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: 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.
Summary: A drabble of Joonie leaning on his girlfriend after the news about the Grammys became public ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
wc: 1.3k
Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader
A/N: I've been wanting to write something ever since yesterday's news, and I just couldn't resist lol. It's a little short, but I didn't really have much of a plot to work with :< anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
Dividers | Masterlist | Taglist
The news had broken just a few hours earlier, right as you were finishing dinner, accompanied by nothing more than an old glass of liquor and a half-eaten meal. It had felt like a bucket of ice cold water dumped straight over your head, leaving every part of your body numb, unable to move.
It hadn't just come as a surprise to the media, the recording academy, or the fans, it had even caught you off guard, despite being his girlfriend for years. You had witnessed firsthand how hard they'd worked for that award, fighting their way into the biggest category, determined to win it, determined to break through every barrier the language had placed in front of them.
'BTS Withdraws from the Grammys.'
At first, you thought it was just another gossip site trying to stir up controversy. Then you saw their instagram stories. Your boyfriend's story, too, with that ridiculous photo he'd taken while filming the 2.0 music video. The caption, entirely in korean, carried one unmistakable message:
They refused to let the Academy box them in.
This time, the feeling was different, calmer... happier.
You couldn't even stop yourself from laughing out loud at the thought that they'd turned down the biggest music awards in the industry simply to make a statement.
And they'd done it in their fucking native language.
You moved faster than you ever had before, clearing the table, rushing to your bedroom to change into something better suited for the weather, clutching an old pair of sneakers in your hands, ready to run to the studio Namjoon had told you he'd be working at until late that night.
"Shit, my battery's almost dead," you muttered, grabbing your charger. There'd probably be an outlet somewhere in the building, you just hoped your phone lasted long enough to get there.
Your eyes stayed glued to the screen as you searched for the address on your map, trying to figure out which route to take. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn't hear the front door close just a few steps away, followed by the dull thud of shoes hitting the floor and footsteps making their way toward the bedroom.
"Hey."
Your fingers froze over the screen, and your head immediately lifted to find the owner of the voice.
It was strange, in a way, how you'd lived beside this man for years, yet he still managed to reveal new sides of himself every so often. Some better than others, but every single one of them belonged to the man you'd fallen in love with.
The man who still made your heart melt every time he smiled.
Only now, his shoulders were slumped, his smile held together by nothing more than politeness, and the sparkle that always lit up his eyes whenever he looked at you was gone.
A much rawer version of Kim Namjoon.
"I saw the news," was the first thing you managed to say, setting your things aside so you could give your boyfriend your full attention. You watched his hands clench and unclench at his sides, his breathing slow and deliberate.
"How are you feeling?"
"I... I'm okay, I guess," he answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you, though he still couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes. "We've been talking about this for a while... but now that it's actually happened... it feels real, you know?"
You couldn't think of a response.
It was hard to find the right words for something you'd never experienced before. This wasn't like turning down a promotion at some office job. They'd just put themselves at odds with the academy, an institution that practically ruled the music industry, at least in the united states.
"Do you think... Do you think we did the right thing?"
Hearing his voice crack hurt far more than you wanted to admit.
Namjoon wasn't someone who cried easily. He always held himself together, counted to ten, breathed through it, gave himself time to sort out his emotions. Whenever that façade finally cracked, something inside you always broke too. How much had he been carrying these past few days? How long had he forced himself to stay strong in front of the members just to keep up the image of the dependable leader?
"Joonie..." you whispered, stepping in front of him and gently cupping his cheeks. There weren't any tears yet, but you could see them threatening to spill over. "I've never been prouder of you. Of all of you. Was this the smartest decision? Maybe not. Maybe you risked too much. But it was the decision you believed was right for your music... and that's enough."
"They'll probably ban us for life."
"They might." You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But at least the whole world knows it was your decision, not theirs. Besides I'm pretty sure the public's going to love this."
"You really think so?"
He rested his forehead against your stomach, his hands sliding up to your hips to pull you a little closer. You took that as your cue to thread your fingers through his hair. His blond strands barely caught the dim bedroom light. They'd grown much longer since the tour had started, and somehow they suited him even better now.
"Honey," you murmured, "that was the most badass thing you've ever done. I'm willing to bet people are going to treat this announcement like an early christmas present or something."
"You're only saying that because you're my girlfriend."
"I'm saying it because, besides being the love of my life, you're one of the smartest and bravest people I've ever known." Gently, you tugged at his hair until he looked back up at you. This time, the dimples decorating his cheeks were genuine. The heaviness you'd seen when he'd walked through the door had finally disappeared. "None of you need that ugly little megaphone to prove you made the best album of the year."
"It's actually a gramophone."
"Same thing."
The two of you stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. Not the loud, uncontrollable kind you'd share in a room full of friends after an evening spent eating and drinking together. It was quieter than that, the kind of laugh you exchange in secret with your best friend when no one else is watching. The kind that only exists in moments too intimate to share with anyone else.
"You're right," he whispered against your shirt, leaving a soft kiss just below your navel. "Who needs a fucking grammy when you've got the most beautiful woman in the world waiting for you at home?"
"Just beautiful?"
"I could spend the entire night listing every wonderful thing about you if you want."
You rolled your eyes at his cheesiness, though it didn't surprise you in the slightest when his hands slipped behind your knees, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap.
You gave him a moment to settle in, his palms wandering slowly over your thighs, your hips, your waist, while yours traced the lines of his chest, slid over his shoulders, and finally came to rest around his neck.
"Thank you, babe."
You smiled as the words left his lips, gently guiding his face toward yours before kissing him. It started softly, his lips barely moving against yours as his hands tightened around your waist.
Little by little, the kiss grew more frantic, clumsier, more desperate, interrupted every so often by smiles that neither of you could suppress, followed by quiet laughter and whispered I love yous shared against each other's lips.
At least for tonight, if only for a few hours, he'd be able to forget about the world outside those four walls, forget the consequences of that announcement. Forget everything except the one thing keeping him grounded through it all; you. The person who really loved the man behind the idol.
I have a request for an idol.namjoon x manager.oc. Namjoon always had a thing for the oc but he could not act upon it because of the contract or because she had a bf. Then finally oc is single but he is nervous and doesn't want to lose her, but when someone tries to hurt her he gets all possessive and they get together in the end.
Off-Limits
Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Manager!Reader
Genre: Idol AU, Forbidden Romance, Possessive Namjoon, Yearner Namjoon, Smut, Slight Angst, Fluff
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content [kissing backstage after confession, hotel room sex post concert, praise kink, lots of kissing, body worshipping, oral (f receiving), fingering, protected sex], Forbidden Romance, soft-dom Namjoon, possessive Namjoon, Mention of Harassment/Assault
Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI
Word Count: ~8.5k
A/N: Sorry, @themwordsblog, for taking so long to write this. Thank you for being so patient. I hope the wait was worth it. I had fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. 💜
[MASTERLIST]
The fluorescent lights of the practice room buzzed overhead, over the chaos of pre-tour preparations. You stood in the corner, clipboard in hand, checking off tasks as the members darted around.
Jungkook doing push-ups for no apparent reason, Jimin stealing Taehyung’s water bottle, and Hobi practicing a dance move in the mirror while shouting random encouragements to himself.
Yoongi, predictably, was napping on a pile of hoodies in the corner.
Typical.
But your eyes kept drifting to Namjoon.
He was seated at the edge of the room, scribbling in his notebook, his brows furrowed in that adorable way that made him look like he was solving world hunger instead of probably just writing a rap verse.
His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up with a clumsy swipe, nearly knocking them off entirely.
You stifled a smile.
Two years... You’d been their manager for two years, and Namjoon had always been your favorite to work with. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud but he made it easy.
He was low maintenance, respectful, and had a quiet charm that disarmed you from day one.
He was also adorably clumsy, always tripping over cables or dropping his phone. You’d lost count of how many times you’d saved his AirPods from certain doom.
But it wasn’t just his clumsiness or his dimpled smile that got to you.
It was the way he looked at you.
Like you were the only person in the room who mattered.
You’d catch him staring during meetings, his eyes soft and intense, only to look away when you met his gaze. It was subtle, but it was there.
Always there.
And it was forbidden.
The contract clause was crystal clear: No inappropriate relationships with staff.
It was a line neither of you could cross, no matter how much his quiet gestures... bringing you tea when you were exhausted, offering his hoodie when you shivered, cracking dumb jokes to make you laugh, made your heart stutter.
You’d had a boyfriend for most of those two years, anyway.
A boyfriend who barely noticed you. Missed dates, ignored texts, forgot to pick you up from airports. You’d smile through the disappointment, but Namjoon always saw it.
One particularly rough night in Seoul, after your ex had bailed on yet another dinner, you were sitting in the empty practice room long after everyone else had left, staring at your phone screen with a forced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
Namjoon lingered by the door, hesitating before stepping inside.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice gentle like always.
He held two cups of tea, the steam curling up between you.
You nodded quickly, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Yeah, just… long day. Thanks for the tea, Joon. You didn’t have to.”
He sat down on the floor across from you, crossing his long legs. “I wanted to. You’ve been running around fixing everyone else’s messes all week. Figured you could use a break.”
He paused, studying your face. “You sure you’re alright? You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world again.”
You laughed lightly, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. My boyfriend just… got caught up with work. Again. No big deal.”
Namjoon’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened further. “If it’s ‘nothing,’ why do you look like you’re forcing that smile? You know you can talk to me, right? I’m a pretty good listener. Even if I trip over my own feet half the time.”
You sighed, taking a sip of the warm tea.
It was exactly how you liked it—slightly sweet, with a hint of honey.
He always remembered.
“I don’t know… sometimes it feels like I’m the only one putting in effort. He forgot to pick me up from the airport last week, too. I waited for an hour.”
Namjoon’s jaw tightened just a fraction, but his voice stayed calm. “That’s not right. You deserve someone who shows up for you. Who sees how hard you work and makes sure you’re taken care of too.”
He hesitated, then added with a small, self-deprecating smile, “Not that I’m one to give relationship advice. I can barely manage my own schedule without your help.”
You chuckled despite yourself. “You’re not that bad. You’re the easiest one on the team, honestly. The others would be lost without you keeping them grounded.”
He grinned, dimples flashing. “See? We make a good team. You keep me from breaking expensive equipment, and I… bring you tea and bad jokes.”
His tone turned more serious. “But really. If you ever need to vent, or if things get too much, I’m here. No judgment.”
That became a pattern.
After tough days, he’d find little ways to check in.
Another time, weeks later, you were rushing through the hallway after a delayed flight, eyes puffy from holding back tears because your boyfriend had ignored your messages all day.
Namjoon appeared out of nowhere, jacket in hand.
“You look cold,” he said, draping it over your shoulders without waiting for permission. “And tired. Rough trip?”
“Yeah,” you admitted, pulling the jacket tighter. It smelled like him... clean, with a hint of his cologne. “Just… some personal stuff. Thanks, Joon. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Keep it as long as you need,” he replied, falling into step beside you.
“You know, I read this article about how holding onto things that drain you can mess with your creativity. Not saying that applies to you, but… you deserve people who lift you up, not leave you waiting at airports.”
You glanced at him, heart twisting at the quiet care in his words. “You’re too nice for this industry, Kim Namjoon. Seriously, how are you so… observant?”
He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just pay attention. Especially to the people who matter.”
His eyes met yours for a beat too long before he looked away. “Anyway, want to hear a dumb joke I just heard from Jin Hyung... to cheer you up? Why did the scarecrow win an award?”
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Why?”
“Because he was outstanding in his field.” He delivered it with such earnest clumsiness that you burst out laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders.
“God, that was terrible,” you said, nudging his arm. “But thank you. I needed that.”
“Anytime,” he murmured, his voice warm. “I mean it.”
He never pushed, never said anything outright about your boyfriend.
But he knew.
He always knew.
When you finally broke up with your ex, it was like a weight lifted. You didn’t talk about it publicly, but Namjoon noticed the change immediately.
A week after the breakup, you were in the studio helping him organize some lyric sheets. You were humming softly, moving with a lightness you hadn’t felt in months.
Namjoon looked up from his notebook, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You seem different lately. Happier. Did something good happen?”
You paused, biting your lip. “Yeah, actually. I… ended things with my boyfriend. It was overdue. I feel lighter, like I can breathe again.”
His eyes lit up, genuine relief and something deeper flashing across his face. “I’m glad. You deserve that lightness every day. No one should make you feel like you have to dim yourself to fit.”
You laughed softly. “Thanks, Joon. You’ve been… a really good friend through all of it. Even when I didn’t say anything.”
He leaned back in his chair, watching you with that look... the one that made your stomach flutter.
“Friend, huh? I’ll take it. But seriously, you smile more now. It’s beautiful. You deserve someone who never lets that smile fade. Someone who’d worship the ground you walk on. Someone who notices when you’re carrying too much and helps carry the load.”
Your chest stuttered, your breath catching at the intensity in his voice. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken feelings.
You laughed it off, though your cheeks warmed. “Wow, that’s a really cheesy line, Mr. RM. Practicing for a new song?”
He chuckled, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe. Or maybe I just mean it. You work so hard for all of us. Let someone work hard for you for once.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, but the words lingered. “Careful, or I might start thinking you’re flirting with your manager.”
“Would that be so bad?” he teased lightly, but there was a vulnerability underneath.
Before you could respond, he stood up clumsily, nearly knocking over a stack of papers. “Shit—sorry. See? I still need you to manage my clumsy ass.”
You both burst into laughter, collapsing onto the couch in a fit of giggles as you helped him pick up the scattered sheets. The moment felt light, easy, but underneath it all, something had shifted.
That night, as you packed up your things, he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that look again.
“You smile more now,” he repeated softly, almost reverent. “Don’t let anyone take that away.”
Your heart raced.
You muttered something about “cheesy lines,” but the words stayed with you, looping in your mind like a song you couldn’t shake.
Forbidden... Contract... Bad idea...
Right?
The international tour was a whirlwind after their recent comeback.
Tokyo, LA, Mexico, Vegas, Paris—each city blurred into the next, a kaleidoscope of jet lag, screaming fans, and endless schedules.
You were in your element, juggling logistics, calming frantic staff, and making sure the boys were where they needed to be. But the exhaustion was real. 6 a.m. wake-up calls, late-night soundchecks, and the constant pressure to keep everything running smoothly.
Namjoon was getting bolder.
You felt it in the way his hand brushed your waist when he guided you through a crowded backstage area, his touch lingering a fraction too long.
Or the way he leaned close during breaks, whispering dumb jokes in your ear to make you laugh. You’d swat him away, muttering, “Behave, Joon,” but your heart raced every time.
Don’t go there, you told yourself. Don’t.
But then there was the dancer.
One of the new backup dancers, Minho, had been… off.
You’d noticed it early on... his eyes lingered too long, his smile too sharp and creepy. He’d hover near you during breaks, making small talk that felt too personal.
You’d caught him taking selfies with you in the background, his phone angled just so. It was creepy, but you brushed it off. You were used to handling weirdos in this industry.
Until that night in Paris.
You were in the dressing room, checking in with stylists and organizing the boys’ outfits for the next show. The room was quiet after they left, the chaos of the day finally settling.
You were alone... or so you thought.
The door creaked open, and Minho slipped inside.
His smile was too wide, his eyes too dark.
“Hey,” he said, his voice syrupy. “You’re always so busy. Thought I’d keep you company.”
You forced a polite smile, your skin prickling. “I’m good, thanks. Just finishing up.”
He didn’t leave.
Instead, he stepped closer, his body blocking the path to the door. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re always with them. Don’t you want someone to notice you for you?”
Your stomach twisted. “I’m fine. You should go.”
He didn’t.
He moved closer, his hand reaching for your arm. You stepped back, but he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to sting.
“Don’t be like that,” he murmured, leaning in. His breath was hot against your cheek, and panic surged in your chest.
“Let go,” you said, your voice sharp as you yanked your arm back. But he didn’t budge, his fingers tightening.
And then the door slammed open.
Namjoon stood there, his silhouette filling the doorway. His eyes, usually so warm and soft... were dark, blazing with a rage you’d never seen before.
“Take your hands off her. Now.”
His voice was low, deadly, each word dripping with barely restrained fury. Minho froze, his grip loosening as he stumbled back under the weight of Namjoon’s glare.
“I... I was just—” Minho stammered, but Namjoon cut him off.
“Get out.”
Minho didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled for the door, nearly tripping in his haste. Security appeared moments later, dragging him away.
Namjoon turned to you, his jaw tight, his hands shaking as he grabbed your arm... not roughly, but urgently, and pulled you out of the room.
He slammed the door behind you, his chest heaving as he paced the hallway, hands raking through his hair.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice raw. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice trembled. You held up your wrist, where faint red marks lingered. “Just… shaken.”
Namjoon’s eyes narrowed on the marks, and his expression darkened further. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the storm in his eyes.
“I should’ve protected you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I should’ve said something sooner. I saw how he looked at you, and I... fuck... fuck the rules.”
Your heart stopped. “Namjoon, don’t—”
But he wasn’t listening.
He was too close now, his breath warm against your face, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.
“I’m done pretending,” he said. “I’m done watching you hurt and not doing anything about it. I’m done acting like I don’t—”
He stopped himself, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped back, trying to rein himself in. But you saw it... the raw, aching need in his eyes.
The same need you’d been burying for months.
“Let’s get you to Hotel,” he said finally, his voice softer but still edged with something dangerous. “You are coming with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Instead of taking you to your room three doors down, Namjoon guided you gently toward his suite at the end of the hall. “Come to mine,” he said quietly. “I have a first aid kit. We should treat those marks before they bruise worse.”
You nodded, still shaken, letting him lead the way.
Namjoon’s hotel suite was a mess of books, lyric sheets, and half-empty coffee cups—a reflection of his chaotic, beautiful mind.
You sat on the edge of his bed, your hands still trembling from the encounter with Minho. Namjoon didn’t touch you, didn’t sit too close at first. He just stayed with you, his presence steady and warm.
He paced for a while, muttering to himself about “fucking creeps” and “stupid contracts.” You watched him, your heart aching at how unhinged he was, how much he cared.
“I’m okay, Joon,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Really.”
He stopped pacing, his eyes snapping to yours. “You’re not okay. I saw your face. I saw how he—”
He cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face. “I should’ve been there.”
“You were,” you said. “You stopped it.”
He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Not soon enough.”
Namjoon disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with a small first aid kit. He sat beside you on the bed, close enough that his knee brushed yours, and gently took your wrist in his large, warm hand.
With careful movements, he applied a soothing ointment to the faint red marks, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin as if to erase the memory of the grip.
“This should help,” he murmured, voice low and focused. “Tell me if it stings.”
The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken things.
You wanted to reach for him, to tell him it was okay, but the weight of the contract, the company, the rules held you back.
After a while, you stood, murmuring that you should head back to your own room just a few doors down the hall. He walked you there but didn’t push to stay, respecting the fragile space between you.
The next day, you were back to work, but the incident lingered heavily. The boys were busy with final sound checks on stage, the distant thrum of music and Jin & Jungkook’s laughter echoing through the arena.
You slipped away backstage to check in something, almost against your will to the same dressing room where everything had happened yesterday.
As soon as you stepped inside, the memories flooded back—the creep of Minho’s voice, his tight grip on your wrist, the fear that had gripped your chest.
Your eyes grew teary, your breath shaky as you leaned against the wall, realising what could have possibly happened if Namjoon didn't arrive on time.
You didn’t hear the soft knock on door behind you.
“Hey,” Namjoon called, his voice low and gentle, muffled slightly as he stepped in. “It’s me. I saw you come this way during the break. The others are still on stage for another twenty minutes or so. Can I come in… properly?”
You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to steady your breathing as you turned toward him.
“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice cracked, betraying the tears you couldn’t quite hide. “Really, Joon. You should be with the members.”
He saw right through you.
His eyes softened with deep concern, but there was something else there—something fierce and protective, layered with a tender longing that made your heart ache.
He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, and leaned against the wall near the sink, giving you space but never taking his eyes off you.
The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid.
“I’ve spent two years watching you carry everyone else’s burdens,” he said, his voice low and steady, each word deliberate and full of quiet emotion.
“I’ve seen you smile through things that would break anyone else. I’ve watched you put on that brave face after every missed call from your ex, after every long flight, after every crisis that wasn’t even yours to fix. And I’ve stayed quiet, because I thought that’s what you needed. And because of that damn contract. Because I didn’t want to make things harder for you, or risk messing up what we already have.”
He took a slow step closer, his large hands twitching at his sides like he was physically fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.
“But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t see you, that I don’t feel you, every single day. I’ve been in love with you for so long it hurts, and I—”
His voice broke, raw and vulnerable, and he looked down for a moment, jaw tight as he gathered himself.
“God, saying it out loud feels terrifying. But I need you to tell me what you want. If you want me to keep my distance, to stay just your clumsy RM who brings you tea, I will. I’ll try my best, even if it kills me. But if you feel even a fraction of what I feel… if there’s any part of you that’s been wondering the same thing… say it. Please. I need to hear it from you.”
Your breath caught sharply in your throat, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest. The sincerity in his eyes, the way his voice trembled just slightly on the words “in love with you,” cracked open every wall you’d built.
You’d spent so long burying your feelings, hiding behind professionalism and fear, convincing yourself this was impossible. But here he was, standing in the very room, offering his heart so openly.
“Namjoon…” you whispered, your voice trembling as fresh tears welled up, not from fear this time but from overwhelming emotion.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. Longer than I even admitted to myself. Every time you brought me tea, every quiet ‘you okay?’ after a bad day, every time I caught you looking at me like I was something precious… it killed me to pretend I didn’t feel it too. But I’m scared. The contract, the company, what this could mean for you and the boys—”
“I know,” he said softly, stepping even closer now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with stage nerves.
His hand lifted slowly, hovering near your cheek before gently brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I’m scared too. Terrified, actually. But I’d rather face every consequence, than keep pretending I don’t love you. You’re worth risking everything for. Tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me you feel it too.”
The dam broke completely.
The tension that had been building for months snapped like a live wire. You closed the distance in one desperate step, your hands reaching up to cup his face, fingers threading into his hair as your lips met his.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative and trembling.
But then it deepened with fierce intensity—his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he was afraid you might disappear.
His lips moved against yours with hungry passion, a slow burn turning into wildfire, tongues brushing in a dance that sent sparks down your spine. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching your own frantic rhythm.
Every brush of his fingers along your back, every soft groan he let out into your mouth, every second of built-up longing poured out in waves that left you dizzy and breathless.
He tasted like coffee and desperation, like every stolen glance and unspoken word finally set free. Your bodies pressed closer, his large frame enveloping you protectively as the kiss grew more urgent, more consuming.
Butterflies erupted wildly in your stomach, a fluttering storm of desire, relief, and pure love that made your knees weak.
Time seemed to stop in that dressing room—the same place that had brought terror now filled with something beautiful and electric.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, lips swollen and eyes locked in a gaze full of wonder and heat.
Your hands stayed on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall.
“We’re going to get in so much trouble,” you murmured, a shaky, breathless laugh escaping you as you traced his jaw with your thumb. “But God, Joon… that felt right. So right.”
He smiled, those beloved dimples flashing, but his eyes remained serious and dark with emotion. “Then we’ll face it together. No more hiding. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t remember what it felt like before.”
“I love you too,” you whispered back, the words tasting like freedom on your tongue. “More than I knew how to say.”
You lingered for another moment, stealing one more soft kiss, then another, the tension between you crackling like electricity. But reality nudged in.
You pulled back slightly, hands still on his chest.
“You should probably head back,” you said softly, voice laced with reluctance.
“Sound check is wrapping up, and the concert is in less than an hour. The boys will be looking for you. We… we’ll talk more after. But for now... go. Be amazing as always out there.”
Namjoon nodded, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead, his arms squeezing you tight. “I’ll be thinking of you every second I’m on that stage. We’ll figure this out. Promise me you’ll be okay until then?”
“I will,” you assured him, smiling through the lingering butterflies. “Now go, before someone comes looking.”
He stepped back reluctantly, eyes full of promises and heat, then slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the room—heart racing, lips tingling, and the sweet tension of what was to come hanging thick in the air for the entire concert ahead.
The concert had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline still hummed wildly in your veins, mixing with something far more dangerous.
The entire ride back to the hotel had been pure torture.
You and Namjoon sat close in the van, the air thick with unspoken promises and weeks of pent-up tension. Every stolen glance, every accidental brush of his fingers against your thigh, every shared look that lingered too long had only worsened the ache that started the moment your lips met backstage.
The kiss you shared hours ago still burned on your skin, a promise of what was coming.
As you stepped off the elevator onto your floor, the hallway was quiet except for the sound of your racing heart.
You stopped in front of your door, just three rooms down from his, and turned to face him. Your body ached for him, heat pooling low in your belly, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little longer.
You gave him a soft, playful smile, biting your lip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “I should probably head to my room,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late… We wouldn’t want to risk anything tonight, right?”
Namjoon’s eyes darkened instantly, the hunger in them unmistakable.
He stepped closer, towering over you, his presence overwhelming in the dimly lit hallway. He knew you wanted him just as badly... he could see it in the way your breath hitched, the way your thighs pressed together, the way you hadn’t stopped looking at him since the concert ended.
“Like hell you are,” he growled low, his voice rough and filled with raw need. His large hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, not rough but possessive, pulling you toward his suite at the end of the hall.
“You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing? Teasing me like this after that kiss backstage? After hours of this fucking tension building between us?”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh as he tugged you along, your pulse skyrocketing. “Maybe I’m just being responsible, Joon. Wouldn’t want to break any more rules tonight…”
He stopped in front of his door, swiping his keycard with his free hand while keeping his grip on you. He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and dripping with desire.
“Responsible? Baby, we both know you want this as much as I do. I saw how you looked at me during the encore. I felt how you trembled when I kissed your forehead. That tension from the dressing room? It’s been killing you too. Stop pretending.”
The door clicked open.
Before you could tease him again, he pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you with a decisive thud.
“Joon—” you started, but he cut you off, pressing you against the closed door, his body flush against yours.
“No more teasing,” he murmured, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Tell me you don’t want me right now and I’ll let you go to your room. But we both know that’s a lie.”
You shivered, staring into his intense eyes, the air between you thick and reeking of barely contained lust. “I do want you,” you whispered, finally giving in. “So much it hurts.”
A low, satisfied groan escaped him. “Good girl.”
Namjoon was on you like a man starved.
His hands cupped your face as he crashed his lips against yours in a desperate, claiming kiss. The kiss was hot, messy, and full of two years of longing—tongues sliding, teeth nipping, breaths mingling.
He pressed you back against the door, his tall, strong body pinning you there, and you could feel every hard inch of him, especially the growing bulge straining against his jeans.
“Fuck, you have no idea,” he murmured against your mouth, voice deep and wrecked as he kissed along your jaw, teeth grazing your skin. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this. How many nights I lay awake thinking about you, touching myself while imagining it was you.”
“Joon…” you gasped, your hands fisting in his shirt as your head fell back against the door. “We’re really doing this. We’re gonna get in so much trouble if anyone finds out.”
“Let them try to stop us,” he growled, his hands sliding down your sides, fingers digging possessively into your hips as he ground against you. “I don’t give a fuck about the contract anymore. You’re worth it. You’re mine now.”
His fingers brushed over the faint marks still lingering on your wrist from Minho. His expression turned darker, almost feral. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the tender skin with aching reverence.
“Let me erase every fucking mark he left on you,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “No one else gets to touch what’s mine. Say it, baby.”
“I’m yours,” you whispered breathlessly.
He groaned at your words and suddenly lifted you, carrying you to the nearby couch. He set you down gently but urgently, then dropped to his knees in front of you like a man worshipping at an altar.
His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, exposing your skin inch by inch.
“Look at you,” he breathed, eyes dark and intense as he stared up at you.
The sight of Kim Namjoon on his knees, broad shoulders between your legs, made your panties soaked. “So fucking perfect. Tell me you want this. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Joon,” you moaned, voice shaking with need. “Please… I need you.”
That was all the encouragement he needed.
He hooked his fingers into your panties and pulled them down slowly, letting them pool at your ankles.
Namjoon leaned in slowly, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His lips were wet and sloppy, sucking gently, then harder, leaving faint marks of his own as his tongue dragged over your skin.
Your thighs trembled uncontrollably under the attention, the wet sounds of his kisses filling the room.
“Fuck, these thighs,” he murmured reverently between kisses, his voice thick with lust. “So soft… so fucking perfect. I’ve dreamed about burying my face between them for so long. You’re shaking already, baby. You like when I kiss you here?”
“Yes... Joon, please,” you whimpered, your hands gripping the couch cushions as your legs quivered.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“Good girl. So responsive for me.” He continued his worship, sucking and licking higher, closer to where you needed him most, until you were a trembling, dripping mess.
Only then did he move in fully... his mouth was on you, hot, hungry, and relentless. He devoured you like a goddess, like he’d been starving for years and you were his salvation.
His tongue flicked over your clit with devastating precision before flattening to lick broad, messy stripes through your folds, tasting every inch of you.
He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming in pleasure as he worked you with expert skill.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned against your core, the deep vibration making you cry out.
“Sweeter than I imagined. So fucking wet for me already. This pretty pussy is dripping down my chin, baby. You’re soaking me and I love it. I could stay here for hours, eating this sweet cunt until you can’t take anymore.”
Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the soft strands tightly as your hips bucked against his face. “Joon—oh god, that feels so good… your mouth—fuck!”
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips shiny with your arousal, eyes dark and intense. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl, letting me taste you like this. This pussy belongs to me now. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” you moaned, thighs trembling around his head. “All yours, Joon.”
He dove back in with renewed hunger, sliding one thick finger inside you, curling it perfectly against that spot that made your back arch off the couch.
Then he added a second finger, stretching you open while his tongue worked your clit mercilessly—sucking, licking, and flicking in a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
“That’s it, baby. Ride my face,” he growled between licks, his free hand gripping your thigh possessively. “You’re so tight around my fingers. So fucking perfect. I can feel you clenching already. Come for me, princess. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”
“Joon... oh god, I’m so close already,” you whimpered, voice breaking as the pleasure built unbearably. “You’re gonna make me... fuck, I’m gonna cum—”
“Look at me,” he commanded, pulling back just enough for his dark eyes to lock onto yours, fingers still pumping steadily. “I want you to watch who’s making you fall apart. Who this pretty pussy belongs to. Come on my tongue like the good girl you are.”
You obeyed, eyes locked with his as he sucked harder on your clit, fingers thrusting faster and deeper. The coil in your stomach snapped violently.
You came with a loud, broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, waves of intense pleasure crashing over you as you gushed on his tongue.
But Namjoon didn’t stop.
He kept licking and fingering you through every aftershock, devouring every drop like he couldn’t get enough, murmuring praises against your oversensitive flesh.
“That’s my good girl… so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. Give me another one, baby. I’m not done worshipping you yet.”
You whimpered his name like a prayer, oversensitive and trembling, but he continued his relentless devotion until you were a moaning, shaking mess beneath him.
He finally stood, lips glistening with your arousal, and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was filthy and loving all at once, his tongue sliding against yours as if he couldn’t get enough of you.
“OH... God... you’re mine,” he repeated against your mouth, voice rough and possessive, sending shivers down your spine. “Say it again while I fuck you. I need to hear it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped breathlessly between kisses, your hands clutching his shoulders. “And I’ll repeat it everytime you ask me, Joon. Only yours.”
He groaned deeply at your words, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea what you do to me.”
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he carried you to the bed.
The way he held you... so strong yet so careful, made your heart swell with love even as raw lust burned between you. He laid you down gently on the mattress, but his eyes were dark with hunger.
You reached for him immediately, tossing off his shirt, hands tracing every line of his toned chest and faint scars, worshipping the body you’d wanted for so long. He shoved down his jeans and boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, and leaking at the tip.
“Need you so fucking bad,” he rasped, settling between your spread thighs. He spread you open with his large hands, rubbing the head of his cock against your slick, sensitive entrance, teasing you mercilessly.
“You’re so wet for me already. Been thinking about this since that kiss backstage, haven’t you? All through the concert I was hard just remembering how you tasted on my tongue.”
“Yes,” you moaned, hips rolling up desperately, trying to pull him inside. “Please, Joon. I want you inside me. I’ve wanted this for so long… I can’t wait anymore.”
He leaned down, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavily.
The tension in the air was electric—thick with love, lust, and years of suppressed desire. “I love you,” he whispered fiercely, voice trembling with emotion. “I love you so much it hurts. But right now I need to fuck you like I’ve been dying to.”
He reached over to the jeans pockets, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a condom. A mischievous, slightly embarrassed smirk tugged at his lips as he tore the packet open with his teeth.
You blinked, chest heaving. “Wait… you already have those here?”
Namjoon chuckled lowly, rolling the condom down his thick length with steady hands, eyes never leaving yours. “I may have… asked the members for one after the concert. Told them I needed it for ‘reasons.’ Jin-hyung gave me three with the biggest shit-eating grin. They definitely know something’s up.”
You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning even as arousal pulsed through you. “Great. Now everyone’s going to know. By tomorrow the whole group chat is going to be unbearable.”
“Let them talk,” he growled, positioning himself at your entrance again, rubbing the tip against your clit teasingly. “I don’t care. As long as you’re mine.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you deliciously. You gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure bordered on overwhelming.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “So perfect around me. You okay, baby? Tell me if it’s too much.”
“I’m good—fuck, Joon, you feel incredible,” you begged, rolling your hips up to take more of him. “Move, please. I need all of you. Love me. Fuck me. Make me forget everything except you.”
He kissed you hard, full of love and raw lust, then started moving—deep, powerful thrusts that stole your breath. The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your shared moans, and whispered words of love and filth.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips between thrusts. “I’m never letting you go.”
He didn’t hold back.
His pace was rough and desperate, hips snapping forward as he fucked you deep and hard, each powerful thrust pushing you further into the mattress.
The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your breathy moans and his low groans, filling the room with raw, filthy heat. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of sex and sweat.
“Look at me,” he demanded again, voice rough and commanding.
One of his large hands slid up to rest possessively around your throat... not squeezing, just holding you there, claiming you.
His eyes burned into yours as he drove into you relentlessly. “I want to see your face when you come on my cock. Say you’re mine, baby. Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, eyes locked on his, your voice breaking with every deep thrust. “Only yours, Joon. Fuck—harder! Please, I need more—”
“That’s my girl,” he growled, his hips slamming into you even harder, deeper, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoing louder.
“God, I love you so fucking much. You have no idea how long I’ve been dying for this. How many nights I lay awake aching for you, knowing you were with your ex… and he didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss while continuing to thrust into you with punishing rhythm.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes dark with lust and raw emotion.
“Every time that bastard ignored your texts, every time he forgot you at the airport, every time I saw that sad smile on your face… it fucking killed me,” he confessed between heavy thrusts, voice strained but full of passion.
“I wanted to pull you into my arms and tell you that you deserved someone who would worship the ground you walk on. Someone who would kiss the fucking floor you step on. I would never treat you like that. Never. You’re my everything.”
“Joon…” you moaned loudly, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tighter inside you. The way he was looking at you... so possessive, so obsessed, yet so full of love, made your heart ache with overwhelming emotion.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he admitted hoarsely, hips snapping forward again, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. “I’ve been obsessed for two fucking years. Watching you, wanting you, loving you from a distance because I respected you too much to ever do anything until you weren’t ready.”
His thrusts grew even more intense, deep and claiming, his hand still possessively around your throat as he stared into your eyes.
“No one else gets to see you like this,” he growled, voice dripping with lust and devotion. “No one else gets to hear you like this. You’re mine to worship. Mine to ruin. Mine to love until the end of time. Tell me again, baby. Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you senseless.”
“You!” you cried out, tears of overwhelming pleasure and love pricking your eyes. “Only you, Joon. I love you so much—”
“That’s it,” he groaned, pounding into you harder, chasing both your pleasure and his. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart. I’ve waited so long for this. So fucking long.”
The tension, the confessions, the raw love mixed with filthy lust pushed you over the edge. You came hard, clenching around his cock, crying out his name as stars exploded behind your eyes, your entire body shaking.
Namjoon followed right after, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily against your neck, before slowly pulling out.
He collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his strong arms. His lips brushed your temple, then your forehead, soft and reverent after the raw passion.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured tenderly, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your back. “I’m never letting you go. I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”
You curled into his chest, heart still racing, body buzzing with aftershocks. “I love you too. So much. I never knew how much you were holding back… how deeply you felt all this time.”
For the first time in years, wrapped in his arms, you felt truly safe, wanted, completely loved and utterly claimed.
The next morning, reality crashed down.
You woke up in Namjoon’s arms, his warmth enveloping you, but the weight of what you’d done settled in your chest like a stone.
The contract. The company. The consequences.
“We’re fucked,” you muttered, burying your face in his chest.
Namjoon stirred, his arms tightening around you instinctively.
He let out a low, sleepy chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Probably. But damn… it was worth it, wasn’t it?” His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, gentle and reassuring.
You swatted his arm, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” he said, kissing your forehead.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still hazy with sleep but filled with unwavering affection. “Good morning, by the way. How are you feeling? Any regrets?”
You shook your head, tracing idle patterns on his chest with your fingertip.
“No regrets,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” he murmured against your lips, deepening the kiss.
You both knew what had to happen.
You insisted on telling the company yourself, before anyone could twist the story. You marched into your superior’s office, your heart pounding, Namjoon’s hand brushing yours one last time before you went in.
“Let them fire me,” you told him, your voice fierce. “I’m not giving you up.”
He smiled, his eyes soft. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
They didn’t fire you—because, you were too good at your job, and Namjoon was RM. But you were reassigned, pulled off BTS’s team and moved to a different department.
It stung, but Namjoon was relentless.
He confessed to you, to the company, to anyone who would listen.
Months later, you were no longer his manager, but you were his.
The company eventually worked out a quiet deal—thanks to Jin’s smooth persuasions and Yoongi’s terrifyingly calm emails.
You stayed on as a general coordinator, traveling with the group when needed. You and Namjoon kept things low-key in public, but the boys knew.
And they loved it.
Backstage before the concert, the energy was electric.
You stood close to Namjoon, fussing over his in-ear mic.
“Hold still, Joon,” you murmured softly, your fingers carefully tucking the earpiece and smoothing the wire along his neck. “Why do I always end up doing this? You’d probably walk on stage with it dangling if I didn’t check.”
Namjoon looked down at you with a fond, dimpled smile, his voice low and teasing just for you. “Because you worry about me too much. But I’m a grown man, you know. I can handle my own mic… most of the time.”
You rolled your eyes playfully as your fingers brushed his collar, straightening it with gentle tugs.
“A grown man who dropped his phone in a water this morning? Yeah, sure. I fuss because someone has to keep the genius RM from technical disasters right before he owns the stage.”
He chuckled warmly, his hands lightly resting on your waist as you moved to brush a tiny piece of lint off his crisp black shirt. The simple, domestic gesture felt so natural now.
“You don’t have to, but I love that you do,” he admitted quietly, eyes soft. “Makes me feel like the luckiest guy here. Even if the members are about to roast me for it.”
The others noticed immediately.
Jin’s voice boomed with dramatic flair as he leaned against a nearby equipment case. “Yah! Look at this! Where’s the wedding invite, huh? I need to clear my schedule for the big day and be the emcee.”
Jungkook, bouncing on his heels with a mischievous grin, jumped in right away. “Hyung, do I get to be the flower boy? Or maybe the ring bearer? I promise I won’t drop them… probably.”
Jimin clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh my god, you two are so cute it hurts. Look at her fixing his collar like a proper wife already! Namjoon-hyung, you’re blushing so hard right now.”
Taehyung pretended to wipe away fake tears. “I can’t believe this. My favorite hyung is all domesticated now. Next thing you know, she’ll be packing his snacks and reminding him not to lose his passport again.”
Hobi laughed brightly, pulling out his phone to snap a quick photo. “This is pure gold! Someone pass the tissues... I’m getting emotional!”
Yoongi, ever the calm one, smirked from his seat while adjusting his own mic. “You all talk too much. Let them be. Though… yeah, keep the heart eyes off in public.”
Namjoon groaned loudly, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck.
He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside, away from the group’s prying eyes and teasing laughter, his large hands settling warmly on your hips.
“They’re never gonna let me live this down,” he muttered, voice low and slightly embarrassed, though his eyes were soft and full of affection as he looked at you.
You smirked up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you tilted your head playfully. “You love it. Deep down, you love all this chaos. Admit it—it makes you smile bigger when they tease you about me.”
He chuckled, dimples deepening as he leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “Okay, maybe a little. But mostly I just love you. Even when they’re being absolute gremlins about it.”
From behind you, Jin called out again, “Yah, lovebirds! Save the whispering for after the encore! Some of us are trying to focus here!”
Jungkook added with a laugh, “Yeah, hyung! If you drop the mic tonight because you’re too busy staring at her, I’m telling everyone it’s because of love sickness!”
You both laughed, and Namjoon pressed a quick, soft kiss to your temple before reluctantly letting go.
“We’ll continue this later,” he whispered promisingly.
Later that night, after the concert’s high energy had settled, the group gathered for a late dinner in a private room. Soju bottles were passed around as the boys recounted the show’s highlights, but the teasing quickly turned back to you and Namjoon.
Taehyung raised his glass dramatically. “To the real MVP tonight — our ex-manager who somehow keeps this clumsy giant in line!”
Jimin leaned forward with a grin. “Tell us again about the phone incident this morning. Namjoon-hyung, how are you a genius and a disaster at the same time?”
Namjoon groaned but smiled, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. “It was one time. And she’s a saint for putting up with me.”
You nudged him playfully. “One time? Babe, it’s at least the third this month your phone have been rescued by me. But I wouldn’t trade your clumsy ass for anything.”
Hobi nearly spit out his soju laughing. “See! That’s true love right there. She calls him ‘babe’ now!”
Jin wiped his eyes, still chuckling.
Namjoon leaned close to you amid the laughter, his lips brushing your ear, voice dropping to that low, teasing register that always sent shivers down your spine.
“Ignore them. Let’s get back to the room soon. I owe you some real worship tonight... slow, thorough, the kind that makes you forget all their teasing.”
Your face flushed hot, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your lips or the excited flutter in your chest.
As the boys erupted into mock-scandalized shouts... “Yah, we heard that!” from Jin, and “Get a room!” from Jungkook, you leaned into Namjoon’s side, feeling perfectly content.
You knew one thing for sure... you were his, and he was yours.
Contract or no contract, nothing was going to change that.
Pairings: Yoongi x f!reader, Namjoon x f!reader, Yoongi x Namjoon, Yoongi x f!reader x Namjoon
Summary: After moving to a new city and getting to know Jimin through work, he introduces you to his friends, a group of weirdos, just how you like them. Getting involved with two of them, without knowing about their past, makes things perfectly complicated.
Genre: Why choose (that counts for all three of them), love triangle (a real one!), fluff, smut, new in town, fwb to lovers, comedy, non-idol!au, producer!Yoongi, author!Namjoon
Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content (MxF, MxM, MMF), smoking cigarettes and weed, alcohol, angst on the side. Detailed warnings will be listed for each individual chapter.
IT’S FINALLY HERE, THE BIG LIST FOR OUR BELOVED KIM NAMJOON. I know, I know, it took me much longer than expected, but work was absolutely brutal this week and I only had time to update my main account, so reading was... well, complicated. Anyway! We’re finally here, and I can’t wait to tell you all about the fics I’ve been reading <3 I’m sure you’re going to love them.
One-shots:
SENTIENT by @trivia-yandere
-> Summary: You're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you.
-> Review: When I tell you this fic left me speechless, I’m not joking. Part of it was my own fault because I didn’t read the warnings (don’t make that mistake, please read them lol), so getting to the ending was... woah. I had no words. It’s an android fic (oh yeah), and what really stood out to me was how the author describes Nam’s abilities. Most of the time, stories like this are told from reader’s perspective, so that side of things doesn’t get explored much, but here we get a much better understanding of how Nam functions as an android (like being able to see through walls or sense your heartbeat and body heat—I absolutely loved those details). To be honest, I was completely charmed by the first-half version of Nam before we ventured into... yandere territory (yes, it’s yandere—that was the part I accidentally skipped over lmao). That being said, it’s incredibly well written, the smut is on point, and the ending is perfect for the kind of story that slowly takes shape as it progresses. Perfect if you’re looking for something with halloween vibes.
WHAT'S YOUR MOTIVE? by @n9mgi
-> Summary: In the bustling scene of new york city in the early 2000s, a guarded girl who’s spent her life learning not to trust anyone, crosses paths with a rising underground rapper who’s used to getting everything he wants—until her.
-> Review: This fic is set in the early 2000s, and honestly, isn’t that reason enough to read it? Because it definitely was for me. Nam as an underground rapper just makes so much sense, and in that era... it’s simply perfect. The pacing of the story is incredible, the tension between the two characters is chef’s kiss, and the smut? I’m usually not that into dirty talk... but here it feels UGHHH, absolutely perfect.
DIMPLES by @milk-moonbunnies
-> Summary: The one where Namjoon is trying to show he's down bad for you
-> Review: OMG, GUYS, GUYS, THIS ONE?? I LOVE THIS ONE UGHH 😭 It’s so cute, so perfect, so soft. Popular Nam + plus-size reader? Absolute gold. On top of that, he’s so sweet and caring and ughh, I love him. This is the kind of comfort fic I’d curl up with on a cloudy afternoon when I’m feeling a little down and just want to escape into a character like Nam. You absolutely need to go read it. Trust me, you’re going to love it.
STREET THING by @/n9mgi
-> Summary: On the side of a sunburnt los angeles road, you with a broken down car meet a man you can't stop thinking about. he's older, composed, impossibly charming, and far too experienced to be looking at you the way he does. you're used to immature love that never knew how to hold you properly. but with him, everything is different.
-> Review: I think you’re starting to see a pattern here... BUT I CAN’T HELP IT. CHI KNOWS EXACTLY HOW TO WRITE A NAM FIC WITH SMUT (and she absolutely nails 2000s aus, which just so happens to be my ultimate weakness, so there was no way this wasn’t going to make the list). We’ve got an age gap, we’ve got dom!Joonie, and OBVIOUSLY we’ve got exquisite tension between the characters, because Chi really knows how to write chemistry and build anticipation between two people.
TRY AGAIN by @bangtanfancamp
-> Summary: Got guy trouble? Of course your best friend Namjoon is the perfect person to talk to about it. It just ... doesn’t go at all how you expect it to. Maybe that isn’t the worst thing though.
-> Review: If there’s one thing that always gets me, it’s slice-of-life fics. They’re sweet, they’re soft, they feel warm no matter what’s happening —whether it’s something good or something painful— and this one? This one is the perfect example of that. It’s a fic with smut (duh), but it still manages to feel gentle and comforting, and I think a lot of that comes from the fact that it has the best friends-to-lovers trope... and honestly, there’s nothing sweeter than that. It’s a little old (dude, I can’t believe 2021 was five years ago???), but it’s absolutely worth reading <3
BOTHERED by @lavienjin
-> Summary: Namjoon has tried so hard to bury his attraction for you, especially upon discovering that his youngest brother feels the same way. but you just had to make it difficult by showing up in a dress much too short and tight for your figure as you innocently beg for him to lend his body for practice.
-> Review: Imagining Nam as an architect was not on my bingo card for any year, but it was definitely something I needed to read. I have to admit, one of my favorite parts of this fic is the way Nam ‘struggles’ with his desire to be with oc because, oh! Surprise, his brother is completely smitten with her too... but of course, temptation and desire win out in the end lol. It’s a really good fic, and you should definitely give it a chance. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.
RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME by @taevescence
-> Summary: Being a woman in the legal world had never been easy—especially not in a country like South Korea. That was why you had done everything in your power to achieve your goals; you sacrificed your personal life, your health, and even the love of your life just to reach the position you held today. At least, that was what you believed until you arrived at your best friend’s wedding and came face to face once again with the only person capable of unraveling every plan you had ever made.
-> Review: (Uhm, actually this is my fic (yes, I’m self-promoting, sue me), but since there’s no way I’d write a review of my own work, I’m bringing you my bestie @thunderg opinion on the fic <3) Ok so, this fic is a masterpiece like, how can Namu be that perfect??? I love how he is so caring and understanding with Reader even when she did broke a little his heart, and the fact that she recognized that her action were not right, chef kiss, we love a self aware queen. If you want some cute fic with a bit of angst, THIS IS IT (justice for Nam people, he needs more fics, he is a cutie) When my bestie wrote this i was like a literal teenager again, giggling like a dumbass, so yeah, long live for men who yearn!!!!!!
Series:
CODE : EPITAPH by @jungkoode
-> Summary: “you wish the name Kim Namjoon didn’t make bile rise up your throat so violently. especially when 100% matches have perfect sexual compatibility—and combat pheromones don’t quite care about hatred.”
-> Review: I think by this point it’s pretty obvious how much we love Kiki’s fics on this account, especially the fantasy/sci-fi ones. This one in particular is one of my favorites. There’s genuinely no one who writes them like her. The detail, the narration, the story itself... it’s such a shame it doesn’t have the popularity it deserves, because it’s genuinely a work of art <3
SYNOPSIS: Your life was perfect, or so it seemed. As the wife of Jeon Jungkook, a powerful billionaire, you lived in quiet luxury, never questioning the shadows around him. Until Kim Namjoon appeared. What begins as curiosity turns into manipulation, and before you realize it, you're no longer a bystander.
You're leverage.
Caught between a husband with secrets and a man determined to expose them, trust becomes a weapon and every choice pulls you deeper into a game with no innocent sides.
AN: not sure what this even is. some strange, twisted storyline my brain threw together, again. but i needed to put it out here. i couldn’t leave it rotting in my drafts, even if it hadn’t been there that long.
You looked around the room, your gaze drifting over the crowd. People moved in clusters laughing, negotiating, exchanging handshakes that meant far more than they showed. Every conversation here had a purpose. Deals were being made, alliances formed, relationships built on nothing but profit and power.
It was suffocating.
A quiet sigh slipped past your lips as you adjusted your posture, the weight of the evening settling heavily on your shoulders. You were tired, tired of the constant expectations, tired of playing your role so perfectly, tired of being present in a life that never truly felt like yours.
For a moment, your eyes searched for something, anything real.
Instead, they landed on him.
Jungkook stood a few feet away, effortlessly commanding attention as he spoke to one of his clients. His posture was confident, his voice calm yet firm, every word calculated. He looked exactly like what the world saw him as powerful, untouchable, in control.
He had introduced you earlier, his hand briefly resting at your back as he presented you with quiet pride. You had smiled, of course. You always did. Polite, graceful, composed. You spoke when required, nodded at the right moments, and played your part flawlessly before excusing yourself under the pretense of needing some air.
No one questioned it. No one ever did.
It had been seven years.
Seven years since you became his wife. And yet, standing there now, watching him from a distance, you couldn't help but wonder how it had all come to this. You didn't hate him. You didn't love him either.
Somewhere along the way, feelings had simply never existed.
Your marriage wasn't built on affection or understanding. It was an agreement, a merger between two powerful families, carefully planned and executed. You came from wealth, from influence, from a name that carried its own weight.
But Jungkook.
He was always a step above. With his family deeply rooted in politics and his own dominance in the business world, he held a kind of power that went beyond money. And you had learned, quietly and without resistance, where you stood in that hierarchy.
Beside him. But never truly with him.
You exhaled softly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand as the noise of the room faded into a dull hum. Surrounded by people, yet entirely alone. You had grown used to this feeling. Perhaps too used to it and maybe that was the most exhausting part of all.
------
You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the liquid catch the light as it moves in slow circles. The golden hue reflects faintly against your fingers, almost mesmerizing. Without much thought, you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip, more out of habit than desire. You don't even taste it.
Your attention shifts when you feel it a presence, familiar and heavy, settling beside you. Before you can turn, Jungkook leans in, his breath brushing lightly against your skin before his lips press against the side of your neck. The gesture is brief, almost casual, yet deliberate enough to be noticed.
Claiming.
"Bored?" he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you despite the crowded room.
You don't flinch. You don't react.
Just a small smile touches your lips as you nod simple, honest. You never pretended with him. Not about things like this and it never changed anything.
Jungkook was a man who moved according to his own will. Decisions were made long before anyone else had the chance to question them. You had learned that early on. You could voice your thoughts, your discomfort, your quiet complaints.
But never in a way that interfered. Never in a way that asked him to stop and he preferred it that way.
There was something almost unsettling about how well the two of you had settled into this rhythm, silent understanding without emotion, presence without connection.
"The event is going to end soon," he says, straightening slightly, his gaze flicking across the room as if calculating something even now. "We can leave in a few minutes."
You nod again, your fingers tightening slightly around the glass before relaxing.
Of course.
Leave the moment it was no longer useful.
That's how everything worked in his world.
His attention returns to you, softer this time, but not warmer. His hand lifts, fingers brushing through your hair as he gently fixes a loose strand, tucking it back into place with careful precision. The touch lingers for a second longer than necessary, controlled, almost thoughtful.
Anyone watching would think it was affection.
It wasn't. It was habit.
Presentation.
Just another part of the image the two of you upheld so perfectly.
Your eyes meet his for a brief second, searching for something, anything but finding the same calm, unreadable expression he always wore and just like that, he steps away. Back into the crowd. Back into control.
Leaving you standing there, glass in hand, surrounded by noise. Yet wrapped in a silence that felt far too familiar.
------
You roll your hips, your breath coming in ragged, shallow pants as you straddle him. Sex with Jungkook is always a masterclass in controlled chaos; he knows exactly how to unravel you, and exactly how to take what he wants. He likes it rough, and tonight, he isn't holding back.
His left hand, the one covered in a beautiful, intricate sleeve of tattoos he usually keeps hidden beneath crisp shirt cuffs, grips your hip with bruising force. The stark contrast of his rough, inked skin against your flushed flesh is dizzying. You are one of the few people allowed to see this side of him, both the art on his skin and the predator in his bed.
Feeling the friction and the heat of you, Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly grunt. But when your pace falters and you begin to slow down, his patience evaporates.
"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls, his voice dripping with dark authority.
Before you can answer, his large palm connects sharply with your right cheek. The sting of the slap cuts through the haze of pleasure, making you gasp and let out a loud, needy moan.
He smirks at your reaction, knowing exactly how much you love it when he takes control. "Good girl," he murmurs darkly, though his words quickly turn more degrading as he demands your complete submission. "You're nothing but a needy little mess for me, aren't you?"
He doesn't wait for a reply. Jungkook hooks his fingers aggressively into your hips, manhandling your body to position you exactly where he wants you. Flipping the power dynamic in a second, he takes full control, pinning you down and pounding into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that leaves you completely breathless.
Your fingers dig desperately into the mattress, your knuckles turning white as Jungkook continues his punishing pace. Every heavy thrust drives the breath right out of your lungs, leaving you capable of nothing but high-pitched, broken whimpers. He is relentless, using his superior strength to keep you pinned exactly where he wants you.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates straight to your core.
You force your heavy eyelids open, finding his dark eyes fixed on yours. They are dilated and wild, burning with an intense possessiveness. He reaches up, his tattooed hand tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat. He leans down and bites the sensitive skin right where your neck meets your shoulder, marking you as his.
You let out a cry, your body arching as a violent wave of pleasure begins to ripple through you. You are so close, teetering right on the edge of a shattering climax.
Sensing your peak, Jungkook smirks against your skin. Instead of letting you fall over the edge, he abruptly slows his pace to agonizingly slow, shallow thrusts.
"Jungkook, please..." you whine, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to roll your hips against him to chase the friction.
"Please what?" he taunts, his grip on your hips tightening to keep you still. He watches your desperate expression with pure amusement. "Beg for it. Tell me how badly you need to cum for me, you desperate little thing."
The degrading words should sting, but instead, they act like gasoline on a fire. The raw vulnerability of it sends a fresh spike of heat straight to your lower belly.
"Please, Jungkook... I need it. I'm yours, just please..." you desperately plead, completely unraveled by him.
He gives a dark, satisfied chuckle, clearly pleased by your total submission. "That's what I thought."
With a sudden, explosive burst of energy, he slams back into you with full force. He hammers into you, fast and deep, showing no mercy as he drags you over the precipice. Your vision goes white as your climax hits you in violent, crashing waves. You scream his name, your body locking up around him.
Jungkook lets out a loud, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his own release takes over, his body shuddering violently as he spends himself inside you.
-----
The morning light filtering through the heavy drapes felt like an intrusion. You woke up with a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as a deep, ache pulsed through your muscles. Your body felt heavy, wonderfully wrecked, and incredibly sore in places that vividly reminded you of Jungkook's relentless possessiveness from the night before.
Rolling over, your hand searched the mattress, but the sheets beside you were cool. He was already gone.
You attempted to sit up, the cool morning air hitting your bare, flushed skin. You were still completely naked, your body painted with the faint, purplish marks of his possessiveness. You desperately wanted to wash the sweat and scent of him off in a warm shower, but your trembling muscles flatly refused to cooperate. You felt utterly drained.
Suddenly, a bright, bubbly giggle echoed from the hallway, slicing through the quiet room.
Instinct took over. Panicked by the sound, you frantically grabbed the heavy duvet and pulled it up to your chin, burying yourself in the warmth just as the bedroom door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was a tiny, energetic figure. Right behind him stood Jungkook.
He was the picture of effortless, devastatingly handsome domesticity. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants that hung off his hips, displaying the hard ridges of his abs and the mesmerizing, intricate sleeve of tattoos on his arm. His hair was messy, and his dark eyes softened the moment they landed on you.
"Mama! Dad said I can make a smoothie today!" your five-year-old son, Rawoon, announced proudly, his eyes shining with excitement.
You couldn't help the warm smile that took over your face at the sight of him. "Oh, really?" you rasped, your voice still a little thick and breathless from sleep.
Rawoon marched closer to the bed, crossing his little arms over his chest as a dramatic pout took over his face. "And I wanted you to help me, Mama. But Daddy wouldn't let me wake you up!"
Before Rawoon could climb onto the bed and accidentally discover why his mother was hiding under the covers, Jungkook moved with lightning speed. He swooped in, scooping the giggling five-year-old up into his arms, holding him effortlessly against his chest.
"Hey, no fair badgering your mother," Jungkook chuckled, his deep, raspy voice sending a familiar shiver down your spine. He looked over at you, a knowing, wicked smirk playing at the edge of his lips as his eyes raked over your bare shoulders, silently communicating that he was the reason you couldn't move.
Jungkook turned his attention back to his pouting son, booping Rawoon's nose. "Your mom needs to get ready for work, buddy, and she's very, very tired today. Ms. Suzy will help you make the smoothie instead, okay?"
Rawoon looked at you, seeking confirmation. You gave him an encouraging nod and blew him a kiss. Resigned but still excited about the smoothie, Rawoon nodded. "Okay! I'm gonna make a strawberry one!"
"That's my boy," Jungkook praised, adjusting his hold on the child as he started to walk out of the bedroom.
-----
You had just dropped Rawoon off at school, watching as he disappeared past the gates without looking back. The morning air felt unusually still as you sat behind the wheel for a moment longer than necessary, your hands resting lightly on it. Work was waiting.
It always was. But today, you didn't feel like going just yet.
A quiet thought crossed your mind, coffee. Something simple. Familiar. A small pause before stepping back into the routine that never really gave you space to breathe.
Without thinking much, you turned the car toward the café you always went to, the one just a few minutes away from Rawoon's school. It was your place. Quiet, tucked away from the noise of the city, warm in a way that didn't demand anything from you.
You needed that.
But as you pulled up, something felt off. The doors were shut. No lights. No sign of movement inside. Your brows furrowed slightly as you checked the time, certain you weren't early. This place was always open by now. Always.
A soft groan escaped your lips as you leaned back in your seat, irritation bubbling up in a way that felt disproportionate but you let it. Of course.
Even this one small thing didn't go your way. You stepped out of the car, the morning air brushing against your skin as you leaned against the side, your fingers slipping into your small bag. You pulled out a cigarette, placing it between your lips with practiced ease, already craving the distraction it would bring.
Your hand searched for the lighter.
Once. Twice. Nothing.
You exhaled sharply, annoyed now, your patience thinning far quicker than it should have. Tilting your head back slightly, you let out a quiet huff, your fingers digging deeper into your bag as if it would magically appear. It didn't. And just as you were about to give up. A presence. Close. Too close.
Before you could fully react, there was a soft click. A small flame flickered to life beside you. Your eyes shifted. A man stood there, holding the lighter up with steady fingers, the fire casting a faint glow against his face. For a brief second, you simply looked at him taking him in without meaning to.
You didn't ask.
You didn't question. You just leaned in slightly, bringing the cigarette closer to the flame. The tip burned, smoke curling upward as you took a slow drag, the familiar burn settling into your lungs. Only then did you pull back. Only then did you actually look at him.
There was something, unreadable about his expression. Calm, composed, but not entirely open. Like he was watching more than he let on. You exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting between the two of you as a quiet silence settled.
"The café is closed," he says, his voice low, even. "There's some alteration going on."
Your gaze flickers briefly toward the building before returning to him. You nod slightly, it makes sense. He must've seen you pull up, seen the way you lingered, the irritation written all over you. Still, something about the way he said it felt intentional.
Like he had been waiting. You don't dwell on it. Instead, you lift your hand, holding the cigarette out toward him, a silent offer. He takes it without hesitation. His fingers brush yours, just barely. Intentional or not you can't tell.
He brings it to his lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling, his gaze shifting away for a moment as if he's giving you space, yet somehow not really leaving it.
"I'm Namjoon," he says after a beat, his voice softer now. He gives a small, tight-lipped smile and there it is. Dimples.
It should've felt normal. Casual. Just a stranger being polite. But something about him didn't feel like a coincidence.
"Y/n," you reply, your voice steady despite the faint unease settling somewhere deep inside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence lingers a little longer than it should. You take another drag, your gaze drifting away from him, trying to shake off the strange heaviness that settled the moment he appeared. It was just a random interaction, you've had plenty of those.
So why did this feel different? Beside you, Namjoon exhales slowly, the smoke curling into the air between you. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed, like he belongs exactly where he is. Like he planned to be here.
"A place like this..." he starts, his voice casual, almost thoughtful. "Didn't expect to see someone like you here." Your brows knit slightly as you turn to look at him.
"Someone like me?" you repeat, a hint of confusion slipping through your otherwise composed tone. His lips curve faintly, not quite a smile.
"Yeah," he says, glancing at you briefly before looking ahead again. "You don't look like someone who waits outside closed cafés in the morning... looking annoyed over coffee." There's something in his words, light on the surface, but carrying weight underneath.
You let out a quiet breath, a small, almost dismissive smile touching your lips. "And what exactly do I look like?" He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he studies you.
Not in a way that feels admiring. In a way that feels knowing.
"Someone who doesn't have to settle for something like this," he finally says. The words land softly but they don't feel light.
You hold his gaze now, your expression shifting just slightly. "You don't know me."
"No," he agrees easily. "I don't." A pause. Then, "But I know enough."
Something in your chest tightens. Your fingers curl slightly around the cigarette as your eyes narrow just a fraction. "What is that supposed to mean?" Namjoon finally turns fully toward you, his attention no longer divided. The ease in his expression doesn't fade but there's something sharper beneath it now.
Measured. Intentional.
"It means..." he begins slowly, his voice dropping just enough to make you focus, "you're not someone who should be standing here alone."
A beat passes. Then he adds. "Especially not when you're married into the Jeons."
The world doesn't stop. Cars still pass in the distance. The wind still moves lightly through the trees. But for a second. Everything feels still. Your expression doesn't change immediately. But your mind does. Sharp. Alert. Careful.
"...Excuse me?" you say, your voice quieter now, controlled. Namjoon doesn't look surprised by your reaction. If anything, he looks like he expected it.
"You heard me," he says, his tone calm, almost indifferent but his eyes don't leave yours. "Jeon Jungkook's wife." The way he says it isn't curious. It's certain. A slow, uneasy feeling creeps in. This wasn't a guess. This wasn't luck.
You straighten slightly, your guard slipping into place without you even realizing it. "People know him," you reply, keeping your voice steady. "That doesn't mean they know me." A faint smile touches his lips not wide, not warm. Just enough.
"I know enough." Your stomach sinks, just slightly. He exhales, smoke curling lazily into the air as if this conversation means nothing to him, as if he hasn't just crossed a line he shouldn't even be near.
"You dropped your son off just now," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Rawoon, right?" Your heartbeat stutters. This time, your reaction is immediate. Your gaze sharpens, all traces of casual politeness gone.
"...How do you know that?" your voice is quieter now, but firmer. Namjoon doesn't answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, watching you like he's observing how far you'll go before you break.
"I like places like this," he says instead, ignoring your question entirely. "Quiet. Not too crowded. Not... performative." His eyes flick briefly toward the café before returning to you.
"Seems like you do too." A pause.
"It's interesting," he continues, almost thoughtfully, "considering your husband prefers the exact opposite." Your jaw tightens. There's something wrong here. This isn't coincidence. This isn't harmless. This man, he knows too much.
"Who are you?" you ask, the question sharper now, more direct. But again, he sidesteps it effortlessly.
"Does Rawoon get along well with Jungkook?" The words hit differently this time. Not just intrusive. Targeted. Your breath catches, just for a second.
"What?" you frown, the confusion finally breaking through the tension. "What kind of question is that?" Namjoon watches you carefully. Too carefully. As if he's waiting for something in your reaction. A slip. A truth.
"Just curious," he says lightly, but there's nothing light about the way his eyes don't leave yours. "Children can be... sensitive to things adults pretend not to notice." A chill runs down your spine. You don't like where this is going. At all.
"Why does it matter to you?" you ask, your voice dropping, guarded now. "You don't even know us." That's when it happens. That small shift. The corner of his lips lifts slow, knowing.
A smirk. "I think I know enough," he says quietly. Your chest tightens. There's something he's not saying. Something he wants you to think about and then, he leans in just slightly. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to make it feel suffocating.
"What do you think would happen..." his voice drops, softer now, almost a whisper, "...if Jungkook found out Rawoon isn't his son?" Everything stops.
The air. The sound. Your thoughts. For a second, you don't even breathe. Your eyes widen, just slightly but it's enough. Enough for him to see and he does. Of course he does. You take a step back, your pulse racing now, panic clawing its way up your chest despite how hard you try to suppress it.
"...Who are you?" you repeat, but this time it's not just a question.
It's a demand. A warning. A plea. Namjoon straightens, watching you with something unreadable in his expression satisfaction, maybe. Or something darker. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to steady.
"What do you want?" There's a beat of silence, that smirk returns. Slow. Certain. Like he's been waiting for you to ask that exact question.
"That's a good question," he murmurs. His eyes lock onto yours. Sharp. Unwavering.
"I was wondering when you'd get there."
---------
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade. You didn't understand why you were obeying a man you had only just met, but Namjoon possessed a terrifying weapon: knowledge. He knew more about the fractures in your life than your own husband did, and that leverage was a noose around your neck.
Rawoon was and always would be, your first priority. Your husband, Jungkook, was a different story. He was a man consumed by the cold mechanics of business and the preservation of his reputation; he allowed no one to stand in his way. Not his rivals, not his enemies, and certainly not you.
You didn't know Namjoon’s endgame, but you knew the weight of the device in your pocket. It was a sleek, silver spy recorder, cold against your palm. He hadn't given you a choice; you couldn't risk Rawoon’s safety for the sake of a husband who barely saw you.
After waiting for the mahogany doors of his office to swing open and the trail of clients to vanish, you slipped inside. The click of the lock felt like a final judgment. Jungkook looked up, his expression unreadable, though his dark eyes held a silent demand for an explanation. You never came here. In this marriage of convenience and cold distance, your presence was an anomaly.
Swallowing your terror, you forced a smile to your lips, a mask of practiced grace. You crossed the room, your fingers trailing softly over the polished surface of his desk, a predator-turned-prey. As you reached his chair, you didn't hesitate. You sank onto his lap, the proximity making your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You leaned in, the scent of his expensive cologne filling your senses, masking the metallic tang of fear.
"I wanted to talk to you," you whispered, your voice a fragile thread of silk.
"Yeah?" he responded, his voice dropping an octave, wary yet intrigued.
"Is it absolutely necessary to enter my office this seductively?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips a rare, sharp flash of humor.
You didn't answer with words. You leaned closer, pressing light, feather-soft kisses against the pulse point of his neck. You felt the vibration of a low moan in his chest as his hand came up to caress your hair, his grip firm and possessive. As your lips finally met his in a kiss that tasted of desperation and deceit, your hand moved stealthily toward the underside of his desk, the recorder ready to slip from your sleeve.
The heat between you was a lie you had to sell with every fiber of your being. As Jungkook’s kiss deepened, turning hungry and possessive, you arched your back to meet him, tangling your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled you closer, his large hand sliding down to grip your waist, anchoring you against him. Every time his breath hitched, you felt a sickening jolt of adrenaline, this wasn't passion; it was a distraction.
While you hummed into the kiss, feigning a surrender that made his pulse race against your skin, your right hand moved with ghostly precision. You let your arm drape naturally off the side of his chair, your fingertips brushing the cool, hidden underside of the heavy mahogany desk.
With the recorder gripped tight between your shaking fingers, you felt for the flat surface beneath the ledge. Jungkook’s mouth moved to your jawline, his focus entirely consumed by the rare warmth you were offering him. Now. You pressed the adhesive side of the device firmly against the wood, holding it for a split second until it caught.
As you pulled your hand back, sliding it up his chest to steady yourself, the deed was done. You broke the kiss just enough to look into his dark, clouded eyes, your heart thundering so loudly you were certain he could feel it through your ribs. You had just invited a monster into his sanctuary, all to protect the only person who mattered.
------
The ping of the text message felt like a physical sting. "Good job," Namjoon had written, two simple words that made your skin crawl. You wanted to smash his face in, to erase that smug satisfaction he carried, but the paralyzing fear of Jungkook kept you anchored. You had convinced yourself that once this task was done, you would be free. You were wrong.
When the unknown number flashed on your screen, you didn’t have to guess. You picked up, your voice a sharp blade of ice. "What is it now? I did exactly what you asked."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the receiver. "Oh, sweetheart," Namjoon purred, his voice dripping with a terrifying calmness. "This is only the beginning."
Despite your internal screaming to walk away, his leverage pulled you like a leash. That was how you found yourself standing at the threshold of a sleek, glass-walled penthouse overlooking the city. When Namjoon opened the door, the opulence of the place felt suffocating.
"Why am I here, Namjoon?" you spat, glaring at him with enough vitriol to burn.
"Care for a drink?" he asked, gesturing nonchalantly toward the bar.
You rolled your eyes, the sheer audacity of his hospitality snapping the last thread of your patience. "I'm done playing. I'm leaving."
You turned toward the door, but his next words froze the blood in your veins.
"I wonder how your husband would react if he saw these."
You whirled around, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. He held a manila envelope, tossing it onto the marble coffee table. You snatched it up, your fingers trembling as you pulled out the glossy prints.
There you were. And there was Taeyang.
The images captured the truth you had buried under layers of designer clothes and a high-society marriage. You and Taeyang had been "friends with benefits" long before you were bartered off to Jungkook for the sake of business mergers and family legacies. The marriage was a contract, a cold exchange of power, but what you had with Taeyang was a fire you refused to put out, even after the wedding.
Then came the darkest secret of all, Rawoon.
Neither Taeyang nor Jungkook knew the truth of the boy’s parentage. You didn't particularly care for either man’s heart, but the secret was your only protection. Now, looking at Namjoon’s predatory smile, you realized he didn't just want a favor. He wanted your entire life in the palm of his hand.
"So," Namjoon leaned back, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. "Shall we discuss our next move, or should I give Jungkook a call?"
"What do you want from me?" your voice cracked, the desperation finally bleeding through your mask of indifference. "I’ve done the dirty work. I’ve played your games. Why are you digging into a past that has nothing to do with you?"
Namjoon didn't flinch. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his footsteps silent on the plush rug. He stopped just inches away, the scent of expensive cologne and old wood smoke filling your senses. He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow, agonizing line across your bare shoulder. The touch wasn't warm; it sent a jagged chill straight down your spine.
"Maybe," he murmured, his voice dropping to a silk-wrapped threat, "I just want you."
Your face twisted in a mask of disgust. "You’re delusional."
"Come now, Y/N," he chuckled, his eyes dark with a predatory gleam. "You’ve kept so many secrets from Jungkook already. What’s one more added to the pile? This wouldn't even hurt him, he doesn't know the real you anyway."
The air in the penthouse felt thick, unbreathable. You stared at him one last time, a silent vow of hatred burning in your eyes. You snatched your purse from the table and turned on your heel, heading for the door. You needed to run, to breathe, to scrub the feeling of his touch off your skin.
But halfway to the exit, you stopped.
Your breath came in ragged, heavy hitches. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots as you fought the hollow void in your chest. Your marriage to Jungkook was a hollow shell, a masterpiece of performance art. You played the doting wife, he played the powerful husband, and together you played the perfect parents. But behind closed doors, there was only silence. Just a cold business arrangement that had left you starving for something, anything, real.
If the world was going to burn, you might as well be the one to light the match.
With a sudden, violent movement, you whirled around. You hurled your purse onto the leather couch and lunged at Namjoon. Your hands fisted into the expensive fabric of his dress shirt, bunching it up as you slammed your lips against his.
It wasn't a kiss of love; it was a collision of two dark forces.
You knew your heart was an empty chamber, a place where nothing grew and no one stayed. You didn't care about Namjoon, and you certainly didn't love him, but in this moment, the friction was better than the numbness.
Namjoon didn't hesitate. He let out a low, guttural growl, his hands sliding firmly to your waist to pull you flush against him. He took control of the kiss, his movements aggressive and demanding, mirroring the chaos of the secrets you both held. In the shadows of the penthouse, the line between victim and accomplice finally blurred into nothingness.
------
The days blurred into a haze of adrenaline and deception. What had started as a moment of desperate defiance had spiraled into an addiction you couldn't shake. Yet, despite the tangled sheets and shared breaths, the mystery remained.
"Why are you doing this?" you would ask in the quiet aftermath, your voice barely a whisper. "Why are you so obsessed with destroying Jungkook?"
Namjoon’s responses were always the same: cold, cryptic, and frustratingly calm. "The truth is a heavy burden, Y/N," he’d mutter, his eyes staring at the ceiling as if calculating a move on a chessboard. "You’ll know everything when the time is right. For now, just play your part."
Hiding the scent of another man from Jungkook was becoming a high-stakes game of Russian roulette. For weeks, you walked a tightrope, returning home to a cold husband while your skin still burned from Namjoon’s touch. But something had shifted. The hollow, aching emptiness that defined your life with Jungkook that sterile, loveless void was being filled by Namjoon’s dark intensity. With him, you didn't feel like a pawn or a socialite. You felt alive, even if that life was built on a foundation of lies.
The air in the penthouse was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive bourbon and the looming threat of discovery. Every time you were here, you felt like you were dancing on the edge of a jagged cliff, but the adrenaline had become more addictive than the safety of your gilded cage with Jungkook.
Namjoon’s hands were calloused and warm as they slid firmly over your ribs, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist. He pulled you flush against him, the friction of your damp skin creating a heat that rivaled the midsummer night outside. You let out a breathless, airy giggle when his tongue darted out to lick your earlobe, a sharp contrast to the calculated, cold man he played in the light of day.
"You're getting bold, Y/N," he rasped, his voice a low vibration against your neck. "Does the thought of him catching us make you thrive, or is it just me?"
You couldn't answer. Your breath hitched as he spun you around, pressing your chest into the cool leather of the sofa. The contrast of the cold material against your heated skin made you shiver. He didn't offer gentleness; he offered a raw, primal intensity that Jungkook had never even attempted.
Namjoon loomed over you, his heavy weight a grounding force. He reached down, his hand gripping your hip to anchor you as he entered you with a slow, devastating thrust. You arched your back, your spine forming a perfect, desperate curve as you gasped into the cushions. The sensation was overwhelming, raw and unfiltered.
He moved with a rhythmic, punishing pace, each movement echoing the power he held over your life. There were no sweet words or soft promises here, only the visceral reality of two people bound by secrets and sin. As his grip tightened on your waist, leaving faint marks that you knew you’d have to hide tomorrow, you felt that familiar, hollow ache in your chest finally begin to shatter.
In the wreckage of your marriage and the chaos of his blackmail, this was the only time you felt like you weren't a ghost in your own life. You clung to the edge of the sofa, your nails digging into the leather, lost in the storm that Namjoon had conjured. Whatever his endgame was, in this dark, sweat-soaked sanctuary, you were no longer a pawn, you were the flame.
------
The smoke from your cigarette swirled in the dim light of the bedroom, a gray ghost dancing in the air before vanishing into the shadows. You sat at the edge of the bed, the cool air of the penthouse raising goosebumps on your naked skin. Your phone screen cast a clinical, blue glow over your face as you scrolled aimlessly, trying to ignore the heavy silence that usually followed the storm of your encounters.
The mattress shifted. You felt the warmth of Namjoon’s body before you felt his touch. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to the curve of your shoulder.
"I wonder," he began, his voice dropping into that low, melodic register that usually signaled a shift in the wind. "I wonder how you'll be reacting tomorrow."
The smoke caught in your throat. You pulled the cigarette away, your brow furrowing as you turned your head to meet his gaze. "What is that supposed to mean? What happens tomorrow?"
Namjoon didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, his eyes scanning your face as if he were memorizing a map of a city he intended to burn. Then, his lips curved into a smile. It was that tight-lipped, dimpled grin you usually found yourself drawn to, the one that made him look almost human, but today, the light didn't reach his eyes. It was a hollow imitation. A mask.
"Nothing," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "I'm just thinking about what tomorrow would be like. For everyone."
He reached out, his thumb grazing your jawline with a tenderness that felt more threatening than a physical blow. You stared at him, your heart beginning a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who had already set the timer on a bomb and was simply waiting for the world to notice the ticking.
"Namjoon," you whispered, the cigarette ash falling unheeded onto the silk sheets. "What did you do?"
------
You step out of your room, your footsteps slow as you descend the stairs, but something feels off. The house is louder than usual. Voices. Movement. The faint clatter of utensils from the kitchen. Your brows knit together as your gaze moves across the space. Maids are rushing around, setting the table, adjusting decorations, carrying trays, far more than what was ever needed for a normal day.
Even the air feels different. Prepared. You pause midway down the stairs, your eyes narrowing slightly. Jungkook stands near the dining area, giving instructions short, precise, controlled.
That, in itself, isn’t unusual. But what is that he’s involved at all. He was never particular about these things. Never cared what was cooked, how things were arranged. The house functioned, and that was enough for him. So why now?
“What’s happening?” you ask as you step closer. Your voice cuts through the movement around him. Jungkook turns to look at you. For a second, just a second his expression shifts. Subtle. But you catch it. Then it’s gone.
“It’s nothing,” he says smoothly, but not as effortlessly as usual. “One of my cousins is coming over. With his family.” Your gaze lingers on him. Cousin? He licks his lips briefly before turning away, adjusting his cuff like it suddenly demands his attention and that’s when you notice it.
He doesn’t hold your gaze. Not like he always does. Jungkook was many things but uncertain wasn’t one of them. Yet right now. There’s something restrained about him. Measured.
You watch him for a moment longer, trying to place it, trying to understand. But then you look away. You don’t care enough to question it.
“Hmm,” you hum softly, brushing it off as you move past him. Whatever this is, it’s his world. Not yours.
------
The doorbell rings later that afternoon. Everything stills for just a second. Then movement resumes, faster this time. One of the maids rushes to open the door. You remain where you are, standing near the living room, your expression calm, unbothered.
Until, you see them. First, a woman steps in elegant, composed, her presence quiet but refined. Beside her. A young girl, no older than twelve, holding her hand, her eyes curiously scanning the house and then. Him. Your breath stops. Namjoon. For a second, everything around you blurs. The room. The voices. The sound. All of it fades into nothing.
Your mind struggles to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.
No.
Your gaze locks onto him as he steps inside like he belongs here, like this is normal. Like this is how you were supposed to meet him. Jungkook walks forward, his expression now composed, controlled back to the man you know.
“Namjoon,” he says, extending his hand. Namjoon takes it. Firm. Polite. But there’s something beneath it. Something sharp. Unspoken.
“Good to see you,” Jungkook adds, his tone smooth but not warm.
“Likewise,” Namjoon replies, just as calm. Your heart pounds. You feel it now. That tension. That invisible line between them. Jungkook turns slightly, gesturing toward the woman beside Namjoon.
“You remember her,” he says, his tone softening just slightly. “Noona.” She smiles politely at you, and you return it out of habit, your mind still spinning.
Your eyes flick back to him. He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Like none of this is unusual. Like you’re just, another part of the room. Your stomach twists. Dinner is quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but heavy. Jungkook sits across from Namjoon, both of them composed, both of them speaking like this is just another formal meeting. But it’s not. You can feel it in every word. Every pause. Every glance.
“I heard you’ve been considering entering politics,” Jungkook says, leaning back slightly, his tone casual but edged. “Not a good move.” Namjoon doesn’t react immediately. He takes a sip of his drink before placing it down.
“And why is that?” he asks calmly. Jungkook smirks faintly.
“Because it doesn’t just affect you,” he says. His gaze flicks briefly toward Namjoon’s wife. “Noona would have to deal with the pressure. And your daughter…” A pause. “…she’ll grow up under scrutiny.” The words are polite. But the meaning isn’t. It’s a warning. A judgment.
Namjoon’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t lose composure. Instead, he leans forward just a bit, his voice lowering. “Maintaining business ties with… risky partners,” he says slowly, “and being involved in things that aren’t exactly legal-”
Your breath catches.
“-is far more dangerous,” he finishes. Jungkook’s eyes darken. There it is. The shift. The mask slips, just enough.
“You should be careful with your words,” Jungkook says quietly, his tone no longer casual. Namjoon meets his gaze.
“You should be careful with your actions.” The tension between them thickens instantly, suffocating, like the room has shrunk. No one else speaks. No one dares to and you.
You feel it now.
The truth settling in your chest. This isn’t random. This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t just business. This is rivalry.
Personal. Deep and dangerous. Your eyes move between them Jungkook, calm but cold Namjoon, controlled but sharp and suddenly, everything makes sense.
The café. The threats. The way he knew everything. The way he pushed you. It was never about you. Not really. You were just a way in. A tool.
Leverage.
Your chest tightens, something sinking deep inside you as realization fully settles. Namjoon wasn’t in your life by accident. He placed himself there. For this.
-------
The air in the hallway felt thin as you dragged Namjoon toward the sanctuary of your room, far from the prying eyes of the staff. Downstairs, Jungkook was playing the attentive host to Namjoon’s wife, Mina, and their daughter, but the domestic facade felt like a fever dream.
You whirled around to face him the moment the door clicked shut. "You did all of this just to beat Jungkook? At what, Namjoon? I don’t get it." Your voice was a jagged whisper, trembling with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "This is childish. We are grown adults, and I’m done. I don't want to be your pawn anymore."
The absurdity of it all was suffocating. Whether it was a personal grudge or a deep-seated business rivalry, involving you was a bridge too far. You felt a wave of nausea roll over you, the weight of your double life, the secrets of Taeyang and Rawoon, and the sheer disgust at having allowed Namjoon to use your body as a battlefield against your husband.
"Childish?" Namjoon repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over you. "Perhaps. But your husband... he deserves exactly what’s coming to him."
He spoke with a venom that suggested a history far darker than simple professional jealousy. You didn't wait for an explanation. You couldn't. "I'm done talking," you snapped, pushing past him. You felt like a fool, you hadn't just risked your own safety; you had put Rawoon’s future on the line for a game you didn't even understand.
When you returned to the hall, the scene before you stopped you cold. Jungkook was sitting on the sofa with Mina. He was leaning in, murmuring something that made her let out a soft, genuine giggle. Then, with a tenderness you had never once received, he reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Jungkook was never like this. Even in your most intimate moments, he was a man of cold mechanics and calculated pleasure. Seeing him offer Mina a glimpse of warmth that he denied his own wife felt like a physical blow to the chest.
The moment was shattered by Namjoon’s voice as he descended the stairs. Mina flinched, pulling away instantly, while Jungkook’s posture snapped back into a rigid, defensive line.
"It was wonderful catching up," Namjoon said, his eyes tracking the lingering tension between Jungkook and his wife. "I’m truly excited for your new project launch, Jungkook."
Jungkook regained his trademark smirk, his arrogance returning like a shield. "It’ll be the highest-earning project the firm has seen in a decade. You’d do well to watch and learn."
Namjoon’s gaze shifted to you, a predatory glint dancing in his dark eyes. "Oh, I’m watching. In fact, there are so many surprises waiting for both you and your lovely wife tomorrow."
Your blood ran cold. The way he said surprises sounded less like a promise and more like a death sentence.
Jungkook tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift in the room. "Is that so? Well," he replied, his voice dripping with dangerous curiosity, "I’d certainly like to know what those are."
-------
The day of the launch felt like a slow walk toward a guillotine. You moved through the crowded ballroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive champagne and the stifling ego of the city’s elite. You felt like a ghost haunting your own life, watching the high-society vultures circle Jungkook. They laughed at his jokes and nodded at his business brilliance.
Jungkook finally took the stage, the spotlight catching the sharp, arrogant lines of his suit. He looked every bit the king of the empire he had built on cold steel and calculated mergers. "Today," he began, his voice booming with a confidence that made your skin crawl, "we don't just launch a project; we redefine the industry."
As he spoke, you spotted Namjoon entering from the back. He walked with Mina on his arm, the picture of a supportive cousin. When his eyes locked onto yours, he didn't look away. Instead, he flashed a slow, devastating smirk, the look of a man about to pull the trigger.
"And now," Jungkook announced, gesturing grandly to the massive LED screen behind him, "a first look at the future."
The room went dark. The crowd leaned in, prepared for high-tech blueprints and glossy architectural renders.
The screen flickered to life, but there was no music. No corporate logo.
Instead, the speakers hummed with the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing. The image resolved into grainy, high-definition footage of a hotel suite. It was unmistakable. It was Jungkook his back arched, his muscles tensed, stripped of his dignity and his designer suit. And beneath him, her fingers dug into his shoulders as she let out a shattered, desperate moan, was Mina.
The silence that followed was deafening, lasting only a second before the first gasp broke the air. Then, the room erupted.
"Is that...?"
"With his own cousin’s wife?"
"My God, the scandal..."
The whispers rose like a swarm of hornets. You stood frozen, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle a cry of pure shock. You knew your marriage was a lie, and you knew Jungkook was cold, but the sheer depravity of him sleeping with Namjoon's wife the very woman he had been so tender with just days ago, turned your stomach.
On stage, the "King" was crumbling. The blue light of the sex tape washed over Jungkook’s horrified face, highlighting every drop of sweat. "Turn it off!" he roared, his voice cracking as he lunged toward the tech booth. "Stop the feed! Now!"
Mina looked as though she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. She stood paralyzed, the flickering image of her own betrayal projected thirty feet high for the world to see.
But your eyes drifted to Namjoon.
He didn't look angry. He didn't look like a heartbroken husband. He stood in the center of the chaos, perfectly still, watching Jungkook’s frantic, pathetic attempts to hide the truth. Namjoon looked like a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction.
He had known. He had known all along that Jungkook was sleeping with his wife. And he had used you, your body, your fear, your secrets simply as a distraction to keep Jungkook’s eyes off the trap until it was too late to escape.
The rivalry wasn't just about business. It was a total, scorched-earth war. And as the crowd’s cameras flashed, capturing the downfall of the man you called your husband, you realized that in Namjoon’s world, everyone was collateral damage. Including you.
summary: A night shift on your delivery girl job makes your life make a 180 spin, you cant believe where you got yourself involved in, will you lose everything you worked so hard for? Will Jungkook be there to catch you if you fall?
pairing: deliverygirl! fem reader x mafia! jeon jungkook
genre/warning: fluff fluff / smut / and some comedic slips lol. heavily inspired by The Sopranos, jk is in the mob heheh, tropes like forced proximity, adorable jk of course, hunged jk, tipsy oc, Yuna appeareance. Mentions of alcohol. Y/N is confused af in this one, jk is a horny dog, lmao
author's note: another oneeee, sorry if something its not good written, not proof read!! kinda loving the dynamic they have right now, and dont worry.,, the full on smut will comeee do not worry girlies
ps: the words in bold + italic is meant to be interpreted as spoken in korean hehe
let me know what you think <3
He sighed deeply, his eyes closing and opening slowly in the steamy room. He tried to hold his breath, simply letting go for a second. But something pulled him in.
There you were, your relaxed face resting on his thigh, your beautiful swift body sprawled erotically in the mattress. You looked up at him, his semi sat form on the bed letting you see everything. Every ridge on his abdomen, every small dot, even the goosebumps appearing on his skin.
“Baby…” he dragged out, his heavy eyes on you, not ever wavering from you. His big hand now on your cheeck, moving slowly and noticing every hollow movement of your jaw. His hand resting there, a sort of feel of control while he felt everything.
His hand didn't press, didn't lead, he just graced his fingers ever so slowly on your face and the bone of your jaw. He could feel your breath on him, your hand grabbing him with a softness he couldn’t stand, not right now.
Your lips kissed slowly, every drag of them raising the temperature in his blood slightly. And when he least expected it, he was inside you. The wrap of your lips on him, struggling to get all his girth in your mouth. Your relaxed eyes, looking up at him through your eyelids from time to time, moving the pad of your fingers up and down his leg. Making him shiver like electric shocks.
The velvet feel of your tongue in him, every small larp you gave him, made his figure tremble. His abs flexing slightly at your ministrations, his chest raising and falling in an unbearable speed.
He was close to coming and you didn’t even begin, his head on cloud nine. The sole image of you, taking him so softly, your body on a sensual display. Only for him.
You were only for him.
He grunted heavily, his hand slowing down the movements on his shaft. His head hanged back, the water from the shower almost getting on his eyes.
He calmed down eventually, and lifted the hand from the shower wall, where he was gripping earlier.
The bathroom was covered in fog, his skin slowly reddened at the harsh heat. He was close to breaking out a sweat, even below the rain of water.
He bit his lip, his breath now relaxed, sighing into the air. He couldn’t get the image of you out of his head. He felt like you put a spell on him. Whatever was that you did the night before, now crippling into him slowly.
He felt pathetic, making himself cum in his shower, hiding from you like a horny teenager. But he didn't think straight, he had to get rid of the painful boner he tried to ignore since last night. Barely sleeping through it.
He got done with the shower shortly after, his scented soap making home in his skin, washing away the mess he created from the obsessive thought of you.
But what could he do? From the different aspects of your personality that reeled him in, to the numerous curves that kept creeping into his subconscious. There was nothing he could do, but submit to it.
Busying himself in front of the mirror, getting his hair in a decent hairstyle before he had to go out there and face you again.
You body moved from side to side, a kind of restless dream you were having. Still in bed, in the warmth the local ac provided you , and the soft sheets wrapped around you. You sighed into the air, a frown on your face when you began noticing something touching your hand. A delicate but wet touch making your hand moist, your arm dangling on the side of the bed while you still tried to figure out what was waking you up.
You blinked slowly, meeting the blank roof, trying to get used to the soft light coming from your curtains while you turned your face, your hand still being played with.
You bended up a bit, trying to see what it was.
And what you didn't expect, was to see a brown almost half coat of hair, two dots of brown colored fur on top of two small and round eyes. A big waggy tail, floppy ears and an excited beast looking at you as if you owed it something.
You sat up inmediately, your figure recoiling into the matress as a loud scream escaped you. Inmediately shutting up after feeling a hurting pang on your head, eerily similar to a headache. Your eyes never left the dog, his mouth now closed, face turned sideways. Even when you heard hurried footsteps leading to your bedroom, and Jungkook's frame opening the -already half opened- door.
“What happened?!” The panic in Jungkook's voice was noticeable, but you couldn't stop looking at the big dog on the side of your bed, feigning innocence while you still tried to control your breathing, scared as shit at the unexpected guest on your room.
“What the fuck is that?” You whispered, the two of you still making eye contact. As if you waited for the other one to move. Jungkook followed your line of sight, now more relaxed at seeing it was just Bam, and not a fucking serial killer. Either way, he didn't plan for the doberman to strut into your room like that.
He cursed at himself, his hand going to his chest feeling the loud pounding of his chest at the supposed threat.
“Im sorry, apparently he knows how to open doors now?” He said deeply, calling swiflty for the dog, who just got up and walked to sit beside Jungkook's leg.
“That thing opens doors?!” You were a bit panicked, you had to admit, even if your voice came out low. Too scared to raise your voice in front of the four legged animal still staring at you without a care in the world.
“Can you be a bit more nice? He's sensitive” Jungkook pouted, petting the dog's head slowly while looking at the animal.
“Nice?! He trespassed my room!” You began to take in the situation, really take it in. And before now, you haven't noticed that Jungkook was on your room, shirtless. No clothes on him, just a towel around him. What the fuck was going on here.
You supposed it was because he was in the shower as you screamed. But you couldn't avoid it. A sudden big ass dog infiltrated your room like a psycho! What were you supposed to do.
“I'll make some coffee, i think you need it, meanie” He retorted at you, a mocking face directed at you while he walked out with the dog. You scoffed at his words, brows raising at his words and your hands flying out in surrender. “Bamie, let’s go”
“Your dog speaks Korean?” You questioned, apparently at the air, because he didn’t even bother to respond, only a laugh coming from him.
You didn't even feel the need to change, just putting on your favorite - and kind of ran down - hoodie on you and leaving the room.
You saw him already on the kitchen, this time dressed, thank god. He prepared some coffee with toasts, a breakfast the two of you agreed non verbally a while back.
The dog appeared relaxed, sitinng still with his back to the cabinets of the counters. you had to admit he showed no threat. But you also had kind of a fear with big dogs, well dogs in general. Have you seen a chihuahua? Those are deadly, and more than half a size of what you had in front of you.
He just sat there, long limbs against the floor while the top ones rested strongly for him, his chin raised up and looking at you as if saying 'see? im just a good boy'.
You slinted your eyes at him, inspecting from his head to his toes, still wary of him. Jungkook, on the other hand, watched everything unfold with a chuckle on his throat and a too hot cup of coffee on his hands.
You were treating his dog like a threat, like one would treat a suspect, as if you didnt know if he stole from you or not. And honestly it was the funniest thing he ever watched. He didnt know what to look at, his dog and his standoff-ish but calmed demeanor, or your inspecting and suspicious acts towards him.
You crouched slowly in front of him, your legs folded below you, your hands on top of your knees while the two of you still held eye contact with each other.
You just stared at him, and each second that passed you stood a bit closer to him, watching his reaction to you.
“Bam, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Bam” He spoke, taking a small sip of his coffee and still, no movement from the two of you. And he thought, maybe you needed just a little nudge.
“He’s the chillest dog ever, look.” Jungkook explained, a smile on his face at the eye contact fight the two of you had, and crouched beside you. His presence filling the space on your right, his eyes on you while he thought his actions over.
He took your hand slowly, letting you take your hand back if you desired to. But you did no such thing.
His hand took your wrist and guided you to let Bam sniff you slowly, his curious nose moving on your hand rapidly. You just stayed there, admiring his beautiful fur while trying to not get distracted by the grip in your arm.
Bam looked like a friendly dog, and a smile broke in you when his big head nudged the palm of your hand. Making you scratch his head in no time, making the boy beside you break in a big smile and appreciative eyes directed only at you.
Watching you become more comfortable with Bam and even playing a bit with him, scratching the back of his ears and neck while he just stared at you, big mouth opened and his tongue out on its side. Almost hypnotized by the human in front of him, just like his owner.
“Great, you’re friends. Now breakfast will get cold” he took your hand again, standing you up with no force whatsoever, just guidance. While you smiled and finally looked at Jungkook.
“How old is he?” You asked curiously, sitting on the stool where your coffee was served and two small toasts awaited you.
“He’s two now, still a baby” he stayed up, his frame in front of you on the opposite side of the counter while you nodded.
“Does he eat?” Your question came through as an absolute joke, making Jungkook chuckle.
“He doesn’t, he just grows on his own” you rolled your eyes at him, chuckling while realizing how your question sounded.
“I mean human food” you eyed your bare toasts, then to Bam, and Jungkook. Waiting hopefully for him to give you a green light.
“Just a little bite” he caught on on what you planned to do. And when a big mischievous smile appeared on your face, he was thankful to bring him home for a while.
“Where was he staying all this time?” You asked a while later, cleaning up the kitchen.
“He lives with my parents mostly” Jungkook calmly explained while playing with Bam, a squeaky little ball on his palm.
“So it’s theirs or yours?”
“Basically theirs, but I was the one who found him so, it’s like a little brother” he joked, throwing the ball back and forth for the big dog.
You nodded and kept asking questions about it while muching on your breakfast. He explained how he found him. On the corner of a busy street, the little puppy watching people pass as it shivered slightly leaning on the wall. He presumed someone abandoned him, or maybe he got lost. But when he realized he didn’t have no chip, he decided to keep him.
Either way, he couldn’t have been able to let go of him once he got captured by his cute eyes and patchy fur.
“So the big mafia guy actually has feelings?” You joked when you finished your duty, him now standing, letting Bam play by himself while he ogled at you a bit while you cleaned the dishes.
A habit he was getting accustomed to.
“Mhhmm, depends” he shrugged and laughed with you. Shaking your head while you searched for the dog with your eyes, walking slowly to the sofa.
“Bam, want to watch a movie?” You said confidently, the dog perking his ears up and instantly running towards the sofa, making you giggle.
“So you do speak Korean?!” You could hear the surprise on his voice. A dumbfounded expression that made you laugh a bit louder than usual.
“Of course, I told you” you replied simply. The night when they met you, they asked about it. And you replied honestly. You didn’t get how and why he didn’t catch up on that.
“So you’re telling me that every time I talked in Korean, and watched something in Korean, you understood the whole time? Are you crazy?” He began, his words coming out too fast. He was baffled, his whole reality now changed.
“Nah, you lost me there. Too fast” you laughed, finally sitting down and petting the place on your side for Bam to sit with you.
“You’re crazy” he scoffed, shaking his head while you still laughed. Watching him get on his office, as always. And deciding to tune in on the latest episodes of housewifes with Bam now on your side.
The day went as always, you carried on watching interesting movies you found online, reading a bit to pass the hours, and even sunbathing for a bit in the warmest part of the day, even if it still was freezing.
You enjoyed the company with Bam, his wiggly tail and fun energy making the day a bit more bearable than the usual routine.
Jungkook went out by lunch again, this time he had to get the bike to the mechanic to fix something he explained to you, but you still didn’t get. Something about motor and some heating things.
Either way, you kept going on your way for today. Hearing the door opening when it was already dark out, and you were enjoying making dinner with Bam by your side and soft music playing, your favorite songs lined up.
He liked the image of you so comfortable on his space, and the songs you played were also some of his favorites. So he could say everything playing out in front of him was of his taste.
“Is the bike still alive?” You kept cutting, albeit carefully, all the ingredients you had in front of you. The cut on your finger was getting better, and you were more careful of your acts whenever your finger was too involved.
He chuckled at that, approaching you and bending over to search Bam on his head.
“Yep, already fixed” he looked over what you were cooking, and breathed in all the absolutely delicious smells that clouded the room.
He ran his eyes over at you, as he lately did way too many times. Your soft hair framed your face beautifully, while your bare legs, still naked even in the cold weather, stayed tempting him incessantly. A spurt of very pg images going through his head a thousand miles per hour. Physically restraining himself to not hug you from the back, smell your hair and absolutely ruin your neck while you cooked.
The thought of being able to hear your whimpers and soft moans, the real ones, not the ones he imagined almost every night. To feel the softness of your skin, the beating of your heart when he approached you to your high-
“How was your day with Bam? Did he behave?” He resorted to keep his mind out of you, for his sanity. He was being tempted day and night by your mere presence, part of the reason he was gone almost all the time.
“Yes, he’s a very good boy, he even watched some movies with me” the tone of your voice made him turn to you, and scan your side profile while you raised your eyebrows slightly.
Your teasing voice had him smirking slowly once he registered your jab at him. Were you actually trying to get on his face because he didn’t want to watch a movie with you?
You weren’t mad, not at all. It was even better, you were making fun of the situation, and comparing a human to a dog. Comparing the presence of Bam to the absence he left you with and the brand new TV he didn’t even get to watch.
Trying to rub in how he didn’t sit once to watch anything with you.
He bit his lip, his eyebrows raised too, almost impressed at your words when he thought better than to just react to your words.
“I did sit with you on the couch” he spoke, as a matter of fact. You laughed at him and still kept cutting vegetables.
“Liar liar” you sang, shaking your head.
“You don’t remember yesterday night?” His tone lowered swiftly, he faced you completely, his chest in front of your shoulders when you stopped your actions to a complete halt.
Turning your face to him, he could see he got you with that. Your eyes reflecting that you actually didn’t know.
“Of course I do” you shrugged your shoulders, getting it out of the way. But he wasn’t buying it, so he kept going.
“Oh really?” He tilted his head, his eyes searching for yours while your feet stayed planted right where you were, your eyes and hands moving things randomly, trying to act as if nothing was happening.
“Do you remember how you pushed me into the sofa? Making me sit, while you crawled on top of me?” He was close to you, dangerously. His voice making its short way into your ear. His low register making your body shiver.
You opened your eyes slightly bigger at that, and turned to him, not believing his words. The day you spent with Yuna was a bit blurry, you had to admit. That stupid fucking wine.
“You sat on my lap, burning up, and kept going at my neck like you were starving” his voice dropped even lower, if it was possible. You looked up at him, his expression serious, telling the truth you didn’t remember. His eyes held yours in almost a fight, and you cracked a smile at him.
“Your fantasies are getting out of hand, you’re lying” you shook your head, breaking the sudden spell he had on you. But when he turned his neck and moved the neck of his hoodie, your could see them.
Little marks, love bites, bruises. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. Sitting there, staring at you incessantly, shaming you for your drunken actions.
At your lack of response, and even movement from you, he got back in a normal position, smiling triumphantly at you.
“I think I’m a victim of your own fantasies” He came back to joking, as if you were not mortified enough about what you did, and you didn’t even remember.
“Shut up! You probably even enjoyed it” you tried to battle with him and his accusations, even if they were true, they were leaving you a nervous and trembling mess.
“What makes you think I didn’t” he looked at you smugly, like he had this all on his control, and you kind of hated it. He was too confident in his stance, even if what he was saying was true.
“Ugh, I hate you” you murmured, going back to cooking and getting the damn dinner ready. Better that than keep having this conversation.
He chuckled at that, deciding to sit on the stool and watch you cook for a while, no words between you. He texted and played with his phone once in a while, you supposed it had to do with his personal plans you still didn’t decipher.
“You clean today” you smiled at him while placing the two plates of food in front of him, and one beside him. He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes now focused on the delicious plate in front of him that actually smelt like heaven.
You tried to get some conversation in, talk about something pivotal, but he was eating like a fucking starved dog. Not necessarily gross, but with a speed that left you impressed. Smalls hums came from him, his brows frowned while he kept going at it. Was that how he looked when he went dow-
“That was fucking delicious” he murmured when he finished, his whole stomach full with the dinner you prepared. His body upright while he resumed chewing, and you couldn’t refrain the laugh that escaped you.
“It impresses me you haven’t chocked on the food”
“I’m an experienced eater” he wiggled his eyebrows, the smirk on his fucking face seemed to never leave, and it made you fume with irritation.
“Shut up and get to clean already” you giggled, continuing eating your plate, like a normal fucking person. You now made the watching, his focused movements getting everything clean and tidied up.
His big back could be one of your favorite things to watch, muscles all along with his strong arms and tiny waist. He moved almost flawlessly, sharp and controlled. He knew what he was doing every moment, even if it was as ridiculous as cleaning a pot.
But the movement of his muscles and veins on his arm, applying pressure to the pot to get it shining was entrancing you.
“The pill, Y/N” he reminded you, your dazed stare getting cut off. Raising your cheek from your hand and reaching for them in the counter. You thought over your words, but still had the courage to say them.
“Yes daddy” the loud bang the pot made falling in the sink didn’t make you turn, just giggle silently while you took the pill of the small packet.
“Don’t even joke” he said after a few beats, his voice cracking, making you laugh loudly at his reaction. You couldn’t stop laughing, turning to him and swallowing the pill, only to still laugh a bit more lower.
He stayed cleaning the pot, with a force that left you impressed. He was suppressing himself, and it was really hot. He actually didn’t say anything more while you took your things to get ready for bed. He just stayed there, thirty minutes cleaning the same pot.
“Good night daddy” you sang on your way out, the last thing you heard was your name shouted by him, irritated, but you couldn’t stop laughing either way. Getting in bed with a smile, and resting your head on the soft pillow to welcome a great night sleep.
You rolled slowly on your bed, a few noises registering in your brain while you struggled to wake up. Your eyes blinking slowly while the incessant voices and sounds made you worry. Getting up in a second and getting out to the corridor.
You watched a nervous Jungkook, getting dressed rapidly, his back to you while he talked on the phone. You didn’t want to disturb him, watching from the side of the door to his bedroom. His naked back now covered with a random shirt he got from his closet.
He searched for his things with all his body, his hands trying to find his wallet in the dark, his eyes moving back and forth the walls and surface in his range of view.
“For fuck’s sake, I’ll be there” he mumbled finally, hanging up and keeping his phone on the pockets of his pants. He checked everything on him before walking forth to the door, but his steps stopped as he saw you there. His surprised face and tense form made you freeze up a bit.
“I-is everything okay?” Your sleep filed voice mumbled into the air, gaining a deep sigh, his jaw locking in place.
“Go back to sleep” was the only thing he said while flying past you, approaching the front door to get his shoes and keys. You followed him either way.
“What happened?” You asked again, growing worried at his unexpected outing, it was still dark out, it had to be something really important to get him out of his bed.
“Y/N, get back to bed” he replied, his voice a bit more tense now that your stubborn body didn’t listen to him.
“Why? Jungkook is like crack ass of dawn, what’s going on?” You responded a bit ruder now, but you were only worried! Why was he responding so standoff-ish?
He sighed at your tone, getting up from his crouching position where he tied his shoes, and approached you, his hands on each side of your arms making you look up at him, and him down at you.
“Listen to me with those stubborn ears, nothing happened, go back to bed” he explained now slowly, making you squint at him and raise an eyebrow. He was lying, of course.
“Whatever you say daddy” you kept going at the earlier joke, feigning innocence and shrugging your shoulders. Making your face one of innocence, your eyes opened slightly bigger while you pucked your lips at him, earning a sound scoff from him.
He didn’t reject it though, his lips pecking your cheek slowly while his hand took hold of your jaw. It didn’t even last a second, his touch a fleeting feeling on your skin. You couldn’t even enjoy it while it lasted before he was already walking out the door.
“Go to bed” he shouted at last, closing the door and leaving you standing there, flustered and alone.
Damn it.
You looked around, Bam sleepily getting out of his little bed on the far end of the corridor. Walking to you slowly and stretching his back, making you smile softly at his cuteness.
“Let’s have some coffee Bamie” you whispered at him, fixing yourself a cup of coffee for the rest of the morning.
You distracted yourself for a bit giving Bam some of the dog safe snacks Jungkook kept on the counter. They were the cutest little cookies, and honestly smelled delicious.
You stared out of the big windows that covered almost all of the wall to the right side of the sofa, and as you checked before, it was pitch dark out. The clock marking 4:30 am. You only sighed at that, walking to the living room and turning the TV as loud as you could, not disturbing the neighbors neither Bam, of course.
Just the right volume for you not to fall asleep.
You stayed up, or tried to. Why? You actually didn’t know, but what you knew is that it was the most exciting thing that you had going on. Even if you were a little worried at him.
You watched normal TV, and sticked to watching cartoons on a random channel. It reminded you of random early childhood mornings where you ate your cereal before going to school.
You had to catch yourself a few times, your eyes closing slowly, your head tilting down before abruptly going up. Slapping your cheek softly to wake you up while Bam was distracted chewing on his bright blue toy.
Your nodding off vanished when you heard the front door some hours later, the windows now letting a soft early morning sun through, soft rays illuminating in lines the big living room and kitchen.
You turned slowly when you heard his keys on the table and the footsteps of his big boots on the floor. Scanning him over with an easy expression, that rapidly turned alarmed once you saw his face.
His only reaction was to sigh as he saw you and Bam, both looking directly at him while sitting in the couch.
“Shit, are you okay?” He heard your worried voice and your hurried steps towards him.
“I told you to go back to sleep” he explained to you, calmly. He was pissed that you didn’t listen to him, but he was too tired to fight over it.
“I just got up” your response came across as an excuse, one he didn’t buy for a second.
“Oh yeah and the three coffees are a product of my imagination?” He rolled his eyes and took off his shoes in the door way.
“Yes, what happened?” You tried again, only to be met with another deep sigh, making you frown a bit at his attitude towards you.
“I’m okay, don’t worry. Please go back to bed” he tried again, but to no avail. You stayed there, in front of him, your worried eyes scanning his face, the small cut on his brow and lip, and the slightly bruised jaw.
“Listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me. But let me make sure you’re okay” you tried for him to actually listen to you, for your intentions. You noticed he was creating distance, too tense for you to break through him.
You didn’t understand why, but he definitely had reasons, and for now you wouldn’t question them. But just seeing his head held a bit lower and his shoulders a bit more relaxed, gave you green light to take his hand and walk to the couch with him.
You quickly grabbed a small cup of water for him and ran to the bathroom, looking for the small box filled with medical supplies you used some time to cure your cut.
When you came back he was still seated, the cup now empty. You approached him slowly, placing the box on the small table and really looking at the small injuries on his face.
“You got into a fight?” Your tone was light, trying to break this tense atmosphere that was created in just seconds.
You wanted to make him feel secure, after all he did when you cut yourself. And even if he was being a bit grumpy and rude, you understood where he came from.
“Something like it” he murmured, his thoughts coming back to earlier that night.
——————-
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You need to calm down, we’re not your fucking enemies!” The room was dark, only a few dim lights making the surfaces lighter.
Taehyung sat on the sofa, his face scrunched up, biting on his finger, his elbow propped up in the corner.
Jungkook came as fast as he could when Yoongi called. Preaching that Taehyung was way out of line, picking a fight with each one of them for no apparent reason. And they needed him to be able to calm him down, or reprimand him on some way.
“You should be the one toning it down, Jk” his smug smile irritated Jungkook further, the nickname in his mouth now sounding too foreign, mocking even.
“What the fuck did I ever did to you?”
Taehyung looked at him for a long second, his face stoic, unwavering. Only blinking when he felt the absolute need to.
“You should know” the deep timbre of his voice vibrated in the room, leaving Jungkook confused.
“No, actually I don’t know. Please enlighten me” Jungkook paced back and forth, his steps echoing in the room while he inspected Taehyung's demeanor, his eyebrows frowned. He could feel himself get worked up by the minute, but he realized he had to be the sane one here for this to get better. So he shoved it all down.
When no response came from him, he again tried to shove the furious tone down. Taehyung always pulled shit like this, as if the answer to work better together wasnt to understand and let go. But it seemed as he was troubled with something, and being annoyingly persistent with it. To the point of being physical with you, fuck that made him even madder thinking about it.
“I got you out of the fucking streets, I gave you a chance, a fucking home.” Jungkook explained, his voice a bit louder now, but choosing the route to make Taehyung reason his thoughts.
“Should I kiss the ground you walk on for that?” His pedantry made Jungkook’s jaw clench, closing his eyes for a second, breathing in and out. In and out.
“You could at least not throw this fucking tantrum whenever things don’t go your way” The tension in the room was suffocating, the members exchanged looks. Watching this unfold was like a car accident, they knew they had to stop it, but it was impossible to look away.
“I’m fucking pissed Jungkook, no tantrum and no fucking drama. I have my own reasons” Taehyung dismissed his words, shaking his head and looking elsewhere.
“Then what is it?” Jungkook shot back, his patience running thin.
“Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been acting like a complete asshole for a week.”
Taehyung laughed at that, leaving the room even more speechless with the development of the scene.
“You really don’t get it-“
“Explain! For fucks sake” Jungkook was getting his patience drained out of him. This wasn’t his first rodeo with him, and he hated this situations.
The way Taehyung behaved could be parallel to one of a child. And Jungkook knew he had his reasons, his insecurities. But he genuinely has done everything possible to help him overcome it. But there’s no solution when the affected person doesn’t want to change.
“There’s serious shit going on right now, and you’ve been too busy playing house with that girl!”
Jungkook stiffened at that, the conversation now stranding to you as if you had any guilt or genuine importance on his behavior.
“Leave her out of this” his jaw locked for the tenth time, his shoulders tensing more than ever.
Taehyung raised an eyebrow to him, questioning his words as if it was a strangers speech.
“Why?” He tilted his face, scanning Jungkook up and down with a calculated stare.
“Because she has nothing to do with it” Tae got up, his slow steps getting closer to Jungkook. Decreasing the distance between each other.
“No?” He smiled brightly, his almost menacing stare leaving Jungkook confused, not understanding where was the root of all this.
“You’ve been MIA for some time now, and there she is living in your apartment. Spoiled rotten by some random mafia guy” he actually laughed at that, leaving Jungkook in a daze.
“She’s really contempt to not move her ass from your house and get everything from you”
“You’re really fucking fast to judge what you once were” his words came with force, making Taehyung visibly flinch for a second.
“You don’t know anything about her” Jungkook cut through his bullshit. He didn’t care. And even if you were ‘getting everything from him’ as he said, he wouldn’t care. You didn’t even ask for a single thing since you’ve stayed there.
Everything he did or gave you was because he wanted to, and Jungkook knew that his autonomy wasnt going to be a topic of question for this conversation.
“I do whatever I seem fit, isn’t that clear to you?” Jungkook finally stepped in front of him, his voice raising, his blood boiling little by little.
“You do, and you fail, that’s your problem” Jungkook raised his hand, but only to run it through his hair, his exhasperated sigh making the guys look at him, waiting for the worst.
“You of all people have no fucking right to say that” he spoke through his teeth, his chest rising and falling in front of Taehyung, who only stared at the reaction he got out of Jungkook.
At the lack of response, he shook his head.
“When are you gonna realize you and her have more in common that you like to think?” He actually began to slow down, and not grow so agitated, but he didn’t even see coming the words Taehyung would mutter.
The laugh he let out was deafening, his frame walking towards Jungkook, who stood his ground.
“Oh yeah? That’s why you want to fuck her so badl-“ He couldn’t even finish the phrase before Jungkook’s fist dropped him to the floor. A hard punch to his jaw that surprised all of them, staring with big eyes the entire thing unfold.
It was a mess of limbs, hits, punches through and through. Taehyung lunched himself back to him, putting up a fight deserving of a fucking oscar.
Their bodies collided with the coffee table, making its contents fly to the floor, creating even a bigger mess.
Someone shouted, someone called for action, and everyone tried to think of how to get them separated without escalating it even further.
Years of frustration came pouring out through clenched fists and blind rage. Grunts and shouts filled the space, along with punches, pushing, another punch.
Taehyung punched Jungkook across his jaw, Jungkook slammed his force onto his ribs. Incessant hitting led to unexpected drops of blood into the ground, panicking the other ones.
Jimin tried to stop all of this, grabbing the first limb he saw, but Jungkook shoved him away, not enough to push him to the ground, but enough to get the message across.
Taehyung noticed Namjoon’s hands on his arms, and he too shoved it back. They were impossible to separate, like two rabid dogs fighting for a piece of meat.
But it had to end, one way or another, and Jungkook noticed how the members tried to get this to stop. Once again, he had to be the one to get this over with.
Jungkook caught Taehyung’s wrist mid-swing, his strong arms able to twist it, step behind him and send him face first onto the floor. His knee on top of him in a second, his twisted arm on Jungkook hands like a prize.
His other hand gripped the back of Taehyung’s neck hard enough to keep him trapped between him and the blood.
Jungkook on top, his strong arms and knee on Taehyungs back, while the other one struggled.
Jungkook’s face had taken some hits, but Taehyung was one for the picture. It was clear that they had no mercy for one another.
Jungkook had him pinned down faster than a speed of light, his knee on Taehyungs back in a matter of two minutes. His body heaving rapidly, hand on the neck of the other man, keeping him down and calling it.
“Enough” he barked, his voice hoarse while the other could only watch, regretting this evening more and more. But Jungkook couldn’t let this go, bending down and spitting the last truth he had on him onto Taehyung.
“You can’t not fight someone who taught you the moves”
——————
You were curious about what happened, not going to lie. But you would respect if he didn’t want to explain, at the end of the day it was still recent. So you focused on what you had in front of you.
Some mean cuts on his eyebrow and lip.
You grabbed some alcohol, small wipes and little band aids for him. Slowly arranging everything while he looked at every movement you made, his mind elsewhere, you realized. Even if his eyes followed you, he wasn’t really there.
You could only busy yourself wetting the cotton balls with a bit of alcohol, and kneeling in front of him, his face now closer to you.
He noticed your movements, approaching his face to yours while you went to work on his small wounds. He had you now closer than ever, his eyes could notice every single detail on your face. Your beautiful lashes, the details on your nose, the small imperfections on your cheeks.
It wasn’t even a remotely intimate set up, you cleaning his wounds was by far something cute, he thought. But just having you so close to him, your cute focused face while you treated the small and unimportant wounds on him as if you were operating for life or death, made him feel a bit more relaxed, endeared even.
His eyes following your every move, his bent body and big hands on his knees, and your small but determined hands jabbing at the wound on his brow.
“Are you comfortable there?” His deep voice, sounding so close to you, made you stop your movements. A sudden flush running through your body.
You noticed how close you were a little while back, but you thought you had it under control. Not when he was talking to you with a voice so deep it only belonged in filthy dirty talk.
You nodded slowly, focusing on the small cotton ball that cleaned his brow.
“Y-yeah, well, my knees-“ you laughed lightly, keeping it light for your part.
He frowned slowly, thinking about how to take the pain from your knees somehow. The idea he had made him a bit giddy, but remembering the incident he had earlier with Taehyung made him have a bit more courage in this exact moment.
So he did as he thought, his hands coming to both sides of your waist and helping you up, hearing the little yelp you made at the sudden movement. Your hand grabbing on his shoulder for balance as his rough hands sat you quickly on his left leg sideways, your knees against the inside of his thigh.
He chuckled at your face, your big eyes and nervous state displayed now closer than ever.
“It’ll be easier this way. Either way you already sat here once so” You could hear his deep voice closer now than ever. His teasing words could make you infuriate in any other circumstance, but the short distance between the two of you mixed with his deep timbre, had you almost too entranced to complain.
Your hands stayed on his shoulder for a second, fixing your position as to not possibly hurt him with your weight, shuffling a little bit and instantly reaching for another cotton ball. You had to lock in on something before jumping his bones right now.
He stayed still, almost obediently, but you could feel his eyes on you all the time, his stare never once moving from you. His tilted chin upwards and his almost closed eyes ogling at you far too intimate for you to say something.
His right hand stayed on his knee, resting it there, while his left one passed behing you, pressed on your back and holding your waist slightly, a feathering touch you wouldnt notice if it wasnt by your tense state right now.
The wounds, Y/N, the wounds.
You continued on for a few secons, finishing with a small white band aid on the cut of his brow. A small 'voilà' you muttered with an easy smile, tapping his cheek playfully and ready to finish this almost torture with him so close.
“Oh- your hands” You noticed as you turned to stand up, his bruised and equally wounded knuckles. He raised an eyebrow, raising his hand and inspectingf it, corroborating your words with a small sigh.
You instantly had the rubbing alcohol on your hand and the cotton pads on the other, when his hand suddenly dropped on your thigh, his fingers circling your leg while his head slumped on you shoulders, surprising you even more, if that could be possible.
You stayed unmoving, swallowing a gulp on your throat feeling the warmth his hand provided you with, and the slow breathes he kept letting out that impacted directly on your neck.
“Go on, doctor” He teased at you, of course. But you could tell his voice was tired, his body slumping into you, crawling on you as if searching for assurance and comfort. And you weren't anyone to deny him, even if your brain was closer everytime to implode right there and then.
You had to be brave Y/N, you told yourself. You cannot be having wet dreams with him, unexpectedly at that, and run when he shows the least bit of affection at you. So you kept on your actions, carefully going knuckle by knuckle, cleaning the left over minimal blood that he had on.
“Ah, that stings” He moaned into your ear, actually fucking into your ear with those words, his voice now a low murmur in your neck, raising all the hairs on your nape. His hand gripped your thigh the same second he complained, a show of how it hurt him and a dirty move from him to get you even more worked up.
“Now you complain? How convenient” You muttered for yourself, even if he could hear everything you said, and a sudden breath on your skin made you realize he was smiling at your words. Every sense you had was now ten times more aware of anything, your stupid lungs inflating and deflating rapidly feeling the burn on your cheeks. He was a demon reincarnated, you were sure of that.
“Mhmm, will you forgive me?” He pouted on you, the velvet of his voice turning you on more than you were able to manage. His hand now grazing your thigh slowly, clearly making impossible your job on his hands. Just when you opened your mouth to answere him, annoyed, your breath was cut out of all oxygen.
His mouth was on you, kissing tenderly the skin on your neck. Gifting you wet patches as his lips worked on you, a feeling close to vertigo setting on your lower stomach, gripping the stupid bottle of rubbing alcohol with the force you needed to hold back.
You tried to say something, anything, but he had you under a spell. His hand on your leg didn't stop moving, running it over your upper thigh and gripping it ocasionally with a slow movement. You felt everything at once, everywhere. Dazed.
His mouth opened around you, his tongue coming out to graze your neck slowly only to close his lips around the skin there, sucking delicately a purple spot for you to remember. ANd of course you would.
Your hands didnt even move once, the only movement other than your ragged breathing was the ungodly amount of pressure on the small white bottle, one you were sure was about to explode, just like your brain.
You had no thoughts in your mind right now, your eyes drooping slowly while your mouth stayed slightly open at his actions. His hand on your waist wasnt left out of it either, running his fingers slowly on top of your hoodie, and even going to your back to just come back again to your waist.
A sharp intake of air you took echoed through the living room, a high pitched whimper you couldnt stop from coming out when he bit your neck. The bottle now fell to the floor, your hand gripping the one on your thigh and cursing him for the devil bite he took of you.
You had to get out of here right now, he was getting you to melt in his hands in less than a minute. You had to move, now, or else this would lead to something you promptly wished for in your darkest fantasies, but you couldnt let happen. Something pulled you, and you were now standing in front of him while he looked up at you, a smile on his face at your red cheeks and nervous demeanor gathering all of the medical items you used on him.
“Now we're fair” He spoke triumphantly, the teasing in his voice made you recoil a bit, a sudden hollow feeling in your chest making you go even faster while you picked up everything, including the bottle on the floor. He waited for something out of you, his face satisfied at his work on your neck, his thighs sprawled on the sofa and his head resting behind him.
“Shut up” You didnt mean for your voice to come out that mad, but it was like something was taking over you. You didnt know what it was, a mix of sexual frustration, embarrassment, and the feeling that he only did this to play a trick on you. You didnt even know where that thought came from, maybe you were feeling vulnerable. You didnt want to know. So you just made your escape, your feet pattering rapidly to the bathroom, and keeping everything where it belonged.
You regulated your breathing when you were already inside, your hands coming up to your cheeks and cursing yourself at the almost burning sensation, checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror.
You sighed, defeated, and too tired to keep rummiating whatever self deprecating thought of yourself you had right now. He did it because he wanted to, right? Not because he felt it like a game. No, it couldnt be. He wouldnt. Or maybe he would. Fuck, you did it when you were drunk, you had that excuse. And drunk people say the truth and in this case, do the truth. But he just took his chance with you, giving you a big hickey on the side of your neck you inspected on the mirror, and a big stream of frustrating thoughts on your head you shouldnt welcome in.
In a matter of seconds, your brain came up with a thousand approached of why he did what he did. 'Now we're fair' What did he mean by that? Surely those were the things you said about a game. You thought again, was it a game for him? He wanted you to feel what he felt right? That's why he did it.
And maybe your unstoppable thoughts was what he went through that night. Could it be? Maybe. Or maybe not. Man are ridiculously more simple that you thought they were. So maybe he wanted to have a little fun with you. Not that you complained excessively.
This was just confusing, from start to finish. You're supposed to be here for your safety, but so far what you've been doing is live the life of a rich housewife and flirt shamelessly with him without getting anywhere.
Maybe that's why it was scaring you a bit now, because it was getting somewhere, more personal and sensual than just words. You jumped over a baseline, erotic touches and cozy kisses on the neck were now already checked out, for the both of you.
It was getting realer now, and it took you by surprise. Surely if you knew he was going to sit you on his lap, play with your thigh like clay and attack your neck with stupidly hot kisses, you were sure you would have never left your bedroom.
“Im gonna try and sleep for a bit, alright?” His voice made you jump, staring at him as if you were caught stealing and nodding rapidly at his words. He nodded slowly, funny enough, his relaxed attitude counteracting with your too nervous state.
“Sure! yeah, go and.... sleep, yeah sleep” Your mouth had a mind of its own, and with a slow nod and a smile he tried to hid, he walked away into his bedroom. Leaving you alone with the turmoil on your head, and the delicious bathtub you were sure you needed to dip in for clearance. You never knew when would be the last time you could enjoy these privileges, so you just decided to indulge in them.
The bath did actually help you relax a bit, you couldnt get enough of the way the warm water felt around you and how cool it was to float in a bathtub that big. But you were beginning to wrinkle, so you felt it was necessary to go out before you spent way too much in there.
You quickly dressed up for the day, fixing your hair down your back as your mind, now more quiet, gave up on trying to find a solution or answer for anything that happen earlier.
It was too much too soon, so your best thought was to let it go, even if you knew you would go back to think about it more times than you wanted.
You began tidying up your bedroom when the door bell’s rang, and confirming that Jungkook was still in his room, you walked barefoot to check who it was.
Opening it slightly, you saw a tall figure waiting on the other side. Clear hair and small glasses were the details that made you recognize Namjoon on an instant.
“H-hey” you smiled at him, nervous at his sudden show up. You didn’t expect him to come by, but even if it surprised you you still opened up the door to him, of course, and invited him to go in with an easy talk.
“How are you, Y/N?” He spoke softly, his voice a bit gentle, more than normally. But you took it either way, you figured it was polite for him to not barge in in a house shouting.
“Nice, nice. Jungkook’s sleeping tho” you kept your hands behind your back, not even knowing why. Your gaze up at him as he chuckled at your words.
“I came to talk to you” he explained, making you close your mouth in an instant and nod along.
“Of course, yeah. I thought you wanted to- want some coffee?” His presence was kind of intimidating. Aside from his stoic face and serious demeanor, you were worried he would bring up what happened the last time you saw them.
You weren’t proud of your actions, it was more like a fight or flight mode you felt that night. Obviously choosing fight first.
“Sure, an Americano please” he nodded, going along with your mindless rumbling while you fastly walked to the kitchen, arranging two coffees for each one of you.
Placing them in the small round table and sitting with him on the far left of the kitchen. You never actually sat in this table, opting normally for the stools or the sofa. But Namjoon was the one to sit there first, so he must be used to eat and drink there.
“I know you didn’t expect my visit. But I wanted to treat this normally, you know” he explained slowly, his hands moving around while he spoke his mind.
“Jungkook doesn’t have to be here for us to have a conversation” he tried to joke a little for the tense atmosphere’s sake, but you just nodded repeatedly and smiled softly.
“Yeah, I have a brain too” you tried to follow his line of joke, but it didn’t land as good as you expected. Leaving the two of you nodding and smiling awkwardly at each other.
“Please, go on” you mumbled, taking a sip of your coffee as he began talking.
“We arranged a dinner for Friday” he began, you remembered the last dinner, again, on his house, and began to search for a moment to talk about it. But you wouldn’t cut him off, so he continued.
“It’s not within our gang, it’s with the rival gang” when he saw you only nodded and listened intently, he just kept going.
“The night you came with the pizzas, we made an enemy with another mob. The Italian mob. As you can see, the ways of handling your presence have been a bit rough, but effective nonetheless.” He took another sip of his coffee, his little pinky up you noticed. How classy.
“And we arranged a dinner not with them, but with their uppers, you follow me?” He raised a brow at you, and you actually felt as if a teacher was scolding you, so you only nodded in agreement out of instinct, but slowly that nod formed into a shake of your head.
“Not really, what do you mean uppers?” He only smiled kindly at you, noticing your tense expression.
“Okay, let’s treat this like a family. There’s kids, fathers, and then grandparents” he explained while his hands gestured every name as in different scales of each other. “We had problems with the ‘kids’, and this Friday we’ll meet with the fathers”
You nodded in understanding, now getting where he was going with all of this, even if the frown on your eyebrows didn’t falter.
“You’ll go with Jungkook, as a couple of course. Clear?” You nodded again.
“They’re Italians, their values and morals when it comes to couples is agreement, family, love, respect and understanding. All of that. They put great value in always sticking together with your family. That’s what you have to show with Jungkook”
You stayed looking at him, waiting for further explanation, which he did.
“They can be a bit overwhelming, but it all comes from love and passion, even if they’re in a dirty business, they can still be judgemental of others who don’t see life and relations like them. So when you’re there, you have to be almost like a lifelong married couple. Little banter here and there, but always show respect for one another.”
“I-is it like a fancy dinner?” You drank from your coffee, trying to get all of the info on your brain at light speed.
“It resembles a gala. There will be a lot of people, Italian families and all that. It’s classy, so you need to be careful with what you say, how you say it, how you move. Everything” he kind of felt bad at seeing your confused state, and felt a need to call all of this off.
“Have you watched The Sopranos? Or The Godfather?” You shook your head, and he smiled at that. You just looked at him so attentively, careful to understand everything. Now it was actually enjoyable to command, not with the other six psychos he had to make shut up every two minutes. “Watch them before going, that’ll give you guidance. Somehow they're all the same”
“If it’s a gala, I-i need a dress right? And like shoes, and make up. And I will have to wear heels, right? And like have some jewelry, or even a ring-“
“Don’t worry about it, Jungkook has it handled” he stopped your banter, making you frown deeper at his words.
“Did Jungkook know about this?” You scoffed at his nod. “He didn’t tell me anything! I have to buy something, and I don’t know how much it’ll cost, maybe I can’t find anything that actually suits me!” He laughed lightly at your panicked state, shaking his head.
“Everything’s handled Y/N, don’t worry” you sighed at his words. You found it hard to believe everything was handled. Most importantly because, even if Jungkook could be nice and sensible at times, he was still a man. And couldn’t comprehend the lengths of everything you had to do to look presentable, and expensive.
“He’s sleeping you told me, right?” He caught your attention, raising your eyes at him and nodding, a troubled face you could see in the leader while he finished his coffee.
“I don’t want to intrude but, I don’t know he came last night really roughed” you explained, but Namjoon didn’t seem to mind your words. It was obvious something happened, but you figured he wouldn’t tell you, not him. So you stranded from the topic, and brought back one you thought ut was almost worst.
“And for the other night” you cleared your voice, his attention now all on you. “Sorry for like, making a scene”
You had trouble saying sorry for what you did, it seemed like they ganged up on you. Making jokes at your expense and leaving you in a place where you didn’t know if you could defend yourself like that. Verbally and physically.
“Don’t worry about it, Jimin told me everything and he’s right, we didn’t treat you that nicely” he impressed you with his words, actually admitting how awkward it had gone for you.
“But you didn’t do anything, it was-“
“Y/N, we move like a family. So like I said, we didn’t treat you nicely” you slowly nodded at that, registering his serious tone and honesty.
“I just don’t want to be a problem, like at all” you laid it open with him. You didn’t know why. It could be the kind of authorative attitude he had, or the reassurance he just gave you. But you felt like you could be honest with him.
“if there weren’t problems before you, none of this would have happened.” His piercing eyes held yours, making you get everything in the first place, making you almost dazedly nod along with him.
“Right” you whispered, taking his words as they were, and keeping note to not overthink anymore what happened that night.
The spontaneous meeting was called off pretty quickly after that, bidding a few goodbyes to each other and receiving a warm reminder that you should wake up Jungkook, as if you were not about to rip his head off.
When you closed the door, you had your mind in one thing and one thing only. Your feet dragged to his door in no time, but when you were in front of the almost closed door and soft orange lights, you stopped in yourself.
You were a bit more coward than you thought, growing worried that he would get mad if you woke him up suddenly. So you knocked softly on the door, even if it was opened.
“Jungkook” you whispered, trying to get his attention, but he only twitched, sprawled on his bed like a three year old.
“Jungkook” you repeated, your voice a bit louder, opening the door slowly for you to see inside. His bare back was on display, sleeping on his stomach with his stupidly long and strong arms around him.
When you heard a little ‘mhmm’, you treated it as a green light to enter completely, your patience now running a bit thin.
You walked to the side of the bed he was sleeping on, watching his bunched up cheek on the soft pillow while his hair spiked all different ways. Stupidly cute, ew.
“Jungkook, Namjoon was here, he just left” you explained, watching his face going from peacefully sleeping to softly confused, his brows creasing slowly in the middle.
“What?” He mumbled, his voice against the pillow making you sigh at his sleepy state.
“He was here, he wanted to talk to me” you crossed your arms, waiting for a somehow credible and sincere answer, but he just didn’t even move.
“Really?” He stayed right there, still trying to hold on to the sleep that was slowly running from him.
“Yeah, he told me about the dinner. When were you going to tell me?” You raised your voice a bit for that, in search of a reaction, and even if he gave you one, you were too busy thinking about everything that you had to do before going to that stupid classy dinner.
He sighed deeply into the pillow, he was going to say something, really. But you didn’t even listening, walking around the bed and sitting on the other side, just beside his legs and began your speech.
“Do you even know what a woman has to do to look presentable in a dinner like that? I need a dress! Like a good one, maybe too expensive one. And like, what color should it be? If it’s too vibrant maybe I stick out too much, but if it’s black maybe it looks like a funeral dress” you stayed talking, your hands moving in different directions while he turned on his back, listening to your on going complaints that he used as a personal alarm to try and wake up completely.
“The nails! I have to get my nails done, even my pedicure if the shoe is opened. And heels, I don’t even know how to walk in heels. And the legs, I’ll actually have to exfoliate or something, put some lotion on there and get them cute!-
“Your legs are fine” he shrugged his shoulders, his eyes instinctively looking at what he was talking about. He fixed his eyes on your thighs, the ones he gripped earlier that morning. You were sat on your heels, knees and plump thighs were all he could see right now. The oversize shirt you wore made a folding wave right on your waist, and if he squinted he could see your chest right through the fabric.
But you didn’t even notice, too entranced in everything you had to do.
“And the hair! I might need to get some conditioning in it, like a mask. It’s not fair! Just because you’re a mean you don’t know how much effort goes into looking put together! The make up! I don’t even have that much make up here!”
He kept looking at you, hypnotized by the soft light that clanged to your skin like it belonged there. The sight of you on his dimly lit bed made him go kind of crazy, imagining you in hundred different scenarios, all of them involving you, him and his bed. But he kept being pulled to reality by your voice.
You just wouldn’t stop talking, and he got what you were saying. But fuck, he just woke up, you looked delicious but he couldn’t handle all of it in a second. He tried ways of cutting your speech off, trying to get your attention, but to no avail, you were just hyper focused.
“Like I don’t have any contouring, or primer, or even concealer! I might need to buy some new ones. I’m running out of mascara! If I can’t-“
He had enough, and in a swift move, he took hold of your leg, dragging it over to him and bending forward to you. His whole body on top of you that finally stopped your speech. His hand going directly to your mouth and raising a brow at you.
You could only look up at him, your mouth closed by his hand and the sudden compromising position he got you in. You could feel his body on top of yours, and his breathing on your face when he smirked at you.
“I know how to shut yo up now, just have to get on top of you” his words made you scoff, his hand now raised and running through your hair with the pad of his fingers.
“Ruining your neck wasn’t enough? You want more huh?” His deep voice made you swallow your attitude in a heartbeat, his face incredibly close to yours. You could swear if you moved even an inch you could feel his lips on yours. But you weren’t about to try your luck like that.
“You’re an asshole” you whispered at him. Even if your words were mean, your eyes were innocent. Your whole body pinned below him, nervously waiting for his next move while you were too caged to even raise your voice above a whisper.
“Yuna has your dress, everything’s already taken care of” he whispered into your ear, softly reassuring you that everything was under control. But you couldn’t even register his words, your face turning slightly at him, closing your eyes at the warm sensation and tingles his voice gave to the skin on your ear.
He stayed there, his nose toying with your earlobe and lips grazing your jaw. Dazedly, your breath coming out of you in cut short breaths you tried to control, you were too proud right now to let him see what he did to you, but it didn’t really work out.
He smirked incessantly, the hand he had on your hair swiftly moved to your jaw. His fingers and thumb talking hold or your face, turning it slowly, your eyes shooting open at his bold movements. All you could see, and feel, was him.
His soft hair gave tickles to your face, his half opened eyes moved in all your traits slowly, stopping on your lips. You did the same with him, your body locked in place, but with a fire in your stomach you couldn’t even begin to control.
His nose tickled yours, his face closer than ever, his lips searching for yours playfully while his arms caged you in. You could only close your eyes, waiting for his lips to finally crash into yours in an explosive feeling.
ring ring ring
You could feel his smile on your lips, oddly enough, making you open your eyes, the moment cut off abruptly by the stupid sound of the phone.
“go pick it up” he whispered into you, his mouth now on your jaw, taking a soft bite that made you yelp, your hands shooting up to his chest. Damn it was hard.
“it’s not my phone” your whisper got out ridiculously high pitched, having trouble with even managing how your voice sounded.
“I’m sure it’s for you” you nodded at that, your hands applying pressure on his chest to make him stop fucking kissing you like you were the last meal on earth. And he actually listened, his body rolling to his left like nothing happened, a triumphant smile on his face you couldn’t hate more.
“You’re a bitch” you spat at him, already up from his bed, you’re hair ruffled and skin on fire, walking to his phone and reading “Yuna (y/n’s friend)” on the screen. How kind.
He just laughed at you, taking a peak of your smooth legs that went a bit too uncovered when you bent to take the phone from his table.
You responded with a cheery hello, even if you gave him the middle finger while you walked away from the room.
