#rm smut

[akshstudios]

The Lily of Bangtan |  Kim Namjoon

—pairing  •  rm × you (fem!reader)

—chapter six  •  entwined: in the quiet of the night, love finds its voice

—genre  •  mafia au × arranged marriage au × strangers to lovers au × best friend’s brother au ( angst × romance × smut )

—series masterlist  •  matters of the heart in the mafia

—story masterlist  •  the lily of bangtan

—previous chapter  •  chapter five

—rating  •  mature-rated

—wordcount  •  15.05 k

—warnings  • mature and explicit sexual content | consummation of an arranged marriage | wedding night themes | first-time inexperience | sexual anxiety and nervousness | societal pressure to consummate marriage | dubious consent and coercive circumstances due to cultural traditions and family expectations | virginity testing and sheet ceremony | mention of blood | arranged marriage | forced and controlled dynamics | forced proximity | mafia dynamics | power imbalance | toxic and unhealthy relationships | emotional neglect | emotional distress and  discomfort | slow burn | misogyny | objectification of women | sexist and degrading language | alcohol consumption | strong language and cursing | dark romance elements

—author's forenote  •  i came to a rather disheartening realization while writing this chapter. i'm apparently very good at reading smut. writing it? not so much. i rewrote this tiny scene more times than i care to admit, stared at my screen for hours, questioned every sentence, deleted half of them, rewrote them again, held back from posting them on a decided time in hopes i will become an erotica expert overnight and eventually accepted that i was driving myself slightly insane. so, dear readers, i surrender. this is the version you're getting. if it's good, i'll happily take the compliment. if it's awkward, let's collectively pretend it's because these two are bad at sex. either way, i'm done fighting this chapter. i'm setting it free so i can finally move on to the rest of the story—which, if you've seen the outline, gets infinitely more chaotic from here. thank you for sticking with me through my attempts at writing bedroom scenes. now, let's continue the story.

—chapter summary  •  the wedding is over, but the hardest part is just beginning. left alone under the weight of tradition and expectation, you and namjoon must face a night neither of you can avoid—where duty, tension, and unspoken emotions blur into something far more complicated. by morning, everything has changed.

The drive to the estate is stifling.

Namjoon’s hand remains wrapped around yours, warm and firm, though his attention is elsewhere; fixed on the dark blur of the city slipping past the tinted window. He hasn’t looked at you in several minutes.

Your fingers tremble slightly in his grasp. You can’t tell if it’s from the cool air circulating through the limousine or from the quiet dread curling in your stomach. The thought of the next few hours sits heavy on your chest. You turn toward the window, trying to focus on the passing lights, but the anticipation makes everything outside look distant and unfocused.

“Are you cold?” Namjoon finally turns his head. His gaze drops to your joined hands, thumb pressing lightly against your knuckles as he notices the tremor.

“You’re shaking,” he says, voice thoughtful, almost clinical.

“I’m okay,” you reply quickly, letting out a slow breath. “Just nerves.” He studies you for another moment before tilting his head slightly.

“I didn’t realize the idea of sex with me was terrifying enough to make Baek Nari tremble.”

You roll your eyes immediately. “It’s not sex with you,” you correct, turning to face him properly. “It’s sex in general.” Your words come out faster now, nerves loosening your tongue. “This is my first time, you know. And I’m just expected to be fine with someone suddenly shoving a dick into my vagina one random night—”

“If it’s any consolation,” Namjoon cuts in smoothly, a slow smirk spreading across his face, “it’s my dick.” When you glare at him, he continues with irritating calm. “And you’ve had your entire life to prepare for this marriage and, at the very least a few years to prepare for my dick specifically.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, of course, Namjoon,” you say sweetly, offering him an obviously fake smile. “I should’ve spent the last few years of my independence and freedom preparing myself—lubing up in anticipation for your dick.” You curse out, “Dick.”

“Lube might not be necessary.” He says, but before you can react, Namjoon gently tugs your wrist, pulling you closer so you’re forced to face him fully. “I think I can get you wet enough,” he murmurs and the cocky attitude and plain audacity infuriates you. You scoff, both at him for his cockiness and at yourself for the heat creeping between your legs.

His eyes drop briefly to your lips, and he even licks his own like he’s considering closing the distance. But you yank your hand out of his grasp before he can move any closer, turning sharply toward the window with an irritated huff.

The rest of the ride passes in silence. Namjoon returns his gaze to the city outside, while you stubbornly keep yours fixed on the glass, refusing to look at him again.

When the limo finally turns through the estate gates, the familiar iron arches sliding past the windows, you straighten slightly in your seat. You smooth down your dress and shift your feet beneath you, positioning yourself so you can step out gracefully once the door opens. The last thing you want is to stumble in front of the guests and staff waiting at the mansion.

“It’s just us tonight,” Namjoon says suddenly. You glance at him despite yourself. His gaze is already on you, steady and observant. “Omma and the rest of the women in my family will arrive tomorrow for the sheet ceremony.”

You blink. “So… it’s just you and me tonight at the estate?”

“Would you like for it to be?” he asks calmly. You shrug one shoulder, unsure what answer he expects. “The boys are already there,” he continues. “To welcome us and to make sure I can carry you to my bed. Because if I can’t—”, he pauses deliberately, “then I can’t have you.”

Your brows lift and smirk. “Well, I’m heavy,” you say dryly. “So, there’s a chance we can avoid sex tonight after all.”

“I’m strong,” Namjoon replies without missing a beat. “I can carry you.” He leans back slightly, completely unbothered. “And it’s not really an avoid-sex-tonight situation,” he adds. “It’s more of a marriage-annulled-next-day situation.”

“That’s even better,” you chirp. The words come out lightly, teasingly but a small knot of guilt twists in your stomach the moment you say it. Namjoon, however, graciously ignores the tone.

“We all have our own wings in the house,” he continues, almost conversationally. “Most of the bedrooms are soundproofed, so no one will hear anything.” Your face heats instantly. “But,” he adds, glancing at you again, “if you’d prefer it to be just the two of us tonight, I can send the boys away —they are probably going to drive back to the party, or open a few bottles in the estate itself. Jin will probably head home to Yeojin.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s okay,” you say, exhaling. “We’re all adults.” You look back toward the window, watching the grand front of the mansion slowly come into view. “And besides,” you mutter, “I have far worse humiliation waiting for me tomorrow.”

You glance at him briefly, and he gives you what you think might be a look of pity. Both of you know exactly what you’re referring to —the sheet ceremony. A humiliating tradition where the sheets from your wedding night are inspected the next morning, searched for blood as proof of purity, proof that the marriage was properly consummated. The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something, his lips parting slightly but the car comes to a smooth halt. The door opens before either of you can speak further, and you’re greeted by Hoseok’s bright grin.

“Welcome home,” he says warmly.

You return the smile automatically. “Thank you.”

Carefully, you step out of the limo, making sure your heels land steadily on the gravel path. The cool evening air brushes your skin as you straighten, quickly adjusting your dress so the fabric falls neatly around your legs.

Namjoon steps out after you. You glance around at the people gathered at the entrance of the estate. For someone returning as the next Don, the crowd is surprisingly small. Just the Elites. Saera and Jangmi stand near the steps, while the others linger nearby.

You must look slightly confused because Namjoon leans closer to you and says, “This is a private affair. Besides, we don’t like having everyone visit the estate.”

You nod wordlessly.

“How are you two getting home?” Namjoon asks, turning his attention to the women. “And where’s Hwan?”

“Jungkook is taking me back to the Kim residence,” Saera says with a cheerful smile. “Hwan is already there.” Namjoon nods and turns to Jangmi.

“The Don asked me to drive her home,” Taehyung answers before she can speak. He gestures casually toward Jangmi. “I’ll drop her off once you two retire to your room.” Even with the knot of nerves tightening in your chest, you still manage to shoot Jangmi an excited look. Your eyes flick toward Jin.

“Why isn’t Yeojin here?” you ask, realizing you hadn’t seen her much during the wedding either.

“She isn’t keeping well,” Jin explains gently. You nod in understanding, though before you can ask anything more—

“So,” Hoseok suddenly claps his hands together loudly. “Are we doing this or what?”

Namjoon sighs. You don’t even have time to question what that means before someone whistles.

“Come on, hyung,” Jungkook calls out teasingly. “Don’t tell me you can’t carry your own bride.”

Taehyung laughs. “Now, that would be embarrassing.”

“Should we call the annulment lawyer now?” Hoseok adds dramatically. Your eyes widen. Before you can protest, Namjoon turns toward you with a calm expression.

“Hey—” You gasp, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders as the world tilts for a moment. The boys immediately erupt into loud cheers.

“There we go!”

“Look at that!”

“Hyung’s strong!” Someone fires a gun into the air in celebration, the sharp crack echoing across the estate as the group begins hooting and clapping. “Congratulations!”

Namjoon barely reacts to the chaos. He simply adjusts his hold on you, steady and secure, and begins walking toward the grand staircase. Your face burns as the cheering continues behind you.

“You could have warned me,” you hiss quietly. Namjoon glances down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“And ruin the moment?” he murmurs.

Behind you, the celebration continues —cheers, whistles, and another celebratory gunshot echoing into the night as he carries you up the stairs and into the house.

You barely take in your surroundings.

Your thoughts are far too tangled in the fact that your husband is carrying you effortlessly, through the mansion. The distance from the main entrance to his bedroom feels endless, though you hardly register the hallways or the décor as he walks.

Your arms remain looped around his neck, partly for balance and partly because you’re afraid to move. Your face is close to the side of his neck, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne —clean, warm, something woodsy beneath it. It was distracting, though not in a way you would welcome. He finally stops outside a large set of double doors, pushes them open with his shoulder, and carries you inside.

Namjoon crosses the room before lowering you onto the bed, very gently —far more gently than you expected.

“You aren’t as heavy as you think,” he tells you casually. You nod automatically, though your tongue feels frozen in place. He walks away from you then, turning to close the bedroom door behind him. The soft click echoes louder than it should. When he turns back around, he has the gall to grin at you.

“Jangmi spent a lot of time decorating this room for us,” he says. Your gaze slowly drifts around the room. “Candles, flowers… and your favourite wine.” He gestures toward the coffee table beside the sitting area. Sure enough, there’s a bottle waiting there, two glasses placed neatly beside it.

The room is elaborate. Rose petals are scattered carefully across the floor and the bedspread. Someone has even arranged roses in two intertwined red hearts in the centre of the bed. The sheets are silk or satin, something far too smooth and expensive and the pillows look impossibly soft.

You nod again, still silent. The air suddenly feels thick in your lungs and the wine looks increasingly appealing.

Maybe it would help. Maybe a drink would loosen the tight knot of nerves sitting in your chest.

“Would wine loosen up your tongue?” Namjoon asks. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out again. “Come on, sweetheart,” he sighs, stepping closer. Before you can react, he lifts a finger to your chin and tilts your face upward so you’re forced to look at him. Your throat bobs as you swallow.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“I—I am making this hard?” you repeat, incredulous. “This is hard, Namjoon. What I’m feeling is, if anything, a result of the hard circumstances.”

Namjoon exhales, rolling his eyes slightly despite trying to keep his tone even.

“Nari,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. He kneels down at your side, on your wedding dress, if it had been any other day, you would have pushed him off, but today, you had no strength to do anything. “Trust me—I know this is hard for you.” He pauses for a moment before adding quietly, “I don’t want to force myself on you, and I can make it worth your while.” He takes a step closer. “But you know we don’t really have a choice.”

“But you do,” you cut in immediately. “You’re the son of the Don. The rules don’t apply to you.”

Namjoon gives a quiet scoff, shaking his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “If anything, the rules bind me tighter than anyone else.”

You look at him sceptically, and he continues, voice calm but firm.

“I’m about to take my father’s place,” he says. “Every man in that house is watching how I carry myself. If I start ignoring traditions the very first night of my marriage, what does that tell them?” His gaze holds yours steadily. “I’m supposed to lead them,” he adds. “That means I don’t get to pick and choose which customs matter.” He gestures vaguely toward the bed. “There’s also the sheet ceremony.” You wince slightly. “You won’t be accepted as my wife, the Don’s wife, the Madam —unless the sheets are stained.”

“Yes,” you scoff bitterly. “There’s also that.”

For a moment, Namjoon’s expression softens with something almost sympathetic but it doesn’t last long.

“Like I said,” he murmurs, stepping closer again, his thumb moving to rub gently against your lips, “I can make it worth your while.”

You stare at him. The handsome man you now call your husband is kneeling in front of you, his broad frame lowered between your knees as though it is the most natural position in the world. The sight sends a strange ripple through your stomach, warmth creeping through your body despite the tension twisting in your chest.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you—this powerful man, the future Don kneeling at your feet, calmly telling you he could give you a wonderful night in his bed, has your heart and body swelling with joy and heat.

Namjoon has always carried himself with a certain quiet dominance. Even now, on his knees, he somehow still feels in control of the room. His shoulders are broad beneath the fabric of his shirt, his arms strong and steady as his hands rest lightly against your legs. His veins stand faintly along the backs of his hands, his fingers large and deliberate in every movement.

But more than anything, it’s the way he looks at you. His gaze is always dark, focused, like he’s studying you, like he’s already decided he wants you and is simply waiting for the moment he can take you.

And he hasn’t exactly been subtle about his attraction. He’s shown it more than once now; through lingering touches, heated glances, teasing words that carried more truth than he probably realized.

There’s a confidence about him too. The kind of confidence that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to a woman. The way he says he could make it worth your while —the way he speaks as though he’s certain he could make you feel good, and annoyingly, that confidence affects you.

Your mind betrays you with images you weren’t trying to imagine —his hands on you, warm and steady, the heat of his mouth brushing against your skin, the weight of his body close to yours. Even the simple fact that he’s kneeling like this, right between your legs, sends an embarrassing flicker of heat through you. But desire isn’t the problem.

You do want him. You could see yourself consummating the marriage properly someday, maybe even having children with him, maybe even loving him. Just not like this, not tonight. Not when everything still feels so new and unfamiliar, when the distance between you both feels wider than the bed behind you. But the reality presses in around you all the same. You don’t really have a choice.

And he made it clear—neither does he.

“Can I—” you clear your throat, voice a little steadier now. “Can I take all this off, take a shower, and maybe get a little drunk before we start this consummation?” You glance down at him, your tone sharp despite trying, “Or is it tradition for you to rip my dress off and take me against a wall?”

Namjoon huffs out a quiet laugh. “You can change,” he says. He reaches for your hand, pressing a brief kiss against your wedding ring before letting his fingers move to the hem of your dress. “Let me help you,” he adds softly. His hands slide down toward your feet. “Let’s start with these shoes.”

His hands are gentle yet steady as they settle around your calves. The contrast makes you tense for a second, the firmness of his grip, the careful way he holds you in place as his fingers move to the straps of your heels. He unbuckles them slowly. The metal clasp clicks open, and he slides the first heel off your foot with surprising care. The moment your foot is free, you instinctively stretch it forward, wiggling your toes with a quiet sigh of relief.

You hadn’t taken the shoes off since putting them on earlier that day. Hours of standing, greeting guests, smiling for photos, walking through ceremonies, your feet had definitely paid the price.

Namjoon glances down at them, still holding the discarded heel loosely in his hand.

“They’re swollen,” he remarks casually. You flex your toes again, rolling your ankle slightly as the blood rushes back.

“Wedding shoes should be illegal,” you mutter. He huffs a quiet laugh and moves to the other foot, his fingers brushing briefly against your ankle as he unfastens the second strap. The heel slips off just as easily. You stretch that foot too, relieved.

“You have pretty feet,” Namjoon says, gathering both heels together in one hand as he rises to his feet. “Though they’re definitely swollen and sore right now.”

You blink up at him. “What?” you say slowly. “Do you have a foot fetish?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and for a brief moment you feel a strange sense of déjà vu—him kneeling in front of you, helping with your heels like this.

Namjoon pauses and then, he smirks.

“No,” he says, straightening to his full height. “I have a ‘you’ fetish.” You cringe instantly, though you can’t quite stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“That was terrible,” you tell him. “Are those the lines you use to make women swoon their way into your bed?” You lean back slightly on your palms, studying him as if you’re trying to solve a puzzle. Truthfully, you already know the answer.

Kim Namjoon does not look like a man who has ever struggled to get a woman into his bed. He picks up your heels and places them neatly beside the bed before straightening, his gaze sliding back to you slowly.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Do they swoon?” he asks mildly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Am I?” he says, completely unbothered. He takes a step closer, his height forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep looking at him. “You asked if I use lines.”

“And?”

“No,” he says simply. The confidence in his voice makes you scoff.

“Of course not,” you mutter. “You probably don’t need them.”

Namjoon hums softly, clearly amused by your tone. “You sound a little bothered.”

“I’m not bothered.” You counter sharply.

“Mm.” That single sound is enough to irritate you. Your eyes flick over him before you can stop yourself —broad shoulders still wrapped in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms, the faint outline of veins beneath his skin.

He notices your wandering eyes, and steps closer until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that your knees nearly brush his thighs.

“You think women just fall into my bed?” he asks quietly.

Your jaw tightens. “You’re tall and rich and handsome—the Don’s son,” you say flatly. “Statistically speaking, I’d say your chances are pretty good.”

Namjoon lets out a low laugh, not a bit offended. If anything, he looks pleased.

“Well,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, “You’re not wrong.” Your stomach twists in a way you absolutely hate. You cross your arms defensively.

“So, you do have experience.”

“Plenty.” He says it without hesitation, without embarrassment. Just a simple fact, but the horrible feeling in your stomach spreads all over. Your lips press together. Namjoon watches your expression shift, something sharp flickering in his eyes as he notices the tension in your shoulders.

“Why?” he asks lightly. “Does that bother you?”

“No.” You blurt out, nose flaring, “Of course not,” His brow lifts. “I am only worried I might contract an STD,”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” You refuse to look away from him. But there’s a tightness in your chest you can’t quite explain. Namjoon studies you for another moment before his mouth curves again, slower this time.

“You’re territorial,” he observes.

“I am not.”

“You are.” You roll your eyes hard enough that it almost hurts.

“You’re delusional.” Namjoon doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans forward slightly, bracing one hand on the bed beside your hip.

“You asked if that was a line,” he murmurs. Your breath catches slightly at the sudden closeness. “It wasn’t.” His gaze drops briefly —to your lips, your throat, the soft curve of your collarbone, and at your chest where your dress dips and then back to your eyes.

“I do have experience,” he admits calmly. “—enough to know what I’m doing, enough to know that I can pleasure you, satisfy you and,” Heat creeps up your neck. “—enough to know,” he continues, voice lower now, “—that you’re not nearly as indifferent as you’re pretending to be.”

Your pulse jumps. Before you can fire back, he straightens again like the moment never happened.

“Now,” he says casually, nodding toward the closet across the room. “Let’s get the dress off you, you wanted a shower.”

You glance at the door and sigh, “I need to take the dress off, take the makeup off, take the 101 bobby pins in my hair out, wash my hair at least twice to get the hairspray out of my hair, condition it if I want them on my head for tomorrow, take a long shower to get the day off my skin, then dry myself and my hair, and get ready again in makeup and lingerie and present myself to you,” You sniffle in agony, “It is going to take hours!”

“It won’t,” Namjoon offers you a hand, “I’ll help you,” he adds, pulling you to your feet, and leading you to the closet. “I think most of your stuff is already in there,”

You follow him quietly, realizing that the fastest way through this entire ordeal is simply to let him help you. Namjoon pushes open another set of doors just past the bedroom, revealing the closet.

Calling it a closet almost feels insulting.

The space is enormous —easily the size of a small apartment room. Soft recessed lighting glows from the ceiling, illuminating polished marble floors and walls lined with custom shelving. One entire wall is dedicated to shoes, rows upon rows of immaculate shelves that could hold dozens of pairs. Another wall displays handbags —structured leather, clutches, evening purses, arranged like pieces in a gallery.

In the centre of the room sits a wide island topped with glossy stone. Sunglasses, watches, cufflinks, and jewellery trays are arranged neatly across its surface, each item placed with careful precision.

Opposite the island is a vanity setup —something straight out of a luxury dressing suite. A large mirror framed with warm lighting sits above a marble tabletop, surrounded by velvet-lined drawers likely filled with cosmetics and accessories. A plush upholstered chair rests in front of it, inviting someone to sit and prepare for the day.

Near the far wall sits a long chaise lounge in soft cream fabric, with a low coffee table beside it holding neatly stacked magazines and a crystal tray. The closet itself is only half filled, you notice. Several wardrobe sections remain empty —clearly waiting for someone else to claim them.

You walk toward the large mirror mounted between two wardrobe sections and stop in front of it, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress as you watch Namjoon move behind you. He places your heels carefully onto one of the footwear shelves before turning back toward you.

“Let’s take the jewellery, then the pins in your hair,” he says calmly, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. “Then we’ll deal with your dress.” You nod.

Your hands move to your ears, fingers working quietly to undo the delicate backings of your earrings. Meanwhile, Namjoon steps behind you, his focus shifting to the necklace resting against your collarbone. You try very hard not to react.

But the moment his fingers brush lightly against the back of your neck, a wave of goosebumps spreads across your skin. It’s because he’s being gentle, you tell yourself, careful and feather-light. That’s all.

It definitely has nothing to do with anticipation, and absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of his touch.

Namjoon’s fingers work easily at the clasp. After a moment, the necklace loosens, the cool metal sliding away from your skin as he lifts it from around your neck. He holds out his palm without a word.

You place your earrings into his hand, followed by the rings you begin slipping off your fingers —everyone except the wedding band now resting firmly at the base of your finger.

Namjoon glances down at it briefly before setting the rest of your jewellery neatly onto the island tray behind you. Then his eyes return to the mirror, to you. He holds your gaze for a few long seconds, before he quite skilfully starts taking your hair from its pinned-up curls. You are understandably surprised at the gentleness, but satisfied that he was not pulling at your hair in some lust-driven urgency. When the pins were all out, and your hair was a mess of weirdly curled bit of hairspray and a hair, he looks at you again.

“All right,” he says quietly. “Now the dress.”

You think you’re ready to undress in front of him. You told yourself you were prepared for this moment—the intimacy, the closeness, the fact that this man is now your husband. But nothing truly prepares you for the moment Namjoon steps closer behind you and presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

Your breath hitches instantly.

“You looked beautiful today,” he murmurs, his lips still grazing the sensitive skin just below your hairline. The warmth of his mouth lingers there for a moment before drifting lower, brushing your shoulder. “—and you smell amazing too,” he adds quietly.

His nose grazes along the curve of your shoulder as if testing that claim for himself. Your heart stutters. His hands settle on your waist, large and warm even through the fabric of your dress. When you look up, his eyes are already watching you through the mirror, watching your reaction.

“I can’t wait to actually have you,” he says softly, voice dipping lower. “—to feel your skin under me,”

A shiver runs through you. Seeing it reflected in the mirror only makes it worse —Namjoon standing behind you, towering and composed, his head bent toward your neck while his hands rest possessively at your waist.

The image is dangerously intoxicating.

His hands feel heavy even through the dress, his warmth bleeding into your skin. Everywhere he touches feels suddenly hypersensitive, like sparks are jumping beneath the surface of your body. His lips brush your shoulder again, then your back, then just beneath your ear. Each soft kiss sends another ripple of heat through you.

You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady as he inhales faintly like he’s savouring your scent. His dark eyes never leave yours in the mirror, watching every flicker of reaction cross your face.

Slowly, steadily, the calm you had been clinging to begins slipping away. You barely notice his hands moving.

The zipper at your back is already open, the tension of the dress loosening as he works at the laced corset beneath it. His fingers tug gently at the ties, loosening the careful cinch that had pulled your waist tight all evening.

You’re far too distracted by the way he keeps pressing soft, almost teasing kisses along your shoulder blades.

By the way his eyes follow yours in the mirror.

By the way your body seems to melt a little more under his touch with every passing second.

“Are you going to keep holding it like that?” Namjoon’s voice is soft, amused in a way that sends a ripple down your spine.

The question pulls you out of the hazy fog you’ve drifted into. You blink at the mirror in front of you, only now realizing your hands are still clutching the front of your dress tightly against your chest. The back has already been loosened, the structure of the bodice barely holding anymore, yet your fingers refuse to let it fall.

Your grip tightens instinctively. Behind you, Namjoon’s hands settle more firmly around your waist.

It was warm, steady and possessive in a quiet sort of way.

“I can leave right now,” he murmurs after a moment, voice dropping lower. “If you want.” Your throat goes dry. You shake your head slowly. Because you know exactly what that means. There’s nothing much beneath the dress to soften the moment. When the fabric falls away, his hands will meet nothing but your bare skin. Your pulse jumps at the thought, and the look in Namjoon’s eyes through the mirror tells you he’s already thinking the same thing. His gaze drags slowly over your reflection, dark and heavy, like he’s memorizing every inch of you even before the dress falls.

You wanted this. You wanted him like this—undone.

A shaky breath leaves you when you feel his hand move slightly on your waist. His thumbs brush over the curve of your back before he leans forward, pressing another slow kiss against the middle of it. Heat blooms through you instantly. You bite your lip, barely swallowing the sound that wants to escape. Your fingers curl even tighter in the fabric. Behind you, Namjoon exhales slowly, like he’s forcing himself to stay patient. Then both of his hands settle firmly at your waist. Your breath hitches again, and you wonder faintly if every touch from him is going to feel this overwhelming.

“Let go of the dress, baby,” he whispers near your ear. His eyes never leave yours in the mirror. “I want to see what you’ve been hiding under this beautiful thing.” The way he says it makes warmth rush straight to your face. You hold his gaze in the reflection, taking in the hunger sitting plainly in his eyes, and something inside you, shifts. A small surge of confidence. Slowly, deliberately, you release the fabric. The bodice slips instantly, sliding down your body before bunching around your hips.

For a second, neither of you, moves. Namjoon’s eyes widen just slightly. Then his gaze begins to travel —slow, unapologetic and almost hungry. You actually see him swallow. He leans forward again, his nose brushing lightly against your shoulder as he breathes in.

“Is this all for me, darling?” he murmurs. Your lips curve before you can stop them. The way he’s looking at you, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing sends a rush of confidence through your chest.

You hum softly, mouth dry in anticipation to say anything. Namjoon lets out a quiet sound under his breath. One hand tightens subtly at your waist.

“I fucking love it,” he says. His voice is rougher now. Then, after a beat, he adds softly near your ear, “I might actually die from how much I love it,” You huff out a small laugh, biting your lips to help yourself to keep calm and stumbling slightly to tun and face him. His hands are once again on your bare waist to steady you in the pool of fabric you are standing in.

“Easy there,” He says, pulling you closer to him, almost guiding your arms around his shoulders, to let you hold on to him, “I might be the luckiest man on the planet tonight,” He murmurs, his thumb drawing soft sensual circles on your sensitive belly, where you were beginning to feel the desire grow, “—universe even.”

You hum again in response, though you aren't entirely sure it's coherent. Your heartbeat has become a thing with a mind of its own, loud enough that you're convinced he can hear it. But like most of the time you spend around Namjoon, you found yourself relaxing and unconsciously your fingers found his hair, twiddling with them, now quite relishing the sensualism of his fingertips on you.

His smile softens. “Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, as though he'd been waiting for you to relax all evening. His thumb stills against your waist. The gentleness of his request catches in your throat, a sharp contrast to the bold, cocky assertions he’d thrown at you in the limousine. There is something unexpectedly vulnerable about the way he waits, his dark eyes searching yours for permission, even while his hands hold you captive in the fallen silk of your dress.

You look at him, really look at him, noting the faint tension in his jaw and the way his breath hitches just a fraction as he waits for your answer. The future Don, a man bred for iron-fisted control and ruthless choices, is standing perfectly still in the middle of his sprawling closet, letting you dictate the pace.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely leaving your lips before you lift yourself to your tips and close the distance yourself. When your mouth meets his, it isn't the aggressive, demanding claim you had braced yourself for. It is slow and deliberate. His lips are warm and incredibly soft, pressing against yours with a gentle, testing pressure that makes your knees turn to water. You whimper softly into the kiss, the sound swallowed instantly by him as his grip on your waist tightens, pulling you flush against the solid wall of his chest.

The scent of him—that rich, intoxicating blend of woodsy cologne and clean skin—wraps around you completely. Your fingers tangle deeper into the short, soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer as the last remnants of your hesitation dissolve into the heat blooming between you.

Namjoon hums approvingly against your mouth, the sound vibrating low in his chest. His tongue coaxes your lips open, deepening the kiss with a smooth, intoxicating rhythm that leaves you breathless. It feels less like a tradition being forced upon you and more like an anchor pulling you out of the storm of your own anxiety.

As the strain of staying on your tippy-toes forces you to drop back onto your heels, you pull away just enough to catch your breath. Namjoon notices immediately. His eyes are dark, fixed on your parted lips as you both pant for air in the tight space between you. Without a word, his fingers catch your chin, tilting your face back up to his. Before you can even let out a soft whimper of protest, he bends down to capture your lips again, cutting the sound off entirely.

When his mouth meets yours this second time, the last remnants of his testing restraint vanish completely. Namjoon catches his breath with a low growl that vibrates deep in his chest, his hands instantly locking onto your waist with a sudden, bruising intensity. He doesn't just kiss you; he claims you, his mouth pressing down with a fierce, demanding hunger that leaves your head spinning. Before your feet can even try to stretch down and touch the floor again, his strong arms hook beneath your thighs, effortlessly lifting you completely off your feet.

The world tilted as he carried you across the marble floor, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for dear life. Before you could even think to adjust your position, he set you down onto the plush cream fabric of the chaise lounge, immediately crowding over you. Instead of stepping back, he sank slowly onto one knee, boxing you in completely with his hands braced firmly on either side of your hips. Your breath caught as his dark gaze dropped to your thigh, fixing intently on the intricate lace garter still hugging your skin.

Slowly, deliberately, Namjoon leaned forward. A tremor ran through you at the warm rush of his breath against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His mouth brushed feather-light against you for one excruciating moment before he nipped gently at the bottom edge of the lace. You whimper, one hand clenching into the cream fabric of the chaise and the other tangled in his hair as he skilfully latched onto the elastic with his teeth.

His dark eyes flicked up to yours, locking onto your flushed expression as he began to pull. The tension of the elastic snapped softly against your skin with every slow, deliberate inch he slid it down. He refused to rush, savouring the friction and the sound of your ragged breathing as he worked the lace past your knee, down your calf, until it finally dangled from his mouth. With a subtle toss of his head, he let the garter drop onto the low table beside the chaise.

The room felt instantly hotter, filled only by the uneven sound of your breathing. The primal hunger in his eyes was more potent than before as his hands slid up the bare skin of your leg, deliberate and heavy. His knuckles brushed your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as his mouth found the sensitive dip of your shoulder, biting down just firmly enough to make you arch into his touch and moan loudly.

“Namjoo-ah—” The name cut off into a sharp gasp as his teeth grazed the sensitive line of your neck. Just as the tension reached a breaking point, he forced a shaky exhale, his jaw clenching tight as he pulled back slightly. He was fighting hard for control, though the intense, possessive focus in his dark eyes never wavered.

“You needed a shower,” he muttered, his voice suddenly husky, almost strained. He stood up rather unceremoniously, breaking the heat of the embrace so abruptly it left you shivering against the cushions. He adjusted his shirt, the ruthless, composed future Don snapping back into place, though his uneven breathing betrayed him.

“I’m going to use the other room,” he said, pausing at the threshold of the closet. He looked back at you over his shoulder—flushed, bare-skinned, and utterly stunned on the cream chaise. A dark, lingering look passed over his features before he gave a tight nod. “Take your time. I’ll be back.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room suddenly vast, quiet, and torturously hot.

You stood there for a moment after the door closed, the sudden silence of the room settling over you like a physical weight. The suffocating gravity of the day—the vows, the prying eyes, the heavy mantle of expectations but mostly the delirious need of feeling namjoon in you—still clung to your skin like a second layer. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, and decided you need to get the night moving. Standing before the mirror, you tackled the makeup first, wiping it away meticulously until the heavy bridal cosmetics were gone and the face reflecting in the glass belonged entirely to you again.

Next, you stepped into the shower to wash your hair, massaging your scalp until the stiffness of the hairspray and the stress of the ceremony rinsed down the drain. Only then did you focus on your body, scrubbing your skin under the pounding deluge and lingering beneath the heat until your aching muscles finally surrendered their tension. Your chest finally loosened, allowing you to draw a proper breath for the first time all day.

By the time you finally stepped out, the tracks of time had blurred. You wrapped yourself in a plush bathrobe, drying and brushing out your hair until it fell in soft, clean waves over your shoulders.

Returning to the bedroom, the fragile sense of peace evaporated. Now came the real hurdle.

You walked into the sprawling closet and opened the wardrobe dedicated to you, only for your stomach to tighten. The shelves were practically an exhibition—nothing but lace, sheer silk, satin, and intricate garters. Every single piece had been chosen with an unmistakable, single-minded purpose. You hesitated, your fingers shifting through the hangers in search of a simple silk robe, a modest nightdress, or a negligee that didn’t leave you entirely exposed. The closet offered nothing of the sort. Every option was designed for display.

Closing the door with an irritated huff, your gaze drifted across the room to the adjacent wardrobe: Namjoon’s.

After a brief, defiant pause, you crossed the marble floor and pulled it open. His scent hit you immediately—that warm, clean, woodsy aroma that was distinctly his. Your fingers brushed past structured suits before settling on an oversized shirt made of white silk.

It swallowed you, of course. When you slipped it on, the hem draped loosely down to your mid-thigh, the cuffs completely burying your hands until you pushed them up, and the collar resting low and relaxed against your collarbone. It wasn't standard bridal attire, but it was comfortable, and it covered what mattered.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally walked out of the closet and back into the main bedroom and then you froze.

Namjoon was already there.

He sat on the bed, reclining against the headboard. His hair was still slightly damp from his own shower, pushed back from his forehead. He was shirtless —his bare chest, broad shoulders out in the open for your hungry eyes. A pair of dark slacks hung low on his hips, the top button undone slightly as he leaned back in the thought. His hand held a glass of wine, and his gaze moved to you, stopping at you.

“That’s mine,” His eyes lingered, eyes gazing hotly over your body as he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. You gulp, feeling the intensity of his stare on your bare legs, on the oversized shirt, on your slightly hardened buds poking through the silk.

“Suits me better, I think,” you smirked, stepping closer. You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath your weight as you crawled toward him. The silk shirt slid lower as you moved, the loose collar falling open just enough to reveal the soft curve of your chest.

Namjoon noticed, gulping down the lust crawling up his body. His eyes flickered downward for the briefest second before returning to your face.

“It does,” he agreed quietly. He shifted slightly against the headboard as you settled beside him on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking just enough to bring you closer to his level.

You flashed him a small, mischievous grin and reached out, slipping the wine glass neatly from his hand. Namjoon didn’t stop you. He simply watched. His gaze stayed fixed on your face as you lifted the glass and took a sip.  The wine rolled over your tongue—tart at first, then sweet, the warmth of it spreading faintly through your chest. The alcohol barely registered. Your lips puckered a little in disappointment. Without another thought, you tipped the glass back and finished the rest in one long swallow.

Namjoon’s eyebrow lifted slightly. You lowered the empty glass and glanced at him. “Can I have more?”

His mouth twitched faintly. He picks up the bottle, pouring another drink for you, “Do you really need to empty the bottle before you can gather the courage to sleep with me?” You scoffed softly, leaning back on one hand against the bed. You take a long sip till you emptied the entire glass.

“If you think emptying the bottle would give the courage to sleep with someone,” you said, eyeing him slowly, feeling unnaturally confident—maybe the time spent showering and relaxing was truly pushing you out of the shell into your husband, you add, “then I think you’re the one who should be drinking it, Namjoon.” Your gaze dropped deliberately—over his broad chest, the lines of muscle across his stomach, the way the waistband of his slacks sat low on his hips. Then you looked back up at him with a small, teasing tilt of your head.

“Because so far,” you continued, voice light but pointed, “you, my dearest husband, have only been looking.”

Namjoon went still as if taken aback at the sudden surge of self-assurance and honesty you were showing. For a moment the room seemed to hold its breath. Then the corner of his mouth lifted slowly. Something darker, sharper settled into his expression. The next second the wine glass was gone from your hand; set aside somewhere on the bedside table you didn’t even see him reach for.

You barely had time to inhale before he moved. Namjoon caught your wrist, guiding you backward until your back met the mattress. The bed dipped beneath the sudden shift of weight as he leaned over you; one hand braced beside your head and then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was rough. Not careless —but decisive, firm in a way that stole the teasing breath right out of you. His lips pressed hard against yours, silencing the smirk that had been forming there. Your fingers instinctively reached for his hair, the other hand resting on his shoulder as you gasped softly against his mouth. For a moment he didn’t move beyond that —just held the kiss there, steady, controlled, as though reminding you exactly how close he was. When he finally pulled back slightly, his face hovered only inches from yours.

His voice was low now. “Be careful what you challenge me about,” he murmured. His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw. “I might take it seriously.”

“You should take it seriously just about now,” You murmur back, breathing heavy, “—because I am as ready as I can be,” It did not take a second for Namjoon to understand your drift, because his lips were on yours again. His hands rough against your waist, tracing your curves. One of his hands are on your boob now, his thumb rubbing over your slowly hardening bud. His other hand running over your knees, up your thighs, till they settled on your garter. He had let go of your lips, moving to biting and licking at your neck, trailing down to your clavicle.

You moan, hands naturally moving to touch his body. Your breath is heavy as Namjoon moves from your neck to the valley between your breasts, leaving marks, making little moans come out of you. He leans back slightly, “You have tortured me all day, baby,” He is breathless as he mutters it, licking his lips, “Damn near killed me with need,” he says, hands moving to rip the shirt open roughly. You gasp in shock, as the buttons fly away, your breast now spilling out of the shirt, teasing Namjoon. “Fuck,” He curses, going to capture your boob in his warm mouth.

“Ah—” You moan, pleasure running through your body from the way his tongue draws circles on your hardened nipple. His other hand is playing with your other boob, as your slightly arch your back to let him touch more. “Namjoon—” You gasp, when you feel his hands move lower, to your hips, “—wait.”

Namjoon is panting when he pulls back, meeting your eyes. His hair is ruffled, and you can see his lust-filled gaze bore into yours, looking like he was seconds away from losing control.

“Pl-Please be gentle,” You whisper, “I am scared it will hurt,”

Namjoon sucked in a long breath, exhaling as his hand finds yours, and he brings it up to his lips. “I will be gentle, darling,” He presses a kiss on your wedding ring, “You are my wife, I have sworn to protect you, I will be as gentle as I can be,”

You give him a small smile, your heart warming at the smile he gives you back. “Now, can I, have you?”

You nod, your smile turning into a giggle, his impatience at this being dragged, and his lips are back on you. Your breath hitches and his body hovers over you.

“Fucking pretty,” he coos, his words dripping with affection, as he kisses his way down to your belly, you arch in pleasure, anticipating his actions. “—so fucking perfect,” he says, his hands rubbing circles on your thighs, he bites his lips, gazing at hungrily at your naked pussy.

“Why didn’t you wear a panty, baby?” He presses a kiss right above your pelvic bone, “Did you want to make it easy for me?” His breath tickles you as you shiver and you let out a little exhale, trying to calm yourself. He catches your eyes from between your legs, you had propped yourself on your elbows to see him, “Did my darling wife think wearing lingerie was a waste of time?” He runs his warm hands, over your thighs, keeping your legs apart so he could continue to look at your glistening cunt.

“It is,” You say, mouth drying at the anticipation on your husband, broad shouldered and divine from between your thighs, “Did you like it?” You ask, the fire in your belly stroking at his words.

“Like?” he scoffs, quickly smiling, his dimples making an inappropriate warm appearance, “I love it,” he pecks your pussy, before gazing intently at your wet core, “I am right at the doors of heaven,” he says, making your heart swell a bit. “But, why are you so wet, hm?” He gives you a look, more mocking than curiosity, “I barely touched you. Did you touch yourself in the shower, darling?”

“I did not touch myself at the thought of you in the shower,” you huff out, scandalised, tugging slightly at his hair between your thighs. He catches your eyes from where he is marking your inner thighs, his eyes holding childish mischief, despite the heat between you two. You scoff indignantly, letting yourself fall back in bed, in a weak attempt to hide your face away from his view.

“But I did,” He smirks at you and before you even register his words, he dives right into your sopping core, making your toes curl in sudden shockwaves of pleasure. His tongue pressed flat against your sopping slit, and your body fully sagged as you gasped, clutching almost pathetically at the sheets when his lips closed over you viciously.

“Nam-ah, fuck—” You writhe under him, his tongue brutally working on you, and as Namjoon cruel as he is, places your thighs over his shoulders, humming in you in absolute pleasure. Him humming on your throbbing clit, if anything added more to your pleasure, leaving you breathless. You moan, waves of pleasure course through your body, as you involuntarily arch. Your hands find his hair almost instinctually, as you find yourself nearing your release.

“Joo-Joon-I’m gonna—” You whimper out in pleasure and the coil inside your belly erupts, making you see stars as your body relaxes, “—cum.” You finish, catching your breath, as you feel your lower body go numb.

You are catching your breath, slowly recovering from the throes of pleasure you just felt, when you find yourself facing Namjoon, who was now hovering over you, using his arms to prop himself. His face is shimmering with your juices all over him, and he has a smug smirk on his face, and you just know he is going to brag.

“So far, so good?” He asks, despite yourself you answer breathlessly, “So far, so good.” He grins hearing you, moves away from you, taking off his pants and his underwear and you find yourself tongue-tied at him. He smirks at your eyes on him, “Like what you see?”

Your eyes widen at him, and he continues much to your shock, “Trust me, it’ll fit.” He says casually, as he gets back in position between your legs. His hands are back on your thighs, he peppers a few more kisses on the, moves up to your belly and up to your ribs, and he has one of your buds in his warm mouth. He runs his tongue is circles and you find the fire in your belly light up again, despite the dull throb in your folds. You let out a breath, when namjoon moves to the next bud, his hand taking over the neglected one now.  Your nipples begin to harden and Namjoon lets them go to focus on your neck now. He bites, licks and soothes the blooming hickeys on your skin, his hand in your hair.

“This will be a little painful, darling,” He gives you a soft kiss on your lips. “I want you to trust me and relax, hm? I want you to tell me if it’s too much. Bite my shoulder, scratch me or anything once you feel the pain and till it goes away, okay?” His thumb strokes across your cheek.

“It hurts that much?” You ask, meekly for someone who was runs her mouth so confidently on a day-to-day basis.

“Not really,” Namjoon smiles, using his finger to push the stray hair away from your face, “It’s scarier in the head than in reality,”

“I don’t know if that’s comforting,” you mutter.

Namjoon smiles a little guiltily, and quietly asks you, “You do want this right?”

“Of course, I want your dick in me, Namjoon,” you roll your eyes, “I wanna be the next Madam!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Namjoon clicks his tongue at you, bucking his hips against you lightly. You hiss, your lower body still feeling a little sensitive after all his ministrations.

“Namjoon, I know why we're here tonight.” You bring your hands to cradle his face, and look him straight in the eye, “I know what our families expect. Despite all my drama regarding this, I trust you to not hurt me and I want to do this with you.”

Namjoon rests his forehead against yours for a moment as he lets out a slow breath. The guilt gnawing inside him loosened a bit. “Now, just relax, okay?” He said and he dove back to your neck to suck on it, “Just relax, darling —I'll make it good for you, I'll make you feel so good.”

You next words are caught in your throat when you feel his manhood rub deliciously against your nub. You let out a small gasp, the warmth in the touch, lighting up your pussy. He is lazy as he rubs his penis against your sensitive nub, the luscious wetness making you squirm in anticipation of what is coming.

You keep your head back, letting out soft moans, enjoying the tiny waves of pleasure rippling through you as Namjoon rubs himself against you while he plays with your boobs and lays kisses on your neck. Namjoon lets you lay back, eyes half closed but on him as he teases your clit with his thumb.

“I am gonna go in, alright?” He says, catching your eye and you nod almost lazily. He positions himself right at your entrance,  and guides himself in and you hold your breath as he enters you. It burned as he pushed himself inside and you despite how careful and soothing, he was being, it was painful, not as much as you expected it to, but after all the high you were feeling, the pain felt like a lot.

“You can bite me,” Namjoon mutter, “You can scratch, you can do whatever you want to me,”

“You’ll get hurt,” You manage to pant out, feeling yourself stretch in pain to accommodate the large man inside you.

“Don’t fucking care, baby,” He scoffs, “I am almost entirely in you, bite me!” And you would not have if the last and final push did not feel like you were about to be ripped in half.

“Ah—” You cry out and bite Namjoon on the shoulder to hold yourself down. You were quick to let go, breathing hard, to calm down and hone the pain you were feeling and you were almost sure you were feeling the blood drip out of you.

“Let me know when I can move, yeah?” Namjoon says in a soothing tone, resting his forehead against yours, “I promise the pain won’t last long,”

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes tearing up despite your efforts not to. Namjoon is extremely gentle as he wipes away your tears, that you give him a shy smile and say, “You can move, Joon, just be—”

“I’ll be gentle, sweetheart, I’ll be as gentle as I can,” He promises and begins to move, one of his hands is intertwined with yours, almost holding you against the bed, as he guides himself in and out of you.

At first, it just burns for you, then you feel the slight pleasure course through. You feel Namjoon inside you and the way you feel stuffed full of him. His thrusts are very slow, calculated, his eyes never leaving your face as if he is scanning you for discomfort.

“Joon,” You call, making him hum, “You know you can enjoy this, right? Enjoy me?”

“Y-Yeah,” He pants, of course he was but he was also holding himself back because you felt too good and he did not want to hurt you if he lost himself in the pleasure. You open your legs a little wider, wrapping them around his moving hips, and you hear him let out a grunt of pleasure.

Maybe it was because you were getting comfortable with Namjoon inside you that the delicious tingling of sex was beginning to light your core, and your mind was beginning to go hazy and you were beginning to enjoy the feeling of being filled by your husband. But it was all too quiet from Namjoon, like he was too in his head and not with you.

“I wanna hear you, tell me how you feel,” you purr at him, seductively, adding with a teasing, impatient tone, “—and go a little faster,”

“You feel amazing, baby,” He groans out, “So warm, so tight, so wet, so good,” He moans in your ear and you feel the familiar coil of pressure begin to build within you, “I might not last long if I go any faster,”

Namjoon picks up his pace regardless though and you find yourself squirming and moaning in pleasure as well. He begins thrusting a little faster, but a little sloppier almost as if the pleasure was working against his precision. His moans and groans also were beginning to get louder and his praises of your cunt was becoming more and more gibberish.

As his hips continued to buck against you, his moans of your name and his pleasured groans in your ear you were also nearing your release.

“I’m gonna—” Namjoon groaned, and you agree, “—me too.”

You hook your arms around his neck and pull you to him, lips capturing his and he moans into you, and relentlessly thrusts into you till you both reach your peak and he crumbled on top of you, still gasping.

You felt the warmth of his cum spread inside you and no matter how much you knew or heard about it, the feeling of someone’s essence so deep in you was very intimate and strange.

“Fuck,” he gasped, panting heavily against the column of your neck. “That was incredible.”

You could only hum in response; your hands still loosely looped around his shoulders. Sensing your exhaustion, Namjoon shifted his weight with practiced care, positioning himself, so he was still draped over you, but no longer crushing your frame into the bed. For a few long, quiet minutes, the two of you simply stayed there, soaking in the fading afterglow while your breathing slowly syncopated in the quiet of the night.

When Namjoon finally moved away, breaking the warmth of the embrace, you looked up at him with a questioning glance. He offered a slow, thoroughly satisfied grin, his thumb softly tracing the line of your jaw.

“Did I stay true to my word about making this worth your while, baby?”

You gave a faint, breathless nod, your face warming as fragments of the evening replayed in your mind. The way he'd spoken to you, the patience he'd shown, the tenderness you'd never expected from a man who insisted he could never love you.

“I'm glad.” A smile ghosted across his lips. The warmth in his expression lingered for only a moment before practicality settled back over him and you can swear you see the elite made-man, Kim Namjoon enter your husband’s body.

“We should get cleaned up and get some sleep,” he said gently. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and we have to be up early.” You groan. “I've already given the maids instructions for the food, the guests, and everything they'll need for the sheet ceremony.” His thumb brushed absently across the back of your hand. “You don't have to worry about any of that tonight.”

You nod, a little comforted at your workload being reduced from ten to one. When you tried to climb out of bed, however, a sharp ache made you stop halfway. Your face immediately scrunched.

“—ow.” You wince, feeling your legs jiggle, and your thighs ache as your pussy tingled in a sore way. Namjoon looked at you and you are sure he was gonna make fun of you, and to your absolute horror, he smiles. “Oh, don't you dare.” You threaten him, making him grin wider.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” You point a finger in accusation.

“I absolutely was.” He admits, and you swatted weakly at his arm.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Before you could attempt another dramatic escape, he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back.

“What are you doing?”

“You'll only complain the whole walk.”

“I can walk.”

“I'm sure you can.” He lifted you effortlessly anyway.

“You know,” you muttered as he carried you toward the bathroom, “you're incredibly annoying.”

“So, I've been told.”

The warmth and steam greeted you the moment he pushed open the bathroom door. He set you down carefully, never once rushing you. The quiet that followed felt strangely intimate, more intimate and vulnerable than the sex you had minutes ago. There was no teasing, no poking, no insults, just the two of you helping each other wash away the longest day of your lives. Namjoon’s movements remained gentle, almost reverent, as though he feared even now that he might accidentally hurt you. As he reached for a towel, your eyes caught the distinct darkening mark on his shoulder. Heat rushed straight to your cheeks.

“I bit you too hard, didn't I?” Your fingertips hovered over the bruise before lightly tracing its edge. Namjoon glanced down before letting out a quiet chuckle.

“I've had worse.”

“I'm serious.” You admonish him, hands still tracing the mark.

“So am I.” He looked back at you, smiling softly. “Don't worry about it, darling.” His hand briefly covered yours. “It's a very small price to pay.” Something in the way he said it made your heart squeeze. Once you were both clean, you slipped into one of his oversized silk shirts, the sleeves swallowing your hands.

Together, you returned to the bedroom. The rose petals still decorated on the floors and the satin sheets, bunched around the edges. Only the centre told the story the family would expect to see.

Neither of your spoke. Namjoon quietly crossed to the linen chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a fresh cream flat sheet. With practiced care, he spread it over the mattress, smoothing every crease until the stained bedding disappeared beneath pristine fabric.

You watched him in silence. It didn’t feel like he was ashamed of what you did or that he was embarrassed, more like protective, as though he couldn't spare you tomorrow morning, but he could spare you from staring at the reminder all night. When everything was finished, he pulled back the duvet.

“Let’s sleep.” You climbed beneath the covers with a grateful sigh. The mattress dipped a moment later as he joined you. You waited. Surely now, he'd wrap an arm around your waist, pull you against his chest, brush your hair back, whisper goodnight.

Instead, he lay down on his own side of the bed, not far but not touching you either. A careful gap remained between your bodies.

You frowned. You'd just married him, shared the most vulnerable night of your life with him and now he was treating the mattress like it had a border neither of you was supposed to cross. You began mentally composing an argument about the emotional incompetence of mafia men when his voice broke the silence.

“This—” He stared quietly at the ceiling. “—is the only pleasure of matrimony I can promise you.” You turned your head. His expression was unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke again.

“Thank you—” His voice was barely above a whisper. “—for marrying me.”

Silence settled over the room once more. The words echoed in your mind long after he'd said them. A dull ache spread quietly through your chest. You closed your eyes before they could betray you.

How foolish of you.

For a few beautiful hours, you'd almost allowed yourself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps he had begun to love you. But this, all of it, i was only gratitude. Somehow, that hurt far more than his honesty ever had.

From the moment your engagement was announced, you had understood what this marriage was to him. A duty. An obligation. A strategic alliance between families. You had accepted that early on, forcing yourself to be practical about it. There were never supposed to be feelings.

You knew that and yet, the past few months had been confusing. Namjoon had been kind and patient. Surprisingly attentive in ways you hadn’t expected. He had defended you more than once when others questioned you. He had made an effort to speak to you privately at gatherings, to make sure you were comfortable. The day of your engagement, he had kissed you with a confidence that had left your heart racing for hours. He had looked at you like he actually wanted you.

You were never foolish enough to believe he loved you, but you certainly didn’t think he hated you either.

A man doesn’t willingly kiss a woman like that, doesn’t hold her close, doesn’t let his hands linger, if he feels nothing at all or so you thought.

So, what were you to him? Was all of that kindness just strategy? A way to soften you up, to make you agreeable, so that when the night finally came you wouldn’t resist when he touched you? Was all that warmth just a careful performance? A way to ensure you quietly allowed him to take what he needed from you? Was that all you were in his life?

A duty. A body. A quick fulfilment of tradition. The thoughts spiral before you can stop them, cruel and relentless, until your chest tightens painfully. You bury your face into the pillow, shoulders trembling as quiet tears slip free. You try to cry silently. You really do.

“Good night,” Namjoon says after a long moment.

You don’t reply. You can feel him waiting beside you, the silence stretching between you like something fragile. When no response comes, he lets out a quiet sigh. Then the room falls still. Now, hours later, as dawn slowly creeps through the room, Namjoon stares down at the sheets with hollow eyes.

He notices everything, the stains, the dishevelled bedding, the marks on your skin where his hands had held you too tightly, each detail makes something sour twist in his stomach. He feels disgust, not at you, but himself. He feels dirty, feels pathetic, like something inside him has rotted away. Because the truth presses harder the longer, he thinks about it.

He forced himself on you, didn’t he? You had held onto that part of yourself for years—something precious, something private, and he took it without truly stopping to ask if you were ready, without asking if you wanted him, just hours after standing in front of the entire Bangtan family, promising to keep you happy, promising to protect you.

The memory burns like acid in his chest. He wants to say something now. He wants to turn to you, to ask you directly. Did you want it? Did you agree because you truly wanted him in the moment or because you felt you had no choice?

You’re his wife. He cares about you. He would never hurt you intentionally, but then another quiet sob escapes from your side of the bed and the sound shatters whatever fragile defence he had built in his mind.

Namjoon closes his eyes. Because in that moment, one thought feels impossible to escape.

Maybe the men who call him a monster weren’t wrong.

Namjoon had not slept, not even for a second.

The entire night had passed with him lying awake, staring at the ceiling while guilt settled heavily in his chest. It clung to him like something physical, thick and suffocating, the kind that seeped into bone and made him feel unclean in a way he had never experienced before.

He had done something he once swore he never would, lowered himself to a place he had always believed he was better than and the worst part of it all and you had cried yourself to sleep.

The memory makes his jaw tighten.

He had heard it. Every quiet sniffle you tried to muffle into the pillow, every shaky breath that trembled through your body as you lay beside him. Silent tears had slipped from your eyes, darkening the pillowcase beneath your cheek while you tried so hard not to make a sound.

Each one had felt like a blade pressed slowly into his chest.

He hadn’t touched you, not after everything. He hadn’t dared.

So, he had simply laid there, rigid beside you, staring into the darkness while the weight of what he had done settled deeper and deeper into his chest. Now, as the faint light of dawn begins creeping through the curtains, reality crashes down on him again—the sheet ceremony.

His stomach twists violently at the thought. The very idea of it makes disgust rise bitter in his throat. An ancient, humiliating ritual—one that reduces a woman’s worth to a stain on a white sheet. Proof of purity. Proof of innocence. As though a life, a marriage, a woman herself could be measured by something so crude and so painfully unscientific.

If the sheets remain clean, the marriage is declared invalid. You would be cast aside. Stripped of the vows spoken just hours ago. Declared unworthy of the role you had stepped into as his wife.

Namjoon exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He hates it, every part of it. But he cannot stop it. Not yet. Not while his father still sits at the head of the table as Don. Not while Namjoon himself is bound by traditions older than him—rules he never wrote but is expected to uphold.  Still, one day that will change. When he is the one sitting in that chair, when the power finally rests in his hands, this will be the first tradition he buries.

His jaw tightens again as another thought creeps in. What if Taehyung hurts Jangmi like he did you? There wasn’t much difference between your story and theirs after all. Taehyung was as much an Elite made-man as Namjoon, and Jangmi was innocent and a victim of this circus just like you. What if he has a daughter one day? What if she is forced to stand where you stood? What if some man, some husband chosen by politics or power puts her through the same humiliation he has just put you through?

His fists clench at his sides. The thought makes something dark stir in his chest. Maybe people would say he deserves this guilt. Maybe they would say this is the price of power. Maybe they would even be right.

But none of those changes one simple truth.

You didn’t deserve it.

“Join me for breakfast?” His voice is tentative, cautious, as if he is scared you will scream or throw the vase at him. You look up from where you sit at the vanity, brushing your hair with slow, distracted strokes. There’s a dull ache in your chest, a heaviness in your limbs, but you force yourself to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Can I?” Your voice is quiet, uncertain. “Shouldn’t I be out welcoming the guests?”

“They won’t mind,” Namjoon says. “Not if I say I want to keep you to myself.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You can say that, and they’ll listen?”

“Do they have a choice?” He exhales a soft chuckle, though it lacks humour. He isn't wrong. The world bows at his feet, even when he doesn't want it to. When you don’t reply, and simply hold his gaze, as you comb, he shifts, licks his lips unsure and says, “Have you seen the estate?”

 You hesitate, then shake your head. “I mean,” you murmur, setting the brush down, “we were very busy last night. I barely got to see anything. Will you give me a tour?”

His lips part slightly, caught off guard by the question. A glimmer of something passes through his eyes.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “We’ll start with my favourite place.”

The morning air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine lingering as Namjoon leads you through the sprawling grounds of the estate. The sky is a soft blue, golden sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the cobblestone paths.

He keeps a careful distance from you as you walk, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, as if afraid to overstep. When you reach the terrace overlooking the gardens, a staff member is already waiting with a table set with food. Namjoon pulls out a chair for you before taking his seat across from you. You are still looking around, wondering when Namjoon had the time to set up a breakfast with you, when he ours you a cup of coffee.

“Here’s your coffee,” he says, setting a cup in front of you. “Just how you like it.”

Your fingers curl around the porcelain, the warmth seeping into your skin. You take a slow sip, letting the familiar bitterness ground you.

“Black and bitter,” Namjoon muses, watching you. “How does someone with a face as sweet as yours enjoy something so acrid?”

You hum, setting the cup down. “Jangmi likes black coffee too.”

He scoffs. “She’s a raging lunatic.”

You arch a brow. “She’s your sister.”

“Exactly why I know her better than you do,” he says dryly, shaking his head.

Despite everything, a small laugh escapes you. It’s quiet, barely there, but Namjoon catches it. His shoulders loosen just the slightest bit.

“Try the stuffed French toast,” he says, nudging a plate toward you. “You’ll like it.”

You cut off a small piece, bringing it to your lips. It’s rich, soft, filled with cream and fresh berries—exactly the kind of thing you would have indulged in once, back when your life was simpler.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod, swallowing. “It’s perfect.”

He watches you for a long moment, then clears his throat. “What do you want for your gift?”

You blink. “Gift?”

“For the sheet ceremony.” His voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of something behind it. Something you can’t quite place. “It’s tradition. The husband gifts his wife something after her… success.”

A bitter taste lingers on your tongue, one that has nothing to do with the coffee. You glance away, staring at the garden below. “Shouldn’t we be waiting for the Bangtan women’s verdict first?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. “You are my wife, regardless of what they think. I know I was your first. I know I will be your only. So, ask for whatever you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Your hands tighten around your cup, the weight of his words pressing into your chest.

“I don’t want anything, Joon,” you whisper. His heart softens a bit at the nickname. He was expecting curses and tears out of you after last night, so a nickname truly warms his heart.

Silence stretches between you. Then, slowly, Namjoon reaches across the table, his fingers hesitating for only a second before brushing over yours. It’s the first time he’s touched you since last night.

“Then let me give you this,” he murmurs, voice low, earnest. “—a promise.” You glance up, searching his eyes. “One day,” he says, his grip tightening ever so slightly, “I will burn every trace of this tradition to the ground. So that no woman will ever have to suffer it again.”

Your breath catches. He was making a promise, a vow —and for the first time since last night, something inside you begins to thaw.

The sheet ceremony was archaic and disturbing, but even Madam Kim did not know how to undo it. She herself had never completed one. When she first married the Don, the circumstances had been complicated. There had been whispers, doubt, quiet judgment from the elders of Bangtan. It had taken years for her to truly be accepted—years of loyalty, sacrifice, patience.

She had birthed the next Don. She had helped raise the Elites like they were her own sons, feeding them at her table, patching them up after reckless fights, scolding them when their arrogance grew too large for their young shoulders. She had stood beside the Don through the darkest years of Bangtan.

Through the deaths of his parents, when the weight of leadership had fallen onto him far too young. Through the endless nights of whispered meetings and shifting alliances. Through multiple coups that threatened to tear the organization apart from the inside. She had watched men she once trusted turn traitor. She had seen blood spilled in the very halls of the manor. She had learned, slowly and painfully, how fragile power truly was.

While the Don fought wars outside these walls, she fought quieter ones inside them —holding the household together, managing the wives and families of made-men, calming fears when the streets ran violent.

She had buried friends, welcomed new brides who arrived trembling and uncertain, just like you. She had carried the weight of Bangtan in ways no one ever acknowledged, the silent labour expected of the woman who would one day be called Madam Kim.

And still, for years, some had whispered that she did not truly deserve the title.

Not until she proved herself, not until she endured enough —which was exactly why she refused to let another young woman be broken by traditions that had nearly broken her.

Maybe that was why she approached every sheet ceremony the same way now.

No matter how little blood there was no matter how questionable the proof might seem, Madam Kim always declared the marriage consummated.

Always.

Life was already difficult enough as the wife of a made-man in Bangtan. Women in this world carried burdens men would never fully understand —loneliness, danger, endless scrutiny. Being shamed and cast aside over something as meaningless as a stain on cloth was cruelty she refused to add to that list.

So, when Madam Kim left the Kim Manor that morning, she had already made up her mind. No matter what she saw you would not be disqualified —not today, not in this house, never during her reign.

Even so, the thought still made her uncomfortable in ways she could not quite explain. The idea of wondering whether her son and his wife had consummated their marriage felt intrusive, deeply personal in a way that made her uneasy.

Still, she hoped.

She hoped nothing depraved had happened in that room.  If the marriage had been consummated, she hoped it had been because you wanted it and not because Namjoon had followed tradition in the cruellest way possible.

When neither you nor Namjoon came down to receive the ladies that morning, Madam Kim noticed it immediately. In this house, appearances mattered. Formalities mattered even more. A newly married couple was expected to greet the elders together the morning after the wedding —modest, respectful, composed. It was not simply etiquette; it was tradition.

Your absence was noticeable. Your mother noticed it too. Her polite smile remained in place as she accepted the tea offered by the staff, but Madam Kim saw the way her eyes flicked briefly toward the grand staircase.

“Perhaps they are still resting,” one of the older aunties said, a knowing smile spreading across her face. Another woman laughed softly into her kerchief.

“Well, it was their wedding night.” A few of the younger women giggled quietly among themselves.

Madam Kim did not laugh. She lifted her hand slightly, summoning one of the maids standing by the doorway. The girl hurried forward and bowed.

“Where is my son?” Madam Kim asked.

The maid lowered her eyes respectfully. “Young Master escorted Young Madam Nari upstairs shortly after the reception ended, Madam.”

“Escorted?” one woman repeated with raised brows.

“Oh, please,” another auntie said with amusement. “He whisked her away.” The room filled with soft laughter and whispers.

But Madam Kim felt her stomach tighten. Her son was not considered a good gentleman by most people. Neither was the Don. Men like them ruled through strength, fear, and blood. Their reputations carried weight for a reason.

Still, she had raised the Elites herself. She had watched those boys grow up in her halls —fed them, scolded them, guided them and she had made one thing very clear to them from the beginning.

Some acts were not mistakes or crimes, they were sins —betrayal, cowardice, violence against women. Those were stains that never washed away. So, while the women around her continued chatting and sipping their tea, Madam Kim sat very still and prayed quietly that Namjoon had not committed any of those sins against you.

The staff soon brought refreshments to the sitting hall.

Porcelain cups of steaming bori-cha and yuju-cha were placed carefully on the low tables. Plates of songpyeon, yakgwa, and delicate rice cakes followed.

But Madam Kim barely touched her tea. She did not want food. She did not want gossip. She wanted this finished. Setting her cup down quietly, she spoke.

“Let us go upstairs.” The room fell silent almost immediately.

A maid stepped forward to guide them, and the women rose together —ten in total. Madam Kim and your mother walked in front, followed by several senior women from both families. Their footsteps echoed softly through the long corridor as they approached the bridal suite.

The maid opened the door. Madam Kim stepped inside first. The room told its story immediately.

Rose petals that had once been scattered beautifully across the bed now lay crushed and scattered across the floor. Some clung to the tangled sheets, others had drifted under chairs and along the carpet. Candles had burned nearly to their ends, wax hardened into uneven trails down the holders.

The air still held a faint scent of roses and warm skin.

The bed itself was in complete disarray —sheets twisted, pillows pushed aside. The blanket half hanging from the mattress. There was no doubt the room had been used.

But Madam Kim’s eyes went straight to the bed, to the white sheets and there was a dark stain, red against the pale fabric—blood. She did not step closer. She did not examine it. She did not allow anyone else the chance to do so either.

Straightening her posture, Madam Kim turned toward the women behind her.

“The marriage has been consummated.” Her voice was calm and final. A few of the aunties exchanged satisfied glances. Someone murmured a soft congratulations. Before curiosity could turn into something uglier —before any of them could begin whispering or inspecting, Madam Kim gestured toward the door.

“That will be enough.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Let us return downstairs.” And just like that, she ushered the entire group back out of the room.

Brunch was served shortly after in the main dining hall.

The long wooden table had been laid out beautifully, the kitchen staff clearly preparing for a full house of guests. Steam curled gently from ceramic bowls and brass serving dishes, filling the room with the warm scent of sesame oil, broth, and freshly cooked rice.

Large platters of haemul pajeon and kimchi jeon were arranged beside bowls of soft gyeran-jjim, their fluffy egg custard trembling slightly as they were set down. There were small bowls of janchi guksu and tteokguk, light but comforting, along with bulgogi, grilled fish, and delicate plates of kimbap neatly sliced into perfect rounds. Fresh fruit —sliced pears, persimmons, and grapes sat beside trays of songpyeon and yakgwa for something sweet. Porcelain teapots filled with yuju-cha and bori-cha made their way around the table.

Soon the women settled into their seats, the earlier tension dissolving into comfortable chatter as plates were passed around and cups were refilled.

Your mother leaned slightly toward Madam Kim as she placed a small portion of bulgogi onto her plate.

“I will tell Nari she should provide Bangtan with an heir soon,” she said thoughtfully, as if discussing something perfectly reasonable. “An heir would secure her position very quickly. And I am sure the Don would be pleased to finally have a grandchild that carries his blood.”

Madam Kim paused mid-movement. Her spoon hovered over her bowl before she slowly set it down.

“No, Sook-ah,” Madam Kim said calmly. Your mother blinked, clearly surprised by the firmness in her tone. “Hwan is already our grandchild,” Madam Kim continued evenly. “The first.”

Your mother frowned slightly, confused by the direction the conversation was taking. “But—”

“If Saera and Youngho had not refused the position so fiercely,” Madam Kim said, setting her chopsticks down with quiet deliberation, “Hwan would have been the heir.”

The light chatter around the table faltered. A few of the women looked up from their plates, sensing the shift in tone.

“Huh?” your mother asked, caught completely off guard. Madam Kim’s expression remained composed, but there was a quiet authority in her voice when she spoke again.

“If Hwan walked into the Kim manor tomorrow and demanded the seat of the Don,” she said slowly, “I am quite certain the Don would not refuse him.” She lifted her cup, taking a calm sip before continuing. “And I believe Namjoon would step aside just as easily.” A few of the aunties exchanged startled glances. Madam Kim placed the cup back down. “Nari would agree as well,” she added, almost thoughtfully.

Madam Kim folded her hands neatly on the table.

“Namjoon’s child if born next will be the heir now,” she said plainly. “But that does not mean my other grandchildren would mean less.” Her gaze swept across the women seated around the table.

“Hwan is the first. And any child born to the Elites will be my grandchild as well.” There was a quiet authority in the way she said it. Your mother shifted slightly in her seat.

“But still,” she began carefully, “a child soon would—”

“They are newlyweds,” Madam Kim said, cutting her off gently. “They need time —to understand each other, to grow into the marriage.”

“But the family will expect—”

“We are still here,” Madam Kim interrupted softly. She gestured around the manor. “The Don and I are not going anywhere anytime soon.” Her expression softened just a little. “Let the youngsters be youngsters for a while longer.”

Your mother hesitated. Then she nodded slowly.

Madam Kim added one last thing, her tone calm but final. “Namjoon is the next Don, no matter what. Nari is the next Madam no matter what.” She lifted her teacup again. “There is no need to force a child into their lives to prove something that is already secure.” A faint smile touched her lips. “If they choose to give me a grandchild soon, I will be delighted to spoil the child.” She took a sip of tea. “But I will not force them.”

The conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics after that. Eventually, the women finished their meal and began preparing to leave the manor. One by one, cars were called and the guests were escorted out. Madam Kim personally saw them off. But when the final car rolled down the driveway and the gates closed behind it, she did not leave with them. Instead, she remained in the manor.

Now she wanted to see you, properly, not as part of a ceremony, not as a rumour whispered over tea.

“If she is hurt,” Her jaw tightened slightly. She would deal with her son herself. She stopped one of the maids walking down the hallway.

“Where is Nari?” The girl bowed quickly.

“They are at the garden in their wing, Madam.”

“They?” Madam Kim repeated.

“Yes, Madam. Young Master Kim is with her.”

Her brows pulled together slightly. “Are they arguing?” she asked sharply. “Is she hurt?”

The maid looked startled. “Oh—no, Madam. Not at all.”

“Then what are they doing?”

“They had breakfast together earlier,” the girl explained. Madam Kim blinked.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, Madam. Young Master had breakfast prepared and served on the terrace this morning.”

Now that surprised her. Namjoon was many things. Romantic has never been one of them. Curiosity replacing some of her worry, Madam Kim walked slowly toward the garden, the soft gravel path crunching faintly beneath her shoes. The morning air was warm, sunlight spilling through the pergola vines and casting gentle patterns across the stone floor.

The moment she stepped into the garden, she stopped.

You and Namjoon were asleep on the large daybed beneath the pergola.

Curled instinctively against his side, as though your body had simply found the safest place it could rest. One of Namjoon’s arms was wrapped firmly around you, holding you close even in sleep. His body was slightly angled toward yours, broad shoulders forming a quiet barrier between you and the open garden. Even unconscious, there was something protective in the way he held you.

Your head rested against his chest. Your fingers were lightly clutching the fabric of his shirt, as though at some point in the night you had needed reassurance that he was truly there.

For a long moment, Madam Kim simply stood there, watching.

The tension she had carried since the wedding ceremony —since hearing whispers, since noticing the way you had walked, slowly eased from her shoulders. Her gaze moved briefly over you. You looked peaceful, safe and definitely comfortable. Her lips softened into a small smile. Quietly, she reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her phone. The camera shutter made the faintest click as she captured the moment —the two of you tangled together beneath the morning light.

Within seconds, she sent the photo to Jangmi. Then to the Don. She typed a single message beneath it.

Your son is doing right by his wife. I am proud.

After sending it, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and turned toward the maid waiting respectfully near the entrance of the area.

“Have their bedroom cleaned,” she instructed quietly. “And wake them later so they can rest properly inside.”

“Yes, Madam,” the maid said with a small bow.

“Change the sheets,” Madam Kim added thoughtfully. “Wash them and—”

The maid hesitated. “Madam, I am sorry to interrupt but Young Master Kim has already given instructions regarding the sheets.”

Madam Kim raised an eyebrow slightly. “Oh?”

The girl nodded carefully. “Yes, Madam.” A quiet pause stretched between them before the maid continued. “He ordered for them to be burned.”

Madam Kim’s gaze drifted back toward the pergola. You were still tucked against Namjoon’s chest, sleeping peacefully. His arm tightened slightly around you even in sleep, pulling you closer instinctively.

It was not possession —but protection. Understanding dawned slowly in her eyes. Namjoon had not asked for the sheets to be burned out of arrogance, or tradition. He had asked for it to be burned because he refused to honour the circumstances of that night, because the woman beside him had been pushed into something before she was ready, because if that moment was ever remembered, he wanted it erased.

Madam Kim exhaled quietly. Her son had always been stubborn, always been difficult. But sometimes, he surprised her.

“Yes,” she said softly. “That sounds like my son.”

—next chapter  •  chapter seven

—author's endnote  • well—i finally did it. i honestly don't know how people write scenes like this so often. i rewrote this chapter more times than i can count, and at this point, i think i have parts of it memorized. it's still not perfect, and there are definitely things i'd like to refine, but i'm choosing to let it exist instead of chasing perfection forever. i'd really love to hear what you thought. did the pacing feel right? did the emotional weight come through the way i intended? and i'm especially curious about your thoughts on namjoon after this chapter—he was a very delicate balance to write. as always, your comments, reblogs, theories, random messages, keyboard smashes, or even a simple 'i liked it' mean more to me than you know. my asks and dms are always open if you want to talk about the story—or anything else. also, fun fact: i thought the wedding night would be the hardest chapter to write. then i remembered—there's a honeymoon chapter after this. this may have been a terrible decision. so if the next update takes a little longer than expected out from me, you know exactly which scenes i'm wrestling with. wish me luck. i hope you're all doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

—taglist notes  •  comment on the post if you want to be tagged. If you are on the taglist but haven’t been notified, please check this post out.

2026, July 19.

[jeongtzuist]

thinking about #him

[lesserafimaddictie]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

GONNA MAKE YOU EARN IT

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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✧ type :: 💋

✧ member :: RM

✧ group :: BTS

✧ genre :: boyfriend!switch!RM x girlfriend!switch!reader

✧ warnings :: established relationship, missionary, cowgirl, vaginal (let me know if im missing anything!! :3) (!!!THIS IS ONLY AN INTERPRETATION OF THE CHARACTER IDOL’S PLAY AND IS NOT MEANT TO PORTRAY NOR HARM ANY REAL PEOPLE!!!)

✧ word count :: 1914

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♡ summary

┊ You and your boyfriend have been teasing each other over text all day, it’s time for that sexual tension to finally end.

─────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

୨୧ notes

┊ this took like 4 days to write omg!!

─────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

✿ fic starts here ✿

The house was silent.

Silent besides the sound of skin slapping and explicit moans coming from the living room couch.

You and your boyfriend RM didn’t even make it to the bedroom! You were both too desperate and in the moment. When he picked you up from work, he was still in his sweaty workout clothes. Him and the group had been working and practicing all day. He was already worked up from the sexting you two had indulged in during his breaks, swearing to handle it after work. The teasing in the car, unbeknownst to you, would only make things worse for yourself.

You both immediately got out of the car. Scurrying up the driveway of your shared home. RM fumbled around with his keys, his excitement becoming extremely evident when he could barely even unlock your front door.

Upon entrance, you both wasted no time throwing your things on the floor and finishing what you’ve started. Your bags hit the ground with a noticeable “thud!”. Probably from your computer in your messenger bag, but you both seem like you couldn’t care less, too busy letting your hands explore each other’s bodies as your lips clashed into a passionate kiss that would last so long it would begin to become a makeout.

As the kiss continued, you guided him and yourself back until the back of your thigh felt the couch. Feeling the fabric, you plopped him and yourself down, continuing the kiss and breaking the tension.

You both broke the kiss, not only to catch your breaths, but

also to undress. You two began ripping your clothes off in desperation to get to what you’ve both been waiting for. Even if you’ve both been only waiting for a day, it feels like years of being touch starved.

You both had some sort of control, that is until he lost his after seeing your bra come off. You barely had time to process before he leaned in for another kiss, this time taking your nipple between his pointer finger and his thumb and rolling it around. You let out moans into the kiss as he did so, the action created a familiar tingling sensation in your stomach.

This time he broke the kiss, but only to push you down, back lying flat against the couch as he removed his sweatpants to reveal his nearly rock hard cock, only being covered by his thin underwear.

RM wasted no time pushing your thighs apart with his knees, his fingers already trailing down your stomach toward the waistband of your panties, the last barrier between you two.

"Been thinking about how wet you'd be for me all goddamn day.” He threw that comment out like it wasn’t something you would remember for years to come.

His fingertips dipped beneath the fabric, finding you already slick and ready, drawing a shuddering gasp from you as he circled your clit with practiced ease.

The way his thumb pressed slow circles against your clit made your back arch off of the couch, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he watched your face intently. He wanted to make sure you were actually enjoying this after all and not just faking.

He picked up on every twitch of your lips, every micro expression, every flutter of your eyes, like he was analyzing and studying the way you were already worked up just from this.

"Is this really all it takes?" RM asked, pressing his fingers a bit softer against your clit for you to answer and to see what would happen, your desperate whine was apparently answer enough. You bucked your hips against his fingers, unable to form words beyond a breathless "please" as his touch sent sparks shooting up your spine, your thighs trembling around his wrist.

RM smirked at the desperation in your voice, his fingers slowing just enough to make you whimper, then suddenly…he stopped completely. He withdrew his hand with a wet sound that made your cheeks burn hotter. He held your gaze as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking on his own fingers, tongue darting to taste you with deliberate slowness. "Fuck," he let out a drawn out groan, the vibration of it traveling through your body where his knee pressed between your thighs. "Even sweeter than I imagined." He smirked smugly.

His words sent a fresh wave of heat between your legs.

The smirk never left his lips as he finally peeled off those damp boxers, his cock springing free with a length that made your mouth water. "Tell me, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough as he palmed himself through his boxers, watching your eyes track the movement, "were you dripping like this in your stupid little office chair? Thinking about me fucking you senseless?"

The question wasn’t rhetorical. He wanted to hear how badly you’d wanted him even when you thought you had the upper hand.

RM didn’t wait for your answer. The way you stared at his long lengthy member, cock drunk. The way your hips jerked against his knee told him everything. With a groan that sounded pained, he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance as his fingers tightened on your hips. "Fuck, you’re gonna take me so good," he murmured, voice thick before driving slowly into you inch by inch.

RM wouldn't give you the quick pounding you wanted yet. He knew how to tease you. Agonizingly slow thrusts that had you clawing at his back as your gummy walls clenched around him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, forehead pressing against yours.

"Look at you," he grunted, leaning down specifically to whisper into your ear. His voice was rough and gritty, "Such a beautiful good girl, taking my cock so so well. Fuck, baby, you're so pretty when you're desperate." He praised.

The stretch burned deliciously, that familiar ache of being filled just right. His hips rolled forward with very deliberate slowness, knowing just how to tease you.

The groan that escaped you was from the deep depths of your body really feeling the pleasure, but you couldn’t help it.

“God, RM, you feel-"

Your sentence was cut short when he slightly sped up. At this pace, any change, whether small, large, increase or decrease, was noticeable, causing a cry from your throat.

He let out a chuckle, fingers tightening on your hips as he repeated motion, slowly dragged out until your thighs trembled around him.

Your hips jerked uselessly, chasing the friction he kept denying.

"Faster-"

The word cracked into a moan as he leaned down to suck a hickey into your collarbone, his hips still moving at that torturously snail’s pace. "Please, RM, I can’t-"

“Hm?” He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling straight to your core as he dragged his cock out inch by agonizing inch, only to sink back in with the same stupid slowness.

“You can," he murmured, "You will." His free hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit again with featherlight pressure that had you sobbing. "Gonna watch you cum just like this."

The broken whine that tore from your throat was embarrassingly loud, your hips weakly thrusting (at least attempting to) against his cock. The pace of his thrusts was just shy of where you needed it. "RM-god-" you groaned in frustration.

The way his cock twitched inside you was addicting. "You think you can cum easy after driving me crazy all day?" The words came out as he simultaneously continued snapping hips forward to punctuate each syllable. You barely could comprehend the sentence.

"Little tease. Gonna make you earn it.”

The sob that you followed up with was filled with half frustration and half pleasure, as his cock tapped against that perfect spot inside of you while denying me the faster friction you craved. "I-I wasn't-" Your protest dissolved into a gasp when he angled his hips just right, the sudden pressure making you whimper. "Oh god-"

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as he held you open, his smirk widening at the way you tried to defend yourself when what he said was obviously true.

His hips rolled forward just enough to remind you how deep he could be, but isn’t, then stilled completely, his smirk growing as he watched your thighs tremble once again.

“Tell me you're sorry for teasing me all day,"

The whimper that escaped you sounded embarrassingly desperate, your nails digging into his shoulders and back as you tried and failed, once again, to grind against him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just- move!”

He chuckled at your desperation.

"Not quite there yet, sweetheart. Try again. Mean it this time." He taunted.

Something snapped. Maybe my patience, maybe my sanity. You bucked your hips violently upward into his cock, impaling yourself deeper onto him with wet slaps that echoed through the room.

“Fuck your games," you gasped.

His smirk quickly was wiped off his face and turned into an expression of confusion and desire. His hands scrambled to grip the couch as your sudden movement nearly knocked him off balance.

"Jesus- fuck-" His cock began to twitch inside you as his head fell back,

The power shift sent adrenaline rushing straight to your pussy. His shocked expression and the way his thighs tensed when you pinned him down with your full body weight only turned you on more. "My turn," you teased, lifting yourself almost completely off him then dropping back down with enough force to make the couch creak.

The couch groaned beneath you both as RM's hands flew to your hips, his fingers digging into you hard when you rolled your hips in slow, torturous circles, exactly like what he did to you. His head thumped back against the arm rest, but he could care less.

You finally got a ragged moan from his mouth. The control was intoxicating, but that moan? It threw you overboard. The combination of the way his cock twitched inside you, the desperate flex of his fingers, watching his eyelids flutter, it all had a part to play as well.

The first pulse of your climax was quickly approaching, hot and insistent in your stomach, prompting you to roll your hips faster. No more teasing, no more control over yourself. Just the slick slap of skin and the delicious stretch as you took him deeper with each downward stroke. Your fingers rubbed your clit in frantic circles. The dual stimulation made your thighs shake as you chased that sweet high.

His hands flew to your waist as your rhythm turned frantic, his eyes widening when you slammed down hard enough to force the air from his lungs. "Fuck- fuck, slow down-" he choked out, but his hips bucked upward instinctively, meeting your almost inhumane pace. He was overstimulated and overwhelmed by the sudden loss of control.*

You gasped, thighs burning as I fucked myself on him faster, harder, the wet slap of skin loud even in the large living room. "G-Gonna-gonna come-"

The broken whimper that tore from RM's throat when your walls suddenly clenched around him was sweeter than any praise, his hands flying to grip your waist as his hips bucked wildly under you, losing all its original rhythm.

You rid out your orgasm to the fullest as it crashed onto you full force, stretching it until you couldn’t anymore.

You panted, catching your breath as you had finally earned what you wanted.

─────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

₊˚⊹♡ thank you for reading ♡⊹˚₊

[pluto-bts]

Sorry this next chapter is taking ages, been having a lot of health issues but I'm finally in the swing of things again so have a snippet! it's already sitting around 2k words <3

Friends help friends chapter 2 snippet, Jimin x Reader x Namjoon 18+

Jimin followed mindlessly, sitting on his knees a few feet in front of you both with wide eyes. He seemed to lock eyes with the man behind you before moving.

His hand slowly made its way to your knee, watching your eyes the moment it made contact. When you didn't react, it carefully moved higher, sliding across the soft fabric of your pajamas before pausing on your inner thigh the second your breath caught.

He leaned back into you, pressing his lips against yours once more. He led the kiss this time, attempting to take a bit of the control from you.

Namjoons lips soon landed on your neck, making you whine into the kiss. Large hands slid around your waist, slipping underneath the loose shirt with determination. Slowly, he lifted the shirt further up your torso until both men had to pull away from you to lift it off fully.

"Oh shit." Jimin whispered, snapping his head to the side to try and advert his gaze from your now exposed chest.

"You can look." You giggled, reaching your hand out to the blonds cheek, turning his face towards you.

"Can touch too." Namjoon snidely remarked, one of his hands moving up to cup your left breast in example.

[jeongtzuist]

oh my GOD

[jeongtzuist]

I'M OFF TOMOROROW SO AS SOON AS THIS DUMB HOCKEY GAME IS OVER, I'M GONNA LAY IN BED AND SMOKE UNTIL SLEEPY TIME

LETS TALK ABOUT BTS SHIPS + SOLO MEMBER HEADCANONS :D

[pluto-bts]

I’m about to start writing the second part of “Friends help friends.” And I’m wondering, would you guys like a little more member on member stuff in the fics? I had a small amount in the last one purely because I thought of it when I was almost done, but I want to add more to make it feel more threesome energy.

More member on member?

Yes

No

Voting ended onApr 19

No matter the result of this poll there will be some, I always make it that way when I write threesomes. But I just want to see if yall want more than a simple kiss :)

[pluto-bts]

Friends help Friends

✎ Namjoon x Fem!Reader x Yoongi 𝄞

18+ content. MDNI. Please be mindful of what you read

This is part one of my series "Friends help Friends". This part sets up a majority of the plot, as 80% of this series will just be pure smut. For more info check the masterlist <3

Summary: The tour was creeping up on them, after years the anxiety was getting to them. Namjoon and Yoongi were in his office trying to decompress like old times. The conversation wasn't one they typically went towards, but it happened and now Namjoon can't stop imagining his girlfriend with his friend. Lucky for him, she believes that friends help friends.

Includes: Established relationship (Rm&Reader), anxious talks, threesome, Men kiss (briefly), oral (reader recieving), hair pulling, scratching, overstim, Namjoon kinda has a cuck chair (idk how else to say it), protected and unprotected PinV, "baby, babygirl, honey, sweetheart, good girl." Praise kink, dry humping, Yoongi shoulder injury, Men bickering/verbally teasing each other.

6.2k words ~ Series Masterlist ~ Regular masterlist ~ Jimin

Namjoons hand was soft against your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone every so often as you both melted into the kiss. His other had a loose grip on your waist, helping you to keep your balance as you rocked your hips slowly in his lap.

It'd been like this for just shy of an hour you thought; the entire thing just a lazy connection between the two of you after he returned home from a day full of promos.

It helps according to him. Helps his body release all the pent of energy and anxiety that builds up. It helps him just to be around you in all fairness, but he's not going to deny the relaxation that comes from the physicality of it all.

"Wanna go faster." You whispered against his lips, trying to move your hips quicker without falling.

"Go for it baby." He smiled, sliding his arm further across your back to keep you from falling.

Namjoon kept his lips against yours as you sped up your hips, grinding yourself against his growing cock. His slight groans were drowned out by your desperate whines, the small touches of the past hour starting to catch up to you.

You were quick to find a grip against him, one of your hands settling on his shoulder and the other sliding through his hair. His teeth dragged against your lip as you pulled on the strands slightly, a weakness of his.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He whispered, pushing his hips into yours just enough to send send your head back. "Absolutely perfect."

—

Promos were killing him, all of them really. He was sure one of the videos was going to make him come off as absolutely insane when in reality he'd just drank his 7th cup of coffee to stay awake.

Tour started soon, and as much as they were excited to be performing again, there was also a lot of fear surrounding it. Being the leader, Namjoon was everyone's person to talk to about it. He tried helping, but there was only so much words could do.

"I'm sorry man." Namjoon sighed, leaning back into his office chair. "I wish I could help, especially with tour so close."

Yoongi chuckled, taking a sip of his soju before speaking. "Sometimes it makes me wish it was still like when we were younger."

Namjoon started at the other man, a questioning look evident on his face. He didn't really understand what he meant. It was obvious Yoongi could tell, sighing slightly as he leaned forward.

"Before the fame, when you could just go out and hookup with someone at a bar with no fear."

"Do that often back then?" They both laughed, mumbling out something along the lines of it working between laughs. "Besides, we're in our thirties, doubt it'd be easy to do either way."

The room softened, both men settling into a comfortable silence. It was normal for them, long drawn out silences where the room felt at peace. It was what happened when you'd known someone for half your life.

It wasn't until some of the members ran by, laughing at something unknown that the silence broke a bit. Yoongi mumbled something to himself pulling Namjoons attention.

"Sorry?" He asked turning towards his friend. "I didn't hear you with them being crazy out there."

"You don't have to worry about all that stuff." Yoongi spoke, a smirk on his face.

"I mean I do, I am the leader so-"

"No I meant the stress relief bullshit." He laughed taking a rather large drink of the soju he'd been nursing. "Trying to find a physical way to get it all out, your girlfriend is a big help I imagine."

Namjoon paused, the other man's words giving him ideas that any half decent man wouldn't be thinking. You were the best stress relief he had, even if a good part of it was the romance aspect, he hadn't felt the physical discomfort from the stress of their lives since you came home with him that first night.

He had to look away from his friend, thoughts of his you could "help out" consuming his mind like a drug. You'd always liked the other members, you two had talked about your Fangirl days, but you'd never told him who your favorite was back then.

Maybe it was Yoongi, maybe he could help his friend and fulfill a fantasy for you all in the same day. He liked the idea, more than he wanted to admit. The thought of you and Yoongi together, he'd be able to see every aspect of you that way, see the things he'd miss when it was just the two of you.

He didn't say anything, even when he looked back up at the other man after ages of creating months worth of daydreams. For a moment he thought Yoongi was reading his mind, the smirk still prominent on his face.

"The way your face looks I know I'm right." Yoongi laughed, maybe the alcohol was getting to him.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Namjoon stuttered out without thinking.

"No shit." His laugh continued. "I think every one of us has at some point, Jungkook cried over the 'betrayal' once it was fucking hilarious." The exaggerated air quotes the man did made Namjoon laugh more than the statement.

"Would've paid to see that."

It was all he could say, his friend didn't need to know how much fuel he just gave the thoughts flooding his head.

—

"Have you ever thought about having a threesome?" Namjoon's voice broke through the comfortable silence that had built up as you got ready for bed.

You turned to him, eyes wide at the sudden and explicit question. He looked nervous to even ask it, small in his place under the covers as he watched your reaction. It was weird seeing him like that, which only enhanced your confusion.

"I'm guessing you have?" He sighed, sinking further into the pillows.

"Yoongi and I had a conversation today, it brought up— well it made me start to think about that type of stuff." He got quiet towards the end. "He wasn't even talking about that specifically, but he brought you up and I-"

"Wait, so he wasn't talking about threesomes, but brought me up and you like, instantly thought of threesomes?"

Namjoon went quiet, pursing his lips together before nodding. "I'm sorry." Was all he managed to get out.

"No no—you don't have to be sorry. I'm just—do you want to have a threesome with Yoongi?" He stared at you, the bluntness catching him off guard.

"It didn't start like that. At first he brought up the whole stressed hookup thing and then I thought of the two of you together and—okay note taken." He cut himself off, the sour look on your face at the idea of you and Yoongi, without Namjoon, prevalent on your face.

"Sorry please continue." You whispered, making your way over to the bed and finally sitting above the covers.

"It just spiraled after that I guess. He seems so stressed, and sex helps? Sex with you helps me and it would probably help him and then he brought up the other members also finding you pretty and— fuck I think I do, I haven't stopped thinking about it."

He sunk his face into his hands, dragging them down his face dramatically. Attempting to comfort him you managed to get yourself under the covers, scooting over until you could rest your head on his shoulder with ease.

Namjoon reacted almost instantly. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his allowing you to hear his racing heartbeat. You melted into him, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you.

"If you really want to we can, if it'd help you both, I'm more than willing."

—

The conversation didn't get brought up in the morning, if you didn't trust your memory as much as you did you may have thought it was a dream. He left the same way he did every morning, this morning however he seemed happier than normal, especially with the early wake up due to Hoseoks own nerves.

You didn't expect much to come out of it; maybe just knowing you weren't mad was enough to calm his mind about the newfound fantasy. Granted, it didn't help much that now you were thinking about it. Half of your morning was spent scrolling past promotions pictures of them all, trying to ignore the lingering glances you took whenever Yoongi showed up.

It shocked you when your boyfriend texted you in the afternoon when you knew he was at an interview. The text itself was simple enough, far from innocent in your mind. "Can Yoongi-hyung stay over tonight?" He didn't need to say it aloud, the implication was enough for you.

You typed back a yes without much thought before throwing your phone. Everything felt too real, you couldn't tell if you were more terrified or excited. In an embarrassing moment you ran to the shower, staying in there for who knows how long, bringing up flashbacks of when you would do this before every date with Namjoon.

The shower managed to calm you down enough to be able to resume what you were doing. That was until you remembered your phone was lying on the floor.

Picking it up was a mistake for your sanity. In the midst of random notification was a single text from the man invading your relationship and your mind. "If you want me to bring anything let me know, we both know Namjoon won't."

He was right. You both knew your boyfriend better than yourselves. Soon you'd both know every part of him, parts only you had known originally shared. It was weird how easily that thought crossed your mind, and how quickly it made your heart race.

"Only yourself and a change of clothes." Was your response. Your nerves were on fire once again, resulting in you spending the next few hours panic cleaning every inch of your house before you got the text that the two men were on their way home.

You felt like your chest was going to explode when the car pulled up. Trying to act cool when they walked it the door, takeout in their hands with small smiles.

"He insisted on buying us food." Your boyfriend spoke, walking towards you with a bag from your favorite fast food place. "He was driving so I couldn't stop him." He laughed, pressing his lips against your cheek as he handed you one of the bags.

"When have you ever stopped me from buying you food?" Yoongis voice rang out, already sitting at the table and taking out his order.

The two started bickering as they ate, leaving you to watch as you did the same. God you were so fucked.

—

"We don't have to do this if you're nervous baby." Namjoon whispered as he pulled you into him.

It was an out. Yoongi was within speaking distance, in the bathroom just on the other side of the wall. You'd spoken about it, just enough to know it was actually happening. There was enough trust between the three of you to know that was enough.

You decided not to respond, instead closing the distance between you and Namjoon. The kiss started off slow, allowing you to feel him smile into it. His hands rested on your waist, keeping you close as your hand rested on broad shoulders.

It was easy to fall back into your normal routine. The endless kisses while grinding into one another. For a minute or so you both seemed to forget what was happening, but it didn't seem like the other man minded.

"Comfortable?" Yoongis voice shocked both of you for a moment.

"Fuck man you scared me." Your boyfriend laughed as he pulled away from you making you grin.

Namjoon beckoned Yoongi onto the bed, his orders being followed with no resistance. You suddenly found yourself between the two of them, sitting on Namjoons lap with your back now against him.

Yoongi had a soft smile on his face, head tilted slightly as he took in the scene; more specifically you. You'd manage to catch the subtle way his teeth sunk into his lip for a split second as his eyes trailed across you.

Slowly you reached your hand towards him, brushing a fallen strand of hair away from the edge of his glasses. It was so soft you almost missed it, but he attempted to lean into your hand. The act made something twist inside of you.

Before you knew it you were leaning forward. Your lips barely pressed against his, eyes fluttering shut at the act. He waited for your next move, staying still until you started to move your lips against his.

Yoongi smiled against your lips as you giggled into the kiss, tasting his citrusy lip balm he no doubt applied copious amounts of in the bathroom. "It's been a while, wanted them to be soft for you." He whispered, catching onto what your laughter was.

"You succeeded." You replied, connecting your lips once again.

It moved faster from there. His hands made their way to you. One resting on your knee while the other held your cheek. Your own tangled themselves in the newly short hair with ease, trying to keep him close to you.

His tongue slid against your lips, pushing through at your allowance. Yoongi dominated the kiss, sloppy at first, taking a moment to remember how.

Carefully, his hand slid higher on your leg. He was slow moving, not faltering in the kiss as it climbed to your thigh resting below the edge of your pajama shorts. The grip just enough to know the hand was there.

Soon you felt Namjoons breath against your neck, his chest now pressed directly against your back. You gasped into the kiss as his lips pressed against your skin, not staying in one place for longer than a second.

His hands traveled to your waist, keeping you still between the two men. Even as you tried to shift your hips back into his own, his grip tightened making you whine against the other mans lips.

"Really? Already?" Namjoon laughed, pulling away from your neck and sitting his shoulder against your chin.

"Hmm?" Yoongi hummed, barely moving from your lips. "What's wrong?"

"He won't let me move." You pouted, leaning into Yoongi dramatically.

You heard an exasperated sigh come from your boyfriend, no doubt a reaction from what was probably a scolding look from the man you were currently pressing into.

"She's trying to grind into me, already." You groaned into Yoongis shoulder at the accusation.

Yoongi scoffed. His hands migrated to your waist, hovering above Namjoons for a moment before shoving them off of you. You both gasped as his hands replaced the others, lifting you off of your boyfriends lap and placing you down on his own.

"You can do whatever you want with me baby." Yoongi whispered, slowly guiding your hips against his until you started to move on your own accord.

Quickly you glanced back to Namjoon, the shocked expression still stuck on his face. His eyes were wide, staring unapologetically at the place where your hips rested on his friend.

Turning back around you connected your lips to Yoongis once more. This time the kiss was quickly reciprocated, there was no longer hesitation in his touches.

His grip tightened against you as you sped up your hips, now pushing yourself against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, bucking his hips against yours carefully, waiting for your reaction before repeating it.

You pulled away from his lips, a moan leaving you as the friction against your covered clit started to build. Yoongi didn't let up, forcing your hips to keep the new pace as you started to lose your balance. His lips were quick to find your neck at the loss of yours, teeth scraping against the skin bordering on painful.

"She'll cum like that if you let her." Namjoon spoke, deep voice now filling the room.

It was meant as a warning, you think. Yoongi didn't seem to take it as one.

"Yeah? Like making a mess, ruining our clothes hm?" You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder as he dug his hands tighter into you. "Go ahead, make a mess on my lap baby. That's what I'm here for isn't it?"

"Keep doing that." Namjoons voice was close to you once again, you could feel the bed shifting as he moved. "She loves being talked through it."

You whined into the other mans shoulder, hips starting to move against him with a desperate rhythm. You dug your hand into his arm to try and regain your balance, your other reaching behind you trying to find your boyfriend.

"Should I tell her she's good, or does she like it meaner?" Yoongi asked, voice vibrating against you.

"She loves being good, don't you honey?" Namjoon whispered as he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through with yours. "Always so good for me."

His lips were suddenly on the other side of your neck, chest pressed against your back once more. Every move of your hips pushed your ass into him. You almost felt suffocated, pushed perfectly between both men, two sets of lips on your neck. It was enough to push you over the edge, shaking between them as your orgasm rolled over you.

Yoongi pulled away from you, focus switching to watch your face as you came, ignoring the small whine that left when lips disappeared. Namjoon stayed close, smiling against you as he continued biting kisses into the skin.

"Fuck you look so pretty." Yoongis hand moved to rest under your chin, lifting it just enough for your eyes to meet his. "Soaked through my sweats, can feel it on my skin."

"Guess he should take them off then, right baby?" Namjoon asked you, a hypothetical really.

You nodded, trying, and failing, to push yourself off of the mans lap so he could, pulling you back onto his. The other man caught on and helped you onto his after laughing slightly at your failure.

Namjoon held you close to him as you continued to calm down, both of your eyes watching as Yoongis hands slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats. Slowly, he pushed them off of his hips, sitting up slightly to do so. You couldn't help but stare as dark boxers came into view, a small whimper leaving you as you noticed the dark spot covering his cock.

"Want the boxers off too?" He asked, thumb toying with the elastic with a smirk. Once again you nodded, having difficulty pulling your eyes away from him. "I'll do it, but I don't want to be the only one half naked baby."

You looked back at Namjoon who smiled, giving you a look that screamed agreement. His actions were louder. The hands that were keeping you tethered to him moved, sliding his hands beneath your shirt before pulling it up your torso.

Before you knew it the shirt was thrown somewhere in the room, and everyone was now heavily aware that you went without a bra for the occasion. You'd expected a comment from one of them, but instead Namjoons hand practically flew to your breast.

Yoongis eyes were wide as he watched Namjoon massage your breast, his hand slow moving but heavy with every grasp.

"I wasn't just talking to her." His voice was quiet as his eyes flickered up to your boyfriends for a moment before returning to your chest.

He chuckled behind you, not putting up a fight as he used his spare hand to pull off his own shirt and adding it to the pile of discarded clothes. You didn't have to look back to know, feeling his warm skin against your back.

"Better?" He didn't answer, instead he kept to his word and pushed the elastic band down allowing his cock to spring free.

"Can I?" You asked, reaching out to rest your hand on his thigh while waiting for permission.

"Yeah you can." He whispered, leaning into press his lips against yours once again.

You moved your hand onto him as you kissed back, slowly dragging your hand along the shaft. He whined into the kiss with every pass of your thumb over his tip, hips bucking slightly into your grip.

Yoongi let out a quiet moan as you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip, matching it with a tightening grip on his cock.

"Shit don't do that."

"Close already?" Namjoon asked before you could apologize.

"Listen it—fuck baby—it's been a while. that's the whole reason we're here." He pulled away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

Namjoon gripped your wrist, making your movements slow much to the dismay of the other man. "Don't whine at me." He laughed, guiding your hand off of him. "Thought you had other things you wanted to do? Can't do those if you cum within two minutes of her touching you."

Yoongi groaned, falling back onto the mattress dramatically. He quickly tried to slow his breathing, falling under watchful eyes. His cock twitched as he craned his head up to look at you, the red color growing darker with every passing second.

He whispered something to himself before shooting back up again. "I hate you." He said to the man behind you with a grimace.

His hands went to your thighs, trailing over the thin fabric of your shorts until he made it to your waistband. Without warning he started to pull them down, waiting for the other man to lift your hips in aid. You kicked them off once they made it below your knee, following suit with your soaked panties, trying to ignore the difficulty of it.

Before you could ask what the things the two had obviously discussed before hand were, Yoongi pressed his lips against yours once again. You gasped against his mouth as his hand ghosted over your cunt, fingertip brushing against your swollen clit.

"Think he wants to show you his tongue technology." Namjoon whispered, cutting himself off with a failed attempt at hiding his laughter.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Yoongi whispered to you between breaths.

"Is he wrong?" You giggled, sliding your hand down the mans arm until you could press his hand against you.

The man had a look on his face that you couldn't quite read. Namjoon could apparently. His presence left as you were stuck sitting on the sheets. They didn't allow you to question it; within seconds your back was flat against the same sheets and Yoongi was sliding off the bed.

He winked at your shocked expression before pressing his lips inches away from your entrance. His hands landed on your thighs, lifting them over his shoulders, wincing slightly at first before repositioning himself.

He continued to tease, pressing soft kisses around your clit, allowing his breath to breeze past it. You were starting to grow desperate, trying to push your hips against him with minimal success.

Namjoon made his way back to you, lifting your head and resting it comfortably on his thigh. Without a word he reached down, carding his hand through yours and lifting it into the air. He guided you both to the back of the other mans skull, Namjoon helping you slide your fingers through the strands before placing his hand on the back of yours.

"Be a good girl for me and take what you want okay?" He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, tightening your grip on Yoongis hair before pulling him towards where you wanted him. He let out a moan at the action, laughing a bit before pressing his lips against your clit.

He started slow, soft kisses against your cunt before increasing the pressure. He moved to focus on your entrance, nose nudging against your clit just enough to keep your focus.

It didn't take long for him to move, dragging his finger against your now drenched core. You gasped as he slowly pushed the digit into you, curling it the second it was all in. His tongue focused now on your clit, trying to match the movement of his tongue to the now moving finger.

You pulled him closer, thighs now trying to tighten around his head against your will. Yoongi didn't seem to mind, eyes staring up at you with an evil glint present. You barely registered him adding the second finger, him managing to time it at the same time that Namjoons large hands returned to your breasts.

"Close baby?" Namjoon asked, smiling above you when you nodded. Yoongi, still watching you, moaned against you at the fact. "Go ahead, he's practically begging for it the way hes humping the fucking air."

He laughed as the other man flipped him off, proving him right by not stopping and only increasing the speed of his other hand. You managed to catch the way his hips were shifting for a split second before he sucked harder on your clit making your head fly backwards.

Soon your grip tightened, your second orgasm barrelling towards you before you could warn Yoongi. You pulled him impossibly closer, the man putting up no reisitence at the act as you came. He removed his fingers, replacing them with his tongue with a moan as your taste exploded across his it.

You heard muffled praises fill the air as your body started relax once more, which man they were coming from you truthfully had no idea.

"Shit I need a minute." Yoongis voice broke through pulling your gaze towards him.

His face was covered in you, the sheen made more apparent by the lamp off to the side. His tongue was running along his bottom lip with a hum as he spoke. Namjoon moved as well, taking his hands off of your breasts to brush the fallen hair off of your face.

Both men laughed as you whined, groaning at the sudden lack of touch. You tried to drag Namjoons hands back to no avail.

"Want me to do something baby girl?" He smiled as you nodded dramatically. He looked to his friend, cocking his head slightly before asking. "Want to watch me fuck her? That enough of a break for you?"

"I hate how hot that sounds." Yoongi mumbled, standing up to sit on the edge of the bed nearest you.

"Please Joonie." You whispered, sitting up to press your lips against his.

He kissed back, allowing to control the pace as he pushed his pants down to his knees. Boxers followed soon after, letting his cock bounce against his stomach.

You climbed onto his lap, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands slid across your back, making its way to the base of your neck keeping you still as he pulled out of the kiss.

You felt eyes on you as you reached between the two of you, grabbing Namjoons cock with ease. He let out a sharp gasp as you dragged your hand along the shaft.

Shifting upwards your knees dug into the mattress. You gripped the base of his cock, positioning it below you, your legs shaking as you hover above it.

"You sure you want to ride me? You're shaking babe." He sighed as you nodded, nudging the tip against your soaked entrance. "Tell me when it's too much alright?" He pressed his lips against yours as you nodded once again.

You both let out a moan as the tip of his cock breached you, meeting little resistance thanks to the other man. You wasted no time sinking down onto him, unable to control the noises leaving your mouth as your hips hit his thighs.

Namjoon pulled your head closer to him, resting his forehead against yours. His mouth was parted, breathing heavily against yours as he waited for you to move.

Yoongis presence moved closer as you lifted yourself up on shaky thighs before dropping yourself back down. You felt his hand ghost over your back as you moved, his breath loud enough to register over your moans.

"You're so hot." He whispered, shuffling closer. "Using his cock perfectly. Does it feel good?"

"So good Yoongi."You moaned, pressing further into Namjoon with a failed attempt to speed yourself up. "Too—fuck joon—need help."

Within seconds his hands found your waist, holding you still as his hips thrusted into yours. You moved your head into the crook of his shoulder, trying to muffle yourself.

Neither man seemed to like that idea. Yoongis hand slid against yours scalp, gripping your hair in a similar manner to yours earlier before pulling you back. The act made your voice even louder.

"Can feel you getting close baby, clenching around me so tight." You nodded, trying to grind yourself against him as he kept up his thrusts from below. "Go ahead and cum, think someone is getting impatient." Yoongi groaned from behind you.

Despite the annoyance, Yoongi moved closer once again. His hand wrapped around your waist, sliding down until his fingers brushed over your clit. He wasted no time drawing shapes against it, pushing you over the edge.

You shook between them, slumping forward until all of your body weight rested against your boyfriend. He lifted you up just enough to slip his hard cock out of you before allowing you to rest on him once again.

"Feeling alright?" You whined in response , nodding against his shoulder. "Think you can take him?"

"Mhm, wanna do it." You words were a bit slurred, but they didn't mind.

You heard them talking as you tried to control your breathing, your mind still static like. Soon Yoongis presence left, you could hear him leaving the room making your stomach turn.

Lifting your head up you looked at Namjoon with a grimace, thinking something went wrong and the man was leaving fully. He coo'd at you, peppering soft kisses against your face.

"He's coming back, promise." He reassured. "Idiot forgot to grab the condom out of his jacket, no way he's fucking you without one."

"You did." You whispered, giggling at your comment.

"You're my girlfriend baby." He whispered, smiling as you continued to giggle at him. "I'm the only one allowed to do that silly." You agreed with a grin, messily pressing your lips against his as you waited for Yoongi to return.

He did moments later, returning to his place on the bed easily. You pulled away from Namjoon once you felt the slight dip in the mattress.

Turning to look at him you noticed the nervous expression he was trying to hide on his face. Your brain was still a bit fuzzy, making your own nerves quieter; giving you a lot more confidence to lighten the mood.

"How do ya want me?" You asked, plucking the condom out of his hand. "Expect for on top my poor legs." Both men laughed as you pouted.

"I think-" He started, leaning closer to you and grabbing the item back. "You can just lay back and let me make you feel good? That work for you sweetheart?" Yoongis tone was slightly mocking, but the way his voice dipped towards the final word had you silently agreeing.

It didn't take long for Yoongi to be between your thighs once again. Namjoon moved off to the side, mumbling something about a view. So it left the two of you, in what was probably the most vulnerable state you'd ever be with one another.

Yoongi wasn't phased, the way you were looking up at him had his confidence soaring. You heard your boyfriend whisper something, unable to make the words out.

Whatever it was, it was for your benefit. Right before your eyes Yoongi stripped his shirt off, throwing it towards the floor with a smirk, something that only grew the longer you stared.

"Ready? Or do you need more viewing time?" You heard your boyfriend laugh from his seat.

"Think you should fuck me before I fall asleep laying here." The snarky comment made his eyes narrow, keeping eye contact with you as he ripped the condom open.

You watched as he rolled it across his cock, a deeper red than when you saw it earlier. It twitched in his palm with passing second, the look on his face evident to how close he was.

He pressed it against your folds, running the head along them a few times before pausing at the entrance. You tried to nudge him forward by pushing your hips towards him. He instead placed a hand on your hip, holding you still.

Slowly, almost to slowly, he pushed forward. He wasn't as big as Namjoon, but the stretch still caught your breath the further he pushed.

Once his hips met the backs of your thighs, the hand that was guiding his cock quickly found your clit. Yoongi groaned as you clenched around him at the act.

"Fuck I'm not gonna last long." He whispered, leaning down until his head rested in the crook of your neck.

"Neither am I, just fuck me Yoongi."

That's all it took. Within seconds he pulled himself out of you before slamming his hips back against you. You threw your head back at the sudden pace, his thrusts matching the speed of his thumb on your clit.

You could feel him groan into your neck, teeth sinking in as you started to tighten around him. Your hands landed on his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. Yoongi winced as you drew past his scar, but he didn't stop you.

"Fucking amazing." Yoongi groaned, lifting his head just enough to kiss you.

He continued his thrusts, cock sliding perfectly against your walls as your fourth orgasm grew closer. You were grinding yourself down on him at this point, unable to decide which part of him against you to focus on.

As he started to stutter against your lips, you turned to look at your boyfriend sitting across from you. Namjoons hand was on his cock, the tip leaking across it as he quickly moved it along himself.

He caught your eye, smiling at you in a way that made your chest feel warm. He winked as you moaned before turning your head back to the other man.

Yoongi's hips were beginning to lose rhythm, cock twitching against your walls. His breathing was growing erratic, matching your own.

Yoongi pulled away, sitting up straight like how he was when you started. Both of his hands traveled to your hips, managing a tight grip before using the leverage to pull you against him, cock hitting deeper than before. You borderline screamed, pulling new noises from both men.

One final thrust and he was done for. His hips stuttered as he came. You brought your hand down to your clit, barely needing to touch it before you followed.

"Thank you thank you thank…" He trailed off, falling onto the mattress beside you.

You hardly had any energy to reply, only turning your head to look at him with a smile. Thankfully it allowed you to see the tail end of your boyfriends orgasm, his cum shooting across his hand and landing across the expanse of his torso.

"How do you feel? Both of you really." Namjoon asked as he walked back over to the bed.

"I owe the both of you, I don't know what I owe you but I do." Yoongi replied as you gave a thumbs up.

Namjoon helped you sit up, allowing you to rest against him as your body grew sore. Yoongi sat up as well, pulling the condom off of himself with an annoyed groan before tying and throwing it away.

There was a comfortable silence that grew over the three of you. Nobody moved, everyone catching their breath. Eventually Namjoon spoke again.

"Is there anything you want baby? Anything we didn't do that you were thinking about?" His voice was soft, words echoed by the other man.

"You guys could kiss, that'd be nice." You said, words mostly a joke.

So it caught you off guard when they both looked at each other with a questioning look. No laughter like you expected.

Before you could backtrack the comment, Yoongi leaned closer to the two of you. His head went passed yours, allowing you to just barely see his lips connect to your boyfriends.

Your eyes went wide, not knowing how to react at the scene in front of you. You hardly managed to lean back enough to see both men's faces, their eyes closed as their lips moved slowly against one another.

They stayed that way, the speed of the kiss never changing, their hands resting on you throughout it all. You didn't know how long it lasted, it didn't really matter because the image was burned into your head.

"Was that good?" Namjoon asked again, laughing slightly as you immediately nodded.

Yoongi laughed, leaning his head on your shoulder. His hand trailed across your back absentmindedly.

"You're coming on tour with us, right?"