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kimnamjoonsday · 1 year

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All Through The Night || csc x fem!reader

title from Lean On Me

Summary: You've been working too hard and sleeping too little, an unfortunate habit of yours. Not to worry, Cheol has a way of getting you to sleep.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: 4.5k

Content warnings: SOFTDOM BOYFIE!CHEOL, porn with a modicum of plot, friends to lovers but i didn't show that here bc i didn't feel like it sorryyyyyyy, he's in love with you (i feel like y'all know what you're getting into by now, he's always gonna be in love w u in my fics), reader goes into subspace a lil, reader gets a lil teary eyed, oral (reader receiving), fingering, unprotected piv sex, breeding kink, petnames (baby, sweetheart, good girl), one spank, throat holding, manhandling (gently), UTI mention

tagging: @confusedbansheee (u ask for cheol so i give u cheol) @lenireads @junhui-recs (gonna work on jun for u next bby) @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts (i love you too!!!!)

Seungcheol eyes your shaking fingers and baggy under eyes with displeasure. He’d already asked you when you slept last and you’d said ‘yesterday, I think.’

You think.

The bright blue glow of your laptop illuminates the lip bitten between your teeth and worried furrow between your brows, and Cheol doesn’t think he can take it.

He knows you haven’t slept well in days.

He knows you don’t want to worry him.

He also knows there’s one sure fire way to get you to sleep.

But if he’s too obvious, you’ll resist, not wanting to give in to the help he’s desperate to give you.

So, he’ll have to be smart about this, take it slow.

“Baby, come over here?” Cheol calls softly from the bed.

You glance over, eyes softening when you see the look on his face, before you shake your head and say, “I just need to finish this, they need it by next week.”

“Yea, sweetheart, next week, you have plenty of time. Just come lay down with me for a second, I miss you,” Cheol adds in a bit of a whine and a pout for good measure.

He sees your shoulders bunch up next to your ears before they relax with a sigh, and you push away from the desk with heavy limbs.

Your steps seem leaden as you stumble towards the bed, legs shaking like a little baby deer, and Cheol rises from his lounging position to pull you between his knees.

He smooths his hands from your hips up to your shoulders, digging his fingers in a little to get at the knots that always plague you after sitting at the desk for hours.

Working your trapezius between thumbs and pointer fingers, Cheol lets his eyes wander over your face. Your eyelids have fallen closed, body swaying slightly in his grip, and he aches at the tired set of your mouth and the pinch of your brows.

It had been hard enough to see you like this when you were just friends, when there wasn’t anything he could do to make you listen to him.

Now that you’re together, it’s worse, because he knows he can fix it but he doesn’t know if you’ll let him.

So for now, Cheol just runs his hands from your shoulders to your hips, stopping for a quick squeeze, and continues onto your thighs. He pulls you closer, pressing his face into your tummy and grumbling softly because he knows you like how it feels.

When your body loses some of its tension and more of your weight rests on him, he knows he’s got you.

Cheol doesn’t want to move too fast though, knows you take some coaxing, so he leaves his face in your belly and starts kneading your thighs.

He’s always loved how they feel under his hands, plush and soft and warm, and he loves even more how they feel under his mouth.

Cheol can feel you getting sleepier, and knows he needs to act soon if he’s going to act at all.

He wouldn’t care if you did just want to go to bed, he’d never pressure you or expect you to let him do this, but he knows it’s the only way to get you to fall asleep AND stay asleep.

Cheol’s not sure if you’ll be up for it, tired and stubborn as you are, but it’s worth a try. So he starts shifting back, pulling you with him until he can lift one thigh up and settle your knee on the bed beside his hip. Your standing leg quivers, muscles weak from sitting at the desk for so long, and he swiftly pulls that leg up too, so you’re straddling him on the bed.

He lets you sink down into his lap, moving his head from your belly to your neck, wrapping you up tight in his arms. The remaining tightness leaves your body and you heave out a sigh, resting your forehead in the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

He rocks you for a bit, humming so you can feel the vibrations in his throat (and because you love his voice), before letting himself fall back onto the bed.

Cheol loves feeling you on top of him like this, his own personal weighted blanket, soothing and cozy and familiar. If he didn’t have a mission to accomplish, he could easily fall asleep like this, evidenced by his own eyes getting heavy.

But Cheol does have a task to complete and he won’t give up now, so he starts pushing off with one leg and tilting his body to the side, rolling over until he’s on top of you. You hum and snuggle deeper into his neck, but he can feel the restlessness rising back up in you, in the foot you wiggle and the fingers tapping rhythmically on his back.

He lets you wake up a bit more, doesn’t like doing this when you’re too sleepy to participate, and waits until he feels your breath change to start grinding into you.

Cheol presses his hips down gently, always likes to warm you up a bit, make sure you want it like he does. When he feels you press back, he knows you know what he’s doing. And he knows you’ll let him.

You don't like to give up control, you like to be in charge in all aspects, except in bed with him. There’s hardly ever a clear power dynamic between you and him, always a give and take, and he loves it. He loves you.

But sometimes, you need someone to tell you what to do, take the power out of your hands, make the choices for you.

And Cheol is good at that, loves doing it, when it comes to you. He loves that you let him take care of you like this, put that trust in him, allow him to take the reins that you usually cling to so tightly.

It can be scary to have this kind of power, this kind of responsibility, but it’s worth it, if it means he can help you.

You’re seemingly up for it tonight, letting that familiar haze take over your eyes and your body settle further into the bed. He can see your face soften bit by bit, the line between your brows smoothing, unconscious frown relaxing back into the sleepy smile he adores.

Cheol grinds down a bit harder, sliding his arms out from underneath you to smooth his hands down your body and rest them firmly on your hips. He squeezes at the flesh there before tilting your hips up so his dick can get right at you, your thin pajama shorts letting him get even closer.

“You want me to help you relax, baby? Huh? Need someone else to do the thinking for a little bit?” He coos down at you, sure it probably sounds patronizing but meaning every word.

“Yea, Cheol, need you,” you whisper back, whine in your voice, and he can feel the shudder travel all the way from his scalp to his toes.

It always does something to him when you get like this, all soft and sweet. Cheol doesn’t feel the need to take care of you, to protect you, in your daily life but he does feel the desire.

He pushes it down because he knows you’re independent and can get shit done yourself, but when you get like this? When you want him to take care of you?

It activates something in him, something that tells him to kiss you and hold you and love you and fuck you.

So he does.

He slides his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugs them down gently, and spreads your thighs. Sometimes it helps to give you something to do, so he takes hold of each of your legs behind the knee and pushes them up, waiting until you grab them and hold them up yourself. “Keep them there. Okay, baby?”

Cheol feels heat rush down his spine and into his cock at the sight of you nodding, holding yourself open for him, your pussy already glistening with wetness and practically begging to be filled.

He’s gotta make you wait though, make sure you’re exhausted enough to sleep by the time he’s done, so he can’t go too fast, can’t slide right in like he wants.

Instead, he rubs his fingers up and down, spreading your wetness and opening you up slowly. Cheol waits until you’re whining and trying to buck your hips up before letting his fingers glide over your clit. You’re drenched already, little mewls escaping your lips, and he can’t keep you waiting anymore, not when you’re this needy.

On his next pass, he lets his middle finger catch at your entrance and slip inside, just to the first knuckle, just to give you something to squeeze down on. Cheol won't give you more yet, not until you’re crying for it, but he will give you this.

And maybe a little more, he thinks, letting you buck your hips until his finger is all the way inside, until you’re clenching down and he can feel your walls undulate around it. You already want to let go, Cheol can tell. But it’s not time yet, you’ll likely only get a few hours if he makes you cum so soon, so he withdraws his finger and shuffles down the bed until he’s eye level with your cunt.

Cheol can never get enough of seeing you like this, your hands holding your own thighs up and open, pussy clenching around nothing, clit visibly throbbing. He just can’t resist, so he doesn’t anymore.

All it takes is one firm swipe of his tongue from cunt to clit and Cheol’s groaning into you, voice deep and heavy with want. He can hear your weak whimpers overhead, and from the edge in your voice, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Cheol still won’t let you cum, but he will give you a bit more, sliding his tongue deep into your cunt and letting his nose rub into your folds. He sees your thighs quiver a bit, trying to close but you’re a good girl so you keep them open for him, and he rewards you with two fingers deep inside and his tongue on your clit.

You’re keening already, cunt clenching around his fingers and trying to suck them in deeper, so he curls them upward and searches for the spot inside that always makes you gush. He knows he’s found it when your hips buck up and you lose your grip on your thighs, letting them down to close around his hand.

Cheol lands a soft smack on the side of your ass, sliding his fingers out to push your thighs back up. You cry out at the loss, wiggling your hips to try to get his fingers back inside but Cheol levels a stern look at you and asks, “what are you supposed to be doing with your thighs, baby?”

“Holding them up for you,” you respond with a pout.

“And what did you do?” Cheol raises a brow at you.

“I let go.”

Cheol can hear the tears in your voice and see the glistening at your lash line, and decides you’re too delicate for punishment tonight.

“But you’ll keep them open for me from now on, right baby?“ He asks in a gentle tone, preferring tears of pleasure to tears of guilt.

“Yes, Cheollie, I’ll keep them open,” you say with a small sniffle and a watery smile, eager to please him and to get his fingers filling you up again.

“That’s my good girl,” Cheol coos at you, holding your gaze as he dips his head back down to lick at your clit.

He can feel the shudder run through your body, your grip tightening on your thighs and your eyelids fluttering down. He can’t have that though, needs you to keep them open so they’ll feel tired later, so he says, “Eyes on me, baby,” and waits for you to open them before sinking his fingers inside you, three this time instead of two.

Cheol has to press his hips into the bed when you cry out, your gaze locked with his and your sweet lips open. He thinks he’s kept you waiting long enough, thinks you’ll get through at least half the night if he makes you cum now, so he starts slowly building you back up.

He fucks his fingers in deeper, as deep as they can go, and hooks them into your g-spot before sucking your clit into his mouth. Cheol can feel the change in you, can tell you know he’s about to let you cum, and just grinds harder inside you, tapping your clit with his tongue. He groans when he feels more of your wetness seep out around his fingers; you always leak like a faucet when you’re getting close, and he’ll never get enough of it, never get enough of you.

You start shifting away though, arching against his movements instead of with them, and Cheol pulls off in confusion.

“S’wrong, baby?” He asks in a throaty voice, panting a bit from having his tongue on you for so long.

“Wanna cum with you in me, Cheol, please,” you ask weakly, but with a clear voice.

Hm.

He hadn’t planned on fucking you tonight with anything but his fingers and tongue but who is he to say no?

Then again…

“You can cum twice, baby,” Cheol responds with a smile before licking around his fingers and gliding his tongue back up to your clit.

“Oh, right,” you say breathlessly, letting your hips buck into him again.

He’s relentless this time, pulling your bundle of nerves into his mouth and laving his tongue over it, leaving his fingers curled inside you so you can set the pace.

Normally, you like that, but not tonight and he hears you groan in frustration when you can’t get his fingers to move how you want.

And that’s not what Cheol wants, at all, he only wants to make you feel good, so he starts moving his fingers again. In and out, spreading them slightly each time to open you up for his cock, rubbing them into that rough spot inside you.

His mouth picks up the pace too, suctioning his lips around your clit and pulling at you in pulses, groaning when he feels your walls start to clench rhythmically around his fingers.

You’re getting close now, Cheol can tell, so he keeps fucking his fingers into you and maintains the pressure around your clit. Sometimes you like it when he ramps things up but when you’re in this headspace, you need consistency, so he does his best not to change anything.

Your cries are getting higher and higher, mouth stuck open as you try to breathe through the onslaught of pleasure. Cheol can see how tightly you’re holding your thighs, constantly adjusting your grip to keep them open like he told you to, and he smiles around you, moaning into your wet pussy in wordless praise.

You must know what he means, because your back arches higher and your eyes close, your cunt clenching down on his fingers so tight he doesn’t bother trying to move them. He just keeps them curled, pressing into your g-spot and letting them spread a bit, enough for you to be able to take his cock after.

Your whimpers get so high they become soundless, air stuttering in your chest, eyes scrunched shut and thighs juddering under your own grip, and you cum with a veritable flood of wetness around his fingers. Cheol almost feels your orgasm like it’s his own, his cock twitching in time with the squeezing of your walls and his hips pressing down into the sheets.

He laps you up, easing off you but leaving his fingers inside so you can ride it out, not wanting to overstimulate you too much.

For now.

When Cheol feels the last few waves moving through you, he slides out his fingers and sucks them into his mouth before gently prying your thighs loose from your hands and bringing them down to rest on the bed.

They’re still twitching, your hips punching up a little as tiny aftershocks shoot through you. Sometimes you get muscle cramps after holding them up for so long so Cheol sets his hands on your thighs and carefully massages up and down the length of each of them, soothing the tired muscles and caressing your soft skin.

Cheol can tell you’re tired now, almost ready to sleep, so he moves to rest his hands on either side of your hips and checks in.

“How’re we doing? Still want me inside, baby?” He asks in the voice he only ever uses with you, tone gentle and loving and warm. He trails his hands up and down your body, rubbing at your belly and breasts under your (his) sleep shirt until you’ve gathered your wits enough to answer.

You take a deep breath he can feel under his palms, your ribs expanding with air as you blink slowly, before nodding and reaching for him.

“Words, sweetheart, I need you to tell me,” Cheol reminds you softly.

“I’m good, Cheollie, still want you,” you respond sleepily, and he grins, leaning down to drop a sweet kiss on your lips before turning you onto your side and slotting in place behind you like pieces of a puzzle.

He’s always fit perfectly with you.

As soon as he settles, you’re reaching behind to grab his arm and wrap it around your waist, tugging it up between your breasts and interlocking his fingers with yours. You get so touchy, so needy, after he makes you cum, and he revels in the extra contact with you.

Sometimes he teases you, makes you wait longer, grinds his cock up and down your pussy, but not tonight. Tonight, he needs it as bad as you do.

So Cheol pats your thigh, letting out a quiet, “up, baby,” into your neck, and slides home.

There’s a bit of resistance, a byproduct of his size, but you love the stretch so he pushes through until he’s bottoming out inside of you. He can feel your low moan vibrate through his chest and answers with a groan. He always wants you to know how good you feel around him, always wants you to know how perfect you are, so he keeps up the praise for as long as he can speak coherently.

“So tight like this baby, take me so well,” Cheol murmurs into the back of your neck, wiggling his free arm underneath you to wrap over your shoulders and pull you closer.

You told him once that you loved when he surrounded you like this, and he’s never forgotten it. He thinks about your words now, grinding into you and trying different angles till he can tap your g-spot with every thrust.

Cheol’s sure he’s found it when you gasp and jerk against him, not that you can go far when he’s got you cocooned like this. You get even wetter somehow, slick squelching out around his cock, and he knows you won’t last long.

But neither will he, not after making you cum like that.

He’s already twitching inside you, feeling the heat rushing down his spine and his balls starting to draw up, and he has to stop moving for a second, count backwards from one hundred to keep himself from cumming too soon.

In the meantime, he gently untwines your fingers from his own and moves them down to circle your clit, trying to get you there before he does. The hand pressed to your shoulder moves to hold your neck, not squeezing, just resting at the base of your throat to ground you.

When Cheol presses down a bit harder on your clit, your hand flies up to wrap around his wrist, and he can feel your grip tightening and loosening with every thrust, just like your pussy is around his cock.

Cheol can feel you getting closer and closer, knows it won’t be long now, so he releases your throat and gently tips you onto your stomach, stretching himself out on top of you.

One hand fumbles for a pillow, weight lifting off of you just enough to slide it under your hips, before he sets it next to your head to prop himself up. He stops circling his fingers, just keeps them on your clit, and grinds his cock into your g-spot, waiting for the hitch in your breath that tells him you’re almost there.

In this position, Cheol can pull back enough to properly fuck you, so he does. He doesn’t go too hard on you, knows you’re delicate like this, and pulls out just enough to feel your walls trying to suck him back in before fucking into you. Little cries escape you, breathy and sweet, and he slides a gentle hand under your cheek to turn your face to the side so they’re not muffled by the pillow.

His hips hit against your ass with every thrust, his eyes locked on the way your flesh bounces, and he can’t resist rising up on his knees a little so he can get a better view.

It takes a lot of core strength but Cheol is able to move the hand bracing himself to grab a handful of your ass, resting some of his weight on you and knowing full well you can take it. His fingers dig deep, pushing your cheek to the side so he can watch his cock moving in and out of you, see how tightly your cunt clings to him.

Cheol knows you love being on display, love how dirty it feels to have him spread you open, and he can feel it in the way you get tighter around him, clenching down harder and harder. You’re getting louder now too, his name flowing from your lips in between swear words and whimpers, and Cheol can feel his heart seize up a little with each utterance.

Soon enough, you’ll be squeezing his cock so hard he won’t be able to move so Cheol savors the friction while he can, and looks forward to feeling you cum around him.

Your back starts to arch, your hips pushing up into his thrusts and your cunt fluttering around his cock, swallowing him deeper and deeper until your body locks up, and you cum with a weak shout of his name.

Cheol can’t hold out any longer, knows there’s no reason to, so he lets the heat in his stomach overtake him and buries his cock deep inside you one last time. He can feel his cum flooding into you in bursts, sees it start to gather at your entrance when your clenching walls squeeze the last bit out of him, and he lets go of your ass to brace a hand by your head again. His other hand leaves your clit, settling on the other side of your head as he rests his forehead on your back, panting into your skin.

Cheol doesn’t move for a while, just whispers softly to you, telling you how much he loves you and how perfect you are and how he never wants to leave. He can feel your heart racing against his and you mumble back, angling your head towards him for a kiss.

He realizes he hasn’t kissed you this whole time, which, frankly, is unacceptable so he pulls out slowly, pushing his cum back into you with gentle fingers, and rolls you over onto your back. Cupping your face in both hands, Cheol leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips. You remind him of Sleeping Beauty, your eyes closed and face tilted up toward him, expression sweet and free of stress.

Cheol wants to let you sleep but knows you should go to the bathroom and wash your face. You’ll be so upset if you wake up to break outs and a UTI, and he can’t have that, so he clumsily crawls off of you and hoists you into his arms.

His cum is starting to leak out of you, making him rush to the bathroom on light feet, and he sets you down on the toilet before cleaning himself off and going to put on boxers and get pajamas for you, giving you some privacy.

When he returns, you’re naked and sleepily washing your face, elbows braced on the counter so you don't have to hold yourself up. Cheol fixes his eyes just above your head in the mirror, avoiding the dips and curves of your body and the way your pussy peeks out from between your thighs, knowing he’ll get hard again if he looks.

On a regular night you’d probably be down for another round, maybe in the shower, but tonight Cheol knows you need to go straight to bed if you’re going to capitalize on your tired eyes and empty mind. So he steps up behind you, letting his slippers slap on the tile to make sure you know he’s there, and bends down to lift your feet into clean panties and pajama shorts.

Your face is still wet but Cheol knows you like to air dry, so he carefully lifts his shirt over your head and pulls it down to cover you. He gives your hips a little pinch before moving next to you and starting to brush his teeth. You share sleepy smiles around toothbrushes, your hip bumping into his before you take turns rinsing your mouths, his heart swelling at the domesticity of it all.

Cheol can feel you leaning more and more into him and he gathers you up in his arms once again, holding you close and heading back to bed. You grab handfuls of his shirt, fabric clenched between steady fingers, and let out the biggest sigh, any remaining tension fading from your body.

Your soft breaths puff against his neck, chest rising evenly, as he tries to deposit you onto the bed without waking you up. He’s successful, for the most part, but your fingers won’t let go of his shirt and you hum a bit when he tries to remove them, so he just climbs over you into bed.

Cheol wants to pull you into his arms, but he’s too scared of disturbing you, so instead he settles on his stomach and drapes a heavy arm across your body, thumb rubbing at your hipbone. He breathes out a quiet love you just before his eyes fall closed, and smiles, knowing it’s not a dream when he hears your groggy voice say it back.

AN: ... heyyy ... p sure this is the dirtiest thing ive ever written but tbh i love it and i had a great time and i hope you did too

would love to chat! feel free slide into my inbox or comment or reblog with tags or whatever you want ily all

join my taglist here

my masterlist can be found here

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kimnamjoonsday · 2 years

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Captive [1/2]

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: Corporate AU (investment banking)

Summary: You’ve got your shit together. Smart, sharp, god complex. And then Managing Director Kim Namjoon decides to take you down a couple pegs. All the way down to your knees.

Tags: oral sex, spanking, choking, face sitting, anal sex, double penetration, sex toys, size kink, age gap, ~implied corruption kink, ~implied sugar daddy, sub/dom undertones, light bondage, power imbalance, bigdick!namjoon, dom!namjoon, AU where Namjoon has a driver’s license

Masterlist

[Part 2]

It’s a bit past 2AM by the time you duck into the club. And as expected, your team has already bailed.

“Where are you guys?” you text Jungkook, who you’ve saved as Yonsei Dipshit #1.

“Dick wet, chat later,” Yonsei Dipshit #1 returns.

You snort, derisive. A flash of pain cracks over your temple as you stuff your phone back in your pocket. Working 18-hour days chasing circular references on Excel does that to a person. You might as well order a drink, you think, now that you're already here. It’s the least you deserve.

“Hello,” you wave at the bartender, hoisting yourself up onto a barstool.

He doesn’t see you.

That’s fine. It happens a lot. You’re short. You’re tiny. Even with your four-inch heels, your feet won’t touch the ground when you wiggle yourself onto the stool. Behold! Jimin christened you, your second week at work. Our cute, lethal machine of war!

“Hey!” you yell, a little louder, to no effect. The bartender turns in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice from behind you, and this time the bartender jumps.

You jump, too, spinning around so fast you lose your balance a bit. A hand comes to steady you at your waist.

And the hand belongs, judging by the overpriced suit and the perfectly coiffed hair, to yet another finance asswad.

“What do you want to drink?” finance asswad asks. He’s obnoxiously tall, and so broad that all you can see for a moment is his chest.

“I can get my own,” you inform him, pushing his hand off of your side. You turn back to the bartender, who has now rushed over at full attention. “Three shots of tequila please.”

“I’ll have another whiskey,” finance asswad says, flashing a bill with way too many zeros.

OK, so he’s one of those.

“What do you want?” You ask him.

He regards you quietly for a moment. Those eyes behind his thick-framed glasses seem reptilian, somehow, when he grins. “You don’t look like you’re having a good time.”

The drinks show up. You take a shot and bite into the lime. The guy waits for you to speak, patient, and reaches for his drink.

“I’m having a great time,” you say, about to take another shot when something wet touches your elbow. It takes you a moment to realize that his lowball glass has tipped over the counter.

In a second, the liquid runs down the front of your blouse, pooling into your lap, on your freshly dry-cleaned skirt.

“Oh God,” the guy says, eyes wide. “Wow, fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you say. He chuckles sheepishly, face scrunched together in self-abnegation. It kind of takes the corporate polish off of him, and for a split second… you don’t hate it. “I’ll need to get changed.”

“Right,” he agrees, shrugging off his suit jacket to hold over your lap, and your attention catches on that languid flex of his muscles, straining tight against the fabric of his shirt. You can see the sinew in his neck, the way his starched collar cuts into his Adam’s apple when he speaks. “Honestly, I’m so sorry. I’ll get your dry cleaning bill.”

Up close, he smells good, like alcohol, but also something earthy. And yeah, he’s attractive. Maturely so. You’d be blind not to admit it. That jawline, those huge hands.

You think about it. It has been a while since you’ve last gotten laid.

After another shot, you tell him, “I’m going to need a ride home.”

“Of course,” he says, earnest. “I’m Namjoon, by the way,”

You look at him, interest weaning thinner by the minute. “Cool. Thanks.”

Judging by the way he can barely look you in the eye, you figure he’s probably a senior analyst. Maybe associate, with the Porsche he drives. But it doesn’t matter who he is. You don’t intend to see him again.

“Nice place,” he says, as you shove him over your bed.

“I know,” you say, busying yourself with his belt.

“Are you still in school?” he asks, conversational, while you dig his cock out of his briefs.

“Yeah,” you say, and don’t care to expand on it. There is a bigger problem at hand.

You pretend like it’s not a problem, like you’ve seen it before, but that doesn’t stop your heart from sinking into your belly. Even only half-hard, the guy’s massive. Your fingers can hardly close around him, you realize.

“You OK?” he checks. Your ceiling light glares off of his glasses. It makes him look so dumb--and if you were honest, you’d rather die before you’d let a nerd like him have the upper hand.

“Yeah,” you snap, gruff, and quickly run your tongue along his shaft as if you have something to prove. You wrap your mouth over his head. But then you can’t go any deeper. Just a third of the way down and his cock’s already shoved into the back of your throat, thick and hot and near suffocating. What the fuck, you think, as you bob your head over him, feeling him swell bigger inside your mouth, pressing your tongue down, shoving your jaw wide open. How is this possible.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, looking concerned.

And it’s your fault, you know it is. It’s your god complex, your massively oversized ego, the occupational hazard of being competitive. But you’d rather die before you admit you can’t.

Sure you can.

You inhale, sharp, and you climb over him. The bed creaks beneath your weight as you settle over his hips and for a moment, you stop.

You’ve actually never ridden anyone before. You’ve seen it in porn, and it looked simple, but straddling this man, who’s so much wider than you that your hips feel like it might just split apart around his thighs... it seems you have no idea what to do.

“Hey,” he says, again, a wry, unreadable grin spreading over his face. “Do you want me to--”

“Fuck off,” you snarl. You grab at his cock and line it up against your cunt and, fuck, the stretch . “I can handle it.”

You say that but you freeze anyways, tentatively, midair, wondering if your pussy might actually just rip open around him. Although--surely that can’t happen, right. It’s not a big deal. It’s got to fit.

You lower yourself a single extra millimeter and the answer is no, it doesn’t. It doesn’t fit. You can’t take this. Something wet hits your arm and you realize, all of a sudden, that you’re drooling.

What the hell.

“Do you need a hand?” Namjoon asks, his giant hands running up your thighs, so big that they just wrap around the whole of your leg. You can feel him palming at your ass, swallowing both cheeks with ease. Without warning, he starts kneading your ass, almost coaxingly, and it makes you shiver, makes your core swell with need. You hate it.

“What hand,” you huff, derisive, attempting to move. And god, his cock somehow twitches larger inside of you.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, frustrated, chewing on your lip. There are tears welling in your eyes and all you can think about is how humiliating this whole thing is. Looking like an idiot in front of this awkward, clumsy, middle-managing loser--

“Sure,” he says, and one hand comes back around you, his thumb dipping easily over your clit. “If you can manage.”

And that’s when it finally occurs to you that he’s doing this on purpose. He knows you’re fronting. That you’re just an inexperienced college brat, that you’ve only slept with maybe three guys, tops, and that as much as you’re feigning otherwise, you’re overwhelmed. He can tell, obviously, with the graceless way you’ve been carrying yourself. He knows all this and he’s just laying there, watching you for fun.

He rubs at your clit, slow, firm, and the abrupt, needy whine that comes from you surprises you both.

“Do you want help?” he asks, soft, albeit with no room for negotiation.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, biting into your lip.

Namjoon holds you by your hips and repeats, more clearly, looking you dead in the eye, “Do you want help?”

There’s something authoritative about his tone and you have no idea what you’re doing when you nod, on instinct, lip untucking from under your teeth. It feels swollen and tingly and Namjoon stares at it for a moment.

And then he snaps his hips up into you, fucks all the way up. All at once. You try grasping onto his shoulders for leverage for a second but your arms buck, hardly able to hold you upright.

It’s almost as if his cock is stretching you to fit his shape, shoving everything inside of you out to make space. Your mind is rammed so full with pleasure and pain it makes you choke, takes you an eternity to figure out how to hiss, “what the fuck--”

“Get up,” he tells you. He’s different now. The smile has disappeared from his expression. He says, eyes dark. “Sit.”

You still for a moment, uncertain, heart in your throat. The way he looks at you--it doesn’t make sense but--it’s intimidating. You avert your eyes, face hot. His hand finds your chin anyways, drags you back to meet his eyes.

His hand dips lower, tracing down the line of your neck. He tugs apart the bow of your blouse and says, watching your collar fall open, “don’t look away.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, weak.

Namjoon only has to run his thumb along the edge of your pelvis bone once and, like a fucking dog, you obey. You whimper as you right yourself over him, taking in more of him, until his cock pushes so deep into you it makes your head spin. And with the way he’s watching you, careful, reverent, as if he’s trying to take you apart, it makes your whole body tense.

“Stay still,” he says, rolling his hips up into you. You don’t mean to, but that immense pressure of his cock shoving your walls away has your body jolting and toppling into him.

And Namjoon, out of nowhere, spanks you. Spanks you hard.

“Wh--,” you gasp, faltering for a moment, that wet lick of pain so foreign against your ass you don’t even know how to verbalize it. You’ve never been spanked before, never been punished, not once in your life. “Why are you spanking me?”

Namjoon doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He just grabs the meat of your ass and keeps fucking you like that, long, hard strokes, slow and steady. Like a machine. And it’s a matter of biology really that you fall into him again, eyes glazed over, panting and crying for him to slow down.

But then he just spanks you again, jaw clenched, as if he can’t see that you’re completely fucking losing it in front of him. And the pain, the sharpness of it makes your pussy clamp down so hard around him. But his cock is so insanely fat and hard and there’s nowhere for it to go but shove straight into your spot, into right where it makes your legs tremble.

“I’m,” you gasp, “I’m coming.”

For a moment, there’s this amused kind of look on Namjoon’s face. It’s gone in a blink and he says, fucking you still with that cruel, meticulous pace, “Don’t come until I say you can.”

“Please,” you say, only it sounds like a mewl. And god, you sound so filthy and desperate, “please let me co--”

Namjoon’s hand lands on your ass again, so hard you can feel your cheeks shake from the impact. You really tried hard not to, because you know Namjoon wouldn’t hesitate, but the pain, the shame , only sends another rush of pleasure flooding into your core, thick and viscous and undammable. The next thing you know, your hips have jerked up on their own and--

you didn’t even know you could squirt

--and Namjoon’s hand is on your neck.

“What did I say,” he warns, without a single inflection in his voice.

You can feel his grip tightening over your vocal chord, his thumb pressing slowly into your jugular. You swallow, blood running cold and hot all at once, brain still seizing from your orgasm. You can’t quite understand him but you know you’ve done something wrong. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel so small. So tiny.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, breathless, voice pitched and cracked, so shocked and so--you’d die before you admit this but--turned on.

Namjoon just scoffs, a corner of his lips tugging up, wry and mean. He lifts you off of him with his hands on your hips, and you let him throw you onto your belly, like a doll. It all happens so fast, the way he has your hips canted up, how he squeezes at your ass, his big hands pulling your cheeks apart. His fingers stroke down your slit, chasing your slick that dribbles off your clit in globs.

And then he slams into you. He fucks you harder now, wordlessly, his cock pistoning into you so fast he has to pull you back into him with his hand in your hair, forcing you to take all of him. He comes, you think, at some point, because you can hear him grunting, can feel his hips stuttering. But he doesn’t stop. He just fucks his come into you, then back out of you, until you can feel it wet on your thighs.

At some point, your elbows buck and you fall face-first into your pillow. You think you want to say something smart, probably, something to prove that you’re not a fucking fleshlight. Only he’s fucking you too hard for anything more than drool and tears and the most pathetic-sounding moans to leak out of your mouth. Not a single thought is left in your head. When he binds your wrists behind you and pulls you up with a single stupidly big hand, all that comes out of your mouth is, “please.”

“Please what?” Namjoon laughs, in complete control. “You want to come over my cock again? Forgot your lesson?”

“Please,” you cry out, feeling so fucking humiliated and needy at the same time, so close to the edge you’d beg for it. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

Namjoon thinks about it for a second. “No.”

He keeps fucking you like that, for what feels like hours. You black out when he finally finds the mercy to put a hand on your clit and after you come to again, you find that he’s still thrusting into you, groaning quietly into your shoulder. Then his mouth is on your ear, on your neck. It feels good, somehow. Feels like he’s marking you up. There’s come and slick between your legs and on your bedsheet, sticking onto your belly.

It’s a long time before he finally lets you go. By then you’re far too fucked out to move. Even your jaw is sore, somehow, and your pussy feels bruised and used. And, maybe, you don’t hate it.

“Hang on,” Namjoon says. You can feel his weight lifting off the bed.

He returns with one of your bathroom towels. You can see it steaming in the darkness of your room. Without a word, he slips his hand between your thighs and starts to wipe you off.

If you have even an ounce of energy left, you would tell him to fuck off. Since you don’t, you just lay there and let him do what he wants.

“Are you staying?” You ask, eventually, despite yourself.

Namjoon throws the towel into the laundry hamper and then there’s a large, warm hand on your head. He gives you a pat, like you’re five years old. You hate it, sort of.

From the corner of your eye, you can see him throwing on his jacket and smoothing the wrinkles out of his dress shirt. He opens his wallet, leaves a fat wad of cash on your nightstand.

“For the dry cleaning,” he explains, as if he knows you’d be offended otherwise. And yeah, you would.

“I don’t need it,” you say, after a moment, already half-asleep. But then the front door clicks.

He’s gone.

“We waited until midnight and left,” Jimin explains, the noise of the morning Starbucks crowd forcing him to raise his voice into a shout. He’s an associate, two whole levels above you on the org chart, and he technically doesn’t need to apologize to the likes of you. That said, Jimin’s simply nice like that. “Sorry. Hope you weren’t too disappointed.”

“It’s fine,” you yell back, as the barista continues to call out names for pick up. You don’t have to tell him, you know, except you hate it when people feel bad for you. “I got laid, so I’m not mad.”

Intrigued, Jimin leans against the wall and asks, “Oh yeah? Who?”

“Not sure,” you shrug. “Some middle-managing virgin, probably.”

“Regardless,” Jimin shakes his head. “Well done.”

Just as you’re about to respond, the barista calls out, “Namjoon-ssi! Kim Namjoon-ssi!”

You lift your brows. “Actually, the guy was also--”

“Excuse me.”

And, like a nightmare, Namjoon squeezes beside you.

He grabs at the drink, then returns with a simple nod. Somehow, in daylight, he’s even more built than you remembered. There’s something imposing about his presence. He towers over Jimin and says, “Hey, Jimin.”

“Director Kim, sir,” Jimin says, eyes wide, though yours feel like they’re about to pop out of your skull. “Good to see you.”

Namjoon’s eyes flick to you for an instant, that exact same wry expression he had last night. He turns back to Jimin and says, “Ready for the weekend?”

“Yes, sir.” Jimin laughs, too loud. He reads whatever unnerved expression there is on your face and says, "Have you met our new managing director yet?"

You’re not an idiot. You fully intend to respond, except you can’t seem to find the nerve. You’ve met managing directors before. Obviously, you have. The problem is you haven’t slept with them before, and you certainly have never called one of them a middle-managing virgin, straight to their face.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Namjoon says, before he steps away. “I look forward to working with you.”

You watch dumbly as a herd of VPs tails him into the elevator lobby, a flurry of leather lace-ups snapping endlessly against the marble tiles.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jimin asks, handing you your latte.

The truth is you don’t know, either.

It’s a whole week before you run into Namjoon again, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for it. A part of you thinks, naively, that Namjoon might be surprised to see you.

But he’s not. He’s got his A-team clustered around him, and he doesn’t even seem to notice you.

“Pardon,” you say, as you brush past Namjoon. Your shoulder bumps against his arm. For an absurd moment, you hang back, expecting him to at least recognize you.

He doesn’t respond. Just levels you with a cold, hard stare.

“It’s not infeasible,” Yoongi says, from beside him.

Namjoon turns to him. “Very funny,” he says, and walks right past you.

Later that day, around 8PM, after most of the floor has emptied out, after even the cleaner has come and gone, you finally find the balls to type out an email. It’s stupid, you know. It’s really fucking stupid. There’s a chance his assistant might see it before he does. But if you play it safe--

You send it off, palms clammy against your mouse. No subject, just a short “hello” in the body.

There’s no response, for a whole minute. You sit there, staring at your cursor. You check your outbox, then go to grab some water. Namjoon’s office light is still on.

There’s no answer when you’re back. There’s no answer three hours later. Not even at 3AM, after you’ve finished running Jimin’s model five times, triple-checked the font sizes and text alignment on Jungkook’s report.

With nothing left to do, you call a cab home. You can still see the light on in Namjoon’s office as you ride away.

He’s probably still working, you think. The guys like to say that MDs have it easy. All they have to do is play a billion rounds of golf. It seems Namjoon’s different though, and of course he would be.

You take a shower and decide to stop thinking about him. There are loads of other rocks tangling into your thoughts. Your electives for next term, your graduation thesis, recruiting for a permanent position, whether Jimin would write you a strong enough reference.

As you step out of the shower, you hear a knock from the entrance.

You almost don’t think it’s real--no one else has ever been here before, other than Namjoon--but then it comes again.

You throw a towel around yourself and pad barefoot to the front door. From the eye hole, you can see that it’s Namjoon.

And god, the way your heart rate spikes.

Your hand almost doesn’t feel like your own as you fiddle with the lock and pull the door open.

And just like that, all of a sudden, Namjoon is there.

“Hi,” you start, but Namjoon doesn’t respond. He takes one step forward, so close that you have to stumble backwards to look up at him. “I didn’t think--”

He puts his hand on your neck. His thumb glides over your collarbone, then up each ridge of your larynx, pressing down just hard enough for you to stop breathing.

“You should watch yourself,” he says, soft. All you can register is his scent, that intoxicating mix of earth and sandalwood and then he takes one more step forward. He bends down to meet you eye to eye.

You swallow, dizzy. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he would do if you let go of your towel. If he’d let you kiss him. If he’d throw you against the wall, if he’d fuck you apart.

He’s not close enough. You look up at him through your lashes, cunt throbbing so hard it nearly hurts, pleading for him to just touch you, to fill you up again.

But his grip tightens around your throat. You don’t dare move. Not an inch. You can’t even blink. Somehow he’s conditioned you so bad your skin is ice cold and your head is swimming just at that pressure of his thumb against your jugular.

“You understand?” he asks, letting you go. His thumb trails up to your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’d been biting down on your lower lip. He frees it, watches it come out pink and swollen, and the way he pauses at the sight of you makes you feel insane.

“Yes,” you gasp, finally remembering to breathe.

“Good,” he says, lips quirking into a slow, near imperceptible smirk, and then he takes his hand away.

And he’s gone.

You stare at the corridor, long after it has emptied. There’s something stirring inside of you, furious and completely insatiable.

You don’t even make it to your bed. You just shut the door and fuck yourself on your fingers right there against it, swearing quietly as you come.

As always, your model is solid work. You know it. You wouldn’t submit anything less. Jimin takes all of fifteen minutes to click through it, makes a few calls, drags Yoongi into his office. By lunch hour, they’re both at your desk.

“Yah, war machine,” Jimin calls, smacking you on the head with a rolled-up pitch book. “Congrats. You’re going to fuck a lot of people over.”

“You built the model?” Yoongi asks, arms crossed. It’s the first time a VP has stepped onto the floor, and you can see a few other interns sneaking surreptitious glances at him from behind their monitors. “Shouldn’t you be formatting pitch decks? Why’s Jimin making you build models?”

“I triple-checked the numbers,” you say defensively. Jungkook scoots closer, eager to catch Yoongi’s attention, so you add, “Jungkook did too.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look at Jungkook. “Which school are you from?”

“SNU,” you tell him.

Yoongi scoffs at that, dismissive, “Of course you are.”

“The numbers are the numbers,” you insist, stubborn.

“We know the math checks out. That’s the problem,” Jimin says, and shoves Jungkook back by the arm of his swivel chair. “What’s on your calendar at 3?”

“There’s a kick-off meeting for the IBEX evaluation.”

“Ditch it,” Yoongi decides, without missing a beat.

“You’re coming with us,” Jimin says. He pulls himself up from the edge of your table. Yoongi flashes him a scowl, which Jimin returns with a shrug. As they walk away, Jimin calls over one shoulder, “Find a better blazer, for fuck’s sake!”

“Blazer?” Jungkook pauses, then gapes, in awe. “Oh, fuck . He’s going to take you to the senior leadership meeting.”

Hard as you try to look unimpressed, you can still feel your palms growing clammy. “It’s not a big deal, dipshit.”

Jungkook just laughs.

You show up at the senior leadership meeting in a brand new blazer. Jimin motions for you to sit beside him and Yoongi, who makes a marginal effort to acknowledge your presence. There are fewer people than you expected. Slight hellos are exchanged between the other six, seven people in the room. Never in your life have you felt more out of place.

“Is this the leadership meeting?” you ask Jimin, quiet.

Jimin’s brows fly up. “No. Who said that?”

“What’s this for then?” you ask, thumbing at the corner of your printout.

“For your work, kiddo,” Yoongi says, tepid.

You frown, feeling increasingly out of your depth. You built the model. You know what it said. The volatilities fell a rough 10-15% outside the limits of the conventional VAR model. You extrapolated the numbers out a year, and the chart… oh.

At some point, the door opens a crack. The person outside exchanges a few more words with someone in the corridor, terse and monotone, and immediately the entire room freezes. Yoongi uncrosses his legs and, beside you, Jimin sits up pin-straight. The tension feels tangible enough to be cut with a knife.

“Afternoon gents,” Namjoon says, as he strolls in. His gaze glosses over you and he adds, slowly, “lady.”

By and large, the table rushes to stand in greeting. Namjoon waves them down before they have a chance. He drops into his seat, then accidentally knocks over a water bottle.

The room breaks into awkward laughter. Someone actually lunges out of his chair to help Namjoon grab it.

“Well,” Namjoon grins, sheepish, all charm. He takes back the bottle with a nod of thanks. “That’s one problem mitigated.”

No one finds the nerve to respond, so Namjoon leans into his chair and flips the presentation booklet open. And just like that, it’s like he’s become someone else. There’s this ruthless, menacing edge to his smile. The room drops twenty degrees.

“I have been informed,” he says, thumbing through the pages idly, “that we have a more urgent problem, so urgent that it should have been addressed months ago. So why doesn’t someone take a stab at explaining it to me?”

“If you flip to page six,” Yoongi starts, but Namjoon waves him off.

“I’d like to hear from the person who put this together,” Namjoon says, reading your name off the cover of the print-out. “Is (Y/N) here today?”

“Sir?” Yoongi says, voice uncharacteristically pitched.

“The analyst,” Namjoon repeats, tossing the print-out to the table. “I’d like to speak to the analyst who stumbled across this mess.”

“That’s (Y/N),” Jimin says.

Namjoon looks down the table at you, as does everyone else around the room. Yoongi nods at you to go ahead.

“Sir,” you mumble, rising to a tentative half-squat, not sure if you’re meant to sit or stand.

“How old are you, (Y/N)-ssi?” Namjoon asks, tapping his pen against his temple.

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Please call me Namjoon,” he says, easy. “So, (Y/N). Give me a little rope here. How would you interpret this problem for which we have all been summoned here today?”

“Yes sir,” you respond, mainly to the table. “The firm has been packaging products that combine several different tranches of rating classification of one tradable security. These products take about two months to layer, thus we have them on our books longer than we’d ideally like to, especially as we’ve managed to push the leverage beyond what we might otherwise be allowed to do... thus posing a challenge. From a risk management standpoint. Sir.”

“And what size of a challenge would that be?” Namjoon asks, dropping one end of his pen onto the table.

You look to Yoongi, who tells Namjoon in your stead, “Four and a half billion, Director Kim.”

“And this four and a half billion dollar problem was discovered by an analyst,” Namjoon says, icy. He taps his pen again, and the entire room flinches.

Jimin’s face is so drained of blood it almost looks white. “She’s an intern, Director Kim.”

“Really,” Namjoon says, gaze flitting to you. He pulls his glasses off and rests them beside his pen. “How impressive.”

There’s a beat, and then Yoongi leans over and says, “You can go now.”

You scramble up from your seat, tottering like a newborn giraffe in your heels. Your blazer cuts into your neck, stiff, heavy with the weight of the room’s attention on you.

Just as you’re about to slide out the door, Namjoon says, “we hope to see you back with us.”

Your face burns all the way back to your desk.

“What happened after that?” you ask Yoongi, the next morning. There was a flurry of emails in your inbox last night, until the crack of dawn. Since then, it’s been quiet. A decision has been made, you suppose, whatever it is.

“Can’t tell you,” Yoongi shrugs. His eye circles are so deep they nearly look black. “You’ll probably see it in the news. Give it a week or two.”

And of course that’s how it is. Even associates like Jimin are just number crunchers. It would be years before you are allowed any line of sight into the strategy side of things.

“Do you know how long Namjoon has been in banking?” You ask.

“He was in my cohort. So… eight, nine years,” Yoongi says. As the elevator doors slide closed, he adds, “Don’t try to fuck him though.”

You scoff, “what?”

“Don’t sleep with him,” Yoongi warns, watching the corner screen flash with infographics. Weather today is 32 degC. Samsung pushes a new phone to market. “I saw the way you were looking at him.”

“Jesus,” you bristle, tone sharper than you meant for it to be, “I’m not stupid enough to shit where I eat, Yoongi.”

Yoongi side-eyes you. “One would have to be a hell of an asshole to make managing director in anything less than fourteen years.”

He leans in a little closer, whispering into your ear, “You know how long it took Namjoon though?”

You look at him.

Yoongi says, as the elevator doors slide open, “Seven.”

You’re halfway to your office when Yoongi continues, offhandedly, “He’d turn you inside out and you wouldn’t even know it, kiddo.”

The term-end tailgate party is held at some ridiculously expensive club downtown. All the big-name partners show up, even a few guys from Japan. Shouts of laughter and whooping erupt, occasionally, from the different crowds scattered over the floor. You work the crowd, shaking hands, racking up participation points in the old corporate circle-jerk tradition.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty. You don’t mean to look, but it’s not hard to tell that Namjoon’s not there.

“I heard he’s in New York,” Jungkook says when you swing by the bar. “Hey, you wanna go somewhere quieter?”

It takes a moment for you to register the question. You bark out a laugh, “Dude, are you seriously hitting on me?”

Jungkook nurses his beer and grins at you, toothy. “Why not? We’re not working together anymore.”

You consider it. It’s not like you’re tied down. Not like anyone would care, who you fuck. And Jungkook is sweet and handsome and just dumb enough. A fling with him would never be complicated.

“I’ve got to go home and register for classes,” you tell him, slapping him on the shoulder. “Raincheck, Yonsei Dipshit.”

You ditch the party an hour early to drop by the office. There’s a pile of transition documents you should clean up and no, it’s not important. But there’s nothing else to do at home. And besides, you’re addicted to the work. The crushing stress and anxiety.

You’re just about to flip an email to Jimin when a weight presses into the back of your chair.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Namjoon says. You jump so fast you bang your knee into your filing cabinet.

Tonight Namjoon’s got his sleeves rolled up, no glasses. Looks tired, just a shadow of the man you saw in the conference room. His bangs have come loosened and sweep over his face as he leans over you to glance at your monitor. “Work-life balance is important.”

“I don’t happen to subscribe to that,” you say, but it comes out in a muted squeak. God, how embarrassing.

“You don’t seem to subscribe to much,” Namjoon says, whatever that means.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?” you choke out, after a while.

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth closest to you tugs up, “Wasn’t aware you’re keeping tabs on my whereabouts.”

“I,” you swallow, mouth dry, throat clamping shut, and can’t remember what else to say. All you can remember is that look on his face when he stared you down from across the conference room. That cold, detached, disinterested smile. It makes your stomach twist.

“Next time,” Namjoon says. “Present the time interval in quarters. It’s cleaner.”

You blink, confused.

“Your report,” Namjoon clarifies. “Appendix C.”

You frown, trying not to look like you’re marveling at him, but even Yoongi doesn’t check the Appendix. You’re not sure if Yoongi is even aware that there is an appendix.

“And the assumption on the error term having a conditional mean of zero,” Namjoon says, handing you the book in his hand. Value at Risk. “It’s tenable. This is a good reference.”

You look at the book, then up at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Namjoon tilts his head, tugging at the knot of his tie. “Consider it a gift.”

You know which nerve you’re stepping on when you ask, “What for?”

Namjoon just straightens, and god, he’s so tall, this close up.

“To celebrate,” he says, obscurely, and pulls his tie off. He wraps it around his hand, in slow, methodical circles, and you can feel the fabric tightening against your neck. “Your freedom.”

After he leaves, you open the book.

Inside the front cover of the book are an address and a phone number.

In the first few weeks of class, between mentoring new students with summer recruitment and settling back into the academic rat race, you manage to finish Namjoon’s book. You know he probably didn’t expect you to read it, but you do it anyway--because the truth is, as a cut-throat bitch, your ego is the size of the continent, and you’d work your bones to dust before you’d allow anyone a leg up on you.

Which is why you read all the other books by the same author.

“Yonsei Dipshit here,” Jungkook texts you, one day. “Wanna catch a movie?”

You go. Jungkook makes out with you in the back. And it’s funny, but the only thing on your mind the whole time is how much you want his hand on your neck. The way Namjoon did it. How much you want him to--just--take you apart.

But Jungkook doesn’t. He just squeezes your breast shyly and asks if you want to go to his apartment. His roommates are asleep by now, he says.

You don’t remember what threadbare excuse you gave him, but the next thing you know, you’ve stepped out of a cab in front of a riverside condominium. You, too, are keenly aware of the sheer stupidity of the situation. You’ve shown up at your old MD’s residence, in the dead of the night, and for what?

“I can’t let you in without the resident’s consent,” the concierge says, looking bored.

“I’m just dropping off a book,” you tell her, insistent, and god, you hate how short you are. How small you are. How child-like.

“She’s with me,” Namjoon says, out of nowhere. He’s just stepped in from the revolving doors, shrugging off his coat. He folds it in one hand and smiles at the concierge, polite. “Thanks.”

Head completely blank, you follow him to the elevators. He lets you in first, then steps in after you.

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. He cards you into the twenty-fifth floor like he’s been expecting you. It’s just one level below the penthouse, you realize. Fuck, what are you doing here?

“Jorion’s okay,” you say abruptly, shoving the book back at him. It’s a line you’ve thought a thousand times over but suddenly it sounds so contrived. “Sweeting’s more practical.”

Namjoon blinks at you, lips curving. “You read Sweeting.”

The elevator opens.

Namjoon walks out, and it’s not entirely clear to you why you’re following him. Why you’re here, to begin with. You’re supposed to be in Jungkook’s apartment, getting fucked into his mattress like any other regular college kid. But instead, here you are, with a man probably a decade older than you, a man who makes you look like a dumb brat.

“Don’t condescend me,” you say, and even you can hear how immature you sound. “I’m not a fucking puppy.”

You wait for him to unlock his door.

At the entrance, as the door clicks shut, Namjoon turns to face you. He says, sharp and dry, “I would never.”

You stand rooted there for a moment, feeling completely out of your depth in your cheap sweater and your street market skirt and your grimy old walking shoes.

Then you say, “look, I don’t want this fucking build up--”

Without a word, Namjoon bangs you against the wall. He says, eyes flickering towards your mouth, “What do you want then? Tell me.”

So you say, heart in your throat, hardly loud enough to be heard, “I want you to fuck me.”

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