Youaint My Boyfriend| Jjk Smau

you ain’t my boyfriend | jjk smau

— summary: your ex-fuckbuddy hates the idea of you with someone else, and he’s even more annoyed at the fact that you’ve been spending way too much time with his team captain lately.

pairing: jungkook x reader & (eunwoo x reader)

genre: angst!! fluff, humor, slow burn, social media au, college au, ex fwb to kinda enemies to lovers au (+written chapters)

warnings: a lot of swearing, angst!!, toxic relationship, miscommunications, love triangle, jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of sexual content, stupid decisions, pining, some fluff & humor, smut in future chapters, oc & jk are idiots

status: ongoing

taglist: CLOSED !!

updates: every other day at 8pm cet (unless stated otherwise)

note: this is my first ever smau, so pls bear with me <3 but i’m very excited to share what i’ve planned for this story with you all !!

PROFILES:

y/n’s besties | jk’s besties | cameos

prologue

one: not ur business

two: costume party

three: unblock me

four: you’re crazy

↳ bonus part

five: i want you (written)

six: babe?

seven: last chance

eight: the truth

nine: new roommate

ten: friends don’t kiss

eleven: my girl

twelve: i’m very single

thirteen: pancakes

fourteen: coming july 22

fifteen:

sixteen:

seventeen:

eighteen:

nineteen:

twenty:

to be added…

copyright © 2022, doublebunnykoo on tumblr. please do not repost my work!

TEMPLE

percing au! Jk drabble!

"Your body is a temple, my love-" he paused, panting under his breath into which he gripped your hips with need.

" and I'm going to crash into heavens gates to make sure I paint every wall with sin" he groaned, pushing his cock deeper into your cunt. Pleading out in pleasure, he pressed his hands on your back to keep it down while the other gripped your ass roughly. Moaning, his hips began to pound but before pulling his tip out to the end and going in with a slow rhythm. Meanwhile, your knees dug themselves into the bed and your hands made friends with a white pillow below your stomach as your moans escaped your lips with ease.

Pulling out, he quickly turned you on your back and slid himself in with no time to waste. Licking his lips, he felt your swollen cunt throb on him and smirked devilishly in response. Getting comfy in his knees, he grabbed under your shins and spread your legs wide enough for him to lean forward a bit.

"Mmm, fuck. you look twice as hot with your piercings and your tats now that I look at them in this setting" he chuckles watching your hands cross above your head as he licks his lips in hunger for your breast.

"Yeah, my cock would look perfect between your breast, with the cute nipple bars sticking out or simply watching the metal shine under layers of my cum" he moaned out, thrusting his cock slowly.

While gliding his cock in and watching your tits bounce a bit, the sticky, wet sounds of your cunts wetness became apparent to both of you and jungkooks only response was to place your legs down and hover over you to see the rest of the work done with your body closer. A simple lip and nose piercing, nothing much to others. But to him, it was just another thing to love about you.

"fuck yes-" he cursed, head moving up as his hips pushed against yours with force. Arching your back with pleasure, your breast pressed a little bit against his face and he immediately places a kiss between them both. placing a hand under your back, he grunted and moaned as your hand's gripped his back in support.

"yes, yes, yes, Jungkook!" You cried into his neck as he helped the both of you down and continued to thrust while holding onto your back. Moaning, your legs slowly spread apart for him and lifted themselves when he saw that offer. Crying into him, cursing his name and whimpering was giving jungkook power to keep going without a stop.

"Keep moaning"

"don't stop"

"cum baby, cum"

"I want to hear it all, I'm going to cum to it all" he cried, his moans being heard as he begged urgently for you to keep going as cum started pushing out his tip with no stop. with tears, he started cumming inside with no intention to stop until his balls emptied deeply in you with every desperate word of want of your body that spilled from his mouth.

"fuck just like that, my cock wants it badly. Fuck just let me have you like this, take it all. I'm cumming baby, I'm cumming so hard" he cried, face looking at the headboard as his cock pushed him to go on with thrusting. watching him above you was a sight, one that made even you want him to not stop cumming if that meant he would feel that good. But all comes to end and he falls weekly into your breast panting heavily.

BTW..

Consuming or writing smut doesn't equal over-sexualization, it's a healthy way to express sexual desires about a member within boundaries.

Oversexualaiztion is seeing a member doing something nonsexual and it is taken to extreme measures. Ex: jk being hurt from exercising and him limping in pain, but gets manipulated by a member using him for sex.

Dehumanization, seeing any member as simply a sex object for any fantasy of yours or others with no other feeling than fucking or just being seen as sex objects only. Ex: going to a fansign and asking only sexual questions or the situations didn't invite such questions or responses.

This excludes kinks & fetishes

Knk = things you like sexualy but it's not needed it.

Fetish = you need it to cum, etc.

scent of eager suds ⏤ knj (m)

pairing: husband namjoon x fem!reader

genre/au/rating: 18+, smut, angst, pwp, some fluff

summary: you missed each other, too fucking much. but your head had stayed down in futile hopes of remaining stubborn, forgetting that there is a wedding ring on that tricksy little finger of his for a reason.

warnings: swearing, angst, couples fighting, mixed feelings, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), hair pulling, angry sex, shower sex, unprotected sex (can't go wrong if you shield your dong!), breath play, nipple play, yeah it's basically just porn with feelings

word count: 3.7k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: she's back y'all!!! just with a few tweaks, alterations and additions ⏤ like this new banner!!!! i kinda wanted to give it a whole new vibe hehe. another thank you to my beta @magicshopaholic, and my brainstormers @taetaesbaebaepsae and @hobateas! hope y'all enjoy!

❥ masterlist.

...

If anyone else was to describe it, lifelessness was the prime impression. There’s nothing else that one could possibly gather from your fairly cryptic manner; no words had fallen from your lips to aid the hypothesis.

You’re always so annoyingly adept at your motives. But somehow, there was still one - and only one - living soul that held the mindly means to figure this shit out. To figure you out. He would spend a considerably scant amount of time on such a task, yet fulfil it so thoroughly that the constant aching between your legs seemed more equitable than you would like it to be.     

He’d recognized it through the minute rising of your chest as if it were obvious. He’d recognized it in the concerningly restive footsteps to your shared bedroom. He’d recognized it in the amusingly shrewd vibrations of your voice box that he’d supposed were to display your deadly level of vexation. Even the fresh, new callousness of your hands had been sensed, the ground being much more than the wrathful nails pressed against your palms in a fist - a skillful maintenance of your bitterness. 

You’d hoped to be a mystery. You’d hoped to seem as composed as you believe yourself to be. But truth be told, you were utterly feeble in your means to conceal it; almost in a way that should have you cowering in humiliation. From careless hands inertly twisting your braids into a bun to your unrelaxed journey to the bathroom; cards were laid out. You fucking knew it. 

What lies beyond sustaining his oh so honorable hand as your lover - your spouse, or partner in crime as some might call it - is absolutely no reason he should know you this well. The wonders, the mysteries… the frailties of your being weren’t just on the back of his skillful hand, but were studied, revised and crammed tirelessly by means of writing on every wall he turned to. 

Fuck him, a cunning conscience with devil horns would whisper every two seconds to your delicate soul. Fuck his criminal wit. Fuck his willingness. Fuck those audacious, plump lips against your neck and his wispy “I missed you.” Fuck his free hand for its knowlege of the riddling workings of your body; sliding up your soft inner-thigh in dissonance with the tiny warm droplets. 

But most of all, fuck you. 

Fuck you for your sweet sighs of compliance. Fuck you for leaning back against his chest and serving absolute fuck-all to simmer his smauldering pride. Fuck you for carelessly rivaling your better judgment. 

Fuck you. The one message that he’d received throughout the noise of your mindly cursing… because Lord, was he just too damn good at fucking you. 

“Still don’t wanna talk to me?” His hand makes a bold move towards your aching cunt, leisurely and patient. Perversity had won the part as your middle name, commiserating you with honeyed whispers, convincing you that maybe, just maybe, the steamy torrent before you was well in outwitting the gears of your autonomy. The heat, the profuse clan of droplets crashing boorishly on your skin and on the shower floor, the wispy tendrils of steam, the cruel rashes of pleasure. Your instincts were hampered from the prospect of pushing him away. It wasn’t you. 

Your breathy shudders were back at failing you, alas, and giving a fuck was thoroughly out of the question. His finger proceeds, light rubs against your clit abettering the drift of his persistence, “Tell me, baby. Are you ready to push me away like you always do?  Like you say I always do?”

“Joon…” You drag, lulled by the whispery milieu of the water, whilst afire by the skill of his fingers. You were beyond certain you’d heard a chuckle, a song of timeliness as per what you’d call it; a fair response to what was supposed to be a lesson learned. 

“Baby,” he murmurs against your neck once more, whilst long, beautiful fingers in a pair begin their jaunt to fuck you before his cock does. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much and all you need is for me to prove it to you.” 

Your gasp might’ve said something, but you’d basked in it for only an appropriate instant. His fingers, slyly slipping between your folds hadn’t done much for your lively ire. They had, however, certainly succeeded in peeving you further. 

You wanted more. You needed more. 

“We both know that this isn’t enough to prove it. ” You managed to breathe out.

Kisses on your neck cease, and fingers retract from what was the miry wetness of your pussy, certainly ready for more than just a round of listlessly apologetic fingering. 

“Then what is?” He slyly murmurs. 

Damn you for having retained the valor to communicate thoroughly. Spinning around to face him (which was, by apt means, quite difficult), you gift your husband with a bold move of your own, bringing a hand up to grip tightly at the nape of his neck and shorten the distance between your burning faces. A piece of your mind was the treasured cargo. 

“I don’t know how long you’d hoped to play dumb with me, but it ends now. You know what I want.” You hiss through gritted teeth.

The deep and tyrannous buzz of your chest had barely succeeded in vanquishing the serene chaos of the atmosphere. In some obscure way, you felt like it mattered despite his fitting proximity to your lips. Hearing words could only do so much. It isn’t enough until his eardrums are damn near dissipated from your vague desires. 

But there’s no need. Hushed demands are sweet in entertaining his specialty as, afterall, he is your husband.

“Always so bossy.” He tuts. Though, he does all but support the remark. 

You’re moving backwards at his accord, coming in contact with the too-near dead end. You wind up grimacing softly at the rabid coldness of the wall against your shoulder blades and ass, instinctively deterred from the warmth of the recurring downpour. But all is effortlessly shirked once the stirring sensation of his cock against your thigh makes its rise. You feel so hot again, a manic arousal putting zero effort into making your head spin. The strengthening masses of steam would have to try harder. 

Just about sick and fucking tired, you pull him in to kiss you, hard, bringing vengeful tongues and teeth to clash against one another in zeal. With a nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, perhaps a good start in replacing the venomous tidings of each other’s disagreements was put in place  A divine pair of hands is making ravenous journeys across the spacious sweeps of your melanated skin, helped by slippery suds that all but succeeded in concealing the scent of your unending keenness. 

“For what it’s worth,” he mutters, breaking the kiss, “I do know what you want. I always know what you want, and I’m always willing to give you what you want.” 

You’re fucked up. Manic. Aching. And your husband is having too much fun with you.

But one last peck against your lips is where it officially begins. 

He continues down your neck once more, whilst this time, your breasts are caught in the arrest of his hands, squeezing and thumbing across the supple skin of your nipples every now and then. 

It happened too quickly, too far from the likes of your expectations. As if only a nip at your collarbone later, his thumb is benevolently replaced by the eager muscle of his tongue, circling vigorously like his life depends on it… which, in this particular respect, it does. 

“Fuck, Joon.” You heave, almost whimpering, back arching in a deliverance of access. A pair of plump lips wrapping around the erect nub was your response.

He then does the same with your left tit, licking, lapping, sucking, skillfully relishing the flavor of your skin as if it were his last. Your hands had conceded defeat and befriended the burning itch to touch him once again. You bring them up for your fingers to card through the doused tresses of his grey hair, which he’d been making points to trim every so often.

 You sensed an obscure motive behind it. He need not explain a damn thing, he’d probably say if you asked him about it. But the echoes of your casual “you look so much better with short hair” had made its homecoming. His beautiful cheeks would betray him in your honor, alluding with a pink hue at every vibration. You missed it, and you’re sure he missed it too. 

The same could be said about the recurring shifts in his physique. Although you’ve come to appreciate it more than dwell on the intricacy.

“Oh my God,” you moan as he releases your nipple with a final pop to placidly continue with open mouthed kisses down the valley of your chest, your stomach, then down to your pelvis. The feat had become less farfetched than thought to be. But still, it was about fucking time. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs once more, for what seemed like the umpteenth time to you. But it’s impossible to say that you didn’t appreciate it. 

As you basked in the sight of him knelt down before you in diligence, what you did say was, “You said you were gonna prove it to me. So prove it to me.” 

An index finger making its way back to your throbbing pussy, stroking in between your folds and up your slit to gather the flavourful mess of your arousal, serves the power of his cheeky rejoinder. “As you wish.” He murmurs before wontonly sucking on that fucking finger. 

A bullet was wisely dodged. Dissipating the chance of a thorough scolding for him to just fucking get on with it, he wastes absolutely no time. 

Senses fleeting, mouth forming an ‘o’ and hips arduously urged to buck against the art of his mouth and tongue, you free a series of curses as if it were a play for the casual streetwalker outside your house. One thing for sure is that the neighbors were pissed. Loafing folk sat in what was supposed to be the comfort of their homes in fumes, having attained the gall to complain if it weren’t for knowing of the obvious circumstance. 

If it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s name bouncing off your tongue in a notably pornograhpic lilt, the neighbors would’ve said something. And you’re aware of 

The strong, wet muscle zealously wiggles on your bundle of nerves before it is engulfed within the warmth of his mouth for him to suck softly. Your husband was finally fucking home. 

“Fuck, so good, Namjoon. Always s-so fucking good with your mouth.” Along with your words, the grip on his hair meliorates in palpable praise, earning you the pulsation of a deep hum sauntering amongst the nerves of your throbbing pussy. 

One last nip at your clit foregoes his hushed and mellow response, right before he eyes your zestful form through lidded, dragon-like irises. “So sweet.” he murmurs. “Sweet as always.”

He wastes not an ounce of time before diving in between your thighs again. 

Knees lose a few tinges of functionality at the momentous feel of his tongue parting your folds.  His hands dance up and down the stage of your lower body, caressing the small of your back before landing on the bounteous flesh of your hips to squeeze and detain you taut as he devours the absolute fuck out of you. Loud cries ensue in simple accordance. 

A thunderous call from reality was in your heavy braids having rebelliously twisted out of their bun to fall back onto the expanse of your shoulders and back, carelessly falling victim to the wrath of the downpour. You should be irritated. But his tongue, fucking you ever so sterningly, had garanteed failure to give a fuck about anything opposing the likes of his amazing apology. 

“Mmh- o-oh my… fuck!” More whimpers slip out in reverence as his head shakes vigorously from side to side, his nose rubbing against your clit before it is shortly replaced by his tongue again. He soothes the agonizing emptiness of your entrance with his long fingers; scissoring, curling, prodding sweetly at that spot that had, for too long, begged to be touched. 

He could only keep this up for so long. There’s only so many praising mewls you could set about as he laps at your clit, as he works his digits to what he would know to be your principle. His fingers fucked you so good, but not good enough to make your forget whatever else you had craved throughout the course of this dumb fucking stress-train. 

“Joon.”

The benevolent moil of his fingers ends as he returns to fucking you with his tongue again.

“Namjoon, please.”

Continually, his mouth shifts back and forth from your entrance to your still throbbing clit; licking, sucking and biting ever so softly. At decent levels you were certain that his neck was tired. 

“Namjoon! Namjoon, please,” you heave desperately,  “fuck me. Fuck me now. I need you to fuck me right now.” 

The unremitting sounds of the pouring atmosphere stood not a chance against your grippingly melodious pleas. He heard you, loud and crystal fucking clear. The treasurable element that many would identify to be control had blindly resided within his procurity. 

You weren’t going to let him have it for long. 

“Namjoon!” You mewl with absolute finality. Having devised the mastery from his hair still intertwined between your fingers, you harshly pull his head back for him to look up at you. “Quit playing games and fuck me!”

“Patience, baby. There’s time.” He, once again, proceeds in ways that effortlessly contradict the dulcet tone of his rules. Kisses already take small treads back up to your pelvis, then to your stomach. “I need you to be patient with me. I need you to lay low and let me fix things.”  He is soon up on his feet, his lips traveling towards the now acquaintable stop between your breasts. He lingers to plant a few more kisses on the spot, then slowly moves up to your neck as he murmurs, “I can make you feel so good. But only if you let me. Just trust me for once.” 

“Namjoon,” a sigh escapes your lips as you aid his treatment to your neck, leaning back and giving him access. 

“Just let me…” he stops to suck at the advantageously delicate skin before he’d then made it to your lips. “ …make things right.”

His lips were well guarded within the intention of connecting with yours, steeling you for what is soon to come. His hands were gentle too, having found purchase on the space of your hips and being so dexterous to the touch whilst his intentions were anything but. 

Your hands grip tightly at his broad shoulders, hopes instinctively goaded by his cock conveniently rubbing against your thigh again. You thought of it to be the final tease before he adheres to your lusty inclinations. But it is only after the heat of a “Turn around,” is softly blown against the flesh of your treated lips that he does what he’s raucously told. 

You do so without question, facing the wall in anticipation. 

Though (with arrant difficulty) you’re inwardly vowing to be obedient, your form misplaces all pretense of control. It is especially to the songy squelches behind you directly disclosing the act of your husband stroking his cock; your hands are against the wall as you’re moving your hips backwards to brush up against him. You’re fortunate that he responds with some form of enthusiasm, which is closing the distance between your eager bodies and lining himself up with your dripping entrance. 

The contact induces another knotty spate of desperate whimpers, which he obediently acknowledges, sinking into you with utmost precision. “Oh, f-fuck!” 

“Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby.” 

The soothing response to your sonorous gasp was hushed and ever so demure, a stark polarity to the harsh grip of his winsomely big hands now on both of your breasts, squeezing like stress balls. 

“Namjoon,” you call out once more, “Namjoon! Fuck me. Please… fuck me.” 

The need for those words had successfully reached its coming of age; even posing as an anagram had been deducted as an option. You’ll never have to say them again. 

He begins to move, steady thrusts gradually progressing into a speedier rhythm. His grunts, as well as your whimpers, had joined in with the feat of increasing in a higher measure.

 “Baby,” It was his turn to silently twine a series of praises as you, in return, release a reverberant string of salacious cries for the neighbors to hear and possibly enjoy. “You look so beautiful like this. You always look so beautiful like this, taking me so well.” 

Your hips are once again a landing spot for his hands. You bring your hand down as well, letting it rest upon one of his as he fucks into your pussy with an unsparing velocity. 

The vibrancy was beyond sinful. The warm water continues to strike the lustily responsive flooring as his hips rival the noise with jarring contact against your ass. Each cry made up for a snarl, each word of praise made up for a cold shoulder, each thrust made up for a petty form of dismissal.

 He finds it within himself to slow down, the only unchanging fruit being the brunt in which his skin slams against yours. “I missed you, I missed the way you feel. Baby, tell me how good it feels.” He goads. 

“Oh, baby,” It had been your turn to sing the term of endearment. An urge to finally say “I missed you too” was frighteningly near, but remained still… in your favor, really. It seemed like your tongue’s desire to untangle was only in support of praising his touch; praising the way he felt inside of you, praising the clench of your walls around his length or the nudge of his tip against your dear sweet spot. “So good! So f-fucking good,” you mewl. “Please… please make me come.”

 But you’re empty again, pussy clenching around vain flecks of air. The incompleteness brought waves of confusion. Rhythmic pumps of irritation. A need to spew pleas that was soon held off by the gentle contact of his hand on the front of your neck. Your hand that was once atop his had made its way back against the wall.

It is when his grip gradually strengthens do you meet his return to fucking you senseless. Your sounds travel at staggering heights of volume amongst the echoey air. “Oh- Oh- fuck!” You scream. It encourages him. 

Groans, grunts and a final round of “Oh baby”s against your ear had made its endmost cut. A knot in your stomach signals an approach to orgasm. You were close. “Fuck, Joon… I’m gonna-” 

He doesn’t respond. Not with his familiar breathing of “Come for me” or anything else of the sort. No. He speeds up, in pursuit of something much, much more than a customary finish. A compromise. A refitted amity. Hopes had desperately arised from your moans. Hopes of an “I love you” reattaining its fittedness. It’s exactly what he murmurs against the shell of your ear as you reach your high, cumming with ear-cricking wails that do nothing but praise his laborious efforts. 

The jets and quells of warm liquid inside of you incline a decrease in the speed of his thrusts, which eventually turns into a steady stop once light sobs from overstimulation make their way into the cleft of echoes. 

“You’re okay,” he repeats against your neck. “You’re okay.”

Heavy breaths, weak knees,  and a space freighted with teeming clouds of steam. From the very moment that he’d pulled his cock out, that’s all he could’ve left it to be. You were slightly stunned, for a reason that wasn’t identifiable. 

Your loofah remains lifeless, devoid of its purpose with fluffy white froth sticking languidly out of its miniscule gaps. You were about to pick it up, mind unmoved from the strident feel of cum dripping down your inner thighs, to resume the sorrowful bout of washing away the sense of need that your husband could only do so much to vanquish. 

“Hey, relax.” 

You were still facing the wall. You weren’t making eye-contact. You weren’t going to. And you knew that he knew. But his feet were resolutely taut upon the shower floor. They reeked of intention. It seemed like he wasn’t done. 

It was still foreign to you, the slight suction between your back and his upper body that soon vacates as he bends down to retract the loofah. He’s up straight again.  “Can I?”

Yes please, the words had begged to be the ones to make ties with his mellow request, but all you managed to bring out was a hesitant “Sure.”

He proceeds enthusiastically, nonetheless. 

“I am, however, still waiting for you to…” he begins as he sweetly drags the contraption down the trail of your back, “rank the irrefutability of my proof.” 

Be it your weak knees or your opulent bathroom’s restored comfort, you suddenly feel that there’s no point in arguing the prowess of his sex skills. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the time to praise him with more words. 

Within the beat that you remain silent, your eyes instinctively follow his hand trailing towards the swell of your breasts, making it difficult to not stare. Studying the garish shine of soap down the smooth canvas of your melanin, and its corrivalry with the single shimmer of your husband’s wedding ring… was artful. Artistic. Just like him. Just like you always thought he was. 

It gave you time too; time to realize that all this was you. If only your pride allowed it, an immersive rewind to the oh so salacious removal of your dress and heels after what Namjoon had made out to be a stern “don’t talk to me” could teach you something. 

But despite it all, and you being greatly incapable of turning an inquisitive mind away from what was the flavorus scent of eager suds… control was a factor that you would do everything in your power to make yours. And yours only. 

“We’ll see, Joon.” You reply softly. 

rivals academia | knj

pairing: knj x reader (f)

genre: slight angst/smut

rating: mature audiences ONLY (strictly 18+)

wc: 4.2 thousand

summary: you and kim namjoon absolutely hate eachother but after you’re both paired for a school project — things get rather interesting at the school library.

warnings: enemies to one-night stand (potential fwb) unprotected sex (wrap it up yall); penetrative sex; hand job; fingering; brief nipple play; teasing; dirty talk; public sex; foul language; dirty talk; bickering; thigh riding; slight degradation; praise kink; i think thats it ??; namjoon’s fucking thighs; i was having a moment of weakness please; college au

posted: sunday september 11th, 2022

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Repulsed.

That’s precisely the word indicative enough to portray exactly how you felt. Repulsed, repugnant, nauseated, revolting — it all came rushing in like a wave of rage aggressively meeting the golden shores.

It was overwhelming yet still - here you sat across from him and his absolutely irritating aura. It excluded an intoxicating amount of cockiness and an irritating deal of arrogance.

His presence was so irritating.

So fucking irritating.

“Are we supposed to finish this whole project today?” He asked exasperated - as if putting off the project until the last minute wasn’t his exact idea and now he wants to treat it as a nuisance?

“The project is due Monday, Kim. And it is 8:00PM Friday,” you briefly examined the watch sitting on your wrist, “and I’m guessing you have plans for the entire weekend?”

Namjoon nodded eagerly, picking up his phone for the thousandth time but you snatched it right out of his hand.

“What the—”

“It’s time to get to work. For real this time, Kim.” You shoved his phone in your purse, “I'm tired of you just pretending to do things.”

“Can I have my phone back?” He uttered through gritted teeth.You could’ve sworn you saw clouds of smoke emitting from his ears as his usually chocolate eyes turned red hot with anger, “Now!.”

“You’ll get it back when you actually fucking do something for once.” You snapped back — standing your ground.

He slouched back on the wooden library chair and scoffed typing away at his laptop.

Kim Namjoon.

If it wasn’t obvious he wasn’t your first choice for a project partner, however, your Intro to Art History professor thought otherwise. And now you suffered the consequences; bearing the temper tantrums of a man baby.

“What was the year for Venus of Urbino again?”

“1534.”

“Artist?”

“Titian.”

“Interpretation some believe?”

You huffed — he was truly insufferable, “did you even read the cards she passed out?”

He rolled his eyes, “does it look like I did?”

“Kim, do I really have to do your part of the project too?”

He quirked a brow as he shrugged, “you’re the one holding me hostage.”

“I’m not holding you anything. You have a responsibility to this project as my partner. This doesn’t just fall on me.”

“And yet here I am contributing absolutely nothing and you’re already doing both our jobs so you might as well excuse me.” He pushed his chair back in an attempt to stand-up.

“I swear if you so much as take a step, Kim,” you stood up from the table from him — your eyes sternly set on his. You were not afraid of him, “your name will be removed from this entire fucking project and word on the street is you’re current GPA isn’t really securing you a place on the team. What is the athlete’s magic number again? 2.5 right?”

“Ouch!” His full lips curved into a smile. His chasmic dimples on full display. You could sense the sarcasm even in the simple phrase your attention was averted towards his lips. It’s rather nice. His smile that is. You didn’t really see it often but his smile — fuck — it was picturesque; similar to the sunset as it kissed the deepest depths of the cerulean sea when nighttime lurked behind in its shadows.

“Don’t hold back now.” he uttered, taking a seat once again.

“I don’t intend to.”

“Tell me, doll. Are you always this dense?”

You ignored him and continued typing your section of the project. Just pretend he’s not even here — you repeat in your head.

“Are you going to answer my question on Venus about the depiction or should I spend the next hour researching it?”

You looked up at him and there it is again. The soft strokes of curvatures of his golden cheeks painting a delicate smile.

“It is literally a five minute search,” You cleared your throat in an attempt to be clear and to avoid having to repeat yourself, “but to save you the trouble; we're focusing on sexuality through the ages she is theorized to be masturbating, Kim.”

“Masturbating?”

“Precisely, with the way she’s laying naked and the placement of her hands — it’s only been assumed by some and obviously our professor as well considering she included it.”

Namjoon huffed. “Interesting.”

“Not at all,” you pointed at his laptop, “now write it down.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Where is this going, Kim?”

“Well,” he began, “I don’t mean to be lewd—”

“You already are, Kim.”

“It’s Joon,” Namjoon smirked, “but have you ever?”

His words were brief but they were tainted with a vivid carmine hue — all of it backtracked with sexual intent. And truly you despised the kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach.

“That is none of your business.”

“—but it is something to be curious about.”

“I don’t see why,” though the library was completely vacant and you both sat in a private study area for some reason you could feel a swarm of watchful judging eyes — all of them condemning everything you've ever done. Everything right down to that very question. You shifted in your seat clearly affected at the utterances of his beguiling words, “and the next artwork on the list is The Swing. Figure it out.”

“Truly, has a girl like you even —” he chuckled, “never mind.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?” there was a feeling bubbling deep inside but you couldn’t quite decipher what it was. Anger? Annoyance? Bashfulness? .

“I just mean you’re innocent.”

“Innocent?”

“You could barely say ‘masturbation’ without a stutter a couple minutes ago,” he shrugged and you knew that in his own twisted way Namjoon was using this as another thing to hold over you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I just don’t feel like discussing those things with you. This has nothing to do with how innocent you think I am.”

“I think. .” He drifted off. His chin was now propped up on his palms.

“You think?” you emphasized the word ‘think.’

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Is it that maybe you should shut up for once so we can get this project done already?”

“In fact,” he scoffed, beginning to share his theory anyway, “I think you’re a virgin.”

“That’s a great observation, Kim. Now let’s move on to what we’re actually here for.”

He slouched down in his chair, his arms now crossed at his chest, his eyes laid intently on you sitting right across from him. His watchfulness was kind of — intimidating to say the least.

“Kim, it’s 9PM. Can we please?” you sighed your eyes, never leaving the brightness of your screen.

“I would but it’s just so hard to concentrate.”

You sighed, “what will it take for you to finally move on and finish this project once and for all?” You shut your laptop, your eyes finally meeting his once again,

“Answer my question. Have you ever masturbated?”

His cavernous voice was bottomless like the deep sea and the obscenity in his words sent a glacial shiver down your spine. Was his voice always this low? You’d never really noticed before.

“I know you may think I’m familial to freaks of some sort but like any normal person I have in fact masturbated Joon,” you let out all in one breathe.

“You called me Joon,”

“I did,” his smile beamed brighter than sun rays — the rapid thumping of your heart beat aggressively thumped against the walls of your chest and you were afraid he might just be able to hear, “Are we done or do you also need a demonstration?”

“Let’s make your proposition a bit more sensible,” he began.

“I was kidding.”

“It was your idea,” The air in the room grew thicker. It constricted your airway and for a minute you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Were the air vents even opened here? You checked and they were, “are you already backing out now?”

“Joon. .”

“Tell me,” his voice was provocative and you feared one more soft utter would have you stripped bare with little to no command.

“Tell you?” your leg is bouncing under the wooden table and you could feel your palms growing clammy.

The soft glimmer of the luminous moonbeam was casted upon him accentuating his sun-kissed tone and the striking features staring back at you intently — his glistening cherry lips, the way his dimples formed at the mere appearance of the smirk on his face and his stern amber gaze still so intimidating. It made you feel small but you are not going to show him the power he could have over you.

“What do you wanna hear?” your tone now masked in thin layers of silk.

He panted softly, “I want to hear it all.”

“You wanna hear about how I lay completely bare with my head propped up against my pillows. Eyes shut tightly as my hands explore every single inch of my body pretending it’s someone else?”

“Fuck-” His hands dug under the waistband of his sweats. Your eyes now casted on the way the cotton light grey fabric rhythmically moved up and down repeatedly. His chest heaved as his breathing became uneven — and in that moment you could not think of a more captivating sight. Like an erotic painting right out of the renaissance era. You remained at your previous position behind his chair, “but when I get tired of that I have to resort to other measures as you may know.”

“I d-don’t know..” he groaned. His tone expressed frustration and arousal combined. The repulsion you once felt ceased and all your mind could become aware of was the vast ocean accumulating between your thighs; staining the fabric of your underwear as the sight of Namjoon stroking himself in the campus library became imprinted in your mind.

“Sometimes, I also like to mount my pillow placing my thighs on each side as I move my hips steadily against the soft fabric. Slowly rolling my hips back and forth until I’m finally able to reach that high,” you whispered.

His soft pants filled the stillness and furnished the serenity amongst the vacant tables and chairs right outside the private study room. The sounds so addicting it looped within the walls of your head like a vinyl on a broken record player.

“Y-You—” was all he could manage as he became enthralled in his own pleasure, the sweat forming at his temples could attest to it.

“Can I touch you Joon?”

“Please.”

You placed a velvet kiss on the nape of his neck. Your hands found their way up to his dark strands — you softly tugged at it, pushing his head back, “well I’m not the one with my hands in my pants. Am I?”

A thunderous chuckle rumbled within the four walls of the secluded study room, “Please believe you are the clear cause of this.”

“I didn’t do anything, Joon.” you let out an airy laugh, “just provided details of a scenario per your request. Remember?”

“You’re a fucking demon.”

“And you’re too easy. Just like every other horny dude on this campus.”

“Please—” He begged, grabbing onto your wrist before you could walk away. This tone was husk and as much as you hated to admit it. It was like an alluring song to your ears all of it shooting right down to your core just like everything he did. “I need you.”

I need you. The three words invaded your tympanum serving as a command for his needed pleasure and you felt as if your feet vacated their stance on the ground. His honey voice was lulling and if he continued to say anything in that tone, you’d fear your dignity would rid itself and follow every single thing he’d bark without objection. Every bone in your body already begged you to comply; to do it for you and chase your own pleasure — and as much as your mind screamed at you to leave. You listened to the throbbing between your legs instead.

“Pull it all down,” You ordered and Joon quickly rid himself of the pesky fabrics standing between him and utter vulnerability. He didn’t even bother to get up, just allowed them to pool at his ankles. His rather massive erection now on full display — shocked wasn’t the word you were looking for. After all, Joon always exuded the aura that he was considerable in size but nevertheless it was a pleasant reaffirmation to your lingering rumors.

Joon cleared his throat pulling your eyes away from his erection — your trance was essentially amusing to him, you could see it painted on his smirk, “You can come closer you know. If you want to.”

“Closer?”

Joon softly tapped on his bare thighs. His thick fucking thighs. Having attended numerous of his soccer games you were constantly given a sneak peak at his toned legs. His upper thighs often lolled you into a fantasy that was now taking play right before you and instead of following the script your head had created for you on multiple occasions; instead you sat here salivating at the clear view of his lower half without the burden of shorts being in the way.

“Come sit. Please,” his pleading made your legs turn to jello — the way his tone so delicately continued to voice his intricate needs was fucking sexy. Although you’ve only been sitting on top of his left thighs approximately 30 seconds now you couldn’t help the way you were throbbing at an uncontrollable beat. You were certain he could feel it too — it was plastered all over his shit-eating grin.

“Can you be a good girl and move for me please?” His tone still velvet to the touch.

Your underwear were already drenched and you were terrified he would notice — the lack of shorts under your skirt left only the thin cotton fabric of your underwear to meet his thighs. But you were not going to back down. Not now.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you simply stated.

“Just follow along.”

You nodded.

Initially, the mere feeling of his hands secured around your waist clouded your thoughts entirely. His warm grasp sent waves of electric currents down your spine but nothing prepared you for the feeling that bubbled in your core as soon as his sinful hands instructed you to move. The pace began agonizingly slow and you followed his motion moving forward and backwards against his thigh.

You whimpered, “It feels so good. .”

Joon laughed — the sound drummed at your eardrums and without a stutter in his rhythm you were being guided to move against him faster and faster as he continued flexing his thigh muscles causing all that more friction against your lower half.

“N-namjoon,” You moaned holding on to his chest for support; your head rolled back as you grew consumed by pleasure.

His hands vacated their place on your waist but you continued the steady pace against him chasing a high you knew you were very close to achieving. Joon’s attention was diverted into your clothed chest.

“Can I take your shirt and bra off?”

“Mhm,” was all you truly could manage.

Though, you were breaking a sweat going at it against his thighs as soon as your top half was stripped you felt a draft of cool air meet your perky nipples. The slight frigidness you briefly felt subsided and instead you were met with Joon’s warm touch once again except now it was taking a hold of your breast — his slender finder massaged one while the other was taken care of by his plump lips. Your hands traveled to the back of his neck as the rhythm of your hips stopped against his thigh. Your senses now focused entirely on the way he swirled his tongue against the sensitive bud.

He paused for a moment looking up at you through hooded eyes, “did I say you could stop?”

“No.”

“Then, continue riding my thigh until I say it’s enough.”

The switch off between his pleads for consent and the way he barked orders in your direction shot straight down only adding to the piled up sexual frustration bubbling deep within you but nevertheless you obeyed — now taking on a slower pace against him as he continued his attack on your breasts.

Locked away in a retreat of arousal and between slurred words and dazed moans you asked Joon if he was in accordance with receiving some attention as well.

“I want to focus on you.”

“And I on you,”

“If you insist,” he gave in, “just stay on my lap.”

His words set a stump in wanting to suck him off but ultimately you settled for using your hands. After aiming down to use your saliva as lubricant you could see the shock sitting behind his lust induced eyes. Your hands began working at his length mimicking his earlier motions — there was nothing more you wanted than to be on your knees in front of him but you were glad you fought against those urges when you felt his hands traveling under your skirt to move your panties to the side.

“Fuck.” He hissed, “you’re drenched.” Joons words only affect you in the worst way possible. Causing the pool between your thighs to deepen, “you claim you’re so fucking quiet but that’s all a facade you know. You’re a fucking slut.”

You never thought a word would affect you as much as being called a slut but you fucking loved it.

“Call me that again,” you whined, “call me that again, please.”

“You’re a slut — you know that?” the soft pads of his fingers finally arrived at their destination and quickly began massaging your clit . . lento. An eruption of lights fired in the back of your mind as Joon continued to immerse himself in bringing you utter satisfaction. You were levitating — your body vibrated which only accentuated the feeling of his heavenly touch.

“Your slut.” your lips ‘fessed up before your brain could register what you actually said.

“My slut.” He sat-up on the wooden chairs but his fingers abandoned your bundle of nerves and traveled further down resting at your entrance, “You know what you’re doing to me right?”

His face was just inches away from yours but your eyes were set on his lips — you leaned forward. Both of you began composing a magical piece in the way your lips danced against each other. His kisses were drug induced and you were already addicted; making it impossible to even pull away so you didn’t and he certainly didn’t either. Under your skirt his phantom touch ceased until you felt his pointer and middle fingers push past your entrance.

“Your fingers are blessed Joon. . They’re fucking blessed. .” you rambled on, “Blessed.”

“You think so?” He pushed them further in causing a strain of moans to fall from your swollen lips.

“Hmm.”

Joon’s pace picked up as he continued to move in and out of you repeatedly. Truly, all the words you could make out were stuttered strings of praises toward his fingers. They were fucking blessed and right then you swore you could write a million poems just on how delectable they felt inside of you.

“Uh, J-Joon. I’m so close. . so so fucking close Joon.”

“Come for me,” he whispered against the nape of your neck as he continued peppering you with silken kisses.

“Shit. .”

His fingers continued moving at a rapid pace as they finally met that spot that drove you over the edge. If you were levitating before you could easily confirm that now you danced amongst the twinkling stars.

“You were so good for me.” He was panting, his chest matching your heaving as you came down from your high, “so fucking good for me.”

His words were always so intricately sensual and you could feel your arousal throb at his dulcet praises.

Why did you hate him again? You couldn’t recall ever having such a feeling for the man you were currently straddling.

You didn’t hate him. You craved him.

After Namjoon removed his hands from underneath your skirt he brought his fingers up to your mouth and smeared your juice on your lips like lip gloss. Before you knew it you were welcoming his digits past your cerise lips tasting your sweet nectar right off his fingers.

“You are so hot.”

“Did it really take having me half naked on your lap for you to realize that?”

“Actually, no. . only one of us in this room actually hated the other.”

“I didn’t hate you.” you blurred out.

“I didn’t say you did, doll. But since you practically snitched on yourself I think it’s safe to say you despise me. ”

“I despised you. As it's in the past,” you corrected him.

“Dick is all it took to change your mind?”

“Hmm,” you took Joon’s cock in your hand slowly pumping at his shaft once again. And he just looked so good— slouched on the chair, his hair disheveled, a slight glow taking hold of his forehead and chest as sweat ran down his tan skin tone. His grin showed the way his teeth sparkle even in the darkness of the room. Namjoon is pulchritudinous and you are under his spell, “I would need to actually have you inside me to make that deduction.”

“I-I didn’t bring protection,” he let out in-between pants.

“I mean I’m clean. Are you?”

He nodded eagerly. But that didn’t suffice. You wanted to hear his raspy voice as confirmation. You tightened your hold on his erection just a bit, “I didn’t hear you.”

His jaw was clenched but still managed a soft, “I’m clean.”

“Perfect.”

Joon welcomed you back on his lap now accompanying him in complete nudity after you had finally decided to rid yourself of the clothes still covering your lower half. His keen gaze felt like it cut right through your confidence like a knife. And although it was a bit intimidating you didn’t let it set a stumble in your actions. His hand landed back on your waist like earlier that night and he guided you towards the tip of his erection.

“Hold it while you go down.”

You complied. Taking him inch-by-inch, your mouth forming into an ‘O’ immediately after his tip pushed past your entrance.

“Y-you’re so fucking big,” you could’ve sworn his length was sucking the air right out of you like a vacuum.

If you thought Namjoon’s thighs and fingers are graces sent by God himself, there was absolutely nothing in this world that could compare to his cock. There was nothing in this world that could feel so—

“J-Joon,” you moaned, attempting to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure driven by the guidance of his clammy hands as you bounced on his dick.

“You feel so good, doll. You’re doing so well.”

His praises you discovered are your weakness — his words were dipped in honey and they fed your ears affirmations you could not get enough of. Your head grew hazy at the duality in his words.

That alone drove you closer and closer to the edge. Not to mention the way his thrusts met yours was a sufficient contribution to your demise — you are about to crumble at the mercy of Kim Namjoon’s massive dick.

“R-right there,” your temples glisten with sweat and you could feel the scratchiness in your throat take flight after the past hour you’ve just had, “don’t— please don’t stop.”

“Mhm. .” His thrusts are harder. Deeper. You could feel the way he continued meeting you right where you needed him most. His eyes never lose contact where your bodies meet comforted in the way he disappears inside of you entirely.

And he continued fucking you so good. Fucking you into oblivion.

The silence that once tip-toed around the both of you was gone never to be seen again. Instead it was replaced by the squeaking of the chair (which you continued to pray it wouldn’t break), Namjoon’s groans and your slurred obscenities. It was like that for a while until your legs began to shake and your moans became too loud to suppress. Until your juices coated his cock and his filled you up.

“The Swing-” he managed after catching his breath, “Jean-Honoré Fragonard, 1767. It symbolizes the ideas of infidelity, desire, eroticism and love. The guy on the bottom left is peeking up her dress right?”

“Huh?”

“The next one on the list for our project.”

You stared at him wide-eyed, a bit stunned by the realization, “You knew the information this entire time?”

“I had to get your attention somehow right,” he snickered.

“I hate you, Kim Namjoon,” you laughed playfully, landing a punch on his arm.

“After tonight, I think we both know that is simply not true.”

-

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authour’s note: it took me forever to finish this for a lot of reasons but the main being that thisismyfirstsmutandiwassupernervoustopost so lol sorry if its — bad — i do apologize in advance. I tried and am using it as a way to break out of that shell and explore uncharted grounds. either way i hope some of you enjoy it lol

thank you for reading <3

- em

DREAM GIRL 💭 kim namjoon.

pair. writer! namjoon x f. reader | genre. age gap romance, obsession, love at first sight, angst | warnings. corruption kink, profanity, slight stalker behavior, daddy kink, pet names, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, power imbalance, just filthy sex tbh | word count. 3.7k

synopsis. “tell me pretty baby, have you ever been fucked up against a wall?” or namjoon is completely enamored by your angelic innocence, and absolutely has to claim you.

Kim Namjoon spent most of his time reading.

His most recent binge had been Murakami books, the woman through a man’s point of view, and while fascinating—it lacked depth. Intensity. This author clearly understood the peculiar sex very little, was entirely focused on his love for them, and their reaction to it. If it was Namjoon, he’d let them lead the narrative, while he’d step back and observe.

Women were to be observed, understood, before approached. This is how he found you, a perfect little angel in your white dress, sipping coffee outside his neighborhood’s café, softly talking to a grey, stray cat, your hand extended out for it, your fingers delicate in their calling. You stopped him dead on his tracks. He could do nothing but stare.

You looked so peaceful in your oblivion, your hair up and away from your face, a book propped on your knees. Namjoon’s feet moved without his knowledge, his mind replaying one thing—I have to see your face, your beautiful features, I need to meet you, sweetheart. Shamefully, his cock stirred in his pants, alerting him of his improper intentions. No matter. He couldn’t control his response to you, didn’t want to.

Walking in the coffeehouse, he leaned against the tall counter, head lazily falling into his open palm, gaze following your every move. Ordering his usual drink, he gathered the courage to approach you. You seemed to like this cat, so, perhaps an animal lover, and you most certainly were a reader—it was a start, an opening for him.

Clouds were beginning to gather, September coming to an end, but you paid no mind to them, your eyes scanning the pages of whatever you were reading. His writer brain was romanticizing your entire existence, was picturing you under him, in his arms, consumed, defiled, claimed. A pretty little thing dancing in the rain, running towards him, laughing, the outline of your breasts visible for anyone to see.

Henry Miller would’ve been one jealous fucker if he’d ever known you were out there, years ahead of him, a muse for the taking. Namjoon thanked every fucking God known for putting you in his way. Bukowski would be having a field day fantasizing about your honey dripping thighs and sweet pussy. You are every writer’s dream, sweetheart, and do you even realize?

“Beautiful choice,” he comments on the book in your lap, coming to stand over you, desperately trying not to lose it over your angel features.

You jump, startled, and look up to witness the most breathtaking man you’ve ever come across in your life, smiling down at you. You smile back without meaning to, your back straightening, your shoe clad feet touching the pavement.

“Anaïs is for the bold,” you retort, voice light, motioning for him to sit in the empty chair opposite you.

He’s massive, with strong arms and long legs. He thanks you softly and takes the seat, paper cup in hand, eyes piercing through you in an identifiable way. You shiver—blame it on the chilly day.

“Are you bold, then?” He asks cryptically, leaning into you. You feel exposed, but intrigued. So incredibly intrigued.

You falter in giving him your answer. You don’t even know his name. You don’t think it matters. “I—I try, I think.”

He smirks, and pulls away, taking with him his amber scent and magnetism. You miss it as soon as it’s gone. You reason with yourself, try to find an explanation for your thought’s reaction—your body’s.

“I’m Namjoon, sweetheart. What should I call you?” His voice was velvet; deep, and manly. It radiated through you.

Closing the book, you instead chose to hold your coffee cup between your hands, a distraction from the intense man pinning you down with those dark eyes. His black leather jacket accentuated his big shoulders, the buzz cut on the top of his head making him appear meaner than he actually was. Namjoon was older, you could tell. It scared you, but in the way rollercoasters make you nervous, or in the way thunder cracked in the night, somewhere far away, miles and miles from you. Bark with no bite.

“(Y/N),” you reply, licking your dry lips.

He follows the movement. “Pretty—(Y/N),” he tries it in his mouth, the sound sinful, inviting. “It’s beautiful.”

He sees your cheeks flush crimson, your head dropping to hide. Namjoon is an intuitive person, a risk-taking man. His fingers reach out, his index lifting your face to look at him. Your breathing has changed, you’re not accustomed to flirting, much less compliments from strangers, it’s all there for him to see. His innocent baby. He’d take his time with you. You deserved nothing less—he’d give you the fucking world, if you so wished.

“Are you a lover of books?” You ask, wanting to break the incantation, disperse the intensity of the moment.

His hand drops, the touch that lit a fire inside of you burning still, bright and strong heading lower, in between your legs, gone in an instant. You mourned for it, yearned for his hand to come back, touch you somewhere else. Your thoughts were shameless, your deepest desires but a breath away.

“You could say that,” he sips from his cup, calm and collected, legs crossed, studying you. “I’m a writer.”

“No way!” You exclaim, your cute reaction eliciting a laugh out of him. How adorable, he thinks, watching your nose scrunch up, your small, fuckable mouth curving in a smile that knocks the wind out of him.

“What about you, angel?”

“I’m a sophomore in college. Literature.”

Of course you are, his smart girl. He needs you to know, before he proceeds. He needs you to vocally say it’s okay for him to court you, to make you his. He won’t lay another finger on you until you do so.

“Sweetheart, you understand the age gap between us, don’t you?”

The part you dreaded. The truth. “Yes,” you say loud enough for just him to hear.

Namjoon leaves his now cold drink on the table, leans forward, forearms resting on top of his knees, fingers lacing together, a serious expression on his flawless face. Is this how it happens, you think? One day, out of the blue, no warning, no signs? Love, plainly in sight, asking you to accept it? You can’t say no. You don’t want to say no, knowing the difficulties, the struggles that entails.

“One word of yours and I’m out of your life. You’re holding the reigns,” he explains, but his eyes are terrified of you rejecting this, of scorning him, of sending him away after he’s found you, an oasis after a long dry desert.

He wants to love you madly. He wants to fuck you senseless, and ruin you for any other man. Most of all, he wants you to want the same things. Eight years isn’t a lot, but it’s a lifetime apart.

“You—you like me?” Your lips fall open, your chest deflates.

Oh, sweetheart, you might not be ready for what I feel for you, what I’m planning to do to you—it’s beyond words. Beyond reason.

“As soon as I saw you. I’m not a talkative person, (Y/N), I don’t walk up to just any girl.” There go those eyes again, haunting your soul, turning you inside out.

You blink, surprised at his honesty, at the bluntness of his words. In your twenty years on this earth, you’ve never been more sure of anything. This man will show you things you’ve never seen before, take you to places you’ve only dreamed of. He’s experienced, he’s an all rounded person.

He’s handsome. His mouth begs to be kissed.

“I like you too,” you admit, but refuse to meet his gaze.

He can’t have that. His fingers shoot out again, gently bringing your face level to his. Rain droplets release themselves from the puffy clouds. You don’t react to any of it, hypnotized under him, under his irresistible touch.

“It will be more than that. I need to know if you’ll be able to handle it, pretty girl. I’m not going to be your high school boyfriend.”

“I understand.” Your thighs clench together, your breathing erratic.

Namjoon notices, of course he does. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

Your eyelashes flutter, the red painting your cheeks turning a shade darker, your skin hot under his palm. He’s closer than ever, this broad man asking if he can take care of you. You’re endeared. Your heart is weak.

“I’m—no. A boy in my senior year,” you reply, embarrassed. Excited.

His eyes flash, something dark stirring in them, before it’s gone instantly. Jealousy. But, why? You couldn’t have possibly known, and even then…the danger. The forbidden. No, that couldn’t have been it.

Why hadn’t you waited? Who dared touched you before him? His muse, his perfect girl. Thoughts that had no place being voiced out loud, in fear of sounding insane. He would never admit to them.

“Then tell me pretty baby, have you ever been fucked up against a wall?”

His lips were but a breath away. You wanted to give in so badly, anything he wanted, you’d become pudding in his hands, melt away if that meant you’d be with him, if that meant he’d take you with him everywhere. His question. You stayed silent.

“Use your words, (Y/N). I’m not doing anything without your consent.”

You were so wet. So incredibly wet. If only he knew the influence his words had on you… He only had to reach a hand under your dress, touch your core. Then he’d realize just how inexperienced you truly were.

“Never,” you whisper.

You exchanged breaths, your eyes falling shut in the thought of his lips on yours, and it almost happened, the ghost of them faintly pressing, a gentle caress, before he pulls away completely, his hand finding yours, pulling you up with him.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what you just did to me,” an arm wrapping around your waist, bringing you closer, your head at level with his chest, a man, standing before you, asking to have you.

“I should wait, I should take you out and make sure you’re fed, take care of you, every fucking inch of you, before I even begin to think—do you want this?” His voice is vibrating, filled with his desire, breath now tickling your ear, a whisper between lovers.

You just met Namjoon. You don’t know anything about him, nothing but your attraction to him. Your body’s reaction. So what if this was a bad decision? He didn’t look like a bad guy. Anais Nin wasn’t second guessing herself when she fell into an affair with Henry Miller. It just happened, their souls spoke to each other clearly. Could this be what was happening?

You wanted him inside you. You wanted what he offered, every bit of it. Yes, yes, yes.

“Take me with you, Namjoon.”

Together you run, belongings forgotten; the rain had turned from a faint whispering to a thundering roar in a split second, and it didn’t take long for the both of you to get completely drenched in it, tasting sky water, your small hand in his bigger one, holding tight, fingers intertwining.

He only had to look back once. Your dress was see-through, he could see your white undergarments, the silk of your panties, the cups of your bra. Namjoon growled, a guttural noise boiling from his throat. Immediately, he pulled you in between two buildings, a narrow alleyway leading to apartments’ fire escapes unraveling in the length of it.

Leading you under a small shed, he made sure you were against the wall, covered, while he let his arms rest above your head, your bodies touching. He looked down at you, his breathing labored, and he saw the skin glistening, the fabric sticking on every curve, those pink lips open, fast breaths exhaled.

He kisses you, then. Takes your lips as his own, traps you in his embrace. You taste like cold rain, but when his tongue slips past, there’s hints of coffee with milk. Namjoon smiles against your mouth, hands getting lost in your hair, steadying themselves at the nape of your neck, cupping your jaw, your chin—you fit right into him, so small, so precious. He’s going to love corrupting you, tainting you.

“Has anyone ever touched you…here?” His fingers bunch your dress up, dip under it, over your slick. You gasp—he marvels at your expression.

“No? Baby talk to me, use your pretty mouth,” he kisses you again, his digits moving over your panties. You’re moving with them, rubbing against them, it’s all wet wet wet—

“No one.” Your nails dig into his jacket. He sighs dreamily; you’re a vision for him. An angel send.

“Did that boy not know how to please you, baby? He just shoved his fucking dick in you carelessly?” His voice grew rough, anger rippling through him. “You deserve so much better than that, sweetheart. You deserve to be loved, to be caressed…”

With one hand slipping inside your panties, fingers curling, entering you slowly, the other one ran up and down your thigh, gripping at your waist, snaking its way to the small of your back, and back down. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pumping movements inside you, the long digits bringing you pleasure, making your cunt ache, clench around them.

Namjoon was hiding you from view with his entire body. This was only for him to see, but it also served as a test. To see how far you were willing to go with him.

“You’re doing so well, my sweet girl. So tight, so wet for me… I want to taste you, baby, I want to inhale you. Will you let me?”

Your moans were music to his ears. They started as low pants, your hand blocking most of them, your cheeks that familiar pink shade. He saw it happen, as his fingers curled a specific way, the way your legs fell open wider, the way your voice turned a pitch higher than before, unable to hold back, helpless against your pleasure. Namjoon was rock hard, stifled in his pants.

But that would come shortly. First, he needed to show you—what he can do. What you could have every single day, everywhere, as soon as you spoke the words. He’d cater to your every need, be whatever you wanted him to be. As long as he could have you, take you, own you.

A smack on your ass. Your eyes shot open, staring wide at him. He lifted you up at once, arm under those plump cheeks, his fingers still fucking your cunt vigorously. You yelped, held onto his shoulders in fear of falling, but quickly grew overwhelmed, your volume rising. Fuck him, you’re so fucking hot.

“Tell Daddy, my sweet girl—will you let me have a taste of your cunt?”

“Oh, please,” you whined, your head falling in the crook of his neck, your thoughts a jumbled mess. “Please.”

He needn’t be told twice. With your feet planted firmly on the ground again, he removed his hand from your panties, kneeling down in front of you, rain sipping through him, as he lifted your dress up. Namjoon looked up at you through his eyelashes, before he ripped that silk right off you, diving right into your slick.

Divine. He’s had a lot of sex, has tasted a lot of women, but none could ever compare to you, to your sweet fucking cunt. It was pure Heaven. And the way your back curved against the wall, pushing his head into you, his tongue swiping your wetness, sucking your clit—it was enough to make you cum. He slurped all of it up, fingers finding their way again into your warm hole. He’d blow, he fucking swears. Your beautiful voice moaning out his name, wet all over, a Goddess for him, as he laps your intoxicating juices. He drinks you up, he makes it his life’s mission.

“Fucking tell me, sweetheart, has anyone ever had a lick of this pussy? You know it belongs to me now, don’t you?”

You nod your head, losing your mind. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re convulsing this hard. His baby.

“Words.”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please,” you sob, “please…fuck me, please…”

He locks you in place, his hands on your ass, determined to make you cum with his tongue, before his cock is anywhere near you. His impatient girl, so lost in feeling, such a slut for him, for what he’s giving you. He’s never had such a perfect woman.

When he started working both his fingers and mouth again, this time aggressively, his only motive was to get that pussy to drench him, to have your cum dripping from his chin. And it did just that when his thumb flicked over your clit relentlessly, tongue moving just underneath, three fingers deep. Your nails dug into his scalp, your entire body convulsing. He rubbed his stubby jaw on your lips, inhaling deeply. Your scent, uniquely yours—he now knew how you smelled. Truly. He would never be able to let you go.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me. Ready for me? Ready to give me another one?” He muttered, hands on your breasts, dropping kisses on your neck, before unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants. “I love the way you cum. I can’t wait to have you on my bed, have my way with you. You’ll let me, yes baby? You’ll let Daddy defile you, pretty thing?”

You looked down at his girth, swallowing thickly. Namjoon chuckled darkly, allowing you to see what would enter you. He pumped himself a couple times, his other hand rubbing your pussy, making sure you were wet enough for him. You just looked so fucking innocent, all fucked out. He attacked your mouth once again, biting down on your lip.

“Do you taste yourself? My delicious fucking girl.”

He enters you slowly, brows furrowed, savoring the tightness. Once he bottoms out, he stills in you, letting you get used to him, his will made of iron. Your fingers wrap around his biceps as you take a deep breath through the sting of his cock.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asks, worried.

“Yes,” you reply at once. “Go on.”

He hikes your thigh up and around his torso, as he lifts you up. You wrap around him and that’s fucking it—he loses it. His cock brutally starts pistoling into you, holding you tight against him. You meet his thrusts halfway, before it becomes too much for you to handle, instead becoming his personal little fuck doll to pound senseless. And he does. His moves are exact; sharp, and precise. He’s hitting everything inside you, the position as well as the thickness of his cock filling you up to the brim, until all you can think is him him him, inside your cunt, fucking you dumb.

“Call me by my name, sweetheart,” he pants in your ear, bouncing you on his dick.

“Namjoon,” you weakly moan, your breaths coming short, on the brink of passing out.

“My name,” he repeats harshly, ramming into you once, twice—

You throw your head back in ecstasy. “Daddy! Fuck, don’t stop! Keep fucking me please, please, I’m so fucking close daddy, please!”

“That’s my fucking angel.”

He does just that, until he can feel you spasming, until you’re screaming, begging, crying, coming on his cock, his desperate whore, getting fucked so good, isn’t she, bounce on my fucking dick, baby, ride it out, that’s right, milk me, fucking own me, my sweet fucking baby, you’re so beautiful, so fucking hot, give me a kiss—

“Where do you want me, baby? Tell Daddy, fuck you’re clenching me so goddamn hard right now, sweetheart, please.”

“Inside, please inside, I want your cum inside of me, please,” you beg, and he almost fucking chokes on his spit.

His thrusts are fast, hard and sloppy now, bruising your pussy, chasing after his own release, his mouth filthy—you want me inside this fucking cunt, don’t you my perfect fucking baby, my little slut, you’re gonna let daddy paint your walls white, won’t you, squeeze me dry, baby, fuck, come on, clench those tight fucking walls, goddamn you, I want to die in this pussy, please baby—

His arms tighten around you as he comes, and you let him; you let him calm down, for his breathing to even out, as he slips out of you, and carefully unwraps your legs from his hips, planting kisses on your shoulders, water dripping from his hair. The thunderstorm still hasn’t passed, raging on beyond the shelter of this shed.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this,” you confess as he fixes your hair, your dress, adjusts the straps, gives you his jacket to make up for the lack of underwear, and even though it’s several sizes too big on you—he cares.

It wasn’t just a lie to have a quickie with you. He took his time to explore your body, to study what makes you tick, what sends you over the edge. You didn’t even know his last name, but he knew his way around your pussy the best, better than you it felt like.

His eyes are fond, staring down in adoration. “I want to make you feel good for as long as you let me, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You hug him, then, your arms not quite reaching all around him. But it’s enough for him. More than enough. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you so easily. You’re the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed. He wants to hide you away, put you in his pocket and carry you everywhere.

“What’s your last name?” You ask innocently, head still buried in his chest.

He barks a laugh out, squeezing you in him, the vibration of it radiating through you. “Should’ve mentioned it, huh? It’s Kim, angel. Kim Namjoon.”

“Kim Namjoon,” you try it. It sounds…wholesome. “Hi, Kim Namjoon.”

“Hello, baby.”

The two of you stood there for a long time, waiting the storm out in each other’s arms. Namjoon couldn’t stop smiling, didn’t want to, never wanted to, ever again.

You couldn’t stop staring at him—he felt like the sun peeking after the gray of the clouds. Warm, important.