seven days a week
summary: you and your husband soobin have been married for a year, but your desire for each other hasn’t faded. in fact, it’s only grown more intense. from spontaneous office quickies to sensual public encounters, your love is as passionate as it is insatiable.
pairing: husband!soobin x wife fem!reader
genre: smut, pwp, romantic erotica, established marriage au.
warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, rough sex, oral, creampie, possessive behavior, riding, fingering, married couple dynamics, unrealistic libido (no mention of periods or pregnancy, this is pure fiction, not real-life sex ed) mutual obsession and desperate love vibes.
wc: 3,1k
notes: OMG! i just hit 1700 followers!! when did that even happen??? 🥹 thank you so much for all your love and support, i love you all endlessly 💌 you’re the reason i keep writing. i actually had this fic ready for a while, but i finally gave it a proper read-through so i could post it 🫠 husband!soobin is seriously the best concept ever… and him being a total perv too?? yes please 👅🔥
you never thought marriage would taste this sweet.
a year had passed since the two of you tied the knot, and not a single day had gone by without his hands on your skin, without your lips on his, without your body aching for him. most people said the passion would fade after the honeymoon, that routine would dull the fire, but it only seemed to burn hotter the longer you were together.
you weren’t just lovers. you were addicts. both of you.
it didn’t matter where you were or who was around—when the heat hit, you both found a way to release it. on the elevator to your apartment, pressed against the mirrored wall with soobin's hand covering your mouth to silence your moans. in the restroom of an upscale restaurant, your dress bunched up around your waist, legs trembling as he whispered filth into your ear while fucking you senseless against the sink. on your balcony at night, the wind carrying the scent of sex through the city, your knees bruising against the railing as he held you in place. at the beach, with the tide lapping at your ankles, his fingers inside you under the stars. in the backseat of your car, windows fogged up, your panties hanging from the rearview mirror by the time you were done. and then there was his office.
soobin was the editor-in-chief of one of the most renowned publishing houses in the country. prestigious, respected, calm under pressure. nobody would suspect that the man in that pristine tailored suit spent half of his lunch breaks buried between your thighs.
it always started the same way.
you’d text him something simple—are you free to eat together today?—and he’d reply with a time. never a word more than needed, not over messages. he liked it clean on the outside. so you’d walk into the lobby with your bag in one hand and a shy smile on your lips, nodding politely at the receptionist, who recognized you instantly. she’d give you that usual knowing glance, and you’d just giggle to yourself, acting like you weren’t about to get wrecked on the top floor.
his office was spacious, framed by tall windows and lined with bookshelves. his desk was always organized, the glass surface spotless—until you came in. the second he locked the door behind you, he turned into someone else entirely.
“took you long enough,” he murmured that day, voice thick with restraint as he pulled you in by the wrist.
“you said twelve-thirty,” you teased, your breath catching as he pressed you against the inside of the door, lips brushing your throat. “i’m right on time.”
“mm,” he hummed, dragging your coat from your shoulders with one hand, the other already slipping beneath your skirt. “that’s cute. thinking you get to play innocent.”
you gasped when his fingers met your bare heat, your thighs already sticky, aching, pulsing for him.
“no panties?” he chuckled darkly, dipping a finger between your folds. “what would the board say if they knew their editor’s wife walked into the building dripping like this?”
“they’d say it’s your fault,” you whispered, tilting your head to give him more access, already trembling when he started circling your clit slowly. “you make me like this.”
“that’s right,” he growled.
he dragged you away from the door, lifting you effortlessly onto his desk, scattering a few papers in the process. he shoved your skirt up to your hips, kneeling between your legs without hesitation. the cold glass pressed against your skin, contrasting the warmth of his breath as he kissed your inner thighs, teasing, licking, biting. then his tongue found your center, and you arched your back with a broken moan, one hand flying to grip the edge of the desk while the other threaded through his dark hair.
he always made you feel like this—unraveled, ruined, adored.
his tongue moved with practiced precision, licking you open as if you were his only purpose in life, savoring every twitch of your hips, every breathless cry. when your thighs started shaking, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “come on, baby. give it to me. i want to taste you.”
and you did. hard. moaning his name like a prayer, thighs clamping around his head as you came on his tongue.
he didn’t stop there.
before your body could recover, he stood up and unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate movements, eyes locked on yours, filled with hunger. his cock was already hard, thick, leaking as he stroked it once, twice, while stepping closer. he didn’t ask. didn’t need to. you were already spreading your legs wider for him.
he slid into you in one smooth, deep thrust, swallowing your gasp with a kiss.
“fuck—” he breathed against your mouth, voice strained. “you’re so tight. always so good for me.”
you clung to him, arms around his neck, nails digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. he fucked you slowly at first, savoring the way you clenched around him, the way you whimpered every time his hips rolled into yours. but it didn’t stay slow for long.
“you think i don’t know what you do?” he grunted, thrusting harder, faster, his desk creaking beneath the rhythm. “you walk in here all sweet and quiet, but you’re just begging to be used.”
“yes,” you cried, breathless. “yes, soobin—please, harder—”
he gave it to you.
his pace turned punishing, relentless, fucking you into the desk so hard you could barely think. you could hear your slickness every time he drove into you, could feel the tension coiling in your belly all over again, already close to a second climax.
he brought his hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit until your vision blurred, until your moans echoed through the room.
“come for me again,” he ordered, jaw clenched. “want to feel you squeeze me while i fill you up.”
you came again, harder this time, your whole body convulsing around him as you sobbed his name, and seconds later, he buried himself deep and groaned as he spilled inside you, warm and thick, making you gasp at the sensation.
neither of you moved for a while.
his forehead rested against yours, both of you panting, still trembling from the high. he kissed you softly, this time slower, gentler, like the man everyone else knew.
“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered with a smile.
“you started it,” you replied, smiling back.
he chuckled, pulling out with a groan, helping you adjust your clothes before tucking himself back in and fixing his tie like nothing happened.
you straightened your skirt, kissed his cheek, and headed for the door.
“same time tomorrow?” you teased.
his eyes darkened.
“count on it.”
people would say it was just the honeymoon phase. a spark that would eventually die out.
“give it a few months,” they said. “you’ll settle down. you’ll calm down.” but they didn’t know you. they didn’t know soobin.
because a year into your marriage, the fire hadn’t dulled—it had grown. hotter. deeper. more desperate.
you craved him constantly, and he wanted you like he needed you to breathe. it didn’t matter how many times he’d had you the night before—when morning came, his hands were already wandering beneath the sheets. sometimes you barely made it out of bed before he was fucking you into the mattress, your sleepy moans muffled by the pillow as he thrusted into you from behind. and when breakfast was over, when the dishes were still in the sink, he’d pull you onto the kitchen counter and eat you out until your legs went numb, just because he missed the taste.
when you both came home from work, it didn’t matter how exhausted you were—he always kissed you like it was the first time, always touched you like he’d been starving all day. in the shower, you’d grind against each other under the hot water until one of you caved. on the couch after dinner, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands under your shirt, his cock pressed between your thighs. even when you were both tucked into bed, skin warm and clean, he’d still reach for you in the dark, whispering soft, filthy things against your shoulder until you were whimpering for him again.
sometimes, in the middle of the night, you’d wake up to find his hand already between your legs, his mouth on your chest, his cock hard and ready against your hip.
but nothing compared to how needy he got when you dressed up.
you’d gone to dinner with his parents that evening. the restaurant was elegant, quiet, candle-lit. you wore a dress he hadn’t seen before—tight, black, hugging your body like it was made for you. it stopped just above the knee, a subtle slit climbing up one thigh. you knew the second he saw you walk out of the bedroom that you were in trouble.
he didn’t touch you during dinner. not once. but his eyes never left you. his hand stayed clenched on his thigh under the table, his jaw tense, his smile too tight whenever someone complimented the way you looked.
and the second you stepped out of the restaurant and slid into the backseat of the car, he lost it.
you barely had time to buckle your seatbelt before he reached over and unfastened it again.
“soobin?” you blinked at him, surprised.
he didn’t answer. just climbed over you, slammed the door shut, and pushed you back against the seat, his lips crashing into yours like he’d been holding it in for hours.
“fuck,” he hissed against your mouth, his hands already tugging your dress up your thighs. “you wore this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“i thought it looked pretty,” you breathed, gasping when his fingers found the edge of your panties and yanked them down without hesitation.
“you looked like a fucking dream,” he growled, kissing down your neck, biting your shoulder through the strap of your dress. “do you know how hard it was to sit across from you and pretend i wasn’t dying to fuck you under the table?”
you moaned when his fingers slipped between your legs, already coated in your arousal.
“you’re so wet already,” he muttered, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit. “does dressing like that for me turn you on, baby?”
“yes,” you whimpered. “you looked so good in that suit, hubby. wanted to jump you the whole time.”
he groaned, cock twitching in his slacks at the sound of the word.
“say that again.”
you bit your lip, arching your hips into his hand. “my sexy husband. my baby. always so handsome.”
“fuck, baby, i’m gonna ruin you,” he grunted, already undoing his belt, freeing his cock with a breathless hiss.
he was hard, thick, leaking, and you couldn’t help but reach out and wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly while he growled under his breath.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding you down onto the seat. “turn around. get on your knees for me.”
you obeyed, heart pounding, body trembling with need. the soft leather dug into your skin as you leaned forward, dress bunched up around your waist, bare for him.
he gripped your hips and shoved into you in one swift, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt and making you cry out.
“god—soobin—!”
“shhh,” he murmured, leaning over your back, pressing kisses to your spine. “you want them to hear, baby? the valet’s still outside.”
you whimpered, biting your fist to muffle your sounds, and he started moving—deep, rough thrusts that had the entire car rocking.
he held your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you harder, faster, his cock slamming into your sweet spot over and over until tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
“mine,” he growled. “my pretty wife. you love this, don’t you? love getting fucked like this by your husband. so desperate for my cock you couldn’t wait till we got home.”
“yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”
he reached around to rub your clit, fast and messy, and you broke with a cry, your whole body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you.
but he didn’t stop.
“so fucking tight when you come,” he panted, slamming into you harder, chasing his own release. “gonna fill you up, baby. you want that?”
“yes, hubby—fill me up, please—need you—”
he groaned, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a shudder, hot and thick, making you tremble all over again.
you collapsed onto the seat, both of you panting, his cum already dripping down your thighs.
after a few moments, he kissed your lower back and helped you fix your dress, his hands gentle, voice softer now.
“you okay, baby?”
“never better,” you whispered with a lazy smile, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “think your parents noticed we left too fast?”
he laughed, pulling you into his lap for a kiss.
“they probably think we’re still in the honeymoon phase.”
you grinned against his lips.
“good. let them.”
you didn’t always mean to take it that far.
sometimes, the need just crept up slowly—starting with a brush of hands, a glance too long, the way his voice dropped when he leaned in to whisper in your ear. but with soobin, it was never just harmless teasing. not when the fire between you burned this deep, this fast, this endlessly.
the worst was when you were supposed to behave.
you were at a gallery opening, invited as a couple by one of soobin’s publishing partners. the space was sleek, minimalist, dimly lit with soft instrumental music echoing through the marble hallways. guests murmured about brushstrokes and contrast, sipping champagne, admiring modern pieces as if they understood them. you should’ve been focused. polite. engaged.
but all you could think about was the way soobin’s hand kept pressing low against your back, the way his lips brushed your temple every time he leaned in to comment on a piece, the way he looked in that black turtleneck and tailored slacks—quiet, elegant, composed. and the way his cock pressed against his thigh when he caught you watching him with that soft, hungry gaze of yours.
you lasted an hour. maybe less.
“you look stunning,” he murmured while you both stood in front of an abstract canvas, his fingers ghosting over the inside of your wrist.
“so do you,” you whispered back, stepping closer.
“i can’t stop thinking about the way you looked last night.”
“baby,” you warned in a low voice, heart fluttering.
“i can’t stop thinking about how tight you were. how you moaned for me.”
you swallowed, thighs clenching.
so when he found a quiet corridor tucked behind the private wing of the gallery, with large velvet curtains shielding the entrance and barely any foot traffic, you didn’t even hesitate when he took your hand and pulled you in with him.
the space was dark and unused, some storage room filled with rolled canvases and crates, dimly lit by a dusty lamp on a side table. you barely had time to glance around before he pulled you onto his lap on an old velvet loveseat, your dress riding up your thighs as he guided you to straddle him.
“here?” you breathed, heart racing, but already grinding against him.
he cupped your ass and pulled you down flush against his cock. “shh, just for a little. i promise i’ll be quiet if you will.”
you kissed him hard, needing him more than you cared to admit.
you fumbled with his belt, both of you breathless, frantic, silent laughter shaking your shoulders as you tried not to giggle while exposing him in the middle of the damn gallery. when you finally pulled him free, hard and hot in your hand, you didn’t hesitate. you lifted your hips, pushed your soaked panties aside, and sank down onto him in one smooth, aching motion.
you bit your lip hard to keep from gasping, forehead falling to his shoulder as you took him in completely, your walls stretching, pulsing, wrapping around him perfectly.
“god, baby,” he whispered, voice trembling. “you’re always so tight for me. always so wet.”
“i missed you,” you whispered back, starting to move slowly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you rolled your hips in slow, fluid waves. “i know it’s only been a few hours but… i missed you so much.”
his hands slid beneath your dress, gripping your waist, guiding your rhythm, helping you ride him deeper, slower, harder. every time you rocked down, you could feel his cock hit that spot that made you tremble, made your eyes flutter shut.
his head fell back against the wall as he watched you move—so beautiful, flushed, glowing under the low light. his perfect wife, riding his cock like it was her god-given purpose.
“fuck,” he whispered, jaw tight. “you’re gonna make me come so fast like this, baby. you feel too good.”
you leaned in, kissing his lips sweetly before whispering into his mouth, “then come with me. come inside me, love. fill me up. again.”
he groaned, desperate now, thrusting up into you as you bounced on his lap, your movements sloppy and fast, your moans barely restrained against his neck. you were close—so close—the tension in your belly winding tight, heat blooming between your legs as you chased your second high of the day.
and then he grabbed your face gently with one hand, the other still gripping your ass, and looked at you with that softness that always broke you.
“i’ll never get tired of you,” he whispered. “never. not your voice, not your body, not your mouth, not your moans. i’ll crave you forever, baby.”
you whined, overwhelmed, heart racing, body trembling.
“i love you,” you breathed. “you know that, right? i love you so much, soobin.”
“i love you more,” he said, and then you both broke at the same time—his warmth filling you deep as your walls clenched around him, your cries caught in the hollow of his throat, your nails raking down his back as you trembled in his arms.
you stayed there for a while, still joined, breathing each other in, hearts beating fast and in sync. you nuzzled into his neck as he stroked your back slowly, reverently, his softening cock still buried inside you.
and in that quiet little hidden room, beneath dim lights and forgotten paintings, you both made a silent vow without needing to speak it aloud:
to never tire of each other. to never stop touching, loving, needing. to crave, devour, and worship until your last breath.
because this love—this madness—wasn't just passion. it was eternity. and you were both so, so willing to burn in it forever.
