The origin story of Xreader and Namjoon and how they came to become more than friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend.
It's been eight years since I last saw my friend Kim Namjoon, a friend of mine from college. We were in the same coed dorm, and one night I walked into the bathroom and saw him rapping into a cassette deck with a microphone. I watched him as he spat verses about college repressing creativity, and jumped a mile when he looked in the mirror and saw me watching him.
"Don't mind me, I was going to the toilet," I said to him, chuckling.
"Good thing you didn't go. That wouldn't sound nice once I polish this mixtape I'm making," he responded, and laughed as well. "Go ahead and do your business. Pretend I'm not even here."
Since that day, we became friends. I went to his rap battles where I met Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok, two more underground rappers. As they began to become known, a talent scout discovered them, and they joined a company to train as idols. On our college graduation day, he was valedictorian and gave a rousing speech on what's to come in our lives. He received his degree in music production and engineering, despite being an underground rapper and having already done so before debuting as an idol three months earlier. I was an English major, specializing in Black contemporary literature, and taught at a university several towns over.
In between those years, we kept in touch sporadically. He had a busy schedule, and I was busy on my end as well. Every year, we made a promise to each other to visit one another. Some years didn't pan out the way we wanted, but we had ways to communicate with one another until our visits dropped off for eight years. When I received the opportunity to move back to my college city and teach at our alma mater, the first person I called was Namjoon. He was excited and found an apartment for me to rent out. It was located twenty minutes from the university, and about ten minutes from his place.
The day I moved in, Namjoon was there with food and flowers. God, I missed those dimples of his. "Welcome home, sweetie," he greeted.
I let him in, and he placed the items on the kitchen counter and gave me a hug, swallowing my frame. I hugged him back, taking in the scent of his cologne, the very scent that drove me wild back in college. I never told him I had feelings for him, because he always had a girl or two on his arms. Maybe it was his dragon eyes, his million-watt smile, or his dimples when he flashed a smile. I don't know, but my love life has been hit-or-miss.
"It's great to be back," I replied. "How is life as an idol?"
Namjoon sat at the table as I plated the food he brought over. Handing him a plate and a can of beer, he told me about the grueling schedules, how little time he had to himself, and what the other guys have been teasing him about: his clumsiness, the fact that he doesn't have a license, or his height. I told him about the lack of a sex life I had, thanks to the many conferences on urban literature I've been attending and the classes I've been teaching.
"I hope I have an easy load this semester," I told him.
"If so, you can finally meet the guys at your earliest convenience," he replied.
"Cool."
We migrated over to the couch and surfed through the myriad streaming services I have until we settled on a few B-rated horror movies. Namjoon popped some popcorn and brought over some beers. I arranged the blankets and pillows to make the couch feel cozy. As the movie wore on and the day settled into night, we shouted at the TV, groaned when someone made a dumbass decision and didn't escape, and other things in the movies.
When the movie was done, Namjoon and I stood up to stretch. He took the empty beer cans and put them in the recycling bin for disposal later. I was about to find another movie for us to make fun of when Namjoon came over to me and pulled me into a bear hug. "I missed this," he whispered in my ear.
"As did I," I replied. "I have a feeling you have something on the brain."
Namjoon sighed. "I might disband the group."
"Why? You're on the verge of really breaking through."
"I know. The guys are completely burned out with constant interviews, performing, and you know the American media racket treats us like we're zoo creatures from another planet. I think it's best we broke up for a while and come back in a year or two to really assess what we want to do."
I nodded, then an idea popped into my head. "Understandable. You guys do need a break, badly. Nobody's stopping you guys from working on solo ventures, right? You don't have to completely disband to do that. Some of you can come together on one or two projects. You guys need to make things fun again, like when you were literally pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into becoming recognized and adored by millions."
Namjoon looked at me, smashed his lips against mine, and pulled away. "You're right. Why didn't I think of that?"
"You tell me. You're the one with the 148 IQ."
Namjoon laughed and pulled me into his arms, this time a lot closer, until I was in his lap. We leaned into each other for a kiss, this time more sensual. Both of us grabbed at each other's clothes, yanking them off. Namjoon pushed me down onto the couch and helped me shimmy out of my jeans, leaving me in my lace thong. Noticing my bra was still on, he instructed me to take it off. I sat up and removed the article, eliciting a whistle from my longest friend. I undid his pants, allowing him to stand in front of me in his boxer briefs, causing me to lick my lips.
Nodding his head, I tugged down his boxer briefs, and his dick sprang out in front of me, already leaking. I gave him a look, one he's never seen in the 18 years of us knowing each other. I licked him, from the base of his balls to the tip of his dick, and back down before engulfing it into my mouth. I played with his heavy nuts while I attempted to suck the soul out of him. I released him the second he was about to come into my mouth, and told him to lay down.
"I have a better idea," Namjoon hissed, threw me over his broad shoulders, and went into my bedroom. He laid me on the California king bed, spread my legs as wide as they would go, and he got in between them. He opened my pussy up with both hands, using a finger to trace it out, so as to make a memory of what I look like without panties. He rubbed my clit with his thumb, and inserted two fingers inside me. My hips rose at the sensation, and I began to move to the rhythm he set. Removing his fingers from my pussy, he placed them in my mouth, ordering me to taste myself. I devoured his fingers while looking at him, sticking my tongue in between his fingers and giving him a wink.
Immediately, he dipped down and ate me out. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I began to scream loudly. I didn't care if the neighbors heard me; I was having the best sex of my life with my longtime friend. The moment his tongue hit my clit in a circular manner, I came hard and fast, shouting Namjoon's name to the heavens. He looked up at me, juices all over those soft lips of his. I leaned forward and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.
He returned my kiss and pushed me back down on the bed. He then pushed my legs back behind my head and filled me to the hilt. I let out a gasp, as though his dick was choking me from below. We moved as one, writing our own lyrics to a song that can never be performed in front of an audience. He spread my legs wider and went deeper. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held them tightly, not wanting to let him go.
"Baby, I'm about to come," he said through gritted teeth.
"We both are," I answered, making him smile.
He flipped over until I was on top. I bounced up and down on him like I was riding a horse. My legs were stretched out on either side of him as his wide hands held onto my waist. I bent forward a bit to run my fingers through his sweaty head and move my hips to the point where he shouts my name, and fills me up, with my own orgasm following right behind him. My body was shaking while coming down, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on top of my head.
After a few minutes, I rolled onto my right side and snuggled up next to him while he caught his breath. "I've never done that with a friend before," I said.
"Oh?" Namjoon asked, then a thought popped into his mind. "We can keep this going, if you like."
"It won't bother you that we're fuck buddies?"
Namjoon nodded. "Nope. The guys have their girlfriends sign ironclad NDAs. I've known you the longest of any girl I've been with, and I trust you. I won't make you sign one."
"Alright. I'm down."
Namjoon leaned over and kissed me, this time squeezing my right breast. "Let's rest up, and we'll go for round two."
SYNOPSIS: Your life was perfect, or so it seemed. As the wife of Jeon Jungkook, a powerful billionaire, you lived in quiet luxury, never questioning the shadows around him. Until Kim Namjoon appeared. What begins as curiosity turns into manipulation, and before you realize it, you're no longer a bystander.
You're leverage.
Caught between a husband with secrets and a man determined to expose them, trust becomes a weapon and every choice pulls you deeper into a game with no innocent sides.
AN: not sure what this even is. some strange, twisted storyline my brain threw together, again. but i needed to put it out here. i couldn’t leave it rotting in my drafts, even if it hadn’t been there that long.
You looked around the room, your gaze drifting over the crowd. People moved in clusters laughing, negotiating, exchanging handshakes that meant far more than they showed. Every conversation here had a purpose. Deals were being made, alliances formed, relationships built on nothing but profit and power.
It was suffocating.
A quiet sigh slipped past your lips as you adjusted your posture, the weight of the evening settling heavily on your shoulders. You were tired, tired of the constant expectations, tired of playing your role so perfectly, tired of being present in a life that never truly felt like yours.
For a moment, your eyes searched for something, anything real.
Instead, they landed on him.
Jungkook stood a few feet away, effortlessly commanding attention as he spoke to one of his clients. His posture was confident, his voice calm yet firm, every word calculated. He looked exactly like what the world saw him as powerful, untouchable, in control.
He had introduced you earlier, his hand briefly resting at your back as he presented you with quiet pride. You had smiled, of course. You always did. Polite, graceful, composed. You spoke when required, nodded at the right moments, and played your part flawlessly before excusing yourself under the pretense of needing some air.
No one questioned it. No one ever did.
It had been seven years.
Seven years since you became his wife. And yet, standing there now, watching him from a distance, you couldn't help but wonder how it had all come to this. You didn't hate him. You didn't love him either.
Somewhere along the way, feelings had simply never existed.
Your marriage wasn't built on affection or understanding. It was an agreement, a merger between two powerful families, carefully planned and executed. You came from wealth, from influence, from a name that carried its own weight.
But Jungkook.
He was always a step above. With his family deeply rooted in politics and his own dominance in the business world, he held a kind of power that went beyond money. And you had learned, quietly and without resistance, where you stood in that hierarchy.
Beside him. But never truly with him.
You exhaled softly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand as the noise of the room faded into a dull hum. Surrounded by people, yet entirely alone. You had grown used to this feeling. Perhaps too used to it and maybe that was the most exhausting part of all.
------
You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the liquid catch the light as it moves in slow circles. The golden hue reflects faintly against your fingers, almost mesmerizing. Without much thought, you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip, more out of habit than desire. You don't even taste it.
Your attention shifts when you feel it a presence, familiar and heavy, settling beside you. Before you can turn, Jungkook leans in, his breath brushing lightly against your skin before his lips press against the side of your neck. The gesture is brief, almost casual, yet deliberate enough to be noticed.
Claiming.
"Bored?" he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you despite the crowded room.
You don't flinch. You don't react.
Just a small smile touches your lips as you nod simple, honest. You never pretended with him. Not about things like this and it never changed anything.
Jungkook was a man who moved according to his own will. Decisions were made long before anyone else had the chance to question them. You had learned that early on. You could voice your thoughts, your discomfort, your quiet complaints.
But never in a way that interfered. Never in a way that asked him to stop and he preferred it that way.
There was something almost unsettling about how well the two of you had settled into this rhythm, silent understanding without emotion, presence without connection.
"The event is going to end soon," he says, straightening slightly, his gaze flicking across the room as if calculating something even now. "We can leave in a few minutes."
You nod again, your fingers tightening slightly around the glass before relaxing.
Of course.
Leave the moment it was no longer useful.
That's how everything worked in his world.
His attention returns to you, softer this time, but not warmer. His hand lifts, fingers brushing through your hair as he gently fixes a loose strand, tucking it back into place with careful precision. The touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, controlled, almost thoughtful.
Anyone watching would think it was affection.
It wasn't. It was habit.
Presentation.
Just another part of the image the two of you upheld so perfectly.
Your eyes meet his for a brief second, searching for something, anything but finding the same calm, unreadable expression he always wore and just like that, he steps away. Back into the crowd. Back into control.
Leaving you standing there, glass in hand, surrounded by noise. Yet wrapped in a silence that felt far too familiar.
------
You roll your hips, your breath coming in ragged, shallow pants as you straddle him. Sex with Jungkook is always a masterclass in controlled chaos; he knows exactly how to unravel you, and exactly how to take what he wants. He likes it rough, and tonight, he isn't holding back.
His left hand, the one covered in a beautiful, intricate sleeve of tattoos he usually keeps hidden beneath crisp shirt cuffs, grips your hip with bruising force. The stark contrast of his rough, inked skin against your flushed flesh is dizzying. You are one of the few people allowed to see this side of him, both the art on his skin and the predator in his bed.
Feeling the friction and the heat of you, Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly grunt. But when your pace falters and you begin to slow down, his patience evaporates.
"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls, his voice dripping with dark authority.
Before you can answer, his large palm connects sharply with your right cheek. The sting of the slap cuts through the haze of pleasure, making you gasp and let out a loud, needy moan.
He smirks at your reaction, knowing exactly how much you love it when he takes control. "Good girl," he murmurs darkly, though his words quickly turn more degrading as he demands your complete submission. "You're nothing but a needy little mess for me, aren't you?"
He doesn't wait for a reply. Jungkook hooks his fingers aggressively into your hips, manhandling your body to position you exactly where he wants you. Flipping the power dynamic in a second, he takes full control, pinning you down and pounding into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that leaves you completely breathless.
Your fingers dig desperately into the mattress, your knuckles turning white as Jungkook continues his punishing pace. Every heavy thrust drives the breath right out of your lungs, leaving you capable of nothing but high-pitched, broken whimpers. He is relentless, using his superior strength to keep you pinned exactly where he wants you.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates straight to your core.
You force your heavy eyelids open, finding his dark eyes fixed on yours. They are dilated and wild, burning with an intense possessiveness. He reaches up, his tattooed hand tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat. He leans down and bites the sensitive skin right where your neck meets your shoulder, marking you as his.
You let out a cry, your body arching as a violent wave of pleasure begins to ripple through you. You are so close, teetering right on the edge of a shattering climax.
Sensing your peak, Jungkook smirks against your skin. Instead of letting you fall over the edge, he abruptly slows his pace to agonizingly slow, shallow thrusts.
"Jungkook, please..." you whine, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to roll your hips against him to chase the friction.
"Please what?" he taunts, his grip on your hips tightening to keep you still. He watches your desperate expression with pure amusement. "Beg for it. Tell me how badly you need to cum for me, you desperate little thing."
The degrading words should sting, but instead, they act like gasoline on a fire. The raw vulnerability of it sends a fresh spike of heat straight to your lower belly.
"Please, Jungkook... I need it. I'm yours, just please..." you desperately plead, completely unraveled by him.
He gives a dark, satisfied chuckle, clearly pleased by your total submission. "That's what I thought."
With a sudden, explosive burst of energy, he slams back into you with full force. He hammers into you, fast and deep, showing no mercy as he drags you over the precipice. Your vision goes white as your climax hits you in violent, crashing waves. You scream his name, your body locking up around him.
Jungkook lets out a loud, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his own release takes over, his body shuddering violently as he spends himself inside you.
-----
The morning light filtering through the heavy drapes felt like an intrusion. You woke up with a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as a deep, ache pulsed through your muscles. Your body felt heavy, wonderfully wrecked, and incredibly sore in places that vividly reminded you of Jungkook's relentless possessiveness from the night before.
Rolling over, your hand searched the mattress, but the sheets beside you were cool. He was already gone.
You attempted to sit up, the cool morning air hitting your bare, flushed skin. You were still completely naked, your body painted with the faint, purplish marks of his possessiveness. You desperately wanted to wash the sweat and scent of him off in a warm shower, but your trembling muscles flatly refused to cooperate. You felt utterly drained.
Suddenly, a bright, bubbly giggle echoed from the hallway, slicing through the quiet room.
Instinct took over. Panicked by the sound, you frantically grabbed the heavy duvet and pulled it up to your chin, burying yourself in the warmth just as the bedroom door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was a tiny, energetic figure. Right behind him stood Jungkook.
He was the picture of effortless, devastatingly handsome domesticity. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that hung off his hips, displaying the hard ridges of his abs and the mesmerizing, intricate sleeve of tattoos on his arm. His hair was messy, and his dark eyes softened the moment they landed on you.
"Mama! Dad said I can make a smoothie today!" your five-year-old son, Rawoon, announced proudly, his eyes shining with excitement.
You couldn't help the warm smile that took over your face at the sight of him. "Oh, really?" you rasped, your voice still a little thick and breathless from sleep.
Rawoon marched closer to the bed, crossing his little arms over his chest as a dramatic pout took over his face. "And I wanted you to help me, Mama. But Daddy wouldn't let me wake you up!"
Before Rawoon could climb onto the bed and accidentally discover why his mother was hiding under the covers, Jungkook moved with lightning speed. He swooped in, scooping the giggling five-year-old up into his arms, holding him effortlessly against his chest.
"Hey, no fair badgering your mother," Jungkook chuckled, his deep, raspy voice sending a familiar shiver down your spine. He looked over at you, a knowing, wicked smirk playing at the edge of his lips as his eyes raked over your bare shoulders, silently communicating that he was the reason you couldn't move.
Jungkook turned his attention back to his pouting son, booping Rawoon's nose. "Your mom needs to get ready for work, buddy, and she's very, very tired today. Ms. Suzy will help you make the smoothie instead, okay?"
Rawoon looked at you, seeking confirmation. You gave him an encouraging nod and blew him a kiss. Resigned but still excited about the smoothie, Rawoon nodded. "Okay! I'm gonna make a strawberry one!"
"That's my boy," Jungkook praised, adjusting his hold on the child as he started to walk out of the bedroom.
-----
You had just dropped Rawoon off at school, watching as he disappeared past the gates without looking back. The morning air felt unusually still as you sat behind the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, your hands resting lightly on it. Work was waiting.
It always was. But today, you didn't feel like going just yet.
A quiet thought crossed your mind, coffee. Something simple. Familiar. A small pause before stepping back into the routine that never really gave you space to breathe.
Without thinking much, you turned the car toward the café you always went to, the one just a few minutes away from Rawoon's school. It was your place. Quiet, tucked away from the noise of the city, warm in a way that didn't demand anything from you.
You needed that.
But as you pulled up, something felt off. The doors were shut. No lights. No sign of movement inside. Your brows furrowed slightly as you checked the time, certain you weren't early. This place was always open by now. Always.
A soft groan escaped your lips as you leaned back in your seat, irritation bubbling up in a way that felt disproportionate but you let it. Of course.
Even this one small thing didn't go your way. You stepped out of the car, the morning air brushing against your skin as you leaned against the side, your fingers slipping into your small bag. You pulled out a cigarette, placing it between your lips with practiced ease, already craving the distraction it would bring.
Your hand searched for the lighter.
Once. Twice. Nothing.
You exhaled sharply, annoyed now, your patience thinning far quicker than it should have. Tilting your head back slightly, you let out a quiet huff, your fingers digging deeper into your bag as if it would magically appear. It didn't. And just as you were about to give up. A presence. Close. Too close.
Before you could fully react, there was a soft click. A small flame flickered to life beside you. Your eyes shifted. A man stood there, holding the lighter up with steady fingers, the fire casting a faint glow against his face. For a brief second, you simply looked at him taking him in without meaning to.
You didn't ask.
You didn't question. You just leaned in slightly, bringing the cigarette closer to the flame. The tip burned, smoke curling upward as you took a slow drag, the familiar burn settling into your lungs. Only then did you pull back. Only then did you actually look at him.
There was something, unreadable about his expression. Calm, composed, but not entirely open. Like he was watching more than he let on. You exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting between the two of you as a quiet silence settled.
"The café is closed," he says, his voice low, even. "There's some alteration going on."
Your gaze flickers briefly toward the building before returning to him. You nod slightly, it makes sense. He must've seen you pull up, seen the way you lingered, the irritation written all over you. Still, something about the way he said it felt intentional.
Like he had been waiting. You don't dwell on it. Instead, you lift your hand, holding the cigarette out toward him, a silent offer. He takes it without hesitation. His fingers brush yours, just barely. Intentional or not you can't tell.
He brings it to his lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling, his gaze shifting away for a moment as if he's giving you space, yet somehow not really leaving it.
"I'm Namjoon," he says after a beat, his voice softer now. He gives a small, tight-lipped smile and there it is. Dimples.
It should've felt normal. Casual. Just a stranger being polite. But something about him didn't feel like a coincidence.
"Y/n," you reply, your voice steady despite the faint unease settling somewhere deep inside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence lingers a little longer than it should. You take another drag, your gaze drifting away from him, trying to shake off the strange heaviness that settled the moment he appeared. It was just a random interaction, you've had plenty of those.
So why did this feel different? Beside you, Namjoon exhales slowly, the smoke curling into the air between you. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed, like he belongs exactly where he is. Like he planned to be here.
"A place like this..." he starts, his voice casual, almost thoughtful. "Didn't expect to see someone like you here." Your brows knit slightly as you turn to look at him.
"Someone like me?" you repeat, a hint of confusion slipping through your otherwise composed tone. His lips curve faintly, not quite a smile.
"Yeah," he says, glancing at you briefly before looking ahead again. "You don't look like someone who waits outside closed cafés in the morning... looking annoyed over coffee." There's something in his words, light on the surface, but carrying weight underneath.
You let out a quiet breath, a small, almost dismissive smile touching your lips. "And what exactly do I look like?" He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he studies you.
Not in a way that feels admiring. In a way that feels knowing.
"Someone who doesn't have to settle for something like this," he finally says. The words land softly but they don't feel light.
You hold his gaze now, your expression shifting just slightly. "You don't know me."
"No," he agrees easily. "I don't." A pause. Then, "But I know enough."
Something in your chest tightens. Your fingers curl slightly around the cigarette as your eyes narrow just a fraction. "What is that supposed to mean?" Namjoon finally turns fully toward you, his attention no longer divided. The ease in his expression doesn't fade but there's something sharper beneath it now.
Measured. Intentional.
"It means..." he begins slowly, his voice dropping just enough to make you focus, "you're not someone who should be standing here alone."
A beat passes. Then he adds. "Especially not when you're married into the Jeons."
The world doesn't stop. Cars still pass in the distance. The wind still moves lightly through the trees. But for a second. Everything feels still. Your expression doesn't change immediately. But your mind does. Sharp. Alert. Careful.
"...Excuse me?" you say, your voice quieter now, controlled. Namjoon doesn't look surprised by your reaction. If anything, he looks like he expected it.
"You heard me," he says, his tone calm, almost indifferent but his eyes don't leave yours. "Jeon Jungkook's wife." The way he says it isn't curious. It's certain. A slow, uneasy feeling creeps in. This wasn't a guess. This wasn't luck.
You straighten slightly, your guard slipping into place without you even realizing it. "People know him," you reply, keeping your voice steady. "That doesn't mean they know me." A faint smile touches his lips not wide, not warm. Just enough.
"I know enough." Your stomach sinks, just slightly. He exhales, smoke curling lazily into the air as if this conversation means nothing to him, as if he hasn't just crossed a line he shouldn't even be near.
"You dropped your son off just now," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Rawoon, right?" Your heartbeat stutters. This time, your reaction is immediate. Your gaze sharpens, all traces of casual politeness gone.
"...How do you know that?" your voice is quieter now, but firmer. Namjoon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he's observing how far you'll go before you break.
"I like places like this," he says instead, ignoring your question entirely. "Quiet. Not too crowded. Not... performative." His eyes flick briefly toward the café before returning to you.
"Seems like you do too." A pause.
"It's interesting," he continues, almost thoughtfully, "considering your husband prefers the exact opposite." Your jaw tightens. There's something wrong here. This isn't coincidence. This isn't harmless. This man, he knows too much.
"Who are you?" you ask, the question sharper now, more direct. But again, he sidesteps it effortlessly.
"Does Rawoon get along well with Jungkook?" The words hit differently this time. Not just intrusive. Targeted. Your breath catches, just for a second.
"What?" you frown, the confusion finally breaking through the tension. "What kind of question is that?" Namjoon watches you carefully. Too carefully. As if he's waiting for something in your reaction. A slip. A truth.
"Just curious," he says lightly, but there's nothing light about the way his eyes don't leave yours. "Children can be... sensitive to things adults pretend not to notice." A chill runs down your spine. You don't like where this is going. At all.
"Why does it matter to you?" you ask, your voice dropping, guarded now. "You don't even know us." That's when it happens. That small shift. The corner of his lips lifts slow, knowing.
A smirk. "I think I know enough," he says quietly. Your chest tightens. There's something he's not saying. Something he wants you to think about and then, he leans in just slightly. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to make it feel suffocating.
"What do you think would happen..." his voice drops, softer now, almost a whisper, "...if Jungkook found out Rawoon isn't his son?" Everything stops.
The air. The sound. Your thoughts. For a second, you don't even breathe. Your eyes widen, just slightly but it's enough. Enough for him to see and he does. Of course he does. You take a step back, your pulse racing now, panic clawing its way up your chest despite how hard you try to suppress it.
"...Who are you?" you repeat, but this time it's not just a question.
It's a demand. A warning. A plea. Namjoon straightens, watching you with something unreadable in his expression satisfaction, maybe. Or something darker. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to steady.
"What do you want?" There's a beat of silence, that smirk returns. Slow. Certain. Like he's been waiting for you to ask that exact question.
"That's a good question," he murmurs. His eyes lock onto yours. Sharp. Unwavering.
"I was wondering when you'd get there."
---------
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade. You didn't understand why you were obeying a man you had only just met, but Namjoon possessed a terrifying weapon: knowledge. He knew more about the fractures in your life than your own husband did, and that leverage was a noose around your neck.
Rawoon was and always would be, your first priority. Your husband, Jungkook, was a different story. He was a man consumed by the cold mechanics of business and the preservation of his reputation; he allowed no one to stand in his way. Not his rivals, not his enemies, and certainly not you.
You didn't know Namjoon’s endgame, but you knew the weight of the device in your pocket. It was a sleek, silver spy recorder, cold against your palm. He hadn't given you a choice; you couldn't risk Rawoon’s safety for the sake of a husband who barely saw you.
After waiting for the mahogany doors of his office to swing open and the trail of clients to vanish, you slipped inside. The click of the lock felt like a final judgment. Jungkook looked up, his expression unreadable, though his dark eyes held a silent demand for an explanation. You never came here. In this marriage of convenience and cold distance, your presence was an anomaly.
Swallowing your terror, you forced a smile to your lips, a mask of practiced grace. You crossed the room, your fingers trailing softly over the polished surface of his desk, a predator-turned-prey. As you reached his chair, you didn't hesitate. You sank onto his lap, the proximity making your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You leaned in, the scent of his expensive cologne filling your senses, masking the metallic tang of fear.
"I wanted to talk to you," you whispered, your voice a fragile thread of silk.
"Yeah?" he responded, his voice dropping an octave, wary yet intrigued.
"Is it absolutely necessary to enter my office this seductively?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips a rare, sharp flash of humor.
You didn't answer with words. You leaned closer, pressing light, feather-soft kisses against the pulse point of his neck. You felt the vibration of a low moan in his chest as his hand came up to caress your hair, his grip firm and possessive. As your lips finally met his in a kiss that tasted of desperation and deceit, your hand moved stealthily toward the underside of his desk, the recorder ready to slip from your sleeve.
The heat between you was a lie you had to sell with every fiber of your being. As Jungkook’s kiss deepened, turning hungry and possessive, you arched your back to meet him, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled you closer, his large hand sliding down to grip your waist, anchoring you against him. Every time his breath hitched, you felt a sickening jolt of adrenaline, this wasn't passion; it was a distraction.
While you hummed into the kiss, feigning a surrender that made his pulse race against your skin, your right hand moved with ghostly precision. You let your arm drape naturally off the side of his chair, your fingertips brushing the cool, hidden underside of the heavy mahogany desk.
With the recorder gripped tight between your shaking fingers, you felt for the flat surface beneath the ledge. Jungkook’s mouth moved to your jawline, his focus entirely consumed by the rare warmth you were offering him. Now. You pressed the adhesive side of the device firmly against the wood, holding it for a split second until it caught.
As you pulled your hand back, sliding it up his chest to steady yourself, the deed was done. You broke the kiss just enough to look into his dark, clouded eyes, your heart thundering so loudly you were certain he could feel it through your ribs. You had just invited a monster into his sanctuary, all to protect the only person who mattered.
------
The ping of the text message felt like a physical sting. "Good job," Namjoon had written, two simple words that made your skin crawl. You wanted to smash his face in, to erase that smug satisfaction he carried, but the paralyzing fear of Jungkook kept you anchored. You had convinced yourself that once this task was done, you would be free. You were wrong.
When the unknown number flashed on your screen, you didn’t have to guess. You picked up, your voice a sharp blade of ice. "What is it now? I did exactly what you asked."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the receiver. "Oh, sweetheart," Namjoon purred, his voice dripping with a terrifying calmness. "This is only the beginning."
Despite your internal screaming to walk away, his leverage pulled you like a leash. That was how you found yourself standing at the threshold of a sleek, glass-walled penthouse overlooking the city. When Namjoon opened the door, the opulence of the place felt suffocating.
"Why am I here, Namjoon?" you spat, glaring at him with enough vitriol to burn.
"Care for a drink?" he asked, gesturing nonchalantly toward the bar.
You rolled your eyes, the sheer audacity of his hospitality snapping the last thread of your patience. "I'm done playing. I'm leaving."
You turned toward the door, but his next words froze the blood in your veins.
"I wonder how your husband would react if he saw these."
You whirled around, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. He held a manila envelope, tossing it onto the marble coffee table. You snatched it up, your fingers trembling as you pulled out the glossy prints.
There you were. And there was Taeyang.
The images captured the truth you had buried under layers of designer clothes and a high-society marriage. You and Taeyang had been "friends with benefits" long before you were bartered off to Jungkook for the sake of business mergers and family legacies. The marriage was a contract, a cold exchange of power, but what you had with Taeyang was a fire you refused to put out, even after the wedding.
Then came the darkest secret of all, Rawoon.
Neither Taeyang nor Jungkook knew the truth of the boy’s parentage. You didn't particularly care for either man’s heart, but the secret was your only protection. Now, looking at Namjoon’s predatory smile, you realized he didn't just want a favor. He wanted your entire life in the palm of his hand.
"So," Namjoon leaned back, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. "Shall we discuss our next move, or should I give Jungkook a call?"
"What do you want from me?" your voice cracked, the desperation finally bleeding through your mask of indifference. "I’ve done the dirty work. I’ve played your games. Why are you digging into a past that has nothing to do with you?"
Namjoon didn't flinch. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his footsteps silent on the plush rug. He stopped just inches away, the scent of expensive cologne and old wood smoke filling your senses. He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing line across your bare shoulder. The touch wasn't warm; it sent a jagged chill straight down your spine.
"Maybe," he murmured, his voice dropping to a silk-wrapped threat, "I just want you."
Your face twisted in a mask of disgust. "You’re delusional."
"Come now, Y/N," he chuckled, his eyes dark with a predatory gleam. "You’ve kept so many secrets from Jungkook already. What’s one more added to the pile? This wouldn't even hurt him, he doesn't know the real you anyway."
The air in the penthouse felt thick, unbreathable. You stared at him one last time, a silent vow of hatred burning in your eyes. You snatched your purse from the table and turned on your heel, heading for the door. You needed to run, to breathe, to scrub the feeling of his touch off your skin.
But halfway to the exit, you stopped.
Your breath came in ragged, heavy hitches. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots as you fought the hollow void in your chest. Your marriage to Jungkook was a hollow shell, a masterpiece of performance art. You played the doting wife, he played the powerful husband, and together you played the perfect parents. But behind closed doors, there was only silence. Just a cold business arrangement that had left you starving for something, anything, real.
If the world was going to burn, you might as well be the one to light the match.
With a sudden, violent movement, you whirled around. You hurled your purse onto the leather couch and lunged at Namjoon. Your hands fisted into the expensive fabric of his dress shirt, bunching it up as you slammed your lips against his.
It wasn't a kiss of love; it was a collision of two dark forces.
You knew your heart was an empty chamber, a place where nothing grew and no one stayed. You didn't care about Namjoon, and you certainly didn't love him, but in this moment, the friction was better than the numbness.
Namjoon didn't hesitate. He let out a low, guttural growl, his hands sliding firmly to your waist to pull you flush against him. He took control of the kiss, his movements aggressive and demanding, mirroring the chaos of the secrets you both held. In the shadows of the penthouse, the line between victim and accomplice finally blurred into nothingness.
------
The days blurred into a haze of adrenaline and deception. What had started as a moment of desperate defiance had spiraled into an addiction you couldn't shake. Yet, despite the tangled sheets and shared breaths, the mystery remained.
"Why are you doing this?" you would ask in the quiet aftermath, your voice barely a whisper. "Why are you so obsessed with destroying Jungkook?"
Namjoon’s responses were always the same: cold, cryptic, and frustratingly calm. "The truth is a heavy burden, Y/N," he’d mutter, his eyes staring at the ceiling as if calculating a move on a chessboard. "You’ll know everything when the time is right. For now, just play your part."
Hiding the scent of another man from Jungkook was becoming a high-stakes game of Russian roulette. For weeks, you walked a tightrope, returning home to a cold husband while your skin still burned from Namjoon’s touch. But something had shifted. The hollow, aching emptiness that defined your life with Jungkook that sterile, loveless void was being filled by Namjoon’s dark intensity. With him, you didn't feel like a pawn or a socialite. You felt alive, even if that life was built on a foundation of lies.
The air in the penthouse was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive bourbon and the looming threat of discovery. Every time you were here, you felt like you were dancing on the edge of a jagged cliff, but the adrenaline had become more addictive than the safety of your gilded cage with Jungkook.
Namjoon’s hands were calloused and warm as they slid firmly over your ribs, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist. He pulled you flush against him, the friction of your damp skin creating a heat that rivaled the midsummer night outside. You let out a breathless, airy giggle when his tongue darted out to lick your earlobe, a sharp contrast to the calculated, cold man he played in the light of day.
"You're getting bold, Y/N," he rasped, his voice a low vibration against your neck. "Does the thought of him catching us make you thrive, or is it just me?"
You couldn't answer. Your breath hitched as he spun you around, pressing your chest into the cool leather of the sofa. The contrast of the cold material against your heated skin made you shiver. He didn't offer gentleness; he offered a raw, primal intensity that Jungkook had never even attempted.
Namjoon loomed over you, his heavy weight a grounding force. He reached down, his hand gripping your hip to anchor you as he entered you with a slow, devastating thrust. You arched your back, your spine forming a perfect, desperate curve as you gasped into the cushions. The sensation was overwhelming, raw and unfiltered.
He moved with a rhythmic, punishing pace, each movement echoing the power he held over your life. There were no sweet words or soft promises here, only the visceral reality of two people bound by secrets and sin. As his grip tightened on your waist, leaving faint marks that you knew you’d have to hide tomorrow, you felt that familiar, hollow ache in your chest finally begin to shatter.
In the wreckage of your marriage and the chaos of his blackmail, this was the only time you felt like you weren't a ghost in your own life. You clung to the edge of the sofa, your nails digging into the leather, lost in the storm that Namjoon had conjured. Whatever his endgame was, in this dark, sweat-soaked sanctuary, you were no longer a pawn, you were the flame.
------
The smoke from your cigarette swirled in the dim light of the bedroom, a gray ghost dancing in the air before vanishing into the shadows. You sat at the edge of the bed, the cool air of the penthouse raising goosebumps on your naked skin. Your phone screen cast a clinical, blue glow over your face as you scrolled aimlessly, trying to ignore the heavy silence that usually followed the storm of your encounters.
The mattress shifted. You felt the warmth of Namjoon’s body before you felt his touch. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to the curve of your shoulder.
"I wonder," he began, his voice dropping into that low, melodic register that usually signaled a shift in the wind. "I wonder how you'll be reacting tomorrow."
The smoke caught in your throat. You pulled the cigarette away, your brow furrowing as you turned your head to meet his gaze. "What is that supposed to mean? What happens tomorrow?"
Namjoon didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, his eyes scanning your face as if he were memorizing a map of a city he intended to burn. Then, his lips curved into a smile. It was that tight-lipped, dimpled grin you usually found yourself drawn to, the one that made him look almost human, but today, the light didn't reach his eyes. It was a hollow imitation. A mask.
"Nothing," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "I'm just thinking about what tomorrow would be like. For everyone."
He reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline with a tenderness that felt more threatening than a physical blow. You stared at him, your heart beginning a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who had already set the timer on a bomb and was simply waiting for the world to notice the ticking.
"Namjoon," you whispered, the cigarette ash falling unheeded onto the silk sheets. "What did you do?"
------
You step out of your room, your footsteps slow as you descend the stairs, but something feels off. The house is louder than usual. Voices. Movement. The faint clatter of utensils from the kitchen. Your brows knit together as your gaze moves across the space. Maids are rushing around, setting the table, adjusting decorations, carrying trays, far more than what was ever needed for a normal day.
Even the air feels different. Prepared. You pause midway down the stairs, your eyes narrowing slightly. Jungkook stands near the dining area, giving instructions short, precise, controlled.
That, in itself, isn’t unusual. But what is that he’s involved at all. He was never particular about these things. Never cared what was cooked, how things were arranged. The house functioned, and that was enough for him. So why now?
“What’s happening?” you ask as you step closer. Your voice cuts through the movement around him. Jungkook turns to look at you. For a second, just a second his expression shifts. Subtle. But you catch it. Then it’s gone.
“It’s nothing,” he says smoothly, but not as effortlessly as usual. “One of my cousins is coming over. With his family.” Your gaze lingers on him. Cousin? He licks his lips briefly before turning away, adjusting his cuff like it suddenly demands his attention and that’s when you notice it.
He doesn’t hold your gaze. Not like he always does. Jungkook was many things but uncertain wasn’t one of them. Yet right now. There’s something restrained about him. Measured.
You watch him for a moment longer, trying to place it, trying to understand. But then you look away. You don’t care enough to question it.
“Hmm,” you hum softly, brushing it off as you move past him. Whatever this is, it’s his world. Not yours.
------
The doorbell rings later that afternoon. Everything stills for just a second. Then movement resumes, faster this time. One of the maids rushes to open the door. You remain where you are, standing near the living room, your expression calm, unbothered.
Until, you see them. First, a woman steps in elegant, composed, her presence quiet but refined. Beside her. A young girl, no older than twelve, holding her hand, her eyes curiously scanning the house and then. Him. Your breath stops. Namjoon. For a second, everything around you blurs. The room. The voices. The sound. All of it fades into nothing.
Your mind struggles to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.
No.
Your gaze locks onto him as he steps inside like he belongs here, like this is normal. Like this is how you were supposed to meet him. Jungkook walks forward, his expression now composed, controlled back to the man you know.
“Namjoon,” he says, extending his hand. Namjoon takes it. Firm. Polite. But there’s something beneath it. Something sharp. Unspoken.
“Good to see you,” Jungkook adds, his tone smooth but not warm.
“Likewise,” Namjoon replies, just as calm. Your heart pounds. You feel it now. That tension. That invisible line between them. Jungkook turns slightly, gesturing toward the woman beside Namjoon.
“You remember her,” he says, his tone softening just slightly. “Noona.” She smiles politely at you, and you return it out of habit, your mind still spinning.
Your eyes flick back to him. He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Like none of this is unusual. Like you’re just, another part of the room. Your stomach twists. Dinner is quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but heavy. Jungkook sits across from Namjoon, both of them composed, both of them speaking like this is just another formal meeting. But it’s not. You can feel it in every word. Every pause. Every glance.
“I heard you’ve been considering entering politics,” Jungkook says, leaning back slightly, his tone casual but edged. “Not a good move.” Namjoon doesn’t react immediately. He takes a sip of his drink before placing it down.
“And why is that?” he asks calmly. Jungkook smirks faintly.
“Because it doesn’t just affect you,” he says. His gaze flicks briefly toward Namjoon’s wife. “Noona would have to deal with the pressure. And your daughter…” A pause. “…she’ll grow up under scrutiny.” The words are polite. But the meaning isn’t. It’s a warning. A judgment.
Namjoon’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t lose composure. Instead, he leans forward just a bit, his voice lowering. “Maintaining business ties with… risky partners,” he says slowly, “and being involved in things that aren’t exactly legal-”
Your breath catches.
“-is far more dangerous,” he finishes. Jungkook’s eyes darken. There it is. The shift. The mask slips, just enough.
“You should be careful with your words,” Jungkook says quietly, his tone no longer casual. Namjoon meets his gaze.
“You should be careful with your actions.” The tension between them thickens instantly, suffocating, like the room has shrunk. No one else speaks. No one dares to and you.
You feel it now.
The truth settling in your chest. This isn’t random. This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t just business. This is rivalry.
Personal. Deep and dangerous. Your eyes move between them Jungkook, calm but cold Namjoon, controlled but sharp and suddenly, everything makes sense.
The café. The threats. The way he knew everything. The way he pushed you. It was never about you. Not really. You were just a way in. A tool.
Leverage.
Your chest tightens, something sinking deep inside you as realization fully settles. Namjoon wasn’t in your life by accident. He placed himself there. For this.
-------
The air in the hallway felt thin as you dragged Namjoon toward the sanctuary of your room, far from the prying eyes of the staff. Downstairs, Jungkook was playing the attentive host to Namjoon’s wife, Mina, and their daughter, but the domestic facade felt like a fever dream.
You whirled around to face him the moment the door clicked shut. "You did all of this just to beat Jungkook? At what, Namjoon? I don’t get it." Your voice was a jagged whisper, trembling with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "This is childish. We are grown adults, and I’m done. I don't want to be your pawn anymore."
The absurdity of it all was suffocating. Whether it was a personal grudge or a deep-seated business rivalry, involving you was a bridge too far. You felt a wave of nausea roll over you, the weight of your double life, the secrets of Taeyang and Rawoon, and the sheer disgust at having allowed Namjoon to use your body as a battlefield against your husband.
"Childish?" Namjoon repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over you. "Perhaps. But your husband... he deserves exactly what’s coming to him."
He spoke with a venom that suggested a history far darker than simple professional jealousy. You didn't wait for an explanation. You couldn't. "I'm done talking," you snapped, pushing past him. You felt like a fool, you hadn't just risked your own safety; you had put Rawoon’s future on the line for a game you didn't even understand.
When you returned to the hall, the scene before you stopped you cold. Jungkook was sitting on the sofa with Mina. He was leaning in, murmuring something that made her let out a soft, genuine giggle. Then, with a tenderness you had never once received, he reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Jungkook was never like this. Even in your most intimate moments, he was a man of cold mechanics and calculated pleasure. Seeing him offer Mina a glimpse of warmth that he denied his own wife felt like a physical blow to the chest.
The moment was shattered by Namjoon’s voice as he descended the stairs. Mina flinched, pulling away instantly, while Jungkook’s posture snapped back into a rigid, defensive line.
"It was wonderful catching up," Namjoon said, his eyes tracking the lingering tension between Jungkook and his wife. "I’m truly excited for your new project launch, Jungkook."
Jungkook regained his trademark smirk, his arrogance returning like a shield. "It’ll be the highest-earning project the firm has seen in a decade. You’d do well to watch and learn."
Namjoon’s gaze shifted to you, a predatory glint dancing in his dark eyes. "Oh, I’m watching. In fact, there are so many surprises waiting for both you and your lovely wife tomorrow."
Your blood ran cold. The way he said surprises sounded less like a promise and more like a death sentence.
Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift in the room. "Is that so? Well," he replied, his voice dripping with dangerous curiosity, "I’d certainly like to know what those are."
-------
The day of the launch felt like a slow walk toward a guillotine. You moved through the crowded ballroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive champagne and the stifling ego of the city’s elite. You felt like a ghost haunting your own life, watching the high-society vultures circle Jungkook. They laughed at his jokes and nodded at his business brilliance.
Jungkook finally took the stage, the spotlight catching the sharp, arrogant lines of his suit. He looked every bit the king of the empire he had built on cold steel and calculated mergers. "Today," he began, his voice booming with a confidence that made your skin crawl, "we don't just launch a project; we redefine the industry."
As he spoke, you spotted Namjoon entering from the back. He walked with Mina on his arm, the picture of a supportive cousin. When his eyes locked onto yours, he didn't look away. Instead, he flashed a slow, devastating smirk, the look of a man about to pull the trigger.
"And now," Jungkook announced, gesturing grandly to the massive LED screen behind him, "a first look at the future."
The room went dark. The crowd leaned in, prepared for high-tech blueprints and glossy architectural renders.
The screen flickered to life, but there was no music. No corporate logo.
Instead, the speakers hummed with the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing. The image resolved into grainy, high-definition footage of a hotel suite. It was unmistakable. It was Jungkook his back arched, his muscles tensed, stripped of his dignity and his designer suit. And beneath him, her fingers dug into his shoulders as she let out a shattered, desperate moan, was Mina.
The silence that followed was deafening, lasting only a second before the first gasp broke the air. Then, the room erupted.
"Is that...?"
"With his own cousin’s wife?"
"My God, the scandal..."
The whispers rose like a swarm of hornets. You stood frozen, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle a cry of pure shock. You knew your marriage was a lie, and you knew Jungkook was cold, but the sheer depravity of him sleeping with Namjoon's wife the very woman he had been so tender with just days ago, turned your stomach.
On stage, the "King" was crumbling. The blue light of the sex tape washed over Jungkook’s horrified face, highlighting every drop of sweat. "Turn it off!" he roared, his voice cracking as he lunged toward the tech booth. "Stop the feed! Now!"
Mina looked as though she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. She stood paralyzed, the flickering image of her own betrayal projected thirty feet high for the world to see.
But your eyes drifted to Namjoon.
He didn't look angry. He didn't look like a heartbroken husband. He stood in the center of the chaos, perfectly still, watching Jungkook’s frantic, pathetic attempts to hide the truth. Namjoon looked like a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction.
He had known. He had known all along that Jungkook was sleeping with his wife. And he had used you, your body, your fear, your secrets simply as a distraction to keep Jungkook’s eyes off the trap until it was too late to escape.
The rivalry wasn't just about business. It was a total, scorched-earth war. And as the crowd’s cameras flashed, capturing the downfall of the man you called your husband, you realized that in Namjoon’s world, everyone was collateral damage. Including you.
Synopsis: frenemies fwb and president of the student council, Jin, gets jealous of you, the head cheerleader, and miscommunication leaves him seeing red.
Warning: mdni 18+, frenemies - fwb - lovers?, requested, JINNNNNN, dirty talk, fingering, office smut, Jin is a little mean, cheerleader! reader, miscommunication, Jin doesn't let you explain smh, multiple orgasms, a confession??? a smidge of dacryphilia and probably other tags should be added but idk
wc: 2.4k
It takes a lot for Jin to be so strong, so composed. As the president of the student council on campus he knew everybody, and everyone looked to him to be calm and collected in a crisis.
But there was only so much he could take.
And his eyes naturally darken as he watches the scene before him. Everyone was in the gymnasium rehearsing for the prep rally for tomorrow. And it was his job to oversee everything.
Marching band was practicing outside, the council was organizing all their speaking points on the empty bleachers, the jocks mingled to the side and it seemed everyone was staring as the college’s cheerleaders practicing in the middle of the basketball court.
Actually, it seems like everyone was looking at you.
Jin’s jaw clenches, the vein in his neck prominent as he watches you dance in your little uniform with the rest of your team. You’re shouting out counts, your team unified and moving as one as you go through your routine for the nth time.
Your pleated skirt is way too short, barely covering your ass, your cheer top hugging your body and making it very hard for Jin to concentrate, and it doesn’t help that you’re throwing smiles not just to him but anyone who drools over you. It makes Jin’s fingers curl tighter over his clipboard, trying to breathe through his nose as you end the routine with a wink that has all the men in the room hollering.
No one knows that Jin knows what you look like underneath him, how pretty you sound begging, how your eyes water and spill tears when he’s got you trembling with pleasure. No one knows because you two acted like sworn enemies -you were sworn enemies - until that one night turned into something more, something with no strings attached. And it’s got his entire body stiffening when your team takes a break to drink water and stretch, that you’re being approached by the captain of the football team. Jin knows he has no right to say something, to do something, you weren’t dating, you were just fucking.
And Jin wants to roll his eyes, because what a fucking cliche. But he can’t. Not when you’re smiling sweetly at the guy who has more muscles than brains and leads you out into the hallway. Jin’s heart leaps, his mouth dries, and he barely has an excuse when he stumbling after both of you with a flush to his cheeks.
He doesn’t give himself time to back out of his reckless behavior; his only thought is you. You, who used to push all his buttons (still do), you, who teasingly mocked his “by the book” personality before you learned he was more than that, you, who had somehow crawled underneath his skin and who he couldn’t get out of his system even if he wanted to (he doesn’t).
And maybe that’s why, when he turns the corner of the hallway and sees the dumb jock waving happily towards you as he walks away that Jin sees red.
He’s grabbing your arm with a scowl, lips pulled back into a sneer. “What do we have here?” Before you are even given a chance to explain yourself, he’s dragging you down the hall, his mind racing as you stumble to keep up with his pace. “Bet you’re loving everyone’s eyes on you, huh?”
Your face flushes, and your fingers dig into Jin’s bicep as you realize you’re heading to his office. As president of the student council, your small college gave Jin his own personal office, and you had been in there plenty of times. Before, it was to make snarky remarks to the handsome president, just to get a reaction from the man, but then it turned into sucking his cock after practice when he was still in his office, or riding him on the old couch shoved in the corner of his office when you needed a distraction.
“Jin, don’t be ridiculous-“ Ridiculous? Ridiculous!
Jin shoves you in first before he follows, his door shutting close behind him. His jaw clenches, and his fingers twitch. How can you be infuriating but so beautiful? He just wants to kiss your bratty mouth until you’re forgetting your own name and only remembering his.
“I can’t.”
Jin’s head bows and you’re left blinking at him owlishly. “Huh?”
You watch him inhale sharply, as if in defeat, and when he meets your eyes, your jaw slacks open. He looks at you earnestly, his cheeks flushed like the tops of his ears, “I can’t watch someone approach you and think they have a chance.”
The room stills, you can only hear your heart racing in your ears or maybe it’s Jin’s you hear.
Oh.
Oh.
It’s as if a weight is lifted from Jin’s shoulders. The confession opened a floodgate of emotions Jin shoved into a bottle in his head, hoping it wouldn’t surface until it did.
“Every time you walk into a room, I lose my train of thought. Every time you argue with me, I forget what the meeting was even about. You push my buttons on purpose.” You watch as Jin runs a hand through his hair. “You drive me insane,” he whispered. “And I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
"Then stop pretending."
Jin whips his eyes back onto yours, a little wide, a little crazed, wondering if you're joking, but you really aren't. You chew your bottom lip, a softness in your eyes as you lay your cards out before you. "Say it," Jin's muscles flex, his last thread of sanity barely holding him together. "Say that again."
"Stop pretending."
Three things happen at once. One, Jin stalks towards you in less than five steps, crashing into you like it was inevitable. His lips claim yours in a kiss that takes your breath away. Two, blindly, because Jin refuses to separate from you, he scatters everything off his desk and lifts you on top of it. And three, Jin is rougher than usual as he spreads your thighs open.
"You better not be playing with me," he growls, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck as he pulls your ass to the edge of his desk. "I didn't forget you flirting with that guy," he huffed, and your mind spins as he bunches your pleated skirt around your waist, pulling your little shorts and panties off in one go. "Did you think I wouldn't see how he looked at you? How all of them look at you when you're wearing this little uniform?"
Jin's fingers drag along your wet folds, causing your head to fall back, your moans reverberating in the small office. His teeth nip your earlobe, and your legs fall farther apart, letting him stroke his fingers up your folds to your clit. "Wait- oh, oh, Jin!"
"No one can make you feel this good, Pretty." His words caress across your neck, and goosebumps race down your arms and legs. Jin's rubbing your clit in sloppy circles, keeping a pressure he knows you like, and your pussy drips with another wave of arousal. "You were made for me and only me."
Your hands hold onto his forearm, feeling the muscles flex and move as he thrusts two thick fingers into your drooling cunt. "M-made for you." His digits stuff you, stretching your gummy walls with each stroke, brushing a few sweet spots inside you that cause your pussy to squelch filthily.
Jin chuckles, cooing almost condescendingly, as you easily melt in his hold. He knows your body better than you at this point. And it's adorable how you try to squeeze your thighs together, to attempt to squirm away from his precise fingers. He's got you opening up for him, your cunt taking a third finger from him as his other hand pushes you back onto his desk.
His free hand grabs the back of your knee, pushing it up to your chest as he towers over you, staring at your pretty pussy slurping his fingers so greedily. "Yeah, say it. Tell me who makes you feel this good, tell me who you belong to."
He plays you like an instrument, coaxing the prettiest moans and whines from your puffy lips, his fingers curling deep until you're a babbling mess. "You!" You shriek, your stomach fluttering with a tingling warmth that causes your walls to clamp tighter around his digits. "You, only you." Your eyes well with tears, and when Jin twists his hand to meanly press his thumb to your throbbing clit, you sob.
Your thighs squeeze his forearm, your back arching as your mouth drops to let out your pretty cries. You cum heavily, flooding Jin's hand and wrist as you orgasm. And Jin smirks, helping you ride it out, his fingers smacking over and over again into your sweet spots until your eyes are as glossy as your lips.
When he's satisfied, he pulls his fingers from your sopping cunt with a lewd squelch. His fingers, palm, and wrist were covered in your sweet, syrupy slick. And your thighs quiver still in the aftershocks as he makes eye contact with you, his tongue licking the arousal on his hands with long, broad strokes, groaning like your pussy would be the sweetest dessert he could eat.
"Jin, please," your voice shakes, tears slip down your cheeks, staining your pretty makeup. You're a mess, and it's got Jin's cock jerking in his slacks. His fingers made quick work to free his aching cock.
"Yeah, say my name and keep those pretty thighs open for me." His fingers were wet with his saliva and your slick, and he wraps them around his length, stroking his big cock as he stood between your shaking thighs. He guides the head of his bulbous mushroom-shaped tip between your puffy folds, swirling the tip around your bundle of nerves to make your hips buck up pathetically. "C'mon, tell me again, who can make you feel this good?" Jin's cock notches on your wet entrance, and his hips push forward, splitting you open slowly. "Say it, c'mon."
Your gasp is choked off, the feeling of his cock stuffing you slowly, forcing you to feel every vein and ridge of his pretty cock drag along your sensitive gummy walls too much for you. Your mouth waters, and you can barely gurgle out the word, "you."
"What was that, Pretty?" Jin hooks both of your legs over his shoulders, bending your body to his will, and making your cunt squeeze his shaft even tighter. "Say it, say my name, couldn't hear ya."
Your tears flow down your cheeks, and you're clutching onto the edge of his desk. "Jin!" You mewl, "only you, Jin! Oh fuck, it's too much! Oh, oh-" your eyes roll to the back of your head, and Jin's hips pull back.
"That's it, only me. You only need to remember that. Gonna make sure only my name lives rent-free in that pretty head of yours." And then he's slamming back in. In one long stroke, he's stuffing you full and living to his words, fucking any thoughts you had in your head out until you're thinking of him only him.
Him. Jin, whose hips smack against your ass, the skin-on-skin contact echoing in the office with your moans and your pussy's squelches. Jin, whose cock forces your walls to mold to his shape with each bullying thrust he gives you. His tip smooching your cervix with dirty kisses, which has his precum sploshing against your walls, painting them white with wads of his gooey seed.
Your brain short-circuits. Your mouth gaping open, your tongue lolling out as you drool. The sight only makes Jin coo again. "Aw, too much for you? Pretty head all empty now, stuck on how good my cock makes you feel." He taunts, and you're whining gibberish, forced to meet each of his nasty thrusts when he grabs your hips and pulls you onto his cock again and again. "Look how easily your body responds to me. You're mine, all mine."
"Yours," you parrot stupidly, the knot in your stomach tightening until it snaps, and then you're chanting. "Yours, yours, yours."
Your gummy walls suck his cock deeper, your orgasm milking him until his hips stutter. He lets out a delirious huff of a laugh, watching in awe as you gush on his shaft, leaving a creamy ring around his base while you babble incoherently . "Yeah, there we go- take everything I give you."
That's the only warning you are given by him before his cock swells, twitching against your spasming walls as his tip spills rope after rope of his cum inside your weeping cunt. He paints your walls white, overfilling your pussy until his cum is forced to seep out and pool onto his desk.
And it's now Jin, mumbling, chanting, "take it, take it, take all of it."
When the rush of both of your orgasms ends, both of you pant, struggling to catch your breath as he slips from you. More of his seed drips from between your thighs, and you finally speak up. "Jin." You're blinking your blurry eyes to clear up your vision, your legs feeling like jello. Jin absentmindedly rubs your quivering thighs, humming a 'hmm?' And now that he's a little more relaxed, you explain what he had seen in the hallway. Your smile is growing more amused by the minute, watching Jin understand what you're saying.
Jin feels a little dumb when you tell him the jock was just thanking you for setting him up with one of your cheerleading friends, Min-ji. And it takes him a moment to realize someone is knocking on his office door.
"Jin?" The muffled voice on the other end of the door sounds like the treasurer of the student council. "Don't mean to bother you, but- it's," there is shuffling, and both you and Jin look at each other when the treasurer mentions your name. "Some of the cheerleaders can't find her; they are supposed to go back to practicing, but she's disappeared!"
You cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing the giggles that want to escape as Jin looks to the ceiling in defeat. "Yeah, okay, okay- go uh, go back to the gymnasium, and I'll look for her number and try calling."
What a lame excuse.
But it works, the footsteps of the treasurer getting quieter as he follows his president's commands. And you're hopping off his desk, feeling the mess between your thighs drip messily as you slide your panties and booty shorts back on, fixing your outfit as much as you can. You plan to stop by the bathroom to hopefully fix your makeup. You give Jin a wink, walking towards the door, "You better call me, Mr.President." You giggle, but your eyes soften, making sure Jin looks at you when you speak up, "I meant it - I'm yours."
A/N: Jaaaannnnnnnnnnnnn - Jin, Jin, Jin, Jin, love Jin. lmao
As always, comments, kudos, and feedback are appreciated!
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