he's blind to, the sharp strands of his buzz cut poking at the sensitive skin there but still, he never lets up his tongue's dipping into your entrance, licking into your gummy walls that clench as you near your orgasm.
you twitch, gargle around his fingers that press to the back of your throat until you're drooling, unable to speak. but you try, incoherent babbling mixing with the sound of namjoon between your legs.
when your spasms grow quicker, he's forced to let go of your wrists, palm striking down onto your hips that rut on his face, dragging your clit up and down his nose, and it's all too much. way too much. so involuntarily, you're stopped, body pausing in the shock of your orgasm that wrecks through you without warning.
"did i tell you to fuckin' stop? keep going," he spits, spanking your ass and urging your forward, drinking up every bit that pours from you.
the way you bunch up his jacket in tight fists is endearing, almost getting namjoon to reach up and smash his lips onto yours but he stops himself, keeps up his hard exterior because he knows he needs to put you in your place. learn your lesson.
"so good, joon. right there," you whine, head thrown back as he cleans you up with his tongue, lapping up any left over so that he can slide your underwear and skirt back into your lower half before bringing your face up to his with a grounding grip onto the column of your neck.
his lips hover over your own, practically daring you to kiss him. you know better though. his mean gaze on you says that you're in for a real treat, so you wait for him to speak, too scared to break the silence that blankets you.
"you've been out of line ever since you woke the hell up. i'm tired of you acting like you don't know shit."
"but i apologized," you say, eyes round and compliant as you look at him. you're a complete 180 of how you acted this morning. now docile in the way you shrink under his gaze.
his palm smacks against your cheek, stinging hotly but it adds fuel to the fire, makes your stomach full with butterflies. "mhm, but you don't mean it. just saying what you know i want to hear." namjoon's tugging you, putting his muscles to work as they sit you upright. "get out."
he's opening the door, ducking down in order to push himself out of the frame, and he doesn't look back because he knows you'll follow, making sure to press down on the lock button situated on his keys once he hears the shut of the car door.
your hair is messy, matting up in the back because of the friction between the strands and the fabric of the car seats. the wobbliness of your legs lead to the stairs, walking past the threshold and into your home in which namjoon holds the door and waits for you to get in just before gathering the thick strands at the back of your head, using it as leverage to urge you deeper into the home.
you gasp at his handling, his chest clung to your back as he pushes and pulls. you can't help but bring your hand up to his, clutching onto his wrist to try and ease his grip.
his breath is hot on your ear, whispering right into it as he bends forward to meet your level, ass pressed against his upper thighs while the growing bulge in his joggers swells. "by the time i get up those steps, you better be just how i want you."
and you bolt, quick to kick your chunky shoes from your feet and pull the jacket from your arms, left in a little skirt and an oversized soccer jersey, though you don't get time to dwell before rushing to take it all off, left bare save for the pink set of your bra and panties. the thickness of your curls resting at your shoulders.
heavy feet fall onto wooden flooring of the hall, partly creaky, or maybe it was the sound of your heart thumping in your ears. namjoon makes his way closer to your shared bedroom, his own outwear discarded and now left in a white tank and his bottoms.
your eyes are round and glassy when you look at him, regret all over your features because you know you're in for it. the way he rounds the bed to sit at the side of it before beckoning you over to him with the simple gesture of his fingers.
he wrangles you over his lap, right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you in place while his left hand rubs at the smooth skin of your ass before striking down, the smack so hard that it has you yelping.
"y'so pretty baby but act so fuckin' bad," he speaks, unwavering when he continues to reprimand you. "make it so hard for me."
“you know i hate seeing you cry.”
you call out for him, grabbing onto his calves for stability, thighs shaking in delicious pain because while it hurts, it feels so good, adding to the slick between your legs. the tears begin to run for the third time in the last half an hour, hands going to push at his but you're being stopped with the one along your waist, pinning your wrists to your lower back.
"you've done enough. be a good girl, would you," he questions but doesn't wait for an answer. "'s exactly why you're in this predicament now." ass perched up while he spanks it raw.
his hits are rough and repeated, taking the time in between to massage them just to take that momentary relief away once more at the bat of an eye. he even slides his finger between your folds to pick up a little bit of your wetness so that he can smear it across your ass.
namjoon's hungrily listening to every whine and scream that he draws from you, his cock unbearably stiff within his boxers, tip leaky and with a pinkened blushed undertone from its neglect.
it's only when he's done with you that he brings it to attention, pulling at the back of your hair to pull your face up level to his, eyeliner dyed tears streaming down your cheeks and he coos, kissing your forehead, but still, never touches your lips.
he knows you need it, the way your eyes are cloudy, waiting for him to get you exactly where it's easy to break to down: giggly and ever so moldable. pushing down your more bratty side and swapping it out for the good girl.
so he places you on the bed, sits you in his previous position whilst he rids himself of his clothes. chest and below bare and tanned with the small ribbon bow tattoo that represents you resting on his left pec, kneeling down just enough so that he can unclamp your bra and discard your panties before pursing his lips to leave a glob of spit catching onto your entrance, adding to your already drenched cunt.
"needed me, baby? you needed me to fill you up to put you in a better mood," he questions. “all you had to do was ask. you’on need to do the extra shit.” bringing a hand to his cock to jerk, standing back to his feet to drag his tip from your clit to the strip of skin just above your puckered hole. he just just keeps doing it, back and forth, up and down, until your grow restless, quivering, advancing to wrap your legs around his hips to bring him closer.
but namjoon easily slides into you and presses his palms to the backs of your knees, pushing so that they rest at either side of your head so that you’re completely folded.
the stretch hurts, makes you vulnerable and at the hands of his mercy but you wouldn't want it any other way, laying the future of your orgasm in his hold because you know he'll cater to you in every way possible.
his hips rut, pelvis to pelvis, heavy balls pressed to the swell of your ass as he digs deeper. and your pussy spasms, hugging him, sucking him in like a whirlpool. it makes namjoon lay his weight onto your chest, picking up his pace.
“slow down,” you whine, lips parted with your head thrown back, he takes one hand from your leg to wrap around your throat, bringing your attention onto him. maintaining gut-churning eye-contact.
"take this shit," he speaks, harsh and cruel. staring into your eyes and it makes you want to shrivel up. "been fuckin' with me all day so take this shit."
“d-didn’t mean to.”
he drops his hips a hurried slam, pounding into you like you owed him something. it was unrelenting. forceful. upon the impact of his dick sliding into you, your body jerks up higher onto the bed.
“mm, look at you. be actin’ all tough in public but as soon as you get on this dick, you go silent.”
leaning over, namjoon puts his thumb onto your bottom lip, sliding it between so that he can pry open your jaw, getting your mouth wide enough so that he can spit directly into your mouth but some inevitably falls onto your cheeks and he seals, smearing it, berry lip gloss smudging while your skin stings.
he laughs in your face, finding you to be the prettiest thing. even when you’re absolutely wrecked. pussy pulsing, titties bouncing, tummy folding, and knees resting beside your head.
“you boutta cream on me,” he asks when he feels you tighten and you nod, spent on the feeling of him splitting you open with a smile on his face. “this your shit. just go ‘head.” namjoon continues to dog you out, watching as the familiar white ring coats his dick at the base and he loves the sight.
before you get the chance to come down from the high of it all, namjoon’s taking matters into his own hands and is once again repositioning you as if it were nothing. the swiftness of it gives you whiplash. he's strong without reason, makes it entirely too easy to turn you to lay on your chest in the middle of the bed, arms behind your back whilst your ass points up, arched impossibly low that it strains your spine.
his palm is pressed to your cheek, pushing your head down into the mattress. one knee to the plush of the bedding while the other is bent with his foot flat as he thrusts entirely too deep.
it's hard hearing the soppiness of you taking him in, hearing your pussy talking back, pleading to take it easy because he's being so rough and you can barely keep up. he leaves you gaping when he pulls out and kisses your clit to see it jump just to push back in with fervor afterward.
with your face forced onto its side, watching through the mirror of your vanity as namjoon loses himself in your warmth, thrusts growing sloppy and straying away from its pattern, you blindly reach behind you, feeling the weight of his dick drilling into you.
"move your hand," he speaks sternly, calling you by name and its grounding. but you can't bring yourself to do it, trying your hardest to intercept his pace by pressing down onto his lower stomach. pretty nails dragging down the skin.
"i can't, joon," you plead, eyes rolling to the back of your head, toes curling. "god, it's too much." you involuntarily break your arch, back hunching, going to stand onto your knees to get namjoon to let up but he doesn’t let you.
pressing down on your back, moving your hand himself and pulling your hips up to get you right back into position he wants you, namjoon isn’t one for mercy as he digs back in. "nah, don't run from it.” he lays a heavy smack to your ass, watching as the flesh jiggles, so he does it again.
and again. and again. and again.
“fuck me back, baby.” he knows you’re gone when you do as he says without hesitation, smiling to himself as he feels his own toes curl. “yeah, you got it. fuck…keep goin’.”
and just like that, you’re back to your old ways. taking everything that he has to offer. throwing your ass back onto him to meet his thrusts. it has him reaching a hand down to pinch and roll your clit between two fingers, building you up so that you’ll be milking him in no time.
“all you wanted. this is all you wanted. you know daddy’s got you, baby,
a few more plunges in and you’re fluttering, cream flowing out of you, running down your thighs, and that causes a ripple effect on namjoon, his balls constricting as he paints your walls white.
and when you shake so much that you're one step away from sliding off the bed, namjoon chuckles before holding onto you tight, laying his sticky chest into your back and grabs the side of your face to smack his lips to yours.
synopsis: you & namjoon have been inseparable since kindergarten. as you navigate through college life that bond continues with pretty kisses and set routines. when you're in a bad mood on a busy day, namjoon has to remind you to not act out.
warnings: 8k words, no usage of y/n, somewhat underground!bts, touches of dom/sub relationship, brat tamer!namjoon, bratty/spoiled! reader, hyperfem! reader, fingering, reader is described as “little” and namjoon “big” but only in height, spanking, face slapping, reprimanding, car sex, exhibitionism (only for the foreplay,) oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise, mating press, rough & unprotected sex, creaming, choking, hair pulling, backshots, very mean!namjoon, calls himself daddy towards the end, he has a filthy mouth, size kink, AGAIN...
ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ. author's note: repost from my old account. luv joon & his short hair so that’s what i’m referring to >.<
since the first "get to know you" day of kindergarten, you and kim namjoon have been inseparable. having clicked as soon as a light blue clad joon's eyes met pastel pink and bows you during lunch time.
he could vividly remember the sloppily written lettering of your name on the small "hello, my name is" sticker laid prettily on your left shoulder, the thick curls of your hair pulled back into a ponytail with pink ribbon decorating the base.
the way your eyes lit up as you opened your hello kitty lunch box to find it full of sweets and a quick, homemade meal with chicken cut up into the shape of a bunny. watching as you pushed the box between the two of you to share, chubby cheeks stuffed to the brim.
though, he loved to leave out the part where he cried as the school day came to a close, balling a tiny yet impossibly tight fist into the fabric of your dress to the point where he had to be pried away by his eomma and promised that he'd see you the next day.
as time went on and in middle school came, you two would be seen attached at the hip: walking to school together with namjoon carrying your bag and tying your shoes, bringing you to class, and so forth and so on.
it was safe to say that from then on, the pair of you had wreaked havoc on each of the poor teachers of your school careers; gossiping in the back of class, being utterly unproductive during group projects, and many, many others that led to weeks spent in the library after school for detention.
see, as you graduated to high-school nothing changed.
sure you'd grown far maturer and became introduced to a world full of negative influences, but the bond between you two never wavered. the red ribbon of fate still connects you thoroughly by the pinky finger.
namjoon became captain of the robotics team and you a cheerleader, but your set routine as best-friends lingered—strengthening even.
he began growing protective, seeing as you were the same pretty little innocent thing you'd been since elementary, still dressed in pink and bows but now catching the unwanted attention of the outside world.
and when rumors of the two of you being together found themselves slithering into the minds of the student body, joon didn't do a thing to stop them, reveling in the comfort it gave him with assurance of your safety.
it even landed you a golden spot in the high-school yearbook of superlatives, both your names written in bold letters under 'Most Likely to Stay Together After Graduation.'
and stay together is exactly what you did.
fast forward to your senior year of college, it's the first semester and you and namjoon share a small yet comfortably luxe apartment in the heart of seoul, decorated to a distinct mixture of the two of you—lots of greenery and wooden accents for namjoon with pink throw pillows and hello kitty shaped plant pots for you.
it's endearing, seeing traces of your familiarity and passion like a juxtaposition throughout the home. wouldn't want it any other way.
about nine thirty is when you pop up out of bed, your hair strewn about your head askew to the left, proof of your habit of being quite the wild sleeper.
you make quick work of hopping the shower and starting your daily routine, lathering yourself in your favorite honey vanilla lotion and layering the scent with a lightly scented perfume.
by the time you throw on a matching set and your favorite robe, fuzzy slippers on your cold feet before trudging into the living room, you catch sight of namjoon bare chested with a pair if oversized plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist, a watering pot in hand as he tends to the plants he likes to call your children.
the morning sun beams brightly between the white, linen curtains of the room, the harsh light bothering your eyes and makes you bring a nimble hand up to try and block it out whilst grimacing.
"and she finally awakes. morning, baby," he smiles, eyes low but ever so expressive as he looks at you with nothing short of adoration.
"there's tea and oatmeal for you on the counter. go on and eat for me, okay?" namjoon's always been a morning person, finding himself awake at the ass-crack of dawn to read, meditate, and do a little bit of writing here and there.
so it doesn't surprise you that he's chipper so early, cheesing, voice a little louder than intended. though, it does make you grumble with annoyance and pout, mood sour as your head pounds.
not saying much as you walk to the marbled island counter that sits dead smack in the center of the kitchen, your kuromi mug steaming from the peach tea he'd made and next to it, a brown wooden bowl and spoon filled with warm oatmeal that's topped with berries, honey, and vanilla granola—just to your preference.
"remember, we have to stop by the studio to meet up with the guys today," he's calling out to you. "gotta leave out by eleven."
"i know, joon," you grumble, snarky and mean but you really don't mean it. you just weren't feeling the best and your words escape you without the slightest thought of how they might sound.
"don't start. fix the attitude before we leave out," he says, voice stern and commanding as he washes his hands, drying them before leaning back onto his palms when he goes to glare at you shoveling food into your mouth.
you pause, cheeks round and swollen with oatmeal. "'m just tired."
"i know, princess. once we get back home, you can take the rest of the day resting up," he's promising, kissing your forehead from across the counter, and reassuring you that it'll be quick.
you hum and namjoon finds it all too amusing when you stomp your little self over to the sink, sulking and pouting as you wash out your dishes.
it takes everything in him not to take matters into his own hands and straighten you out right then and there. spanking your lil ass raw 'till you remember your manners but it's early, and hopefully the combination of food in your system and sun on your skin puts you in a better mood.
you drag your feet up the stairs, the sound of your slippers scrapping against the wooden flooring making him groan. "pick up your feet," he says, scowling when you merely put your middle finger up in his direction.
that's strike one.
at the vanity situated on your side of the room specifically dedicated to you and your makeup process, you sniff whilst putting the finishing touches to your beat: gold highlighter in your inner corners and a black wing on the outer, pink blush on your cheeks. you put extra attention on your makeup today, hoping that it would help with your mood.
just a heads up, it didn't.
namjoon stands dressed in all black: a pull over hoodie with a white tank underneath that's peeking out at the bottom, oversized, black sweatpants, a leather bomber jacket, and pairs it with low top, nike blazer courts. he leans against the door frame with crossed arms, admiring as you line your lips with brown and fill the inside with pink gloss.
"how are you feeling," he asks as he makes his way toward you, hands grasping onto your shoulders when he stands behind your chair. you make eye contact in the mirror, him almost immediately catching sight of your lip jutting out on instinct.
"do you think i look pretty?" you disregard his prior question, responding with your own because you need confirmation on days that you feel like shit.
he smiles at your reflection, bending down to speak into your ear and takes pride in seeing your reaction. squirming in your seat. "the fuckin' prettiest, baby."
"do you really think so?" he coos at your round eyes that stare back into his within the mirror. “or are you only saying it because you have to?”
"i know so, my love.”
you commend him for his efforts but it just wasn't enough. you were too far deep.
"god, i just want this day to fucking end," you say and it makes joon press his lips together and you know why. he's always hated when you cursed, believing that pretty girls shouldn't say ugly words, and he's right, usually is. but right now, you're blind to what differentiates ugly from pretty.
the angel on your shoulder tells you to revert back to old ways, fall into line and be his good girl for the day, but the devil on the opposite reigns supreme, poking and stabbing at namjoon's buttons that are clearly lined with the warning, "do. not. touch." it’s just so tempting.
"what'd i say about today?" you hear his voice ask, eyes now low and mean, just waiting for you to give him reason to take you over his lap. you're working your way up to strike two. just about one and a third now.
"to not act out and to fix my attitude." you roll your eyes as you recite the words, standing before nudging him out of the way so you could get pass. grabbing your bag, you leave the room with knitted brows. "ugh."
it takes namjoon a moment to gather himself. you hear him speak a few sharp words under his breath before bringing the skin of his lip between his teeth to stop himself, feeling the pot start to boil with each passing moment. but he breathes, tells himself that this run should be quick, the faster it goes, the quicker he can get you in bed and figure out a way to make this tantrum go away.
joon can't help the clenching of his jaw, chewing on his tongue as he heads downstairs, your jacket in his hand. taking care of you, he helps you work your arms into the sleeves of it: his old letterman jacket from highschool in which his name decorates the back with the number "7" underneath it. ironic, right?
his eyes peer down at you when he goes to open the door for you, shutting it and making sure to lock it once you know you have everything, because you're known for leaving things behind and throwing an absolute fit once you realize.
there's been so many times where you've been late for reservations, gathering, events, because fifteen minutes into the ride, you're only then noticing that you left your lip gloss on the kitchen counter and proceed to cry until he's forced to drive back to get it.
the boys have always told him that he's spoiled you rotten. giving you anything you could ever ask for at the drop of the dime just because he likes it when you're smiling from ear to ear. he's been giving you your way for the longest because you're so pretty when you look up at him with awaiting eyes.
it's been so long catering to you, expecting everything to fall into the palms of your hands. it's gotten so bad that whenever you hear the word 'no' directed towards you, you're immediately storming off and throwing a hissy fit.
it's not your fault for being princess, is what he likes to say. trying to justify both his and your actions but when push comes to shove, there's no other possible outcome other than being faced with the fact that you're a spoiled little brat and it's ultimately his fault.
that's why you huff when he goes to grab at the passenger side door handle just so that you wouldn't have to—just because you know you've got him so tightly wrapped around your pinkie finger.
he tugs at it, waiting for you to tuck your head under the frame and when you don't, he's bringing his free hand to the crown of your head, pressing down to force you into the plush of the seat as if he were a cop detaining a suspect before slamming the door shut.
there's nothing that you want more than to curl up into a ball and run back into the comfort of your own home, hands tightening into little fists and they rest on your thighs.
you can't help but take notice on the way namjoon's jaw bulges from its clinching, pearly white teeth grinding because he's this fucking close to being mean. this close to leaving you crying because that's the way you're trying to make him feel—like a fucking asshole.
he doesn't understand it. namjoon can't see to understand for the life of him how a girl so pretty can be so utterly filled with the overwhelming urge to be such a brat despite getting everything she's ever asked.
you wanna go out shopping for your girls trip next month? one that he's funding? yeah of course, he's holding your bags and trailing behind an empty handed you from store to store.
you've been looking at that one dior bag for the longest, right? the next day, you see a pretty box wrapped up in a pink bow with a bouquet of dozens of your favorite flowers resting in the bed when you come back from your weekly luxury spa visit.
but when he asks you for one thing. that being to put your attitude aside for just a couple hours, he's met with nothing. nada. zilch.
it infuriates him. the sweet, round faced namjoon with a thick wallet and a means to please you starting to fade into the version of himself who doesn't put up with your bullshit and isn't afraid of putting you in your place.
it's a rarity that you're in trouble—or even falling close to it. he's always been patient with you, able to talk to you in just the right tone to hold you off. gets your head floating and molding you until you break away from that more brattier side of you.
it's easy to do but quite frankly, namjoon is becoming fed up with your shit.
the night before, you had been fine. he'd held you in his arms, kissed both sets of your lips as a reward, whispered in your ear sweet nothings until your eyes fluttered shut. everything was perfect. absolutely what could've changed overnight?
when he made it to the driver's side of the car, lips pursed shut and pads of two fingers to the feature as he pulled out of the parking spot, you found yourself practically compressed against the passenger side door, head leaning against the cool glass, trying to melt and camouflage into it.
you know he still cares when he motions with his fingers and tells you to put something on the radio, eyes never moving from their position on the road.
and you do so, otw by khalid sounding from the speakers. it's mellowing, soothing. has the knot at the small of your back diminishing, making you sigh as you watch the blur of tall buildings and street lights shoot past you.
it's a fairly quick ride to the studio, being midday on a tuesday, everyone's already at work so traffic is minimal. namjoon's easily able to put an extra force behind his foot on the gas, weaving in and out of lanes because the streets are pretty much dead.
parking in the small lot situated at the back of the building, joon takes a look to his right to see you dozed off. eyes closed, hands folded in your lap whilst your neck bends uncomfortably to the right.
gently, he rests his hand on the side of your face, softly hoisting you up before unbuckling your seatbelt. "mama, we're here," he speaks just above what describes a whisper.
it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, squinting once they finally open before you realize a tense groan. "mm, joon, can i just stay in here," you ask, comfortable in your spot. it's not like you were going to do anything in there but sit off to the side. could he just let you be?
"i don't know how long i'll be here for. you have to come in," he's saying, shaking his head back and forth. one good look at the way your face morphs into an unfitting scowl, he knows he's gonna have to take a different approach.
he removes his keys from the ignition, stepping out of the car before he's rounding the hood and making his way to your side. you watch as he opens the passenger door, leaning his body forward to where his upper half is in the frame, face now leveled with your own and just a few inches away. so close that you can smell the mint on his breath.
"don't get in here acting a fucking fool," he says, gripping into your chin when you go to turn your head the opposite way. his tone catches you off guard. only then do you realize that he's had it about up to here with you.
you pull your face away from his, only to get back a thick hand wrapping around your neck, fingers pressing into the base tightly to have you drawing closer and closer. his lips ghost your own as he's growing more stern and stern. "do it, and see what happens. i'll embarrass you."
"okay, joon." your eyes water, but he knows it isn't real. big, fat crocodile tears because you know its his weakness. you think they'll work but he's too far deep, grabbing your hands to guide you from the car's seat.
still, your lip is jutted out in a pout, allowing for yourself to be pulled up to the stairs of the studio, dark double doors opening before you in which you're stepping into with your free hand pulled into a fist.
the other six that make up bangtan are already situated in their designated booth, engaged in playful banter as they wait for the leader.
upon walking into the room and immediately catching sight of two free chairs seated to the far left that you just know namjoon will be pushing you into, you quickly decide against it when you see an empty chair next to jimin. you're then pulling your hand from his larger one to make a beeline directly to it.
he cuts his eyes, leaving the situation alone for now. he'll let you think you've gotten under his skin when in reality, you're just digging yourself deeper into a problem you'll have to face once you get home.
at this point, it's inevitable.
jimin stifles a laugh when you make your way over. pretty face balled up tightly and he thinks you resemble an angry little bunny. "hi, pretty," he greets, smiling when you sit and wave.
"hyung, what'd you do to her," jungkook turns to ask namjoon, a ball point pen pressed to his small notebook in which holds the lyrics of their upcoming album. "looks just about ready to knock someone's head clean off."
that makes them all laugh and you have to grab onto the underside of the chair to stop yourself from calling an uber and leaving. pronto.
its humiliating when namjoon chuckles, sitting down and making himself comfortable on the couch in which yoongi and hoseok does too, legs parted with his arms crossed at his roomy chest. "she wouldn't swat at a fly, let alone lay hands on somebody," he speaks, having zero regard for the way you glare at him from the other side of the room.
you want to say something, want to argue back with a sharp tongue and harsh words but namjoon's voice back in the car played repeatedly in your mind, the look in his eye when he grabbed onto your throat. it was grounding enough to have you pursing your lips to keep them shut.
leaning back in your chair, you pull out your phone, your case glimmers and gleams, rhinestones catching onto the iridescent light illuminating the room, and namjoon watches as you type, biting down on his tongue while a smile forms on your pretty lips.
you're typing away to someone with eager eyes, fingers tapping and your nails clanking against the screen and it drives joon mad. so utterly and completely insane. it's a little irrational but you probably could've blinked in the wrong way and his top would pop the fuck off.
you've made his patience wear dangerously thin. just a little more pressure until it snaps.
an hour and a half passes, full of paperwork signing and a few touch ups to certain tracks here and there. at least forty-five minutes of it was spent with you giggling under your breath at whatever pops up on your for you page and direct messages from friends.
a few times, you even tilted your screen into jimin's direction in between topics to show something you found funny in which he would always watch and chuckle before shooting a quick glance into his hyung's direction, welcomed with the sight of slitted eyes and a clenched jaw, and he's quick to put two and two together.
when yoongi finishes playing the tracklist for their new album, bangtan decides to call it quits, even so much as setting up an impromptu hotpot and karaoke night for celebration amongst the guys.
but unfortunately for you, namjoon has other plans. "can i rain check tonight," he asks before continuing. "i have to have to get home and do some work around the house."
your eyebrows shoot up, dropping your phone into your lap to look at him incredulously knowing damn well it's a lie, but you keep your mouth shut and wait until they exchange words, saying that it’s no problem and to get home safely.
"don't touch me," you say, wincing when namjoon tightly grips onto your forearm, neck bulging with veins as he seethes.
you're done for.
each of his buttons are pressed, control switches in gear—set in stone. there's no running or hiding because now, you're on strike three and no amount of faux tears can get you out of the lesson you're about to get taught.
"walk or i'll throw your lil ass over my shoulder," he says, voice deep, demanding, and leaving no room for back talk, and you can't make space, either. "and i dare you to try it. i really fuckin' do."
it has you pressing one foot in front of the other, legs shaky whilst your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. seems you might've bitten off way more than you could chew.
you and jimin lock eyes and immediately you're met with a smile so sickly sweet because he knows that'll be that last touch of gentle you'll get. the dark glint in his hyung's eyes tells him everything he needs to know.
you're fucked. both literally and figuratively.
good luck, he mouths over before you're being dragged out of the studio by the intense grip on your arm. you'll need it.
you shake in namjoon's hold, back flexing away from his touch when his hand moves to the back of your neck, clutching tightly. it's grounding. keeping your head from straying too far from the harsh reality of the situation at hand.
"been acting out your fuckin' ass all day," he speaks, fumbling with his keys to press the unlock button. but he waits to put you in the car, turning you around so that you face him.
you're able to see the skin of his forehead crease in annoyance, his thin eyebrows that arch with anger, and his lips that utter sharp words.
"you're being mean, joonie. don't be mean to me," you say, thinking it's gonna get you somewhere but news flash: it doesn't.
"i'm being mean," he laughs but it's humorless. tongue drawing circle on the wall of his inner cheek to stop himself from causing a scene. “you've been mean to me this entire morning and when you finally get me to where you've wanted, i'm being mean?"
"get in the fuckin' car." when you go to interject, he's grabbing your face, digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks so that your lips jut out in a pout. "don't talk to me."
he then nudges you away, going to round the trunk till he's getting situated into the driver's seat, not even opening your door like the gentleman he is. because right now, fiery hot annoyance bubbles within him and he's ready to put you in your place. asap.
you huff as you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut at your side before your arms are crossing over your chest that heaves, pretty tits pressed against your forearms and it takes everything in namjoon not to pull your top down and suck on your pebbled nipples right then and there.
"don't slam my doors. you know how i feel about that," he speaks, not bothering to look at you because he knows it'll have him crumbling. he needs you to learn. to learn that there's a time and place for everything. and the day that he actually needs to get things done is absolutely not one of them.
"i honestly don't care," you say, looking out the window so that you wouldn't have to face namjoon's intimidating eyes. "wouldn't be slamming shit if you just left me home."
that's when you feel the press of namjoon's nike clad foot to the gas pedal. "you keep talkin'," he grunts out when the driver beside him honks, continuing when he bobs the lanes in order to get around them. "keep fuckin' digging a hole you can't cry yourself out of."
"but imma tear your lil ass up when we get home. don't even worry about it."
your lips part into a silent gasp, eyes widening. "what, that's not even fair. you've been acting like an asshole to me all day! i just wanted to stay home and get some rest because my head was fucking pounding, namjoon."
"i asked you to do one thing. one thing only. gave you tylenol, fed you, and asked you to do one thing as simple as be good and you do the exact opposite." his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. "and now you wanna cry wolf because you're in trouble."
he's chuckling, low in a deep rumble from the center of his chest. you can feel the irritation bubbling up, rising to his neck in the form of stubborn veins and its suffocating. too much.
it's only when the car slows to a stop at a red light when namjoon acknowledges you, looking in your direction with mean eyes. "get in the backseat," he's saying as he presses down on the lock of your seatbelt, hearing the familiar 'click!' before he's roughing you up. "hurry the fuck up."
tears swell your eyelids at his tone. "stop cursing at me," you retaliate, voice small though the increasingly wet patch in your panties is thick, filled with arousal because the duality of him has you spinning. it's satiating.
"you only seem to listen when i speak to you like this so get in the fucking backseat. now."
it has you scrambling, your miniskirt catching onto the rounds of your ass when you go to climb over the center console and into the back, legs feeling like jelly but it feels so good.
the light turns green and off joon goes, speeding down the streets but one arm reaches behind his seat that's already slightly pushed back to accommodate his size, making it easy for his hand to grasp onto your ankles placing them onto the console before he's pulling down your skirt, never removing his eyes from the road.
he’s always been good at multitasking.
"get her ready for me," he says and now it's crazily obvious why he put you there. the backseat windows are tinted, only being able to see out but not the other way around. it blocks the view of inside the car, giving the perfect place to have you spread out and completely at his mercy.
you give him what he wants without needing further instruction, fingers shooting down to pull inside the skimpy cloth you call underwear and immediately being met with cool air directly on your clit. it makes a shiver run up your spine before you're spreading your pussy lips open, fingers in the shape of a ‘v’ as they glisten with your honeyed slick.
sucking in a breath through your front teeth in the form of a hiss, you and namjoon lock eyes in the overhead mirror, and it makes you gasp when his free hand slaps at your clit, palm hitting repetitively until you squirm.
"joon, joonie, i'm sorry, baby," you whine and hiccup, closing your legs over his hand, leaving it between your thighs that spasm from the sensitivity of your clit. but you forget namjoon's strong, easily able to get himself out of it by nudging them apart with his elbow as if it was nothing.
"hold them the fuck open. stop playing with me," he speaks and it's so mean but nonetheless has you growing wetter and wetter with each passing moment.
you put your forearms underneath the backs over your knees, toes curling when they press up against the seats up front. so undeniably spread open that it's degrading.
simultaneously, your fingers resume their thumbing at your pussy, tips catching at your entrance before dipping in, making room for the thickness of namjoon's dick that's soon to come.
the squelching is obscene, loud over joji's 'night rider.' your pussy talks, singing along to the beat that plays lowly through the speakers. you wish you could block out the sound, finding it embarrassing as is.
the pace you build up is slow but ever so needy, clenching around your digits and they drag in and out before scissoring, stretching it out. but you need more, need to feel namjoon. have him inside you.
so you beg, plead, "please, joon. touch me, please. i'm so sorry." tears run down your face, eyeliner dripping already because you've never been able to handle what you dish out, and namjoon finds it funny. the irony.
the way you're so quick to break, being so apologetic and sweet when beforehand you were nothing close. again, namjoon can't help but laugh.
"you already crying?" and in response, you nod your head, still fucking yourself as you spew. "i'm so sorry. i-i didn't mean it."
his hand finds home between your legs and you think he's gonna slip his fingers in but are sadly mistaken when another forceful slap is laid to your cunt. "shut up. i don't want to hear any of that shit. you wanted this so deal with it."
"but—"
he cuts you off before you can get the rest of your words out. "but nothing. hush." by then, he's already pulling into the garage, car being placed in park.
but when he goes to step out, he merely uses the control gears on the side of the seat to maneuver it closer to the steering wheel, providing more space for him to join you in the backseat.
when he rounds the trunk of the blacked out audi, pushing himself into the seat behind the passenger's side, he's pulling you to him, legs dangling off the side of his wide shoulders. "been acting up all day," he mumbles, lips puckering up but they don't meet the ones north. they trail downward, latching onto your clit, sucking so that he can feel it rub against his tongue.
you moan, back arching against the coolness of his dark interior, hands trying to clutch onto him, to push or pull, give some sort of relief to the emptiness of you but he's grabbing your wrists, pinning them to your stomach. "you don't get to touch me," he speaks, the breath from his words battering up against your core, leaving you shaky and defenseless.
he licks a stripe before spitting, messy in the way he eats because he wants you dripping, easy enough to slide in and out of without working up a sweat. namjoon plans on wrecking your shit, leave you walking funny for days, a reminder that pretty girls don't cry when they get what they deserve.
you have no choice but to sit there and feel him spit, suck, lick, repeat, over and over again, the sound of his smacking and you gushing loud in your ears until your muscles flex, ankles crossing over one another behind namjoon's necks, the heels of your feet digging into his back.
"stay right there. please, please, please," you cry, hands thrashing in his unrelenting hold and best believe your pleas aren't anywhere near quiet. it has him bringing his free hand up to your mouth, middle and ring fingers tapping on your glossy lips.
you know what he wants, so like the good girl you're trying so hard to be, you open, letting the pads of his fingertips rest heavily on your tongue before you're wrapping your lips around them, tongue swirling around the length of them as a welcome.
he's momentarily given you a reason to shut up, fucking your mouth with his fingers whilst he eats your pussy like it's the last supper. namjoon has always found pleasure in pleasuring you, loving the way you tasted like honey on his tongue, the way your moans would pull him in like a siren would a sailor. it was a danger, the way you had him wrapped around your little finger.
your thighs tighten around his head in which he's blind to, the sharp strands of his buzz cut poking at the sensitive skin there but still, he never lets up his tongue's dipping into your entrance, licking into your gummy walls that clench as you near your orgasm.
you twitch, gargle around his fingers that press to the back of your throat until you're drooling, unable to speak. but you try, incoherent babbling mixing with the sound of namjoon between your legs.
when your spasms grow quicker, he's forced to let go of your wrists, palm striking down onto your hips that rut on his face, dragging your clit up and down his nose, and it's all too much. way too much. so involuntarily, you're stopped, body pausing in the shock of your orgasm that wrecks through you without warning.
"did i tell you to fuckin' stop? keep going," he spits, spanking your ass and urging your forward, drinking up every bit that pours from you.
the way you bunch up his jacket in tight fists is endearing, almost getting namjoon to reach up and smash his lips onto yours but he stops himself, keeps up his hard exterior because he knows he needs to put you in your place. learn your lesson.
"so good, joon. right there," you whine, head thrown back as he cleans you up with his tongue, lapping up any left over so that he can slide your underwear and skirt back into your lower half before bringing your face up to his with a grounding grip onto the column of your neck.
his lips hover over your own, practically daring you to kiss him. you know better though. his mean gaze on you says that you're in for a real treat, so you wait for him to speak, too scared to break the silence that blankets you.
"you've been out of line ever since you woke the hell up. i'm tired of you acting like you don't know shit."
"but i apologized," you say, eyes round and compliant as you look at him. you're a complete 180 of how you acted this morning. now docile in the way you shrink under his gaze.
his palm smacks against your cheek, stinging hotly but it adds fuel to the fire, makes your stomach full with butterflies. "mhm, but you don't mean it. just saying what you know i want to hear." namjoon's tugging you, putting his muscles to work as they sit you upright. "get out."
he's opening the door, ducking down in order to push himself out of the frame, and he doesn't look back because he knows you'll follow, making sure to press down on the lock button situated on his keys once he hears the shut of the car door.
your hair is messy, matting up in the back because of the friction between the strands and the fabric of the car seats. the wobbliness of your legs lead to the stairs, walking past the threshold and into your home in which namjoon holds the door and waits for you to get in just before gathering the thick strands at the back of your head, using it as leverage to urge you deeper into the home.
you gasp at his handling, his chest clung to your back as he pushes and pulls. you can't help but bring your hand up to his, clutching onto his wrist to try and ease his grip.
his breath is hot on your ear, whispering right into it as he bends forward to meet your level, ass pressed against his upper thighs while the growing bulge in his joggers swells. "by the time i get up those steps, you better be just how i want you."
and you bolt, quick to kick your chunky shoes from your feet and pull the jacket from your arms, left in a little skirt and an oversized soccer jersey, though you don't get time to dwell before rushing to take it all off, left bare save for the pink set of your bra and panties. the thickness of your curls resting at your shoulders.
heavy feet fall onto wooden flooring of the hall, partly creaky, or maybe it was the sound of your heart thumping in your ears. namjoon makes his way closer to your shared bedroom, his own outwear discarded and now left in a white tank and his bottoms.
your eyes are round and glassy when you look at him, regret all over your features because you know you're in for it. the way he rounds the bed to sit at the side of it before beckoning you over to him with the simple gesture of his fingers.
he wrangles you over his lap, right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you in place while his left hand rubs at the smooth skin of your ass before striking down, the smack so hard that it has you yelping.
"y'so pretty baby but act so fuckin' bad," he speaks, unwavering when he continues to reprimand you. "make it so hard for me."
“you know i hate seeing you cry.”
you call out for him, grabbing onto his calves for stability, thighs shaking in delicious pain because while it hurts, it feels so good, adding to the slick between your legs. the tears begin to run for the third time in the last half an hour, hands going to push at his but you're being stopped with the one along your waist, pinning your wrists to your lower back.
"you've done enough. be a good girl, would you," he questions but doesn't wait for an answer. "'s exactly why you're in this predicament now." ass perched up while he spanks it raw.
his hits are rough and repeated, taking the time in between to massage them just to take that momentary relief away once more at the bat of an eye. he even slides his finger between your folds to pick up a little bit of your wetness so that he can smear it across your ass.
namjoon's hungrily listening to every whine and scream that he draws from you, his cock unbearably stiff within his boxers, tip leaky and with a pinkened blushed undertone from its neglect.
it's only when he's done with you that he brings it to attention, pulling at the back of your hair to pull your face up level to his, eyeliner dyed tears streaming down your cheeks and he coos, kissing your forehead, but still, never touches your lips.
he knows you need it, the way your eyes are cloudy, waiting for him to get you exactly where it's easy to break to down: giggly and ever so moldable. pushing down your more bratty side and swapping it out for the good girl.
so he places you on the bed, sits you in his previous position whilst he rids himself of his clothes. chest and below bare and tanned with the small ribbon bow tattoo that represents you resting on his left pec, kneeling down just enough so that he can unclamp your bra and discard your panties before pursing his lips to leave a glob of spit catching onto your entrance, adding to your already drenched cunt.
"needed me, baby? you needed me to fill you up to put you in a better mood," he questions. “all you had to do was ask. you’on need to do the extra shit.” bringing a hand to his cock to jerk, standing back to his feet to drag his tip from your clit to the strip of skin just above your puckered hole. he just just keeps doing it, back and forth, up and down, until your grow restless, quivering, advancing to wrap your legs around his hips to bring him closer.
but namjoon easily slides into you and presses his palms to the backs of your knees, pushing so that they rest at either side of your head so that you’re completely folded.
the stretch hurts, makes you vulnerable and at the hands of his mercy but you wouldn't want it any other way, laying the future of your orgasm in his hold because you know he'll cater to you in every way possible.
his hips rut, pelvis to pelvis, heavy balls pressed to the swell of your ass as he digs deeper. and your pussy spasms, hugging him, sucking him in like a whirlpool. it makes namjoon lay his weight onto your chest, picking up his pace.
“slow down,” you whine, lips parted with your head thrown back, he takes one hand from your leg to wrap around your throat, bringing your attention onto him. maintaining gut-churning eye-contact.
"take this shit," he speaks, harsh and cruel. staring into your eyes and it makes you want to shrivel up. "been fuckin' with me all day so take this shit."
“d-didn’t mean to.”
he drops his hips a hurried slam, pounding into you like you owed him something. it was unrelenting. forceful. upon the impact of his dick sliding into you, your body jerks up higher onto the bed.
“mm, look at you. be actin’ all tough in public but as soon as you get on this dick, you go silent.”
leaning over, namjoon puts his thumb onto your bottom lip, sliding it between so that he can pry open your jaw, getting your mouth wide enough so that he can spit directly into your mouth but some inevitably falls onto your cheeks and he seals, smearing it, berry lip gloss smudging while your skin stings.
he laughs in your face, finding you to be the prettiest thing. even when you’re absolutely wrecked. pussy pulsing, titties bouncing, tummy folding, and knees resting beside your head.
“you boutta cream on me,” he asks when he feels you tighten and you nod, spent on the feeling of him splitting you open with a smile on his face. “this your shit. just go ‘head.” namjoon continues to dog you out, watching as the familiar white ring coats his dick at the base and he loves the sight.
before you get the chance to come down from the high of it all, namjoon’s taking matters into his own hands and is once again repositioning you as if it were nothing. the swiftness of it gives you whiplash. he's strong without reason, makes it entirely too easy to turn you to lay on your chest in the middle of the bed, arms behind your back whilst your ass points up, arched impossibly low that it strains your spine.
his palm is pressed to your cheek, pushing your head down into the mattress. one knee to the plush of the bedding while the other is bent with his foot flat as he thrusts entirely too deep.
it's hard hearing the soppiness of you taking him in, hearing your pussy talking back, pleading to take it easy because he's being so rough and you can barely keep up. he leaves you gaping when he pulls out and kisses your clit to see it jump just to push back in with fervor afterward.
with your face forced onto its side, watching through the mirror of your vanity as namjoon loses himself in your warmth, thrusts growing sloppy and straying away from its pattern, you blindly reach behind you, feeling the weight of his dick drilling into you.
"move your hand," he speaks sternly, calling you by name and its grounding. but you can't bring yourself to do it, trying your hardest to intercept his pace by pressing down onto his lower stomach. pretty nails dragging down the skin.
"i can't, joon," you plead, eyes rolling to the back of your head, toes curling. "god, it's too much." you involuntarily break your arch, back hunching, going to stand onto your knees to get namjoon to let up but he doesn’t let you.
pressing down on your back, moving your hand himself and pulling your hips up to get you right back into position he wants you, namjoon isn’t one for mercy as he digs back in. "nah, don't run from it.” he lays a heavy smack to your ass, watching as the flesh jiggles, so he does it again.
and again. and again. and again.
“fuck me back, baby.” he knows you’re gone when you do as he says without hesitation, smiling to himself as he feels his own toes curl. “yeah, you got it. fuck…keep goin’.”
and just like that, you’re back to your old ways. taking everything that he has to offer. throwing your ass back onto him to meet his thrusts. it has him reaching a hand down to pinch and roll your clit between two fingers, building you up so that you’ll be milking him in no time.
“all you wanted. this is all you wanted. you know daddy’s got you, baby,
a few more plunges in and you’re fluttering, cream flowing out of you, running down your thighs, and that causes a ripple effect on namjoon, his balls constricting as he paints your walls white.
and when you shake so much that you're one step away from sliding off the bed, namjoon chuckles before holding onto you tight, laying his sticky chest into your back and grabs the side of your face to smack his lips to yours.
⪩ ⪨ After nearly a year as a sex worker, you‘ve convinced yourself that intimacy is nothing more than a transaction. Then a quiet music producer enters your life, and what starts as a friendship gradually turns into something neither of you saw coming, changing the way you understand what it means to be close to someone and share something real.
⪩ ⪨ Word Count — 2.67k (Six sevennnn)
⪩ ⪨ WARNINGS!! — explicit sexual content, Graphic sexual assault (not by Yoongi), objectification, discussion of sexual assault, emotional distress, unhealthy perceptions of sex
⪩ ⪨ Note — I’m so excited to share my first fic with you guys!! The next chapters will probably be longer, but since this is my very first time publishing my writing, I decided to keep the first chapter pretty short. I also want to give a huge thank you to my beautiful friends @hopelesshifter , and @glossdebut , for encouraging me to publish this fic, proofreading it, and helping me along the way!! I’m so thankful to both of you. 💞
The cold breeze hits Yoongi as he stands before Stiletto, the sex-work venue he‘s found himself at tonight. With the sun slowly setting, he glances at his phone -half past nine- before finally stepping through the small entrance gate.
The building is tucked away on a side street, which is expected for places like these.
Yoongi doesn’t usually get down this easily, but work has been getting on his nerves. It’s not that he doesn‘t like being a producer, it‘s been his childhood dream, but lately it doesn't feel the same anymore.
On the way inside, he passes by a few more men, one of them still breathing heavily as he adjusts his belt. Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, then pushes the door open without a second thought.
You‘ve been lying on this bed for who knows how long — maybe three hours, probably more. You’ve only had two clients today, and it’s almost 10 p.m.
After a long wait, the door finally eases open, and you see a man slip in silently. A sheer black lace bra hugs your breasts. The lower part of your body — bare, Obviously.
Your face is mostly covered. Like the others, you chose to hide your identity, though for different reasons. Some don’t want their families finding out, while others just prefer to keep this part of their lives hidden.
You are wearing a face mask that covers your nose and mouth. No one could make out your face except for your eyes peeking through your hair.
The room is dim, with a bed taking up most of the space. You lie near the edge of the mattress, your body sinking slightly into the soft surface. Heavy curtains cover the window, with only faint traces of light coming through.
The man slowly approaches you, he’s tall, but not too tall. He‘s wearing a silver bomber jacket and a pair of black jeans. You can‘t tell much about his face, as the room is too dark, but his hair is long and black.
When he gets close enough, you simply spread your legs. He seems more patient than most of your clients, as he took more time undoing his pants. He doesn‘t actually push them down, just pulled out his dick, then grabbed a condom out of the huge box next to the bed, and rolled it down his tip effortlessly.
You felt his hands, one resting on your thigh, and the other holding onto your hip. That’s when you felt his tip press against your folds.
Oh… he feels big, definitely bigger than he looks. He enters you with a slow push, and you swallow down a gulp. Damn, he is actually big, shouldn‘t be a problem for you considering this is your job.
Oddly he hasn‘t started thrusting into you like a fucking animal yet. Almost like he's checking in with you …?
Nah, you’re a sex worker remember? He hasn’t said a single word since he stepped into the room. Why would you even consider that?
You feel him starting to slide in and out of your pussy steadily, he feels good. To your surprise you are actually enjoying this, but obviously you have to stay professional.
He gradually starts picking up the pace, you suppress all your sounds to the best of your ability. That wasn‘t really a problem to you anyways.
You can feel him nearing his end and with a few final thrusts and a quiet low grunt, he finishes.
He takes a deep breath before pulling out and silently fixing his pants. He runs a hand through his hair, and you finally get a better look at his face, he is quite handsome. That's when he pulls out a 200- dollar bill and slips it between your fingers.
He turns around and leaves without saying a word.
200 dollars…? He was barely in here for five minutes. You don't even get this much for an hour — guess he‘s got money to spare.
After Yoongi leaves the room, he quietly makes his way outside. For some reason, his mind just keeps wandering, he can't seem to shut his brain off.
Yoongi doesn't have sex very often. If he does, it's very casual — just to blow some steam off after a long day. One round is enough normally… It's probably because he still has a shit ton of work waiting for him in his studio.
Yoongi steps out of the building, it's dark now.
He makes it to his car, unlocking it with a press of his keys. He sits in the driver's seat and lets out a slow breath, his head falling back against the seat. He just sits there for a while before finally starting the engine and driving back home.
He doesn't even know why his mood has been so off these past few days. Sure, he‘s been spending more time than usual at the studio, but that‘s nothing new. Yoongi has always been a workaholic. Long hours never really bothered him.
If anything, there's only one thing he‘d been looking forward to.
Kai, an artist Yoongi had worked with before, had asked him to help produce a love song he‘d written for his girlfriend. Yoongi loved the melody from the beginning and was looking forward to working on the lyrics. Kai was supposed to send them over tonight.
When Yoongi finally reaches his apartment, he parks his car before making his way inside. He stands in front of his door, fishing for his keys somewhere in his pockets before unlocking it and stepping inside.
He takes off his jacket and shoes before heading straight to his studio. Dropping into his chair in front of his desk, he turns on his computer.
Niceeee, Kai sent the lyrics on time.
He taps on the document right away. A frown appears on his face the second he starts scrolling through the lyrics.
All he reads is:
„Bend that bitch over, big fat ass bouncing on my dick like a slut, swallow every drop like the whore she is, I own that pussy“.
Yoongi stares at the screen.
Did Kai send the wrong files?
This surely isn‘t the love song he was talking about.
He immediately grabs his phone and calls him.
„Hello?“ Kai answers.
„Hey Kai…did you send me the right lyrics?“ Yoongi asks.
„Yeah. Why?“
„The song for your girlfriend?“
„Yeah“
„The love song?“
„Yep“ Kai confirms
„Are you fucking serious?“ Yoongi scoffs.
„What are you on man?“
„Is that how you talk about your girl? What the fuck Kai?“
„Relax, People like stuff like this.“
What an asshole.
Yoongi hangs up.
He doesn't understand. Why is he so fucking pissed? Why is he so pressed?
Isn’t he the one paying for sex?
Yoongi doesn‘t have it in him to deal with this tonight. He closes the document with a tired sigh, shuts down his computer, and makes his way to bed.
His mind is still loud, but eventually, sleep wins.
The next day, Yoongi tries to push his thoughts aside. After all, he was asked to produce the song, not judge the lyrics.
He spends hours trying to produce around the lyrics — adjusting the instrumental, adding new layers, reworking the track over and over again. He tries everything he can, hoping something will soften the lyrics.
Well, it doesn‘t fucking work.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face as he stares at the screen. The lyrics seem to mock every adjustment he‘s made.
Fuck this.
Hours of work, and the song still sounds like shit.
He shuts down his computer and reaches for his jacket.
Really?
Weren‘t you the one getting so fucking pressed over those lyrics?
Now you‘re on your way to pay a prostitute to get yourself off.
Right now, he doesn‘t have the patience to sit here and question himself. He‘s stressed, sick of this song, and even more sick of his own thoughts.
He just needs a fucking break.
It’s a pretty normal workday for you.
You’ve had about four clients and made some money. That‘s good enough.
You’re waiting for the next client while sipping on a cold drink. That’s when the door flies open.
Okay… that’s earlier than you thought.
Regardless, you put down your drink, quickly pull your mask back up, and lie down.
You see someone step into the room. He looks very tall and has a large build.
He approaches you hurriedly.
„How much do you take?“ he asks.
„I mean… depends how long you‘re here.“
You answer.
He doesn't bother discussing it any further. Instead, he yanks down your bra, leaving your tits exposed.
How rude.
Not that it‘s rare for this to happen, but most clients are decent enough to ask beforehand.
You decide not to intervene. Better to just get it over with than make a fuss.
His hand moves to your legs as he pushes your knees back toward your chest before slamming his dick inside you with one harsh thrust.
Damn…must have been a while since he last got some pussy.
You suck in a sharp breath. Just relax.
He bottoms out immediately, fucking into you with an animalistic pace.
staycalmstaycalmstaycalm
He grabs you from under your shoulders, slamming you against the headboard before burying himself back inside you.
Ow. It hurts…
You let out a pained whimper that goes unnoticed as he goes right back to fucking you.
He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling on it harshly while thrusting even harder.
Fuck you cant take it anymore.
„That’s enough, sir-„
He cuts you off by pressing his hand over your mouth.
He doesn’t stop, it feels like he‘s splitting you open.
You felt helpless.
„Stop! I can‘t anymore“ you snap.
He glances down at you, almost mockingly, not slowing as his grip on you tightens.
You gather your strength and try to kick him away.
„Fuck off! Right now! Or I'll call the manager,“ you shout.
He suddenly pulls away, hastily fixing his clothes before storming out and slamming the door behind him.
„Hey! You still have to pay me!“ You yell.
You don’t protest any further. He probably didn’t even hear you. You’re just glad he’s gone.
Fuck. What just happened?
You sit there, frozen.
You can‘t even blame him. You‘re the one who chose this job. You‘re the dirty fucking slut.
Your whole body aches, sore and still in shock.
Shakily, you fix your hair.
Get yourself together. You should’ve Seen this coming.
You lower yourself back down, staring at the ceiling.
You don’t let yourself think about what just happened.
You just stay still until the sound of the door opening snaps you back into reality.
A man steps into the room quietly. He looks familiar somehow, but you can‘t put your finger on why. He shuts the door behind him before moving closer.
Okay. Just stay professional.
When he finally stands before you, he slowly unzips his pants.
Wait… that’s the same guy from yesterday.
You tense up as soon as you feel his hands on your leg.
Keep it together, Y/N. This is your job.
You feel his tip at your entrance.
Fuck. This is gonna hurt so bad.
„Are you okay?"
The question catches you off guard. Nobody usually bothers to ask.
„H-huh, What?“ You stare at him.
„I asked if you're okay,“ he repeats.
What the fuck. Who does he think he is?
Your boyfriend? Your husband?
Cut that fake shit.
„Yeah, I’m fine.“ You pause for a second before adding, „Just continue“
He seems to brush it off, lining himself up again.
He pushes himself in steadily, you wince from the pain immediately, flinching away.
You scramble up, your hands shaking as you try to steady yourself.
„Fuck, did I hurt you?“ he asks.
Tears well up in your eyes.
Why does he fucking care?
„Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to.“ he blurts out.
Don‘t. Not now. Don‘t you dare cry.
Well, you tried. But you couldn‘t.
Tears run down your cheeks, and you start sobbing uncontrollably.
„Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,“ Yoongi spirals.
You pull down your mask, breath unsteady while you keep crying.
„No! I'm sorry, I- this is so unprofessional-“ you choke out.
„I really didn‘t mean to hurt you.“ Yoongi says, his voice filled with guilt.
„You didn‘t! You didn‘t hurt me.“
Yoongi lets out a long sigh, getting a good look at your tear-stained face.
He didn‘t hurt you? Fuck, that’s a relief, but then what happend?
He reaches for a tissue nearby and holds it out to you.
You accept it, wiping off your tears.
„I'm sorry,“ you sniffle. „That wasn‘t supposed to happen.“
„Don’t apologize,“ Yoongi says softly. „You don't owe me an explanation. But if you want to talk about it…you can.“
You stay quiet for a moment, your eyes fixed on the tissue in your hands.
„Uhm…the client before you…“ you mumble. „Things just got out of hand.“
Yoongi’s brows furrow.
„Did he hurt you?“
You nod slowly, still looking down.
„Do you need a doctor?“ he asks gently
„No… I just—I‘m done for today“ you reply.
„How do you get home?“
„I walk. I live nearby.“
„Let me drive you, please“
„No, you don't have to. Really!“
„I want to. It’s the least I can do.“
„I don‘t want to take up your time“
„Relax, I insist.“ he says, giving u a reassuring look.
You hesitate for a moment before finally nodding.
„Okay.“
You slowly get up, pulling your long coat around yourself. The soreness catches up with you as soon as you‘re standing, and you move carefully, having to steady yourself for a moment.
Yoongi notices immediately.
„Need some help?“
You open your mouth to refuse, but he simply holds out his arm.
„Here, hold onto my arm.“
You take the offer, holding onto his arm as he helps you walk. His expression shifts when he realises how much you’re struggling.
„You were seriously planning on walking home like this?“ he asks, raising an eyebrow.
„It‘s not that far.“
He huffs quietly, almost amused.
„Right. Because that makes it any better.“
You don’t answer, but you let him help you the rest of the way to the car.
When you reach it, he opens the door for you and waits until you‘re settled before walking around to the driver’s side. After asking for your address, he starts the car and drives off.
The car ride is silent, neither of you say anything.
After a few minutes, Yoongi suddenly pulls at a convenience store.
You glance over at him, confused.
„I‘ll get you something to eat“ he murmurs, already reaching for the door.
You quickly shake your head.
„No, really. I don‘t need anything.“
He looks back at you.
„I was gonna get something for myself anyway.“ he says, shrugging slightly.
Before you can argue again, he steps out of the car.
A few minutes later, he comes back with two sandwiches and hands one to you.
„Is this okay?“ he asks.
„Yes, thank you. You seriously didn‘t have to do all this.“ You respond
Soon, you’re quietly eating beside him.
Yoongi glances over at you.
„If it doesn‘t get any better, you should see a doctor,“ he says. „Don‘t just ignore it.“
„Okay.“ you answer.
He nods, seeming satisfied by that.
Eventually, the car slows down as he pulls up in front of your place.
You look out the window for a moment before reaching for the door handle.
„Thank you,“ you say, turning back to him.
„For everything.“
Yoongi nods, his expression softening.
„Don‘t mention it.“ he replies.
Before you can step out, he speaks.
„Wait.“
You look back at him.
„What‘s your name?“ Yoongi asks.
„Y/N“ you reply.
He hums in acknowledgement.
„Bye, thanks again.“ you say before stepping out of the car.
„Take care.“ he responds.
You close the door behind you and walk inside, watching the car leave from the corner of your eye.
