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angelguk · 5 years ago

Text

→ bad behaviour 03 — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon

word count: 7.5k

rating: 18+

genre: established relationship + smut + college!au

warnings: we’re ovulating!!! / introduction to the breeding kink that will plague this couple forever / was meant 2 be a drabble?? im incapable we know that / eh big joon!!!! / manhandling kink / pet names used a lot / joon thinks he’s gf is dumb and wants to breed her idk man / size kink / crying when cumming / oc shy for once / discussion of twitter porn / creampie / oc is on birth control (obvs dont do this if u dont want a kid but this is a fanfic u know) / mentions of fisting porn / cock warming!! / if u see a typo no u dont

soundtracks: more than enough + morroco, alina baraz

prompt: “don’t you think there is always something unspoken between two people?” (Something Unspoken, Tennessee Williams).

It’s a rather serene Thursday afternoon, the late autumn breeze sweeping through the campus air. The stillness was ideal for studying, alluding to assignment deadlines creeping round the corner. Which was why your butt is firmly parked in the mess of Kim Namjoon's sheets.

The man in question is hunched in the corner of his dorm room, one large hand idly tugging at the chestnut mane on his head and his neck curved with attentiveness. You wish you possessed the determinate focus that he had, but your thoughts have a mind of their own, spiralling further into the darkest depths of your mind as they gingerly coax forth memories that spark a searing heat deep inside of you. You feel tight, drawn like the bow of an arrow, a stark contrast to the tranquillity spilling around you. The fact that Namjoon is practically naked isn’t helping your consciousness. Your gaze lingers on the rows of muscles lining his broad back, the tension running through them emphasising the dips and curves in his golden skin. His eyes, however, are glued to the myriad of words before him, the pen grasped in his grip swift as he scribbles down notes you know you’ll never be able to decipher. Not that you needed too, it was intriguing that such a put-together man like Namjoon had handwriting that essentially resembled chicken scratch. It was atrocious — but still elegant, very much embodying the person to whom the writing belonged to. You can’t recall what assignment he intended to complete today — something about the presentation of nihilism in Russian literature or whatever — but he’s devoted all his attention to it, meticulous in the numerous sticky notes and page markers that line the novel perched on his desk. It’s bent with the remembrance of his fingers, sepia-toned dogged-ear pages staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. Something blooms within you the longer you look at him, faint but strong like a tide shifting towards the shores. You don’t even register the slip of your laptop from your lap, legs sprawling open unconsciously. It spurs so quick you can’t even clamp down on it, the desire you have for the burly man bent over his world of words just a few steps away. But you know how much Namjoon values his academics. It’s with a muffled groan that you roll over, burrowing your face into his pillows in hopes that the wave will subside. It doesn't — crawling beneath your skin begging you to give in.

It’s the click of Namjoon’s pen that gets you, a sharp note that cuts through the burning of your body. Your thighs seal together, the slick that collects between your legs sticking to your core. With a sigh that you shift again, reaching out for your laptop. It’s best to look for a distraction, give him the space he needs to concentrate. At yet, your gaze can’t help but drift. He’s not covering an inch of skin, burly arms and thick thighs on display like he wants to tempt you. There are no words to describe how much you hate him — nor how much you long to have him inside of you too.

You recall it with a jolt — the lave of his wide tongue against your folds, licking you apart with deft swift swipes that leave you weeping into his sheets more nights than you’d like to admit. You shuffle again, helpless to the yearnings of your mind. The heat on your inner thighs is a phantom. Namjoon likes to hold you down, press your hips into his sheets against the whims of your squirming. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re on the verge of tears, a wanton hunger in his eyes that unravels you fast. You can almost see it, thighs subconsciously nudging against each other. Then there’s the stretch of his fingers, larger than you own. He’s pushed you to the edge with just two of them before, persistent against that spot inside of you until he’s satisfied with the blissed slackness that descends upon your features. Then he’d add another, and another. There’s an undeclared thought between the two of you. You’ve noted the fisting porn in his Twitter bookmarks. Maybe one day you’ll have the guts to let him try.

For now, you swallow it down. Suffocate that longing until the embers burning within you smother to ashes. Your laptop returns to resting at an angle at your hip, gaze idling running through your readings. The words don’t sink in though, sitting on your skull before hastily floating away. There’s not much space for anything else but Namjoon at the moment, no matter how hard you try to reread the paragraphs or stare at your screen. You don’t even have to open the app on your phone to know what’s going on with your body. This is your first full ovulation with him. Usually, he’s preoccupied with assignments or TA responsibilities that cut your time together short, interrupting this part of your cycle and leaving you to your own devices. You hadn’t fully wormed your way into Namjoon’s life to demand all his attention just yet. This was still new, untested. Namjoon was independent and so sure of himself that telling your boyfriend that you needed him to stop focusing on his future to raw the crap out of you (multiple times) felt incredibly selfish.

You stare at the words in front of you until they swim, wishing you didn’t feel like this. Like you needed Namjoon to breathe. You can wait it out, maybe get what you’re dying for after post-studying cuddles and take-out. Even if it takes every ounce of your willpower to clasp your legs together and not jump the wonderfully large man that is your boyfriend.

Unbeknown to you, the same yearning that plagues you chips away at his resolve. A persistent want that wavers in the back of his mind, clamouring for attention, because even with his eyes stuck on the pages beneath him, he can sense your fidgeting.

Your attention span is incredibly short — Namjoon knows this. It ricochets off the walls even when you’re sitting still. It’s taken time, but Namjoon has gradually adjusted to it, muting the powerful waves of energy that radiate off of you when necessary. Today, however, is different. That energy he’s learnt to ignore eats him alive, sinking below his skin and leaving him buzzed as he scours his brain for any meaningful essay points. He keeps flipping through the pages of the novel, mind attempting and miserably failing to piece together a cohesive argument that correlates with the evidence he’s got highlighted in a loud neon yellow.

All because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He wants to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while (which is a blatant lie). Namjoon saw you two days ago. You were wearing that floral skirt that he loves, the fabric hiking up your thighs whenever you lined yourself against his side, snuggling deep into him like you never wanted to leave. He hates that skirt — hates it — because now he can’t think of anything but it, thoughts blurring at the memory of your bare skin. Skin that he loves to mark, latch onto until violets and blues blossom. His mind is running before he can catch it, falling into a dangerous reminiscence of images that sit heavy in his gut. That stupid skirt flipped up your waist and his head between your thighs. Nothing feels as good as you do on his tongue. He loves the way you taste, the sounds that drift from your lips, the way your thighs twitch and tremor as you unravel underneath him. You get so loud when your high hits you. He knows his roommates have heard you before, but he truly doesn’t care. He loves hearing you scream his name, drives him to the brink of insanity if he’s being honest. Yet, it’s the way you look at him afterwards, a deliriousness swimming in your eyes that makes Namjoon want to keep you in his bed forever. Fuck you until you can’t walk without feeling him deep inside of you. Paint your skin so that everyone knows who you belong to.

His head hits the table with a muted thud, a low sighing escaping into the air. The tent in his loose shorts hurts. There’s a part of him that’s mortified — how could he get hard just from the thought of you when you're sitting right there on his bed? Perhaps it’s proof that you’ve invaded everything he is. His space, his heart, his mind.

“Namjoon?” You question, tone tentative in the silence that consumes him whole. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. And then his brain settles, a tightness in his stomach that he can’t deny. “Actually, no I’m not.”

You don’t even have time to register it before he's moving towards you. It's as if he's flown from his desk, gliding through the space between you to firmly plant himself on top of you. Your laptop is knocked to the side, lost in the muss of his bed sheets as Namjoon moulds himself into you. You can't help the breathless giggle that hits the air. It's cut by the weight of Namjoon on you. He's heavy, all hard muscles and broad shoulders. Your fingertips slip against the fabric of his shirt — 100% pure cotton because he's fastidious like that — a lightness forming in your chest just from the feel of him in your hands. He sighs and you melt, losing yourself in him as he burrows his head into the hollow of your neck. The kiss he places there is soft, but it hits like a torrent of rain, drowning you harshly. Your body ignites like the flame you wanted to smother was never extinguished. You cling to him, the only thing keeping you afloat in the wave of adoration that crashes into you.

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" You murmur, vibrating when he kisses you again. Namjoon hums in response, his wide hands shifting to settle on the back of your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart to nestle himself there. Your back jolts when you feel it — feel him. Hard and needy against your core, a heat radiating where you meet. The flutter in your eyes is automatic, brain shutting down when he rolls his hips. He nips your neck then, a light press of his teeth into the delicate skin. You stop breathing when he smothers the pain with a kiss, thoughts dissolving into the air as you stare at the ceiling of his dorm, thinking you're never going to let this man go.

"Namjoo—" His mouth is on you before you can even finish your sentence, swallowing the words with a gentle press of his lips until yours fall apart. Kissing him might be one of your favourite activities ever. He feels good against your lips, ginger but sure in how he works you open, drawing sighs from your throat like he was born to do so. It’s easy to give in, your hips moving against his and your fingers dragging through his hair. It’s with a soft gasp that you part, the air around you electric. His brown eyes are dark but they gaze at you with an adoration that makes your heart swell. There are moments where you feel it on the tip of your tongue, a proclamation that yearns to spill out. But it’s too early to say anything like that yet. So you draw him closer instead, the content laugh that floats from his throat caught in your mouth. This kiss is different, more desperate, a hope that he understands what you mean heavy in your chest. You think he does because he kisses you back with an intent that leaves you breathless, a heady thing that has you arching into him before it peters out into tender little pecks. Your heart is so full it could explode.

And it does a second later when he drops a light kiss on your forehead, his wide hands settling on the backs of your thighs as he presses himself further into you. You know he feels the slick drenching your underwear by the hitch in his breath.

“Study break?” He offers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that ensnares you. A danger that glows like stars adorning a velvet sky.

“Namjoon,” you groan in response, legs wrapping around his waist. You can feel the length of him, hard and twitching against you. “You can’t just do that! It’s not fair.”

“Why? You don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a nudge that coaxes another slip from your core. The whine that leaves your lips is instinctual.

“I do! It’s just that — um — just that I’m ovulating right now.”

The second the word leaves your mouth he freezes, broad body suspended over you and a distant look sweeping over his honey eyes. And then something clicks, his cock settling further into you, a twitch along his length that echoes in your nerves.

“Right now?” The words that leave his mouth are measured, his gaze locking on your own as if he’s weighing the consequences of his desires.

“Yes, right now. I don’t know if we—”

“Can I be honest with you? I haven’t been able to focus since you came over and the idea of you ovulating is doing nothing but making me extremely hard right now.”

“I — what? Really? Are you serious?”

He nods, unabashed as the blush rising beneath his golden skin. Your fingers dig further into his back, the want that sweeps through your system feral. It's so swift that you can’t control the rise of your hips nor the warmth that pools in your gut. Namjoon dissolves right back into you, the groan that slips from his mouth meeting the heat of your skin as he burrows himself back into the crook of your neck. You’re no longer thinking, your brain stuck on the feeling of his cock against you, direct with every drag of his hips. He wants this as much as you do, a realisation that you’re still trying to comprehend. You have to ask again, terrified of the teetering edge you’re on.

“You sure? Like really?”

He scoffs, shifting back to give you a look. “You’ve seen my NSFW twitter, baby. You know what’s there.”

“Yeah, a lot more fisting porn than I ever expected.” There’s a beat of silence, Namjoon’s gaze shifting into something you can’t decipher. “Not that I’m against fisting,” you quickly amend, “It was just surprising.”

“Fair enough, but that wasn’t the only thing there.”

You know what he's referring to but seeing other people commit the act and then doing it yourself were too completely different things. There are still some things you’re too ashamed to say out loud and that particular kink of one of them. While your ovulation had a rather stronghold over you, so did your inner mortification.

Namjoon, on the other hand, cannot be bothered to beat around the bush. “You’ve seen what’s there right?" He repeats. "Creampies? Cum play? Breeding—”

“Don’t say that!”

He pauses, a playful grin tugging at his lips.”Is that what you want? Because you’re ovulating? What me to stuff—”

“Namjoon, stop it!”

He laughs then, a low sound dangerous that fills the room and swallows the embarrassment that eats away at you alive. “How can I? My pretty girl wants me to breed her, stuff her full of cum until it’s leaking from her cunt. You want that right? Want my cock so deep you feel it tomorrow? Am I right, baby? Hmm?”

You’re not looking at him, cheeks burning with every word parting his lips, but your cunt agrees wholeheartedly, leaking against your panties at the thought of Namjoon fucking you full. He doesn’t take your silence well though, a firm hand clasping around your jaw and tugging your focus right back into him. There's a glint in his eyes, a sharp dark wild thing.

“Baby.” He says it slowly, the word tumbling from his lips and right into the heat forming in your core. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” you retort, feeling the twitch that tremors through his jaw deep inside of you. Namjoon scoffs, hand dropping from your chin. The absence of his touch has you scrambling after it, the movement occurring before you can bite back your desperation.

“Maybe? Then you don’t want it enough do you? I should leave you to study, don’t you think?”

“Namjoon.” Your fingers grip into his shirt before he can shift away, a pounding in your chest that terrifies you. “Maybe I do want it — a lot — I just can't say it.”

“You can’t say it?” He cocks an eyebrow. “But you know how to use your words when you’re arguing with me.”

He’s infuriating and he’s doing it on purpose from the telltale gleam in his eyes. You don’t know what to despise more; Namjoon and his provocations or your inability to vocalise your desires. But that anger withers into wanting the second he settles back between your thighs, cock hard and heavy where you need him most. Yet, still, saying it out loud isn’t possible for you just yet. But you do want it, a great deal more than you’d ever admit.

“That’s different,” you say instead. “That’s when you’re being stupid.”

The eye-roll you're granted is brimming with exasperation. “Of course, you would say that.”

“And I’m correct.”

“Sure, you are,” Namjoon returns, nuzzling into your chest. He’s saying it to complacent you and it ticks you off

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, a warning in your voice.

Namjoon sighs, perfect face burrowed between your boobs. “I’m not arguing with you right now. You look cute when you get mad and I’m hard enough as it. Besides, that’s not the point.”

That should not have you buzzing, the word cute sticking out from the rest of his horrid statement like a neon light in the dark. But you let it rest, preoccupied with the fact that:

a. Namjoon is horny

b. So are you

“So,” you say. “What was the point?”

“The point is that you’re too shy to say you want me to stuff you—”

Point B no longer exists. You are no longer horny even when he’s looking at you like that with that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“I get it,” you retort, “I get the point. And I’m not saying that. Not today, not ever.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” There’s a challenge there, and like an idiot you fall for it, raising an indignant eyebrow in response.

“Yes, I will not—”

He’s got the band of your sweatpants down in a second, wiggling the fabric down your hips and past your butt faster than you can blink. You don’t object, a muffled giggle drifting from your throat when he finally gets them off, tossing the pants somewhere in the corner of his room, something to be searched for later, not now. That giggle shifts to a moan the second his face dives between your thighs, the deep breath he takes in kindling a flame in your gut. There’s the faint press of his tongue through the cotton of your underwear, the low groan he lets out when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties setting something off within you.

“Oh — oh — N-Namjoon!”

“Yes, baby?” Another lick, tongue quick and firm against your drenched core.

“Don’t play with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

“I’m not playing,” he remarks. “Just giving you a reason to say you want me to stuff you full of my cum. I know you want to say it anyway.”

You huff. “You think I’ll give in that easi — hgnh.” He’s tearing your underwear off, tongue landing back onto your wet folds before you can register the fact that the fabric is gone. A few firm wet laves of that muscle against your cunt and you can see your resolve crumbling. He knows exactly where to lick and drag his tongue, nose buried into the apex of your cunt as if he wants to breathe you in. You can’t help the buck of your hips, a tremor running down your thighs when his tongue slips into your hole, pressing in with purpose and leaving you breathless in his sheets. But then he’s drawing away and you glance down to find him staring at your cunt in wonder, his rouge mouth glistening with your slick.

“How can I not,” Namjoon says, offering a kitten lick that spikes a shock in your spine, “Play with you when you’re so fun to play with, angel.” The smile on his lips is dangerous.

Your hand settles on his head and Namjoon curls into it. But instead of dragging your fingernails against his skull and pulling him closer like you know he loves, you shove him away, swiftly squeezing your thighs shut. If you’re going to play this game, you’re doing it on your terms.

“You’re not being fair,” you say. Namjoon blinks at you like you’re insane, obviously thinking with the dick in his pants rather than his head. “Go back to your Isaac Turganife or whatever.”

“It’s Ivan Turgenev, baby,” he replies, sighing slow. “And I don’t want to go? Do you really want me to?” He plants a tender kiss on your bare thigh and you burst with want, slick leaking out even though you didn’t intend it to.

“Not fair,” you say again. But you don’t want him to leave you like this, at the mercy of your hormones and the sudden remembrance of Namjoon’s thick cock stretching you open. “But no, I don’t want you to go. Just don’t play with me please.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But if we’re being honest here all I can think about is seeing my cum leak out of you. I just want you to want that as much as I do.” He says it in a rush like he’s afraid he won’t have the nerve to admit it if he doesn’t do it right now.

But I do, you think, walls fluttering just from the flash of that image in your mind. I do, Namjoon. And yet, you can’t say it.

“I’m ovulating, Namjoon,” you retort instead.

“And you’re also on birth control,” he rebuttals. “PEMDAS or whatever. It cancels out the baby option, right?”

“You are so dumb it hurts, Kim Namjoon,” you murmur, fighting the urge to kiss your stupid boyfriend. It’s a very odd conversation to be having when your cunt is on display and his dick is hard in his pants but you’re having it anyway.

“We’ve fucked raw before though?” He continues, still not piecing it together. “And so far, no baby. So no problem right?”

“When I’m not ovulating. Less risk, at least that’s what I like to believe.”

“Well I suggest you start believing that right now because I would very much like to see you stu—”

“Stop saying that you’re making me want to turn celibate!”

“Oh?” Namjoon remarks. “And yet you’re leaking all over my sheets every time I mention it.”

“I will cut you off from sex for a week if you say something like that again,” you retort.

Namjoon grins like he knows this is affecting you on a deeper level than your cunt being wet. “Fair enough, but I have to ask. Do you want that?”

“Want what?” Feigning ignorance is the safest bet until that shift in his eyes appears.

“Want my cum?” he says it so easily, unaffected while your face rushes with heat.“Inside of you, leaking out of you… All of it?”

And maybe you stop breathing at the thought of feeling full of everything Namjoon had to offer you, your walls clenching tight.

“Maybe. Maybe I do, I don’t know.” You do know and Namjoon knows that you do too. It’s with a defeated murmur that you admit it, voice soft in his room. “Okay, fine. I do. I want that.”

“You do?” There’s an edge in his voice. “You want me to bre—”

“Stop it before I change my mind.”

He laughs, a light warm thing that digs into your chest. “Okay, okay! Sorry, babe. Do you want me to prep you? My mouth? My fingers? You can decide.”

It’s settled so quick in your brain you realise it was never up for debate. “Neither. Just you. I just want you.”

He halts, honey eyes locked on yours for a moment, before springing to his feet and tugging his shirt over his head with speed. “We can do that,” he mumbles, his knees bumping against the foot of his bed. His pants come off next, plummeting to the ground where he kicks them off a moment later. It’s only then that you see the consequence of actions, straining painfully against his boxer briefs. He shifts to tug those off too but you cut the movement before it happens, shuffling forward until your hand is cupped around his length. Namjoon doesn’t protest, rolling into the tiny palm of your hand. You love the way he feels underneath your palm, thick and hard and heavy, a weight you long to feel inside of you. He sighs low when you grip him, watching your fingers wrap around the outline of his dick through the fabric. It’s only then that you realise, your gaze slipping down his body, subtly noting the sharp intake of breath when your lips mimic what he did to your underwear before he ripped it off, that Namjoon has been holding himself back.

He wants this, badly. It’s evident from the tightness in his voice when he speaks a moment later.

“Angel,” It’s said low, a warning. “I thought we said we wouldn’t play with each other.”

He’s right. With a small pout, you lean away and Namjoon wastes no time moving into your space, strong arms swapping your arm just to land you back at the head of his bed. You suddenly remember your laptop, lost in the mess of his sheets. Namjoon is kind enough to relocate it before climbing right back into your space, cock digging into your stomach when he kisses you again. It doesn’t take long before your top is gone, joining Namjoon’s pants on the floor, and then you’re digging the band of his underwear down, your lips still slotted together and a wetness rapidly forming between your thighs at the feel of his bare cock against you.

But he’s impatient, shuffling you around the second his length is freed. Your back is hard against his mattress, fingers grasping at the sheets when Namjoon knocks your knees apart. There’s a moment of bated breath, his large hands lingering against the bare skin of your exposed thigh, brown eyes locked on your wet folds. His gaze is so intense you instinctively want to clamp your legs shut, shy away from how seen you feel under his eyes. Yes, technically you were naked in his bed but there’s something else that he draws out just from looking at you. Something that makes you nervous because you like it so much.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s whispered in the heat of the air, Namjoon picking up on how your legs drift together. He’s got them pressed apart a second later, grip firm but gentle, and your stomach does a swoop so dangerous you’re left violently reeling, the ceiling above you spinning. “Don’t do that, angel. Too pretty to hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

You can only hum in response, throat clogged with words that won’t form into coherent sounds. But Namjoon understands you regardless, kissing you senseless as his massive body descends on yours. His hands are on your ass a second later, gripping tight as his length nudges against your core. You just might cry, desperation bubbling in your chest. He draws away gently but you don’t want to let him leave, fingers taut on his broad back, gripping onto the very muscles that had you heady just earlier today. There’s a whine on your tongue that he swallows before you part once more. The laugh that slips from his lips at the sight of your pouted mouth is fond. He grants you another peck, soft and tender, before Namjoon rips himself away, determined this time.

His hips are lined against yours a moment later, cock stiff and dripping with precum. And yet your gaze doesn’t tear from the arms trapping you in his sheets. His biceps look huge, massive actually, all hard muscle and pure strength. It’s doing something to the base part of your brain because you can’t stop thinking about how large Namjoon is. Caving you in, your personal shelter from the world. Is it weird that you feel protected? Safe in the bed of this boy. You wouldn’t mind hiding here forever. A part of you wants to kiss him again, but Namjoon’s focused on other things, oblivious to the cave-woman looking for a mate thoughts running amok in your brain.

They dissipate the moment the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. Just a light tease, but he splits you open quick enough.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, angel. Didn’t need me to prep you at all.”

You mumble a noise that you’re not sure leaves your throat. He’s taking it slow on purpose, pushing in inch by inch so that you feel every part of him filling you up. It’s intoxicating, how the feeling of the slow drag of his cock overtakes everything in your brain. You’ll never get over how big Namjoon is, no matter how many times he fucks you. Each shift of his hips forward coaxing slick from your cunt. It pools at your entrance, dripping over his length until he’s glistening with your wetness.

“F-fuck,” He head drops down to the hollow of your neck the moment he’s sheathed inside, the velvet walls of your pussy gripping him hard. It’s too much for the both of you, bodies strung high on the want that threatened to consume you both. But he feels good like this, lodged in your cunt, stretching you wide and making a place for himself right between your legs. He gives you a moment to adjust and then the coiled spring in him snaps.

“So fucking tight around me, angel. Taking my cock so well.” There’s an edge in his voice, a warning for what’s to come.

You groan when he draws up, a tiny squeal erupting from your throat when he slams back down, hips angled to piston you into his sheets. The pounding is hard and unforgiving, a contradiction to the gentle look in his gaze. He holds you tight, giving you no room to shuffle under the bruise of his thrusts.

You can’t do anything but mumble his name, tongue numb in your mouth as he fucks you senseless.

“You’re dripping so much, baby. Making a mess on the sheets. You wanted my dick that bad, huh? Wanted me to fuck you full? Stuff this dirty cunt of yours?”

“J-Joon!” There’s an arch in your back, a dangerous tingle fluxing through your nerves when his mouth latches on your neck, your chests pressed against each other. Each drive into you pushes out a haggard breath, the heat into the room wrapping around your joint bodies, your arms slung over his shoulders, gripping him tight as he unravels you with his cock. Time stops, nothing punctuating the moment apart from the lewd sound of your meeting, your slick slipping from your cunt each time he hits deep. And he keeps at it, fucking you with a vigour that feels new and vicious.

You can feel him tensing beneath your fingertips, a soreness spreading through your muscles with every hard thrust of his hips into you. But you don’t care, delirious with the feeling of his cock deep within you, slamming right into that spot that has you dangling off the edge. The tight grip on your thighs adds to it, Namjoon pressing you down as he fucks you open like you’re nothing but a toy for his pleasure. He slams into you with abandon, his lips on your neck. Every drag is loud in the room, the slick pooling around your entrance orchestrating the sound of your meeting. You love how he feels over you, broad and big and pinning you down with an ease that shouldn't have you stomach twisting but it does. And he knows that, reading the whimpers that leave your throat well. You can feel it, the knot that tightens with every hard drive of him into you. So close, a blink of your eyes and you could be there. But then he slows, cock squelching against your entrance with a half-hearted thrust.

“Namjoon—" You’re burning, fingers scrambling to push his hips down, shove your hips up. Anything. Anything because if he gives you nothing you’ll implode.

“My baby is so quiet today. Hmm? Why are you so quiet? You don’t want my cum? Don’t want me to breed this tight little cunt of yours?” There’s a in his tension colouring his deep voice, like he’s holding back from saying something. You want to ask but your needs are forefront in your mind clamouring for attention.

“Joon!” He nips your neck at that whine and you dissolve into his sheets, nothing but pleasure running through your limbs. “Namjoon please, please, please. I want it, Joon, need it.”

He cocks his head, a languid roll into your core that has you squirming underneath his hold. “Need what? Words baby, words.”

“Need your cum.” It’s shameful to say and the heat in your cheeks makes it obvious, Namjoon doesn’t care, shifting his hips so that his cock slowly slips out. Your legs clamp around him so quick that his chest smacks into yours, a muffled sigh escaping into the air.

“Need it where?” He says, hips rigid with how he holds himself back. It takes tenacity to make you work for it. You feel perfect around him, tight pussy stretched around his length and your slick dripping all over. So needy, so wet, velvet walls clinging to his cock leaving him weak even though he tries to hide it. You’re intoxicating, your heat, the feeling of your body moulded into his, the way you moan his name. He wants to hear you scream it though, hear your throat go hoarse with each cry until you're a blubbering mess in his bed. There are other things he wants too, but he needs to hear you say this first.

“Inside,” you reply, a perfect whimper drifting from your bruised lips. “Inside me, Namjoon, please.”

He gives in then and there, resolve shattering when his gaze drifts to the minuscule grind of your hips against his own, his cock sinking deep with every shift of your waist upward. It’s not long until he’s sheathed back inside of you, length twitching against the heat of your walls. He wants to take it slow, make you beg for him a little more, but there’s a weight in his gut that threatens to drop. And then his focus shifts to the span of your stomach and it slams into him so quick he nearly chokes. He may joke about it as a kink, the idea of fucking you until you were bearing his child, but the actual vision of your stomach swelling hadn’t occurred in his thoughts until right then. You would look ethereal, round with evidence of his love for you. He can’t help the palm that settles there as his hips slowly rut forward, forcing himself deeper, needing to see you stretch out for him.

“Joon,” you sigh, shuddering at the press of his balls against your ass.

He hums, thoughtful, dark eyes lingering on the sway of your chest. “Yes, baby?”

“Harder, please, harder.”

“Anything my baby wants, she gets. Isn’t that right, princess.” And then he’s falling out of you, quick when he slams back down. Your voice sounds foreign to your eyes, brain roughly registering the harsh feeling of his hands as he swiftly rearranges you, cock still buried deep, until your knees are folded over his broad shoulders. The quake in your thighs is violent. But you don’t protest, mind unable to shift from the hard pistons he delivers into your cunt, thrusts demanding your release. There’s the sway of the bed beneath you, soft sheets bundling underneath the weight of your joint bodies, a heaviness in the air you breathe. He fucks you with a purpose that wasn’t there before, as if he needs to see you stuffed with his cum, unravelling around his length, a mess beneath him.

And you give it to him, shuddering when his fingertips sneak to your clit, the flickers he lands there unfaltering. That combined with the steady drag of his cock has your vision blanking, contentment spilling through your nerves as your high hits. It’s quick; a hard fast thing and spreads right from your core and through your system. Namjoon fucks you through it, swallowing your incoherent mumbling with a deft press of his lips against yours. You don’t realise you’re crying until he swipes a thumb along your cheeks, dropping a kiss on the damp skin of your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. You don’t miss how his hips speed up, muscles tense underneath your trembling fingertips. “So pretty. My pretty girl.”

“Cum in me,” you reply, breaking away to catch his gaze. Namjoon chokes, hips faltering. You don’t let him process it, still riding high on the look colouring his features. This is what he wanted from you, and you’re drunk enough on the feeling of him deep inside of you to say it. There’s still a tremor in your walls that grips him tight and you aid it by raising your hips upwards, the bend uncomfortable but worth the darkness that consumes the brown of his eyes. A part of you wants to say it again and you do, voice low in the room. “Joon, I need you. Need to feel full.”

“Fuck me.” It’s said under his breath but you don’t miss it, stomach twisting when his cock slams into you. It’s hard and mean. Namjoon takes everything you’re giving him, folding you into his mattress and driving his hips hard enough for the bed-frame to shift, a low thud against his bedroom wall. You let him have his way, groaning into his ear, the sheen of sweat that builds on both your bare bodies glimmering under the dwindling glow of the sunlight. There’s a faint tepid heat flickering in your core and it sparks up when Namjoon lands a hard kiss on the span of your neck, moaning low as he splits you open on his cock.

“So fucking tight.” There’s a hitch in your rugged breathing, your grip on his ruined sheets fierce. “So wet. All for me. All mine. Right, baby? This is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yours,” you whisper in return, lost in the feeling of him enclosing you in. “All yours.”

His lips are soft against your own, a delicate press of his mouth that doesn’t match how hard he’s fucking you. But you revel in it, rupturing into something bright and wild and full of love underneath the piston of his hips. It’s good now, the sensitivity you felt a moment ago ebbing into nothing but heat and want. You don’t miss how he twitches against your walls, thrusts growing erratic with every lewd slam of his length inside of you. And you want it, reminding Namjoon of that fact with wicked whispers in his ear. He caves fast, a few last hard rolls before he paints your walls in his release, the moan he lets out bleeding into your skin. You’re on edge now, the feeling of Namjoon’s cum coating your cunt when you’re at peak fertility doing something stupid to your brain. It shouldn’t turn you on — in fact you should be terrified. You weren’t ready to be a parent, yet the weight of him on you, the spurt of cum that slips from your cunt when he draws again, sends your spiralling. It’s swift, the swing of your legs back around his waist.

“No — don’t, don’t move. Not yet.”

Namjoon pauses, checks still warm and his skin a pretty golden rouge. You don’t enjoy the way he reads you.

“We can’t cuddle like this. Remember what we did last time? The cockwarming?” He suggests it easily. He gets what this is doing to you even when you don’t understand it at all. You nod because the idea of Namjoon not lodged inside you sounds abhorrent. He shifts the both of you quick enough, his softening dick back to half-mast the moment your protest emerged. It’s easier like this, with you sprawled on his broad chest. You don’t want to acknowledge it but you’re still somewhat wound up and the feeling of him holding you close, your cunt stuffed full of his cum, is doing unimaginable things to your brain. You pretend it isn’t, snuggling into the valley of his massive chest, feeling safe and secure. And then Namjoon opens his mouth.

“We’re going to have to talk about this. You know that right?”

“No, we don’t have to talk about it. Ever. Pretend this never happened.”

His laughs echoes in your heart. “Baby, I just came in you and you’re ovulating. That’s fairly risky, don’t you think?”

“I told you!” You whack his arm for good measure. “I told you it was dumb.”

“But I liked it,” Namjoon continues, staring intently at the ceiling. “A lot.” You flutter, cheeks hot at his admission, a bubbling in your chest that shouldn’t be there. “And judging from how you’re using my dick to keep my cum inside of you, I’m guessing you liked it too.”

“...Maybe.” You hate it but he’s right. You liked having him use you like that, the prospect of his cum doing more than leaving you euphoric with satisfaction lingering in the depths of your mind.

“Maybe?” He scoffs, wide hand gently pushing you off his chest despite the whine you release. “Get off then, I need to check if my dick is intact. I think I saw the fifth dimension when I came.”

“Shut up, please!” You cling to your boyfriend, viciously wiggling around until you feel him twitch inside of you. It’s too nice of a feeling to lose just yet. “Why are you ruining it?”

“Why can’t you admit what you’re into? Speaking of that subject, I don’t know what your kinks really are. So far there’s been a bit more exhibitionism than I expected from you but the breeding one… is different. Not bad. Just different,” he suddenly rambles.

“Because it’s embarrassing.” Your voice is small, landing on his naked chest in the silence of his room. His hand shifts from shoving you off to gingerly resting on you back, rough fingertips languidly tracing patterns on your skin. The motion is reassuring, yet you can still hear the eye roll in his voice when he speaks.

“You’ve seen the fisting porn on my NSFW twitter, what the hell do you mean embarrassing?”

“It just is!” You protest. “I’m not sure what I’m into.”

“I think you are, you’re just not comfortable admitting it to yourself. Don’t you watch porn? Or have any particular fantasies?” Namjoon’s persistent despite your deflection and while some part of you hates it, you know he’s right. He always is — well most of the time.

“I do,” you retort instead, refusing to give him an ounce of triumph. “You know that don’t be dumb.”

“Well then,” Namjoon returns, curiosity colouring his voice, “What’s your NSFW twitter? I’ve shown you mine, let me see yours.”

“I don’t have one…”

There’s a pause, the hand on your back drawing to a halt. You can hear the cogs in his head turning.

“You don’t? What do you use then?”

“...Yours,” you whisper. The breath that falls from his lips is horrified. “I like most of the stuff you like,” you quickly tack on. Somehow this is more shameful than admitting that you like being stuffed with Namjoon’s cum. The silence carries on and you're left stewing in your thoughts, looking for a way out of this awkward mess when Namjoon starts up again, a tentativeness in his tone that concerns you.

“Most of what I like,” he says. Another pause. “... Including the fisting porn?”

“Namjoon,” you snap, “Shut up.” You can’t believe you’re allowing this man to plug his dick in you after sex, can’t believe it at all. It’s a horrible realisation to come too especially when he breaks out into a loud laugh, his chest shuffling you around with every quick intake of air and the sound of his glee resounding in your heart.

“Sorry, angel,” he offers between muffled laughs. You hate him. You do even if you love him ten times more than you hate him. “We should make you one after this,” Namjoon says. “And then get food. Sounds good with you?”

“Food first,” you retort, mellow in the arms of your lover. “And then the Twitter porn.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #smutcentralnet #bts x reader #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #*posts then runs away*

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