i am terrible at uploading, and lately theres been nothing to read (well for me) so heres a list of my 10/10 fics that can keep you occupied
s: smut / f: fluff / a: angst
ONE SHOTS - JEON JUNGKOOK
The Love Bug by @jungkxook (spiderman!jjk x reader) (s, f, a)
summary: every night, jungkook puts on the red mask and flings himself confidently into perilous danger; but that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit seems to fail him whenever it comes to you
What if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime (neighbour!jungkook x single mum! reader) (s, f, a)
Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.
Movie goers (additional drabble 20/20) by @missenu (s, f, a) (neighbour!jungkook)
Summary: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.
Under the mistletoe by @dreamersparacosm (s, f, a)
Summary: Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holiday—this year, however, you’ve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirée, and there’s no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
Why are you on tinder? by @jeonette (f, a)
Summary: in which you decide to pull what you think is a harmless prank on your boyfriend by telling him you found his friend on tinder, only for things to go painfully wrong.
Strictly platonic by @jeonqkooks (s, f, a)
Summary: Sometimes, Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own.
Handyman by @pjminii (s, f)
Summary: your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
The pink pill by @dollfaceksj (s)
Summary: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
Will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea (roomate!jjk x reader) (s, f)
Summary: so what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…
Trends (extras) by @kookochan (s, f)
Summary: you try some trends and pranks on your lovely boyfriend, but he loves you so much that he can't be mad at you.
Not so casual by @voyter (roomate!jungkook x reader) (s, f)
Summary: with one bathroom in the apartment and jungkook’s strict streaming schedule, he’s left with no choice but to join you in the shower.
Current boyfriend by @girlygguk (s, f)
Summary: the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny
Pavloved by @httpknjoon (f)
Summary: When you accidentally conditioned your friend, Jungkook, through your favorite coffee candy.
PAWS & POUTS by @gukcnt (f)
Summary: in which jungkook gets you the kitty you've always wanted — only to realize he may not be your number one anymore.
00.01% chance by @ctrlhope (hybrid!jungkook x reader) (s)
Summary: His heat is telling him he needs to go deeper. That he needs to do more. That he needs to breed.
Apologise first by @cupidsbling (s, f, a)
Summary: You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first
First date with Jungkook by @kjhmyg (f)
Summary: this one didn't have a summary lol but its basically him screwing up and being a wreck on your first date (it's adorable)
A drunk jungkook is a sweet jungkook by @junqive (f)
Summary: he's really damn stupid it's cute
My lucky star by @jiminsafairy (s, f) (hyrid!jungkook)
summary: when your best friend appears at your door begging for help, who are you to deny it?
SERIES
Rough Edges by @kjhmyg (s, f, a) (THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAV)
Summary: when you uncover your boyfriend's private life, a deep dive into it sucks you in as you try to help save him from himself.
Swinging by a fine line by @hongcherry (spiderman!jungook) (s, f)
Summary: Spider-Man’s role was easy: save everyone, fight the criminals, don’t drop out of school, don’t expose his identity, and make time for his girlfriend. What was so difficult?
Mutual Help by @personasintro (s, f, a)
Summary: in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps with you sexual desires⏤he calls it mutual help.
Assistant Jungkook by @starlight-deepestnight (f, a) (smau)
Summary: Jungkook is your assistant, everyone knows he's in love with you. Jungkook knows he's in love with you. Sadly your lack of awareness and awkward nature come in between you.
BBY DADDY SERIES by @muniimyg (s, f, a) (smau + text)
Summary: co-parents that fuck
BOUND BY VOWS by @gukcnt (s, f, a) (arranged marriage)
Summary: your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
Lost cause? by @kooksbunnnn (a) (second chance)
Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you.
No warranty by @dreamersparacosm (s, f) (blue collar!jungkook)
Summary: Namhae Valley was supposed to be your definition of a “break,” a vacation from all the stress you’ve endured at work. What you didn’t plan for? A broken-down car and a grease-stained, smug mechanic who comes with it.
JUST THIS ONCE by @ggukivrse (s, f, a)
Summary: when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.
Worst behaviour by @luvismenu (s, f) (smau + text)
summary: everyone knows you as the good girl / nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend / campus favorite fuckboy ; jeon jungkook
SMOKE SRITE by @inthelow (s)
Summary: you and Jungkook aren’t that close, you were supposedly be dating his best friend… then why is he about to fuck you in the back of his car?.
CHERRY WAVES by @jkin3d (f, a)
Summary: you find out what happens when you get paired with the town reject in a chemistry project… spoiler, he’s not the ‘devil reincarnate’.
Universial truths / (toxic ver.) by @wintrbears (s, f, a)
Summary: You took the risk of falling in love in a world where your perfect match is decided for you by the universe itself. When a name you never could've predicted appears on your wrist, you struggle to resist the intense connection between you and your soulmate.
Internet girl by @jeonette (s)
Summary: in which you move into a new apartment, only to find yourself at war with the neighbour next door. he’s insufferably arrogant as he is handsome. but between settling in and dealing with the jerk next door, what happens if you find out that the jerk next door is the guy you’ve been sexting online?
How to get a guy by @taeshobipop (s, f, a)
Summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
ONE SHOTS - KIM TAEHYUNG
Runner by @vsthv (s, f)
Summary: after a rough break up with the immature man that you thought loved you but ended up cheating on you, you turned to running. it became your coping mechanism. it helped you physically and mentally. you’ve never really noticed the man that would occasionally pass you, jogging every day. until one day, when he asked you to take a picture of him in front of the sunset.
Your messy hair by @vsthv (s, f, a) (blue collar!taehyung)
Summary: you love your boyfriend’s messy hair. you love him. for who he is, and for how hardworking he is.
Hades paints by @vantaenims (f)
Summary: All it took is an off key violin version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for you to possibly grow more hatred for your blue haired neighbor but what if your favorite Instagram Painter happens to be that same person.
Exchanging Heat by @jinfizz (s, f)
Summary: When your roommate drops out right before the end of the semester and leaves you high and dry for next month’s rent, you’re forced to turn to craigslist to find an absolute stranger to save you from financial ruin. The shy Korean exchange student you find to replace her seems nice enough despite the language barrier, but what will happen when the heat cuts off one fateful evening, and you’re forced to turn to each other for warmth?
Juicy by @milk-moonbunnies (s, f)
Summary (req): taehyung coming home in the morning to devour MC after a drunk night out with the other members who FaceTimed her to show a drunk Tae crying cause he couldn't eat her pussy
Tripping on skies, sipping waterfalls by @bangtae-sohotddaeng (s, f, a)
Summary: One drink too many at Hoseok’s Halloween party, and you’ve blanked out on the entire night that followed. Now, who’s gonna fill you in when Taehyung looks one second away from breaking into tears when you bring it up with him? From running across the university campus in remnants of your vampire outfit, to dealing with your downtrodden boyfriend’s disappointed stares - you’re left with one hell of a day, and zero recollections.
The Good Boy Diaries by @borathae (s, f)
Summary: When Taehyung realises that you call him Good Boy whenever he is being helpful, he can’t stop himself from being extra productive in the household.
SERIES
Starry night by @kooppss (s, f, a)
Summary: Taehyung was your high school crush. Fuck that—he was everyone’s high school crush. But that was twelve years ago. What does it matter that he’s now a fellow director at your company? It’s not like you have anything to do with him. He probably doesn’t even remember you… does he?
Love at firsk oink by @glodenclosetau (f) (smau + text)
Summary: when taehyung finds himself having to hide his brand new pet from his housemates, he turns to his trusty neighbour to help him keep his cover.
ONE SHOTS - KIM NAMJOON
Placebo Effect by @joons-cinnamon-bun (s, f)
Summary: Namjoon knows you’re a stubborn human being. (Birds of a feather, and all that.) He’s been with you long enough to know exactly what that looks like—whether you’re fighting for him, against him, or just for the sake of it. (Which, if he’s being honest, might be his favorite.)So when you insist that the so-called aphrodisiac pills are nothing but placebo, he doesn’t really argue. He just gives you little push...Now, that’s not to say he expected you to overdose on them just to prove a point! But you do. Because that’s the kind of person he goes for, apparently. What follows is...messy. Hot. Deasperate. Hilarious. (But only after he makes sure you aren’t going to go into cardiac arrest)
HOW WAS YOUR DAY? by @kooksbunnnn (s)
Summary: Just namjoon fingering you in his studio as he asks you about your day.
ONE SHOTS - KIM SEOKJIN
Like this? by @jeongi (s)
Summary: your neighbour, seokjin, teaches you exactly how he likes to be touched.
OT7 FICS
Don't want your sympathy by @sketchguk (s, f) (jungkook x reader x namjoon)
Summary: jeongguk is like an annoying little brother to you, but nevertheless, there’s nothing in this world you wouldn’t do for your sweet, innocent best friend. so what are you supposed to do when he wants to watch your boyfriend fuck you senseless? say no?
PINNED BETWEEN THEM by @gukcnt (s) (jungkook x reader x taehyung)
Summary: what was supposed to be a study night turns into a dangerous game of dominance and desire when jungkook and taehyung trap you between them in the back of their car.
a/n: credits go to all these amazing authors who i love to read. unfortunately for some reason tumblr wasn't letting me tag some of them but I've done my best. I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did. also im a freak i like smut
Tags: explicit sexual content, manhandling, size kink, big d joon🤤, fluff!!, and alot of things.
Mdni 18+
The Size Difference. Omg. This is like a whole thing for him too, He's so big – tall, broad, big hands, big thighs, big dick. And he LOVES the contrast with you. Loves picking you up like you weigh nothing, loves how his hand can almost wrap around both your wrists, loves caging you under him and making you feel surrounded. It's not just a physical thing for him; it makes him feel protective and possessive in a way that drives him crazy.
He's not rough, but he's firm. He guides you. Moves you. Positions you. A hand on the back of your neck that's both comforting and controlling. Pulling you into his lap by your hips. Turning you over in bed with one easy motion. It's the effortless strength that's so hot. Like he's so strong he doesn't even have to try.
Hes a hot nerd. Foreplay starts at breakfast. Him telling you about a concept from a book, his eyes lighting up, his hands moving while he talks... you just sit there watching his brain work and get turned on. He'll catch you staring and get this little knowing smile. He knows. And later, he'll whisper something from that same conversation against your skin, making the whole day feel like one long, slow seduction.
His love language is 1000% physical touch, but it's claimed touch. His hand on the small of your back guides you through a crowd. Even when he's just resting a hand on your thigh while he drives, it's heavy and intentional. He needs to be connected to you.
Namjoon loves watching/being watched. He loves to observe you. Loves when u put on a show for him. He'll ask u to touch yourself for him and just watch with this focused, hungry look, like he's studying u. And he loves knowing you're watching him too – the flex of his back when he takes his shirt off, the veins on his arms. He's aware of his own effect and it's hot.
He has the patience of a saint and he uses it for evil (good evil). He'll edge you for what feels like hours, stopping every time you're close, whispering “not yet, baby” in that deep voice. He loves seeing you desperate and begging, loves the power of being the one who gives u permission to finally cum.
He leaves bruises where no one else can see. The inside of your thighs, your hips, the side of your breast. He likes seeing his fingerprints on your skin the next day. He'll kiss over them gently and say “pretty” or “mine,” and it makes you melt and shiver at the same time.
His dirty talk is so good. He doesn't just say generic stuff. It's so specific and it wrecks you. Stuff like, “I can feel you fluttering around me, so perfect,” or “You take every inch so well, like you were made for me,” or even just groaning “Fuck, you're so tight,” when he's balls-deep inside you. It's earnest and graphic and comes from him just stating what he's experiencing and it's SO hot.
And his cock.. is fucking huge, very thick and veiny. Namjoon won’t get his eyes off of the bulge his cock make on your tummy, sliding in and out of your stretched pussy. The wet noises, your desperate whimpers and pathetic pleads, begging him to slow down bcuz his cock is too big and you can’t take it. But hes not stopping, he will make you take it and stretch you to his size.
His pervert mind has fantasies about locations. His big, sturdy desk in his study, covered in his papers and books. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room at night (the blinds are closed, but it feels risky). The shower where he can pin you against the cool tiles. The couch where he was just reading peacefully before pulling you into his lap. He thinks about the setting, the ambiance. It's a whole production in his head.
Eye contact is another huge turn on for him. He will hold it while his fingers slide inside you, while he takes you deep, while he comes. It’s overwhelming.
He’ll spread your thighs with his hands, praising the stretch. “Look at that. Open so wide for me. Such a good girl.”
He loves sitting you on his massive thighs while he’s still fully clothed, just grinding you against the hard muscle of his leg until you’re a mess.
He’s obsessed with your collarbones. He’ll trace them with a blunt finger, then kiss along them. Something about their delicacy drives him crazy.
Yes, he manhandles, but he also serves. Washing your hair, massaging your feet, feeding you fruit. It’s all natural to him. He gets off on caring for you until you’re pliant.
He’ll kneel in front of you. To take off your shoes, to put your socks on. But he’ll stay there, his big hands on your calves, looking up at you with soft puppy eyes.
He’ll dress you. Put his own hoodie on you, slowly pull your panties up for you. Like his own pretty doll.
Namjoon’s very good with mixing praise and degradation. It’s all praise but it feels degrading bcuz of how specific and exposing it is:
“You were thinking about this all through dinner, weren’t you? My good, desperate girl.”
“You came just from my fingers? So sensitive for me.”
Hes a clingy sleeper. Big spoon, most of the time. His hand will cup your breast or rest possessively over your pussy in his sleep.
He’ll sometimes wake you up by already being inside you, moving slow and deep. He’ll shush you gently, “Go back to sleep, baby. Let me take care of you.” It’s the ultimate trust exercise for him.
He’ll teach u. About your own body, about sex. “This is your G-spot. Feel it? That’s how I’m going to make you squirt for me, princess.”
He might read smut to u, his deep voice bringing the words to life, his hand working between your legs.
Namjoon genuinely believes that the purest form of love is watching u fall asleep on his chest after a long day, knowing u trust him enough to let ur guard down completely, knowing that he made u feel so good, that he made u cum multiple times until your body is exhausted and satisfied with his touch ㅤ♡.
A/N: i just hit 600 followers 🥹 thank u sm my loves💕 I didn’t expect to be noticed this fast
I carried away with this hc bcuz i do study namjoon alot and i wanted to write everything ik but that would be a long series of a never ending hcs 😭 hope this was to ur expectations and req r still open!!
it's been a long week for the both of you — namjoon especially. between his early mornings and very late nights, he hasn't found a moment of time to spend with you. until tonight. and he missed you— a lot.
so you did what anyone would do, you crawl into his lap on the couch and kiss him like you've wanted all week. and part of you wants to take it slow, but fuck, that's impossible when he's been looking at you that way all night. making you shiver under his constant gaze.
he couldn't keep his eyes off you.
you hum as you move to straddle his strong thighs. his hands grasp at your hips as you start grinding on the growing bulge of his cock. namjoon lets out a deep groan.
you grab his face in both hands softly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his lips. your tongues meet messily.
already soaking, namjoon slips his cock between your folds with almost no resistance. the thick stretch never fails to make you gasp out his name. you can feel every hard inch as you begin to move.
“fuck, darling…” he breathes out.
"joon, o-oh fuck.”
his chest tenses up as you start to rock faster. “ah, there you go, baby. fuck… jus' like that f'me.”
you're whining into his mouth, his words stirring something deep within your core, this time more intense. you grind against him faster, desperate to chase the pleasure.
he growls. "shit… this pussy was made for me."
“nngh don’t stop, don't— ohhh… ”
namjoon's other hand is gripping your plush hip so hard, you'll definitely find some small marks there the next day. he harshly guides the movement of your hips, but it's clear who's the one setting the pace for tonight — and it isn't him, this round.
fucking into you deeper, he forces you to stare into each his eyes. he wants to be able to see every reaction you have.
"yeah baby," he pants out. namjoon swears you just clenched tighter around him. "you gonna ride it — fuck — like you mean it?"
"fuck, joon. you c-can't... say shit like that t'me wh—" he cuts you off with an intentionally hard thrust to tease you. "nngh fuck."
namjoon lets out a dark, low laugh. he knows exactly what he does to you. "why not darling?"
his words send a out fresh gush of your wetness around his cock.
he loved watching you lose yourself on his cock, but god, he loved watching you ride him into oblivion more than anything. it was the way your hips had a mind of their own and you didn't hide your pleasure — he felt himself folding even faster for you.
"taking my cock so good, nngh."
“joon, ‘m so c-close. keep going baby— please."
your velvet walls pulse around him so perfectly. namjoon's thrusts become even rougher, losing yourselves in the shared pleasure. he snakes a hand up to cup your breast, squeezing it roughly. you arch in response and seconds later, his mouth is hot around one of your nipples
the stimulation makes your hips rock with more vigor, getting more soaked by the second. namjoon feels like he's going insane. "ohhh fuck— yes baby, jus' like that."
the angle of his cock shifts ever so slightly and hits your spongy spot, making you see stars. "joon, please. m'gonna cum," you whine.
"so needy..."
you're gasping out his name, head thrown back and he's memorized.
you cum hard around him, moaning so sweetly. he twitches every time you clench harder around him, riding out the rest of you high and soon milking his own.
"mmh, fuck baby. did s'good for me," he growls into the side of your neck, filling you with deep strokes. his arms shake around you, breath stuttering. he doesn't pull out right away, just holds you close to him and lets the weight of your body slowly into his.
a few moments later, your breathing calms and you smile up at him. namjoon's eyes are already locked on yours, smiling softly.
after a long moment, both of your breathing calms down. you begin to push yourself off his chest. his solid arms wrapped protectively around you squeeze a little tighter feeling you shift.
synoposis: the one where Namjoon is trying to show he's down bad for you
warnings: mdni, 18+, popular! Namjoon, plus size! reader, praise, namjoon fell first, dirty talk, alcohol mentioned, multiple orgasm, protected smut, a cute love story, college au, mention of jin, mention of jimin, flirting, chain necklace, manhandle, etc.
requested: Can you write plus-size girlie fics for Namjoon and Yoongi? I appreciate plus-size rep especially when it’s for Namjoon (Yoongi too), but there aren’t tons of fics for Joon. Don’t know why the man is fine as hell☺️- inside and out.
Tagging: @gottafightwhentheysaybehave
A/N: shout out to @ahgasegotarmy116 for reading this when it was only half done and sharing similar brain cells as me! Also, ignore that I've used these photos before. I love them, okay? lol
wc: 4.3k +
Everything about Namjoon is big.
If you were to ask his friends to describe him, they’d laugh, bunching their shoulders up to give off a taller and broader stance before simply saying, “big body.”
And it was true.
Namjoon had bulked up in college, finishing long days in the gym with a workout to relieve all the stress of classes, a part-time job, and the dread that one day in the future he might actually have to get a driver’s license and not ride a bike everywhere he went.
His body had developed thick muscles, toned hips, and broad shoulders that he almost had to enter through doorways sideways to get in.
He was a big man, and only someone soft and warm could ever handle his strength.
Someone like you.
-
You didn’t believe Namjoon liked you at first.
He was tall, big, and popular. A dimple smile that made anyone who saw it swoon, he was smart too, top ten in all his classes he took.
You really didn’t think he would notice you.
I mean, you’re pretty positive he had a secret fan club of girls and guys who adored him. You’re also pretty sure the president of the club was Jeon Jungkook, but don’t quote you on that.
You were just happy to keep your head down, pass your classes, and enjoy your college life with your little friend group. You didn’t need to get roped in with the unnecessary stuff like who was popular or who was dating whom.
But that all changed when Namjoon asked if he could sit at the table you were sitting at in the campus library. You were catching up on some assignments, preparing for one that wasn't even due till the end of the month, and suddenly there he was.
Tall, three books in one hand, flashing you those dimples like there wasn’t a free table, two tables to your left.
You had thought it was a one-off situation, letting him share a table with you.
You two had quietly studied together for a few hours without even exchanging a word.
It was honestly very refreshing. And when you had finally closed your laptop, standing up to give a little stretch, you didn't even notice the way his eyes trailed over you.
You simply gathered your stuff, shoving your books and laptop in your bag as he continued to pretend to read. You didn't know he had read the same sentence from the book in front of him five times in a row at this point.
When you sling your bag over your shoulder, you finally look over at him, a soft pink dusting your cheeks with color as you speak up. "See ya in class." It's a simple, small sentence you throw out as you accidentally brush your body against his shoulder to scoot past to leave. You mentally curse the chairs being so close together, feeling your soft body rub against his firm one, while Namjoon is "thanking" whoever designed the building to allow the physical contact to happen.
And you think that's it. Nothing would change in your life other than possibly giving him a head nod in acknowledgment the next time you two were in a class together. But you were sorely mistaken.
-
Namjoon is sitting next to your usual spot in class the next time you see him. He's got his textbook out, pen twirling nonchalantly in between his long fingers as he gives you another dimpled smile in greeting, and you only stumble once while heading to your seat.
"Hey," he greets, and you try not to think about how much you spill into his space. The chairs in most of your classes weren't made for bigger-sized people, and you usually tried to keep your bag in the seat next to you so you wouldn't bother people with how you filled your seat.
But with Namjoon occupying the seat, your thigh is pressed against his, your body squeezing into the chair with a blush. "Hi," you reply softly. You were already trying to figure out how to make yourself smaller. The metal arms of the chair dig into your plush thighs, and you notice that Namjoon doesn't move his leg from yours.
His long legs are spread, his foot barely a centimeter away from your left shoe, and your mind flashes a brief thought: how would it feel to have his arm wrap around the back of your chair? To have him welcome your body into his as you two attend this class.
Instead of diving into that thought any longer than you should, you shake your head clear, not noticing the way Namjoon fails to fight his giddy smile. He tries to keep it cool, bouncing his left knee as his right knee leans into your leg. And you're distracted by Namjoon once again, noticing how comfortable he seemed next to you.
Namjoon mentally sends another "thank you" to whoever designed this college, thankful to have someone so warm and soft squishing into his space. He wonders how much better it'd be if he could just sit you on his lap, and his face flushes all the way up to his ears.
You two don't exchange another word, the professor stepping inside the room with a warm greeting.
And for the rest of the class, both of you blush, pressed into each other, trying to focus.
-
And then it becomes routine.
You would come to your Psych class to Namjoon already seated.
And like the first time, you'd squeeze into your seat, your hip bumping into his until it became natural for him to rest his elbow on the arm of your chair. He did it slowly, building up the courage to get more than just a simple greeting for you.
Eventually, you stopped furrowing your eyebrows, confused why he was sitting next to you, let alone talking to you. And it's not long before you two start passing notes. You easily grab his pen from his hand to doodle something random in the margins of his notebook during the professor's lectures, and it's the highlight of Namjoon's day when you did it.
Your dynamic progressed from notes being passed between you to him offering you a snack, and then, every Thursday, a bag of gummy bears rested on his desk as you two slowly ate them throughout class. He naturally gave you every orange-flavored bear, resting it on your open book while you traded him the pineapple-flavored bears in return. And then finally, he took the next step when the following Thursday came around.
You had figured it'd be the same routine. The class was already going by quickly as you two leaned into each other. But then Namjoon is getting up first once the class is over. He seems a little nervous. You had started understanding his body language a bit better as time moved on. Still, you never seemed to think much of the lingering touches when he borrows a pen or when he slides his notebook over for you to draw random swirls in the top corner absentmindedly.
Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, his eyes not meeting yours as he watches the class begin to empty. "There's a- There's a party tomorrow night."
You blink.
A party? And then you remember.
Yes, a frat party for spring break. It had been the talk on campus this week; everyone was excited for a weekend party to welcome the start of spring break, the small vacation away from classes needed so much for everyone on campus.
And when Namjoon looks down at you, still seated, you're giving him doe eyes as you nod your head - and his heart squeezes.
"I think I'm gonna go," Namjoon adds and then quickly rushes, "to the party. I think I'm gonna go to the party." His fingers twitch, but you give him a pretty smile, your lips curving up in amusement as you nod your head again.
"Yeah?" You stand up and know that if you barely move an inch, you'd be pressed up against him. You give him another cute look as you tilt your head up to look at him, and decide to give him the chance to tell you this isn't what you were thinking. "Maybe I'll see you there?"
You know you're flirting, and you don't know if you should be - you don't know that he's truly catching what you're putting down, but you decide to give him another smile as you leave before him, looking forward to Friday night more than ever before.
And Namjoon groans the moment you're gone, he stands alone in the empty classroom, his brain replaying your coy smile over and over again.
-
You can't believe you're showing up at this party, but then you see his dimple smile flash in your mind alongside all the small moments in class that made you feel warm throughout your body. It's anticipation, it's undeniable now that you have caught feelings, and you feel a little nervous as you walk up Greek Row.
The party is in full swing, with crowds of people lingering on the front porch and lawn as you get closer. The music is already loud from where you stand across the street, and you just know the house shakes on the inside as you watch groups of people spilling out while more saunter in.
Your stomach flips, butterflies fluttering inside your tummy as you really think about this.
If anything, if you read the signals wrong, you can still have fun and tell your friends you officially attended a college party, even if it took you basically four years to do so.
And that's what gets you stepping inside.
The house is packed, and people are everywhere. The entry hallway, the stairs leading to the second floor, the little glimpse of the kitchen you can see towards the back of the house, and the living room, most of all, are packed with dancing bodies. All the couches had been moved along the walls to give space in the middle of the room for people to dance, and a mock DJ booth was set up in the right corner of the living room, where you could see one of the fraternity brothers acting as DJ.
Strobes of lights flashed from purple to blue, red, and green, changing to match the beat of the song currently playing as people bumped and grind already drunk off of cheap alcohol provided from the kitchen. You weren't sure if the smoke swirling in the rooms was from a fog machine or if it came from weed that you knew was being smoked inside another room, but it was the cherry on top of the cake for a classic frat party aesthetic.
It was a little overwhelming, to be honest, and you made your way to the kitchen to get a shot of courage before you tried to see if Namjoon was here.
You didn't know Namjoon was sitting on one of those couches in the living room, a drink in his hand while he tried to nonchalantly keep an eye on the front door. He had been at this party for a while now, his eyes flickering to the streams of people endlessly coming and going, in hopes it would be you walking through the door.
And when he finally did see you, he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face.
-
Namjoon is able to catch up with you in the kitchen. You're standing there, a little lost, as your eyes scan all the bottles lined up on the counter. A lot of cheap alcohol, and a punch bowl that was mysteriously filled with a blue liquid you weren't sure about.
"I wouldn't drink it," Namjoon hums, and you twirl to see him on your left. He's giving you that dimple smile again, his body relaxed as he stands close to you. He looks good. He always looks good. But he looks really good tonight.
He's wearing a graphic t-shirt, jeans, with a chained bracelet that went with his chained necklace. It glints in the overhead light of the kitchen, and it's then that you realize you're staring too long.
"And what would you recommend?" You ask, you haven't had a sip of alcohol yet, but you could feel your body hum, slightly leaning closer to Namjoon as he bit his lip. Your eyes flicker to his lips from the action, and your own lips part before you meet his gaze again.
"Nothing," he smirks, and you can feel the heat that comes from him as he tilts his head. "But do you want to take a shot with me?"
-
One shot turns into three, and you feel a little buzz thrumming under your fingertips as Namjoon leads you back to the living room. You try not to focus on the way his hand rests on your lower back as he guides you through the waves of people. But you do notice how many people greet him.
It's not surprising; you knew Namjoon was popular, but it was still interesting to see how many people said his name or nodded in his direction as he stayed close to you. It seemed the majority of the people knew him or of him, and silently followed him with their eyes as you two made your way back to one of the couches.
You notice Jin, a friend of Namjoon's, already sitting on one of them. He's nursing a drink in his hand when you two approach and gives you a charming grin. "And how does Namjoon know you?" His lips turn up in an amused grin, knowing eyes flashing from you to Namjoon, whose ears burn red. You sit, smiling at the older friend, and try not to react as Namjoon sits so close to you. But you fail, your thighs squeezing together as you give your own charming smile back to Jin.
"Psych with Volkov."
Jin winces, knowing how tough the professor could be, and nods his head. "Say no more, your next shot is on me."
-
True to Jin's word, your next shot is from him, and you two become quick friends as more of Namjoon's friends come around. And as the night goes on, you become more and more relaxed - leaning into Namjoon as you listen to Jimin talk about the projects he needs to work on during spring break. You would complain too if you had to work on schoolwork instead of taking a break like everyone else.
But soon enough, the couches become crowded, and everyone is trying to squeeze together before Namjoon literally takes you into his hands. "C'mere," he mumbles, and your face flushes from how easily he lifts you and places you onto his lap to make room for more people to hang out. Your weight settles on him, and you're a little drunk but not enough to overthink it.
"Wait," Your blush reaches your ears as Namjoon doubles down by wrapping a strong arm around your waist, keeping you against him as you squirm a little. "Everyone is looking." You mumble out, your back is against his broad chest as warmth pools in your lower stomach, and you are acutely aware of the way his large hand rests on your stomach.
You feel him laugh softly, little warm huffs tickling the back of your neck as he holds you tighter. "Who cares? Everyone's drunk. If they're looking, then they just see how pretty you look on my lap."
He says it so easily, so carefree, like it was only natural that you'd be in his lap. He says it like it's obvious you should be with him, and that makes your head get a little fuzzy from the thought of it. His words echo in your head a few times that you can't hide the smile that dances on your lips, and maybe it's the alcohol that makes your tongue a little loose, but you can't help but turn your head a little sideways to look at him. "Yeah? Are there any other positions you'd think I'd look pretty in?"
-
Namjoon’s eyes are hooded when he looks down at you. He's focused on the way your body squishes under his large hands, molding you to him as he has you lie on your back.
Your legs are straining up onto his shoulders, your full breasts spilling from the sides as your knees bend under the pressure of Namjoon’s body leaning over yours. He was folding you in half, making your thigh muscles burn as your lungs shook to breathe properly. All your rolls and curves were squeezed together under the stretch, and your head spun with the way he was able to manhandle you so easily.
Namjoon had always said he could bench press your weight as a warm-up, but you hadn’t taken it to heart. It always made a soft blush form on your cheeks as you nodded your head during your Psych class, dismissing his comment until he physically proved you wrong now.
Your pretty pussy clenched around nothing as Namjoon smirks down at you. His silver chain dangled between the two of you as his big body draped over yours, and you’re already sucking in another deep breath when you feel Namjoon guide his cock between your plush thighs.
"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this." He murmurs, his voice almost sounding breathless as he guides the fat tip of his cock between your puffy folds. You can't see the way your pussy drools, mixing your arousal with his precum or that it's glossing his cock with a wet sheen that makes his balls tense from just the sight of it. But you do feel him.
Namjoon is big, just like everything else about him, and you can feel the weight of his cock as he presses his hips forward, sliding his cock between your chubby cunt until the tip nudges your clit. Each time he knocks the head of his cock into your sensitive bundle of nerves, your thighs twitch, and your jaw drops from the tingles of electricity shooting all the way through your body.
You're everything he had imagined and then some.
You're softer, your skin dipping to the hold he has on your body. The weight of your legs on his shoulders grounds him while he gets lost in the way your pretty cunt drools all over his cock. He hasn't even done anything yet, and you're coating him with your sweet slick. He can't wait to taste you, but right now, he needs you first.
Mentally, he promises to take his time next time. He wants to map every curve of your body with his tongue and then his fingers, but when you plead his name with a whine, he can't deny you. He'd been wanting this longer than you probably knew, and it doesn't take him long to lean on his knees, stretching your legs open as his cock notches on your entrance.
Then he's giving you something to really stretch over. The first few inches of his cock pressing in leaves you gasping. Your toes curl, your mouth gapes, and your eyes widen as he bullies his way inside slowly. You can feel every inch, every dip and ridge of his cock maze through your gummy walls until you're grabbing onto his biceps for mercy.
"Oh, oh!" Your head falls back, and Namjoon smirks as he holds one of your legs under the knee to open you up wider as your other leg slips off his shoulder. Your eyes are already glossing over, and he's never been more turned on than right now with you.
You're warmer, wetter, taking him better than he could have imagined, and it makes his stomach flex as he listens to the way you cry for him. Both you and your pretty pussy are talking back incoherently when he finally bottoms out. "Fuck baby, I think we might need to do this every day," Namjoon huffs, and your pussy clenches around him in agreement. "Heh- you'd like that, huh? Do you want to fuck you until your body remembers the shape of me days later, Baby?"
"Oh fuck, please, please-" Your eyes roll back just as his hips push backwards, sliding out until just his tip remains. He leans back to see how shiny you left his cock with your slick before he surges forward, knocking the breath from you once more.
He doesn't have to worry about being too rough; your body moves with his like you were meant just for him. And he tells you that too, as he begins to carve the shape of him inside your pretty pussy as he promised. Shivers run down your spine straight to your sopping cunt, your hole fluttering around his length as he picks up the pace gradually. You take the heavy weight he throws into every thrust with a sweet whimper, your nails digging into his arms as his fat tip smacks into your plush cervix with a filthy kiss.
Your swollen folds meet the tufts of dark hair at his base, and you keen at the way his cock massages all the right spots inside you. Your mouth hangs open, drool forming at the corner of your lips as he abuses the sweet spot that makes you see stars with your eyes open. "You're squeezin' me so tightly, you really don't want me to leave, huh?" Namjoon's words only make your head spin more, your hands clutching to his arms, the bedsheets, his shoulder - anywhere to ground you to reality as he builds the knot in your stomach tighter and tighter.
You never thought that the day you two studied together in the library would end up like this, with Namjoon splitting you open with his cock, his fingers digging into your plush thigh and hip as he fucks you, but you're so happy it did. You can feel his balls slap against your ass, the sounds of skin hitting skin resonating with your whines, and it's too much.
"M'gonna- fuck just like that, just like that!" Your chubby cunt slurps his cock deeper, gripping tighter and making it harder for him to leave as his tip swirls a heart against your sweet spot, and just as your brain realizes what Namjoon has done, your vision whitens. You can barely warn him, "m'cumming - oh fuck - oh my god!"
Your pussy gushes, pulsing around Namjoon so violently that he almost cannot keep fucking into you. Your walls flutter, milking his shaft as your brain blanks; the only coherent thought in your mind is him. Namjoon, just Namjoon, as you tremble underneath him.
Namjoon stares at you in awe, the image of your lewd expression crossing over your face searing into his mind as you cum. And the feeling of your body melting under his as he grinds his hips into yours is something he didn't know he needed until now. He fucks you through your orgasm, praising you for taking him so well, how he's wanted this for so long. He tells you how pretty you look cumming on his cock, that he wants to feel you cum on his fingers and tongue too - and it's not long before your orgasm subsides, only to be built back up as he lets your legs fall apart while his toned hips rut into you harder.
You can only hold onto the bedsheets and his back as he drapes his body over yours. You two are pressed hip to hip, stomach to stomach, as he slides in deeper, his hands resting on either side of your head as he makes your pussy squelch with each thrust. He's got you caged in, making you feel each slide forward until the familiar knot in your stomach twists again, and your brain fogs up. He reduces you to just saying his name like a chant, half-broken between gasps as you whimper, "Joon! Mmph, ngh Joon!"
When your pussy clamps around him the second time, your orgasm triggers his own, and his hips stay flush against your ass as he groans lowly. His cock swells, throbbing as he cums heavily while your walls pulse around him. It makes his own eyes roll to the back of his head, your addictive cunt sucking him deeper.
And you're no better, your thighs twitch around his waist, your breath coming up short while you feel him press his weight onto you. You can feel each jerk of his cock along your gummy walls, and you whimper when he eventually begins to slide out. You can feel the loss of him almost immediately as he slips the condom off, both of you panting as you pathetically squeeze around nothing.
Namjoon throws the condom in the trash, disappearing to the bathroom for a moment before he returns with a wet rag. His breaths are still labored like yours as he gently cleans you up, his fingers massaging your quivering thighs as he does so. When he's done, he easily slides into his bed next to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close.
"I meant it."
You blink, turning to face him as your leg hooks over his. His hand rests on your lower back, keeping you pressed against him as you tilt your head up to see him.
"I've been wanting this for a long time." Your heart flutters at his words, and your cheeks darken as he continues. "I also meant it when I said we might need to do this every day."
You smile, giggling, and are thankful that it's spring break because you know Namjoon is going to be true to his word. By the time spring break is over, he'll know how you look cumming on his fingers, his tongue, and any other position he can get you in.
pairing. idol!namjoon x casualfan!reader, unexpected encounter
warnings. smoking, drinking, & partying (no drugs!), oral & penetration, unprotected, public make out, car foreplay, fingering, rough sex, multiple orgasm, wap.
word count. 6k
divider by chrisssiren
author's note. hello, i’m nami! this is my first fanfic AU, so be nice!! xdd i have reposted this one since i’m getting content labels (still trying to figure out how this platform works) anyway, i’d like to dedicate this one to joonie’s honey thighs. iykyk
summary. Y/N’s first trip to Seoul takes an unexpected turn when a simple search for the nearest smoking area along the banks of the Han River leads her and her friends into an unexpected encounter with a group of strangers. One blurry, alcohol-tinged night later, Y/N wakes up alone in an unfamiliar luxury apartment—sore and ready to escape any possible interaction with the guy who gave her multiple orgasms last night.
Seeing the pair of contact lenses her friend slipped into her bag last night, her vision is finally restored. Attempting her greatest escape—only to come face-to-face with the man from the night before, now revealed to be far more famous than she ever imagined. Unaware that RM of BTS is the same guy whose name she screamed over and over last night, Y/N ignored his presence leaving him confused… and unwilling to let her walk away so easily.
Y/N was bummed that she was ending her day with a very blurry vision. Earlier, while exploring the nearby amusement park, she had absent-mindedly lost her eyeglasses somewhere she couldn’t even remember.
She had just finished dinner with her friends and was ready to explore more of Seoul’s nightlife, but after the heavy meal, she found herself craving a cigarette. Y/N and her friends decided to hang out along the banks of the Han River to let the food settle before taking a stroll. She was about to light her cigarette when one of her friends, Kira, stopped her, delivering a stern warning about public smoking. It was their first time visiting Seoul, and none of them were familiar with the local rules.
Scanning the area, Y/N noticed a group of guys standing and chatting nearby. Desperate for a smoke, she decided to approach them and ask.
“Hello… excuse me,” she said shyly, catching their attention.
“Do you speak English?”
The guy she addressed looked flustered and quickly pointed to one of his friends. “Him—English…” he said, adding something in Korean that Y/N couldn’t understand.
She turned to the man he indicated—tall, noticeably taller than her and the tallest among the group. He had a solid, bulky build and looked effortlessly stylish based on his outfit. Even with her blurry vision, Y/N could tell he was good-looking; there was something about him that seemed to glow.
“Hi… yes, I can speak English,” he replied. His voice was handsomely deep, something Y/N immediately noticed.
“Great. So, it’s our first time visiting Seoul,” Y/N said, gesturing toward her friends.
“And we wanted to smoke, but we’re not familiar with the laws about public smoking here. Is there a smoking area nearby?” she added politely, subtly lifting the cigarette between her fingers, unlit and clearly begging to be used.
He found the gesture strangely endearing.
“Oh yeah—see that?” He pointed toward a dimly lit gazebo a few steps away.
“If you see those small gazebos along the riverbanks, those are designated smoking areas.”
“Greeeaat, thank you!” Y/N said, bowing slightly in gratitude. She was about to head back to her friends when he spoke again.
“Actually, we’re about to smoke too. Can we join you and your friends?”
There was something about the confidence in his voice—a certain effortless charm—that sent a small shiver down Y/N’s spine. Unfortunately, she was still seeing the world through a blur.
“Sure, that’d be cool…”
She called over her friends, and as they walked together toward the gazebo with the group of strangers, the tall guy introduced himself.
“By the way, I’m Joon… Namjoon.”
“Y/N. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” he replied as they exchanged a brief handshake.
They all lit their cigarettes, one after another. Soon, the area was filled with smoke and the low murmur of conversation. Y/N and Namjoon quickly hit it off, talking about random things. He recommended places to visit and things to do in Seoul. Meanwhile, Y/N found herself oddly drawn to his voice—it felt almost like a lullaby. She had always liked guys who talked a lot, and she was lucky Namjoon was exactly that type.
As they finished their cigarettes, Y/N mentioned that she and her friends were planning to go clubbing afterward. Namjoon turned to one of his friends and spoke in Korean. Y/N couldn’t understand a word, but the other guy seemed to agree easily. It turned out his friend owned a bar on the main street of Hongdae, just a five- to ten-minute walk from where they were.
After more conversation—and some persistent begging—Y/N finally convinced her friends to go out with Namjoon and his group for the night. Unlike Y/N, who was in her mid-twenties, her friends were nearing their thirties. They were work friends who had decided to take an overseas trip together, and they didn’t quite have the same energy she did anymore. Still, they couldn’t bring themselves to say no. It was obvious that Y/N was attracted to—and openly flirting with—Namjoon, and honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Unaware of who Namjoon really was, they found him charming and attractive themselves. They couldn’t really blame her.
Upon arriving at the bar, they were escorted to a VIP room with tinted glass walls overlooking the wild, hyped crowd below. Time passed quickly and in a blur; everyone was a little tipsy and clearly enjoying the night. The tension between Y/N and Namjoon had already shifted during the ride to the bar. The SUV was slightly cramped due to their number, forcing everyone to sit skin-to-skin.
Namjoon tensed when Y/N passed her lipstick to a friend seated behind them. As she turned, her breasts brushed against his shoulder, and he felt her breath against his neck. The heat made him careless. Softly yet confidently, he placed his hand on Y/N’s legs, slowly caressing the supple skin between her thighs. Startled at first, Y/N still found herself enjoying every second of it.
Now, in the VIP pit, while their friends drank and chatted animatedly, the two of them existed in their own world. Y/N stood with her back to Namjoon, a shot glass of tequila in one hand while the other lifted into the air, surrendering to the pulse of the blasting music. Namjoon watched her intently, took a swig of whiskey, then settled his hands on her hips. At the gesture, Y/N began to grind against him until they were dancing far too close.
Namjoon was losing his mind. He could feel himself growing harder with every slow roll of her hips. Leaning in, he pressed soft kisses along Y/N’s neck, still moving with the rhythm of the music. Y/N, though surprised, felt herself growing intoxicated by his touch. She wasn’t drunk—not yet—but the kisses on her neck made her feel dizzy all the same. In one smooth motion, Namjoon spun her around to face him and crashed his lips against hers, kissing her with reckless hunger.
Their make-out session lasted until they felt the weight of their friends’ gazes on them. Reluctantly, they pulled apart, straightening their clothes and trying to play it cool. Several shots of tequila and bottles of whiskey later, the group decided to call it a night. Some of their friends were clearly drunk, while Y/N and Namjoon couldn’t deny the sexual tension thickening between them.
Y/N didn’t even know how she convinced her friends to let her leave with Namjoon. She only remembered finding herself climbing into an unfamiliar van while Namjoon spoke with a slightly older guy she was sure she hadn’t met earlier.
Minutes later, Namjoon slid in beside her while the other man took the passenger seat. That was when Y/N noticed the privacy wall separating them from the driver. Before her brain could fully register that they were alone, Namjoon’s lips were on hers. The kiss was far more intense than the one they’d shared at the bar.
Without breaking it, Namjoon carefully lifted her, positioning her astride him. Y/N felt the growing bulge between her thighs, sending shivers racing down her spine. She tasted cigarette smoke and whiskey on his tongue—an intoxicating mix that only made her want him more. Slowly, she began to grind against his rock-hard length.
“Damn, Y/N…” Namjoon muttered before spanking her ass, the sting blooming into pleasure she didn’t mind at all.
His hand slid down to her folds, feeling her slickness. Y/N moaned at the sensation, shuddering as his cool fingers met her heated skin. Without warning, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them slowly. Y/N broke the kiss and buried her face in his neck, a curse tumbling from her lips.
“Fuck,” the feeling was exactly what her body had been craving.
“You’re leaking, Y/N,” Namjoon whispered teasingly in her ear. She blushed.
“Damn right, I am,” she replied, lightly biting his ear as a breathy moan escaped her.
That was all it took to push Namjoon further. His fingers moved faster, curling in and out as he added a third. Y/N hissed at the sudden stretch, a flicker of pain cutting through the pleasure. Noticing, Namjoon slowed, hesitating.
“Shit, Namjoon—don’t you dare stop!” she protested, louder than she intended.
Namjoon smirked, eyes locked on her. Even like this—flushed, messy, undone—she was beautiful.
In an instant, his fingers resumed their work. His gaze flicked briefly to the small screen in front of him. Two minutes until they reached his apartment. He picked up the pace, determined to make her finish. His fingers moved with controlled urgency while his thumb circled her clit. Slowly, Y/N felt the pressure build low in her abdomen, her body clenching around his fingers.
“That’s it, babygirl. Come for me like the good girl you are.”
Aware that the privacy wall wouldn’t fully block the sound, Y/N bit back her moans, burying her face into his neck as a quiet whimper slipped out. She came hard, her body trembling. Namjoon felt her release but didn’t stop. He kept his fingers moving—faster now—drawing overstimulation from her sensitive body. The slick sounds filled the car as Y/N squirmed, fingers tangling in his hair, teeth sinking into his neck to keep herself quiet.
Satisfied at last, Namjoon withdrew just as the car slowed to a stop.
“You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS announced.
Y/N hurried back into her seat, smoothing the hem of her tight black dress and doing her best to look composed.
Namjoon let out a low chuckle, smirking as he met her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.
“We’re not done, princess. Let’s go.”
Namjoon stepped out first, then gently took her hand to help her down. He didn’t let go as they walked through the expansive lobby of his apartment building. Y/N thanked the driver and the man in the passenger seat before the car pulled away.
As they headed toward the elevator, she could feel the slick warmth between her thighs. Her body clenched again at the thought of what awaited her upstairs. The anticipation made her blush.
Namjoon let Y/N enter his apartment first, then playfully smacked her ass as he followed behind. Y/N giggled, then caught the scent of the apartment—fresh, clean, with a hint of lavender. Sexy… she thought. She slipped off her heels, her feet meeting the cool floor, and her eyes shifted to Namjoon, now shirtless, standing with his back to her as he rummaged through the fridge.
Without hesitation, Y/N silently approached him, pressing her body against his back. Her hands traced circles over his pelvic region, brushing the waistband of his visible boxers. She pressed soft kisses to his back as she teased his aching groin.
“You’re starting a very dangerous game, Y/N,” Namjoon murmured in a low voice, almost choking as his expression darkened.
“Come on, Joon. You don’t need to stall whatever this is…” she teased playfully.
“I’m not stalling.”
“Then why am I still dressed?”
“You’re just impatient,” he said, turning to face her.
“You basically fucked me in the car with these,” Y/N replied, dark and confident, taking his hands and playing with his fingers.
Namjoon was amused, aroused, and entranced all at once. He wanted to take her immediately, to claim her completely—but he found himself staring at her pretty face. His hand cupped her chin softly, tilting her face toward his. He was about to kiss her when Y/N had other ideas. She knew he was ready and decided to provoke him.
Dropping to her knees, Y/N wasted no time. Namjoon felt a cold breeze against his rock-hard cock. She wrapped her hand around him and kissed the tip, realizing just how big he was. Namjoon jolted at the sensation of her soft, wet lips, letting out a guttural moan that only made her more confident.
Slowly, Y/N’s tongue worked from his balls to his full length. Namjoon couldn’t help but curse and moan her name. She tried to take all of him into her mouth, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as he hit the back of her throat—she couldn’t quite take him all the way in.
Y/N bobbed her head rhythmically, pleasuring him. She moaned every time she gagged on his cock. Namjoon gripped her hair, making it sensually painful, guiding her movements. Her pace quickened, and the pleasure was overwhelming, until he finally lifted her up.
“Fuck, babygirl, I’m not gonna last with that mouth of yours,” he groaned.
Y/N smirked at the compliment.
“I want to fill that tight pussy,” he said, voice low, rough, and intense.
He spun her around. Within seconds, her dress and bra hit the floor. Namjoon bent her over the cold marble kitchen island. Her nipples perked instantly, and she grew wetter as he pulled her panties down. He cupped her ass, spreading her to reveal her leaking entrance.
“Damn, babygirl, you’re like a leaking faucet,” he commented before plunging three fingers into her. One, two, three aggressive thrusts, and she released more wetness, exclaiming curse words from a mix of pain and pleasure.
Satisfied, Namjoon moved behind her to eat her out. His tongue expertly worked her entrance while his fingers roughly teased her clit. Y/N lifted herself slightly off the counter, but Namjoon pressed her back down.
“Stay down,” he commanded, sternly.
Her legs began shaking violently. Namjoon interpreted the signs, but wickedly, he refused to let her finish.
“Not yet, babygirl,” he said, standing as she did the same.
“Fuck you,” Y/N panted.
“Oh, I’m about to—until you can no longer walk. Now, bend for me again, babygirl,” Namjoon commanded, stroking his painfully hard shaft.
Y/N obeyed. Since she was shorter, her ass wasn’t fully aligned with his cock. Namjoon lifted her onto the counter so her feet no longer touched the floor. He slid himself along her pink, leaking pussy before slamming into her.
“Fuck,” they both cursed under their breath.
Y/N hissed, adjusting to his size. Her pussy stretched perfectly around him—so tight, so hot.
“Fuck, Y/N, fuck!” Namjoon groaned, ecstasy written across his face. He started with slow thrusts, then picked up pace, pounding her hard and aggressive. Each thrust hit the perfect spot, drawing moans and cries from her.
“You feel so fucking good, Y/N. You like this, huh?” Namjoon asked, shifting to slow, deep thrusts, ensuring every move hit precisely.
“Joon, you’re so big. Fuck me faster, please.”
“Look at you, horny little slut,” he said, slapping her ass, leaving red marks. “You like it fast, like this?”
“Fuck yes, just like that! Harder, Joon, please!” Y/N pleaded.
He complied, thrusting faster and harder. The sound of skin slapping, her wet pussy, and their moans filled the room. Namjoon yanked her hair with each thrust, tugging her neck along for a deliciously painful effect.
“Joon, I’m about to come. Let me come, please!” Y/N pleaded as her lower abdomen tied in knots again.
“Come for me, babygirl. Come.” Namjoon threw his head back, eyes closed, as her pussy tightened around him.
He felt her hot release coat his cock. “Good girl,” he whispered, smacking her ass cheeks again, intensifying the redness.
“Damn, Joon. So good…” Y/N gasped, breathless.
Namjoon slowed, letting her ride out her orgasm. He withdrew slightly, watching her cum drip from her cunt.
“Look at you, babygirl. Creaming for me, huh?” he said, amused.
Y/N lifted herself slightly, leaning on her elbows, teasing him.
“Are you planning to finish or what?” she asked, playful. She knew teasing him would only make him rougher—and she secretly loved it.
Namjoon’s expression darkened. He pulled her off the counter and slammed himself into her violently. Y/N whined, pained but thrilled.
He cursed under his breath, sliding in and out while cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples until they ached deliciously.
“I don’t like it when you’re impatient, babygirl. I told you, I’m gonna fuck your tight little cunt until you can no longer walk.”
Her teasing worked. Namjoon’s cock ravaged her hard. She could only moan and arch, her pussy completely filled.
“That’s it, Joon. Fuck me hard like that. Don’t stop until you fill me up,” Y/N’s voice grew loud and slutty, just how he liked it.
She guided his hand to her throat. Namjoon immediately wrapped it around her neck, firm but careful, making her breath falter. She moaned, approving silently. His other hand traveled to her swollen clit, circling it vigorously while keeping his thrusts fast and steady—doggy style.
“Oh my god… Joon, too much!” Y/N gasped, losing herself in the overstimulation.
“Shh, take it all in, babygirl. I told you, I’m gonna ruin you,” Namjoon whispered, licking her earlobe.
Her legs shook again. Before she could speak, his thrusts grew harder and sloppier, his grip tighter, and his fingers continued circling her clit aggressively.
Breathing was difficult, but she couldn’t stop him. Instead, she held his hand, steadying herself on the counter with the other.
“Fuck, Joon! I’m coming! Oh god! Oh fuck!” she screamed between moans.
“Come, Y/N… come for me, babygirl. I’m coming too.”
A wave of pleasure crashed through her again. Namjoon followed, groaning gutturally as he filled her. She felt his hot seed inside her sore, wet pussy. He slowly pulled out, watching as their fluids mingled.
Panting, they struggled to regain composure until Y/N’s leg gave out. Namjoon caught her just in time.
“You okay?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“Yes, sorry…” she murmured, shy and flustered, realizing just how aroused she was.
Namjoon chuckled, finding her reactions adorable. “So fuckable,” he thought, planting soft kisses in her hair as he pulled her into a hug.
“You’ve been a very good girl… took me so well,” he whispered.
Blushing, Y/N pulled away and reached for a napkin, but Namjoon stopped her.
“You’re not cleaning yourself like that, princess,” he said.
Confused, she was lifted by him, letting out a shriek.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and don’t think we’re done for tonight, babygirl,” Namjoon said softly but seriously.
Their eyes met. He winked. Amused, Y/N chuckled, the thought of going at it again making her blush with anticipation.
Namjoon walked to the bathroom with Y/N in his arms. He gently set her down in the ivory-white ceramic tub, then turned on the faucet—hot water slowly filling it. Y/N leaned back as the warmth touched her still-throbbing cunt, sore from the aftermath. Namjoon poured in a lavender-scented bath essence, then dropped a bath bomb into the water. He joined her soon after.
The tub was large enough to fit both of them, with space still left over. They quietly enjoyed the moment as the bath eased their tensed muscles. Only the soft fizzing sound of the melting bath bomb filled the room until Namjoon broke the silence.
“Are you okay? Does this help you relax?” he asked.
“Mhmm…” Y/N hummed in agreement, eyes closed.
Namjoon inched closer. She felt his hands reach for her thighs; the next thing she knew, he was gently wiping the mess that had dripped along her inner thighs with a bath towel—slow, tender, and careful. Soon, the warm cloth brushed against her swollen entrance. Without any intention of making it sexual, Namjoon made sure he cleaned her thoroughly.
The friction of the warm cloth against her cunt drew a soft whimper from her lips. Namjoon pulled back, tossed the towel aside, and asked lightly, “Are you okay?” followed by a quiet chuckle.
Still reclined, eyes closed, Y/N replied, “Stop asking me if I’m okay. I’m more than fine.”
“Are you okay?” she asked in return, a playful note in her voice.
Namjoon didn’t answer. Curious, she opened her eyes and sat upright, her gaze meeting his. He was slowly stroking his hard length, his expression soft yet serious.
“He’s not okay,” Namjoon finally said with a smirk, maintaining eye contact as his hand continued its movement.
A playful grin spread across Y/N’s face. She propped herself on all fours and slowly crawled toward him, closing the distance between them. Namjoon straightened his legs as Y/N knelt, locking his thighs between hers.
She pressed her breasts against his face, and he responded by sucking the supple skin around her nipples. His mouth worked eagerly, leaving marks across her breasts as Y/N moaned at the sensation.
Carefully, she took hold of Namjoon’s aching cock and guided it to her entrance. Slowly, she lowered herself, taking him inch by inch. A slight wince crossed her face as the dull ache spread through her already sensitive lower body while she adjusted to his girth. Their position sent a delicious sensation through them both. Gravity ensured she was fully seated on him—so deep that his tip brushed against her cervix.
Y/N started moving slowly at first, still trying to adjust. Both of her hands rested on Namjoon’s shoulders, arms wrapping around his head as she tugged at his dark locks. Still busy playing with her tits, Namjoon reached down and pulled the tub’s drain plug. The water slowly receded, revealing the sight of Y/N bouncing on his cock.
Namjoon swatted her ass, making her wince from the mix of pain and pleasure. He did it a few more times, leaving red marks across her soft skin. The electric sensation sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, igniting her further. Her pace quickened, and every time their hips met, the tip of his length brushed against her sweet spots.
Y/N leaned back, maintaining the fast rhythm, her palms braced against the tub floor. The position gave Namjoon a better view. She kept grinding on his cock—steady and relentless—her breasts bouncing with every movement. Namjoon, on the other hand, was lost in pure euphoria. His gaze stayed locked on Y/N as he watched her glistening pussy take his throbbing cock in and out, her tits moving freely, plump lips parted, eyes shut tight—all while moaning his name and letting out broken curses. He found her unbearably attractive like this.
Before long, Namjoon’s breathing grew ragged. He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, hands gripping tightly around Y/N’s leg. He began to buck his hips, meeting her thrusts halfway. Y/N’s hand slid down to her exposed clit, fingers circling the sensitive bud as she felt the wave building. Seconds later, a loud, high-pitched, seductive moan tore from her lips.
She came without hesitation, not even bothering to warn Namjoon. He wasn’t far behind. Moments after her release, he followed, spilling himself deep inside her, making sure nothing went to waste.
Y/N lifted herself from Namjoon, about to collapse on the other side of the tub, but he was quick to pull her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her completely spent body, letting her rest her head on his chest.
“Damn, you’re so good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
Namjoon sat on the balcony couch with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist. The night air was cool against his damp skin as he watched Y/N from across the balcony. She leaned against the railing, robe loosely tied, her hair still wet from the shower. Smoke curled around her face as she quietly took a drag of her cigarette.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Y/N simply shook her head, nonchalant, before bringing the cigarette back to her lips for another slow inhale.
Namjoon extended his arm toward her. She wordlessly passed it to him, and their fingers brushed for a second too long. He took a long, satisfying drag, exhaling toward the dark skyline. When the cigarette finally burned out, neither of them moved to light another. They just sat there, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling.
After a moment, Y/N pushed off the railing and walked toward him. Without asking, she settled onto his lap, her legs sliding to either side of him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing the shallow dimple she liked far too much.
“Careful…” he murmured playfully. “You might trigger someone.”
She laughed softly and rested her head against his shoulder, her damp hair brushing his chest.
“I’m sleepy,” she said, her voice low, teasing. “Can I stay over? Or is this the part where you tell me I should go?”
Namjoon let out a quiet scoff, amused, his hand sliding to the small of her back.
“I could keep you here for a long time,” he replied gently, pulling her a little closer. “If you allow me to.”
The two stayed on the balcony for a few more minutes, the sexual tension that had never really left beginning to intensify once again.
The clock on the wall struck 3:31 a.m. Outside, it was cold and quiet. The neighborhood slept peacefully in the middle of the night.
Namjoon’s room was dimly lit by warm lights, the air conditioner humming softly as it kept the temperature just right. A robe and a towel had long since been dismissed onto the floor. The bed burned under their combined weight, and the only sounds filling the room were the slick slap of skin against skin, the low, guttural moans rumbling from Namjoon’s throat, and the series of broken curses and breathless, sinful moans spilling from Y/N.
As if the moments they’d shared in the car, in the kitchen, and in the bathroom weren’t enough to satisfy the lust they felt for each other, Namjoon and Y/N were fucking again.
Beads of sweat formed on Namjoon’s chest as both his hands gripped Y/N’s hips, aggressively pounding into her slick, leaking cunt. Her face was buried in the sheets, lips parted as she moaned louder than she ever had in their previous encounters. He was hitting all the right spots, and she could no longer control the sounds spilling from her mouth. Namjoon didn’t mind—her moans were sweet music to his ears, building his confidence with every strained cry and satisfying grunt she let out.
After a few aggressive thrusts, he spun her around. Now facing him, Y/N tried to catch her breath. A small break was all she needed; Namjoon felt even more intense than before. But before she could fully recover, he lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder and buried himself inside her utterly spent pussy once more.
“You’re making me crazy, Y/N… I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” Namjoon said through heavy breaths.
“Fuck me, Joon. Fuck me like you own me,” she answered, her voice thick with strained lust.
“Shit… babygirl, you feel so good. Fuck.”
Namjoon kept thrusting deep and relentlessly, his pace fast but controlled. His movements sent both of them into an unexplainable euphoria. His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing them firmly, her soft flesh fitting perfectly in his palms before he began teasing her sensitive nipples.
Y/N wrapped both her legs around Namjoon’s waist, locking him in and pulling him deeper into her. She drew him down into a deep, sensual kiss. Their tongues tangled hungrily, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other’s taste.
Unlike their previous moments, Namjoon was getting close before Y/N. His breathing grew heavier, his thrusts sloppier, his moans louder. He wrapped his large hand around her exposed throat, adding a firm grip that made her breath falter—never enough to hurt, just enough to intensify. Realizing he was close, Y/N decided to help herself reach her climax. Her hand slipped between them, fingers pressing flat against her swollen clit, rubbing with determination as she tried to match the rhythm of his hips driving into her.
“Come for me, Joon… yes, just like that, baby.”
“Fill me—fuck! I’m coming too… oh God, Joon!” she managed to cry out, her body trembling as he slammed into her hard and fast, his hand still tight around her throat.
Her words seemed to push him over the edge. She felt his hot release spilling inside her, and just like that, she came with him. Heavy breathing, curses, and broken moans filled the air as warmth began to ooze from between her thighs.
Namjoon slowly pulled out, watching the thick white semen spill from her. Then he collapsed on top of her, both of them completely spent. Satisfied.
Y/N woke up with sunlight hitting her face. Her whole body ached, every muscle stiff and tired as she shifted beneath the soft sheets.
Right… she realized slowly. She wasn’t in her hotel room.
Sitting upright, she found herself alone. Her eyes quickly scanned the room for her phone, and half-asleep memories from last night began surfacing in fragments.
She saw the time: 10 a.m. Then she noticed the navy-blue cotton long-sleeve she was wearing—way too big for her body. It hung loosely, more like a dress, soft and comfortable. A breeze brushed against her lower body, and she realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
She picked up her phone. A few missed calls and texts from her friends blinked on the screen. One read:
Hey, I forgot to tell you, I slipped a pair of contact lenses I bought last night from the shop across the bar. Don’t forget our lunch reservation at Namsan Tower. Ask your guy if he can drop you off. X
She spotted her bag on the floor beside the bed and immediately snatched it. Sure enough, there were the contact lenses.
Y/N quickly slipped into the bathroom. She washed her face with whatever cleanser she could find on the vanity and put in the lenses. Her vision finally restored, she began to take in her surroundings.
The room was clean, refreshing, with subtle touches of expensive taste. Her eyes landed on her underwear thrown carelessly on the floor along with a towel and robe. Blood rushed to her cheeks as memories of how embarrassingly messy she had been last night returned.
The apartment was unnervingly quiet. Convinced she was alone, she hurriedly grabbed her panties, then her phone and shoulder bag. Her gaze drifted to the nightstand—and froze.
A note lay there: “Good morning!” Beside it were two pills, the packaging labeled Plan B.
Her thighs clenched automatically, the memory of Namjoon spilling himself inside her multiple times sending another flush of heat and embarrassment through her. She wanted to disappear. Carefully, she picked up the pills and the note, slipping them into her bag. Not that she needed them—she may be the type to have one-night stands with handsome strangers, but she wasn’t stupid enough to risk unprotected sex. Of course, she was already on birth control.
Y/N gently opened the bedroom door, stepping into the spacious living area. No one was in sight. Once reassured, she moved quickly to find her dress and heels, which were scattered across the kitchen. Another wave of steamy memories hit her, only adding to her flustered state.
She considered changing into the dress but decided against it. She just wanted to leave, as fast as possible, and avoid Namjoon entirely—God only knew what else they might do if she stayed.
Slipping into her heels and fixing her hair, she gave herself one last glance in the full-length mirror across the hall. For a moment, she thought she looked cute in his oversized long-sleeve. It hung just right, like a casual dress.
She stepped out, trying to remember the way to the elevator. She closed the door behind her, leaving all the deliciously sinful moments with a handsome stranger behind.
Pressing the down button, she waited. A few tense seconds later, the elevator doors opened—revealing someone stepping out. She tried not to notice him, minding her own business, but something about the man made her heart skip a beat. He seemed momentarily surprised by her presence but moved past anyway.
Y/N hurried inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors began to close, a hand stopped them. The man from before. Their eyes met, and her chest tightened. Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
No way. There’s no way.
She wanted to slap herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, but her body froze. All she could hear was her own racing heartbeat.
Of course, she recognized him. She couldn’t be wrong. She listens to his music constantly—in the shower, during her morning walks, on airplanes, on trains, everywhere.
The man who had just stepped out was none other than RM of BTS.
Her mind spun. Was she going crazy? Thoughts raced: What if he thinks she’s a stalker? Does he also live here? What if he realizes that she’s not from here and gets mistaken as a crazy fan? What if he calls the police on her?
Their gazes lingered. RM let out a soft chuckle, impossible to read—was it amusement or disbelief? Before she could speak, he broke the silence.
“Pretending not to know me, huh, babygirl? After all we did last night?”
Y/N’s eyes widened, her body stiffening even more. What did he just say?
She took in him—the height, the build, the hair, those dimples, that voice.
Her gasp escaped louder than she expected. There was no fucking way.
warnings: public sex, oral(m! receiving), nipple play, nipple sucking, fingering, oc rides him, buffed namjoon who breaks oc underwear oops
wc: ~ 3.6k
The elevator doors slide open, revealing the quiet luxury of the penthouse. You step inside, kicking off your heels. The relief is instant as your bare feet hit the cool floor.
You and Namjoon bought this place a year ago. It was expensive, sure, but it was worth it. It’s your own little piece of heaven on earth, high above the noise of Seoul where you can just be together.
The best part is the spare room he converted into a studio. It means he doesn't have to spend late nights at HYBE anymore, so you actually get to see him before midnight. It makes the idol life feel a little more like a normal life.
It’s been a long day. You left when the sun was coming up, and now it is long gone. Your muscles ache, and all you want is to curl up against your boyfriend. “Namjoon?” you call out, dropping your bag on the bench. “Baby?”
Silence.
Walking further into the apartment, you pass the empty living room and enter the kitchen. Sitting in the center of the marble island, you spot a piece of paper torn from a notebook.
Writing. You know where to find me.
You smile, shaking your head as you set the paper back down. You know the drill. When he wants to lock in, he puts his noise-canceling headphones on and disappears from the world. If you call his name, he won’t hear you. If you stand in front of him, he might look right through you. Early in the relationship, you used to take it personally. Now, seven years in, you know it’s just how his brain works. You know how to bring him back.
Knowing exactly where he is, you glance toward the doors at the far end of the hallway. The terrace is his sanctuary when he wants the creative juices flowing.
You want to go check on him immediately, but you pause. It’s mid-May, and you’ve been running errands all day. The humidity outside has left you feeling sticky, sweat clinging to your skin, and you don’t want to wrap your arms around him like this.
A shower sounds perfect right now. You can wash off the day, slip into something more comfortable, and then go find him.
Heading to the master bedroom, you peel off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Once inside the en-suite, you step into the large glass shower and turn the handle. Hot water runs down your back, instantly helping your tight shoulders relax. Tilting your head back, you let the spray soak your hair as you sigh in relief.
Reaching for the bottle on the shelf, you wash up quickly. The smell of honey and vanilla body wash fills the steam. It’s his favorite scent on you. He always buries his nose in your neck after a shower, inhaling deep like it resets him. You scrub your skin until you feel human again, watching the soap swirl down the drain. After turning the water off, you step out onto the soft mat, reaching for a towel to dry off your damp skin.
Fresh from the shower, you slip into your favorite nightgown. It’s black silk trimmed with intricate lace that dips low in the front and stops high on your mid-thigh. You skip the bra but slide on a matching pair of lace panties, loving how the cool fabric feels against your clean skin.
Retracing your steps through the quiet apartment, you slide the glass door open and step out onto the terrace. Since you own the entire top floor, the space feels secluded. The city lights of Seoul glitter below like a sea of stars. Up here, you are hidden from the world.
Well, mostly.
If the neighbors in the high-rises across the way had a really good pair of binoculars, they might catch a glimpse, but what is life without a bit of risk?
Namjoon is sitting on the outdoor couch with his back to you, hunched over his notebook, clearly in the middle of a battle with his own lyrics.
You walk across the decking barefoot. He doesn't hear you approach.
Watching him for a moment, you see his pen moving frantically across the page before stopping abruptly. He scratches something out with aggressive strokes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The deadline for the new songs is in a few weeks, and he needs to have the lyrics ready so the rest of the group can start recording. The pressure is clearly getting to him. You hate seeing his shoulders tensed up like that. You just want to smooth every worry line from his forehead.
Stepping up behind the couch you reach down, gently sliding one of the ear cups off his ear.
“Hey,” you whisper.
He jumps slightly, his head snapping around. “Hey,” he breathes, twisting his body to look at you properly. He takes his headphones off completely, setting them on the cushion beside him. “When did you get home?”
“About thirty minutes ago,” you say, leaning over the back of the sofa and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Saw your note.”
He lets out a heavy, defeated sigh that seems to deflate his whole frame. You reach out, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “What’s happening, Joon?” you ask softly.
He drops the pen on the table, rubbing his face with both hands as a groan escapes his lips. “I’m stuck, baby. Completely stuck,” he admits, letting his head fall back against the cushion.
You hate seeing him like this, even though you know it’s just part of the job. The creative process always drains him before it gives him anything back. Moving around the furniture, you step between his spread legs to offer comfort the best way you know how, climbing into his lap and straddling his thighs. The silk of your nightgown rides up high on your hips, exposing your legs to the cool air as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“Tell me about it,” you murmur.
“I’ve been out here all evening,” he complains, his large hands settling on your waist to grip you firmly. “I can’t finish one damn song. I have bits, phrases written down, but nothing makes sense together.”
He keeps talking, explaining the technicalities of the beat and the lyrics. It’s a cycle you know well. He needs to get the frustration out of his system before he can find the flow again. Listening quietly, you nod against his neck while pressing soft kisses to his jawline and cheek, letting him spill his thoughts. You know he doesn't need a solution. He just needs an anchor. He needs to remember he exists outside of the music.
Even though he’s frustrated with the song, his body reacts to you instantly. As he rambles, you start to move, rolling your hips slowly to grind your center against the growing hardness in his jeans.
He stops mid-sentence, his grip on your waist tightening as your movement distracts him from his spiraling thoughts. You pull back to capture his lips in a tender kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him close. Breaking the kiss, you look him in the eye, smiling softly while your hips keep rocking against his erection.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” you ask, grinding down harder on his lap. “Maybe I can take your mind off it? Give you something else to focus on?”
Namjoon lets go of your hip, his index finger tracing a slow line from the sensitive skin of your neck down to your cleavage. “Mmm. I think that might work.” He drags his finger over the black lace covering your breast, circling your nipple through the fabric as he murmurs, “I think,” his eyes tracking the movement of his own hand, “we should start by getting you out of this.”
You laugh softly as he hooks his fingers under the straps of your nightgown and pushes them down your shoulders. The silk pools at your waist, leaving your tits completely bare.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, looking at you with hungry, needy eyes that make you feel like the only thing in the world for him right now. You love him when he gets like this, so focused and needy. As he grabs both tits, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, you moan.
Lowering his head, he captures one nipple in his mouth, sucking while his arm wraps around your waist to hug you close. He pulls back for a second, lips wet and swollen. “Fuck, you taste sweet,” he whispers against your skin before diving right back in. “You smell amazing too.”
“That feels so good, Joon,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Mmm, so good.”
Releasing your nipple from his mouth, his hands move up to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kisses you deeply. You pull back to reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He helps you by lifting his arms, letting you pull the fabric over his head and toss it aside.
You take a second to admire him. You catch the sparkle in his beautiful eyes and the hint of his dimples as he smiles at your inspection. You know this body better than your own. You know every scar, every mole, every dimple, every spot that makes him twitch. You love how big he’s been getting lately, the broad expanse of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his arms making you feel small and safe.
Grinding against him one last time, you stand up, letting the silk nightgown slide down your legs to pool at your feet. You step out of it, leaving you in nothing but a delicate lace thong.
“Are we really doing this right here?” Namjoon asks, a smirk tugging at his lips as he eyes your nearly naked body.
“What? Afraid someone will see the famous Namjoon of BTS getting his dick sucked by his secret girlfriend?” you tease, reaching for his belt buckle. “Do you want me to stop?”
It’s an old joke between you two. You’ve been together for seven years now and everyone at the company was fine with you going public, but you’ve always preferred to keep things low profile. You don't mind who he is to the world, but moments like this, out in the open air of Seoul, feel reckless in a way you usually avoid. But right now, you don't care about the world. You just want him to look at you.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Keep going.”
Dropping to your knees between his legs, you undo the buckle. Namjoon lifts his hips to help you shove his jeans and boxer briefs down to his ankles. He kicks them away and leans back against the cushions, spreading his legs wide to display his thick, heavy cock for you.
“Fuck,” he exhales, watching you wrap both hands around him.
You start pumping him slowly. “Tell me if that feels good,” you whisper, feeling how hard he is in your grip.
“You have no idea.”
Leaning forward, you swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip before sliding down. Even though you try to take as much as you can, your lips stretch tight around his girth, forcing you to pump the rest of the length with your hand.
Namjoon groans, his hands finding your hair. He gathers the strands gently, holding them back in a makeshift ponytail so he can see your face.
“That’s it, baby,” he praises. “You’re doing so good.”
You work him eagerly, bobbing your head while saliva coats his length to make it slicker. You know exactly how he likes it. You know the exact pressure to apply to the head, the exact speed that makes his toes curl. It’s muscle memory by now.
“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as you slide down. “God, I love you so fucking much.”
Hollowing your cheeks to suck him harder, you slide your free hand down to cup his balls, massaging them gently in your palm.
You pull off, your hand taking over to pump him. “What would everyone say if they caught us like this?” you tease, swirling your thumb over his wet tip.
He groans, his hips bucking into your hand. “Bet they’d say I’m a lucky bastard to have such a hot girl sucking my dick.” he grunts, his eyes filled with lust.
You hum, satisfied with the answer, and dive back down to take him deep into your throat again.
He hisses through his teeth as you take him deeper than before, your nose brushing against his pubic hair. You tighten your lips around the base, humming against the skin as you drag your mouth back up.
You love having this power over him. The genius leader, the man who speaks at the UN, reduced to a panting mess just because you’re using your tongue right. It makes your chest swell with pride. He is yours.
“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon breathes, his hands tightening in your hair to guide your pace. “Just like that.”
You don’t answer, too busy swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You look up at him through your lashes, letting him see how much you love this. How much you love serving him.
“That’s right,” he growls, watching his cock disappear and reappear past your lips. “Taking my cock so well. So good.”
You make a wet, sloppy sound as you suck harder, one hand still working his balls. Namjoon’s hips snap up, fucking into your mouth.
“I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that,” he gasps, his hand tightening in your hair as your suction increases. “Stop. Baby, stop.”
You release him, sliding your mouth off with a wet suction sound.
“Just wanted to make sure you were ready,” you hum against his wet glans, pumping him a few times to spread the slickness. “You know how much I love sucking your dick.”
“Yeah, I know,” he breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “And you’re too fucking good at it.”
Your knees protest at the hard decking as you try to stand. Seeing you struggle, Namjoon reaches out, his large hands gripping your waist to hoist you up effortlessly until you are standing between his spread thighs.
Namjoon sits up, pulling you closer until your inner thighs press against the sides of his face while you remain standing between his legs. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, his hands wandering down to your waist as you run your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp.
“I want you to ride me,” he murmurs against your skin as his lips brush your belly button. “But I need to get this out of the way first.”
His hands slide down to your hips, hooking his fingers into the thin straps of your lace thong. Instead of sliding them down, he yanks them sideways, making the delicate fabric snap with a sharp sound.
You gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance as the ruined lace falls to the floor. “Joon! That was expensive. I bought those in Paris!”
He looks up at you, grinning as his hands slide up your bare thighs to squeeze your ass. “I’ll buy you a new one. Hell, I’ll buy you a thousand more just so I can rip every single one of them off you.”
He starts teasing your clit with his fingers, rubbing the swollen nub until your knees shake.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers, sliding one finger inside you. “So ready for me.”
He pumps his finger in and out while pressing his face against your abdomen, kissing your belly button with hot breath on your skin. “I love you,” he mumbles against your skin.
“I love you too,” you breathe, running your fingers through his hair. He says it like a prayer, and you feel it in your bones. After all this time, he still touches you like it's the first time.
“You feel so tight,” he groans, adding a second finger to stretch you wider.
He pumps two fingers deep inside you, making you gasp as you rock your hips to meet his hand. The pleasure is becoming too much, making it difficult to stay on your feet as your knees buckle. He slides a third finger in as he works you open.
“I need to open you up,” he growls. “Get you nice and loose so you can take my cock deep. You know that, love. I don't want to hurt you.”
Your legs feel like jelly, barely holding you up. “I’m close, Joon...”
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, speeding up his hand. “Come on my fingers. Soak my hand.”
You shake and scream, climaxing on his hand as your orgasm hits. He slides his wet fingers out, leaving your thighs coated in your own juices. “Come here,” he says gently, guiding you back down.
You move to straddle his lap again, your knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips. Reaching down between your bodies, you wrap your fingers around his thick cock to line him up with your aching entrance. You sink down slowly, gasping as he stretches you open. He is huge, filling every empty space inside you. His large hands grip your waist, thumbs digging into your skin to help pull you down until you are seated firmly in his lap.
“Fuck, this pussy drives me nuts,” Namjoon groans, his head falling back as he adjusts his grip on your hips to settle you deeper. “So tight. Taking me so perfectly.”
Once you are fully bottomed out, you rest your forehead against his for a second to catch your breath, savoring the feeling of being stuffed full. He reclines back against the sofa cushions, spreading his arms to give you full control.
“Ride me,” he says, reaching up to cup your tits, weighing them in his palms. “Show me what you can do.”
You start to move, lifting your hips and dropping back down slowly. Your breasts jiggle with the motion, drawing his eyes immediately. He squeezes the soft flesh, molding you as you pick up the pace.
“I could write a whole song about this,” he says, his gaze locked on your chest. “About how good you look riding my cock. About how pretty your tits look bouncing for me. You ride me so fucking good, baby.”
You grin, moving faster to snap your hips against his. “We could make a music video too.”
“Yeah, and it would be a fucking award-winning performance,” he laughs, slapping your thigh. “Harder. Make those tits bounce more. Give me a good view.”
He lifts his arms, interlacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back against the cushions, biceps flexing as he watches you work.
Your moans get louder as the intensity becomes too much to handle. Your movements turn erratic, desperate and Namjoon notices immediately. He knows exactly what you need to tip over the edge. He always does. He reads your body better than he reads any book.
Sitting up slightly, he grabs your tits firmly in his large hands. He knows how sensitive you are there.
Tugging at your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. “I know you like that,” he growls, twisting his fingers to pull at the peaks. “You love me playing with your tits while you use my cock. Does it make you wet, baby? Having my hands all over them?”
“Yes! Namjoon!”
He gets rougher, pulling at your nipples while whispering in your ear.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your skin. “So wet and tight. Come on. Let me see you cum for me. Squeeze me dry.”
The combination of his thick cock hitting deep and the sharp stinging on your chest pushes you over the edge. You scream his name, climaxing hard. Your walls clamp down on him, milking him with every spasm.
“That’s it,” he praises, kissing your sweat-dampened temple. “Let go.”
Your internal muscles squeezing him are the final straw. Namjoon starts thrusting upwards, his hips snapping off the cushion to meet your downward slam. The friction burns in the best way.
You come back to your senses enough to match his energy. You bounce harder on his dick, grinding down to take him as deep as possible. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging into your skin to hold you in place as he picks up the pace.
“Fuck,” he gasps, throwing his head back against the sofa cushion as he drives up into you. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna fill you.”
The words send a thrill straight to your core. You know it’s just talk, just a fantasy you both love, but hearing him say it with such raw need drives you wild.
“Do it,” you encourage him, breathless. “Cum for me. Fill me up.”
“I'm going to flood you,” he snarls, snapping his hips harder so his balls slap against your ass cheeks. He roars, slamming into you one last time. He buries himself to the base, pressing his pelvis tight against yours. You feel him spill into you, flooding your insides with thick spurts.
“Namjoon...” you whine, overwhelmed by the heat spreading through your belly.
He groans against your neck, his whole body trembling as he empties himself completely. He holds you tight, refusing to let you move, making sure you take everything he has to give.
You collapse against his chest, exhausted and blissed out. His heart thuds rapidly under your ear. He wraps his arms around you, one hand stroking your hair while he stays buried inside you, still twitching occasionally.
“You’re my muse,” he whispers, kissing the top of your sweaty head. “I think I just got the perfect idea for the lyrics.”
You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’ll owe me song credits for this.”
pairing: harddom!taehyung x sub!reader x softdom!jungkook
synopsis: caught between taehyung’s unyielding grip and jungkook’s sharp-eyed hunger, you learn that teasing these two only earns you a long, merciless night of being used, punished, and thoroughly claimed by both of them.
word count: 4.5k
warnings: 18+, explicit content, slight cnc, rough sex, degradation & praise, face slapping, hair pulling, spit play, oral sex (both), anal sex, double penetration, mild chocking, slight cum play, size kink, mild usage of the pet name “puppy”, multiple orgasms
a/n: ok wow… i think i got a bit carried away with this one hahaha this is pure filth! i imagined post military buff taehyung and jungkook for this one because holy fuck, it’s my favorite look on them. anyways, enjoy i guess
“where are you going, baby?” you squirmed uselessly as taehyung’s huge bicep wrapped tightly around your body, caging you in against the hard wall of his chest so completely that you could feel every hard ridge of muscle pressing into your back and the warm scent of his cologne surrounding you until there was absolutely nowhere left for you to escape.
“are you trying to run away now?” jungkook smirked as he took a slow step closer to where you and taehyung were standing, his dark eyes dragging deliberately over your flushed face. “you were so eager to get our attention back there.” his hand came up to cup your chin with firm fingers, lifting your head so he could force you to look straight into his eyes, the hungry way he stared at you making it feel like he could devour you right there on the spot if he wanted to.
you squirmed again, a soft whimper escaping your throat, and you felt taehyung’s grip tighten even further around you, his chest pressing harder against your back until there was no space left between your bodies at all. “stop acting like you don’t want this.” his voice was rough and low right next to your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine as you felt his tongue drag a long, wet, deliberate strip up the sensitive side of your neck. “i know you’re dying to get fucked like a slut.”
“no…” you whispered, the word breaking halfway out of your mouth, and you heard both of them chuckle quietly under their breath as if the pathetic denial only amused them more.
“so convincing, baby.” jungkook mocked softly, his fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of your cheeks and forcing your lips to pout. “are you gonna tell me if i touch you down there i won’t find you dripping already?” he raised one eyebrow in challenge and your cheeks burned an even deeper rosy color that you couldn’t hide no matter how hard you tried to look away.
“yes.” you murmured the lie, even though you both knew it was an absolute utter lie. something about this slow, inevitable chase thrilled you deeply, your body already burning with a restless heat for these two men who looked so openly hungry to ruin you.
“oh yeah?” his hands came down to grab the hem of your skirt, rough palms brushing against the bare skin of your upper thighs. “what do you think tae? is she lying to us?”
you tried squirming again but taehyung’s thick bicep stopped you immediately, holding you locked in place like you weighed nothing to him. “of course she’s lying.” he chuckled darkly against your ear, the vibration of his voice sinking straight into your bones. “she’s a whore. i bet it’s already running down her legs.”
you clenched your thighs together on pure instinct but jungkook was faster, his strong hands shoving between your knees and forcing them wide open. “scared we’re gonna find out the truth?”
you shivered hard as you felt his fingers begin teasing a slow, torturous path up the insides of your thighs, moving almost too carefully, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on your face the entire time, examining every tiny flicker of expression as if he was savoring the way you were already falling apart under their hands.
his fingers finally stopped right at the hem of your panties, his thumb brushing the sensitive crease where your thigh met your hip, and even that light touch was enough to make your breath catch sharply in your throat. “can feel how warm you are already.” he teased, his face lowering until he was at the same level as you, his lips brushing so lightly against yours that you could feel every warm exhale. “can feel it through the fabric.”
you gasped when you finally felt his digits press firmly against you through the thin material of your panties, which were already soaked through and clinging wetly to your folds, the unmistakable slickness making a soft sound under his touch.
“fucking liar.” jungkook murmured right against your lips, voice low, deep and thick with satisfaction. “she’s dripping, taehyung.”
you bit down hard on your bottom lip, embarrassed by how exposed you felt, but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into taehyung’s chest, your hips twitching forward of their own accord to chase the pressure of jungkook’s fingers, even as shame burned hot across your face.
“so eager to take our cocks.” you whimpered softly at taehyung’s words, feeling him carefully tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with unexpected gentleness before his large hand slid lower. “i wonder how a tiny thing like you is gonna take both of us.” he chuckled under his breath as his bicep loosened just enough for his hand to come up and cup your breast through your shirt, thick fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh until your nipple hardened under his palm.
“she’s getting wetter.” jungkook smirked over at taehyung and you heard the older boy let out a low grunt against your ear, his fingers pinching your nipple firmly enough to pull another soft sound from your throat.
“what a filthy whore.” his voice dripped with dark lust as his other hand came up to fist tightly in your hair, yanking your head back hard and ripping a broken whine out of you. “you’re getting wetter at the thought of being fucked by both of us, huh?” your head was pulled so far back that he could stare straight down into your eyes, and that was when you saw how completely dark they had gone, your stomach twisting with a sharp mix of nervousness and excitement at the sight. “let me taste her.” he glanced at jungkook and your eyes slightly widened, but taehyung kept your head locked firmly in place by the hair, not allowing you even an inch of movement.
a helpless moan slipped past your lips as you felt jungkook’s fingers tug your soaked panties aside and dip between your folds, collecting the slick already coating you with slow, thorough strokes that made your thighs tremble. taehyung never looked away from your face, a wicked little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, and you nearly gasped when you saw the younger boy lift his wet fingers and feed your juices to taehyung, watching his lips wrap tightly around them while he kept staring straight into your eyes, humming low in his throat as he tasted you.
“so sweet.” he finally said once jungkook pulled his fingers free. “so ready for us already.” taehyung’s thumb pressed firmly against your chin, forcing your lips to part. you stuck your tongue out the moment you saw the thick strand of spit spilling from his mouth, feeling the warm, heavy weight of it land on your tongue, and you swallowed obediently, tasting yourself mixed with him. “good fucking slut.” he murmured, the approval rough in his voice.
“i think we should punish her for lying to us.” jungkook grabbed your chin and crushed his mouth against yours in a messy, wet kiss that left your head spinning before he pulled back again. “i know exactly where we can put that lying little mouth to good use.” he smirked widely and you felt taehyung’s arm leave your waist, the fist still buried in your hair turning you around roughly so you were facing him fully.
“you heard him, baby. get on your knees.” taehyung’s face was colder and more serious than jungkook’s, and something about that flat authority made your entire body shiver while the heat pooling low in your stomach tightened almost painfully. you hesitated for half a second too long, still trying to catch your breath from everything that had already happened, but taehyung brought your attention back with a sharp yank of your hair that stung in your scalp. “i’m not gonna tell you again. get on your fucking knees.” he gritted out between his teeth and you dropped quickly, kneeling on the hard floor in front of the two of them and feeling completely small and vulnerable as they stood tall and broad above you.
“she’s being so difficult today.” jungkook shook his head in mild disapproval, brushing his thumb almost gently over your flushed cheek as you stared up at him.
“i don’t know why.” taehyung cut in, voice low and edged. “she was the one practically begging for this. bending down in front of us, looking back like she wanted to get caught…” he squatted down in front of you so his eyes were levelled with yours, and suddenly a sharp, stinging pain bloomed across your cheek as his open hand cracked against it, making you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. “now you take what we give you like a good girl. do you understand?” you were still reeling from the first slap when he struck you again, then gripped your face tightly in his large hand. “do. you. understand?” you clenched hard around nothing and nodded frantically, your pulse racing in your throat. “that’s what i thought.” he rose back to his full height next to jungkook, who was already slowly palming the thick outline of his cock through his pants.
your mouth watered the moment you heard the metallic clink of belt buckles and the soft rasp of zippers being dragged down, and from your position on your knees you could also feel the steady drip of your own juices sliding down the insides of your thighs. both boys reached into their pants and freed their cocks—long, heavy, and already fully hard—but taehyung’s was noticeably thicker, the sight of it making your mouth water even as a nervous flutter twisted in your stomach, and you were sure that mix of fear and want showed clearly on your face.
“you’re scared, baby?” taehyung chuckled lowly, one hand lazily stroking his shaft as he looked down at you. “think that tiny little pussy of yours can take a cock this thick?” you bit your lip hard but still nodded. “let’s see if you can take it in your mouth first then.”
he stepped forward, fist tightening in your hair as he pulled you toward him, and you parted your lips obediently, letting him slide the leaking head past them. you wrapped your mouth around him carefully, sucking at the tip and tasting the salty precum already beading there, and the low moan that left taehyung’s throat made your stomach flip. out of the corner of your eye you saw jungkook move closer, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you took more of taehyung into your mouth while he slowly stroked himself.
“come here, baby.” jungkook’s hand fisted in your hair next and tugged you toward him, making taehyung’s cock slip free with a wet sound.
taehyung grunted in mild disapproval but didn’t stop it, simply watching as jungkook tapped the head of his own cock against your tongue, smearing more precum across it before pushing deeper. jungkook’s eyes fluttered closed for a second as you took half of him into your mouth, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit while his grip on your hair guided the pace.
“fuck— so fucking warm and soft—” he murmured, biting down on his lower lip as he watched himself disappear between your lips.
“don’t be greedy now,” you whimpered softly when you felt yourself being yanked back the other way by your hair again, jungkook’s cock slipping free. “i wanna use this pretty mouth too.”
taehyung gave you almost no time to adjust before he was pushing back into your mouth, deeper this time. you fought hard against the urge to gag as the head of his cock pressed the back of your throat, trying to breathe through your nose while he held your head firmly in place and began rolling his hips in short, controlled thrusts.
“gonna fuck this filthy little mouth of yours,” he gritted out, the hand in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “you’re gonna think twice before lying to us next time.”
tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he kept moving, your jaw aching from the stretch of him, and you braced your hands against his strong thighs for balance as his low grunts grew louder above you.
“bring her over here, hyung.” jungkook’s voice came from behind them.
taehyung pulled free of your mouth and you coughed hard, strings of spit still connecting your lips to his cock as you struggled to catch your breath. when you looked over you saw jungkook already sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt discarded and every tattoo and hard line of muscle on full display as he leaned back on one hand. his pants were gone too, the only fabric left being the tight black boxers shoved low enough for him to stroke himself slowly while he watched you.
“get up, slut.” taehyung’s voice snapped your attention back and you whimpered as he hauled you up by the hair, your legs shaky and uncooperative as you stumbled upright.
he released your hair only long enough to switch to a bruising grip on your upper arm, dragging you across the room toward the bed. spit still clung to your chin, your hair was a complete mess from his fist, your legs felt weak, and your eyes were still blurry from the tears—you looked every bit the used mess they had already started turning you into.
“take off your clothes, baby. let me see that pretty body.” jungkook’s voice was softer than taehyung’s but no less commanding, the sweetness in it somehow making the demand even more dangerous.
taehyung loosened his hold and stepped back, giving you enough space to obey on your own. you lifted your shirt over your head with trembling hands, revealing the white lace bra underneath and the way your nipples were already hard and straining against the thin fabric. next came the skirt—your fingers fumbled with the zipper but you felt your digits too weak to comply.
“take longer and i’ll rip them off myself.”
you finally managed to get it open and push it down your legs, kicking it aside. immediately you tried to cover yourself with your arms.
a low, dark laugh came from jungkook. “you must really be trying to piss us off today.” your whole body tensed as he stood and walked toward you. “i said take your clothes off. all of them.” the tone alone was enough to freeze you in place for a second. another quiet chuckle. “i warned you.”
you yelped when he grabbed you roughly, the sharp sound of fabric tearing filling the room as your bra was ripped open and fell away. another hard pull and your panties were gone too, leaving you completely bare and shivering as the cool air hit every newly exposed inch of skin.
“next time we tell you to do something, you listen like a good little puppy and do it. got it?” your body trembled not just from his words but from the sudden vulnerability of standing naked between them.
“yes,” you whispered. “i’m sorry.”
jungkook’s eyes darkened further. “you’re sorry?” a small, dangerous smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as his fingers trailed down your chest and over one stiff nipple, making you whimper. “then show me how sorry you really are.” he stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed again, tapping his thigh once. “come here, baby. sit.”
you walked over on unsteady legs and carefully straddled his lap. the moment your bare, wet cunt pressed against the hard length of his cock, both of you exhaled sharply at the contact. he delivered a firm slap to your ass that made you jolt forward, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.
“move. show me.”
he leaned back on his hands and watched with dark eyes as you began to grind against him, sliding your slickness along his shaft and coating him with every roll of your hips, the friction maddening.
“want more…” you whimpered, grinding harder as the tight coil in your stomach grew tighter.
“yeah?” jungkook bit down on his bottom lip, clearly fighting his own sounds. “want my cock inside you? want to be filled?”
you moaned in response just as the mattress dipped behind him. when you opened your eyes you found taehyung standing there fully naked, eyes dark and focused, one large hand slowly stroking his thick cock as he looked down at the two of you.
“lay back,” he ordered jungkook, pushing at his shoulders until the younger man was flat on the bed. “go on, baby. ride him.”
the rough command sent a fresh shiver through you. you wasted no time wrapping your hand around jungkook’s cock, feeling how heavy and hot it was, before guiding the tip to your entrance and sinking down slowly. every thick inch stretched you open until he was buried completely inside you, the fullness almost too much as your hands landed hard on his chest for support.
“let her do the work,” taehyung rasped. “go on, milk his cock. and don’t you dare fucking stop.”
your legs were still shaky, but you obeyed, rising and falling on jungkook’s cock, the head of him dragging over that perfect spot inside you with every downward stroke. you closed your eyes and let the pleasure take over, nails digging into the hard muscle of his chest while his hands settled on your hips without helping, just holding.
“come here.” you gasped when taehyung’s hand fisted in your hair again and pulled you forward until the head of his cock brushed your lips. “open.”
you did and he slid deep into your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking and running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside while your hips kept moving. the moment your rhythm faltered even slightly, taehyung’s hand cracked across your cheek again.
“i told you not to stop. move.”
you forced yourself to keep going—mouth working taehyung, cunt sliding up and down jungkook—until the wet sounds of both filled the room. spit ran down your chin, your thighs burned, you could feel yourself getting wetter with every second, the excess slick running down your legs and onto jungkook.
“such a good fucking puppy for us,” jungkook moaned, watching taehyung’s cock disappear into your throat right above his face, the outline of it visible against the soft skin of your neck as taehyung began fucking your mouth.
“she loves getting used like this, don’t you, baby? look at you. such a fucking whore.” taehyung’s voice was rough with pleasure as your spit coated his length and dripped from the corners of your stretched lips. you nodded the best you could around him.
your legs were shaking badly now, thighs burning and threatening to give out. when you tried to pull off just enough to breathe, taehyung held you firmly in place and pushed even deeper.
“no, no. stay.” you gagged hard as he filled your throat, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “what’s wrong, baby? too much? want to stop?” you nodded even as your hips kept trying to move on jungkook. taehyung only laughed. “but i don’t wanna stop, baby. you’re gonna take it, ok? take it like a good girl, c’mon.”
you clenched hard around jungkook, pulling a deep groan from him, as taehyung pulled back just enough for you to gasp a breath before slamming in again. the dual sensation was almost overwhelming, yet your body still craved more, squirming and moaning helplessly with every thrust and every filthy word.
“help her, jungkook. she’s too much of a mess to keep going on her own.” taehyung slapped your face again, then gripped your chin tightly while the other hand stayed buried in your hair. “such a useless little slut—” your teeth scraped lightly against him as jungkook suddenly slammed up into you, both hands gripping your hips hard as he took over the thrusting. “shit— baby—” taehyung moaned when the force of jungkook’s hips drove you even deeper onto his cock.
you were so close now. the coil in your stomach had tightened to the point of pain, and the way you kept clenching around jungkook made it obvious.
“fuck— so tight,” jungkook gritted out, fucking up into you harder. “wanna cum, baby? yeah? gonna cum for us?”
you had stopped moving your legs completely, body going limp as you relied entirely on jungkook’s arms to hold you up while the head of his cock hit that perfect spot over and over.
it didn’t take long. the orgasm crashed through you hard, your whole body locking up and shaking as you moaned brokenly around taehyung’s cock, pleasure white-hot and almost too intense to bear.
“that’s a good girl. that’s it, baby.” taehyung’s voice softened as he finally pulled free of your mouth, letting you gasp for air while he gently brushed his thumb over your tear-streaked cheek, giving you a moment to come down.
jungkook slipped out of you carefully. strong arms lifted you off him and settled you down in bed instead. one hand stroked slowly through your tangled, damp hair while you struggled to catch your breath.
“everything okay, baby?” taehyung asked quietly, trying to catch your gaze as your eyes fluttered. “feel good?” he pressed a soft kiss to your spit-slick lips before tilting your chin up.
you nodded weakly. “y—yeah…”
he kissed the tip of your nose. “good. because we’re not done with you yet.”
he turned you easily and laid your back against jungkook’s chest. the younger boy’s arms wrapped around you from behind, mouth already trailing hot, open kisses along your shoulder, your neck, and that sensitive spot under your ear that always made your body burn.
taehyung knelt between your spread legs, looking down at the mess between them with dark eyes. “spread wider, baby. let me see that pretty pussy.”
jungkook’s hands hooked under your knees and opened you further. taehyung’s expression darkened even more as he leaned in, fingers trailing slowly up the soft skin of your inner thighs.
“so dirty,” he murmured, replacing jungkook’s hands with his own to keep you spread. he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of one thigh, then higher, until his mouth hovered right over your folds. “are you a dirty little slut? yeah?” he kissed you there and you whimpered, hips trying to lift for more. “yeah, you are. look at you. want my tongue?” you nodded eagerly while jungkook kept kissing and sucking at your neck. “say it. fucking say it.”
“want your tongue— please—”
“good girl.” a loud, broken moan tore from your sore throat as his warm tongue dragged a long, slow stripe up your folds before he sucked hard on your clit. “so fucking wet. you want to get fucked so badly, don’t you.” he groaned against you, licking and sucking with filthy wet sounds that filled the room. “wanna be filled by both of us, huh? wanna get stuffed by our cocks?” he pulled back just long enough to spit onto your cunt and watch it run down toward your ass, then followed the trail with his tongue, circling your second hole before returning to your clit.
“i think she’s ready, kook.”
jungkook shifted beneath you, the thick head of his cock pressing against your ass. the pressure made your breath hitch. taehyung leaned down and kissed you slowly while jungkook pushed in. “you scared, baby? are you scared to be used by two cocks?” taehyung cooed at you, stroking his cock in his hand. “oh but you want it, don’t you? you want it so bad.” jungkook sinked —inch by careful inch—until he was buried to the hilt.
“oh— fuck,” jungkook moaned in your ear, voice wrecked. “she’s gripping me so tight. that’s it, baby. good girl. breathe for me.”
you were still adjusting to the intense stretch when taehyung lined himself up with your pussy and began sinking in. “are you ready for me? can you take it?” the dual fullness was overwhelming as you dug your nails into jungkook’s forearm. “yes you can. you’re a good little slut, aren’t you?” you whimpered into taehyung’s mouth as he kept going until he was fully inside you, both of them filling you so completely you could barely think. “shh, it’s okay baby. you got this.”
then they started to move. slow at first, finding a shared rhythm, then harder, deeper, until the bed creaked beneath you and broken, helpless sounds spilled from your throat with every thrust.
jungkook’s hand wrapped loosely around your throat. “oh my god—“ he groaned raspy in your ear. “so good baby, fuck— take it, just take it, that’s it.”
taehyung’s fingers dug into your hip hard enough to bruise, the sensation was so intense your vision blurred at the edges.
“you like being this fucking full, huh?” taehyung growled. “look at you, completely helpless between us—”
“hmm… gonna— c—um—” you managed, voice cracked and ruined.
“gonna cum on our cocks, baby? yeah?” jungkook whispered against your ear. “then cum, just let go.”
the second orgasm hit even harder than the first. your body convulsed between them, clenching tightly around both cocks until they both cursed. jungkook came first, spilling deep inside your ass with a broken groan. taehyung followed only a few thrusts later, burying himself to the hilt and filling your cunt until you had never felt so full in your life.
for a long moment the only sound in the room was the three of you breathing hard.
taehyung eased out carefully, then helped lift you off jungkook and settle you between them on the bed. your body felt completely boneless, oversensitive, and thoroughly used. thick cum was already leaking from both holes onto the sheets.
taehyung brushed the damp hair from your forehead and pressed a soft kiss there. “you did so fucking good.”
jungkook turned your face toward him and kissed you slow and deep. “never thought you’d actually handle that,” he murmured. “so proud of you, baby.”
taehyung’s eyes dropped to the mess between your legs, a dark, satisfied smile curling his mouth.
“so pretty filled with our cum.” his fingers traced lazily through the mess leaking from you. “you love this, don’t you?”
you managed a weak, breathless little laugh, eyes still heavy. “yeah… i love it.” you gathered what little strength you had left to prop yourself up on your elbows and pull both of them closer by the necks, placing a soft, lingering kiss on each of their lips. “guess i need to provoke you more often.”
taehyung groaned against your mouth. “try it, baby. this was us going easy on you. next time i’ll make sure you won’t be laughing.”
Pairing: Politician!Kim Namjoon x Fashion_Designer!Reader
Genre: Political marriage of convenience, Arrange Marriage AU, slow-burn, jealousy, obsession , possessive smut, yearning (both sides)
Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI
Word count: ~14k [Ik!! Again it's a long one but I hope y'all like it.]
Warnings: Arranged marriage [Arranged by him], age gap (3 years), power play, dirty talk, marking, size kink, praise kink, dom-sub-switch dynamic, wall sex (little rough), car sex (jealousy fuelled sex), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (refrain IRL), angst, fluff, and Namjoon being completely unhinged for his wife.
A/n: Honestly... I’m not from a political background, and I definitely don’t know how politics works in every country. So if something feels a little unrealistic or not perfectly accurate… Kindly ignore it and enjoy the drama.
[MASTERLIST]
You were seven when you learned your father hugged like a politician.
Quick. Calculated. For cameras only.
After the flash, he would straighten his suit, pat your head like you were a puppy, and walk away without looking back.
To everyone else you were “the Minister’s daughter.” To your father you weren’t even that. You were… “just an investment.” A future bargaining chip.
Only Chairman Kim ever treated you like a kid.
Every Saturday afternoon, he showed up for tea with your father while discussing politics. He always brought you strawberry candies in golden wrapper.
“For you, little princess,” he’d say, tapping your head, handing you candies while you smiled brightly.
His son always stood behind him. Tall. Quiet. Too serious for a kid.
Kim Namjoon.
You didn’t pay attention to him at first. But at nine, you noticed him properly for the very first time. He was twelve, wearing a navy suit, hair neatly combed. He looked like a tiny adult who had forgotten how to be a child.
You were sitting under the grand staircase with a sketchbook, drawing princess dresses made of candy wrappers.
He walked past.
Then stopped. and looked down at you.
You froze with your pencil mid-air.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even say a word. He just stared at you for five quiet seconds... long enough for your heartbeat to learn something new, then kept walking.
That night, you tried to draw him.
It was terrible. His head was huge, his body tiny. But you kept the drawing with you like a treasure anyway.
You didn’t know he stopped at the top of the staircase that day, looking back over his shoulder, wondering why a little girl designing candy wrapper dresses felt more alive than the whole house.
National Foundation Day.
It was your first grown-up banquet. You wore a yellow silk sundress embroidered with daisies. Your mother said it made you look “too bright.” Your father said nothing.
Namjoon was also here. He was twenty-one now. Taller... Sharper... Even more handsome in a way that hurt to look at. You saw him from across the ballroom. He was talking to a senator, but your heart already tripped over itself.
When he finally stood alone by the balcony doors, you took a deep breath, lifted your dress slightly so you wouldn’t trip, and walked toward him.
“Hi, Oppa,” you said, trying to sound casual and not like you’d practiced that exact greeting fifty times in the mirror.
He turned.
His eyes skimmed down your yellow sundress… then immediately lifted back to your face.
Too fast. Too controlled.
“Hello,” he said gently, voice and smile polite but distant.
You hated how cold it sounded.
Still, you tried.
“I, um… I saw your speech last week,” you said. “It was really, really good.”
He blinked at you like he wasn’t expecting genuine praise.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Then... “Excuse me.” He stepped around you and walked away.
You stood there alone, gripping your glass so tight your fingers ached.
But.. what you didn’t see was, Namjoon slipped behind a marble pillar twenty feet away, leaned his forehead against the cold stone and whispered under his breath, “…Why did she have to wear yellow? Why did she have to look so bright and cute?”
He stayed there until he calmed his breathing.
Because you were eighteen. And he was twenty one. And he wanted things he absolutely should not want.
At nineteen, you left your hometown to chase your bachelor’s degree—finally free from the suffocating walls of politics and expectations. You ran as far away as your world allowed. Your mother supported your dream.
Into color palettes. Into soft fabrics.
Into a life where people chose you because you made things beautiful, not because you fit into a political chessboard.
Your father fought you for years.
“This career is useless,” he scolded.
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“Come back and try to join politics.”
You didn’t. You kept sketching. Kept sewing. Kept breathing in a world full of art, not strategies. But when Autumn Festival came around, you had no choice but to return home.
And after a full day of polite smiles, fake compliments, and your father’s constant reminders of “behave,” you needed air. You needed space. You needed escape.
So you slipped away the first chance you got. Straight to the National Assembly library... your secret escape since childhood.
Quiet. Dusty. Safe.
A place where no one asked you to be perfect. A place where you could breathe again. A place filled with old books that smelled like freedom.
You didn’t expect him to be there.
Namjoon was twenty-two, round glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by policy reports. He looked annoyingly attractive in that serious, bookish way.
You hesitated before walking to his table.
“Hi... I didn't expect you here,” you said, softly.
He looked up. And for a second, his expression softened like sunlight touching snow. “You’re home for Chuseok,” he said. It was not a question... cause he already knew.
You nodded. “My house is too loud. I needed to hide.”
He smiled a little at that. “Same.”
You sat across from him.
You talked for forty minutes. Softly. Comfortably. About nothing and everything.
You: “Do you ever get tired of all the grey suits?”
Him: “Grey is safe.”
You: “Safe is boring.”
Him, after a long pause: “…Some of us don’t get to pick exciting.”
At one point, you reached for his pen—even though you had three of your own. Your fingers brushed. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his hand back like you’d burned him.
You pretended not to notice.
When you left, he watched you walk all the way to the door. And when the library finally closed, he was still staring at the spot where your fingers had touched his.
Few months later, chairman Kim passed away unexpectedly, it felt like all the color drained from Namjoon’s world.
At the funeral, he stood expressionless. Those deep, thoughtful eyes carried a grief so restrained it almost hurt to look at him. He bowed and thanked guests, all robotic and polite.
It was the first time you saw Namjoon truly break.
You placed a single strawberry candy on the funeral wreath—one he used to give you every weekends.
Namjoon stared at it for a long moment.
When he looked up at you, his eyes were red, his voice rough.
“…Thank you,” he whispered.
You wanted to hug him so badly your chest hurt. But you didn’t. You walked away before you cried.
After that, something hardened inside him. He returned to politics sharper, colder, impossibly composed. He became ice who forgot how to melt.
You approached him once at a diplomatic dinner months later.
You wore a dress you designed yourself—lavender silk, soft draping, delicate straps.
Your heart was fluttering like always.
“Oppa… you look thinner,” you said quietly.
“I’m fine.” He replied.
Short. Cold. Clipped.
His eyes flicked away the moment your friend approached.
It hurt. You told yourself he didn’t care. Didn’t feel anything. Never did. But you never knew he went home that night and punched a wall, furious at himself for reacting to you that way.
After that, you stopped trying to get close. He always stepped back anyway. Always kept his distance. Always refused warmth.
To you, it looked like indifference.
But in truth, he kept his distance because you made him feel things... dangerous, irrational things, and in politics, feelings were fatal.
Senior year felt like breathing after holding your lungs tight for ten years. Semester exams were done. Your brain was empty. Your heart finally felt light.
And that night… you wanted to forget everything.
The silver slip dress you wore clung to your skin like moonlight made of silk. You didn’t dress for anyone. You dressed for yourself... for freedom.
“Come on, babe, don’t overthink. Just dance tonight,” your friend Hyejin yelled over the music, pulling you to the center of the crowded Gangnam club.
The bass hit your body first.
The peach soju washed away the last bit of doubt. And the moment you started moving, everything—politics, your father, expectations, Kim Namjoon—blurred into nothing.
Jimin, your classmate, spun you around with a grin.
“You look dangerous tonight,” he joked, laughing.
You rolled your eyes. “Please, I look like someone who needs sleep.”
He laughed louder and pulled you closer. “Lets have fun and just dance before real life crushes you.”
You giggled, letting him guide you. Just harmless fun. Just dancing.
His hands slipped lower on your waist.
You didn’t notice... didn't care... cause he was just a friend. But someone else did.
Namjoon had not planned to stay.
He only came to discuss a campaign donation. He wore a black suit jacket undone, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked like sin in human form.
He lifted his whisky glass. He was mid-sip when he saw you.
And the world… stopped.
One of the donors said, “Assemblyman Kim, shall we go over the proposal—?”
“Hold on,” Namjoon said without looking away.
Because there you were. Shining... Laughing... Dancing with another man. You spun, silver dress flashing under neon lights. Jimin’s hands settled on your waist.
Namjoon’s fingers tightened around the glass.
He whispered under his breath, “No… absolutely not.”
His jaw flexed. His shoulders locked. He shouldn’t look. He tried not to look. But he failed.
Jimin leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.
“You’re seriously glowing tonight,” he shouted.
You laughed, warm and drunk. “It’s just glitter! Hyejin dumped half a bottle on me!”
He grinned. “Well, it's working and you are shining.”
You smiled back without thinking.
Namjoon saw that smile. And the way Jimin’s chest pressed to your back and how naturally you leaned into the touch. His heart slammed inside his ribs.
One donor asked, “Kim Namjoon-ssi? Are you listening?”
“No,” he said honestly, eyes locked on the dance floor.
“Namjoon-ssi, about the contribution—”
“Not now,” he said, voice clipped, icy.
He barely heard himself. All he heard was the blood roaring in his ears, one thought slamming over and over.
She’s mine.
Why is he touching her?
Why is she letting him touch her?
Why wasn’t I there first?
Your laughter floated up to the balcony.
Something in him snapped.
Namjoon didn’t let them finish. He stood so fast his chair scraped loud across the marble floor. “Excuse me,” he said sharply. He didn’t wait for an answer.
He was breathing too hard. He reached the middle of the staircase and stopped. His chest hurt with how badly he wanted to drag you away from that boy.
He wanted to storm across the floor. He wanted to pull you into him. He wanted the whole club to see who you belonged to. But then another thought punched him.
She still thinks you don’t want her.
She still thinks you’ve never looked at her that way.
He squeezed the railing until the metal groaned.
“Not like this,” he whispered. “Not drunk. Not in a club. Not when she doesn't know.”
He forced himself to turn around. Forced himself to walk back up. Forced himself to finish his drink. The glass cracked in his hand before he even realized he was squeezing it that hard.
Blood dripped down his palm, warm and slow.
He was too busy staring at the back of your silver dress in his mind.
Too busy remembering the very first time he wanted to kiss you—in that stupid yellow sundress years ago. Too busy losing the last bit of restraint he had left.
He left early.
He didn’t trust himself to stay.
Not when he knew exactly how good you’d feel pinned against the wall. Not when he knew exactly how easy it would be to claim your mouth and whisper, “I never stopped wanting you.”
He sat in his car for a long moment, hands shaking on the steering wheel. Then he whispered into the dark. “I’m done waiting.”
Meanwhile, You… You danced until your heels hurt and your hair stuck to your neck. Jimin offered to walk you home.
You shook your head. “I’m fine! Taxi is enough.”
He ruffled your hair. “Your loss.”
You laughed and waved goodbye.
You fell into bed at 4 a.m., cheeks flushed, heartbeat warm, mind airy.
And you didn’t think about Namjoon even once. Because you still believed he didn’t want you. You had no idea that the man you thought was cold and uninterested…
…just walked away because he was terrified he’d kiss you in the middle of a crowded club.
Terrified he’d finally lose control.
And deeply unaware that his control was already gone.
The dining room in your family’s official residence was always cold, even in summer.
Crystal chandelier, long mahogany table, portraits of presidents staring down like they were judging the food.
You were twenty-one, home for the weekend from university, wearing an oversized cream sweater and soft linen pants, hair still damp from the shower.
Your father sat at the head of the table, tie loosened for once but jaw locked tight. The staff brought the food in, quietly as always, never making eye contact. He didn’t let them finish.
He put his phone on the table—flat, heavy, decisive. “We need to talk about your future.”
You paused mid-bite, chopsticks hovering. “My… future?”
You tried to smile. Failed. “Dad, I already told you and mom. I got that internship in Paris. Remember? The eco-fashion collective? They only choose seven people in the whole...”
“I’m not talking about hobbies,” he interrupted, dismissing your dream with one flick of his hand.
You froze. “Hobbies?”
Your chest pinched. “Dad, it’s not a hobby, it’s my—”
“A marriage proposal has come for you and you will marry Assemblyman Choi’s son,” he continued, calm and cold. “Next month. You can finish rest of your last semester from here. I know attendance isn’t mandatory for this semester.”
The words slammed into you like a fist. Your chopsticks slipped and clattered onto the bowl. The sound echoed far too loudly.
“…What?” you whispered.
Your father didn’t flinch. “It’s already arranged. The Chois are powerful allies. This is a good match.”
“No.” You pushed your chair back. “Dad, absolutely not. Minhyuk is—”
“A respectable young man,” he cut in.
“A creep!” Your voice cracked. “He hits on my friends! Last month at the gala he cornered Ji-eun—”
“Rumors,” he snapped. “Girls exaggerate.”
Your jaw dropped. You felt sick.
“Dad, he’s a walking scandal. He literally bragged about cheating on his ex because she was ‘too clingy.’ I’m not marrying a man like that—”
“You will,” he said, slamming his palm on the table.
The glasses jumped. So did you.
“Because I said so.”
“Why won’t you listen to me?” Tears piled hot behind your eyes. “I’m building something. Fashion is important to me. I’m actually good at it—my professor said my designs could get into Seoul Fashion Week...”
“Enough.” His voice boomed. “Stop embarrassing yourself with glitter and fabric scraps. You have my name. That means something. And you will honor it.”
Your throat burned.
“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice trembled. “A tool? A deal? A pretty bargain chip?”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even hesitate.
“You are a disgrace to this family! Wasting your time on useless creative fields... drawing dresses like some starving artist! Do you know how many doors my name opens? And you throw it away for fabric scraps and glitter?”
Tears stung your eyes, hot and angry. “It’s not useless! It’s my life! You never even asked what I want!”
“What you want?” He stood too, towering over the table, face red.
“You want to embarrass me? Parading around in those ridiculous clothes, partying with those artsy nobodies? No daughter of mine will live like that. You will marry Minhyuk. You will smile at events. You will give me grandchildren who will carry this legacy. End of discussion. Or I pull every penny of your tuition, your apartment, your precious little fabric budget. You’ll be on the street by Monday.”
You went still. Absolutely still.
“Dad…” Your voice was barely air. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” he said simply. “And I will.”
Then he buttoned his jacket.
“Dinner is over.”
He walked out, door slamming behind him so violently the chandelier trembled. You sat back down slowly, shoulders trembling, tears falling silently into your lap.
You whispered into the empty room, “I hate you… I hate you so much.”
The staff pretended not to hear. But everyone did.
Namjoon’s office was dim, lit only by a desk lamp as he reviewed policies. He’d been working for hours; exhaustion clung to him like smoke.
His chief of staff entered quietly.
“Sir… there’s news. I think you should know.”
Namjoon didn’t look up. “What is it?”
The chief hesitated. “Minister Park just informed Chairman Choi… that his daughter agreed to marry Minhyuk.”
Namjoon’s pen froze mid-sentence.
“…What?” His voice was so low, it barely counted as a word.
“They’re planning the wedding for next month.” Chief replied.
Namjoon slowly lowered his pen, staring at nothing. “She agreed?” he repeated, like he needed confirmation.
“He says so...” The chief nodded, but continued, “... but I heard she was threatened too.”
Snap...
The pen broke clean in half in Namjoon’s hand. Ink bled over his skin, but he didn’t feel it. Namjoon stood abruptly, grabbing his coat.
“Sir... where are you—?”
“Get the car.”
“Sir?”
“Now.” He roared.
He drove faster than he should have through the quiet streets of Seoul. Every muscle in his body was tight. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. His jaw was locked so hard it ached.
She agreed? Did she really? I can't believe it...
I know her father force her? Does she think she has no choice?
His heart hammered.
He couldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t. He knew your father might have forced you or threatened you.
You were his... No one can dare to touch you... He couldn’t even finish the thought without losing control of the car. He reached your father’s residence in minutes. Security let him in without question.
Your father looked up from his brandy as Namjoon entered unannounced.
“Namjoon,” he said calmly, “it’s very late.”
Namjoon didn’t bow... Didn’t sit... Didn’t even breathe properly.
“I’m here to discuss about your daughter.”
Your father smirked faintly. “You heard the news.”
“I did.” Namjoon stepped closer. “And I’m here to tell you something.”
Your father raised an eyebrow. Namjoon’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm was something dangerous.
“She will not marry Choi Minhyuk.” He pause a beat. “She will marry me.”
The amused expression disappeared from your father’s face. “You’re serious.”
Namjoon’s chest rose and fell once. “Completely.”
Your father set his glass down slowly. “Namjoon… you are an excellent young man. Too excellent for someone like her. You can easily aim for someone from a stronger political family.”
Namjoon’s jaw flexed. “I’m not asking.”
Your father stiffened. “…What did you say?”
Namjoon stepped directly in front of the desk, lowering his voice.
“I’m telling you. I will marry her... Not Choi... No one else... Only Me.”
Your father narrowed his eyes. “And why should I agree to this sudden… demand?”
Namjoon leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “Because I’m the only man in this country who can give you what Choi never will... stability. Power. Control.”
Your father blinked.
Namjoon continued, tone razor-sharp. “Choi Minhyuk will embarrass you within a year. His scandals will drag your legacy through the dirt. But with me? Your family name becomes untouchable. I don’t lose. I don’t slip. I don’t fail. Tie your daughter to me, and your future is secure.”
Your father stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then he slowly reached for his phone. “Prepare the marriage documents for Kim Namjoon,” he said into it. “Have them sent to his office by morning.”
Namjoon straightened.
Your father looked up. “The wedding announcement will be next week.”
Namjoon nodded once. “Thank you, Minister.”
He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “One more thing.”
Your father looked up again.
Namjoon’s voice dropped to a quiet, deadly softness.
“If you ever threaten her tuition, her career, or her freedom again, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your career counting paper clips in a provincial office. Do we understand each other?”
A flicker of fear crossed your father’s face. “…We understand each other.”
“Good.” Namjoon left.
Outside, in the cold night air, he leaned against his car, finally letting the breath he’d been holding escape.
His hands were still stained with broken pen ink.
He closed his eyes, head falling back.
He’d waited eight long years to claim you... Eight years of distance, of control, of swallowing every feeling.
Now? You were finally, undeniably his.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, heart pounding.
“I’m coming for you,” he whispered to the night.
“And this time… I’m not stepping back.”
The hallways smelled like polished wood and ambition.
You didn’t call ahead. You didn’t care that his secretary tried to stop you. You shoved past her, heels clicking like gunshots on the marble, coat half-on, hair wild from the wind outside. You pushed the heavy oak door open so hard it banged against the wall.
Namjoon was standing at the window, phone pressed to his ear, back straight, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He ended the call without turning.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find me,” he said, calm, almost too calm.
You slammed the door behind you. Your hands trembled.
“How dare you,” you said, voice shaking with anger. “How dare you walk into my life like you own it and decide who I marry!”
He finally turned, slowly, eyes unreadable.
“I didn’t decide anything,” he said. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. “Your father did. I just changed the name on the contract.”
Your feet pounded across the floor until you were standing right in front of him, barely an inch apart.
“Who the hell asked you to play hero, Kim Namjoon?” you spat, chest heaving.
He looked down at you, jaw tight. “You preferred Choi Minhyuk?”
The name tasted like poison.
“I prefer no one!” you said. “I want to finish my degree, open my own studio, live my life... my way!”
He chuckled, low and sharp. “And you think your father was going to let you do that?” His eyes darkened. “He would have sold you to the highest bidder the second you walked across that stage. I know it. You know it.”
Your hands flew to his chest, shoving, angry, desperate.
He didn’t budge. Not an inch.
Instead, in a move so fast it stole your breath, he caught your wrists and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, crashing into him, palms flat against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat thundering beneath your fingers.
Your faces were inches apart. His breath brushed your lips... warm, faintly minty, with a rich undertone of coffee that made your stomach clench.
You hated how good he smelled.
You hated how your anger faltered for a split second, leaving your body betraying your mind.
“You should be thanking me,” he said, voice low, rough.
“Thanking you?” you spat, trying to pull away. He didn’t let go. “For what?”
“For saving you from him.” He glanced at your chest, then up at your eyes. “Choi Minhyuk would have destroyed you. Made you quit your passion, smiled at cameras while crying alone in bathrooms. I’ve seen what he does. I’ve seen the bruises he leaves on hearts like yours.”
Your stomach sank.
Namjoon’s voice dropped even lower. “I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I will never ask you to be less than you are.”
He leaned in until his forehead almost touched yours. “With me, you graduate. You design. You travel to Paris, Milan, New York, wherever the hell you want. You keep your name on the label. You keep your freedom.”
His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. “You’ll just have my last name too.”
You trembled. Rage mixed with something hotter, something dangerous.
“And what do you get out of this, Namjoon?” you whispered. “A political boost? Bragging rights? Or… a pretty little trophy wife?”
His jaw flexed.
He let go of one wrist to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like you were fragile glass. “I get to sleep peacefully at night knowing that you are safe and no one else is touching you.”
The words landed between you, raw and sharp. You sucked in a breath. He saw it, eyes darkening.
Then he stepped back, regaining control.
Cold, smooth control that had nothing to do with kindness.
“Two days,” he said. “Think about it.”
He walked back to his desk. He didn’t glance at you again. You left, shaking, slamming the door behind you.
You drove to your mother’s apartment, the one your father pretended didn’t exist after the divorce. She opened the door in loose silk pajamas, hair falling around her face, eyes tired but alert.
You collapsed into her arms, crying like a child.
When the story spilled out, she didn’t flinch.
She poured chamomile tea, sat you on the couch.
“I married your father because I had no choice. I was young and scared,” she said quietly. “I thought love would grow. It didn’t. Every year, I got smaller.”
She held your hands. “Namjoon… that boy has watched you since you were sixteen. He’s never smiled much, but his eyes… they were always on you. Keeping you safe. Waiting.”
You swallowed hard. “He… he doesn’t even like me.”
“He’s in love with you,” your mother corrected gently.
“He’s giving you a door your father wants to slam shut forever. Take it, baby. You can always choose whatever destination you want later through that door.”
Next Morning, you walked into his office again. The secretary didn’t even try to stop you this time. He was at his desk, pen in hand, signing papers. He looked up as you closed the door softly.
Hands shaking, you forced your voice steady. “I have conditions.”
He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours. “Name them.”
“I finish my degree, my internship. No interference.”
“Done.”
“I keep my studio, my brand, my name on every label.”
“Done.”
“I am not a doll. I will not quit my life to smile next to you at banquets.”
He stood, crossed the desk until he was in front of you. “I don’t want a doll. I want you. Safe and peaceful.”
Your throat tightened. “One more,” you whispered.
He waited.
“If you ever try to control me the way he does—”
“I won’t,” he said, voice steady, eyes locking with yours.
You exhaled, relief, fear, and something wild all at once. “Then… yes.”
For the first time, Kim Namjoon smiled.
A real smile, like he’d been holding his breath for years.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.
“You won’t regret this,” he murmured, softer.
You lifted your chin. “I’d better not.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Welcome home, Mrs. Kim.”
You rolled your eyes, heart thundering for a completely different reason. “Technically I’m not Mrs. Anything yet.”
“Give it one month,” he whispered, stepping closer. Close enough that stepping back wasn’t an option anymore.
And for the first time, you didn’t even try to.
The wedding had been quick.
Too quick.
A blur of black suits, white flowers, and your father’s satisfied nods. Nothing warm, nothing soft... just contracts, handshakes, and a single fleeting glance from Namjoon that left your stomach twisting for reasons you couldn’t name yet.
Moving into his penthouse felt like stepping into another world... luxury that almost hurt your eyes, marble floors that echoed every step, and a quiet so deep it was suffocating.
You unpacked in your separate room, the one at the far end of the hall. He had his own, just a few doors away. That night you lay in that big bed and stared at the ceiling until dawn.
You came down the stairs at 9:15 a.m., legs bare in those tiny silk shorts, drowning in your oversized hoodie. You were still sleepy, still warm, still looking like trouble.
He was already at the kitchen island in fresh suit, sleeves rolled up, black coffee steaming beside a tablet full of boring government stuff.
He heard your footsteps. He looked up once... just once, and his eyes stopped dead on your legs.
A quick inhale. A tiny freeze in his action.
Then he ripped his gaze back to the screen like his life depended on it. You shrugged and pretended not to notice.
You grabbed a bowl and poured cereal. The clinking sounded like a loud gunshot in the silent kitchen.
Still, you tried.
“Good morning,” you said softly.
He didn’t look up. Not even a little.
“Morning,” he answered, voice low, careful… like if he looked at you again he would do something stupid.
You sat down three stools away, dramatically... like a queen claiming her territory.
Then… silence. Awkward, heavy, warm silence.
You stared at him. Then at his shoulders. Then at the tiny muscle twitching in his jaw. You lasted forty-three seconds.
“Do you always eat alone?” you blurted, poking at your cereal like it offended you.
He finally glanced at you—this controlled, composed look with eyes that were way too soft for someone pretending not to care.
“I’m used to it,” he said. Not coldly but honestly.
You huffed, stirring your cereal aggressively. “Yeah, well… you have a wife now. So get unused to it.”
His mouth twitched. The closest thing to a smile he’s allowed himself at 9 a.m.
“Noted,” he murmured, voice warm this time.
You tried not to smile.
He tried not to stare at your legs again. Both of you failed.
Soon, he finished his coffee, slipped into his blazer, and paused by the front door. “I’ll be late,” he said. “Long session at the Assembly.”
You nodded, sipping your coffee. “Come home safe.”
He froze for half a second—like the words did something to him, but then he nodded, voice lower now.
“I will.” And then he was gone.
You didn’t see him again for 18 hours, but the warm echo of that tiny, hard-won smile stayed with you the whole day.
It was 6:12 a.m., another morning at house where silence lived more louder than the conversations you two ever had.
It was way too early for your brain to function, but cravings don’t care about sleep schedules. You stood on your toes, tiny cotton shorts riding up your thighs as you reached, struggling—for the top-shelf.
You didn’t hear him come in.
But you felt him first.
A warm breath hit the back of your neck... soft, slow, like he was tasting the moment. You stiffened, fingers curling on the cabinet edge.
And then his bare chest—still faintly damp from his early gym session, pressed against your back.
Hard muscle. Hot skin.
A silent, dangerous wall of him.
He reached past you, arm brushing your cheek, body pinning you to the counter without even touching you intentionally. Your breath caught. He didn’t move away.
For five heavy, stretched-out seconds, the whole world narrowed to heat radiating from his body, your pounding heartbeat, and the thin layer of your shirt separating your spine from his chest.
He spoke low, voice rough with sleep and sweat. “This shelf is too high for you.”
Your throat tightened. “I'll manage.”
He didn’t answer right away.
He just lowered the cereal box… slowly… setting it on the counter with deliberate care.
His knuckles skimmed your hip on the way down.
A soft graze. Barely a touch.
But your breath hitched like he’d put his hand under your shirt.
His chest finally pulled away from your back, and you exhaled without knowing you’d been holding anything in.
You turned to face him.
He was already halfway across the kitchen, shoulders stiff, jaw flexing so hard you saw the muscle jump near his cheek. Like he was holding something back. Like touching you, even accidentally, was a test he barely passed.
You opened your mouth to say something but he didn’t look back.
Just tossed over his shoulder, voice low. “You shouldn’t have to struggle for basic things.”
Then he disappeared into his room.
The next morning, you shuffled into the kitchen, hair messy, eyes half-shut and froze.
Everything... Every single thing, was rearranged.
The cereal. The snacks. The spices. The ladles. The jars. All placed lower. All placed where you could reach without stretching.
You blinked, stunned. “This wasn’t like this yesterday…”
You heard his voice behind you, softer this time but with the same deep rumble. “You don’t have to struggle for anything in this house.”
You turned.
He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with those unreadable eyes.
“Why did you…? And when...?” you asked.
His jaw flexed again before he admitted, quietly, “Because I didn’t like seeing you struggle.”
Your heart did a stupid flip.
Every morning started the same way and night ended the same way.
Maybe it was the brush of his fingers against yours when he handed you a glass, the touch so light it felt like an accident but lasted just a second too long.
Maybe it was a care and love hidden under those tiny acts and moments. Or maybe it was the way your eyes met in the dim hallway, his gaze sliding down to your mouth, yours flickering to his collarbone, silence stretching warm and unbearable between you.
Someone always looked away first, pretending nothing had happened… even though you both felt it.
That unfinished moment followed you to your separate rooms, settling under your skin, making the air heavier the next morning. Nothing was ever resolved.
Nothing was ever said.
And every night the tension just… lived there, growing thicker, waiting for one of you to finally stop walking away.
It was supposed to be a quick phone call.
Instead, your father’s voice sliced you open like it always did. “Three months married and not even a single public appearance! Do you want people to talk? Do you want to embarrass me again? And along with me Namjoon too!”
Your throat tightened. “Dad, I’m finishing my degree... I need to submit my designs...”
“Nonsense. Namjoon is being polite, but that doesn't mean you will take advantage of it. He is gonna run for Mayor soon and he needs a proper wife beside him. Get your priorities straight.” He hung up before you could breathe.
You sank onto the cold marble floor of the hallway, hugging your knees, trying to swallow the knot in your chest, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.
You didn’t even hear footsteps.
Just a sudden shadow falling across you.
“Hey…” Namjoon’s voice dipped low, gentle in a way that cut deeper. “Hey. What happened?”
You shook your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand.
“It’s nothing. I’m just… being... dramatic.”
He dropped to his knees in front of you so fast it startled you.
“No.” He took your shaking hands, prying them away from your face. “You don’t cry like this unless someone hurt you.”
Your lips parted, breath trembling. “I... I talked to my father.”
Namjoon went still.
His jaw flexed once. Twice. Something dark moved behind his eyes.
“What did he say?” His voice was so calm it was dangerous.
“That I’m… embarrassing him... and you too. That I’m not being a proper wife. That I should forget my stupid degree and—” Your voice cracked.
His thumb brushed a tear off your cheek.
Then another.
Then the next.
“Live your life the way you want,” he whispered, inching closer. “I’ll handle everything else.”
You swallowed, a sob escaping before you could hold it back.
He cupped your face with both hands—warm, large, steady. Your breaths tangled. His forehead almost touched yours.
You could feel his heartbeat.
Fast. Hard. Uncontrolled.
For a moment, you thought he’d kiss you. His eyes flicked to your lips but he stopped himself. Pulled back like your lips were fire.
His hands fell to his lap.
He looked away, breathing unevenly.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t…”
You didn’t understand what he meant cause he never completed the sentence. You only knew your chest hurt when he stood up and helped you to your feet, careful not to touch you too long.
“Let me take care of my campaigns,” he said gently. “You focus on your dreams.”
You nodded, thinking he was just being kind.
He walked away with fists clenched, jaw locked, like he was punishing himself for wanting you too much.
A week later, you were hunched over your laptop in the living room, surrounded by fabric swatches and sketches. Your leg bounced restlessly, your teeth worrying your bottom lip.
You didn’t hear him come in until he spoke. “You’re overthinking.”
You jumped. “Uh... I’m working.”
“Torturing yourself isn’t the same thing,” he replied calmly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he walked closer.
You glared. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His voice was unshakeably gentle. “Tell me what you are struggling with. Tell me what you need.”
You shook your head. “Materials. But the supplier is out. And the backup is too expensive. And the design idea is good but I can’t finalize it because the fabric isn’t right and—”
“Okay.” He stopped in front of you, lowering his voice. “Slow down. Which materials?”
You blinked, surprisingly.
He listened as you rambled, your hands moving animatedly, describing textures, cuts, colors, structure.
He didn’t interrupt. Not once.
He looked at you like the world’s gone quiet and you’re the only thing worth hearing.
Hours later, when you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, you noticed boxes stacked neatly by the wall.
Your heart stopped.
Everything you mentioned. Even the items you said were “impossible to get at very short notice.”
You found him in the hallway, sleeves rolled up, opening the last box.
“You did all this?” you whispered.
“I told you,” he said without looking up, “I’ll handle everything else. And I hate seeing you struggle.”
The next morning, he led you to a door you had never opened.
Inside?
A full studio. Your dream studio.
Tailored exactly to the way you work.
You turned to him, stunned. “Namjoon… this is—this is too much.”
“No,” he said, meeting your eyes steadily. “It’s not enough.”
You swallowed hard.
He stepped closer, gaze gentle. “You deserve space to build your future. You’re not supposed to fit your dreams into a corner of the living room.”
Your chest tightened. “You made this… for me?”
“I made it because I like watching you work,” he said, then immediately looked away like he didn’t mean to be that honest. “It—uh—it’s important to you. That’s all.”
But you heard it.
Two weeks later, everything had blown up—posters everywhere, meetings stacked on meetings until he was nothing but a shadow passing through the house. You hardly saw him anymore... except in the quiet hours of the morning.
And the day he officially filed his candidacy, you dressed him in the first suit you’d finished for him.
A midnight–navy wool-silk… smooth, rich, beautiful with hand-stitched lapels. A thin silver pinstripe that showed only when he moved.
He looked unreal in it. But you pretended you weren’t staring.
He stood in the center of your studio like a perfectly-behaved mannequin, while you circled him with pins in your teeth and your heart somewhere in your throat.
“Arms up,” you said, tapping his elbow.
He lifted them instantly. No hesitation. No argument. Just complete obedience to your soft little command.
You pretended it didn’t affect you.
He watched you in the studio mirror, eyes following every move you made.
Your palm slid over his shoulder, smoothing the fabric. You stepped closer, fingertips smoothing down the length of his bicep, then flattening the jacket across his chest.
His chest was warm. His heartbeat was fast.
You tried to pretend you didn’t notice.
“Is it too tight here?” you asked softly, pressing your hand over his heart to check the fit.
A low sound escaped him... half-laugh, half something else. His eyes flicked to yours in the mirror.
“If it were any looser,” he said, “I’d look like I borrowed my father’s suit.”
You smiled under your breath and moved behind him to check the vents. Your hands skimmed lightly along his waist to adjust the back seam.
He inhaled sharply—so sharply that you felt it through the fabric.
“Stop moving,” you scolded, nudging him with your knee.
“Believe me,” he muttered, “I’m trying.”
You stepped to his front again, reaching for the tie you dyed yourself—a deep burgundy that warmed against his skin. You slid it under his collar, your knuckles brushing his throat.
He swallowed. You felt everything.
“Hold still,” you whispered.
He didn’t. He swayed almost imperceptibly closer.
You tied the knot slowly, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Your hand smoothed down the tie, down the firm line of his chest… and lingered over his heart again without meaning to.
Your voice dropped. “There. You look…”
You swallowed the rest.
He turned his head, meeting your eyes through the mirror like the way a man does when he’s trying very hard not to cross a line.
“How do I look?” he asked, voice deep and rough.
You let out a shaky breath. “Like you’re going to win.”
His eyes dropped immediately to your mouth. “And if I do win?”
You stepped back a tiny bit—barely an inch. “Then the city gets a mayor who dresses well.”
He gave a soft, humorless laugh, like it hurt him. “That’s all?”
Your fingers were still brushing his chest, even though you were trying to drag them away. His heartbeat was wild under your palm—louder, faster, like he was afraid you’d hear everything he’d been holding back.
“Mhmm...,” you said quietly.
He closed his eyes for a second, breathing like he needed to calm himself, then stepped back with visible effort. His hands clenched at his sides.
“One more month,” he told himself in mind, almost like a promise. “Just one more month…”
He left before you could say anything further, afraid he’d grab you, afraid he’d kiss you, afraid he’d ruin the careful control he’d been holding onto.
You watched him on the television from your new studio—half-finished sketches on the table, fabric scissors forgotten in your hand.
He stepped onto the stage for his first town-hall speech wearing the suit you made for him.
Under the bright lights, the midnight navy shimmered. Every turn caught the silver pinstripe. The burgundy tie glowed against his throat.
He looked powerful... Confident... And heartbreakingly handsome.
A reporter leaned forward. “Mr. Kim, your suit looks fantastic today. It's different than what you usually wear. May we ask who designed it?”
He smiled—small, soft, secret.
“My wife,” he said.
Those two words hit you harder than the studio lights above you. You felt your breath catch, your chest tighten, your heart race against your ribs.
He said it with pride. With ownership.
With something warm and protective in his voice that made your knees weak.
You pressed a hand to your chest as he continued speaking on screen, his voice steady and strong. But all you could hear was the smile in his voice when he said it.
My wife.
You’d promised one night for yourself before finals took over everything. Just one night to forget the weight on your shoulders. One night to laugh with the friends who pulled you out of the suffocating world of politics and lit up your college days.
One last night before all of you drifted toward your own futures.
So you went out with your friends to a rooftop bar in Itaewon—fairy lights hanging above you, cheap cocktails in plastic cups, music loud enough that your overthinking finally shut up for a few hours.
Jungkook, your playful, chaotic friend, offered to drive you home when your cab cancelled. At 2:13 a.m., his matte-black Jeep stopped in front of the entrance to the penthouse.
You leaned over the console to side-hug him, laughing at something stupid he had said. “Thanks for the ride, Kook. Seriously.”
He hugged you back briefly and grinned. “Anytime. Text me when you’re alive tomorrow.”
You hopped out, still giggling, hair messy, heels dangling from your fingers.
You didn’t know someone else had watched the entire thing.
Namjoon had been pacing the living room for two full hours, phone in hand, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you. He saw the hug. He saw you smiling. He saw another man’s hands around you.
And something inside him burned.
The moment Jungkook’s car drove off, you stepped inside—humming softly, completely unaware of the storm brewing for you.
You stopped dead.
Namjoon stood in the dark living room, facing the window, the city lights outlining his tall frame. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly wild like he had been dragging his fingers through it.
His voice cut through the darkness like a knife. “You should have told me you’d be late.”
Your heart jumped. “God, Namjoon. Don’t stand in the dark like that. It’s creepy.”
“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said without turning. “I was waiting.”
“For what?” you asked, dropping your heels by the door.
“For you,” he said simply.
You blinked. “I texted you. You didn’t reply.”
He finally turned toward you. His eyes were sharp. “I was in a strategy meeting until 11.”
You let out a breath. “Okay… then what’s the problem?”
He stepped forward. Slowly. Controlled.
But his jaw was tight, and you saw the muscle tick.
“The problem,” he said softly, “is coming home and watching some guy put his hands on my wife.”
Your lips parted. “Jungkook just hugged me. He was driving me home...”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It DOES matter. He’s my friend!”
“I don’t care,” Namjoon growled, taking another step. “I don’t care about him. I care that his hands were on you. I care that you were laughing in his car. I care that you didn’t tell me you’d be with him that late.”
You stared at him, stunned.
Then a sharp, humorless laugh escaped you.
“You don’t get to be jealous,” you said. “You don’t even TOUCH me, Namjoon. You barely LOOK at me. You treat me like a roommate you’re forced to live with—”
His voice cracked open, raw and ragged. “Because I’m trying not to ruin you before you graduate.”
The room fell silent. You swallowed, the anger melting into hurt.
“Then why... why do you act like you don’t want me?” Your voice shook. “Every time I get close, you step away. We sleep in separate rooms. You treat me like I’m made of glass. You don’t even love me. You’re just stuck with me. So why the hell do you care who drops me home?”
Something inside him broke. You could feel it.
He moved faster than you could process.
In two strides, he had you caged against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, chest rising and falling, breath shaking.
He wasn’t touching you. But the air between you felt electric.
His voice was low, furious, trembling. “You think I don’t want you?”
Your breath stopped.
He leaned closer, lips almost brushing your cheek.
“I have wanted you,” he whispered, “since you were sixteen and I was nineteen. And it was wrong. It was illegal. And I hated myself every single day for it.”
Your eyes widened, heart slamming against your ribs.
He continued, voice breaking, “I married you because the thought of another men breathing near you made me want to burn the world down. I married you so no one else ever would.”
His forehead pressed gently against yours. His whole body shook with restraint.
“I count the hours until your graduation,” he murmured, “because if I touch you now... if I kiss you now—I’m afraid I won’t let you leave that bed for days.”
Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer until your lips hovered an inch from his.
“Then stop being fucking coward,” you whispered.
“I’m twenty-two. I’ve been yours on paper for three months and yours in every way that matters. So fucking show me. I’m not a kid anymore.”
His breath hitched. His grip tightened on the wall. His eyes dropped to your lips like he was starving.
And that was the moment... everything snapped inside him.
He made a sound you’d never heard from him before—half-groan, half-growl, like something wild had finally been let out of its cage.
Then his mouth crashed onto yours. There was nothing soft about it.
No pause. No hesitation.
Just years of hunger slamming into you all at once.
His lips were hot, desperate, almost angry with how long he’d held himself back. Your teeth bumped, your tongues tangled, breath mixing in messy gasps that tasted like whiskey, jealousy, and every held-back fantasy he’d buried for years.
You moaned into him... high, needy—and he swallowed the sound like he’d been starving for it. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling tight, controlling your head with an ease that sent heat pooling between your legs.
The other hand grabbed your thigh, hauled it up around his hip, dragging you flush against the thick, hard heat straining against his slacks.
His hips rolled, rough and frustrated.
“Fuck…” he breathed against your lips, voice torn open. “Feel that? That’s what you’ve been doing to me for years, sweetheart. Every damn day.”
You couldn’t even speak.
Your hands were shaking as you grabbed at his shirt, popping buttons, pushing fabric aside until your palms met his bare chest.
Hot. Solid. Trembling.
His heart hammered so hard you felt it against your fingers.
He groaned—a deep, broken sound, and dropped his mouth to your neck. The first kiss was hot. The second was harder. Then he sucked, teeth dragging, leaving a mark that made your knees almost give out.
“Tell me to stop,” he gasped against your skin. He was breathing like he’d run miles. “If you say stop, I swear to God I will. But this is the last time I’m asking you. Last chance, baby...”
“Don’t you dare,” you panted, nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”
Something in him snapped clean in half.
He spun you so fast you gasped, your back hitting the wall as his body pressed into yours from behind. His mouth found the nape of your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like he’d been drowning in restraint.
His hands slid under your cropped sweater, warm palms gliding over your stomach, up your ribs, until they cupped your breasts completely. He groaned into your skin as his thumbs brushed your nipples through the lace—slow first, then firmer when he felt you shaking.
“God,” he whispered, voice shaking, “I dreamed about this. I dreamed about touching you like this. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
You arched back, grinding against the hard line of his cock. He cursed—low, filthy, helpless.
“Baby…” he rasped, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot on your skin. “If you do that again, I’m gonna lose every bit of control I have left.”
You did it again.
And he broke all over you.
“These clothes,” he snarled, yanking your sweater over your head, bra following in one impatient tug. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your shoulder, your spine, licking a hot path downward as he dropped to his knees behind you.
He spun you so fast the room tilted, hands rough on your hips as he folded you forward, palms slamming flat against the wall for balance. Your skirt was already bunched at your waist, panties dangling uselessly around one ankle now.
Cool air kissed your soaked skin for half a second, and then his mouth was on you, no warning, no mercy.
“OW... FUCK... Namjoon—”
He groaned, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste better than I dreamed,” he rasped, voice muffled against you. “So fucking sweet.”
Another long, deliberate lick, slower this time, flattening his tongue so he could feel every shudder that rolled through you. When he reached your clit he circled it once, twice, then sucked it between his lips, hard.
Your knees buckled.
You would’ve hit the floor if his hands weren’t gripping your hips like iron.
“Stay right there,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Legs open. Let me eat this pretty pussy the way I’ve been dying to for months.”
He spread you wider with his thumbs, exposing you completely, and dove back in. This time his tongue speared inside you, thrusting deep, curling, fucking into you like he couldn’t get far enough.
You felt the wet drag of it, the obscene sounds of him drinking you down echoing off the walls.
“Namjoon... oh god—”
You whimpered, pushing back against his face shamelessly.
He moaned again, louder, the vibration making you clench around nothing. “That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my tongue. Show me how bad you wanted this.”
You did, rocking back, chasing his mouth.
He let you for three desperate strokes, then took control again, tongue flicking fast over your clit, relentless, before sucking it hard enough that stars burst behind your eyes.
“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name,” he promised, words slurred against your slick folds. “Then I’m gonna do it again with my cock.”
Two fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling hard, and you cried out, palms slapping the wall for balance.
“So wet,” he growled, voice muffled against your skin. “Been wet for me for months, haven’t you?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—” You clenched around his fingers so hard.
“Come for me, baby,” he demanded, voice raw. “Come all over my face, right now, let me taste it...”
The orgasm crashed over you so hard you screamed, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking helplessly as wave after wave tore through you.
He didn’t stop, just kept licking, gentler now, drawing it out until you were sobbing from overstimulation, pushing weakly at his forehead.
Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes black with lust, your wetness glistening on his chin. He stood slowly, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was savoring the taste.
“Turn around,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
He made you stand in one motion, spinning you again to face him. His belt clinked open, zipper rasping down. You reached for him desperately, fingers wrapping around his cock... hot, thick, leaking—and he hissed, head falling back.
Your back hit the wall again as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, slick and burning.
“Look at me,” he demanded, voice shaking.
You did.
His eyes were wild, pupils blown, lips swollen from your kisses. Sweat glistened at his temple.
“I love you,” he said, raw and reverent. “I love you so much it’s fucking killing me.”
Then he pushed in... one long, slow, devastating thrust that stretched you open and seated him to the hilt. You both froze, trembling, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air.
He didn’t move yet.
Just held you there, buried deep, pulsing inside you.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth.
“I’m yours,” you breathed. “Always was.”
His control snapped a second time.
He pulled back and slammed inside again, hard enough that your moan cracked in half.
“Fuck—” you sobbed, head banging back against the wall.
Namjoon didn’t give you time to breathe.
He set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps of skin on skin, the wall trembling behind you with every relentless drive. Each stroke dragged the ridge of his cock over that spot inside you that made your vision spark white, made your toes curl.
Your nails raked down his shoulders, carved burning lines across his back, and he hissed through his teeth, fucking you harder.
“Like that?” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “You want it rough, baby? Been dreaming about splitting this tight little pussy open for years.”
“Yes—yes... Fuck... harder—” you chanted, barely sane.
He shoved one hand between your sweat-slick bodies, fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick, and started rubbing fast, merciless circles that matched the brutal pace of his cock.
“Listen to you,” he rasped, breath scorching your throat. “Listen to how wet you are for me. Can hear it every time I fuck into you—soaked down my balls, dripping on the floor.”
The obscene sound of it filled the room... slick, rhythmic, filthy, mixed with your broken moans and his low, animal groans.
“Namjoon—please—”
“Please what?” He slowed just enough to grind deep, rolling his hips so the head of his cock pressed hard against your wall, making you see stars. “Tell me what you need.”
You clawed at his back again, legs shaking around his waist. “Make me come... want to come on your cock... please—”
He snarled, snapped his hips faster, fingers working your clit in tight, ruthless circles. “Gonna give you everything,” he promised, voice cracking. “Gonna fill this pussy up so good you’ll feel me for days. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember who you belong to.”
The pressure coiled viciously tight, your walls fluttering around him.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, dark and filthy. “Squeeze me... fuck... milk my cock, baby, show me how much you love this—”
His fingers pressed harder, rubbing side-to-side now, fast and perfect, and you shattered.
The orgasm hit you sooner than earlier, ripping a scream from your throat as you clenched around him, vision whiting out.
He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a broken groan of your name.
You stayed locked together, shaking, sweat-slick, his cock still twitching deep inside you, your legs trembling around his waist.
After a long moment he lifted his head, eyes soft now, almost scared.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “I lost it. Did I hurt you?”
You laughed, breathless and wrecked. “You better do that again in approximately five minutes.”
Relief flooded his face.
He kissed you slow this time, tender, like he was memorising the taste. “Bedroom,” he murmured against your lips. “Now. I’m nowhere near done proving how much I love you.”
He carried you there without pulling out, your bodies still joined, and kicked the door shut behind you.
Neither of you slept that night.
The gala felt unreal.
It was Namjoon’s first major campaign event after your graduation, and he stood in the centre of the room in the deep wine-coloured suit you had made with your own hands. The silk lapels caught the light every time he moved.
He looked powerful. He looked calm.
He looked like the future of the city.
And he looked like yours.
You stood half a step behind him in your backless blood red dress, silk flowing around your legs like spilled wine. The diamond choker around your throat glimmered with each breath.
Namjoon had clasped it himself before you left, his fingers warm on your skin, his lips brushing the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Perfect.”
You had felt warm and proud and so unbelievably happy.
Until she arrived.
Councilwoman Lee Soojin.
Young. Elegant. Confident. And very aware of her beauty.
She moved through the crowd like she owned the floor, eyes locked on Namjoon before she even reached him.
“Mayor-to-be,” she said in a silky voice, placing her hand on his forearm like it was a habit. “You absolutely must tell me who designed this suit. It should be illegal to look this good.”
Her fingers travelled along the lapel, far too close to his throat.
You felt heat rise in your chest.
Namjoon stiffened almost instantly. His smile froze into something polite and cold.
“My wife designed it,” he said, turning slightly so he could gesture toward you. He said it calmly, proudly, like there was never any question.
Soojin’s gaze flicked to you... one quick, dismissive glance, before she turned back to him as if you were decoration.
“Well,” she said with a soft laugh, “she must have measured every inch of you very carefully. It fits you perfectly.”
Your hand tightened around your champagne flute.
Namjoon’s jaw tightened in the way you knew meant he was seconds from snapping.
You stepped forward before he could.
“Every inch,” you said sweetly, letting your voice glide like honey over steel. “Twice, actually.”
Soojin blinked, startled.
You slid your arm through Namjoon’s, pressing your palm firmly against his chest. “Enjoy your evening, Councilwoman.”
She stepped back. Her smile finally cracked.
He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But his heart was slamming against your palm like a drum.
He stayed silent the entire walk to the car.
The drive through Gangnam was a slow burn.
Neon lights flashed across the windshield, slicing across the tense air between you. The city looked alive outside, but inside the car everything was quiet and heavy.
Namjoon drove himself tonight.
No driver. No witnesses. No escape.
You sat with your arms crossed, face turned toward the window, trying not to show how furious and jealous and stupidly, painfully in love you felt.
He kept glancing at you.
Once. Twice. Every few seconds.
“Baby—” he tried.
“Don’t,” you said sharply.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. “I didn’t like how her hand...”
“I said don’t.”
Your cheeks were flushed, chest rising and falling, your lipstick bitten off from how hard your teeth dug into your lip.
And Namjoon?
He looked like he was seconds away from either apologising or pulling over and kissing the breath out of you.
At the next red light, he reached over... slowly, as if not to startle you. His hand brushed the seatbelt strap across your chest… sliding down to adjust it.
Completely innocent. Until it wasn’t.
His knuckles grazed the soft swell of your breast. His hand paused.
Your breath caught.
His fingers stayed there—just barely—but enough to make your entire body tighten.
“Namjoon,” you warned, voice low, trembling.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move his hand. Didn’t even blink.
Green light.
He jerked his hand back and accelerated, jaw clenched so tight you could see the strain in his neck.
Next red light.
You unbuckled your seatbelt.
His head whipped toward you instantly. “Baby… what are you—”
You didn’t wait.
You climbed onto his lap in one smooth, furious motion. Silk sliding, your dress riding up, knees pressing into the narrow space between the seat and the console.
His hands snapped to your waist on instinct, eyes wide, breath gone.
“Drive,” you ordered when lights turned green, voice shaking with possessiveness, like you ruled the whole damn city.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His body reacted before his mind did, hardening against you inside his suit pants.
“B-Baby…” he breathed.
You rolled your hips once—a slow, deliberate grind that made him choke.
His head fell back against the seat with a thud. “F-Fuck...”
“You’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “How dare she flirt with you? No one touches you. No one leans in like that. No one puts their hands on what belongs to me.”
You bit his earlobe... hard enough to make his breath shatter. He jolted, hips bucking up helplessly.
“Say it,” you demanded softly. “Say you’re mine.”
His answer came without hesitation, voice raw.
“I’m yours... Babe,” he rasped. “Only yours. Always. I swear... no one else even exists to me.”
You started grinding.
Slow, deliberate, filthy circles that dragged the soaked lace of your panties over the thick line straining his trousers.
The friction was perfect, maddening, every roll of your hips grinding your clit against the rigid line of him until your breath came in sharp little gasps.
Namjoon’s head fell back against the headrest with a thud, throat bared, Adam’s apple working as a broken sound tore out of him, half groan, half prayer.
“Fuck… just like that,” he rasped, voice shredded.
“Keep moving on me, baby. Make me feel who I belong to.”
You leaned in, lips brushing the frantic pulse hammering under his jaw. “Gonna leave marks,” you whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “So tomorrow, when she sees you again, she’ll see my marks all over you.”
His answering growl was feral. “Do it. Mark me so deep I feel you for days. Want the whole fucking world to know I’m taken.”
You didn’t hesitate.
You latched onto the spot just below his ear, sucked hard, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting.
Then lower, yanked his collar aside with impatient fingers, buttons straining, and sealed your mouth over his pulse. You sucked until you felt the skin give, until the hickey swelled hot and purple under your tongue.
His cock jerked against your clit, a fresh flood of wetness soaking through your panties onto his trousers.
You pulled back just enough to admire your work, lips swollen, eyes glittering. “Sensitive here, husband?” you purred, tracing the fresh bruise with your thumb.
He laughed, breathless, wrecked. “Only when it’s you.”
You rewarded him by grinding down in one slow, torturous circle, dragging the lace seam right over the head of his cock. His hips snapped up to meet you, chasing the pressure.
“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re soaked. I can feel you through my suit. Gonna ruin these trousers, baby?”
“Good... I can design 10 more,” you whispered, nails raking down his chest, catching on the buttons.
His hands slid from your hips to your ass, fingers digging in, spreading you wider so you could feel every inch of him.
“Take whatever you want,” he said, voice raw and desperate. “Use me. I’m yours, every part of me, fucking take it.”
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He jerked the wheel, turned into a narrow service alley behind closed boutiques, cut the engine.
City sounds disappeared.
Only your breathing and the soft tick of cooling metal. He stared at you... eyes black, chest heaving. You didn’t wait.
You finally attacked his mouth, teeth scraping, tongue sliding deep, pure, feral possession. He met you with the same violence, one hand fisting your hair, the other already shoving under the silk of your dress, fingers sinking into the bare skin of your thigh.
“Fuck,” he snarled against your lips, “do it. Take me. Right here.”
Your hands dropped to his belt... metal clinking, leather whipping free. You tore the zipper down, reached inside, wrapped your fingers around him.
He was scorching.
Thick, pulsing, slick with precum that smeared over your palm as you pulled him free.
“F-Fuck—” His head slammed back against the headrest.
“Look at you,” you whispered, stroking once, slow and firm, thumb circling the wet tip.
“So fucking hard for your wife.” You leaned in, voice poison-sweet. “Did you like her fingers on your arm, Namjoon? Did it feel good when she laughed while standing too close?”
“No,” he growled, hips already fucking into your fist, frantic. “Only want you. Only ever you. Swear to God...”
You squeezed, just hard enough to make him choke on the words.
“Then prove it.”
You shifted, shoved the soaked lace of your panties aside with trembling fingers, and lined him up.
Just the head. One cruel inch.
You sank down.
His groan was guttural, broken, hands flying to your hips like he was trying to stop himself from slamming you down the rest of the way.
“Wait... fuck... baby—”
You didn’t wait.
You took him in one slow, relentless glide until he was buried to the root, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly your vision blurred.
“Holy shit...” His voice cracked. “So tight... so fucking perfect—”
You rolled your hips once, slow and deep, clit grinding against the base of him.
“Mine,” you breathed against his mouth, starting to ride him in deliberate, punishing strokes. Every downward slide took him to the hilt... every upward drag tore a curse from his throat. “This cock is mine. This body is mine. These sounds—”
“Yours,” he panted, fingers bruising your ass as he guided you harder, faster. “All yours... fuck... take it, take everything—”
You found the angle that made you see stars and ground down, circling, owning.
He lost it.
One hand shot up, fisted the front of your dress, and ripped.
Silk tore with a sharp, satisfying sound. Cool air hit your skin and then his mouth was on your breast, hot and wet, sucking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out.
“N-Namjoon—Yes... Fuck!”
He growled around the sensitive peak, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, while his hips snapped up to meet every roll of yours. The car rocked violently, windows completely fogged.
“Say it again,” he rasped, switching to the other breast, leaving it swollen and shining. “Tell me who I belong to.”
“You’re mine,” you moaned, nails raking down his scalp, holding him to your chest. “Only mine. No one else gets this—no one else gets to hear you fall apart...”
He released your nipple with a wet pop, head falling back, throat exposed, sweat glistening in the hollow of his collarbone.
“Never,” he swore, voice shredded. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you. Fuck... look at me.”
You did.
His eyes were wild, wrecked, completely gone for you.
“I love you,” he said, raw and desperate, hips still driving up into you. “Love you so much it fucking hurts. Want you on me, in me, around me.. always—”
The words snapped the last thread of your control.
You slammed down hard, grinding in tight circles, clit dragging against him with every thrust. The pleasure coiled vicious and bright.
“Come inside me,” you ordered, voice trembling on the edge. “Right now. Want to feel you lose it while I’m wrapped around you.”
He groaned your name, hands forcing you down one final time as he erupted... hot, thick pulses flooding you, cock jerking deep inside as he came apart with a broken groan.
The feeling of him spilling pushed you over.
You shattered, walls clamping down, milking him through it, your own release crashing so hard your vision whited out.
The car was a haze of sex and shattered breathing.
You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing hard, your heartbeats thumping in the same fast rhythm. His arms wrapped around you instantly, strong and warm, like he wanted to keep you pressed to him forever.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the warm skin there, brushing your lips over the marks you’d left in the heat of the moment. Your voice came out softer now, almost tender.
“No one touches you like that,” you whispered. “No one gets you like that. Only me. Understand?”
He let out a weak laugh... the kind that sounded breathless and almost shy, but so, so happy. “Understood, Mrs. Kim,” he murmured, and you felt his smile against your hair.
His fingers slid slowly down your spine, not rushing, just tracing you like he was memorizing every inch.
Then his lips brushed the top of your head.
“I love it when you’re jealous,” he confessed quietly. “I love knowing you want me just as much as I want you. It… does something to me.”
Your lips curved into a smile against his skin.
“Then get used to it,” you said softly.
He tipped your chin up with two fingers, guiding your face to his. His kiss was slow this time.... deep, sweet, almost fragile.
Like he was pouring his whole heart into it.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you spilled acrylic paint on my shoes at sixteen just to get my attention.”
You froze.
Your mouth slowly opened.
“You… you knew I did that on purpose?”
He smiled—the soft, shy kind he never showed anyone else. “Baby… you looked up at me like I hung the moon. How could I not know?”
Your chest tightened, emotion swelling painfully.
After several long minutes of quiet breathing and soft touches, he whispered, “Stay still.”
You blinked up at him. “Why?”
He shrugged out of his blazer and wrapped it around you carefully, covering the torn front of your dress with slow, protective hands.
“Let’s go home,” he said gently, touching your cheek with the back of his hand.
And as he pulled the car back onto the road, both of you wrapped in each other’s warmth and outside, Seoul kept passing by in streaks of neon and streetlight.
Sunlight spilled gold across the sheets.
You were tangled in Namjoon’s arms, face buried in his neck, one of your legs thrown over his hip, his hand resting possessively on the curve of your ass like it belonged there... because it did.
He stirred first, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Baby,” he whispered, voice gravel-rough from sleep. “I have to get up. Assembly budget meeting at nine.”
You made a small, wounded sound and tightened your arms around his neck. “No. Stay… I wish we could stay like this the whole day.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “You know we can’t. I have a meeting at the assembly…”
You nuzzled closer, lips brushing his throat. “Mhmm… just five minutes…”
He didn’t argue. He never could when you asked like that. Instead he rolled you both so you were fully on top of him, your hair spilling over his shoulders like silk.
His palms slid up your bare back, tracing lazy circles.
“Why so clingy today, Mrs. Kim?” he murmured, thumb brushing your spine. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”
You hesitated for too long.
He noticed instantly. His fingers stilled. His eyes searched your face.
“What happened?”
You lifted your head, biting your lip.
“I got the letter yesterday,” you whispered. “The internship… in Paris. Starting next week.”
The room went perfectly still. His arms locked around you tightly. “How long?” he asked, voice suddenly careful.
“Three months.”
He exhaled, long and slow, and stared at the ceiling.
You felt his heart hammer against your chest. Then, without a word, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. You watched, confused, as he dialled.
You blinked. “Joon… what are you doing?”
“Calling in sick,” he said simply, already dialling.
Your mouth fell open. “What?! You never call in sick... Wait... Stop—”
“Hyung,” he said into the phone the moment it was answered, “I’m not coming in. Fever. Cancel the meetings, reschedule everything. All of it. I’ll update you tomorrow.”
He hung up.
You stared at him. “You actually did that?”
He tossed the phone aside like it meant nothing and flipped you beneath him in one smooth, warm, authoritative motion.
His body hovered over yours. “Of course I did.”
“I can’t stop you from going,” he said, voice low, serious. “And I won’t. I told you the day we got married... I never want you as a trophy wife. I want you chasing every dream you have, even if it takes you across the world.”
He brushed your hair back, eyes fierce.
“But the next three months are going to be hell for me. Campaign, debates, polls… and you won’t be here. So today...” he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, “...today is ours. I’m not letting anyone else take a single second from us.”
You laughed through the sudden tears. “You really want me to go?”
He smiled... small, pained, proud.
“I’m proud of you,” he said fiercely.
“I want you to fly. And when you come back, I’ll be waiting exactly like this. Besides... his grin turned wicked, “...I’m going to wear the suits you designed for every single campaign stop. They’re my lucky charm and I'll feel you close.”
You leaned up and kissed him softly.
He kissed back slowly, deeply… then broke away to stare at you with an expression you’d never seen before.
“Can I tell you something? The things you never knew... The things that I kept hidden for so long under my cold personality.” he whispered.
You nodded.
He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to kiss you senseless years ago.”
Your brows furrowed. “When?”
His eyes softened as memory pulled at him. “That day you came to the banquet wearing that yellow sundress. You remember? You came to me and praised me for my speech…”
He shook his head, almost embarrassed. “You looked so bright I swear it hurt to look at you. All I could think was... if I kiss her right now, I won’t stop.”
Your heart thudded. “Namjoon…”
“And the library,” he continued, voice getting lower, warmer. “When you reached for the pen and your fingers brushed mine… later you walked away like nothing happened.”
You blinked. “But back then... I thought you were not into me—”
“No... that's not true.” he said. “I stared at my hand the entire damn night like a teenager. I didn’t sleep. I kept touching the spot where your fingers brushed.”
Your breath hitched.
He wasn’t done.
“And at my father’s funeral…” His voice cracked—the memory still sharp. “I saw you standing with that candy.”
You swallowed. “I... I wanted to hug you. But there were reporters and people—”
He shook his head. “Baby… I wanted to walk straight to you. Fall on my knees. Put my head in your lap and cry like a child. You were the only person I wanted that day.”
Your chest tightened with something fierce and tender.
“Joon… I promise... You will always have me by your side.”
You lifted your arms around his neck and pulled him down until your foreheads touched again.
“I love you,” you whispered.
His smile was pure devotion. “I love you more. Now come here...” He slid his hands down your sides, gripping your hips.
“...we have only one day to make up for ninety nights.”
Three Months Later... Jamsil Stadium.
Forty thousand people... Cameras everywhere... Screens lit up with Namjoon’s face. He stood at the podium, looking powerful, calm, every inch the man Seoul had placed its faith in.
“And together...” he said, voice rolling through the speakers like thunder, “...we will build a Seoul where—”
His breath caught.
Because he saw you.
You’d just arrived from Paris, suitcase still in the car, still wearing the cream coat you’d left in. Your hair was a little longer now, your eyes a little tired but glowing, and you stood at the very back of the VIP section.
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
The crowd went silent, confused.
Then he smiled. That helpless, warm, completely ruined by you smile. He cleared his throat, trying to recover.
His voice softened as he continued, almost trembling... “…a Seoul where every dream...” His eyes stayed on you. “...no matter how far it takes you… always finds its way home.”
He drew a steady breath and continued, voice rising with purpose— “A Seoul where every citizen has the chance to work with dignity, where passion and opportunity isn’t a privilege but a right, and where our growth is shared... not by a few, but by all.”
The crowd roared, moved by the promise. People didn’t know why the line hit so hard.
But you did. And he did.
The stadium erupted, forty thousand people screaming his name. He won by a landslide. But the only victory that mattered walked back into his life was wearing a cream coat and tired eyes.
That night, you barely stepped inside before the door of penthouse slammed shut behind you. Namjoon grabbed your face and kissed you so desperately it knocked the breath out of you... like he’d been starving for three months straight.
Your coat slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor.
You were laughing, breathing his name, tears slipping down your cheeks because you’d missed him so much it hurt.
His hands slid into your hair, gripping gently.
“God,” he breathed against your lips, “you’re really here. You’re really—”
You cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tear he tried to hide. “Of course I’m here,” you whispered. “Where else would I go?”
You kissed him again, harder. He broke into a messy laugh that almost sounded like a sob.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “how many nights I imagined this.” His mouth found your neck, your jaw, your lips again.
“I missed you so much,” you whispered, voice shaking.
He didn’t answer.
He just lifted you... effortlessly, and carried you down the hallway, kissing you the whole way like he was making up for every day you were gone.
He laid you on the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Then he crawled over you, suit jacket already on the floor, shirt half-open, tie loose around his neck.
He cupped your face with both hands.
“You showed up,” he said softly, breath uneven. “You came back to me.”
“I’ll always come back to you,” you whispered, fingers brushing his cheeks. “You’re my home, Joon.”
His eyes went glossy. “Baby…”
His voice broke. “I thought I’d be strong... you know? If I keep myself busy with all these elections stuff, I thought I’d be fine while you were gone. But every night, I… damn, I missed you so much it hurt.”
You pulled him closer, your hands sliding into his hair. “I missed you too.”
He kissed you... slow, deep, like he was memorizing you all over again. When he finally pulled back, he hovered above you, chest rising fast.
“You’re the only person,” he said, touching your lips with his thumb, “who keeps me sane… but also makes me completely fucking insane at the same time.”
You laughed softly, eyes wet.
“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m going to keep doing that for the rest of our lives.”
His smile... your favorite dimple smile... spread slowly, beautifully. “Promise?”
You hooked your finger around the front of his shirt and tugged him down until his weight settled on you just right, warm and solid and his. “Promise.”
He exhaled like you’d just given him air after months of living underwater.
Outside, the city celebrated its new mayor.
Inside the penthouse, the man himself only cared about the woman beneath him.
And somewhere between the city lights and the sound of his name on your lips, Seoul crowned its new king and queen.
Obsessed. In love. Unbreakable.
A/n: First of all… my brain was short-circuiting whole time while writing this story. Because let’s be honest... Namjoon as a political leader? We all know that man would look unfairly hot standing behind a podium, sleeves rolled up, addressing nation in his deep voice.
And the driving part? Yeah... well... I know, he doesn’t have a license in reality… but if he did? Lord have mercy on me.
Because the thought of him driving... One hand gripping the steering wheel… The other resting on your thigh… Eyes focused on the road with his clenched jaw... Ahhhhhhhh.... He’d look as dangerously sexy driving a car as he looks driving all of us abso-fucking-lutely insane.
