namluvili

[namluvili]

hii I love your works so much so i was just wondering if you would take requests??

— and if you could can u pls write a joon fic? the idea is that joon has a partner that never gets jealous/possesive (at least he thinks she never does) until one day, she just got so jealous that she started giving him silent treatment and being distant. it could be a coworker or just a random girl they meet randomly idkk i just wanna see how this one will go since all I’ve ever seen ppl write is joon getting jealous and never the reader 😭

Not the Jealous Type

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Romantic smut, fluff, mild angst, slice of life Word Count: ~4k words Warnings: Explicit sexual content, jealousy, mild angst, silent treatment, soft dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, reassurance kink, unprotected sex (use protection IRL), oral sex (f receiving), possessive behavior, detailed smut, aftercare, language. Summary: You’ve always trusted Namjoon completely, never batting an eye at his friendly interactions with others—until a flirty coworker, Soojin, crosses a line, sparking a jealousy you didn’t know you could feel. Your silent treatment throws Namjoon off, but when the truth comes out, he’s more than happy to remind you who he belongs to in the most intense, loving way.

You’ve never been the jealous type. Not with Namjoon, at least. He’s the kind of boyfriend who makes it easy to trust him—open, honest, and so devoted it’s almost annoying how perfect he is sometimes. You’ve seen the way people look at him, and you get it. He’s Kim Namjoon—tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that could melt glaciers and a brain that makes you weak in the knees. But he’s yours, and you’ve never doubted it.

Like that time at the bookstore when a fan recognized him from his music production credits and spent twenty minutes gushing about his work. She was cute, blushing, and definitely lingering a bit too long, but you just smiled, leaning against a shelf, watching Namjoon handle it with his usual grace. When she slipped him her number on a receipt, he politely handed it back, saying, “I’m flattered, but I’m taken.”

Later, in the car, you teased him about it, and he just laughed, pulling you into a kiss at a stoplight. “You’re not even a little jealous?” he’d asked, eyebrow raised. You’d smirked. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

Or the time his old college friend, Mina, crashed at your apartment for a weekend. She was all hugs and inside jokes with him, reminiscing about their late-night study sessions. You didn’t blink, offering her your couch and even joking, “Should I be worried you two are gonna run off together?” Namjoon had pulled you onto his lap right in front of her, kissing your neck. “Not a chance, baby. You’re my home.” Mina had laughed, and you’d felt nothing but secure.

So, yeah. Jealousy? Not your thing. Namjoon’s too good for that nonsense, and you’re too confident in what you have. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you get ready for his work event at some trendy bar downtown.

You slip into a sleek black dress, nothing too flashy, and Namjoon whistles when he sees you, his hands finding your waist. “You’re gonna make it hard for me to focus tonight,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. You laugh, swatting him away, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. He’s yours. No question.

The bar is loud, buzzing with the after-work energy of Namjoon’s colleagues. You sit at a high-top table, nursing a glass of wine, watching him across the room. He’s in his element—laughing, gesturing animatedly, his dimples flashing as he talks about some music production project. His dark hair is slightly tousled from running his hands through it, his white button-up rolled to the elbows, showing off those forearms that make your mouth water. He’s magnetic, as always, and you’re proud of him. You are.

But then there’s her.

Soojin, one of his coworkers from the production team, is leaning a little too close. Her laugh is too loud, her hand lingering on his arm as she tosses her hair back. You try to focus on the conversation with another colleague, but your eyes keep drifting to them. Soojin’s fingers graze Namjoon’s wrist as she makes a point, and he doesn’t pull away. He’s not encouraging her, not really—he’s just being his polite, attentive self. But it stings.

You sip your wine, the glass cold against your lips. You’re not the jealous type, you remind yourself. You’ve never been. Namjoon’s too trustworthy, too devoted. You’ve seen him turn down advances before, always with that gentle, respectful charm. So why does this feel different?

The final straw comes when Soojin leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know I’d steal you if I could, right?” she says, loud enough for you to hear over the chatter. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist.

Namjoon laughs—a nervous, awkward sound—and rubs the back of his neck. “You’re too much, Soojin,” he says, brushing it off. But he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t shut it down.

You set your glass down a little too hard. The colleague you’re talking to glances at you, but you force a smile. “Excuse me,” you murmur, sliding off the stool. You need air. You need to be anywhere but here.

Outside, the cool night air hits your face, and you lean against the brick wall, exhaling shakily. You’re fine. You’re not that girl. But the image of Soojin’s hand on him, her flirty smirk, and that “steal you” comment burn in your mind. You hate it. You hate that you care.

The next morning, you wake up in your shared apartment, the bed warm from Namjoon’s body next to you. He’s already awake, sitting on the edge of the mattress, scrolling through his phone. His broad shoulders are hunched slightly, and his bare back is a map of muscle you usually can’t resist touching. But today, you don’t.

“Morning, baby,” he says, voice low and warm, turning to look at you. His eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners. “Sleep okay?”

“Mm-hm,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze as you slip out of bed. You head to the bathroom without your usual good-morning kiss, leaving him frowning after you.

The day passes in a haze of forced normalcy. You’re polite—too polite. You answer his questions with one-word responses, keep your touches fleeting. When he tries to pull you into his lap while you’re both on the couch, you stand up, muttering something about needing to do dishes. His brow furrows, but he doesn’t push.

By evening, the tension is palpable. Namjoon’s not an idiot—he knows something’s wrong. He finds you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against the counter. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you say, slicing a carrot with surgical precision. “I’m good.”

“You’re not good,” he says, stepping closer. His voice is gentle but firm, the kind that usually makes you melt. “You’ve been quiet all day. Did I do something?”

You pause, knife hovering over the cutting board. Did I do something? The question irritates you, because he should know. But you don’t want to say it. You don’t want to be the girlfriend who gets jealous over a coworker. So you shrug, turning away. “I’m just tired.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Baby, come on. Don’t do this. If I messed up, tell me so I can fix it.”

You set the knife down, your chest tight. “There’s nothing to fix, Namjoon. I’m fine.”

But you’re not. And he knows it.

The silent treatment stretches into the next day. You cancel your usual coffee date, claiming you have errands to run. You’re distant, your texts short and clipped. Namjoon tries to reach out—sends you a meme, leaves a sticky note on the fridge that says “Miss your smile”—but you don’t budge. You’re hurt, and you’re mad at yourself for being hurt, and it’s a vicious cycle you can’t break.

By the third night, he’s had enough. You’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when he walks in, fresh from a shower. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and his damp hair clings to his forehead. He looks like a goddamn dream, and it only makes you angrier.

“Okay, enough,” he says, standing in front of you, arms crossed. His voice is low, authoritative, but there’s a plea in his eyes. “You’re shutting me out, and I don’t even know why. Talk to me, Y/N.”

You glance up, then back at your phone. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He steps closer, kneeling in front of the couch so he’s at eye level. “You haven’t kissed me in three days. You barely look at me. I’m losing my mind here. Did I do something? Is it work? Is it—”

“It’s Soojin,” you blurt out, and the words hang in the air like a storm cloud.

Namjoon blinks, caught off guard. “Soojin? From work?”

You toss your phone onto the couch, sitting up. “Yeah, Soojin. The one who can’t stop touching you and flirting with you like I’m not even there.”

His mouth parts, then closes. He looks genuinely confused, which only makes you madder. “Wait, what? She’s not—she’s just a coworker. She’s always like that, it doesn’t mean anything.”

You scoff, standing up to put distance between you. “Oh, please. ‘I’d steal you if I could’? You laughed, Namjoon. You didn’t shut her down. You just let her say it.”

He stands too, following you to the kitchen. “I didn’t think it was a big deal! I brushed it off. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“You didn’t think it was a big deal?” Your voice rises, and you hate how shaky it sounds. “She was all over you, and you didn’t even notice. Do you know how that made me feel?”

He pauses, realization dawning. His eyes soften, and he steps closer, voice dropping to that low, soothing tone that usually calms you. “Baby… are you jealous?”

Your cheeks burn. You turn away, crossing your arms. “I’m not the jealous type, okay? I’m not. But you let her touch you like you’re single, and I—”

“Hey.” He’s behind you now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hands hover over your shoulders, hesitant. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. But, Y/N… you’re giving me the silent treatment over this? I didn’t even know you could get jealous.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted. “I’m not jealous. I just… I hated it. I hated seeing her act like she could take you from me.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile, and that only makes you huff. “Don’t laugh at me, Kim Namjoon.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly, but his eyes are sparkling. He steps closer, crowding you against the counter. “I’m not laughing. I just… I kinda like this.”

You blink. “What?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I like that you’re possessive. That you care enough to hate it. You think I don’t want to know you need me?”

Your breath catches. His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his bare chest through your thin shirt, and it’s doing things to you. “Namjoon…”

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Tell me you hated it. Tell me you want me.”

You swallow, your pride warring with the heat pooling in your core. “I hated it,” you admit, voice small. “I hated how she looked at you. Like you were hers.”

He groans softly, his grip tightening. “Fuck, baby. You have no idea how hot that is.” He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’m yours. You know that, right? No one else. Just you.”

Your resolve crumbles. You grab his face and kiss him, hard and desperate, pouring all your frustration and need into it. He moans into your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt, his touch igniting your skin.

The kiss deepens, all teeth and tongue, and before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer. His hands roam your thighs, squeezing possessively, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through his sweatpants.

“Bedroom,” you gasp against his lips, but he shakes his head.

“Right here,” he growls, voice thick with want. “Need you now.”

He tugs your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him, and his mouth is on your neck, sucking and biting just hard enough to make you whimper. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your bra, and you arch into him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, unhooking your bra with practiced ease. His lips close around one nipple, tongue swirling, and you moan, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Namjoon,” you whine, grinding against him. “Need you.”

He pulls back, eyes dark with desire. “Say it again. Tell me you’re jealous. Tell me I’m yours.”

You bite your lip, stubbornness flaring one last time, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his entire world—undoes you. “You’re mine,” you say, voice shaking. “Only mine.”

“That’s right,” he breathes, yanking your shorts and panties down in one swift motion. He drops to his knees, spreading your thighs, and you barely have time to process before his mouth is on you.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, head falling back as his tongue licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your core. He’s relentless, lips and tongue working you with precision, sucking your clit until you’re trembling. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open for him, and he moans against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body.

“You taste so fucking good,” he says, voice muffled as he buries himself deeper, tongue plunging inside you. “All mine, yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper, hips bucking against his face. “Yours, Joon, please—”

He groans, doubling his efforts, and you’re a mess, hands clutching the counter as you chase your release. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you come undone, crying out his name as your orgasm crashes over you.

He doesn’t stop, licking you through the aftershocks until you’re oversensitive and tugging at his hair. He stands, lips glistening, and kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Bedroom now,” he says, voice rough, and you nod, legs shaky as he helps you down.

In the bedroom, you push him onto the bed, straddling his hips. He’s hard, straining against his sweatpants, and you tug them down, freeing his cock. It’s thick and heavy in your hand, and you stroke him slowly, watching his head tip back, a low groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, hands gripping your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smirk, feeling powerful for the first time in days. “Good,” you say, leaning down to kiss him. “You’re mine, remember?”

He grins, eyes crinkling. “Always.”

You sink down onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, and he curses under his breath, hands tightening on your hips. “So tight,” he murmurs, voice strained. “So perfect.”

You start to move, slow at first, then faster, riding him with a possessive edge that makes him moan louder. His hands roam your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, his lips whispering praises—“You’re so fucking beautiful,” “No one feels like you,” “You’re everything.”

The words fuel you, and you brace your hands on his chest, grinding harder, chasing that high. “Say it,” you demand, echoing his earlier words. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he says instantly, voice hoarse. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m all yours.”

The confession pushes you over the edge, and you come again, clenching around him as you cry out. He follows seconds later, thrusting up into you with a broken moan, spilling inside you as his hands pull you down against him.

You collapse onto his chest, both of you panting, and he wraps his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your hair. “I love you,” he whispers, voice raw. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough. You’re more than enough.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are soft, full of that quiet intensity that always makes your heart skip. “I love you too,” you say, voice small. “I just… I didn’t know I could feel like that. It’s because she said she’d steal you from me. Like I wasn’t even there.”

He exhales, pulling you closer, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Oh, baby,” he says, voice low and teasing. “You think I’d let anyone steal me?” Before you can respond, he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His weight is warm, grounding, but there’s a playful edge to his smirk that makes your pulse race again.

“Namjoon,” you say, half-laughing, half-warning. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” he echoes, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “I’m showing my jealous little girlfriend exactly who I belong to.” His hands slide up your sides, and you squirm, still sensitive from your high.

“I’m not jealous,” you protest, but it’s weak, and he knows it. His lips find your neck, sucking lightly, and you gasp, your body betraying you as you arch into him.

“Liar,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sends heat straight to your core. “You hated her hands on me, didn’t you? Admit it.”

You huff, stubbornness flaring. “Maybe I did. But you didn’t exactly stop her.”

He pulls back, eyes narrowing. “Oh, you wanna play that game?” His hands grip your thighs, spreading them as he settles between your legs. He’s already hardening again, and you can feel him against your thigh, making you clench. “You think I’d ever want anyone else when I have you like this?”

You bite your lip, trying to stay defiant. “You laughed, Joon. You let her flirt.”

He groans, half-frustrated, half-turned on. “I was being polite, baby. Trust me, I wasn’t thinking about her.” He leans down, kissing you hard, possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth until you’re breathless. “I was thinking about you. About getting you home and fucking you senseless. But you didn't let me and started giiving me silent treatment.”

You moan, unable to help it, but you still push back. “You should’ve told her to back off.”

He chuckles darkly, one hand sliding between your legs to find you still wet, sensitive. “Oh, I will next time. But right now?” His fingers circle your clit, slow and teasing, and you whimper. “Right now, I’m gonna make sure you never doubt who I want.”

“Joon,” you whine, hips bucking, but he pins you down with his other hand, his gaze intense.

“Say it,” he demands, voice rough. “Say you’re the only one I want.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you mutter, but it’s half-hearted, your body already melting under his touch. “Fine. You’re mine. I’m the only one for you.”

“Damn right,” he growls, and then he’s pushing into you again, slow and deep, making you gasp. This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. He thrusts with purpose, each movement dragging against every sensitive spot, and you’re already trembling.

“You like this, don’t you?” he says, voice low as he leans down to kiss your throat. “Knowing I’m yours. Knowing no one else gets me like this.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, but your nails dig into his back, urging him deeper. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through you. “And you’re full of me, baby.” He thrusts harder, making you cry out, and you can’t even argue because he’s right—you’re a mess for him, and he knows it.

The bickering fades into moans, your hands clutching at him as he drives you toward another climax. “Tell me again,” he says, voice strained. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” you moan, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no pride holding you back. “Fuck, Joon, you’re mine.”

He groans, thrusting deeper, and you both come undone together, your cries mixing with his as he spills into you again. You’re shaking, clinging to him, and he holds you tight, murmuring praises against your skin—“So good for me,” “My perfect girl,” “No one else, ever.”

You’re both spent, tangled in the sheets, and Namjoon’s the first to move, his touch gentle as he kisses your forehead. “Stay here,” he murmurs, disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the sound of running water, and moments later, he’s back, helping you up with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

He guides you to the bathtub, the water warm and soothing, and helps you in. He kneels beside the tub, washing your hair with careful fingers, his eyes soft. “You okay, baby?” he asks, voice low. “Was I too much?”

You shake your head, leaning into his touch. “Just right.”

He smiles, massaging shampoo into your scalp, and you close your eyes, letting the warmth relax you. “You know you’re it for me, right?” he says quietly. “No one else even comes close.”

You nod, reaching for his hand. “I know. I’m sorry I got so… weird.”

He chuckles, kissing your knuckles. “Don’t be. I like seeing you like this. Makes me feel wanted.”

You roll your eyes, splashing him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He grins, wrapping you in a fluffy towel after the bath and carrying you back to bed. He pulls you into his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. “I love you,” he whispers, and you drift off feeling completely at peace.

The next week, Namjoon’s different at work. You notice it when you drop by his studio to bring him lunch. Soojin’s there, laughing about something, but the second she reaches for his arm, he steps back, casual but deliberate. “Hey, my girlfriend’s here,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, and pulls you into his side, kissing your temple.

Soojin’s smile falters, and you feel a petty surge of satisfaction. Later, in his office, you tease him about it. “Scared I’ll go silent again?”

He pulls you onto his lap, hands sliding up your thighs. “Terrified. But if it means you’ll ride me like that again, I might risk it.”

You laugh, swatting his chest, but the kiss that follows is anything but playful.

A/n: Whoever requested this, I hope you liked the storyline. Like, comment, reblog. 💜

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

[namluvili]

No Strings, All Heat

Pairing: Bad Boy!Jimin x Cold!Reader Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, College AU Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), teasing, edging, dominance play, biting, rough sex, emotionally charged sex, jealousy, possessiveness, public sexual acts, blood, injury, strong language Rating: 18+, minors DNI Word Count: ~4k

The lecture hall reeks of stale coffee and desperation, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. You’re in the back, legs crossed, nails tapping on your laptop as the professor drones about supply and demand. Your oversized hoodie swallows your frame, hair tied back in a messy bun, eyes glued to the screen. You’re here because you have to be, not because you want to be.

Then he walks in.

Park Jimin. Campus bad boy, all tattoos and cocky smirks, leather jacket slung over one shoulder. His dark hair falls into his eyes, lips curled in a way that makes girls whisper and guys tense. Everyone notices him. You don’t. Your fingers keep typing, ignoring the shift in the air.

“Jimin, don’t bother,” someone from his circle mutters as he passes. “She’s ice. She’ll shred you.”

Jimin chuckles, low and dangerous. “Sounds like my kind of fun.”

You feel his gaze, heavy like a touch. Your fingers pause, but you don’t look up. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you tilt your head, a silent I know you’re there, and I don’t care.

He slides into a seat two rows ahead, sprawling like he owns the place. The lecture drags, but he’s watching, testing, shifting every few minutes to catch your reaction. You give him nothing. You’re a fortress, walls high, emotions locked away.

When class ends, you pack up slowly, letting the crowd clear. As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he’s there, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey, Ice Queen,” Jimin says, voice smooth, teasing. “You always this quiet, or is it just for me?”

You meet his eyes, your stare cold enough to burn. “Move.”

He grins, stepping closer, his cologne sharp and dizzying. “Nah, I like it here. You’re… interesting.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past, your shoulder grazing his chest. “Find a new hobby, Park.”

He laughs, following you into the hallway. “Think I just did.”

Jimin is relentless. For a week, he’s everywhere—cafeteria, library, outside your dorm. He’s in your peripheral vision, always with that smirk, always pushing. In the cafeteria, he leans against the counter as you grab coffee, watching like a predator. Outside your dorm, he “accidentally” bumps into you, his hand brushing your arm. In the library, he slides into the seat across from you, ignoring your glare.

“Miss me?” he asks one day, tossing a paper ball onto your notes.

You don’t look up. “Like a rash.”

“Cold.” He leans forward, voice low. “Bet I could warm you up.”

You meet his eyes, gaze sharp. “Bet you couldn’t.”

His lips twitch, something filthy in his expression. “Keep talking like that, princess, and I’ll take it as a challenge.”

You scoff, slamming your book shut and standing. “Try it. See what happens.”

He doesn’t follow, but his eyes burn into your back. You hate how your pulse races, how his voice lingers. You don’t get flustered. You don’t care. But Jimin’s not playing fair, and you’re feeling the cracks.

The next day, he’s bolder. You’re in the hallway, heading to class, when he blocks your path. Before you can snap, he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Bet you’re not as cold as you act,” he whispers, voice dripping heat. “Bet I could make you melt”

Your breath catches, but you shove it down, stepping back to glare. “Delusional.”

He grins. “Dodging.”

You push past, heart pounding, refusing to let him see the effect. But he’s relentless, and you’re wondering how long you can hold out.

Jimin’s teasing is a game, but you’re done playing defense. If he wants to push, you’ll push harder. You start small, testing his limits, watching him squirm.

You’re tucked in a corner in library, surrounded by the dusty scent of old books. Jimin slides into the seat across from you, tossing out a cocky remark. You ignore him, but when he leans forward, whispering how you’d look under him, you strike.

Your sneaker grazes the rough denim of his jeans, taut over his thigh. His words falter, eyes widening as you trail higher, brushing his inner thigh. The faint musk of his cologne hits you, sharp and heady. You don’t look at him, flipping a page, but your foot presses against the bulge in his jeans, slow and deliberate.

“What’s wrong, Park?” you murmur, voice low, rubbing circles, feeling him harden. “Cat got your tongue?”

He grips the table, jaw tight, heat radiating through the fabric. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, eyes locked on you.

You smirk, biting your lip, staring him down. “Thought you liked a challenge.” You press harder, watching his hips twitch, then pull back just as he leans into it. “Focus on your work,” you say, standing and walking away, leaving him flushed and frustrated.

You’re in the back of a crowded lecture hall, professor droning. Jimin’s a few seats away, watching you instead of the slides. You wait until the room’s focused forward, then slide closer, hand slipping under the desk.

His eyes snap to you as your fingers brush his thigh, teasing the seam of his jeans. “Don’t,” he whispers, no conviction.

You don’t listen, palm pressing his crotch, stroking slow and firm through the fabric. The cool desk under your other hand grounds you as you feel him throb, half-hard already. His hips shift, chasing your touch, faint sweat on his skin. You keep your eyes on the professor, face blank, while your hand works him, his quiet groans barely audible.

“Fuck, you’re evil,” he hisses, gripping your wrist, but he doesn’t stop you. You stroke faster, circling his tip through the fabric, watching his jaw clench. “Gonna regret this,” he mutters, voice shaky.

“Am I?” You lean in, biting his earlobe just hard enough to make him hiss, eyes locked on his. “Looks like you’re the one suffering.” His breathing’s ragged, and you pull back just as he’s on the edge, wiping your hand on your jeans.

“Pay attention,” you whisper, sliding back, leaving him panting, eyes dark with need.

You’re in the stairwell, earbuds in, when Jimin appears, yanking one out. You whirl, ready to snap, but he’s too close, backing you against the wall.

“Fuck, you’re hot when you’re pissed,” he says, eyes dark, voice rough.

You’re done. You grab his jacket, yanking him closer, smirking. “You talk too much,” you hiss, hand sliding down, palming him through his jeans. The rough fabric’s warm under your fingers, his cock hardening instantly.

His breath catches, eyes widening as you rub slow, deliberate circles. His hands grip the wall, caging you, but you’re in control. You lean in, lips brushing his ear, then sink your teeth into his lobe, making him groan. “Bet you’re dying to fuck me,” you whisper, voice filthy, stroking harder. “Too bad you’ll never get it.”

“Fuck,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, lips grazing your neck. His hips buck, desperate, moans needy. You lock eyes, daring him to break, stroking faster until he’s trembling. Just when he’s on the edge, you pull back, stepping away with a cold smile.

“See you around, Park,” you say, leaving him slumped against the wall, cursing.

You don’t look back, but you know he’s watching, stunned and hungry. The game’s changed, and you’re winning.

It’s a ritual now, a dangerous dance of filth and control. Empty classrooms, dark corners, your dorm when your roommate’s gone. You and Jimin don’t talk about it, don’t name it. It’s just sex—raw, intense, a war of teasing and torture.

The first time you fuck, it’s in an empty lecture hall, late at night. You’re arguing about his latest cocky comment—how you’re secretly obsessed with him. You snap, shoving him onto a desk, straddling his lap. His hands grip your hips, hard enough to bruise, and you bite his neck, hard, relishing his groan.

“Fuck, you’re insane,” he gasps, yanking your shirt up, lips crashing against your collarbone, the faint salt of his skin on your tongue.

You grind against him, feeling him throb through his jeans, the rough denim scraping your thighs. When you free him, he’s hard and leaking, and you sink onto him with a moan that’s half triumph, half surrender. The desks creak, his hands everywhere, your nails raking his shoulders. You tease mercilessly, slowing when he’s close, edging him until he’s begging.

“Please, fuck, let me come,” he groans, eyes locked on yours, desperate.

You smirk, biting his lower lip. “Beg harder.”

“Fuck, you’re mine,” he growls, and your chest twists, but you shove it down, riding him faster until you both come, a mess of moans and sweat. You climb off, fixing your clothes, ignoring his soft stare.

“This means nothing,” you say, voice sharp.

He doesn’t argue, but his eyes disagree.

In the cafeteria, you’re in a corner booth, hidden by a crowd. Jimin’s across from you, smirking, until your foot finds his thigh under the table. His eyes darken, but you slide closer, hand slipping under the tablecloth. You stroke him through his jeans, slow and torturous, the rough fabric warm under your fingers, while he grips his coffee cup, knuckles white.

“Stop,” he hisses, hips shifting, chasing your touch.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Look at you, hard as fuck in a crowded room. Bet everyone can see how desperate you are.”

He grits his teeth, eyes flashing. “Keep talking, princess. I’ll have you begging under this table.”

You smirk, slipping your fingers inside his jeans, stroking his bare cock, slick with precum. “Try it. I dare you.” Your thumb circles his tip, and he stifles a groan, trembling. He retaliates, hand sliding under your skirt, fingers finding your panties, rubbing your clit slow and deliberate.

“Two can play,” he murmurs, slipping a finger inside you, curling it just right, the wet heat of you making his eyes darken.

You bite your lip, stifling a moan, but stroke faster, edging him until he’s whispering curses. “Fuck, you’re gonna pay,” he growls, fingering you deeper, thumb circling your clit. You’re both a mess, fighting to stay quiet. You pull back first, wiping your hand, leaving him panting.

“Fucking tease,” he mutters, adjusting himself.

You smirk, standing but your gaze cold. “You love it.”

The boldest is during a lecture. You’re in the back row, room half-empty, professor droning. Jimin’s beside you, pretending to take notes, his hand brushing your thigh. You wait until the lights dim for a slideshow, then strike. Your hand slides under his jacket, stroking him through his sweatpants, the soft fabric warm and taut.

“Fuck Y/n don't,” he whispers, gripping his pen, eyes fixed on the screen.

You slip your fingers inside his waistband, stroking his bare cock, feeling him throb, slick with precum. His head drops, lips parted, trying to stay silent. You tease his tip, circling, watching his jaw clench, hips twitch. You lock eyes, daring him to stay quiet, edging him for the entire lecture, stopping every time he’s close.

“Please, fuck, I can’t take it,” he hisses, voice barely audible.

You lean in, biting his neck, eyes burning into his. “Good. Suffer.”

When the lecture ends, you pull back, leaving him hard and desperate, eyes dark with need. “See you later,” you say, walking out, knowing he’s cursing your name.

It comes to a head at a party. You don’t usually go, but your roommate drags you along, promising to leave you alone if you show up. You’re in the corner, sipping a drink, ignoring the chaos, when you feel Jimin’s eyes on you. He’s across the room, surrounded by girls, but his gaze is locked on you, burning with jealousy.

You don’t engage—you don’t talk, don’t flirt, just exist in your cold bubble. But when some guy approaches, offering a drink, Jimin snaps. He storms over, grabbing your wrist, pulling you into a bathroom. The door slams, and he’s on you, kissing you hard, possessive, desperate.

“What the fuck was that?” he growls, hands gripping your waist.

You shove him back, glaring. “None of your business.”

“Bullshit.” His voice is low, dangerous. “You’re mine.”

You laugh, cold and sharp. “We’re nothing, Jimin. Just fun. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His jaw clenches, eyes flashing with hurt. “Not me. Not with you. I never said that.”

Your breath catches, a traitor to your control. "I don't believe that." Your says, your hands tremble on his shoulders, the walls you’ve built cracking. You shove the feeling down, kissing him harder, but the ache lingers, sharp and unwelcome.

He steps closer, backing you against the sink, lips brushing yours. “Then why do you keep coming back?”

You don’t answer, kissing him instead, hard and angry. Clothes come off in a frenzy—your shirt ripped open, his jeans shoved down. He lifts you onto the counter, thrusting into you with a force that steals your breath. It’s messy, passionate, both fighting for control. You bite his neck, hard, and he groans, hips slamming harder, the wet heat of you driving him wild.

He edges you, pulling back every time you’re close, until you’re cursing, nails digging into his back. “Say it,” he demands, voice rough, eyes locked on yours. “Say you feel it.”

You don’t, but your body betrays you, trembling as you come, his name a broken moan. He follows, groaning, holding you close, and for a moment, it’s soft, intimate, terrifying.

After, you push him away, fixing your clothes, refusing to meet his eyes. “This changes nothing,” you say, but it’s hollow.

He grabs your hand, voice soft. “I’m not giving up on you.”

You pull away, walking out, heart racing, walls cracking.

You avoid him for days, but Jimin’s relentless. Texts, calls, showing up at your dorm, eyes pleading. You keep your distance, but it hurts, more than you’ll admit.

One night, he’s outside your building, soaked from the rain, looking broken. “I don’t want just fun,” he says, voice raw. “I want you. All of you.”

Your throat tightens, but you can’t let him in. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me,” he pleads, stepping closer. “Let me in.”

You don’t answer, but you don’t push him away. He kisses you, soft and desperate, and you let him, walls crumbling just a little.

You don’t name it, not yet. The routine changes—sex is still intense, but there’s softness now. Jimin holds your hand, kisses your forehead, stays longer than he should. You’re still cold, still sharp, but with him, you’re starting to melt.

One night, in your dorm, you’re tangled in sheets, his arms around you. He’s snuggling into your neck, breathing soft, and you’re staring at the ceiling, heart heavy. You’ve never told him why you’re like this, why you keep everyone at arm’s length. The words slip out, quiet, a confession to the dark.

“My dad left when I was ten,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

“Promised he’d come back, but he didn’t. My mom fell apart, and I had to pick up the pieces."

" Boys after that? They were all the same. There was this guy, junior year of high school. Said he loved me, spent weeks chasing me. I let him in, let him have me. The next day, he was gone—no texts, no calls, just a rumor he’d bragged about ‘scoring.’ That’s when I knew. Boys say what you want to hear, take what they want, and leave you to clean up the mess.”

Jimin stirs, eyes opening, soft and attentive. He doesn’t speak, just listens, his hand finding yours.

“So I stopped letting them in,” you continue, voice cracking. “It’s easier. If I don’t care, it doesn’t hurt when they leave. And they always leave.”

He pulls you closer, lips brushing your temple. “Not me,” he murmurs. “I’m not them. I’m staying, whether you want me to or not.”

You don’t respond, but you let him hold you, let his warmth chip away at the ice. You’re not ready to trust, not fully, but with Jimin, you’re starting to believe it might be possible.

It’s a rainy evening, and you’re walking back from the library, hood up, lost in thought. The street is quiet, the patter of rain drowning out the world. You don’t hear the car until it’s too late—a screech of tires, headlights blinding as it swerves toward you on the slick road.

Time slows. You freeze, heart pounding, but before you can react, Jimin’s there, shoving you out of the way. You stumble, falling to the wet pavement, and hear a sickening thud. You turn, and your blood runs cold.

Jimin’s on the ground, body crumpled, blood pooling beneath him, mixing with the rain. The car speeds off, leaving you alone in the dark. You crawl to him, heart in your throat, hands shaking as you grab his. “Jimin! No, no, no,” you choke, tears burning as you see his bloodied face, his eyes half-open, dazed.

He’s barely conscious, breath shallow. You fumble for your phone, calling for help, voice trembling. “Stay with me, Jimin, please,” you beg, clutching his hand, his blood slick on your fingers. “You can’t—you can’t leave me.”

His eyes flutter, focusing on you weakly. “What if I don’t come back?” he rasps, voice faint. “I want to love you more… hold you more…”

You sob, shaking your head. “No, don’t say that! You can’t leave me, Jimin, please. I love you, okay? I love you, so don’t you dare leave me! You promised, you won't leave me.” The words rip out of you, raw and desperate, the walls you’ve built shattered.

He smiles, faint but real, eyes softening. “You… said it... finally,” he whispers, and his hand squeezes yours weakly before his eyes close.

The ambulance screeches to a halt, its sirens cutting through the rain-soaked night, a jarring wail that matches the panic clawing at your chest. You’re a mess, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the rain as you kneel beside Jimin’s crumpled form. His blood pools beneath him, dark and slick, spreading across the wet pavement, staining your hands as you clutch his limp fingers.

The paramedics swarm, their voices sharp and urgent, but it’s all a blur as they lift his lifeless body onto a stretcher, his face pale, lips parted, blood matting his dark hair. You stumble after them, sobbing, your legs barely holding you up as you climb into the ambulance, grasping his hand. It’s cold, too cold, and you pray through the blur of tears, whispering his name like a mantra, begging him to stay. The monitors beep faintly, each sound a fragile thread tethering him to life, but his eyes remain closed, his chest barely rising.

At the hospital, they rip him away from you, rushing him into surgery through sterile white doors that slam shut in your face. You’re left in the waiting room, alone, pacing the cold marble floor, heart pounding so hard it hurts. His blood clings to your hands, dried and cracked, a grim reminder you can’t wash away—not yet.

The clock ticks mercilessly, each second stretching into eternity. Hours bleed into days, and the doctors’ updates are vague, their faces grim. “Critical condition,” they say. “Internal bleeding. We’re doing everything we can.” You nod, numb, your throat raw from crying, your body exhausted but unable to rest. You sit by the waiting room’s plastic chairs, staring at the floor, replaying the moment he pushed you out of the car’s path, his body taking the hit meant for you.

Three days pass in a haze of coffee and dread. You barely eat, barely sleep, haunting the hospital like a ghost. On the fourth day, they let you in. Jimin’s in the ICU, pale as the sheets, hooked to monitors and tubes, the steady beep of his heart the only reassurance he’s still here.

You collapse into the chair beside him, exhausted, your hand finding his, careful not to disturb the IV lines. His face is bruised, a cut stitched above his brow, and he’s so still it terrifies you. You fall asleep with your head on his bed, tears soaking the sheets, his hand limp in yours.

On the fifth day, his fingers twitch, brushing your hair. You stir, heart lurching as your eyes meet his. He’s awake, barely, his gaze cloudy but warm, a weak smile curving his lips. Your heart cracks open, tears spilling as you squeeze his hand, afraid to let go. “You’re here,” you choke out, voice breaking. “You’re still here.”

He tries to speak, voice a raspy whisper. “Told you… I won't leave you alone.” His smile fades, eyes fluttering, and you panic, gripping his hand tighter, your heart pounding as the monitors beep steadily, a fragile promise that he’s fighting to stay.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, tears spilling as you kiss his hand, his knuckles, his forehead, soft and reverent. “You scared me, you idiot.”

He chuckles, wincing slightly. “Had to make you say it,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I love you, too. Always have.”

You freeze, the words sinking in. Your throat tightens, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean closer, kissing his forehead again, then his lips, soft and tentative. “I was so scared,” you admit, voice breaking. “I thought I’d lose you before I could… before I could let you in.”

He reaches for your hand, weak but steady. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”

You laugh through tears, squeezing his hand. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

In the weeks following Jimin’s recovery, you slip back into your routine, but it’s different now, infused with a warmth you can’t ignore. The teasing remains—electric, charged, a game of control you both relish.

In your dorm, late at night, you straddle his lap, grinding slow, deliberate, feeling him harden beneath you. His hands grip your hips, but there’s a softness in his touch, a reverence that wasn’t there before. When he leans in, lips brushing your neck, teeth grazing that sensitive spot just below your ear, he whispers, “Mine,” voice low and possessive. You don’t push him away. Instead, you tilt your head, letting him mark you, a soft hum escaping your lips as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. The confession you made in the hospital lingers between you, unspoken but ever-present, softening your edges.

After, when you’re tangled in sheets, sweat-slick and breathless, his fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare back—swirls and loops that feel like a promise. Once, you would’ve snapped at him to go, to keep the distance you clung to like armor. Now, you let him linger, your body relaxing under his touch, your heart no longer fighting the warmth.

You turn to face him, catching the way he watches you, eyes soft and hopeful, like he’s waiting for you to let him in completely. You meet his gaze, holding it, no longer hiding behind your cold facade. “Stay,” you murmur, the word slipping out before you can stop it, raw and vulnerable. His smile is small, but it lights up his face, and he pulls you closer, lips brushing your forehead.

You’re still guarded, still the girl who built walls to keep the world out, but Jimin’s relentless heat is melting them, and for the first time, you lean into it, letting yourself feel the love you’ve confessed, unafraid of what it might mean.

A/N: Thanks for diving into Y/N and Jimin’s fiery, emotional ride! Hope it left you breathless and craving more.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

[namluvili]

Blue + Red makes Purple. | KNJ ONE SHOT

Just a simple art session with Namjoon, until you get to into it. Blue and Red makes purple right? He’s about to show you.

MDNI!! 18+

word count: no idea i’m to tired..

pairing: f!reader x !namjoon

warnings: smut, sexual use of paint, reader and namjoon make their own painting;) we kinda just go into the smut right away, sorry ;), passionate sex, unsafe sex (pls wrap it). namjoon worships reader like a goddess, not really a warning but still..sloppy sex, degrading, praising, everything. shitty grammar too, to lazy to edit.

enjoy!!

You and Namjoon have these weekly art sessions, you make your own portraits, and you guys have been working on this project for weeks, but what you didn’t know that he was making a portrait of *you*.

You meet up at the daily place you meet at, his apartment of course, and knowing him, of course he has his own art room. All white, paint all over.

You make your way into his apartment while he greets you, shirtless? You aren’t used to this, let alone ever saw how his figure looked..so tall, broad shoulders..long arms-

Ignore it. You are here for painting, that’s it.

“Welcome back Y/N. you know, today is the day we show our projects. I can’t wait to see what yours is.” he says

“Ah yes! I forgot about that already, sorry” you reply, making your way into the art room.

Once you get in, it’s all covered in white, like he just redid it. You look around, while he appears behind you.

“I got rid of all the paint, because i wanna do something big today” He says while turning to the big buckets of red and blue paint.

“You know how blue and red makes purple right? I wanna make it in a different way.” he says.

“Joon? what is this about-“ and boom. he crashes his lips against yours. So slow, so passionate..

You kiss him back, him towering over you, making you back up into the art room.

He tugs at your shirt, “Off.” he moans into your lips, not even giving you time to react to what’s going on.

You take your shirt off, and toss it to the side, same with your pants. just being left in your underwear and bra.

He goes over to the blue bucket and picks it up, and makes his way back over to you.

“This is gonna be cold, i’m gonna pour it over you. Are you ready, Y/N?”

You nod, feeling the cold paint slowly take over your body, shivering at the touch.

He grabs you by your chin, tilts it, and kisses you again. This time, more aggression. His hands start roaming, smothering the paint, making a mess all over the place.

He pulls back and looks at you. “Your so fucking beautiful, i could have paint all over you all day.” He goes over to the red bucket of paint, slowly takes off his pants, picks up the bucket, and pours it on himself.

Coming back over to you, he says “I wanna make this a BIG portrait. I wanna make it personal, something me and you will never regret.”

“Are you sure you really wanna do this? It’s gonna make a mess everywhere joon.” you reply back, dragging your finger over his red abs. seeing a tint of purple in the making.

He doesn’t reply, he just goes on top of you, meaning yes. He collides his body with yours, starting to make the color purple, while kissing you all over.

He makes his way onto your neck, marking you up, also making you moan. He tugs at your bra, making you arch your back so he can take it off.

He stares at your untouched tits, not marked with paint yet. He takes his red hands, and drags them over your nipples. Making you whimper.

“So fucking beautiful.” He whispers, his mouth making its way down to the left red nipple. Teasing it with his tongue and starting to suck.

“Joon.. oh god this feels so fucking good.” You whimper, only getting a chuckle in the response.

Not so long after, his hands find their way to your panties, slowly taking them off. He slowly looks down and says, “God, you’re so fucking wet for me. I can’t wait to make that pussy mine.” As he takes his fingers and makes circles around your clit.

Arching your back off of the floor, he catches your lips in a kiss. Slowly pumping his fingers in and out of your now tinted purple pussy.

“Joon.. I can’t take it.. i need you to fuck me.. please.”

“As you wish.” he replies as he slips off his underwear. And oh my god, he was fucking huge. You weren’t sure if you were gonna make it.

“Don’t worry baby, i’ll make sure you take it like the good slut you are for me. Right?” You gulp.

He slowly positioned himself at your entrance, slowly inserting inch by inch. You wince at the stretch.

Once you both adjusted to the feeling, he starts thrusting at a nice pace.

“Fuck. You’re so tight and wet, i could be inside of you for hours. I could never get tired of this pussy.” He groans, making you even more wetter.

———-After a nice pace, he starts going faster, and even rougher.

Your moaning his name, paint all over the place, the purple color starting to make its way around the room. Pulling at your own hair, nails across his back, starting to make his hair even purple.

“Fuck.. Joon i’m so fucking close.. I can’t make it much longer..”

“Don’t worry baby, i’ll make sure you drag it out. I wanna make you ride this orgasm out.”

He starts going even faster, and eventually his fingers find their way to your clit to rub circles.

“Joon-fuck-“ he cuts you off by covering your mouth.

“Not yet baby, I wanna make this last a little longer, you can hold out for me, right princess? You’re doing so well for me. I know you can hold out.”

Tears start to flow the corners of your eyes, slowly making there way down. You’re screaming into his hand, starting to even grind yourself against him, just to finish yourself off.

“Such a good girl, you’re being so pathetic for me. Grinding yourself against me, just to feel some release baby.. that’s okay.. you can cum now.”

And that snaps the wire inside of you. You cum so hard around him, squirting a bit. You feel him starting to get to his own edge, trying to keep yourself with energy to help him finish.

“Oh god, i’m gonna-“ and there it is. He came inside of you even.

Both of you are panting, covered in dry purple paint.

“I guess purple has a new way of getting created i guess” you chuckle.

“yeah, i’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” he replies.

“So.. about those portraits..does that even count now?”

“No, this was my portrait all along. Seeing you covered in paint, with the smell of sex.”

You giggle, laying your head on his chest, slowly falling asleep.

“No no baby, we have to get washed up. then we can sleep and relax. maybe even go for part 2, that’s if you agree, of course.”

“I definitely wasn’t expecting sex during this session, but i don’t think i’ll ever wanna change the way we do ‘art’.” you say, making your way to the bathroom.

————————————————————————

a/n: i got this inspiration from a song, called pink bubblegum. i just had to write this!! i hope you enjoyed this little drabble from my dirty mind ;)

[namluvili]

Diary of Desire and Love

Pairing: Demon!Jimin x Terminally-ill!Reader Genre: Supernatural Romance | Smut | Emotional Angst | Healing Fantasy Warnings: 18+ explicit content, terminal illness themes, emotional intensity, smut (slow and sensual, later desperate/dominant), supernatural elements, power exchange, mild blood imagery, themes of sacrifice. All interactions are consensual. Word Count: ~4k Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, Minors DNI)

Centuries ago, Jimin was no ordinary demon. A favored lieutenant in the demon realm, he served under a tyrannical lord who ruled through fear. Jimin’s silver tongue and cunning earned him favor, but his heart—rare for a demon—yearned for freedom. When he defied his lord to spare a mortal village, he was cursed: stripped of his rank, bound to the mortal plane, and forbidden from returning unless he surrendered his soul. Wandering in exile, Jimin buried his emotions, surviving on chaos until a faint hum of magic drew him to a forgotten bookstore.

The bookstore was an old, forgotten place, tucked between towering city buildings that hummed with noise. Its faded sign creaked in the wind, and the windows were cloudy with grime. Inside, the air smelled of musty paper and worn wood. Jimin, a demon with silver hair and sharp eyes, felt a strange pull as he stepped through the door. His heavy boots thudded on the creaky floor as he moved toward a narrow staircase leading to the basement.

The basement was like a dusty tomb, filled with shadows and the faint scent of old ink. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and shelves sagged under piles of forgotten books. Jimin’s heart, usually cold after centuries of wandering, stirred as he sensed a faint magic—a warm, pulsing energy unlike anything demonic. It drew him to a small, worn leather diary on a cluttered shelf. The diary’s cover was cracked, its edges frayed, but it glowed softly, like moonlight trapped under the surface. When his fingers brushed the leather, a gentle hum ran through him, alive with a longing so pure it felt human—a soul teetering on the brink of fading.

He picked it up, the pages warm under his touch, as if they held a heartbeat. The magic wasn’t dark or cruel; it was soft, desperate, tied to someone clinging to life. Behind the counter, an old shopkeeper with milky, clouded eyes watched him. Her voice was raspy as she spoke. “That belonged to a girl,” she said. “Young, frail thing. Left it here months ago. Too weak to come back for it, poor soul.”

Jimin opened it, and the words burned into him:

“March 12th: I want to dance in the rain until I’m breathless, not because my lungs fail me, but because I’m alive.” “April 3rd: I want to be kissed like I’m the only thing that matters. I want hands on my skin, gentle but desperate, like they’re afraid I’ll vanish.” “June 19th: I want to know what it’s like to be loved so fiercely it burns. To be touched like I’m fragile, but wanted like I’m eternal.” “July 10th: I want to watch the sunrise from a hill, wrapped in a blanket, feeling warm and safe.” “August 5th: I want to bake cookies and laugh when they burn, not caring because I’m happy.”

Your entries spilled across the pages—a wishlist of a life stolen by illness. You wrote of a disease that robbed your breath and strength, leaving you to dream of love and simple joys. Jimin, who’d spent centuries untouched by human emotion, felt his chest tighten. Demons didn’t love. But your words, imbued with a magic born of your fading soul, were rewriting his existence.

Jimin couldn’t stop reading. Each entry was a dagger—your hope, your pain, your longing for intimacy. He saw you in his mind: fragile, yet burning with quiet fire. For the first time, he wanted something other than chaos. He wanted you.

Using the diary’s magical trace, he followed it to a small apartment. There you were, curled under a blanket by a window, your face pale but your eyes alive with dreams. You were beautiful, like a star burning before it died—brilliant, fleeting, eternal.

He watched you for days, invisible, learning your habits: the way you hummed old songs, the way you traced your wrist, counting your pulse. Once, you defied your weakness, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make tea, your hands trembling but jaw set with stubborn resolve. That spark of defiance captivated him.

But he wasn’t alone. A faint shadow lingered at the edge of his vision—a demonic emissary, sent to monitor him. The demon realm hadn’t forgotten his betrayal, and his interest in a human was dangerous. Jimin ignored the warning, his obsession growing. Demons didn’t feel this. But you were unraveling him.

You dreamed of him first. A man with ember-like eyes, lips curved in a promise, his voice curling around your name like smoke. “What do you want most?” he whispered, fingers ghosting over your cheek. You woke gasping, only to find him in your armchair, real and impossible.

His silver hair caught the moonlight, his black shirt unbuttoned to reveal sharp collarbones. He was beautiful, dangerous, and looking at you like you were his salvation.

“Who are you?” you whispered, clutching your blanket.

“Jimin,” he said, his voice low, melodic. “I found your diary. I know what you want. And I can give it to you.”

You should’ve been afraid, but you were tired—tired of pain, of waiting to die. “Why me?”

He leaned closer, his breath warm. “Your words made me feel something I shouldn’t. Let me fulfil your wishes.”

“If you’re real,” you said, voice steady, “prove it. Give me one wish.”

Jimin smiled, a spark of admiration in his eyes. “Name it.”

“Dance with me,” you said, quoting March 12th. “In the rain.”

Jimin became your shadow, his presence a flame warming your fading world. He didn’t just heal you—he brought your diary to life, fulfilling your wishes with precision that made your heart ache.

That stormy evening, he appeared with a mischievous smile, holding an umbrella he discarded. “March 12th,” he said. “Dancing in the rain.” You hesitated, lungs weak, but his hand was steady, pulling you outside. Rain soaked your sweater, but Jimin’s arms guided you into a clumsy spin. You laughed—breathless from joy, not sickness. He twirled you, his laughter blending with yours, until you collapsed against him, soaked and alive. “You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, brushing wet hair from your eyes.

Another morning, he woke you before dawn, a blanket draped over his arm. “July 10th. Sunrise on a hill.” He carried you in his arms to a grassy overlook, your body still frail. Wrapped in the blanket, you sat against his chest, his warmth seeping into you as the sky bloomed pink and gold. His chin rested on your shoulder. “Safe, just like I wanted.” You leaned into him, tears pricking your eyes, feeling the world open up.

Then came the cookies. He insisted on baking, flour dusting his silver hair. The kitchen was a mess—burnt sugar filled the air. When the cookies charred, you giggled, tossing one at him. He caught it, grinning. “We’re terrible at this,” he said, smearing flour on your nose. You laughed, lighter than ever.

Each day, your strength grew. The pain faded, your breaths steadied. Jimin’s demonic essence seeped into your bones, but it was his care—his devotion to your words—that made you feel alive. He fed you fruits, his fingers brushing your lips; he massaged your muscles, his touch lingering. The air hummed with tension, his eyes darkening.

But the shadows grew closer. At night, Jimin’s gaze darted to the windows, sensing the emissary’s presence. The demon realm was watching, their whispers of his crime—meddling with a human—growing louder. He never told you, but you noticed his tension, your stubborn resolve hardening. You wouldn’t let him face this alone.

One night, as he brushed your hair, he paused. “There are other wishes,” he said, quoting April 3rd and June 19th. “Kisses. Touches. Do you want those, too?”

Your breath hitched. “I’m not ready,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I’ve never…”

He tilted your chin up, eyes soft but intense. “When you are, I’ll give you everything. Exactly as you dreamed.” His lips hovered near yours, then pulled back, leaving you trembling with unspoken desire.

It was the few weeks later, when you finally accepted that you were ready. The bath was Jimin’s idea, a fulfillment of your diary’s deepest wishes. Candles flickered, casting golden shadows across the tiled walls, the air thick with lavender and steam. You sat on the tub’s edge, your thin nightgown clinging to your thighs, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Jimin stood before you, his black shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone and the smooth expanse of his chest. His silver hair glinted in the candlelight, and his eyes—dark, reverent, yet burning with hunger—held you captive.

“You wrote about being touched,” he said, his voice low and velvet, quoting your June 19th entry. “Like you’re fragile, but wanted like you’re eternal. You’ve never felt that, have you?”

You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “No. I didn’t think I’d live long enough.”

He knelt before you, his hands resting warmly on your knees through the thin fabric, grounding you. “Can I show you? Exactly as you wrote?”

Your nod was shy but certain, a quiet surrender to the longing you’d carried for so long. He rose, his fingers finding the hem of your nightgown, lifting it slowly, reverently, as if unveiling something sacred. The fabric slid over your skin, cool air kissing your bare body, and you shivered, vulnerable yet unafraid. His gaze traced you—every curve, every scar etched by your illness, every mark of your survival—and he whispered, “You’re perfect. More beautiful than any dream.”

He guided you into the warm water, the heat enveloping you like an embrace. He settled behind you, his chest pressed flush against your back, his strong legs framing yours, his warmth seeping into your bones. The water lapped gently at your skin, and his arms encircled you, one hand resting on your waist, the other brushing along your arm. “Fragile,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, “but so wanted.” His voice was a caress, each word sinking into you, igniting a slow burn.

His hands began their worship, slow and deliberate, tracing the lines of your shoulders with featherlight touches that made your breath catch. His fingers glided down the dip of your spine, mapping every vertebra as if committing you to memory. He lingered at the curve of your waist, his touch reverent yet possessive, and you felt the heat pooling low in your belly. “Every inch of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, “is mine to cherish.”

You gasped as his hands slid lower, skimming the soft curve of your stomach, then dipping to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His fingers teased, brushing close to your core but not yet touching, building an ache that made you shift against him. “Jimin,” you whimpered, your head falling back against his shoulder, your body arching instinctively into his touch. His chest vibrated with a low hum, a sound of approval, as his lips pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your jaw.

“Like you’re the only thing that matters,” he said, quoting your April 3rd entry, his voice thick with emotion. His lips trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, each kiss a promise, a vow. His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moaned, the sound raw and unguarded. His left hand slid upward, cupping your breast, his thumb circling your nipple with agonizing slowness, coaxing it to a taut peak. The sensation shot straight to your core, and you pressed your thighs together, seeking relief.

His right hand finally found you, fingers parting your folds with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his tightening grip. He circled your clit with slow, deliberate strokes, the pressure just enough to make you tremble but not enough to tip you over the edge. “Feel this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your earlobe. “Feel how much I want you.” His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and you clenched, desperate for more. He obliged, slipping one finger inside, then two, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he wove with every touch, every kiss. His mouth found the pulse point at your throat, sucking gently, and you felt the scrape of his teeth—a hint of his demonic nature that sent a thrill through you. “Jimin,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built, a tide threatening to drown you. He didn’t rush, drawing out every sensation, his fingers moving in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

When you shattered, it was like the world unraveled. Your climax crashed through you, your body trembling, your cries echoing in the steamy air. Tears spilled down your cheeks, not from pain but from the overwhelming intensity of being seen, wanted, loved. Jimin held you through it, his arms a sanctuary, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple. “Eternal,” he whispered, his voice raw with devotion. “You’re eternal to me.”

You turned in his arms, water sloshing gently, and captured his lips in a kiss. It was slow, deep, tasting of salt and desire, your tongues sliding together in a dance as intimate as his touch. Your hands roamed his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle, and you felt his heart racing beneath your palm. “You gave me my dreams,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with gratitude.

“Not all of them,” he said, a smile curving his mouth, his eyes glowing softly. “Not yet.”

Your strength returned, your body no longer a cage. You laughed, danced, lived—but Jimin was fading. His skin paled, his movements slowed, his eyes dimming. You caught him slumped against the wall, breath shallow, a faint glow pulsing under his skin.

“Jimin, what’s happening?” you asked, kneeling beside him, voice trembling.

He smiled weakly. “I gave you my essence. A piece of my soul to heal you. It’s forbidden… and I think it’s killing me.”

Tears burned your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? You can’t die for me.”

He cupped your face. “Your heart was dying, but mine started beating for the first time. I read your pain, your dreams… I couldn’t let you fade. I betrayed my kind once, and I’d do it again for you.”

You sobbed. “I love you. I can’t lose you. There has to be another way.”

He hesitated. “There is. I could make you a hybrid—half-human, half-demon. Your soul would bind with mine, and we’d survive. But it’s dangerous. You’d lose part of your humanity—feel my darkness, my hunger. I’m afraid it’ll change you.”

“No, Either let me die or let's live together” you said, fierce. “I want you. Whatever it takes.”

He shook his head. “It’s not just power. It’s the demon realm’s wrath. They’re coming for me—for us. Binding a human is a crime.”

You froze, remembering the shadows you’d glimpsed. “They’re already here, aren’t they?”

He nodded, eyes tormented. “I’d rather fade than let them take you.”

You leaned closer, tears mingling. “Let me choose. Don’t leave me alone.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you like an anchor. “I’ll fight for us,” he whispered. “But not yet.”

You refused to let him fade. That night, you pushed him onto the bed, your hands tearing at his shirt with a desperation born of love and fear. The fabric ripped under your fingers, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, the faint scars of his demonic past. You straddled him, your thighs bracketing his hips, and pinned his wrists above his head, your grip fierce despite your trembling hands. “Take from me,” you begged, your voice raw, cracking with urgency. “Make me a hybrid. I want to be with you, forever.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, glowing with a demonic fire that flickered between red and amber, his chest heaving beneath you. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice rough, almost a growl. “Becoming a hybrid… it’s binding our souls, letting my darkness into you. You’ll feel my hunger, my rage. You could lose yourself.”

“I won’t,” you said, leaning down until your lips were a breath from his, your eyes locked on his. “I love you. I’m choosing this—choosing us. Take everything it takes, Jimin. Make me yours.”

The words shattered his restraint. With a primal sound, he surged upward, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion, his body pinning yours to the mattress. His mouth crashed into yours, a kiss of teeth and hunger, all tongue and heat, tasting of desperation and devotion. You moaned into it, your hands tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer as his lips devoured yours, bruising, claiming. “You’re mine,” he growled against your mouth, the words vibrating through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than anything you’d ever known.

His hands moved with purpose, tearing your clothes away with a ferocity that left you bare beneath him, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave marks, as he pressed himself against you, his arousal evident through the thin fabric of his pants. You arched up, grinding against him, and he hissed, his eyes flaring red. “Careful,” he warned, voice low and dangerous, “or I won’t hold back.”

“Don’t,” you gasped, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing him. “Take it. Make me a hybrid. Bind us.”

He kicked off his pants, and you caught a glimpse of him—hard, thick, and ready—before he settled between your thighs, his weight grounding you. His lips found your throat, kissing and sucking, leaving a trail of heat as he moved lower, his tongue circling your nipple before drawing it into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching, as his teeth grazed the sensitive peak, the pleasure sharp and electric. His hand slid between your legs, finding find you, fingers teasing your entrance, slick with your arousal. “Feel this,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Feel how much I need you.”

He entered you in one deep thrust, filling you completely, the stretch intense and overwhelming. You screamed, your nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks as you urged him deeper. His pace was relentless, each thrust a claim, a ritual, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that drove you to the edge of sanity. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that he lapped at gently, the pain blending with ecstasy. “I need you,” he rasped, his eyes glowing red, his demonic nature surfacing. “Your soul, your love—give it to me.”

Magic flared, a pulse of energy that seemed to radiate from where you were joined, his essence pulling from your climax, your humanity. You felt it—his darkness seeping into you, twisting with your light, a burning heat that spread through your veins. Your body trembled, senses sharpening—his scent, rich and musky, filled your lungs; the room’s colors grew vivid, almost blinding; a primal hunger stirred deep within you, mirroring his. The hybrid bond was forming, disorienting yet euphoric, like waking from a dream. His thrusts grew desperate, his hands clutching your hips, fingers bruising as he pulled you closer, deeper. “Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking, raw with fear and love.

You reached between you, stroking yourself in time with his movements, pushing yourself toward the edge. His eyes locked on yours, glowing with an intensity that stole your breath, and you felt the bond tighten, your souls entwining. You came together, a collision of power and love, your cries echoing as the room pulsed with energy. Your climax was shattering, a wave of pleasure and magic that left you trembling, your body glowing faintly as the bond snapped into place. You felt stronger, alive in a way you’d never known, but still you—your heart human, your body humming with demonic energy. Jimin collapsed against you, trembling, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on the mark he’d left on your shoulder.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice raw with relief, his arms wrapping around you. “And I’m yours.”

The bond changed you both. You were a hybrid—senses sharp, body thrumming with energy, yet your heart fiercely human. Jimin was whole, but the demon realm knew his crime. The emissary had summoned a horde, their wrath imminent.

You stood on a cliff overlooking the sea, wind whipping your hair, the horizon dark with shadows. Jimin’s hand was steady in yours. “I’ll face them,” he said. “For you, I’d burn the world.”

“No,” you said, stepping beside him, your new power humming. “We fight together. I’m not fragile anymore.”

He looked at you, pride and love in his gaze. “Together.”

The demons came—shadows with burning eyes, their voices a cacophony of rage. Their leader, a towering figure with Jimin’s old lord’s sigil, sneered. “You betrayed us once, and now you defile our kind with her.”

Jimin’s flames curled around him, black and fierce. Your hybrid energy flared, light and dark entwined. You fought as one, his movements fluid, yours fierce. When a demon lunged for you, Jimin’s flames incinerated it; when another pinned him, your strength tore it apart. The bond was your shield, your love your weapon.

The battle was brutal, but you were unstoppable. As the last demon fell, the air stilled, the sea calming. You turned to Jimin, blood and ash on your skin, and he pulled you into a kiss—deep, desperate, alive.

“We did it,” you whispered.

He smiled, eyes glowing. “We’re unstoppable now.”

You didn’t return to the city. You found a cottage by the sea, a place to build a life. The diary lay on a wooden table, its magic—born of your soul’s longing—still glowing, now filled with new entries:

“Jan 10th, 2025: We danced on the beach, barefoot in the sand, his laugh brighter than the sun. He kissed me under the stars, and I felt infinite.” “Feb 3rd, 2025: We baked cookies—still burnt, still perfect. He smeared flour on my nose and called me his eternity.” “April 20th, 2025: I’m not afraid anymore. With him, I’m whole—human, demon, everything.”

You sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, Jimin’s arms around you as the sun dipped below the horizon. His lips brushed your temple, his warmth a reminder of your bond. “Happy?” he asked.

“More than I dreamed,” you said, kissing him. The kiss was slow, sweet, tasting of salt and love.

He pulled back, eyes glowing with demon fire and human warmth. “You’re my forever,” he said, quoting your diary. “Fragile, but eternal.”

You laughed, snuggling closer. “And you’re mine.”

Inside, the diary glowed, its magic alive with your story. Outside, the sea sang, and you knew—no matter what came, you’d face it together.

A/N: Why does my head keep coming up with these wild ideas? If you like this, do let me know in comments, reblog. 💜

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93

[namluvili]

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Doctor!Jin × Wife!Reader Genre: Domestic Smut, Humor, Fluff, Soft Dom/Sub dynamic Tone: Wholesome husband chaos × bedroom wreckage Tags: teasing wife, doctor kink, shirt-only seduction, oral focus, possessiveness, soft aftercare Word Count: ~3k words Rating: Explicit (18+)

The clock ticks past 8 p.m., and you’re sprawled on the couch in your shared apartment, one leg dangling over the armrest, boredom sinking into your bones like a stubborn fever. Jin’s been at the hospital since dawn, pulling a double shift because some intern called in sick. You get it—saving lives is his thing—but the absence of your husband’s chaotic energy leaves the apartment too quiet, too still. You miss him. His terrible dad jokes, the way he hums off-key while cooking, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping his world spinning.

And, okay, maybe you miss other things too. Like the way his hands feel on your skin, or the low, teasing timbre of his voice when he’s got you pinned beneath him, whispering things that make your thighs clench.

You grab your phone, a mischievous spark igniting in your chest. If Jin’s stuck playing hero at the hospital, you’ll just have to bring some chaos to him. You open your chat and hit record, letting your voice drop into a dramatic, serious tone.

“Hey, Dr. Kim,” you purr, “I’m experiencing some concerning symptoms. Feeling dizzy, heart racing, severe lack of husband vitamin. I’m worried it’s critical. Call me back ASAP.”

You send it off, grinning to yourself. A minute later, you fire off a text for good measure:

You: Also, my lips are stupidly glossy right now. No husband to taste them. Pretty sure I’m allergic to this neglect. Send help.

You can almost picture him—standing in the hospital corridor, pristine white coat hugging his broad shoulders, trying to stay professional while his phone buzzes with your nonsense. He’s probably rolling his eyes, but you know that little smirk is creeping onto his face. The one he saves for you when you’re being a brat.

Your phone pings. A voice note from Jin. You hit play, and his deep, steady voice fills the room, laced with that authoritative doctor tone that always makes your stomach flip.

“This is Dr. Kim,” he says, all business, but you can hear the amusement simmering beneath. “Based on your symptoms, I’m prescribing immediate tongue-based therapy, followed by a deep tissue massage. Side effects may include shaking legs, ruined sheets, and excessive moaning. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. Prepare the patient.”

Your laughter spills out, loud and unfiltered, but the heat pooling low in your belly tells you his words hit exactly where he intended. Twenty minutes. You glance at yourself in the nearby mirror—hair a little messy, wearing one of Jin’s oversized T-shirts and nothing else. Not good enough. If you’re going to play the teasing patient, you’re going all in.

You dart to the bedroom, rifling through his side of the closet until you find it: one of his crisp white work shirts, the kind he wears under his coat at the hospital. It smells faintly of his cologne—clean, warm, him. You slip it on, leaving it unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of your breasts, the hem skimming your thighs. You grab your favorite lip gloss, slicking it on until your lips shimmer in the low light. Then, because you know it’ll wreck him, you snap a mirror selfie: one hand tugging the shirt collar, the other sliding a finger across your glossy lips, the shirt slipping off one shoulder to reveal bare skin.

You: Patient is ready, Dr. Kim. Symptoms worsening. [Image attached]

You hit send and wait, heart pounding with giddy anticipation. Your phone vibrates almost immediately—a text, not a call. He’s probably in a break room, trying not to lose it.

Jin: You’re trying to kill me in the middle of a shift. That shirt? My shirt? You’re in so much trouble.

You bite your lip, typing back:

You: Trouble? I’m just following doctor’s orders. Hurry up, I’m fading fast.

His response is a single emoji: 😈. You know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

By the time you hear the front door click open, you’ve set the scene. The bedroom lights are dim, casting soft shadows across the bed. You’re perched on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, Jin’s white shirt barely holding itself together on your frame. The top two buttons are undone, just enough to tease the swell of your chest, and the hem rides high on your thighs, leaving little to the imagination. Your lips still gleam with gloss, and you’ve tousled your hair just enough to look effortlessly wrecked.

Jin’s footsteps are heavy, purposeful, as he makes his way through the apartment. You hear his keys hit the counter, the rustle of his coat coming off, and then his voice, low and laced with mock exasperation.

“Where’s my patient? I’ve got a very serious case to handle.”

You call out, voice dripping with mischief. “In here, Dr. Kim. Condition’s critical.”

He appears in the doorway, and for a moment, he just stops. His broad frame fills the space, still in his navy slacks and a light blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms. His dark hair is slightly mussed from the long day, but his eyes—those sharp, warm eyes—lock onto you like you’re the only thing in the room. His lips part, and you see the exact moment his composure cracks.

“I said prepare the patient,” he says, voice rougher than before, “not seduce the damn doctor.”

You tilt your head, smirking, letting one leg uncross and slide open just enough to draw his gaze. “Same thing, Dr. Kim.”

He crosses the room in three strides, tossing his phone onto the nightstand without breaking eye contact. His gaze rakes over you—your bare legs, the way his shirt clings to your curves, the glossy shine of your lips. He stops just in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but he doesn’t touch you yet. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, leaning down slightly so his face is level with yours.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says, voice low, almost accusatory. His fingers brush the collar, grazing your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Technically,” you reply, leaning back on your hands, letting the shirt slip open a little more, “I’m under it too.”

His eyes darken, and before you can tease him again, he’s on you. One hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up as his lips crash into yours, hard and hungry. The kiss is all heat and possession, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting the gloss you’d so carefully applied. You moan softly against him, and he growls into the kiss, his other hand sliding up your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“You,” he murmurs between kisses, “are a menace.” His lips trail to your jaw, then down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Sending me selfies like that while I’m trying to save lives.”

You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “You loved it.”

“I did,” he admits, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing across your glossy lips. “But now you’re going to pay for it.”

He lifts you effortlessly, hands under your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist, the shirt riding up as he presses you back onto the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing the open edge of the shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your stomach.

“I’m going to ruin you in my shirt,” he says, voice a low promise, and the way he looks at you—like you’re his entire world—makes your breath catch.

Jin’s still half-dressed, his dress shirt slightly wrinkled from your earlier tugging, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes him seem utterly in control. He sits back on his heels, knees bracketing your hips, and runs his hands down your sides, fingers catching on the fabric of his shirt.

“Let’s start the exam,” he says, slipping fully into his doctor persona, his tone playful but laced with enough heat to make your toes curl. “First, we’ll check your pulse.”

He takes your wrist, pressing two fingers to the delicate skin, but instead of counting, he brings your wrist to his lips, kissing the pulse point softly, then dragging his tongue across it. Your breath hitches, and he smirks, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Pulse is elevated,” he murmurs, releasing your wrist only to lean down, his lips brushing yours. “Probably because you’ve been a very naughty patient.”

You grin, reaching for his shirt buttons, but he catches your hands, pinning them above your head with one hand. “Uh-uh,” he says, voice firm. “Doctor’s in control, sweetheart.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and you squirm beneath him, testing his grip. He tightens it slightly, just enough to remind you who’s in charge, and leans down to kiss you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His free hand trails down your chest, fingers skimming the open shirt, teasing but not quite touching where you want him most.

“Tasting the gloss,” he says, his lips moving to your jaw, then lower, kissing a slow, deliberate path down your neck, across your collarbone, and down to the swell of your breasts. “For science, of course.”

You laugh, but it turns into a moan as his tongue flicks across your skin, warm and deliberate. He pushes the shirt open further, exposing you completely, and the way his eyes darken makes your thighs clench. He doesn’t rush, though—Jin never does when he’s like this. He takes his time, kissing and licking his way down your body, pausing to suck lightly at the sensitive skin just above your hip.

“Patient’s responsive,” he murmurs, as if dictating to an invisible chart. His fingers trace your inner thigh, featherlight, and he smirks when you shiver. “Let’s make some notes.”

He presses a finger to your thigh, “writing” invisible words with slow, deliberate strokes. “Patient… excessively… wet,” he says, his voice dropping lower with each word. “May need… oral… remedy.”

Before you can respond, he’s shifting lower, settling between your legs, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. The first brush of his tongue against you is slow, teasing, and you gasp, fingers clutching the sheets. Jin moans softly, the sound vibrating against you, and it’s clear he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

“God,” he groans, pulling back just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening. “You taste better than anything I’ve had today.”

He dives back in, relentless now, his tongue moving in ways that make your vision blur. He’s thorough, alternating between slow, languid licks and quick, precise flicks, his hands keeping your hips pinned so you can’t escape the onslaught of pleasure. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, and he hums in approval, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge.

“Jin,” you gasp, trying to move, but he tightens his grip, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Stay still,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Doctor’s orders.”

You try to take over, reaching for him, but he catches your wrists again, pinning them to the bed. “Not yet,” he says, his smirk wicked. “I’m not done with you.”

He returns to his task, and it’s too much—the heat of his mouth, the way his fingers dig into your hips, the possessiveness in every move. Your orgasm hits hard, waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you cry out his name, back arching off the bed. Jin doesn’t stop, drawing it out until you’re trembling, oversensitive, begging him to slow down.

He finally pulls back, kissing his way up your body, his lips soft and gentle now. “Good patient,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But we’re not done.”

He shifts, undoing his belt with one hand, his movements deliberate and unhurried. You’re still catching your breath, but the sight of him—shirt slightly open, pants sliding down, his eyes burning with want—has you ready for more. He leans down, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips, and the intimacy of it makes your heart stutter.

“Your body belongs to me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice gentle but possessive. “All mine. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he smiles, soft and devastating.

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, his eyes never leaving yours. The stretch is perfect, and you moan softly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He starts moving, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, hitting every spot that makes you see stars.

“This,” he says, voice low and filthy, “is the only kind of patient care I believe in.”

His pace quickens, and the room fills with the sounds of your shared pleasure—his low groans, your gasps, the creak of the bed. He’s still in his shirt, and you’re still in his, the fabric tangled between you, a physical reminder of the game you’re playing. He grips your hips, angling you just right, and you cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he drives you both toward release.

When it comes, it’s simultaneous, a shared wave of ecstasy that leaves you both trembling, clinging to each other. Jin collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.

You’re sprawled across Jin’s chest, his white shirt now fully unbuttoned, hanging loosely on your frame. Your legs are tangled with his, the sheets a mess beneath you, and the room smells faintly of sweat and sex. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek, a comforting rhythm as you both catch your breath, flushed and glowing.

His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, following the curve of your spine through the open shirt. “I should quit my job,” he murmurs jokingly, his voice soft and sleepy. “Your lips are the only emergencies I want to handle.”

You giggle, nuzzling into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him. “I’d cause a new one every day.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, and tugs a blanket over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. “I’d prescribe myself to you full-time,” he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Doctor’s orders.”

His hand slides down to rest on your thigh, fingers brushing the hem of the shirt, and it feels like a soft little claim, a reminder that you’re his, even in this quiet, tender moment. You shift slightly, looking up at him, and his eyes are half-closed, a contented smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not just my favorite patient,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, like he’s sharing a secret. “You’re my entire prescription for happiness.”

Your heart swells, and you lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet, pouring every ounce of love you feel into it. He kisses you back, lazy and unhurried, his hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something precious.

As you pull away, you notice his breathing has evened out, his hand still resting on your thigh, the shirt tangled between your bodies. He’s fallen asleep first, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted, and you can’t help but smile. You settle back against him, closing your eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the soft rhythm of his breath lull you into sleep.

The shirt stays on, a quiet promise of more teasing, more love, more him to come.

A/n: How's this sweet little chaotic Jin oneshot? Do let me know in comment. Reblog if you like it. 💜

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @bebabido

[namluvili]

Long Distance Cravings

Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Reader Genre: Smut, Idol AU, Established Relationship Warnings: Explicit content, phone sex, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial, masturbation, 18+ only Word Count: ~2k Summary: Namjoon’s been on world tour for months, and the distance is killing you. Your body aches for him, but he’s made one thing clear: no touching without his permission. When a late-night phone call catches you desperate and needy, Namjoon decides to remind you who’s in charge.

The phone buzzes on your nightstand, pulling you out of a restless haze. It’s 2 a.m., but sleep’s been a stranger lately—not with Namjoon halfway across the globe, his world tour stretching on for months. Your body’s been a traitor, aching for him in ways that keep you up, thighs pressed together under the sheets. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips. Joonie.

You fumble to answer, voice thick with sleep and something else—need. “Hey, baby.”

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” His voice is low, a rumble that sends a shiver down your spine even through the phone. You can hear the smirk in it, the way he knows exactly what’s got you so wired.

You shift under the covers, the cotton of his stolen T-shirt brushing against your sensitive skin. “Miss you,” you murmur, and it’s not just sweet talk. Your pussy’s been throbbing for days, a dull ache that no amount of distraction can soothe. He warned you before he left: no touching without my permission. And you’ve been good—mostly.

“Miss you too, baby girl,” he says, softer now, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s testing the waters. “What’s got you up so late? You sound… tense.”

You bite your lip, heat pooling between your thighs. You could lie, but Namjoon’s got a sixth sense for your bullshit. “Just… thinking about you,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been too long, Joon.”

There’s a pause, and you can almost see him—sprawled in some hotel room, shirtless, maybe, his dimpled smile turning sharp. “Thinking about me how?” he asks, and oh, he’s definitely onto you now.

Your breath catches. “I… I need you,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “It’s bad, Joon. I can’t stop thinking about your hands, your mouth… your cock.” The last word comes out desperate, and you press your thighs together, trying to ease the ache.

He chuckles, dark and dangerous. “Oh, baby, you’re in trouble, aren’t you? Been keeping those pretty hands off like I told you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, but it’s half-hearted. You’ve been teetering on the edge, fingers itching to slip under your panties, but you’ve held out. Barely.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His voice drops, all command now, the idol charisma bleeding into something possessive. “You know what happens when you disobey.”

Your heart races, arousal spiking at the warning. “I’ve been good,” you insist, but it sounds like a plea. “I swear, I haven’t touched. But it’s… it’s so hard, Joon. I need you so bad.”

He hums, considering, and you can picture him leaning back, one hand dragging through his hair. “Poor baby,” he coos, mockingly sweet. “Your pussy’s aching for me, isn’t it? Bet you’re soaking through those little panties right now.”

You whimper, because he’s right. You’re drenched, the fabric clinging to your folds, and every word he says makes it worse. “Namjoon, please,” you beg. “Let me touch. Just a little.”

“Not yet,” he says, firm. “You don’t get to decide, baby girl. That’s mine to control, even from here.” His voice softens, but it’s no less commanding. “Put the phone on speaker and lay back. I want to hear every sound you make.”

You obey, hands trembling as you set the phone beside you and settle against the pillows. The air feels heavier now, charged with anticipation. “Okay,” you whisper. “It’s on.”

“Good girl.” The praise sends a jolt through you, and you clench around nothing, desperate for friction. “Now, tell me exactly what you’re feeling. Don’t hold back.”

You swallow, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m… wet,” you admit, voice shaky. “So wet it’s embarrassing. My clit’s throbbing, and I keep imagining your fingers there, or your tongue. I can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel inside me, stretching me out.”

“Fuck,” he groans, and the sound of him shifting—maybe adjusting himself—makes your mouth water. “You’re killing me, baby. But you don’t get to touch until I say. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, the honorific slipping out naturally. It’s what he likes when he’s in this mood, and you’re too far gone to care about pride.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect when you’re like this,” he murmurs. “All needy and obedient for me. You wanna know what I’d do if I was there?”

You nod, then remember he can’t see. “Tell me. Please.”

“I’d pin you down,” he starts, voice rough with want. “Spread those pretty thighs wide and tease you until you’re crying for it. Lick that sweet pussy so slow you’d be begging me to let you come. But I wouldn’t—not until I’ve got you shaking, not until you’re so desperate you can’t think straight.”

You moan, hips bucking involuntarily, and he catches it. “Y/N,” he warns, sharp. “Don’t you dare move. You stay still, or I’ll make you wait another week.”

“I’m trying,” you whine, gripping the sheets to keep your hands from wandering. “It’s so hard, Joon. I need something.”

“I know, baby,” he soothes, but there’s a wicked edge to it. “You’re gonna be good for me, though. You’re gonna wait until I say. Now, spread your legs wider. Imagine me there, watching you fall apart without a single touch.”

You do as he says, legs trembling as you spread them, the cool air hitting your soaked core. It’s torture, the kind that makes your whole body hum with want. “Joon, I can’t—please, let me touch.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you think you’ve pushed too far. Then, finally: “Alright, baby girl. One finger. Just one. Circle your clit, nice and slow.”

You nearly sob with relief, hand diving under your panties. Your finger finds your clit, slick and swollen, and you start circling, slow like he said. The pleasure’s so sharp it’s almost too much, and you whimper his name.

“That’s it,” he growls, and you hear the faint sound of a zipper, then a low groan. He’s touching himself too, and the thought makes you dizzy. “Fuck, Y/N, you sound so pretty. Keep going, but don’t speed up. Let it build.”

You obey, even though it’s agony to keep the pace slow. Your body’s screaming for more, but his voice anchors you, keeps you tethered to his control. “Namjoon,” you gasp, “I’m so close already.”

“Not yet,” he says, and you can hear the strain in his voice, like he’s fighting his own urges. “You come when I say, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you choke out, finger still circling, your hips twitching. “But it’s not enough. I need you, Joon. Need your cock, need you to fill me up.”

“Shit,” he hisses, and there’s a slick sound on his end, his hand moving faster. “You’re gonna get it, baby. When I’m back, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days. Gonna make that tight little pussy mine again.”

His words push you closer, your finger trembling as you fight to please him. “Please, sir,” you beg, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Stop,” he commands, and you cry out, ripping your hand away. Your body’s screaming, clit pulsing with need, but you obey, because it’s him. “Good girl,” he says, softer now. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You’re panting, chest heaving, and he’s breathing hard too. “Joon,” you whisper, “are you…?”

“Yeah,” he admits, voice rough. “Got my hand wrapped around my cock, thinking about you. You’re driving me fucking crazy, Y/N.”

The image sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and you clench around nothing, desperate. “Let me come,” you plead. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

He groans, long and low, and you know he’s close too. “Alright, baby,” he says finally. “Two fingers, inside. Fuck yourself for me, but don’t touch your clit until I say.”

You scramble to obey, pushing two fingers into your dripping core. The stretch is nowhere near enough, but it’s something, and you moan his name as you start to move. “Feels so good,” you gasp, “but it’s not you.”

“Fuck, I know,” he growls. “Just keep going. Imagine it’s me, filling you up, hitting that spot you love.”

You do, curling your fingers just right, and it’s almost too much. “Namjoon, please,” you beg again. “Need to come.”

“Touch your clit,” he says, voice wrecked. “Fast, baby. Come for me.”

Your thumb finds your clit, and it takes three quick circles before you’re shattering, a broken moan spilling out as your orgasm crashes through you. You hear him groan, a string of curses, and then his own release, the sound of his pleasure pushing you even higher.

For a moment, it’s just panting, the two of you catching your breath across continents. Then he laughs, soft and warm. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smile, sated but still aching for the real thing. “Come home soon, Joon.”

“Two more weeks,” he promises, voice tender now. “Then you’re mine.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this steamy little piece! Reblog/like if you want more Namjoon content, and let me know your thoughts in the comments! 🖤

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap

[namluvili]

No Subtitles in Bed

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader x Kim Namjoon Genre: Erotica, Polyamory, Language Kink, Possessive Love, Voyeurism, Slow-Burn Tension, Soft Dominance, Jealousy, Dirty Talk, Fluff Word Count: ~5k Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, Minors DNI) Warnings: Explicit sexual content (threesome, oral sex, penetrative sex, double penetration setup, possessive behavior), language barrier, jealousy, light marking, voyeurism, dirty talk, alcohol mention, shower sex, unprotected sex, intense emotional dynamics. Please read responsibly! Summary: Stranded in Seoul due to a visa crisis, you, a freelance photographer, enter a marriage of convenience with Jeon Jungkook, a gorgeous but guarded music producer who barely speaks English. Your survival-level Korean and his broken English create a tantalizing language barrier, sparking tension in and out of bed. Enter Kim Namjoon, Jungkook’s charming, fluent friend, whose translations ignite a wildfire of desire, turning him from observer to equal partner in a steamy, possessive triad. A/n: If you don't like the idea of multiple partners, poly au, polyamory relationships then DNI. I have already mentioned in warnings and Genre.

The Seoul summer was relentless, humidity clinging to your skin as you stood outside the government office, a marriage certificate trembling in your hands. Jeon Jungkook, your unexpected husband, stood beside you, his dark eyes flicking from the paper to your face. His jaw was tight, lips pressed thin, but his hand hovered near your waist, a silent claim.

You’d come to Seoul a year ago, chasing a freelance photography gig after a messy breakup back home. South Korea’s vibrant chaos had been a fresh start—until your work visa renewal hit a snag. A friend’s desperate pitch—“Jungkook’s solid, he’ll marry you to keep you here”—and your own reckless impulse led to this moment. You barely knew him. A few coffee shop meetups, his shy smiles, and broken English weren’t enough to prepare you for this. Marriage.

Jungkook was unfairly gorgeous—black hair falling into his eyes, a brow piercing catching the sunlight, tattoos peeking from his sleeve. “Good?” he asked, voice low, accented. His English was halting, your Korean worse—annyeonghaseyo, kamsahamnida, menu items.

“Yeah, good,” you whispered, heart pounding. You’d hesitated at the desk, pen hovering, imagining your ex’s smug face if you got deported. This was survival, not romance. Right?

Jungkook muttered—“aish”—frustration clear. He grabbed your hand, firm but gentle, pulling you toward his car. “Where?” you asked, stumbling after him.

“House,” he said, then something in Korean. You didn’t understand, but his intense gaze made your stomach flip. You nodded, choosing to trust him, asserting your own resolve to make this work.

Jungkook’s apartment was sleek—dark wood, minimalist, scented with his woody cologne. You stood in the living room, clutching your camera bag, as he handed you a bottle of soju. “Drink,” he said, clinking his bottle against yours. “Good for… nervous.”

You laughed, tension easing. “Yeah, I’m nervous.” You took a swig, the burn grounding you. Silence fell, heavy with unspoken questions. How do you live with someone you can’t fully talk to? Share a bed?

One afternoon, you tried communicating. You pointed at a kimchi jar, attempting, “Kimchi… jotayo?” (I like kimchi). Jungkook grinned, correcting gently, “Joahe.” His smile was disarming, but when you mispronounced “saranghae” (I love you) during a playful language lesson, his eyes darkened, and he stepped closer.

“Yeppeo,” he murmured—pretty—his gaze lingering on your sundress. You blushed, feeling the heat of his attention. “Thanks,” you said, then boldly touched his arm, testing the waters. His breath hitched, and he kissed you, hungry, hands sliding to your waist. You felt his arousal through his jeans, moaning softly.

He growled in Korean, hands under your dress. “Wait,” you panted, pulling back. “What did you say?”

Frustrated, he tried, “You… mine. Want to… fuck.” The bluntness burned, his accent making it filthier. You wanted him, but the language gap was maddening. “We need help,” you said, asserting control. “Someone to translate.”

Jungkook groaned, grabbing his phone.

“Namjoon,” he said. “He... help.”

Kim Namjoon arrived the next morning, all dimples and broad shoulders, a leather notebook in hand. His English was flawless, his voice deep, and when he shook your hand, his thumb lingered. “Jungkook says communication’s tough,” he said, settling on the couch. Jungkook sat beside you, thigh pressed to yours, hand possessive on your knee.

“It’s everything,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “Talking, living together… intimacy.” You glanced at Jungkook, who watched you intently. “I want to understand him. Especially in bed.”

Namjoon’s eyes twinkled. “In bed too?” Jungkook muttered, grip tightening. Namjoon chuckled. “He’s frustrated because he can’t tell you how much he wants you. He’s passionate but stuck.”

“Tell him I want him too,” you said softly, leaning into Jungkook. “But I need to know what he’s feeling.”

Namjoon translated, and Jungkook smirked, whispering in your ear. Namjoon said, “He says your body will understand his, even without words.” Your thighs clenched.

That evening, Namjoon stayed for dinner, translating Jungkook’s stories about his music producer job. You shared your photography passion, showing them a photo of Seoul’s neon streets. Namjoon’s praise—“You capture the city’s pulse”—felt intimate, and Jungkook’s hand tightened on your thigh.

Later, Jungkook pulled you onto his lap, kissing your neck. Namjoon watched, his gaze heavy. “Tell me,” you gasped as Jungkook’s hands roamed.

“He loves how you taste,” Namjoon said, voice husky. “Wants to mark you as his.” Jungkook’s teeth grazed your collarbone. You moaned, noticing Namjoon’s arousal through his jeans. His desire amplified yours, and Jungkook’s smirk suggested he noticed too.

The first bedroom translation was chaotic and searing, with you taking the lead to set the pace.

You straddled Jungkook on the bed, his shirt off, muscles flexing as you kissed down his chest. His Korean murmurs drove you wild, but you needed clarity. You guided his hands to your breasts, showing him what you wanted, your confidence growing. “Namjoon,” you panted, “what’s he saying?”

Namjoon sat by the bed, gripping the armrest, hand on his thigh. “He wants to worship you,” he said, voice strained. “Says your skin’s so soft, he’s losing his mind.”

Jungkook tugged your panties down, growling. Namjoon translated, “Your pussy’s so pretty, he could stare forever.” You whimpered as Jungkook’s fingers teased your clit, slow and deliberate. Namjoon’s breathing hitched, his hand slipping inside his pants, stroking himself.

“Tell him to taste me,” you said, bold. Namjoon translated, and Jungkook’s eyes flashed, his tongue flicking your clit. You moaned, guiding his head, reveling in control. Namjoon’s voice was rough: “He wants to ruin you, feel you come on his tongue.”

You came, vision blurring, Jungkook’s fingers curling inside you. Namjoon groaned, stroking faster, his sounds mingling with yours. Jungkook kissed you, lips slick. “Mine,” he said, then in Korean. Namjoon translated, “You’re his. Only his.”

But Namjoon’s hungry and disagreed gaze lingered, hinting at more.

Weeks blurred with sex and translation. Namjoon was there nightly, his presence electric. Jungkook fucked you possessively, leaving faint marks, while Namjoon’s voice wove through, translating every filthy word. Namjoon often touched himself watching, his arousal heightening yours, and Jungkook’s harder thrusts showed he also enjoyed the dynamic.

One afternoon, alone with Namjoon practicing Korean, tension shifted. Jungkook was at the studio. “Say ‘bogoshipo’,” Namjoon said. “I miss you.”

You said it, and his eyes softened. “Good. Soon you won’t need me.” His voice was wistful.

“I’ll always need you,” you teased, but his gaze sharpened, brushing hair behind your ear. “Don’t say that,” he murmured, thumb grazing your cheek. You froze, body responding.

The door opened. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, seeing Namjoon’s hand. He snapped in Korean. Namjoon replied calmly, but Jungkook pulled you to him. “Mine,” he said, kissing you hard. Namjoon translated, “You belong to him. I need to stop touching.”

“It’s not what you think,” you said, touching Jungkook’s chest. “I want you both… but we need to talk.” Your insistence on clarity showed your growing agency.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. Namjoon’s eyes were unreadable. Jungkook spoke, and Namjoon translated, “He wants me to translate tonight. And… touch you. But he’s scared.”

You reached for Jungkook’s hand. “I’m yours. Both of yours, if you want that.”

That night redefined boundaries, a wildfire of trust and desire.

Jungkook had you on your hands and knees, his cock buried deep in your pussy, each thrust deliberate, stretching you deliciously. His hands gripped your hips, leaving faint marks. He spoke in Korean, voice raw. You sobbed, overwhelmed, sheets fisted.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, “what’s he saying?”

Namjoon knelt in front, shirt unbuttoned, stroking his thick cock. “He wants to fuck you until you’re his forever,” he said, voice hoarse. “He’s jealous of how much you need me.”

Jungkook slowed, pulling you against his chest, hands cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples. “Touch her,” he said in English, accent heavy. You nodded, desperate. Namjoon’s fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles, the dual sensation dizzying.

Jungkook’s thrusts deepened, Namjoon’s fingers matched his rhythm. Jungkook growled, and Namjoon translated, “He wants to ruin you while I make you scream.”

You were close, trembling. Namjoon’s hand grazed your throat, thumb on your pulse. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, unprompted. “I’m falling for you.”

The confession pushed you over. You came, walls pulsing around Jungkook, screaming. Jungkook groaned, guiding you to the bed’s edge. “Take her,” he said to Namjoon, a challenge. “She’s ours.”

Namjoon hesitated, then kissed you softly, grabbing lube. Jungkook spread your thighs, still inside you. Namjoon’s fingers prepared you, sliding into your rim, stretching gently. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

Jungkook thrust slowly, Namjoon entered your ass, the fullness intense but thrilling. They moved in tandem, Jungkook’s deep thrusts alternating with Namjoon’s careful ones. You sobbed, caught between them, every nerve alight. Namjoon’s hand returned to your clit, and Jungkook growled, “Ours.”

You came again, convulsing, their names echoing. Jungkook spilled inside you, then Namjoon, their releases hot. They held you, Jungkook’s arms tight, Namjoon’s hand in your hair.

“Saranghae,” Jungkook murmured. Namjoon translated, “We love you, in every language.”

Morning light filtered through the curtains. Jungkook kissed your forehead, Namjoon’s voice soft. “He’s sorry if he scared you,” Namjoon murmured. “But not sorry for sharing you.”

You laughed, content. “What now?”

They exchanged glances. Namjoon spoke, “We want you with us. Both of us.”

That evening, over soju and samgyeopsal, you discussed the triad. “I love you both,” you admitted, heart racing. “But I’m scared. What if I hurt one of you?”

Jungkook squeezed your hand. Namjoon translated, “He says we’ll fight, but we’ll fix it. You’re worth it.”

Namjoon added, “I was loyal to Jungkook, but I love you too. We’ll make it work.” His vulnerability—admitting his fear of overstepping—deepened your trust.

A month later, you signed a second marriage license, a private ceremony for three. Namjoon’s hand shook, but his smile was radiant. You exchanged simple bands, a silent vow.

Life with Jungkook and Namjoon was a vibrant dance of heat and tenderness, each moment weaving you closer. Your Korean had improved enough to catch Jungkook’s playful “Yeppeo” when you wore his oversized shirt, or Namjoon’s flirty “Bogoshipo” when you returned from a photography gig. The language barrier was no longer a wall but a bridge, crossed with laughter and lingering touches.

One humid evening, Seoul’s skyline glittering from a rooftop date, the air crackled with desire. Jungkook’s possessiveness flared when a stranger’s gaze lingered on you at the bar. He pulled you against the rooftop railing, his hands firm on your hips, lips grazing your ear. “Nae yeoja,” he growled—my girl—his cock hard through his jeans as he pressed into you. Namjoon stood close, his broad frame shielding you from view, his fingers brushing your arm, eyes dark with intent.

“Mine,” Jungkook said in English, then glanced at Namjoon, smirking. “Ours.” Namjoon’s lips curved, and he leaned in, whispering, “Let’s show her.”

Back at the apartment, the tension erupted in the cramped shower, steam fogging the glass walls, hot water cascading over your skin. Jungkook grabbed you up, your legs wrapping around his torso, his back pinned against the cool tiles, his inked chest glistening, droplets clinging to his tattoos. His fingers teased your folds, slow and deliberate, grazing your clit until you whimpered, nails digging into his biceps, leaving faint crescent marks. Then Namjoon stood behind, his taller frame pressed close, lips brushing your shoulder, his cock hard against your lower back.

“Fuck, Namjoon... Jungkook,” you gasped, head tipping back. Jungkook’s smirk was wicked, his fingers circling your clit. He murmured in Korean, voice low and guttural, vibrating against your throat as he kissed the sensitive skin there.

Namjoon’s hands joined Jungkook’s, one sliding to your breast, thumb flicking your nipple, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “He says you’re so wet, he can feel you dripping for both of us,” Namjoon translated, voice rough with arousal. “That he wants to take you apart.”

You moaned, hips bucking, desperate for more. “I want you both,” you panted, bold, reaching back to graze Namjoon’s cock, then forward to stroke Jungkook’s through the water’s slickness. Their groans mingled, Jungkook’s possessive, Namjoon’s hungry.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed, and he nodded at Namjoon, a silent agreement. “Tell him I want to please you both,” you said, voice steady despite the heat. Namjoon translated, and Jungkook’s gaze darkened, his fingers slowing to let Namjoon take the lead.

Namjoon turned you gently, your back now against Jungkook’s chest, his hands steady on your hips. Namjoon’s lips claimed yours, his kiss deep and slow, tongue teasing yours as he lined himself up, his cock nudging your entrance. “Breathe,” he murmured, pushing in slowly, stretching you with a delicious burn. You gasped, clinging to his shoulders, Jungkook’s lips on your neck, sucking a faint mark.

“So tight,” Namjoon groaned, his thrusts careful but deep, filling you completely. Jungkook’s hands roamed, one pinching your nipple, the other sliding to your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with Namjoon’s rhythm. The dual sensation—Namjoon’s cock, Jungkook’s fingers—sent sparks through you, your moans echoing off the tiles.

“Switch,” Jungkook growled, his voice raw. Namjoon slowed, kissing you softly before pulling out, leaving you aching. Jungkook spun you to face him, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist, the water making your skin slick. He thrust into your pussy, hard and deep, his cock hitting that perfect spot. You cried out, nails scratching his back, Namjoon’s hands now on your ass, spreading you wider for Jungkook.

“Yeppeo,” Jungkook murmured something in korean, eyes locked on yours. Namjoon translated, his breath hot against your ear, “He says you’re so pretty, taking us like this.”

You wanted more, wanted them both. “Let me please you,” you said, bold, sinking to your knees despite the cramped space, water splashing around you. You took Jungkook’s cock in your mouth first, savoring his low groan, your tongue swirling around the tip. Namjoon’s hand tangled in your hair, guiding you gently as you switched, taking Namjoon’s thicker length, your lips stretching around him. His moan was deep, hips twitching as you sucked, Jungkook stroking himself beside you, eyes burning.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Namjoon panted, voice strained. Jungkook growled in Korean, and Namjoon translated, “He says he loves watching you take us both.” He continued. "And me too."

You alternated, pleasing them one by one, your hands stroking whoever wasn’t in your mouth, the water amplifying every sound—your moans, their groans, the wet slide of skin. Jungkook’s thighs tensed, his hand tightening in your hair as he came, his release hot on your tongue. You swallowed, then focused on Namjoon, sucking harder until he spilled, his cum mixing with the water, his fingers digging into your shoulder.

They pulled you up, laughter soft as they steadied you, the shower’s heat making you dizzy. Jungkook kissed you, tasting himself, while Namjoon’s lips found your temple, his touch gentle. “Saranghae,” Jungkook murmured, and Namjoon echoed, “We love you.”

They cleaned you up, Jungkook’s hands gentle with the soap, gliding over your skin with reverent care, his fingers tracing the marks he’d left, a soft smile breaking through his usual intensity. Namjoon’s teasing came as he rinsed your hair, his long fingers massaging your scalp, murmuring, “You’re glowing, you know,” his voice warm with affection. They took turns drying you, Jungkook wrapping you in a fluffy towel, patting your skin with deliberate tenderness, while Namjoon knelt to dry your legs, stealing playful kisses on your knees that made you giggle. Wrapped in towels, they guided you to bed, Jungkook tucking you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, Namjoon sliding in behind, his arm draping over your waist, fingers interlacing with Jungkook’s. Their warmth chased away the night’s chill, their soft whispers of “saranghae” lulling you, already dreaming of the next time.

Winter blanketed Seoul, the apartment warm with coffee and cinnamon. You woke tangled in sheets, Jungkook’s arm heavy across your waist, Namjoon’s breath on your neck. The bed was chaos—pillows scattered, a sock on the headboard—but it was home.

Jungkook stirred, nuzzling you. “Joheun achim,” he mumbled—good morning. You smiled, understanding. Namjoon chuckled, adding something that Jungkook didn't even say. “He says you’re too pretty for 7 a.m.,” he teased.

“Liar,” you laughed, swatting Namjoon. He kissed your knuckles, eyes soft. Jungkook pulled you closer, grumbling, “Nae yeoja”—my girl—then tugged Namjoon into the pile. “Uri yeoja”—our girl.

You giggled, squished between them. “Ridiculous,” you said, heart swelling. Namjoon traced your hip. “But Yours,” he said, flirty. Jungkook nipped your earlobe, possessive. “And you are Ours.”

You made pancakes, Jungkook stealing batter, Namjoon sighing while reading book. When Jungkook pouted, you fed him a piece, syrup on his lips. “Naneun neoreul saranghae” you said, the word easy now.

They echoed it, and you knew this—messy, heated, tender—was forever. A year later, you planned a trip to Jeju, a photo series capturing their love. Seoul’s streets still judged, but in your shared bed, no translation was needed.

A/n: This wild idea sparked when I stumbled upon a post and I couldn’t shake the plot from my mind. Not sure if it landed perfectly, but I had a blast writing this shit! 😈🤪

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog

[namluvili]

Private Play Terms

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x Corporate Lawyer!Reader Genre: BDSM AU, Enemies to Lovers, Power Play, Office AU Tone: Tense, seductive, flirty, emotionally slow-burn, fluff Themes: First-time kink, trust building, contract-based D/s, slow seduction, reluctant desire → obsession Warnings: Consensual BDSM, Dom!Jungkook, Brat-tamer dynamic, Desk sex, Orgasm control, Dirty talk, Aftercare Word Count: ~7k

Jeon Industries’ glass tower dominates Seoul’s skyline, a symbol of power you now navigate. You stride through its lobby, heels clicking on marble, briefcase in hand. Hired to oversee a high-profile merger, you’re a force—sharp, meticulous, unbreakable. But no one warned you about him.

Jeon Jungkook, the 30-year-old CEO, is a storm in a tailored suit. Dark hair swept back, inked forearms peeking from rolled sleeves, and a smirk that could unravel a saint. In the boardroom, his eyes linger on your pencil skirt before meeting your gaze, his handshake deliberate, thumb grazing your knuckles.

“Welcome, Counselor,” he says, voice a smoky drawl. “I hear you’re the best at sealing deals.”

You tilt your chin. “I don’t just seal them, Mr. Jeon. I make them unbreakable.”

His lips twitch, the air crackling. “Good. I like a woman who can bind things.”

The merger is brutal—late nights, endless drafts, and Jungkook’s relentless presence. He’s infuriatingly charismatic, leaning too close over documents, his breath tickling your ear as he purrs, “Careful, Counselor. Your arguments make me want to confess sins not fit for boardrooms.” You scoff, but the heat in your core betrays you.

One night, at 2 a.m., you uncover a redacted clause in a merger appendix: Private Play Terms. It’s personal, unrelated to the deal. Curiosity overrides exhaustion, and you confront Jungkook the next evening in his corner office.

The city glitters beyond the windows, but inside, tension hums. Jungkook lounges in his leather chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos that make your mouth dry. You toss the document onto his desk.

“Explain this, Mr. Jeon.”

He glances at it, then at you, lips curling into a dangerous smile. “That wasn’t meant for your eyes. But since you’re curious…” He leans forward, voice a velvet growl. “I’ll walk you through it. Hands-on, if you’d like.”

Your pulse spikes. “This is inappropriate.”

“Is it?” He stands, rounding the desk, his cologne—sandalwood and sin—fogging your senses. “You brought it up. Tell me you’re not intrigued.”

You should leave. But his gaze pins you, and the thrill of his challenge sparks something reckless. “Fine,” you say, voice steady despite trembling hands. “Explain.”

Jungkook reveals the Private Play Terms was a consensual BDSM mentorship agreement with a former partners, outlining boundaries, safe words, and trust. It’s precise, almost legalistic, but the implications are raw, electric. He’s used these contracts before—purely for pleasure, no strings attached—but there’s something about you that feels different. You see it in his eyes, though he doesn’t say it.

“You’re intrigued,” he says, reading you. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m… processing,” you snap, crossing your arms. “This is a lot.”

He steps closer, voice softening. “I’m offering a trial. One session, strictly professional. No romance, just exploration. You set the terms. You can walk away.”

Your mind screams no. This crosses every line. But your body hums with his voice, his proximity, the idea of surrendering control. You’ve always been in charge—now, letting go feels intoxicating.

“Why me?” you ask, searching his face.

“Because you’re brilliant. Fierce. You don’t back down.” His eyes darken. “You draft clauses to protect. I write them to own. We’re not so different.”

You swallow hard. “One session. I draft the contract.”

His grin is victorious. “Deal.”

You craft a meticulous agreement: boundaries, safe words (red to stop, yellow to slow), and an exit clause. You sign it in his office, hands shaking as he countersigns.

“Ready?” he asks, voice a low rumble.

You nod, heart pounding. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.”

The first session begins after hours, the office silent except for Seoul’s distant hum. Jungkook locks the door, dims the lights, and pulls a silk blindfold from his desk. Your breath catches as he steps behind you, fingers brushing your shoulders as he ties it gently, the fabric cool against your skin.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice a lifeline in the darkness. “You say the word, and we stop.”

You nod, the blindfold amplifying every sound, every sensation. His footsteps circle you, deliberate and slow. “Kneel,” he commands, and the authority in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You hesitate, pride warring with desire, then lower yourself to the plush carpet, knees sinking in, skirt riding up your thighs.

“Good girl,” he says, and the praise ignites a molten spark in your core. He steps closer, his presence looming. “I was going to have you read your merger draft,” he says, amusement in his voice. “But with that blindfold, let’s try something else. Recite the key terms. You know them by heart, don’t you?”

Your mouth goes dry, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Then start,” he says, his hand grazing your jaw, tilting your chin up, thumb brushing your lower lip with a featherlight touch that makes you tremble. “And don’t stop, no matter what I do.”

You take a shaky breath and begin, voice quivering as you recite the merger’s core clauses—asset transfers, liability splits, timelines. Jungkook’s hands roam, slow and deliberate, tracing your collarbone with the pads of his fingers, skimming the edge of your blouse. Each touch is calculated, teasing, unraveling you. His fingers dip beneath the fabric, grazing the swell of your breast, and you falter, voice catching.

“Focus,” he says, voice firm, his thumb circling your nipple through your bra, sending a jolt of heat to your core. “Or I’ll make this harder.”

You try, but his touch is relentless. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips briefly before trailing to your thighs, parting them slightly. His fingers brush the edge of your panties, the fabric already damp, and you gasp, the merger terms slipping from your mind. He pauses, leaving you aching, your body screaming for more.

“Start again,” he orders, voice low and wicked, his breath hot against your ear as he kneels behind you. “From the top.”

You whimper but obey, restarting the recitation, voice shakier now. His hands resume their torture, sliding beneath your skirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He hooks a finger under your panties, pulling them aside, and the cool air against your slick folds makes you clench. He doesn’t touch you where you need it most, instead circling just close enough to drive you mad. Your voice breaks as you stumble through the clauses, each word a battle against the pleasure building inside you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “So wet for me, and I’ve barely started. Keep going, sweetheart.”

You push through, thighs trembling, core throbbing. His fingers finally brush your clit, a slow, deliberate stroke that makes you arch, a moan escaping before you bite it back. He chuckles, dark and approving, and rewards you with another stroke, then another, each one precise, building you toward the edge but never letting you fall. Your recitation becomes a desperate chant, each clause punctuated by his touch—fingers circling, teasing, denying.

When you finish the final clause, your voice is a breathless gasp, body taut with need. “Perfect,” he says, voice reverent. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them against your sensitive spot, and you cry out, hips bucking against his hand. His thumb presses your clit, and you’re so close, so desperate, but he pulls back, leaving you empty and aching.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “You haven’t earned it.”

He removes the blindfold, and the sudden light makes you blink. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s a softness there, grounding you. He kneels before you, brushing damp hair from your face. “You were incredible,” he whispers. “You’re made for this.”

You’re dazed, body screaming for release, craving more. He helps you stand, steadying your wobbly legs, and presses a glass of water to your lips. “Drink,” he says, watching with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. His aftercare is deliberate, hands gentle as he checks in, ensuring you’re okay. He wraps a soft throw around your shoulders, his fingers lingering, and for a moment, you see something in his eyes—admiration, maybe more.

You nod, catching your breath, but the session has shifted something. You’re hooked—not just on the power play, but on him. Yet, as the haze clears, doubt creeps in. This is unprofessional. Dangerous. You’re risking everything.

The next morning, you’re a wreck. Your reflection shows smudged mascara, hair wild from last night’s chaos. Your body hums with the memory of Jungkook’s fingers, his voice, the way he unraveled you. But your mind screams: What were you thinking?

You’re a lawyer. You live for ethics, boundaries, control. Last night was a reckless plunge into something you barely understand. The contract was supposed to protect you, but it feels like a flimsy excuse for crossing a line. You let your CEO blindfold you, command you, nearly break you in his office. This could ruin your career.

You avoid Jungkook all day, dodging meetings, burying yourself in work. By evening, you’re drafting an email to withdraw from the trial, fingers hovering over send. You can’t do this. Not with him. Not when his gaze makes your resolve crumble.

He finds you in the file room, door clicking shut. He’s in a black suit, tie loose, looking like temptation incarnate. “You’re avoiding me,” he says, stepping closer.

You clutch a folder. “Last night was a mistake. It’s unprofessional. I’m out.”

His eyes narrow, but he keeps his distance. “You signed the contract. You knew what you were getting into.”

“I didn’t know it’d feel like…” You falter, cheeks burning. “Like I’d lose myself.”

He softens. “You didn’t lose anything. You gave control, and you were perfect. You can walk away, but don’t lie—you wanted it. You still do.”

You shake your head. “This crosses every line. My career, my ethics—”

“Your ethics?” He steps closer, voice low. “You drafted the terms. You said yes. If you’re scared, say it. Don’t hide behind your job.”

Anger flares. “Don’t patronize me. You’re my boss, Jungkook. This isn’t a game—it’s my life.”

He watches you, then nods. “Okay. If you want out, you’re out. I won’t push.” His voice is calm, but his eyes are raw, like you’ve wounded him. “But you felt something. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

He leaves, and the room feels colder. You don’t send the email, but you don’t delete it either. For days, you’re a ghost—professional, distant. But Jungkook doesn’t give up. He’s used to women diving into his contracts eagerly, but you’re different. Your retreat, your principles, the way you held your ground—it’s new to him. He respects you more for it, and it’s why he can’t let you go.

His efforts start small but deliberate. He leaves your favorite coffee on your desk one morning, a note tucked under the cup: No strings. Just thought you needed this. You sip it, and damn it, it’s perfect. The next day, he sends a memo praising your merger work, cc’ing the entire executive team. It’s professional, but the postscript reads: Your precision is unmatched. I see you. Your heart skips, but you push it down.

At a late-night meeting, he sits across from you, his gaze lingering when others aren’t looking. When you drop your pen, he picks it up, fingers brushing yours, and murmurs, “Careful, Counselor. You’re slipping.” The double entendre makes your cheeks burn, but you don’t engage. Yet, each gesture chips at your resolve, his persistence both infuriating and intoxicating.

One evening, you’re working late when he appears in your office, holding a takeout bag—your favorite ramen from that small street food outlet you mentioned once. “Peace offering,” he says, setting it down. “I’m not here to push. Just… eat something.”

You eye him warily. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re worth it,” he says, voice soft but firm. “I’ve never met someone who challenges me like you do. Not just in this”—he gestures vaguely, meaning the contract—“but in everything. You walked away because you respect yourself. That’s rare. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His honesty disarms you. You take the ramen, and he leaves without pressing further. That night, you reread the contract, your own clauses staring back. You’d written it to protect yourself, but also to explore. To feel. You don’t decide anything, but the next day, you find him in his office.

“I’ll consider another session,” you say, voice steady. “But we renegotiate. Stricter boundaries. Regular check-ins. A clear end date unless we both agree to extend.”

His eyes light up, but he nods, respecting your terms. “Name your conditions.”

You revise the contract together, adding clauses for weekly check-ins and a one-month trial period. As you sign, his gaze lingers, and you feel it—the spark that never left. “You’re different,” he says, almost to himself. “I’ve never had to work this hard to convince someone.”

You smirk. “Good. I’m not like your other girls.”

His lips twitch, and the game is back on. But beneath the flirtation, you sense something deeper. His efforts—the coffee, the praise, the ramen—weren’t just seduction. They were proof he sees you, not just as a submissive, but as a woman who commands his respect. It’s the first crack in his no-romance rule, though neither of you knows it yet.

The sessions resume, tentative but electric. Jungkook is a paradox: strict yet caring, commanding yet attentive. He reads your body like a contract, knowing when to push, when to pause. At work, the tension is unbearable—his glances, his whispered “Good girl” when no one’s listening, the brush of his fingers.

You grow brattier, deliberately provoking him to spark the fire in his eyes. In meetings, you interrupt him mid-sentence, questioning his strategies with a sly smile. “Is that really the best approach, Mr. Jeon?” you ask, voice dripping with challenge. You linger when handing him files, letting your fingers graze his, watching his jaw tighten. Once, you “accidentally” drop a pen, bending to pick it up, giving him a view of your cleavage. It’s a game—you’re the brat, pushing his buttons, craving the moment he’ll snap. He notices, lips twitching with promise, but holds back, letting you push further.

Why does he tolerate it? Because you’re not just any submissive. Your wit, your defiance, the way you match him—it’s intoxicating. He’s used to control, but your resistance, your intelligence, makes him want more than your body. He wants your mind, your heart. Each bratty remark pulls him deeper.

One night, during a boardroom break, you push too far. You’d interrupted him thrice in the meeting, smirking when his eyes flared. Now, the executives are gone, and you’re alone. He locks the door, grabs your wrist, and pulls you to the mahogany table. “You want to test me, sweetheart?” he growls, pulling a silk tie from his pocket. He binds your wrists, securing them to the table’s edge, your body bent over, skirt hiked up to expose your thighs.

“Stay silent,” he orders, voice dangerous. “One sound, and I stop.”

He kneels behind you, hands sliding up your thighs, parting them slowly. His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your ankles, leaving you exposed. The cool air hits your slick folds, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. His breath is hot against your skin as he leans in, tongue flicking against your clit with a slow, deliberate lick that makes your knees buckle. He growls softly, the vibration sending shocks through you, and you grip the table’s edge, fighting to obey.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark with approval. “So fucking wet, dripping for me.” His tongue returns, lapping at you, slow and torturous, while his fingers spread you open, teasing your entrance. He pushes one finger inside, then two, curling them against your sensitive spot, and you nearly break, a whimper escaping before you catch it. He pauses, breath hot against your core. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

He stands, unzipping his trousers, and you hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt. His cock brushes your entrance, hard and thick, and you arch, desperate for him. “You want this?” he asks, voice low, teasing your folds with the tip. “Beg for it. Silently.”

You nod frantically, pushing your hips back, and he chuckles, dark and wicked. He enters you in one slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely, stretching you until you’re trembling. Each movement is precise, hitting every spot that makes you see stars. His hands grip your hips, controlling the pace, slow at first, then faster, deeper, the table creaking beneath you. Your silence is your surrender, your body his to command. The pressure builds, your core tightening, but he slows, pulling back just as you’re about to come.

“Not yet,” he says, leaning over you, lips brushing your ear. “You come when I say.”

He resumes, relentless now, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. When he finally growls, “Now,” you shatter, pleasure crashing through you, your body collapsing against the table. He follows, a low groan escaping as he spills inside you, his grip tightening. He unties you, pulling you into his arms, kissing your wrists where the silk left faint marks.

“You’re mine,” he says, soft but possessive. “You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, heart pounding. It’s not just the kink—it’s him. His intensity, his care, the way he sees you. You’re falling, and it terrifies you.

The merger closes, a success. Your assignment is done, your contract fulfilled. You should be celebrating, but leaving—losing him—is unbearable. You draft your resignation, planning to slip away.

Jungkook finds out. He storms into your apartment, rain-soaked and furious, eyes blazing. “You’re leaving?” he demands, slamming the door. “After everything?”

“It was a contract,” you say, voice breaking. “You said no romance.”

“I lied,” he snaps, cupping your face. “This was never just a contract. Not with you. Your mind, your strength, the way you challenge me—fuck, even when you walked away, I respected you more than anyone. You’re not just another girl. I’m in love with you, and I can’t let you go.”

You crash into each other, lips desperate, hands tearing at clothes. This session is different—slow, reverent, emotional. He lays you on your bed, kissing down your body, his mouth lingering on your thighs. His tongue finds your clit, slow and gentle, coaxing you to the edge with a tenderness that aches. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers sliding inside you, curling softly. “I could do this forever.”

You moan, hands tangling in his hair, and he hums in approval, the vibration pushing you closer. He takes his time, savoring every gasp, every shudder, until you’re trembling, begging softly. “Please, Jungkook…”

He rises, shedding his clothes, and enters you slowly, eyes locked, hands intertwined. “I love you,” he whispers, each thrust deep and deliberate, filling you with more than just his body—his heart. Your release is quiet, overwhelming, your arms clinging to him as you both come undone. He holds you after, bodies tangled, lips brushing your forehead.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “For me.”

You nod, tears falling. “I’m staying.”

A week after the merger’s triumphant close, you return to your office at Jeon Industries, expecting another exhausting day of tying up loose ends. Instead, a sleek black envelope sits on your desk, sealed with a crimson wax stamp that screams Jungkook. Your heart skips a beat, a mix of curiosity and that familiar heat stirring in your core. You glance around—no one’s watching—and slice it open, revealing a single sheet of parchment, the kind you’d expect from a royal authority, not a CEO. The title at the top makes you laugh out loud, earning a curious glance from a passing intern.

Contract of Commitment

You skim the first clause, and your laughter morphs into a grin, equal parts exasperated and charmed.

Clause 1: The undersigned will marry the CEO of Jeon Industries. Clause 2: The undersigned will still kneel when ordered.

You lean back in your chair, clutching the contract like it’s a love letter and a legal trap rolled into one. Jungkook’s handwriting—bold, looping, annoyingly perfect—marks the margins with a note: Sign it, Counselor. Or I’ll make you beg for it in the boardroom. The audacity of this man. You can picture his smirk, that infuriating tilt of his lips that’s haunted your dreams since the first day you met. Your fingers itch to sign, but you’re not about to make this easy for him. Not after everything.

The office is quiet, the Seoul skyline glinting through your window, but your mind is a whirlwind of the past few months—Jungkook’s relentless pursuit, the way he wore down your defenses with coffee, ramen, and those damn whispered praises. You’d nearly walked away after that first session, your professionalism screaming louder than your desire, but he’d fought for you. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet, deliberate care that made you feel seen. And now, this—marriage? Kneeling? He’s got some nerve.

You grab a pen, twirling it between your fingers, when your office door swings open without a knock. Jungkook strides in—black suit, tie slightly askew, inked forearms peeking from rolled sleeves. His hair’s a little mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and you curse your traitorous heart for stuttering at the sight.

“Caught you,” he says, voice a low drawl, leaning against your desk with that smirk. “What’s the hold-up, Counselor? Contract not up to your standards?”

You raise a brow, waving the parchment. “This? It’s more like a ransom note than a proposal. Where’s the romance, Jeon? No ring, no bended knee—just a clause about kneeling. Classy.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and dangerous, and leans closer, his cologne—sandalwood and sin—wrapping around you. “Romance? I seem to recall you moaning my name on this very desk last week. If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.”

Your cheeks burn, and you swat his arm, glancing at the open door. “Keep your voice down! HR’s probably got this place bugged.”

He grins, undeterred, and produces a small velvet box from his pocket, flipping it open with a flourish. Inside is a ring—a sleek band of platinum with a single, dazzling diamond that catches the light like it’s mocking your attempt at composure. Your breath catches, and he clocks it, his grin widening.

“Better?” he asks, plucking the ring and sliding it onto your finger before you can protest. It fits perfectly, of course, because Jungkook doesn’t do half-measures. “As for the bended knee, I’d rather have you on your knees, but I can compromise. Tonight, maybe?”

You snatch the contract, scribbling your signature with a flourish, if only to hide how flustered you are. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, shoving it into his chest. “There. Signed. Happy?”

He takes it, eyes scanning your signature like it’s a trophy, then tucks it into his jacket. “Ecstatic. But you didn’t negotiate, Counselor. Rookie mistake. Now you’re stuck with me and Clause 2.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “Clause 2’s negotiable. I’m not kneeling in the middle of a board meeting just because you get a whim.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to that velvet growl that makes your thighs clench. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need a boardroom. Your apartment, my penthouse, my office, the back of my car—I’ll have you kneeling wherever I want.” His fingers brush your jaw, tilting your chin up, and you’re half a second from climbing him right there when he pulls back, smirking. “But first, dinner. I’m not a complete savage.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up despite yourself. “Dinner? You? The man who once tried to seduce me with takeout ramen?”

“Hey, that ramen worked,” he says, mock-offended, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door. “And tonight, it’s Michelin-starred. I’m stepping up my game for my fiancée.”

The word—fiancée—hits like a spark, and you pause, letting it sink in. Jungkook notices, his expression softening, and he cups your face, kissing you gently, a stark contrast to the commanding Dom you’ve come to know. “You’re mine,” he murmurs against your lips, “but I’m yours too. Don’t forget that.”

You nod, heart full, and follow him out, the ring glinting on your finger. As you pass the intern from earlier, who’s blatantly eavesdropping, Jungkook winks at her and says, “Send a memo. Office closed tomorrow. Wedding planning.”

You elbow him, mortified. “Jungkook!”

“What?” He grins, unrepentant, slinging an arm around you. “Gotta start practicing for Clause 2. You’re not getting out of this one, Counselor.”

You groan, but you’re laughing, tangled in his warmth, his audacity, his love. This deal—marriage, kneeling, forever—is one you’ll never break.

A/n: I also need a CEO Jeon for Private Play Terms. What about you guys? 😈

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things

[namluvili]

Professor's Pet [Pt. II]

Pairing: Professor!Namjoon x Ex-Wife!Reader Genre: University AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff Word Count: ~5k Warnings: Explicit smut (detailed dom/sub dynamics, brainy dom!Namjoon, strict punishments, praise + degradation, orgasm control, fingering, oral [f and m receiving], desk sex, throat grabbing, spanking, unprotected sex [wrap it up!]), bickering, emotional angst (divorce due to emotional neglect and career conflicts), post-divorce academic struggles, 18+ only. Vibe: Brainy, strict, chaotic, emotional, filthy, tender, unhinged, layered with unresolved pain and desire. A/N: This story follows the thrilling love story of Namjoon and the Reader, from their sparking student-professor romance during her bachelor’s to their passionate marriage, painful divorce, and tangled reunion in her Ph.D. program. Her struggles in university come from heartache and dodging Namjoon’s classes, not because she’s not smart. Get ready for a heartfelt, steamy, and hopeful journey!

You were a junior in Namjoon’s Introduction to Psychology class, a bright-eyed 21-year-old with a knack for debate and a habit of lingering after lectures to challenge his theories. He was 28, a prodigy professor fresh off his Ph.D., already turning heads with his sharp intellect and commanding presence. His lectures were electric—dense with ideas, delivered with a passion that made Freud and Skinner feel alive. You’d sit in the front row, scribbling notes, your heart racing when his eyes met yours during a particularly heated discussion on cognitive dissonance.

One evening, after a debate on nature vs. nurture, you stayed late, your textbook open. The lecture hall was empty, the air thick with chalk dust and the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and ink. He leaned against the desk, glasses perched on his nose, and asked, “Why do you always argue with me?”

“Because you’re wrong sometimes,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “And someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “Bold. Most students just nod and move on.”

“I’m not most students,” you said, stepping closer, your confidence masking the flutter in your chest.

That was the spark. Late-night discussions turned into coffee runs, then dinners at small restaurants where you’d talk until closing. He was brilliant, intense, and saw you in a way no one else did—like your mind was a puzzle he wanted to solve. You were drawn to his discipline, his ambition, the way he could unravel a concept or you with equal precision. By semester’s end, you were sneaking kisses in his office, your hands tangled in his hair, his glasses fogging from the heat of your breath.

It wasn’t reckless, not really. You were careful—never in public, never on campus grounds. He was strict about boundaries, always the professor first. But the thrill of those secret moments—his hands pinning you against a bookshelf, his voice a low growl as he whispered your name—made you feel alive. Your senior year was a whirlwind of stolen glances and hidden rendezvous, your love growing in the shadows of academia.

After graduating with your bachelor’s, you started your master’s at the same university, and Namjoon proposed a year later, during a rainy evening in a quiet park near campus. He knelt in the mud, his suit soaked, holding a ring that caught the streetlights. “Marry me,” he said, voice steady despite the downpour. “I want you in every chapter of my life.” You said yes, heart soaring, believing you’d cracked the code to forever.

Your wedding was intimate, in a small garden blooming with wildflowers, your dress simple, his suit sharp. His vows were poetry: “You’re my question and my answer, my chaos and my order.” You laughed through tears, danced under fairy lights, and believed you’d conquer the world. You were in your master’s program, he was an associate professor, and your apartment was a cozy mess of books and coffee stains. Mornings were tangled in bed, his lips soft on your neck, whispering, “Stay here forever, babygirl,” as his hands roamed, igniting sparks. Evenings were spent debating theories over wine, his glasses slipping as he laughed at your mimicry of his lecture style, pulling you into his lap with a playful growl.

But his ambition was a growing shadow. Namjoon lived for his work—research, lectures, grants. You’d find him at 4 a.m., glasses fogged, typing furiously, oblivious to you. You’d bring him coffee, kiss his temple, but he’d mutter, “One more page,” and you’d eat alone, the silence heavier than any fight. You completed your master’s and took a break to plan your Ph.D., inspired by him, but your research faltered, overshadowed by his unyielding ambition. You’d beg for a night off, a weekend away, but he’d promise and fail, his office his true home.

One precious weekend, you whisked him away to a secluded cabin, no Wi-Fi, just the two of you. He was irritable, yearning for his laptop, but you slipped into his shirt, bare beneath, and climbed onto his lap by the crackling fire, playfully chiding his work-obsessed ways. “You’re married to your desk, not me. For now, focus on me, Professor.” you murmured, teasingly nudging his chest. His gaze softened, then ignited, a slow smirk spreading as his inner intensity stirred. “Oh, babygirl, you’re begging for trouble,” he growled, flipping you onto the rug with a swift, controlled motion, the roughness of the wool biting your skin. His hand delivered a sharp spank to your bare ass, the sting blooming into a heat that made you gasp, your arousal immediate and undeniable.

“Count,” he ordered, voice strict, his Ph.D.-honed precision in every word, spanking you again, harder, the sound cracking through the quiet cabin. “One,” you whimpered, and he leaned close, his breath hot against your ear, degrading you with a purr—“Such a sweet little thing, so eager for my touch,” he murmured, delivering another spank, his hand lingering to caress the sensitive skin, soothing the warmth he’d created. “Two,” you moaned, slickness coating your thighs, and he let out a low, warm chuckle, his fingers gliding along your drenched folds, teasing with a gentle, maddening touch, not yet giving you what you craved. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice rich with desire, “so beautifully desperate, practically trembling for me.”

He pinned your wrists above your head, his grip iron, his gaze intense. “You want me? Earn it,” he commanded, his free hand sliding two fingers inside you, curling with devastating accuracy to hit that spot that made your vision blur. His pace was relentless, but he enforced orgasm control, pulling back just as you clenched, teetering on the edge. “Not yet,” he said, voice a velvet blade, “you come when I say, or not at all.” You whined, bickering—“You’re such a fucking Control freak—but he silenced you with a throat grab, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips brushing yours. “Keep talking, and I’ll gag you with my cock,” he warned, and you shivered, craving his dominance, the emotional angst of his absence fueling your need.

He released your throat, pushing you to your knees, his erection straining against his jeans. “Show me you deserve it,” he said, and you fumbled with his zipper, freeing him—thick, heavy, pulsing. You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of him. His hand gripped your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his groans vibrating through you. “Good girl,” he praised, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate.” You moaned, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulled out, denying himself release, his control absolute.

He lifted you, bending you over the nearby table, the wood cold against your flushed skin. “Spread your legs,” he growled, and you did, trembling, as he spanked you again, three sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a filthy thing, dripping for me.” He slid into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that felt like home, his thrusts deep and punishing, the table creaking under the force. His hand grabbed your throat again, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear. “You’re mine,” he snarled, voice thick with possession.

You moaned, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“And you’re stupid, Joon.” He laughed, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his fingers finding your clit, circling with precision that made you see stars. “Keep talking,” he said, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until I say.” He edged you mercilessly, slowing when you tightened, his control a torturous dance of pleasure and denial. “Beg,” he demanded, and you broke, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours.” He rewarded you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” He came with a groan, his release hot inside you, and collapsed over you, panting.

Later, he held you by the fire, tender now, kissing your temple, his voice soft with regret. “I’m here, babygirl,” he whispered “I love you.” You curled into him, believing this Namjoon would stay, but Monday came, and he was back in his office, leaving you aching with loneliness.

The fights grew vicious. “I’m fading, Namjoon!” you screamed one night, throwing a cold dinner plate into the sink, the crash echoing your heartbreak. “You’re never here!” He yelled back, “I’m building our future! Why can’t you wait?” You waited, but you were invisible, a ghost in your own marriage. The third anniversary broke you—you cooked his favorite bulgogi, lit candles, wore the dress he loved. He didn’t show. His text at 9 p.m.: Stuck at a conference. Sorry. You sat there, wax dripping, tears falling, the silence a knife. You packed a bag, left for a friend’s, and filed for divorce, your heart shattered.

The divorce was a quiet devastation. You moved to a university dorm, threw yourself into your Ph.D., but campus was a battlefield. Namjoon’s name was everywhere—on journals, posters, whispered in halls. You saw the silver frame on his desk during a department meeting, your wedding photo untouched, and it felt like a blade. Why did he keep it? To punish himself? To cling to you?

You tried dating, but no one matched his intensity, his mind, his touch. You heard he didn’t date, just worked, his office light burning past midnight. Colleagues said he was colder, sharper, like he’d locked his heart away. You hated that it hurt, hated that you still dreamed of him.

One stormy night, you passed by his office, the door ajar. He was slumped over his desk, glasses off, staring at the frame, a whiskey bottle half-empty. You heard a choked sob, and your chest tightened—you wanted to run to him, to hold him, but you couldn’t. You weren’t his wife anymore. You walked away, tears mixing with the rain, the ache of what could’ve been a living thing.

Now in your Ph.D. program, you’re falling apart. Namjoon’s advanced psychology seminar is required, but his lecture hall is a torture chamber. His voice, his cologne—sandalwood, cedar, ink—drag you back to stolen kisses, broken vows. You skip half his lectures, unable to face him. When you do attend, you’re a wreck, his words blurring as you remember his hands, his anger, your loneliness. Your assignments are late, your exams a disaster, and now you’re failing.

Desperate, you begged for extra credit, leading to that night in his office—desk sex, raw fury, and a "B" that felt like a taunt. It wasn’t just about grades; it was about the pain, the love, the unresolved mess of you two. Tonight, you’re back, ready to confront it all.

You stride into his office at 8:15, late to test him, wearing a tight black dress, no panties, heels clicking defiantly. He’s at his desk, pen paused, glasses glinting under the lamp. The frame sits behind a book, a ghost of your past. His eyes rake over you, dark and heavy, but there’s pain there, a crack in his professor’s mask.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low, but it trembles, betraying him.

“By fifteen minutes,” you retort, shutting the door with a soft click, your voice sharp with years of hurt. “You’ve kept me waiting years, Namjoon. You don’t get to complain.”

He stands, towering over you, his cologne a trap. “Careful, babygirl,” he warns, but his fingers brush your arm, lingering, warm and hesitant. “You’re here for a reason. Say it.”

You step closer, chin up, bickering to mask the pain. “I’m failing because of you, you asshole. I can’t sit in your class without seeing us—every fight, every night you left me alone. I skip lectures because looking at you hurts, Namjoon. But you keep that photo.” You point to the frame, its silver edge glinting like a blade. “Why? Why hold onto something you destroyed?”

He flinches, like your words are a lash, and turns away, hand raking through his hair. The frame sits there, your smiling faces a mockery. “Because I’m a fucking fool,” he says, voice raw, barely above a whisper. He turns back, eyes red, and steps closer, his hands hovering over your shoulders, not quite touching. “Because I wake up every day wishing I’d seen you, really seen you, when I had you. I keep it because it’s the only proof I didn’t dream you. I broke us, Y/N, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

Tears spill, your throat tight, but his words crack something open—anger, yes, but also longing. “You don’t get to say that,” you choke, shoving his chest, but he catches your wrists, his grip gentle, grounding, his thumbs brushing your pulse points. “You left me alone, Namjoon. Cold dinners, empty beds, me begging for scraps of your time. I was your wife, not your student, but you treated me like I was nothing!”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking, pulling you closer until you’re inches apart, his breath warm on your face. “I was blind, obsessed with work, thinking it was for us. I’m still a workaholic—I’ll always be in this office too long—but I see you now. I see what I lost.” His voice drops, a plea, his fingers tightening just enough to remind you of his control. “Give me a chance, Y/N. Let me prove I can be the man you deserve.”

You laugh, bitter and shaky, tears falling, but your body betrays you, leaning into him, your hands fisting his shirt. “You think one night of fucking me fixes it?” you whisper, voice trembling, bickering to keep the pain at bay. “You think a B makes up for years of feeling invisible?”

“No,” he says, releasing your wrists to cup your face, thumbs brushing your tears, his touch tender but heavy with regret. “Nothing fixes it. But I’m begging for a shot to try. I’ll set alarms, I’ll cancel meetings, I’ll burn my fucking books if you ask. I can’t lose you again.”

The air crackles, pain and desire colliding. You pull back, defiant, and hop onto his desk, spreading your thighs, the dress riding up to reveal bare skin. “Prove it now, Professor,” you challenge, voice low, a dare born of anger and need, your eyes flashing with the same fire you had in his lecture hall years ago. Namjoon’s gaze drops, and when he realizes you’re wearing no panties, his reaction is a overwhelming shift—raw, feral, yet tightly controlled, his eyes black with lust, his jaw clenching as he fights to maintain his dominance.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, voice thick with desire and disbelief, his hands gripping your thighs so hard the skin blooms red under his fingers. “No panties?” His breath hitches, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely, your slickness glistening under the lamplight. “You walked in here like this, bare, dripping, knowing it’d drive me fucking insane?” His tone shifts, brainy dom surfacing, strict and commanding, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat radiating between you. “You’re a filthy little tease, babygirl, and you’re going to pay for this.”

You smirk, bickering back, “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d even notice, you self-absorbed prick.” Your defiance ignites him, and his smirk is pure danger, his hand delivering a sharp spank to your inner thigh, the sting so intense it makes you yelp, arousal flooding you instantly. “Count,” he orders, spanking the other thigh, his palm leaving a burning imprint, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting. “One,” you gasp, and he spanks again, harder, the sound echoing in the quiet office. “Two,” you moan, your voice trembling, slickness dripping onto the desk, coating his fingers as they graze your folds.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs, his voice laced with that sharp, intellectual edge that makes your core clench. “Look at you, soaking my desk, aching for my touch. You think you can stroll in here, bare and bold, and take charge of me?” His fingers slide through your wetness, teasing your entrance but not entering, his control maddening. “You’re mine to ruin, and I’m going to make you beg for every fucking second of it.” Another spank, this one directly on your ass as he shifts you, bending you slightly over the desk, your dress hiked up to your waist. “Three,” you sob, the pain and pleasure blurring, your body trembling under his command.

His fingers finally plunge inside you, three at once, stretching you with a burn that makes you cry out, his pace brutal and precise, curling to hit that spot that sends shocks through your spine. “So fucking tight,” he growls, his thumb circling your clit with devastating accuracy, but he enforces orgasm control, pulling back just as you start to clench, teetering on the edge. ‘Not yet,’ he murmurs, his voice a smooth, cutting whisper, ‘you don’t get to come until you’ve earned it, my sweet little tease.’ You whine, bickering—‘You’re still such a control freak’—but he cups your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips grazing your ear. ‘Keep talking, and I’ll silence you with my kiss until you’re breathless,’ he warns, and you shiver, craving his dominance, the raw emotional weight of your shared past fueling the fire between you.

“You left me,” he says, voice raw, his fingers slowing, teasing you to the brink but denying release, his eyes searching yours, heavy with guilt and need. “You walked away, and I deserved it, but you’re here now, bare for me, and I’m not letting you go.” Tears prick your eyes, the pain of his neglect mingling with the pleasure of his touch. “You didn’t see me,” you whisper, voice breaking, but you push back against his hand, desperate for more. He kisses you hard, his tongue claiming you, his hand still on your throat, grounding you in the moment. “I see you now,” he murmurs, his fingers resuming their punishing pace, his thumb relentless on your clit, driving you to the edge but holding you there, a torturous dance of denial.

He pulls his fingers out, finally licking them clean with a smirk that makes your thighs clench, and orders, “On your knees, now.” You obey, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing his cock—thick, heavy, pulsing with need. You take him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of his pre-cum. His hand grips your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. “Good girl,” he praises, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate for your professor.” You moan, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulls out, denying himself release, his control absolute, his glasses fogging as he watches you.

“Up,” he commands, pulling you to your feet, bending you over the desk, papers scattering like fallen dreams, the wood cool against your flushed cheek. “Spread your legs wide,” he growls, and you do, trembling, as he spanks you again, five sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a needy girl, bare and dripping for me, ruining my desk.” You’re sobbing now, not from pain but from the overwhelming need, the emotional angst of wanting him, hating him, loving him. He slides into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that feels like everything, his thrusts deep and punishing, the desk creaking under the force, his hand grabbing your throat, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he snarls, voice thick with possession and regret, his thrusts slowing to a torturous grind, his fingers finding your clit again, circling with precision that makes you see stars. “I was too stupid to ignore you, but I’m here now, and you’re mine.” You moan, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“You’re still stupid if you think this fixes everything.” He laughs, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his hand tightening on your throat, his control a heady mix of punishment and worship. “Keep talking, sweetheart,” he says, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until you admit you’re mine.”

You resist, but he edges you mercilessly, slowing when you tighten, his fingers relentless but denying release, his lips brushing your ear. “Beg,” he demands, and you break, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours, always was.” He rewards you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his thrusts relentless, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” You come screaming, the orgasm shattering, your body convulsing, and he follows, groaning your name, his release hot inside you, his body collapsing over yours, panting.

He holds you after, pulling you into his lap, glasses askew, his touch tender now, kissing your forehead, the emotional angst raw. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice soft but firm. “For every cold dinner, every empty bed. Come home with me, Y/N. We’ll cook, we’ll talk, and I’ll be there. I promise.” You nod, shaky, tears falling, the anger fading into hope. He helps you fix your dress, his fingers lingering, gentle, and you leave together, his hand in yours, the campus dark but the path bright. The frame stays on his desk, a vow, not a keepsake.

A week later, you submit a revised paper, pouring your pain into a brilliant analysis of grief’s impact on memory. Namjoon grades it, leaving a note: A+. Your mind is as fierce as ever. I’m proud of you. You text him: Earned that A, not begged. He replies: Always knew you could, babygirl. Dinner tonight? You smile, the firecracker from your junior year sparking again, ready to fight—for your degree, for him, for you.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172

[namluvili]

go check out this writer!!!! they’re so good!!!

The Art of Obedience

Pairing: 20 y/o curious college student!reader × 33 y/o famous anonymous kink author!Namjoon

Word Count: ~7k+

Warnings: Explicit smut, BDSM elements (tying up, spanking, fingering, blindfolding, rough sex, edging, orgasm denial, squirting), power dynamics, daddy issues, slow corruption, filthy dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, possessiveness, mild fluff, emotional vulnerability. All activities are consensual with safewords established.

The library is a labyrinth of secrets, its air thick with the musk of old books and unspoken desires. You’re on your tiptoes, stretching for a book you’ve only heard rumors about: The Art of Obedience by RM, hidden in the restricted section like a dirty little secret. Your fingers graze its worn leather spine, the title sending a shiver down your spine, when another hand—big, warm, and far too confident—brushes yours.

You gasp, startled, and the book crashes to the floor with a thud that echoes like a slap in the silent library. Your cheeks blaze as you stammer an apology, but a voice stops you—deep, velvety, laced with danger.

“Careful, sweetheart,” it purrs, amusement curling around the words like smoke.

You look up and fuck, you’re not ready. He’s towering, a wall of lean muscle in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that could snap you in half. Dark hair falls into sharper eyes, gold-framed glasses perched low, and his lips—god, his lips—curve into a smirk that screams trouble. He’s older, maybe mid-thirties, but the way he’s looking at you makes your thighs clench involuntarily.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you start, voice barely a whisper.

He crouches, slow and deliberate, picking up the book. His fingers linger on the cover, thumb tracing the embossed RM. like it’s a lover’s skin. He placed this copy here himself, months ago, under his secret pen name—a test, a game to see who’d dare touch it. And now you, a wide-eyed college girl dripping with innocence, are reaching for his filthy words.

He straightens, eyes raking over you—slow, predatory, like he’s already fucking you in his head. “Interesting choice,” he murmurs, flipping the book open with a casual flick. The pages fall to a chapter on submission, and his smirk deepens. “What’s a sweet thing like you doing with a book like this? Researching for a boyfriend?”

Your throat tightens, heat pooling low in your belly. “N-no, I am single. I was… just curious.”

“Curious,” he repeats, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell him—clean soap, leather, and something dark, like bourbon and sin. “That’s a dangerous word, little girl. Curiosity gets you wet in places you don’t understand yet.”

You try to step back, but the bookshelf digs into your spine. Trapped. His gaze is a physical thing, heavy and hot, stripping you bare. He holds the book out, dangling it like bait. “Take it,” he says, voice low, commanding. “But if you do, you’re mine to teach. You ready to learn what this book really means?”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for it. His hand doesn’t budge, forcing you to lean into his space, your chest brushing his. Your breath hitches, and you catch the faintest twitch in his jaw, like he’s holding back from devouring you right here.

When your fingers close around the book, his brush yours again, deliberate and lingering. “Good girl,” he whispers, the words dripping with mockery and promise. “Lesson one: always listen when someone more experienced offers you help.”

“Lesson two: you don’t touch what’s mine without permission. And this—” he taps the book, “—is mine. Just like you’re about to be.”

You’re already fucked, and you haven’t even said yes out loud.

A week later, you’re in a private reading room at the back of the library, the door locked with a soft click that feels like a gunshot in your chest. Namjoon leans against the oak table, arms crossed, his presence filling the room like he owns it. The book sits between you, its leather cover gleaming under the dim light.

“Rules first,” he says, voice low and firm, like he’s already got you under his thumb. “You say ‘red’ to stop. ‘Yellow’ to slow down. Nothing means you’re good. Got it?”

You nod, mouth dry, pussy already throbbing. “Yes.”

His eyebrow arches, sharp and expectant. “Yes, sir,” you correct, voice shaking.

His lips twitch, a flicker of approval. “Good girl. Stand up.”

You do, legs wobbly, and he’s behind you in an instant, his heat pressing against your back. You feel the smooth silk of his tie slide over your wrists, cool and tight as he binds them behind you. The knot is firm, leaving you helpless, your arms pinned and your pulse hammering in your clit.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “That’s what it’s like to be mine. Completely at my mercy, but safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you whisper, cunt slick with need.

He steps in front of you, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your chin up. His eyes are molten, searching, and his thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing just enough to make you part your mouth. “So fucking innocent,” he says, voice dark. “You’re trembling already, and I haven’t even touched you.”

You whimper, and he leans in, lips hovering over yours, so close you can taste the mint on his breath. “I’m gonna make you beg for it,” he whispers, “make that pretty little pussy drip just from my words.” His fingers slide down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, then lower, circling your nipple through your shirt. It’s hard, aching, and he pinches it lightly, making you gasp.

“Not yet,” he says, stepping back, leaving you panting, tied up, and so fucking wet you’re soaking your panties. He picks up the book, casual as hell, like he didn’t just set your body on fire. “Read the first page. Out loud.”

“W-what?” you stammer, cheeks burning.

He smirks, settling into a chair, legs spread wide, bulge obvious in his slacks. “You heard me. Read. Let’s see how good you are at following orders.”

You stumble through the words, voice shaking as you read about surrender, about giving yourself over completely. Every sentence feels like a caress, his eyes locked on you, devouring every flush, every hitch in your breath. When you finish, he stands, slow and deliberate, and unties your wrists, his fingers lingering on the faint red marks.

“Go home,” he says, voice soft but commanding. “Touch yourself daily until we meet again. Think about me. But you don’t come. Not until I say so.” - He gives his card. "Call me in case you need help."

You leave, pussy throbbing, mind spinning, already desperate for more.

You’re five minutes late to the next meeting, and Namjoon’s waiting, eyes dark and dangerous, like a predator who’s been kept waiting too long.

“Late,” he says, voice a low growl. “You know what that means.”

“I’m sorry, I—” You said. "The Bus-"

“No excuses.” He’s in your space before you can blink, towering over you, his hand tipping your chin up so you can’t look away. “You need to learn what happens when you make me wait.”

Your stomach flips, arousal pooling between your thighs. “W-what happens, sir?”

He doesn’t answer, just points to the table. “Bend over. Now.”

You obey, heart pounding, bending over the polished wood, hands braced on the table. The anticipation is electric, your body humming as he steps behind you. His hands lift your skirt, slow and deliberate, exposing your thighs, then your ass, your panties clinging to your soaked cunt. The air is cool against your skin, and you shiver, feeling utterly exposed.

“Count,” he orders, voice like velvet and steel.

His hand comes down, a sharp smack on your ass, the sting blooming hot and sweet. “One,” you gasp, voice trembling.

Another spank, harder, the heat spreading through your core. “Two.”

By five, your skin is burning, and you’re dripping, the fabric of your panties sticking to your swollen folds. He pauses, fingers grazing the edge of your underwear, so close to where you’re aching but not touching. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet already, and I’ve barely started. You love this, don’t you?”

You whimper, too turned on to be ashamed. “Y-yes, sir.”

Another spank, and this time you moan, loud and needy, your clit throbbing. His hand lingers, fingers slipping under the fabric, brushing the slick heat of your pussy but not pushing inside. “Such a dirty little girl,” he says, teasing, his touch gone before you can beg for more. “You want it so bad, but you don’t get to have it yet.”

He pulls your skirt down, leaving you trembling, unsatisfied, your ass stinging and your cunt aching. “Same time next week,” he says, voice calm, like he didn’t just wreck you. “And don’t you dare touch yourself until then.”

You leave, a mess of need, your body screaming for release you’re not allowed to take.

You’re on time this week, heart racing as you step into the reading room. Namjoon’s waiting, a black silk blindfold dangling from his fingers, his eyes dark with intent. Your pussy clenches at the sight, already wet, already his.

“Trust me?” he asks, voice soft but heavy, like he’s asking for your soul.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, and he ties the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Every sound is sharper—his footsteps, the rustle of his clothes, the hitch in his breath. He guides you to the table, lifting you so you’re perched on the edge, thighs spread.

“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, and you do, skirt riding up, panties exposed. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, torturous, until he’s peeling your underwear off, leaving you bare. The air hits your slick folds, and you bite your lip, aching for his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are there, teasing your entrance, circling your clit with featherlight strokes. You moan, hips bucking, but he grips your thigh, holding you still. “Not yet. You beg for it first.”

“Please, sir,” you whimper, voice breaking. “Please touch me. I need your fingers inside me. I need to come.”

He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s better.” One finger slides inside, slow and deep, stretching you, then another, curling against that spot that makes you see stars. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you’re shaking, so close it hurts.

“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he says, voice rough. “Sucking my fingers in like it’s starving. You’re so fucking tight, baby. Gonna feel so good when I finally fuck you.”

You’re whining now, desperate, the blindfold amplifying every sensation. His fingers pump faster, wet sounds filling the room, and you’re right there, teetering on the edge. “Please, sir,” you sob. “Please let me come. I can’t—I need it.”

“Come for me,” he growls, and you do, shattering, your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. His fingers don’t stop, curling harder, thumb pressing relentless circles, and something builds—intense, overwhelming. You cry out as your body convulses, a gush of wetness soaking his hand, the table, your thighs. You’re squirting, the release so powerful it leaves you trembling, oversensitive, a whimpering mess.

“Fuck,” Namjoon groans, voice raw with awe. “Look at that. You’re fucking perfect, baby, squirting all over me like a good little slut.”

He pulls his fingers out, and you hear him suck them clean, moaning like he’s savoring every drop. The blindfold comes off, and his eyes are wild, pupils blown, but there’s a flicker of something softer—something that scares him.

“You’re too fucking perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead, gentle and jarring after the filth. “Rest up. We’re far from done.”

The fourth meeting is different. Namjoon’s hungrier, rougher, like he’s been holding back too long. You’re on your knees, wrists tied with his tie, his hands fisted in your hair as he guides you closer to his cock, straining against his slacks. The book’s open on the table, and you spot something—a scribbled note in the cover: Kim Namjoon as well as RM. Both handwritten signatures side by side, RM's signature same as printed inside the book.

Your breath catches. “You’re… R.M.?”

He freezes, then laughs, dark and dangerous, tugging your hair to tilt your face up. “Caught me, baby. Now you know who’s been writing the shit that gets you so wet. And you’re still gonna let me ruin you.”

You’re too shocked, too turned on to argue. He kisses you, hard and possessive, teeth clashing, tongue claiming your mouth like he owns it. Clothes rip—your shirt’s buttons scatter, his belt clanks, your skirt’s yanked down. He lifts you onto the table, spreading your thighs wide, and pauses, just looking at your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re a masterpiece,” he growls, and then he’s pushing inside, thick and long, stretching you so good it’s almost too much. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, and he fucks you like he’s claiming you, each thrust deep and punishing.

“Mine,” he snarls, hands gripping your hips, leaving bruises. “This pussy’s mine. No one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clenching around him, already close. “Only yours, sir.”

He groans, slamming harder, the table creaking. “Gonna fill you up,” he says, voice raw. “Make you mine for good.” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, and you come undone, screaming his name, your pussy milking his cock as he spills inside you, hot and thick.

You’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together. He brushes your hair back, eyes soft for the first time, like he’s scared of what’s between you. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says quietly. “About the book. It’s just… a side hobby. Don't need attention.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, and he kisses you, slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise. His cock buried deep inside you, hot and unyielding.

Weeks later, you’re back in the library, the familiar scent of old books wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. You’re seated at a secluded table, The Art of Obedience open in your lap, every filthy page now a map of your own desires. You’ve read it cover to cover, each chapter a spark that ignites memories of Namjoon’s hands, his voice, his cock. Your thighs press together under the table, your panties already damp just thinking about him.

Across from you, Namjoon’s writing in a leather-bound notebook, his glasses low on his nose, that same predatory focus in his eyes. He’s been working on something new, he said, a chapter written just for you. The thought alone has kept you on edge all day, your body humming with anticipation, your cunt aching for what he might have in store.

He glances up, catching you staring, and his lips curve into a smirk that’s pure sin. “Done daydreaming?” he asks, voice low, teasing. He slides the notebook across the table, the pages open to a freshly inked chapter. “Read it. Out loud. Let’s see how you handle it.”

Your breath catches, heat flooding your core. You take the notebook, fingers trembling slightly, and begin to read, your voice soft but steady, though every word feels like it’s unraveling you.

The chapter is titled “Lessons in Lust” It begins with a description of a woman—clearly you, though unnamed—kneeling before a man, her wrists bound with silk, her body bare except for a thin lace garter. The man’s voice is described as a low growl, commanding her to spread her thighs wider, to show him how much she wants him. The prose is vivid, explicit, detailing the way her arousal drips down her inner thighs, the way her clit pulses with every word he speaks.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me, aren’t you?” he says in the text, and you can almost hear Namjoon’s voice in your head, feel his breath against your ear. “Look at that pretty cunt, begging for my cock. But you don’t get it yet. Not until you’re crying for it.”

He teases her, his fingers tracing her folds, collecting her slick and spreading it over her clit, but never giving her enough. He edges her, bringing her to the brink again and again, until she’s sobbing, pleading, her body shaking with need. The scene shifts—he bends her over a table, her cheek pressed to the wood, and spanks her, each strike making her wetter, her moans louder. He whispers filthy promises, telling her she’s his, that no one else will ever make her feel this way. “You’re mine to break,” he says, “mine to fuck, mine to ruin. And you love it, don’t you? You love being my dirty little girl.”

Your voice falters as you read, your pussy throbbing, soaking through your panties and onto your skirt. You shift in your seat, trying to relieve the pressure, but it’s no use—every word is a pulse straight to your clit. Namjoon’s watching you, his gaze heavy, his hand resting on his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s holding back from touching you right here.

“Keep going,” he says, voice rough, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his jaw.

You swallow, continuing, your cheeks burning.

The man finally gives in, sliding his cock into her, slow at first, letting her feel every inch. He fucks her hard, relentless, the table shaking beneath them. He pulls her hair, forcing her to arch back, and whispers in her ear, “Come for me, baby. Show me how much you need this.” She does, her body convulsing, squirting around him, soaking his cock, the table, the floor. He doesn’t stop, fucking her through it, claiming her completely.

You finish the page, voice barely a whisper, your body trembling with want. Your cunt is so wet you can feel it dripping, your thighs slick under the table. Namjoon leans forward, his eyes dark, dangerous, and so fucking pleased.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, standing and rounding the table. He stops behind you, his hand sliding over your shoulder, fingers brushing the nape of your neck. “You’re soaked just from reading it. I can smell how much you want me.”

You whimper, head tilting back as his fingers trail lower, dipping under your collar to graze your skin. “Please, sir,” you whisper, already desperate.

He chuckles, low and filthy, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, baby, we’re gonna make that chapter real. But not here. Tonight, in my bedroom. You’re gonna show me just how much you want to be my good girl.”

He pulls back, leaving you panting, and slides the notebook into your hand. “Finish your reading,” he says, smirking. “I want you thinking about me all day, dripping for me until I’m ready to fuck you senseless.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to speak, your body alive with need. As he walks away, you open the book again, knowing every page is a promise of what’s to come—and you’re already his, completely.

A/N: "This library’s closed, but I hope Namjoon’s lessons left you soaked and begging for more of my words. Tell me your dirty thoughts in the comments. Hey @namluvili hope you like it."

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @namluvili . @mytaegiheart . @@dear-mono . @lilyficrec

[namluvili]

I wanna be your lover | seok-jin one shot

this is my first one shot! sorry if its too short or long, i just really liked this idea.

pairing: f!reader x seok-jin (they are fwb)

Word count: 1.4k

!!THIS CONTAINS SMUT!! THIS IS ONLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES! I DO NOT PERSONALLY THINK OF BTS THIS WAY, warnings below!!

warning(s): drinking, possessive jin, hides his feelings for reader but he sucks at it and its adorable. jin and reader are fwb, jin wants something more but reader doesn't (or does she?), f1ngering, making out, unprotected s3x (pls be safe guys), jin goes down on reader, blowj0b, doggystyle, r1ding, edging, jin has a kink for doing stuff in public, lmk if i forgot anything!

You and jin have been seeing eachother for about 5 months now, but because hes on tour, youve barely been able to see him as much. so it wouldn't hurt to see someone else right? Maybe the bar your going to will have someone that you can quickly get dick from, nothing more.

You put on your sluttiest dress and a thong that can be quickly torn off if it needs to be, but what didnt help was that jin bought it for you. you do your hair and put your heels on and make your way out the door.

You arrive at the bar, quickly looking around to see if you can plot on someone. You see this handsome man sitting at the bar, drinking. You decide to play the 'innocent girl whos never drank before' act and go to sit next to him.

"Hey, ive never seen you here before, are you new or something? want me to buy you a drink?" the man says to you. "Yeah, i never drank before, i dont even know where to start. Names Y/N by the way" you reply to him, chuckling. "oh nice, name is jungkook. nice to meet you Y/N."

Many drinks later, you are feeling very tipsy. Jungkook looks at you with lust in his eyes and puts his hand on your thigh, slowly reaching up your dress. "Damn, no wonder you never came here, people wouldnt know how to react with you." he says before slowly putting his lips up to yours.

You got him. You got him around your finger now. Nows your time to take him home and quickly get it over with. You pull back from jungkook and say, "wanna take this back to my place?" as you put on a smile that could make any man melt at the sight.

"I dont think so, princess." a familar voice says behind you. Fuck, its jin, you are, so. fucked. Jungkook looks up at the man and says, "Damn, You couldve told me you had a boyfriend, or else i wouldnt have even talked to you." he says while walking away. You turn around and say, "Jin what the fuck?! you cant just stalk me like that. Considering i haven't even seen you in 2 fucking weeks. God forbid i get some dick that isn't yours, because i know damn well you got pussy whenever you wanted on your tour." "I didnt actually, all i could do was think about you and the way you used to ride me before i left. Its been way to long without you baby. Do you know how hard it was to not go to the bathroom in the hotel and not jerk off to the thought of you? Ive been missing you and the area between your legs."

"Even still jin! im not your property and i cant just not see anyone whenever im horny and only stick to you. I need to see other people." you say while fighting every urge to not just run out of the bar. "Oh really? Keep those words then. Ill make sure to fuck that attitude out of you." He says while having a look in his eyes that creates a puddle between your legs. Fuck, you could barely keep yourself together, trying to hide the fact thats all you wanted. You wanted him, his dick, and his heart. You wanted to belong to him. And he wanted the same, he wanted you to belong to him. The fire that was between you two wasnt gonna go out anytime soon.

He grabbed your hand and went to the nearest bathroom in the bar. He pushed you against the wall and started attack your lips with his. You couldnt even fight him, you missed him so much deep down that you felt so empty without him inside of you. He props you up onto the sink and holds you by the waist, making his way up to your core. He felt the thong you were wearing and sutomaticly knew it was the one he bought you.

"Wow, you were even gonna try to fuck someone else while wearing this thong i got you while i was away. God, your such a slut arent you?" He said while rubbing your thigh. Before you could even answer he put his finger onto your core. He could feel how wet you were. "Cmon baby, tell me how much of a slut you are, use your words my love." You couldnt even reply, because of his fingers sliding up and down your core. You could only reply with stutters and moans.

"Y-yes jin, im a slut. O-oh god, please. I wont do it again, just please fuck me already." "Oh im sorry? you wont do what again? can you repeat that Y/N?" he asked, and god. the way he said your name, it made you on the brink of cumming and he hasnt even done anything yet. God, you were so in love with this man.

"J-jin please i wont do it again, i wont go to anyone else. only you, a-and if you arent here then ill have to wait. O-oh god.."

He brought up his fingers and said, "Good girl. Now im gonna give you a fucking so good and show you who you belong to." He picked you up and tossed you on his shoulder and walked you out of the bar.

Once back at your place, he tossed you onto your bed and ripped off your dress. He slid his hand down your chest and played with your nipples, which made them hard instantly. He brought his head down and sucked on the left nipple. You were moaning and panting so much that someone wouldve thought you were about to cum. But not jin, he could read you like a book and he knew that these moans were filled with love and lust. He let go of your nipple with a pop and went down to your legs.

He slid off your thong carefully and spread open your legs. "O-oh god jin, please. im so desperate." You said as he looked at you from between your legs. "Oh baby, your in for a night" he said as he started licking your core. He sucked and licked so good that you were seeing stars in your eyes. He was teasing your entrance with his tounge and it made you even more desprate, forming tears in your eyes.

You could hear the slurping and sucking, making you close to just snapping, but he stopped. "Get up and get in doggy-style. I wanna see how good you look for me" You got up and got into the postistion. you could hear his zipper go down and you felt his d1ck press up against your core. He slowly insterted and stretched you out.

"Fuck, i missed this pussy so much you have no idea baby." He said as he let you loosen up for him. "Are you ready baby? Im gonna give you the best fucking of your life." He said as he started pounding into you.

You couldnt even hold yourself up as you were drooling and just laying there. He put his arm underneath you and held you up.

As he kept going harder and faster, you could hear the clapping that was going on between you two. You felt the line in your lower stomach about to snap. He could tell you were about to cum by the way you started clenching around him. "Oh no, not yet baby, you can cum when i let you." He said as he slipped out of you. "This is what bad girls get when they try to get dick from somewhere else."

He flipped you guys over and now you were on top of him. "Ride. Me. Now." he demanded and you started riding. Side to side, up and down, and back and forth. "J-Jin please, im so close. Just let me.."

He snatched your head and pulled it down and looked you deep into your eyes, panting and sweating. "Cum with me. Show me who turns you into a mess and makes you cum around his cock."

And boom. Thats all you needed for that line to snap in your lower stomach. You were shaking around his cock and moaning more then ever. Not to long after, jin was finishing inside of you.

Panting and sweating he picked up your face and said, "I love you Y/N."

"I love you more Jin. I missed you."

[namluvili]

twisted love (2)

Shit can always get complicated when you come face to face with a vampire, but you don't expect for things to take a wild turn with him.

f!reader x vampire!namjoon

this is part 2 of this story, read part one here

Word count: 739; sorry its short, I've been drinking :p

i made a playlist for this story, it helped me set the mood and write it.https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6oZbET8eNOt0kkRdpPTkNC?si=d804f3ee68394597

warning(s): slight k!ssing, Joon is stalkerish? little intimate moments, Joon is a vampire, so expect for him to want to have bl00d (no there isn't any blood play, that's disgusting.) Joon is whipped, tad bit of smut.

You woke up the next day, not even remembering what happened. You felt very sick, looking pale and your lips felt heavy and numb. Luckily, today was Saturday, so you didn't have to work at all. you got changed into more comfortable clothes and got some food out of the fridge. As you pulled out the food, a sticky note fell off from your admirer. You picked it up and it said, "I'm sure you don't feel well princess, the other stuff i put in here should help you feel better." You slowly opened the container, and their was soup on the side, with a little bit of vegetables.

You heated up what he had in store for you and slowly put your spoon to pick up the soup and tasted it, and oh my god, it tasted like straight hell. it was disgusting. this dude could not cook to save his life. You don't even remember who this guy was, let alone when he came over. That's the thing about vampires, you don't remember them at all.

You kept eating the food, because damn he was right. it helped you feel 100x better. Once you were up and ready again, you forgot you had to run to the store today. You put your shoes on, and headed out the door.

At the store, you had to grab eggs, bread, and chips. nothing else. Making your way down the chips isle, you feel as if something else is watching you. you look behind you, and there he is. Kim fucking Namjoon. you look at him in the eyes and he licks his lips coming up to you. "Well, i see someone is feeling better." he says quietly.

Why aren't you running? why aren't you scared? you should be dashing your way out and getting help. Did he really have this much of impact on you? Hes a fucking vampire, not a human. But, when you do walk away, he grabs you by the arm and twirls you around so your in his arms. "Where do you think your going Y/N? I told you this wasn't over, based on the way you were acting last night."

You want to kiss him. You want to give your whole body and soul to this man. By the way he just looks at you with his dimple smile and fangs shining. But wait? Aren't vampires not supposed to be in the sunlight? Something was weird about him.

"come on, follow me. i have something to show you. don't worry about the food, ill make sure you still get what you need". "Namjoon, i cant do this. I'm supposed to be running and screaming, why cant i? what the fuck have you done to me?"

he looks at you with this look on his face, and it doesn't look good, its full of hunger and lust. He guides you to the bathroom and tuns you to face him. "Don't, worry about what i did, you'll see in a few days love." He quickly says before he dives in to kiss you.

You cant even fight back, as soon as you saw this, thing. You wanted nothing more but to have yourself underneath him.

He makes his way up your shirt, noticing your not wearing a bra. "Oh really baby? Not wearing a bra? its like you were begging for me to just see you." he pressed his body against you, you can feel his length pushing against your leg. Hes so desperate for you that you can almost laugh. He goes towards your neck, just kissing it, making you squirm underneath him.

He slowly takes your pants off seeing your underwear and having the urge to rip them off of your body. He spreads your legs open slowly and sees the little damp part on your underwear, "hmm.. looks like someone was more then ready to see me." he says as he dives into between your legs.

As he's licking and eating away, you don't feel his fangs, its weird because he's a vampire right? but maybe falling in love with you was the best thing that's ever happened to him.

right before you finish, he peaks his head up because you have a look on your face that says something other then happiness.

you look down at him into his eyes and you say,

"J-joon, I cant do this, your not human."

[namluvili]

𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 (1)

"..𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙧, 𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.."

f!reader x vampire!namjoon

This is a slow burn romance, so don't expect anything to be fast. (unless i get lazy).

Word count: 1.6k

i made a playlist for this story, it helped me set the mood and write it.https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6oZbET8eNOt0kkRdpPTkNC?si=d804f3ee68394597

warning(s): slight k!ssing, Joon is stalkerish? little intimate moments, Joon is a vampire, so expect for him to want to have bl00d (no there isn't any blood play, that's disgusting.) Joon is whipped, a little smut? (slight making out against a wall, etc) enjoy!

You were tired of waking up everyday to go to your job, you hated your job, but because of your rich family, you had to have a decent job. It wasn't always easy, considering your job was vampire hunting, which was dumb. It was the 20th century, everyone knows vampires don't exist. Right? But it paid well, and it was just for research, everyone knew that vampires weren't real, but everyone just HAD to believe they were real, considering the "sightings" that have been reported.

You slowly got out of your bed, brushed your teeth and threw on your normal work outfit; a black skirt, and a button up blouse. You put on your heels, and made your way out the door.

You arrived at the office, hoping today went like everyday. Sitting at your desk, not having to go out and investigate for "vampires" but boy, you were wrong. You were shutting down more cases when your boss came to your desk and said, "Y/N, this case is pretty severe, were gonna need you to go out today, and debunk it. But i think this one is gonna be a tad bit harder."

"How come? what are the people saying?" you asked.

"At night, people are seeing this pair of eyes peek into their windows and hear slight growling. They wake up the next morning with bites on their neck. I think this one is pretty serious Y/N."

You roll your eyes and say, "Fine ill check it out, but i doubt theres gonna be anything out there." As you gather your "going out" clothes.

After you change, you make your way to the address your boss gave you. On your way, you turn left and head into deep woods. You didn't like this at all. Chills went up your spine and you felt as if there were another pair of eyes watching you.

You slowly went up the driveway leading up to the little shack in the middle of the woods. Hoping that this would just be quick and easy like the other ones. As you make your way up the creaky steps to knock on the door, you see a shadow by the window quickly shuttle away.

"Okay Y/N, calm down. Your just here to debunk a case, that's all you have to do." you say to yourself as the door opens before you can even knock.

"Ah, you must be the investigator. welcome, come inside." the man says to you with the cutest dimple smile you have ever seen in your life.

You didn't even acknowledge what he said to you, because my god. This man was, so. fucking. handsome. You thought to yourself as he suddenly waved his hand in your face, "hellooo?" he said to you.

"Oh! I'm sorry, yes i am the investigator, sorry about that, I'm just not used to being in these parts of the woods." you say while chuckling, making your way inside the shack. "its alright, Y/N, its not everyone's cup of tea. speaking of, would you like some?" he asked

How the fuck did he know your name? last time you remember, your name wasn't anywhere on the website for your job. maybe your boss recommended you. you shrug it off.

"yes, i would like some, uhh.." you try to say his name, but yet you haven't even learned it LOL. "its Kim Namjoon. you can either call me Namjoon, or just Joon is fine." he said while heading to the kitchen. "your welcome to sit anywhere by the way, i wont keep you long."

You saw a couch nearby, and decided to sit and wait for him to come back with the tea. you looked around the place, it didn't look to unsettling, it was just covered with books, and some art. nothing uncomfortable. you quickly turn your head to the kitchen, noticing he's coming back. you quickly fix your posture and grab out your checklist of questions.

"Okay.." you say while clearing your throat. So, tell me the sightings you have been seeing, and ill check them off along the way, if a majority of the questions check 'yes' then ill keep coming back out and investigating. "

He nods his head and sips his tea. "Well, i have been seeing eyes peek into my window at night, and I've been waking up with random bite marks on my body. I thought it was just a animal, but then they started turning into fang marks. I always feel uneasy waking up, like i was up all night."

Damn.. this was a pretty serious case. "well, okay.." you sip your tea. "this is a pretty serious case, so ill have to come back out more often and see what's going on out here, could be a animal, or could be something else. I'm not sure." you say to him.

"figured that's what the answer would be.. not surprised." he says in a stern voice. "Well, at least i didn't waste your time." he says while showing off that dimple smile again.

Fuck, this is gonna be hard to do with a man looking that attractive.. you slowly get up from the couch, and deep dive into his arms, you look at his plump lips and-

Damn Y/N, what the hell are you thinking? you just met this man. Calm down.. you repeat to yourself, getting those thoughts away.

"Alright, well i must be going, i have to report this to the office." you say as you get up and make your way out of the door.

You feel uneasy, wondering what just happened inside of your head, how the hell is it already 9pm? it was 6pm when you got there..ok, whatever.

you go back to the office, feeling more tired than usual. you hand the paperwork to your boss and clock out early because your not feeling well.

you could barely drive yourself home. it was awful. you almost got into 3 crashes, fell asleep behind the wheel twice, you just wanted to be in your bed. You walk into your front door, kick off your shoes and tied up your hair into a bun.

NAMJOON POV

Her scent is so strong. It took everything inside of me to not just suck into her neck during that interview. Once she left, i couldn't hold myself back anymore. I've been watching her from afar for so long, and i finally made a move. She slowly drove away from my home, and i knew i couldn't let her get far. I followed her, and we ended up at her house. I set myself up at her back window and waited until it was the perfect time to finally do something about it.

Its now 12AM, and she's finally asleep. Best part about being a vampire, is that no one can sense when your watching a human, and plotting on them. I don't want to hurt her, but she's been on my mind ever since she had her first case at the job. She almost caught me, but i was able to sneak away before she cracked the case.

I slightly cracked open her window and snuck into her bedroom. She looks so peaceful, but i cant help it. i need to taste her.

I slowly make my way to her neck, the moment is finally happening. i just need a few drops, then ill be on my way. thats all-

Y/N POV

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" you scream as you feel sharp fangs touch your neck. "There's no. fucking. way." you say as you see him, hovering above you. Namjoon, what the fuck are you doing here? You ask him, desperately waiting for a answer.

"Well, this is awkward.." he said while sitting up onto the bed. You looked at him in the eyes with anger you have never felt before.

"Look, the whole interview earlier about the vampire and stuff, i just wanted your attention. I've been watching you from afar for at least 4 years now. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you Y/N, you're scent is to pure to ignore. I've always wanted a taste of you."

"So your saying, y-your the vampire in this case? Kim, what the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry Y/N... i just- i cant hold it any-"

You kiss him on the lips. Slow and steady, you built it up, you cant even process what your doing, everything is going so fast.

He takes you by the wrists, and pushes you against the wall. His tongue makes his way into your mouth and he couldn't be any more needy for you. He slowly makes his hand down your pajamas and up your shirt, before it gets good, he bites your lip. Hard.

You pull back immediately and taste blood. Did he just, grab some of your blood? Your right. He did.

He pulls back and licks his lips. "Ive been wanting to do that for so long. You taste sweet, just like sugar."

"I've got a taste of you now. Don't expect this to end anytime soon."

you blink, and he's gone.

(a/n: i hope you enjoyed this. i was gonna make this just one part, but i decided to just put it into parts. this was one of my first fics ever, and i hope to make it so everyone can enjoy and be on edge. :) )

[namluvili]

Jealousy

Pairing : Namoon x reader fab

Genre : smut, real world au (?) angst, slight possessiveness and jealousy, MDNI, slight fluff.

Summary: Friends with benefits always gets complicated when one of you catches feelings.

Word Count : 4.5k

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The clinking of glasses and the buzz of conversation filled the air, a symphony of sound that perfectly matched the warm, inviting atmosphere of the cosy bar.

The scent of freshly grilled meats and the faint aroma of soju mingled in the air, creating a comforting and intoxicating blend.

Soft, warm light washed over the room, casting a gentle glow on the faces of the people gathered there.

You sat at a table with your large group of friends, a comfortable mix of laughter and camaraderie enveloping you.

Namjoon was finally back after three long months away, his business trip over, and everyone was here to catch up.

Your eyes scanned the table, landing on Namjoon. He was sitting across from you, his face lit up with a smile as he engaged in conversation with your friends.

Feeling your gaze, his eyes flicked towards yours, a small dimpled smile spreading across his face. You returned the smile, a flicker of something familiar passing between you.

Although your group was close, there was a secret between you and Namjoon, a secret that no one else knew.

A secret that had started with a drunken night and had turned into something more.

You had been friends for a long time, but that night, under the influence of alcohol, you had crossed a line simply because you both had been feeling needy.

Namjoon had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want a relationship. It was purely fucking, a casual arrangement that suited both of you. Or so you thought.

As time went on, your feelings for him had grown. You had already fallen for his dimpled smile, his kindness, and the way you connected over deep conversations and shared interests. He was everything you wanted in a man. Sleeping with him only further cemented those feelings, causing you a lot of heartache.

You had felt stupid and foolish for putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

So, when Namjoon had told you he was going away for work, it had been a relief—a much-needed break to get your head straight and put some distance between the intense emotions you had been wrestling with.

You had convinced yourself that the time apart would help you move on, to finally get over the complicated feelings that had grown between you.

While he was away, the two of you kept in touch through the occasional text message.

After all, you were still friends, and it felt natural to check in on each other. The conversations were friendly, casual—nothing too deep or revealing.

You made sure to keep it light, steering clear of any topics that might dredge up the more intimate aspects of your past arrangement.

They were polite check-ins, nothing more, which helped you maintain the distance you needed.

You had taken this opportunity to fully embrace the idea of moving on.

With Namjoon away, it felt like the perfect time to focus on yourself, to break free from the emotional rollercoaster you had been riding for far too long.

And so you joined a dating site. It felt like a fresh start, a chance to explore new possibilities and meet someone who could offer the kind of connection you were truly looking for.

At first, it was a bit nerve-wracking, scrolling through profiles, wondering if anyone could match up to the image of Namjoon that still lingered in your mind, but you had made progress.

Just as you were about to take a sip of your drink, something in your peripheral vision caught your attention. You did a quick double take, seeing a familiar face in the crowd. It was the guy you'd been on a few dates with recently.

A pang of surprise shot through you, quickly setting your drink down and made your way over to him. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "I didn’t know you came here!" you exclaimed, a smile spreading across your face.

He flashed you a bright smile. "Hey! I’m here waiting for some colleagues. What about you? Who are you with?"

You nodded toward the table behind you. "I’m here with some friends. Come say hi!"

As you led him over, Namjoon's expression darkened. He glanced sharply from Jung to you, clearly puzzled and annoyed at how close you seemed. Who the hell is this guy? he thought, his mind racing.

After the introductions were made, Hoseok couldn’t resist asking, "So, how do you two know each other?"

Jung’s smile grew even warmer as he glanced at you. "We’ve been on a few dates," he said, his eyes lingering on yours.

You shifted slightly, feeling the heat rise in your face as you avoided making eye contact with Namjoon.

Namjoon’s jaw tightened visibly, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

His body language spoke volumes—arms crossed tightly, shoulders rigid. The tension radiating off him was almost tangible.

He tried to maintain a neutral expression, but his clenched fists and the way his gaze fixed on you and Jung betrayed his inner turmoil.

A flicker of possessiveness stirred in Namjoon, surprising even him. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but the thought of you with another man was like a needle pricking at his chest, making him uncomfortable.

He swallowed hard, trying to push away the tightness that constricted his breathing.

“Oh, nice. So, are you two going to go out again?” Jimin asked, his curiosity evident in the playful smile on his face.

“Yeah, sure. I mean I would like to.... if Y/N wants to” Jung said, his gaze shifting back to you, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Namjoon’s mouth went dry. His stomach felt like it was twisting into knots as he waited for your response. What if she says yes?

The thought made him feel uneasy. His fingers drummed nervously against his thigh as he tried to steady his breath.

You nodded slowly, your voice soft and hesitant. “Yes,” you managed to say, though the word felt like it got stuck in your throat.

The sense of guilt, though irrational given your arrangement, settled heavily on your shoulders. You were acutely aware of Namjoon’s presence, the intensity of it making you squirm.

You certainly didn’t want Jung to know about your history with Namjoon. The last thing you needed was to complicate things further.

When you glanced back at Namjoon, you found him stone-faced, his jaw clenched tight. The rigidity in his posture was unmistakable. You frowned, silently questioning him, but he only looked away, sipping on his drink quietly.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you forced yourself to focus back on Jung, attempting to ignore the unsettling tension that lingered like a thick fog in the air.

You laughed along with your friends, trying to blend back into the cheerful atmosphere, but the knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen.

A few minutes later, Jung’s colleagues arrived, and with a quick, friendly goodbye, he wandered off to join them.

You watched him go, grateful for the brief respite from the awkwardness. As you turned back to your friends, you realized Namjoon was gone.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you scanned the room, searching for him. Where did he go?

Just then, you caught sight of him slipping out through the main entrance. Without a second thought, you hurried after him, weaving through the crowd as you dashed toward the door.

The cold air bit at your cheeks as you stepped outside, your breath fogging in the night. The city lights, a blur of neon and yellow, reflected off the wet pavement.

You spotted Namjoon leaning against a wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers, his tall figure partially hidden in the shadows.

The streetlights cast eerie, elongated shadows that danced around him, adding to the sense of foreboding.

"Namjoon," you called softly, your voice almost a whisper against the backdrop of the bustling street.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit glazed from the alcohol, the usual sparkle replaced by a dull haze. The cigarette smoke curled around his face, obscuring his features. "You okay?"

"I’m fine," he replied, but the clipped tone in his voice told a different story.

He lurched from the wall, his movements slightly unsteady, and stubbed the cigarette out before heading off down the street away from you.

You stood there, confusion knotting in your chest as you watched him start to walk away.

His sudden change in behaviour left you feeling adrift. Without a second thought, you hurried after him, your frustration simmering with every step.

"Joon! Wait. What’s going on?" you demanded when you finally caught up to him, grabbing his forearm. The tension radiated off him in waves. His jaw clenched tightly.

"Just leave me alone and go back to Jung," he replied in a monotone, the words cutting through the night air, each word cutting through the chilly night air like a blade. His voice was cold and distant, as if he were speaking to a stranger.

“What?!” Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of what he was saying, taking in his face.

“Are you jealous?” you asked, almost in disbelief. Your voice trembled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden outburst.

He whirled around to face you, his eyes blazing with a cocktail of emotions. “Jealous? Of him?!” he asked, incredulity dripping from his words. His voice was harsh, almost venomous.

“Well, why else would you say that? You’ve been in a mood ever since he sat with us,” you pointed out, your voice edged with frustration. You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I just don’t like him. You’re too good for him,” he spat out through clenched teeth, the words dripping with a mix of anger and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

His eyes were filled with a strange intensity, a mix of possessiveness and protectiveness that you couldn’t quite understand.

Namjoon continued walking, breathing harshly.

“You don’t even know him!” you shot back, fists clenching as you struggled to keep up with his long strides.

A few drunken bystanders turned and looked at you, their curious eyes following your heated exchange.

Their laughter, muffled and distant, added to the tension in the air. You ignored them, focusing solely on Namjoon and the growing intensity of his anger.

“I don’t need to. I don’t want you seeing him,” he snapped over his shoulder, his voice sharp and possessive.

“Are you kidding me. Do you hear yourself?!” You let out a disbelieving snort, your eyes wide in shock at his audacity.

“Just because we fucked a few times doesn’t mean you can dictate who I can date! You’re just pissed because I’m not going to come running when you want some pussy” Your frustration was clear, each word punctuated with the sting of betrayal.

“Isn’t that what friends with benefits means? We agreed on the arrangement, didn’t we?” he shot back, his voice tinged with frustration as if you were the one breaking the rules.

You laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and unforgiving in the cold night air. “Yeah, but that also means it ends when one of us starts dating!”

Namjoon’s pace slowed as he reached the entrance of his apartment, his voice dropping to a gritty, low growl. “Were you even going to tell me?” He stopped abruptly, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes, when the time was right. What about you? I could say the same for you, what about the women you were hooking up on your work trip.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed, his expression tightening with a mix of hurt and frustration. He looked almost insulted by your words, as if you’d just questioned his character. “That’s because there were none!” he snapped, his voice rougher than you expected.

You laughed again, this time with incredulity. "Are you serious? You, the most gorgeous man I know, who can command a room and have any woman he wants has nothing to tell? That you weren't getting pussy whenever you wanted?"

The irony of your so-called friends-with-benefits arrangement stung like salt in an open wound. It was almost absurd when you thought about it.

Here he was, this breathtakingly handsome man, someone who could have anyone he desired, and yet he had chosen you. Just you—average, unremarkable, nothing special. A friend.

It felt like some cruel joke, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had even bothered with you in the first place.

Namjoon’s expression shifted from anger to one of genuine surprise, his eyebrows shooting up as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “You think I’m attractive?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You let out a heavy sigh, the exasperation clear in every breath you took. It felt like a punchline to a joke that wasn’t funny.

“Are you seriously asking me that? It’s not the point. The point is you were gone for three months. Three whole months. Did you really think I was just going to sit around and wait for you like some pathetic puppy, waiting for your call?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but it quivered with the weight of your emotions.

"Yes, I know that’s what a friends-with-benefits arrangement is supposed to mean, but you’re not the only one who has a life. I have one too, you know.”

The weight of everything unsaid between you was too much, and you were already stepping back, the chilly night air biting at your skin.

Namjoon’s gaze followed you as you moved, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. His eyes, those deep eyes that usually commanded a room, were now clouded with confusion and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

You were already turning on your heel, the weight of the conversation pressing down on your shoulders like a physical burden.

You took a few steps away from him, your breath coming out in sharp bursts, trying to create some distance between you and the emotional storm you were caught in.

But before you could get far, his voice cut through the night, low and possessive, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

"You’re mine."

The words stopped you in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

You turned slowly, meeting his eyes. There was something desperate, almost primal, in the way he looked at you—like he was on the edge of losing something he couldn’t bear to let go of.

Your breath hitched, your mind racing to catch up with what he had just said.

The audacity of it, the sheer nerve, made your blood boil, but there was something else too—something in the way he said it that made your chest tighten, made your heart ache with a mixture of anger and something you didn’t want to name.

"What did you just say?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity in your tone.

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours, the intensity between you growing thicker with each passing second. Finally, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"You heard me" he said, his tone firm yet laced with something deeper, something raw. "I know we had an arrangement, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you being with someone else."

"Do you hear yourself?" you managed to croak out, the emotion clawing at your throat, threatening to spill over. “I'm not someone's property.”

The night air felt suffocating, and the ache in your chest grew sharper with every passing second.

You wanted so badly to be his, to be loved by him in the way you had always dreamed, but deep down, you knew he never wanted that with you. It had always felt like you weren’t good enough for him, like you were a mere afterthought in his world.

“I know you're not,” He sighed heavily, a sound of pure exasperation escaping his lips as he looked up at you, his eyes clouded with a mix of regret and earnestness. His brows furrowed deeply, a stark contrast to his usually eloquent demeanour.

It was as if every carefully chosen word he normally wielded so effortlessly had suddenly betrayed him, slipping into clumsy, hurtful phrases.

He knew he should have been able to articulate his feelings with precision, but the weight of the situation left him grappling for the right words.

He stepped even closer, his body nearly brushing against yours. The proximity was suffocating, yet electrifying, his presence overwhelming your senses.

His thick, pillowy lips, so soft and inviting, hovered dangerously close to yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

The desire to close the gap between you was almost unbearable, but the confusion and frustration gnawing at your heart held you back.

“Why did you follow me here? Your boyfriend is still at the bar,” he added, his voice rough and accusatory, his words slicing through the fragile connection between you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you shot back, your tone defensive, your heart racing with a mix of anger and confusion.

You could feel the tremor in your voice, the raw vulnerability that you were trying so hard to mask.

Namjoon’s eyes flared with a mixture of anger and something more tender, something that made your heart skip a beat. "No? Then I can do this."

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body pressed so close that you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your soft breasts pressed against his hard chest, creating an overwhelming sense of intimacy.

"Namjoon!" you gasped, your eyes widening in shock at the sudden proximity. His grip tightened, holding you in place, his gaze never wavering from yours.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sounds of the night fading into the background as the tension between you reached its peak.

His eyes softened, the anger melting away to reveal something more vulnerable, something that mirrored the longing you had tried so hard to suppress.

Before you could react, his lips, so full and soft, crashed against yours with a fierce urgency that took your breath away.

For a fleeting moment, you gave in to the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth of his lips flood your sense, tasting him. But as quickly as it began, reality snapped back into focus.

You placed your hands on his chest, the firmness of his muscles grounding you as you pushed him away with a mix of urgency and confusion.

The night air felt suffocating, each breath more laboured as your confusion and frustration swirled inside you.

“Why are you acting like this?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you searched his face for answers.

You couldn’t understand why he was being so possessive, so contradictory, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Namjoon’s expression shifted the moment he saw the tears threatening to spill over. The hard lines of his face softened, and his grip on you loosened just enough for you to feel the change in his demeanour.

He would never want to hurt you, that much was clear, and seeing you in pain seemed to break something inside him.

“I love you, Y/N”

The words hung in the air between you, his confession cutting through all the confusion and anger, leaving you breathless and completely stunned.

Time seemed to freeze as you stared up at him, searching his eyes for any hint that this was just an emotional outburst.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “This is just a reaction to seeing me with someone else.”

The hurt that crossed his face was unmistakable, a sharp, raw edge that made your heart twist in your chest.

“Is that how low you think of me?” he asked, his voice thick with disbelief, his brows furrowing as he stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe you would think that of him. "You know me more than anyone!"

“I didn’t mean it like that. But we knew this would end eventually. you stammered, your eyes dropping to the ground as shame flooded your cheeks. “But we knew this would end eventually. That’s what friends with benefits means. You never wanted a relationship… and… I-I did.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, each one a painful reminder of the boundaries you had tried so hard to respect, the unspoken rules you had forced yourself to follow.

You dared to glance up, just for a moment, only to find Namjoon’s expression unreadable. His jaw was clenched, the muscle there twitching slightly as he processed your admission.

Suddenly, his hand was under your chin, his touch gentle but firm as he tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch, the raw emotion there sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushed softly across your skin, wiping away a tear that had slipped free.

"I love you, Y/N," he said, his voice low and unsteady, yet filled with an undeniable sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m in love with you. You’re the only person I want."

The confession hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you reeling.

You couldn’t respond, your mind struggling to process the gravity of his words, the weight of the emotions that had been hidden for so long. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath you, the world tilting on its axis as you tried to make sense of everything.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling over as you spoke, your voice choked with sobs. “If that were true, you would have said something sooner," you cried, the pain in your voice cutting through the air.

"You wouldn’t have left me confused and hurt, wondering what I meant to you. It’s my fault—I should have never agreed to this when I knew how I felt. I was selfish because it was the only way I could have you.”

Your breath hitched as the tears came harder, your chest heaving with the effort to hold yourself together. "And now… now you’re just jealous because I can get another guy," you added, the words bitter and sharp on your tongue.

Namjoon’s face softened at your words, the anger and frustration melting away, replaced by a gentleness that was almost shocking given the situation.

He took a step closer, his gaze locked on yours, a tenderness in his eyes that made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was afraid… afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of losing you if I asked for more. But I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, Y/N. I can’t pretend anymore.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that had erupted between you. His hand, still holding your chin, was warm and steady, grounding you in the moment.

The desperation in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it was all too much, too overwhelming. "But why...why would you love me? I'm just average." your voice wavers.

“Do you see yourself?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Perfect. Perfect for me.” His gaze softened further, and he took a deep breath, his frustration melting into something more tender and vulnerable.

“The way you find positivity in every situation… How supportive you are of my dreams. It’s like you see me in a way no one else does.”

He paused, reaching up to gently brush a tear from your cheek, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. “I love how your face lights up when you talk about your hobbies and passions. I could listen to you for hours and never tire of it. And it’s not just that,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, “it’s how you care for people so deeply. How you make me want to be a better person.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his touch grounding and warm.

The intensity of his gaze seemed to hold all the things he had never said before, all the things you had hoped he felt but never truly knew.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N. Please don’t doubt that. Please don’t think you’re just average. Because to me, you’re extraordinary.”

“I…” you started, but the words faltered as your throat tightened with emotion.

“Do you love me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

You frowned, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice.

Every part of you was screaming for release, for the truth you had kept buried for so long.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you took a slow, shuddering breath and nodded.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough, almost pleading.

“I-I love you too” you whispered, the words escaping your lips like a confession, both freeing and terrifying all at once.

The moment the words left your mouth, Namjoon’s expression shifted—something fierce and determined flashing in his eyes.

Without another word, he grabbed your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, and pulled you towards the door of his apartment.

The world blurred around you as he slammed the door shut behind you, the sound reverberating through the walls.

Before you could even register what was happening, he was on you, pushing you up against the wall, his body pressing hard against yours.

His lips crashed onto yours, the kiss searing and desperate, as if trying to make up for all the lost time, all the words that had gone unsaid.

Your breath caught in your throat as you kissed him back, the intensity of the moment consuming you.

His hands roamed over your body, holding you close, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness.

Every inch of you was hyperaware of him—his warmth, his strength, the way his heart pounded against yours as he deepened the kiss.

His hand tangled into your hair, and a low, frustrated groan rumbled in the back of his throat. He pressed himself closer to you, seeking the friction that had been building between you.

His hard erection pressed insistently against his zipper. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you” he groans.

Clothes are quickly strewn across the floor, not even making it to the bedroom. Each article of clothing falls in a haphazard trail, creating a disarray of fabric that maps out the urgency and desperation of the moment.

Namjoon’s hands are restless, fumbling with the buttons of your jeans as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t act quickly, this moment will slip away. His touch is feverish and hungry.

Bending down he picks you up his strong biceps bulging, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms around his neck. Your back is pressed against the cold hard wall, a complete contrast to how hot your body feels.

He rests his forehead against yours and he watches himself rub the tip of his hard swollen cock through your wetness.

Too eager to be inside you, too impatient to take it slow, as if reading his mind, your breathy voice next to his ear begs him "Please, Joon...I've missed you, I need you inside me!"

He groans "Shit....if you say things like that, I'm gonna cum too soon" you giggle, kissing his neck and jaw, slowly nibbling on his ear.

"Please....Joonie, fuck me" you whine.

"What my girl wants, she gets" he grunts, slowly lubricates his cock in your juices, rubbing back and forth he rubs his tip, before letting it catch in your entrance, and pushing his hips forward, letting himself sink into you.

His eyebrows furrowed, watching for any signs of discomfort. You bite your lip, as you try to accommodate him.

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well” he whispers above your lips, his voice strained as he tries to control himself, pushing into inch by inch.

You both cry out as his big cock slowly stretches your pussy open, the delicious burn, quickly giving way to pleasure when you feel him deeply lodged inside you. “oh fuck!”

“You okay?” he asks, concern etched on his face.

You nod a little. “You can move”

Your head lolls back against the wall as he slowly fucks into you, getting you accustomed to his length again. It feels so fucking good.

“"You are taking me so well. Fuck!” He groans, spreading your thighs wider his lips travelled down to the sensitive spot on your neck, leaving a trail of hot, demanding kisses that made your toes curl.

Each touch ignited a fire within you, sending shivers down your spine as his warm breath mixed with the intensity of his kisses.

He angles his hips, rolling them up as the tip rubs against your spongy wall inside. He moves slowly, his rhythm steady and powerful.

“Ugh!” You cry out, nails digging into his back as you cling on to him tightly.

He kisses you roughly". Who´s making you feel this good?"

“Mmmm. You are! Please. I’m going to cum!” Your eyes flutter shut, as you focus on the pleasure.

Heat prickles across your chest as you begin to feel the first tingles of your orgasm approaching.

“Fuck! Joon! Please. I’m going to cum!” You squeeze your eyes shut, as you focus on the pleasure.

“Open your eyes Y/N. Let me watch that pretty face of yours when you cum on my cock” he slams into you again with a growl, your eyes flash open, staring in to his intense gaze. "

Your pussy contracts around him, he can feel how aroused you are. Slick coating his pelvis.

Your eyes focus on his, your stomach muscles clench, suddenly you take in a harsh breath as the pleasure washes over you, thighs trembling.

So perfect" he murmurs, kissing you deeply swallowing your moans.

He begins to pick up speed, thrusting over and over into your swollen pussy, chasing his own high. The pleasure builds, fingers digging into your ass cheeks as he holds you tightly.

A guttural moan leaves his lips, he moans your name against your ear and you feel his thrusts becoming sloppier, and uneven, the pleasure crashing over him in waves.

He finally comes to a halt, his breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat glistening along his chest and face. He leans down, pressing his lips gently to your forehead, to your cheek and then gently on your mouth.

"I love you so much" he whispers softly.

[namluvili]

Namjoon fic recs 2024 🥳

In honor of Namjoon’s birthday, I want to share my ultimate favorite Namjoon stories that I’ve read this past year (2023-2024) 💜 Have I recommended these before? Yes. But I will not stop screaming about these stories because they are so fucking amazing!! I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹🥳

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell or contains dark themes, so minors dni.❗ 

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the fic, it might seem like a tiny gesture, but it really means a lot for writers and I can guarantee it will put a smile on their faces💜 Let’s share and give lots of love!

Looking for more to read? Check ‘The Library’, last years Namjoon recs or  last years recs 🙂

[index] → jan | feb (jhs) | mar (myg) | apr | may | jun | jul | aug | sep (jjk)(💜j) | oct (pjm) | nov | dec (kth)(ksj) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, fantasy = 🪄. 

⭐Friend or Fuck: pt1 & pt2 @joonsmagicshop [18K] // knj x f.reader // f2l // 🥵🥰

📝 a drunken night leads to a good morning.

🗨️ I really liked this 🥺 Namjoon was just so sweet, caring and gentle with OC. Really loved it 👏🏾💜

⭐Emotions of the Soul @oddinary4bts [36.6K] // knj x f.reader // idol!au, childhood/teenage lovers to s2l2l // 🥵🌩️🥰

📝 when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

🗨️ this is another masterpiece from Ella! She is incredible at writing idol!au’s that just feels so goddamn natural and real 👏 The way Namjoon is written is just perfection and OC with her struggles, and they are goddamn human, yes – and that’s one of the beautiful parts in it!!! 😭

⭐A Word from our Sponsors @ugh-yoongi [17.5K] // knj x f.reader // podcast!au, f2l, idiots to lovers  // 😂🥵🥰

📝 you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 

🗨️ okay. This. Was. Exceptional ✨🥹 It was amazing, seriously one of the best fics I’ve ever read 😭 everything just had that perfect flow, the writing was incredible, like I can’t even speak? The characters, out of this world fantastic ✨ the whole thing, just, perfect. Perfection. I don’t know what else to call it, sorry. The world building and tension was so fucking delicious I just ate it up! 😭 And their banter and chemistry was just off the charts amazing. Perfection. And it was so fucking hilarious too!! Many times I was just laughing or chuckling, like the lovesick fool I am 😂 

⭐Bookworms @hoseoksluna [4.4K] // knj x f.reader // boyfriend!namjoon // 🥰🥵

📝 Namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

🗨️ the love that they have for each other– so beautiful too! The smut? Perfect! The aftercare too— they did each other’s hair???? 🥹 I mean, just the perfect amount of smut, fluff and overall cuteness ❤️

⭐New Guy @kithtaehyung [5k]  // knj x f.reader // university!au, e2l // 🥵

📝 all you want to do is have a successful meeting after experiencing dwindling attendance. but the new guy is completely disrupting things… or is he?

🗨️ so many feels about this one; all good and dirty ones!!! I had a feeling about the twist but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, it was extremely good, and it was so fucking HOT, like the tension, incredible! It really had me 🥵 So, so fucking good— love it 💖

⭐Holiday Shambles @ressjeon [5k]  // knj x f.reader // christmas!au, married!au // 🥰🥵🌩️

📝 when you have to spend time with both your parents and Namjoon’s snobby ones for this Christmas, you’re forced to show the best version of you even knowing what’s to come. you’re ready, right? after all, you’re the best wife aren’t you?

🗨️ this is so hilarious, cute and sweet 🥹 Loved it✨

⭐Entirety @btsgotjams27 [3.3k]  // knj x f.reader // slice of life!au, f2l // 🥵🥰

📝 namjoon is the complete package, except for the fact that he won’t make the first move.

🗨️ AFGJFKGHLKFDHGJGKJHG— 🥵🥵🥵 Yes, I’ve resulted to key smashing because I’m speechless, but I’ll try to give a few words anyway: first, this was incredibly hot, I can’t even begin to articulate properly, and the writing, like I’m a so in love with the writing, like the language is so descriptive and imaginative that I can clearly imagine every little fucking detail— and the words? Well they just flow seamlessly! ✨

⭐Heart got Teeth @ugh-yoongi [12k]  // knj x f.reader // enemies to fwb to lovers // 🥵😂

📝 (or, the one where namjoon meets his match and isn’t quite sure how to handle you.)

🗨️ wow okay, love, love, love this one 😭 it’s mainly from Namjoon’s pov, which is amazing, like all he observes about oc… Gosh and their back and forth teasing, witty banter and the dynamic between dominance and losing control— so good, ugh! 🥵 It’s amazing, so if you haven’t read this one yet, I highly recommend it ✨

⭐Castaways @rmnamjoons [25.5k] // knj x f.reader // s2l, slow burn, cruise!au // 🥰🥵🌩️

📝 you’ve always hated the ocean. Open water terrifies you, and you stay as far away from it as possible for self-preservation and peace of mind. Despite this, your friend somehow convinces you to go on a luxury cruise with her, her boyfriend Hoseok, and Hoseok’s nerdy friend Namjoon, who’s almost cute enough to distract you from your debilitating fears. When a sudden storm hits, however, you and Namjoon are swept overboard and find yourselves castaway on a desert island somewhere in the vast South Pacific.

🗨️ holy fucking shit— this was perfection 😭 A new favorite of mine, hands down. First off, the theme? Like being stranded and a castaway, so fucking good. I loved it. The whole trip, also so fun, but their banter, exceptional 👏✨ I loved how their tension build so slowly, a fantastic slowburn 🥰 I also did enjoy when the went overboard, because it made it much more realistic, and the descriptions of the event underwater was so good. Like, everything about this is so fucking amazing! And the smut, omg I’m drooling 🤤

⭐Solace @m-yg93 [13.5k]  // knj x f.reader // roommates!au, s2l // 🥰🥵😂

📝 Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

🗨️ omg 😭 This was so fucking cute, sweet, dirty and filthy 🥵 I loved it so much!!!! I loved how Yoongi called Jin and Namjoon ‘Biceps and Shoulders’ 🤣 So hilarious! This was truly just— *chef’s kiss* 😘

⭐The Sheriff @ppersonna [6.8k]  // knj x f.reader // f2l, cowboy!au // 🥰🥵😂

📝 you’ve always had a soft spot for Kim Namjoon, the local sheriff.  seems like he’s had one for you, too.

🗨️ ahhhh— the smut in this 🥵🥵🥵 Hot, hot, hot! Another new favorite! It was so good and damn, the last line of dialogue had me laughing way too much 🤣 

⭐Knock it Down a Peg @thatlongspringnight [3.3k]  // knj x f.reader // est. relationship // 🥰🥵😂

📝 thanks to an idea from Jungkook’s girlfriend, you and Namjoon decided to try something new in the bedroom.

🗨️ this was just so fucking funny 🤣 I really loved it! Like I was laughing the whole time— that’s how funny it was! A short, but very very funny read! ✨

⭐The Truth Untold @rmnamjoons [10.1k]  // knj x f.reader // bf2l // 🥰🥵🌩️

📝 you’ve been trapped for months in a loveless, toxic relationship, too afraid of what would happen if you ever tried to leave. Your boyfriend gets so jealous, especially of your best friend Namjoon, who you’ve missed more than your heart can stand. Now, seeing Namjoon for the first time in weeks, you decide that it’s time to tell him everything, no matter the cost.

🗨️ ah what— this was both sad and very very sweet 😭 It’s sad, because it’s cheating— 😭 What she has with Namjoon is pure sweetness, and he is perfect for her 😭💜 I really loved it, though I have conflicted feelings about the cheating (I always have lol), but it was really good and I really liked it! It was so soft, beautiful and I love their relationship and she should just have picked Namjoon from the start!! Anyway, a really good story that will tear you up a bit. Also, just seeing the banner had me in tears already, and looking at it again, I’m already crying 😭

⭐Park and Ride @here2bbtstrash [4.8k]  // knj x f.reader // fuckbuddy!au // 🥵

📝 your fuckbuddy asks if the two of you can drive around a bit first, but he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself

🗨️ wow this was both cute and hot 🥵 There’s also a small drabble to it that can be found here: [link]

⭐Cream @luxekook [1.8k]  // knj x f.reader // est. relationship, idol!au // 🥵

📝 you thirst over the outline in the pants of kim namjoon’s iconic cream suit just one time too many, and he’s ready to make you pay for it.

🗨️ Namjoon in that cream suit— what more do I need to say? 🥵 (also loved it, in case there was any confusion on that part ✨)

⭐Don’t Want Your Sympathy @sketchguk [9.5k]  // knj x f.reader x jjk // est. relationship + threesome (kinda) // 🥵🥰🌩️😂

📝 jeongguk is like an annoying little brother to you, but nevertheless, there’s nothing in this world you wouldn’t do for your sweet, innocent best friend. so what are you supposed to do when he wants to watch your boyfriend fuck you senseless? say no?

🗨️ fuck. I’m going feral over this one 😭🥵 First, oc being best friends with Jungkook, so much so that she and Namjoon are willing to show him how to please a woman, please, I don’t know but that must be like the ultimate friendship goal? 🥹😂 I really loved it, and all the sexual teasing and banter was just so hilarious 😂 

⭐1-Year Anniversary @johobi [7.8k]  // knj x f.reader // est. relationship // 🥵🥰

📝 your 1-year anniversary is fast approaching and you’re determined to gift Namjoon the one thing he would never dare ask for. 

🗨️ omg this was so utterly amazing and hot 🥵✨ Another favorite and I loved everything about it 💜

⭐Embrace @rmnamjoons [3.9k]  // knj x f.reader // bf2l, idol!au // 🥵🥰

📝 you and Namjoon have been best friends for years, and you’ve been secretly in love with him basically the entire time. You both love cuddling and being close, much to the amusement of your friends, but to you, being with Namjoon like this means everything. You’ve always believed that Namjoon didn’t feel the same way as you, no matter how much you wanted him to, but maybe there is actually something else behind Namjoon’s cuddles, other than just innocent friendship.

🗨️ this is so fucking soft, cute and sweet and the smut is just so tender 🥹 a really awesome read and I really love it! Might read this one again sometime ✨💜

⭐My Only Wish @ppersonna [15.1k]  // knj x f.reader // e2l, fake dating!au, coworkers!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 there are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug.

🗨️ the way that I am screaming and kicking because of how incredibly awesome this was 😭✨ The tension? The built up?? God. That tension was so fucking thick and hot, I was going feral through most of the reading. I mean, what isn’t there to love in this one? Amazing, I loved it so fucking much it’s illegal 💖🥹

⭐You Set My Heart on Fire: pt1 and pt2 (series; finished) @hayjeon [21k] // knj x f.reader // one night stand, s2l, workplace!au, fireman!Namjoon + paramedic!reader // 🌩️🥰🥵

📝 as a surgeon forced to volunteer as a paramedic in the Seoul Fire Department during an unfortunate probation incident, your one and only goal was to get to work, do your thing, and get the hell home and back to your original high-salary job. But when the SFD’s Chief is the incredibly attractive, cocky, and persistent Kim Namjoon, things start to get heated.  

🗨️ holy shit this is amazing 💖 Namjoon as a firefighter? So fucking hot 🔥 oc as a surgeon turned paramedic ✨ and all the action, the tension, the friends with the whole crew and all the guys??? 🥹 Fuck. This one is amazing, another favorite! 

⭐Real Magic @here2bbtstrash [16.7k]  // knj x f.reader // christmas!au, workplace!au, single dad!Namjoon // 🥵🥰

📝 the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

🗨️ omg this was just so fucking amazing 🥰 I love everything about it and the plot was so fluffy 🥺 Namjoon was just so fluffy and I love his kid ✨ Such a sweet holiday fic, and even if it isn’t read around Christmas time it will bring a smile to your face. It’s truly amazing 💜

⭐Taking Flight @rmnamjoons [15.2k]  // knj x f.reader // sci fi!au, post apocalypse!au alien invasion!au, e2l // 🥵🌩️🥰

📝 more than a decade after the alien invasion that wiped out most of the planet, you and Namjoon are both in the Pilot Cadet Corps, training for if the alien attackers ever come back. What begins as a playful rivalry between two overachievers develops into a deep friendship and emotional bond, but when the aliens suddenly return and you and Namjoon are separated, you find out just what you’re willing to do to get back to him.

🗨️ This was so fucking good, amazing! Really good backstory and world building, the dystopian universe was heartbreaking though, they lost so much 😭 but amidst it all, they thankfully found each other 🥹 it was so fluffy after all the rivalry and angst! The rivalry and banter was so funny though! I really liked that! I really loved the whole thing 🥰

⭐Love.fm @ugh-yoongi [12.4k]  // knj x f.reader // exes!au // 🌩️🥰😂

📝 you know three things for certain: jeon jeongguk will do anything to inconvenience you, kim seokjin is an absolute bastard for putting you in charge of the station’s holiday show, and you’ve got a lot of regrets about the way your relationship ended. however, you also know spending the last two years on your own has done you some good. you’ve got a new haircut, an apartment with a bay window, and a rescue dog. there’s also the stranger who keeps writing into the station about regrets of their own. the stranger whose prose feels so familiar. the stranger who leaves you wondering if things with your ex are quite as resolved as you think.

🗨️ this one is completely SFW 😘 It’s angsty, really more sad to me, with all the thoughts and feelings one could go through after a break up, but still missing that person 🥹 it was really beautiful, and I think the feelings are handled so well, how oc gradually let her friends in (the fact that she went two years without mentioning why she even got to the radio station in the first place, lol) and how her friends support her, the same with Namjoon, and how they will miss each other, but doesn’t shy from the fact that they still need to talk, work through things, but most importantly, how much they still miss each other, but are so fucking afraid of THE TALK. Gosh. All the feelings 🥹 anxiety! It was so good! The ending is very open and allows you to imagine whatever you want to the (potential) couple 🥹 So amazing, and I really loved it 💖

⭐Reflection @jimilter [18.6k]  // knj x f.reader // s2l // 🌩️🥰😂🥵

📝 when his muse ran dry, his publisher suggested Namjoon to change sceneries in order to regroup his creative spirit, and he left the big city to land in this tiny restaurant on the beach. In his quest for inspiration, he has interacted with hundreds of travelers and realized that on the beach, every life’s a movie – some he connects with, some he likes, and some leave him confused. You fall into the last category, confounding him with your sad eyes and quiet smiles; and with the way poetry flows out of him when you’re around. But what happens when things start to careen towards intense feelings, and both of you have vastly different lives to go back to? Heartbreak.

🗨️ this was so good 😭 so angsty, emotional and sad. All his observations, and then finally towards the end everything comes tumbling out 😭 it was very beautiful, heartbreakingly so, but it does have a happy ending ✨💜

⭐Don’t Read Dead Languages @sailoryooons [17.4k]  // knj x f.reader // e2l // 🌩️🥰😂🥵🪄

📝 Namjoon is determined to visit the Living City of the Dead. Amtenemhat is the Egyptian ruins that the locals fear. Archaeologists have gone missing and strange things lurk in the night. But Namjoon’s work as a historian isn’t perfect if he doesn’t go to the source of the legend, and hiring a weaponized tomb raider seems his best bet at surviving.

🗨️ another brilliant one from Hali ✨ it was so exciting, action packed, incredible lore and funny banter 💜 loved it a lot 💎

This is my little corner with my own fics— I don’t write that much (I prefer to read), but it would mean a lot to me if you checked out my work or read it. You don’t have to, it’s up to you of course 🥰

⭐Sprout (mini series; completed) [21k] // knj x f.reader // neighbors!au, s2e2l, garden!au // 🥵😂

📝 you love your plants, you love your garden, you do not love your new neighbor. You hate him with all your might— he wrecks everything you hold dear so you do the only reasonable thing: retaliate.

🗨️ I really don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this, but it’s very funny 🤣 OC is so mad and goes straight up vigilante on Namjoon (poor man), there’s stupid banter (JK is her roommate) — it’s really just a crack fic, please don’t take it seriously, but it’s one of my faves 🥰

⭐Deep Dive [19.8k] // knj x f.reader // mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au, s2l // 🥵🪄🥰😂

📝 you’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals.

🗨️ this is a new addition to my mermaid series— this Namjoon is very soft, cute, loves reading romance books (he’s a nerd and hopeless romantic okay) and he loves collecting crystals too 🥰 This is really just a spicy fantasy story 💜

And as a something little extra, here’s a few fics that I haven’t had the time to read yet, but damn I’m buzzing to get to read them:

Dirty Little Secret @nottodayjjk

All About You @taegularities

Trust Me, Please? (series; discontinued) @sugarwithtea

Sunshine (series; discontinued) @rmnamjoons

All I Want For Christmas is Joon @leahsfavefics

Intersect (series; completed) @shina913

Not Another Holiday Romance @kpopfanfictrash

Dino-Mite @chimcess

Just Like Candy @jamaisjoons

Cruise Control @lavienjin

Happy birthday to the best leader EVER KIM NAMJOON!!!! 🥳💜✨

[namluvili]

oh my gosh i love this

Little do You Know | OT7 | Drabble Eleven

Pair: Bangtan (ot7) x f!reader 

Summary: In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose. 

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, playmate au, idol au. 

Chapter warnings: Baby and Jimin watch Yoongi in concert! Yoonmin smut pt. 1! 

WC: 4.3k

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“I can’t believe I’m finally watching the concert tonight!” you gushed as you were standing next to two of your boyfriends inside the dressing room of the man on tour. 

“I don’t know why you’re so excited, you watched almost all of the rehearsals.” Yoongi mused, playing it cool, but you knew him better than this. “You know everything that happens during.”

“Yes, but–”

“You know the stage moves, and you know I play the piano.” he continued, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You wrote on the guitar I play–” 

“Will you let me be excited about watching my boyfriend on his first solo tour?!” you interrupted him with a pout and crossed your arms to your chest, making Jimin laugh next to you. 

“You better let her have this, hyung, Baby was upset she missed the first two nights.” Jimin told the older man, who had a fond smile as he touched the side of your face. 

“I’m just teasing, kitten. I’m glad you’re both here tonight.” Yoongi finally admitted what you already knew. “This concert will already be better than the first two. Wanna know why?”

“Why?” you grinned, knowing a high level of cheesiness was on the way. 

“Because this time I get to have my good luck kiss.” 

Jimin was chuckling and snickering, and you knew it took great courage for Yoongi to say those words in front of his crew, but you appreciated them even more because of it. You bit back a cooing noise as you opened your arms and hugged Yoongi by the neck, kissing his lips repetitively. 

Yoongi’s makeup artist would have to fix him up a little bit before allowing him to go on stage, but the unnie was new –since you stole Heejin to your own staff team– and she didn’t have enough intimacy with you or Yoongi to really complain about you making her job harder. 

Because of your own schedules, you weren’t able to make it to the US at the same time Yoongi did, flying out with Jimin a few days later. It meant you missed the first two concerts of Yoongi’s tour, but you couldn’t complain too much, as traveling with Jimin was always fun. 

It felt like, and it was exactly like, traveling with your best friend. 

Just two days ago the two of you attended your first official event together, going to the opening of Tiffany & Co’s The Landmark. And tonight, finally, you could both watch Yoongi’s concert for real. 

No more sitting in rehearsal rooms, no more assuring him that everything would be alright, no more squirming in a corner as he sang about his tongue technology; which still did take people to Hong Kong, but it was mostly you and the occasional member that joined you on a rainy day. 

“Five minute call, Yoongi-ssi!” 

One of the producers of the concert called to your boyfriend, but instead of prying your arms off of him, Yoongi’s hold on you became a little tighter and he pushed his tongue into your mouth to take whatever he wanted from you. And you gave it to him willingly. 

After sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and letting it drag between his teeth, he said: 

“Will you do the shot with me?” 

“Mhm.” you nodded, more than a little breathless. “But don’t go getting too excited up there.” 

“Come on, doll, ARMY would love to see hyung’s fat dic–”

“Hajima, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi rolled his eyes through blushing cheeks, making the teasing man giggle. “Come on, shots.”

Yoongi threaded his fingers through yours and Jimin followed along as the older man guided you to the door of the dressing room, where three shot glasses were already filled with Yoongi’s favorite whiskey. The three of you toasted and threw it back; the bitter liquid burned your throat and while Yoongi didn’t even flinch –which would always be attractive to you–, both you and Jimin scrunched your noses and you almost coughed. 

“Go make them scream, cat boy.” you smiled widely as it was time to part. 

“Kiss.” he pouted and you obliged, pressing your lips together one last time. 

“Don’t I get a kiss?” Jimin had a pout on his plush lips as his mask was still around his chin. 

“You will, if you do Tony Montana with him.” you teased, knowing it was a recurring joke. 

“Aish, you’ll never let me live it down, will you?” he rolled his pretty eyes, but there was no bite to his tone. 

Yoongi really really wanted to have Jimin on stage with him, at least once, to perform Tony Montana live again, but the younger man wasn’t so confident about it, so he kept putting it off and saying no. 

Unfortunately you didn’t have time to tease him some more, nor to reassure him it would be fine whether he said yes or no. The security men accompanying you and Jimin were calling to usher the two of you in the direction of the golf cart that would lead you to the place reserved for the two of you to watch the concert from. 

A few twists and turns and elevator rides later, the two of you were rushing closer to the railings to see the man who was already on stage. ARMY were already screaming and going crazy with the man rapping his heart out on stage. 

Watching BTS live was a life changing experience and, much like watching Hobipalooza last year, there was something exhilarating about watching Yoongi –or SUGA, or Agust D– do his thing on stage. For the first couple of songs it was weird to see him up there on his own, you kept expecting the other members to show up, even if your brain knew they wouldn’t. 

But Yoongi was so charismatic, so talented, with a stage presence bigger than himself, that that feeling went away surprisingly fast and everything was as it should be. 

“He’s so good, isn’t he?” Jimin wrapped an arm around your waist as Yoongi left the stage to change outfits after the first few songs. 

“Yoongi is so cool.” you were buzzing with excitement, turning your back to the empty stage as you hugged the man by his shoulders. 

“Is that really the word you wanna use?” half of Jimin’s face was hidden by his mask and the other half was shadowed by his bucket hat, but you still could tell he was smirking and raising an eyebrow. 

“He’s also really fucking hot.” you giggled, holding Jimin closer and hiding your face on his neck. “I am definitely getting fucked tonight.” 

Jimin cackled loudly at your joke, holding you just as tight. 

Not even ten minutes later, Yoongi was back on stage and you were back to screaming. Sadly, you had left your ARMY Bomb at home, so you couldn’t wave it around like the other fans, but you did yell and you did sing along. You could also have raided the merch booth for one, but you already took the black shirt you were wearing over your skirt and a pair of the pretty earrings, so it’s not like you could actually go shopping. Jimin was also wearing the white long sleeve merch shirt, so you didn’t feel all that bad about it. 

It was toward the final half of the concert that people started barking which made Jimin laugh, and then Yoongi spoke while drying the sweat from his face:

“I feel alone without our members on stage. But,” his voice had a deeper tone when he spoke in english, which was enough to have you breathing heavy. “Today my brother Park Jimin and my baby are here! Where are you?!” 

Yoongi kept looking around, trying to find you in the crowd, and looking back at the big screen, asking for the two of you to be shown there. A few seconds later you could see yourself and Jimin being shown on the screen behind Yoongi. ARMY went crazy when they saw the two of you, both you and Jimin waving and bowing to everyone. You sent kisses to Yoongi and you and Jimin did a cute heart together, with your arms over your heads. 

Even from this far away you could tell Yoongi was smiling as he watched both you and Jimin and the reaction of his fans. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” Yoongi said as the younger man bowed with a hand over his heart. “I love you, kitten.” 

“I love you!” you screamed, even though he couldn’t hear, but ARMY definitely read your lips on the big screen and went crazy with the screams. 

And the yelling kept going, so much you hid yourself in Jimin’s chest, who hugged you while he laughed, which only made people scream louder. Yoongi was laughing from the stage when he said: 

“Hey, focus on me! This is my concert! Focus on me.”

You were absolutely buzzing by the time you and Jimin met up with Yoongi again and the three of you were rushed out of the venue through the back door and into a black car. Yoongi jumped in first, you sat in the middle and Jimin was on your other side. All so that you could leave the concert area before the fans started filtering out and you’d be stuck in traffic forever. 

It was a rush you were more than used to, after being with BTS during their PTD concerts in Los Angeles. 

One of Yoongi’s bodyguards sat in the front seat, beside the driver, and the others were right behind on the cars that would escort you to the hotel. The car started the drive and both Yoongi and Jimin cracked their windows to wave at ARMY waiting outside the venue. 

The inside of the car, after the windows were closed, was heavily charged. Yoongi was still pumping with adrenaline from his concert, nursing the tenth water bottle he must have drunk tonight, Jimin had lost his bucket hat and face mask ages ago, and you… Well. You were definitely feeling some type of way. 

“Yoon–” 

Before you could tell your boyfriend –for what would be the hundredth time– how amazing he was tonight, and how proud you were of him, Yoongi shut you up with his lips pressing against yours. 

You gasped with the surprise and it was the opportunity he needed to push his tongue deep into your mouth in a kiss that had you melting and reaching to hold his neck. Yoongi kissed you hard and deep, ignoring Jimin’s little groan and the presence of the two men in the front seat. 

Yoongi’s skin was hot and sweaty, his hair more than a little curly after the concert, the tips of it sticking to his nape. The man groaned into your lips and you swallowed it down, flicking your tongue against his. You could taste the whiskey on his lips, too strong for it to be remnants of the shot you did before he went on stage. 

“What was that for?” you asked with a mewl, words barely above a whisper. 

“Just thanking you for coming tonight, kitten.” Yoongi had a dangerous smirk pulling on his lips; reminding you more of Agust D than any other version of him. He was surely still feeling himself, riding on the concert high. 

“And what do I get?” Jimin challenged. 

You held your breath as you were between the two men playing a game of staring. You didn’t think Jimin was bluffing at all, and Yoongi was in a mood that he wouldn’t take the teasing lightly. 

You bit your bottom lip to suppress a moan as Yoongi reached for Jimin, holding him by the back of his neck and pulling him in so their lips could meet. There was less familiarity between them than there was with you, but the want was there. Jimin melted into Yoongi instantly and you had a front row seat to how their jaws moved as they deepened the kiss and you could just about see Yoongi showing off his technique with each flick of his tongue.  

Your hand was still holding onto Yoongi’s neck, and your free one slipped into Jimin’s hair, raking your nails against his scalp. Your touches spurred both men on, both of them with lips wet and red as they breathlessly parted. 

“Damn, hyung–” Jimin’s eyes were glossy and Yoongi’s were half lidded. 

“Kiss her.” Yoongi’s order was clear and you felt a rush of excitement take over you. 

“Don’t even need to tell me that.” Jimin was smirking as he turned to you with that mischievous little smile you knew and loved. 

You were smiling, too, when Jimin’s plush lips found yours. His kiss was gentler than Yoongi’s, wet and teasing. The dragging of lips before you even felt the wet of his tongue when you willingly parted your mouth to him. Jimin licked all over your mouth, slowly, deliberately. 

Yoongi’s mouth found your neck as you kissed his brother. 

Jimin’s teeth nibbled on your bottom lip and you were so stimulated from so many different directions that you only felt Jimin’s hand on your thigh when it slipped between them. 

“This feels like dejavú.” you told him quietly, trying to open your legs wider for him –shamelessly–, but not being able to move much as you were pressed between both men. 

“I really does, doesn’t it?” the younger man had knowing eyes and a devilish smile as his hand inched higher and higher between your legs. 

“What am I missing?” Yoongi asked the two of you after he was done sucking a bruise on your neck. 

“Jimin fingered me in the backseat of a car, after the last PTD concert in L.A.” you told Yoongi, but your eyes were still on Jimin. 

“And you almost died of embarrassment, but look at you now.” Jimin grinned, leaning in to peck your lips. “You sound so proud of it.” 

“Hyung-nim, how long till we get to the hotel?” Yoongi was asking the bodyguard in the front seat and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. 

“About twenty minutes, give or take.” was the man’s answer.

“Good. Close the partition, please.” 

At Yoongi’s command, someone pressed a button on the front panel of the car and the dark, tinted window that separated the backseat and the front seat was raised all the way up, giving the three of you a sense of privacy you didn’t have before. 

“This okay with you, kitten?” Yoongi asked you as his fingers held your chin and made you look at him. 

“I miss you.” you nodded your consent, holding onto his slightly sweaty shirt, trying to open your legs in invitation once again. 

“Good kitten.” Yoongi’s lips ghosted yours, but his next words were aimed at the other man: “Get her underwear off, Jiminah.” 

If Jimin had a snarky reply about Yoongi saying please or anything of that sort –which you would expect of him, if you were honest–, it was met with deaf ears as Yoongi found your lips again. He held both sides of your face to make sure you were focusing on him, licking into your mouth and turning his head to the side to deepen in. 

On your other side, Jimin’s hands slipped under your skirt and he pulled your underwear down your legs. You raised your hips a little to help him out, a lot more at ease with his public place kink than at the beginning of your relationship. 

“It’s off, hyung.” Jimin told the older man and both of them worked together and wordlessly to pull your knees apart. 

Yoongi let go of your face in order to hoist a knee over his legs, just as Jimin did the same with the leg closer to him. Your position was a little awkward in the confinements of the car, your feet no longer reached the floor and you couldn’t close your legs again if you tried. 

Both of their hands were resting on your thighs, one on each side, and they started moving higher and higher and you could no longer kiss Yoongi, head falling back to rest against the back seat as you panted in expectation. 

You had no idea who touched you first, their hands hidden under the fabric of your skirt and your eyes were barely open to start with. You moaned softly as a finger touched your lower lips, running up and down, and a second one joined it soon enough. 

“You’re so wet, kitten.” Yoongi had a smirk to his tone. “Who did this to you? Did you and Jiminie get up to something earlier?” 

“You were so hot on stage.” you squirmed, hearing his chuckle made you clench. 

“Even his laugh turns you on, baby?” Jimin laughed too, so you guessed he was the one whose finger was slowly circling your entrance. 

“The two of you are fucking hot.” you corrected him, while you still knew how to put words together and form sentences. “And you were kissing–” 

“Ahh, yeah, forgot you like to watch your men kiss each other, huh?” Jimin teased you, as if he was one to fucking talk. 

“So much–” you admitted. 

Granted, you had been dating the seven of them for over a year at this point. Officially, too, not based on Jimin’s crazy math that started counting from the night you shared your first kiss. So you wouldn’t be fooling anyone if you said that watching any of them kiss each other didn’t turn you on. 

You could feel dull throbs on your pussy just thinking about it. 

You arched your back as the finger closer to your clit started to circle it with just a little more pressure, but still torturously slow. You knew it was Yoongi, his lips latching onto your neck again, the tip of his tongue drawing circles just like his finger was. He knew what he was doing, too, making you think of his tongue in your pussy and not his finger. 

You were moaning softly between parted lips when Jimin used his free hand to hold you by the back of your neck and pull you to him for a kiss. You still didn’t have the mind to do much, to kiss him back properly, just opening your mouth and letting him lick around it, suck on your lips and tongue. 

“Oh, fuck–” your back was arching as Jimin’s fingers slipped into your pussy, two at a time. 

Your body could take a lot more than that at this point, used to taking Taehyung with no prep once or twice, but you still moaned at the slightly painful stretch. Yoongi brought a second finger to your clit, rubbing slow figure eights to soothe the pain. And it worked. 

Maybe too well. 

“Don’t know how long I can take this for–” you sighed blissfully, getting so much pleasure you didn’t even know where everything was coming from at this point. 

“She’s clenching so hard already, hyung.” Jimin ignored you in order to share the information with the older man. 

“Switch with me.” Yoongi ordered and Jimin obeyed again, no snarky remark, taking his fingers slowly from your cunt and joining Yoongi’s on your clit. You could feel their fingers playing with each other as Yoongi showed Jimin what to do. “Keep it like this, okay?” 

“Kay, hyung.” Jimin agreed, heavy breath and droopy eyelids. 

Yoongi’s fingers traveled down your slit, the opposite path Jimin’s just followed, reaching your tight hole and slipping in with ease. But his fingers were longer than Jimin’s, reaching deeper, and just a little thinner. Your eyes were rolling back as Yoongi used come hither motions on your inner walls, as if he needed to search for your g-spot. 

As if he didn’t know exactly where it was. 

“Please, babe…” you cried out as Yoongi was teasing you. Turning to kiss Jimin on the cheek, you cried: “Minie, faster…” 

“You know, hyung, I’m kinda sad we can’t taste her like this.” Jimin ignored you again, movements still so slow it was driving you crazy. 

“‘Course we can.” you could hear the wickedness on Yoongi’s tone. As his fingers slipped out of you, you whined from the sudden emptiness. “Open.” 

You opened your eyes, but Yoongi was talking to Jimin, who parted his lips instantly. You watched with an empty and clenching cunt as Yoongi brought his wet fingers to the younger man’s mouth. Jimin’s plush lips wrapped around Yoongi’s digits as he sucked and licked them clean. Both men were looking at each other again and you could only imagine what was going on in their minds, what they were imagining or thinking about. 

You were definitely thinking about it, too. 

Jimin parted his lips, but made no move of pulling the hyung’s fingers out of his mouth, making a show of how he moved his tongue, and Yoongi pressed his spit covered digits to Jimin’s tongue, pushing it to the back of the man’s throat. 

“Jiminie has no gag reflex.” you told Yoongi with a little proud smile. “I taught him how to control it.” 

“Did you now, pretty kitten?” Yoongi smiled at you, finally taking his finger from Jimin’s mouth and bringing them straight into your pussy once again. 

“Yeah–” you answered, but it sounded like a whimper. “We can show you when we get to the hotel.” 

Jimin was giggling at Yoongi’s groan and how the older man had to adjust himself on the seat. You could imagine they were both painfully hard in their pants, but reaching out and checking it for yourself would be too risky; lest you ask the driver to take more turns around the block. 

A knock on the partition glass was followed with the words: “Seven minutes, sir.”

God bless the bodyguard and his discretion and patience; all of Bangtan’s personnel were a little more used to situations like these than you’d openly admit. At least they only did things with you and not with groupies or different people every night. Saved them the trouble and NDAs. 

“Sir?” Jimin had a little smirk to his own plush and wet lips as his movements grew a little faster on your clit. “I like that.” 

“Good. You’ll be using it later.” Yoongi threatened. 

“Fucking hell, I could cum just from watching you.” you laughed, but it was cut off as Yoongi’s fingers hit your sweet spot with no hesitation. “Fuck, yes, there–” 

Both men stayed in their position, Yoongi massaging and flicking your g-spot as Jimin rubbed your clit in the almost exact same speed. You were squirming between the two of them, your wetness making its way into the seat of the car, no doubt. Jimin started to kiss your neck on his side, and Yoongi followed the lead and kissed the other side of your throat. 

You had no control of the volume of your moans, but it’s not like everyone in the car didn’t already know what you were doing in the first place. Each of your own hands were on both men’s thighs and you pressed your nails to them for dear life. 

“Bet she’s squeezing your fingers so nice, hyung.” Jimin backhandedly praised you, dragging his teeth on your skin. 

“Mhmm, she is… Come join me.” Yoongi invited and you whined. “Do it slow.” 

Jimin’s fingers left your clit to join Yoongi’s on your clenching hole. You took deep breaths, preparing for the stretch. Yoongi pulled his fingers off and you had to look. You faced down, pulling the hem of your skirt up so you could see Yoongi’s dripping fingers holding Jimin’s and pushing them into you. 

Four fingers. 

Yoongi’s long ones, Jimin’s smaller ones. All four stretching you and making you moan out in so much pleasure you were getting a little dizzy. 

“Fuck, she feels so good…” Jimin’s small moan went straight to your pussy, making you clench around their fingers. 

“Aren’t we lucky she’s ours, Jiminie?” Yoongi asked as he guided Jimin’s and his fingers in and out of you in a pace that kept getting faster and faster. 

“So fucking lucky, hyung.” Jimin agreed easily. “Play with yourself, doll, make yourself cum on our fingers.”

You still looked at Yoongi to watch him nod before doing what Jimin asked of you. Jimin gave you a little scoff, but it was your ass on the line, not his. You reached between your legs with your right hand, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it just how you liked it, just as Yoongi showed Jimin where your g-spot was at the same time. 

You could feel the coil forming rapidly, hips moving at their own accord as both men fingered you at the same time. 

“I’m gonna cum, oh my god, please–!” you were announcing to the whole car to hear. 

Your hips were bucking against their hands, your fingers were rubbing your clit in fast circles and your eyes were scrunched shut. That’s when you felt licks to your lips, making you part them. The first tongue was followed by a second one as Yoongi and Jimin kissed you, and each other, at the same time. It was a mess of tongues and lips and spit was leaking at the corners of your mouth and it was nasty, but the push you needed to be shoved off the edge. 

The car parked completely, but no one made a single move to leave or open the doors. Instead, Yoongi and Jimin kept kissing you through your high, helping you ride it and ride it and ride it, with their fingers still buried inside you and their tongues clashing against yours. 

The new nock came from the door this time, to which Yoongi replied: 

“Give us a minute.” 

A/N: Part two is about to drop to my Ko-fi! If you want to know what happens when Yoonmin and Baby get to the hotel, consider subscribing here!

It's another 4k of Baby and Jimin showing Yoongi how much they loved the concert!

Teaser:

What you didn’t think you’d see, was Jimin being pressed against the shower wall, with Yoongi towering slightly over him; they might be the same height, but Yoongi was buffer and wider. 

Jimin’s arms were around Yoongi’s neck, Yoongi’s hands were holding Jimin’s hips, and the two of them were kissing passionately as the shower poured on top of them both. 

Your breath got caught in your throat and you wanted to moan at the scene. You almost didn’t want to join them, more than happy to just watch them together, especially as Yoongi’s hips bucked and rubbed against Jimin. 

You were quiet as you undressed and slowly opened the glass door, not wanting to spook either of them. 

----------------------------------------------------

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[namluvili]

i fucking love this

Inside My Mind [M]

➜ Words: 19.2k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, High School!AU

➜ Summary: You’re safe in the confines of your mind. Free to think whatever, free to fantasize to your heart’s content. And your imagination tends to quite a wild turn when you’re dying from sheer boredom. But when some GUY IN YOUR CLASS CAN FUCKING READ MINDS - YOU’RE NOT SAFE ANYMORE! WHAT THE FUCKSKDKASDFGHJKL—

➜ Warnings: semi-public sex, attempts at dirty talk, consenting minors engaging in sexual actives with each other, first-time sex, brief depiction of tone-deaf sexual education that doesn’t do shit.

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