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whump-town · 4 years

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This ones for @clockedstar, I hope you love it

Man Flu

Hotchniss, sickfic, 3,000+ words

On most mornings, the sound of Aaron’s alarm wakes her. Dave bought him this strange little get-up that vibrates on the nightstand instead of filling the air with a shrill, ear rattling sound. It was a Christmas present the year the New York bombing happened. She can’t complain, she prefers the little alarm clock to her own.

As stated, though, most mornings the alarm wakes her but today that’s not the case.

The bed dips as Aaron’s weight is suddenly shifted on the mattress. Her momentary annoyance with the fact that her personal furnace has been pulled away is overcome by worry as said furnace jostles the bed with the force of the wet, heaving coughs leaving his diaphragm.

“Hotch,” she sits up and puts a hand on his back, surprised to find sweat has soaked through the thin Hanes shirt he’d put on before climbing into bed beside her last night. “Jesus,” she mumbles, pulling away. After her momentary shock she moves closer, the back of her hand pressing against his cheek. “Aaron, you’re burning up!” It’s understatement considering the way his skin burns her hand.

He shakes his head, stifling his coughs as best as he can to gasp out, “I’m okay.”

She frowns at the back of his head. “You have a fever,” her tone shifts to aggravation, the kind of I’m putting my foot down on this that he knows all too well. “You’re sick.” That’s how things work with Aaron Hotchner-- that’s not to say she’s not the exact same way. Ailments are a pain, their normal pain with the additional wear and tear that comes refusing to admit to being sick.

His chest is killing him and he’s unable to stifle the new wave of coughing fits. As they go on, he grows lightheaded and his throat raw. He has to grab on to the bed’s backboard as he loses control of his body.

“That’s it,” Emily decides, throwing the comforter off of her body as she gets out of the bed. “You,” she says, pointedly at the man looking at her with red-rimmed fever glazed eyes. “Do not move. I will be right back.” She doesn’t bother putting on pants, she’s wearing one of his shirts and it covers her bare skin to about her mid-thigh. “I am going to call Dave and tell him we’re not coming in. I’ll be back with medicine.”

He’s not given the chance to form a rebuttal before she leaves the room.

She should have seen this coming. For the last four days they’ve been on a high-stakes scene-- three girls ranging in age from six to four, left stabbed and violated in the woods for joggers to find. It had been the kind of case that none of them let up on. No sleep or food until someone else is forcing them to take a break.

What should have been the precursor to his current status, was the night he spent in the cold in nothing but his suit jacket as rain poured over them. He’d been unwavering despite their days of no sleep. On the jet, he’d been silent but mid-flight she’d startled as his head fell on her shoulder.

He never sleeps on the jet and, for Hotch, that would be PDA-- a big no in his book.

He’s been off for hours and she didn’t notice. Guilt settles in her stomach and she feels queasy. He would have noticed. Hell, he wouldn’t have let her stand in the pouring rain without a jacket. He would have wrapped her up in a blanket when she fell asleep on the jet.

God, she’s a shitty girlfriend.

Her call goes to Dave’s voicemail but she’d been expecting that. She leaves him a short message, the kind that she hopes sparks his curiosity enough for him to call later. It will, undoubtedly. She’s just informed him that she and Aaron are both sick and taking the day off, two things that never happen.

Well, not completely true. She and Aaron get sick a lot but unlike a normal person they both refuse to admit that they’re sick.

Armed with Tylenol, she’s expecting to be met with his usual level of denial.

She’d prefer it to the numb compliance she’s faced with.

“Aaron.” He’s managed to pull himself back into bed, curled into his side with a frown tugging his handsome features down. Sweat is sleek across his forehead and a pained frown has slipped onto his face. “Wake up, baby.” His breathing is ragged and wrong. It sounds like he’s breathing through a waterlogged straw. If that doesn’t improve, sooner rather than later, she’s going to have to drag him to the hospital.

Slowly, his eyes blink open and he looks miserable. “I need you to take some medicine.” She has to guide the water bottle to his lips and that worries her more than she knows how to express. “Aaron…” she doesn’t want to fight him on this but there’s something about the way he’s looking at her right now that tells her he won’t fight if she suggests the hospital.

“I don’t feel good.”

Her chest tightens, her throat feeling rubbed raw by words she didn’t speak. She settles herself on the edge of the mattress, smiling sadly when he moves to curl himself around her. “I know,” she whispers, carding her hand through his sweat soaked hair. She’s not sure how to comfort him. They haven’t been at this-- their relationship-- long enough for her to have cracked him.

She knows what she would want.

“Scoot,” she bumps him lightly with her hip, the only warning she gives before throwing her lips over his side and climbing back into bed. Caught in the haze of fever and the normal amount of confusion he has when talking to her, he just lays there as she moves atop him.

Settling down beside him she opens her arms, “come here.”

He coughs, wetly. He doesn’t move, just looks at her in confusion. After a moment, coming to the safe conclusion that he’s not just going to settle himself in her arms, she frowns. Right, she should have seen that coming. The thing is, he’s pretty clingy when he’s hurt or sick so he wants to be held, he's just not going to go crawling into her arms.

“Please?”

Sitting up is harder than it should be and if she could, she would just get up and move closer to him. However it’s not going to help his congested lungs for her to come lay on his chest. So, he complies. Slowly but surely, he manages to sit up. The world, their room, dips and spins in a way that makes his head pound. He’s partially aware of Emily calling his name, her hands guiding him back down until his ear meets her chest.

He coughs as his body moves, limping going in the direction she pulls him. He chokes on a sigh, wheezing miserably as his inhale catches in his throat. “We’re gonna be late,” he rasps, shivering with the chills her cold skin sends down his back. He’s resigned to her touch and hums softly when she tucks the comforter back around his body.

She buries one hand in his hair, the other rubbing up and down his back. Judging by the way his eyelashes flutter, it’s working to soothe him back to sleep. “I already called Dave,” she supplies softly, attempting to jog his memory of the conversation they had not even five minutes before. “He knows you’re sick.”

He hums, grimacing with a moan as another shiver runs down his body. “It’s… ‘m not-- ‘m not sick.” He clears his throat, triggering a soft coughing fit that he doesn’t have the energy to stop or exert the force to expel the congestion in his lungs. “Fine-- ‘m fine.”

Emily keeps rubbing circles on his back, ignoring his soft protest. “I know,” she soothes, knowing better than to argue with him. Sick or not. “Just get some sleep, you’ll feel better in a little bit.”

She can feel the rattle of congestion lodged deep in his lungs each time he inhales. His breathing is picking up despite the fact that he’s falling asleep. Instead of his heart calming and his breathing slowing, he sounds worse. She wishes she knew what to do.

He always knows what to do.

She holds him close to her chest, gently scratching his scalp and rubbing his back. It’s all she knows how to do. The tylenol should help with the fever and, maybe if she can convince him, a bath might help too. It leaves her so bothered, so anxious that she’s not able to help him that she can’t go back to sleep.

The time slips away slowly and all she can do is sit and listen.

She just sits and listens.

Dave calls at six, he’s just getting out of bed himself and is a mix of too sleep-deprived and brain fogged to fully understand the message in his voicemail. It’s more alarming than anything else. Emily is frantic, the worry lacing her voice is nerve wracking-- Emily Prentiss is nothing but calm and collected. And she’d said something about one of them being sick?

“Hey, kiddo!” He wedges the phone between his shoulder and chin, scrubbing his hand down his face in effort to wake himself. “I just got your message--”

Emily feels the tension leaving her shoulders, the pain in her neck easing. “Dave,” she sighs. She freezes when she feels Hotch tense, afraid she’s managed to wake him up. He wheezes something intangible under his breath and with a mangled sigh goes limp in her arms.

“Teresa,” Dave replies and she can hear the fond smile in his voice.

Emily resumes rubbing Aaron’s back, hoping to keep him sleeping while she talks to Dave. “Aaron’s sick,” she informs him, keeping her voice low. “I need your help,” she clears her throat. She forces her voice to even back out. “He’s got a high fever.” She kicks herself for not checking his temperature earlier. “He’s congested,” she chews on her bottom lip. “I can hear him breathing.”

Dave hums on the other end. “He’s congested,” he deduces. The good news is, he knows how to help with that but his method is really only applicable for babies. He is not so sure it’ll work the same magic on a grown man. “My nonna used to steam us,” he explains, “boil some water in a pot and have him put a towel or blanket over his head to force the steam into his lungs.” As soon as he’s said it, he realizes that those instructions alone are not going to be enough for the raging path of destruction that Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss leave in their wake.

“Let the water cool off,” he warns, a sudden tension headache forming behind his eyes. “Please do not burn him or yourself.”

Emily rolls her eyes. Dave always treats them like children. “Okay.” Secretly, of course, she’s thrilled to have a solution. One that’s better than the one Dave is offering. She knows for a fact that there is a vaporizer in Jack’s room. It’s currently buried in its original boxing under a hefty stack of chapter books but they have one. The vaporizer is a way better idea than Dave’s boiling water just waiting to go wrong.

“How is he,” Dave inquires. Aaron’s got to be pretty bad off to let Emily take care of him.

Emily looks down at the man in her arms. With a shrug she replies, “he looks like shit.” She means it in the nicest way she can possibly think of. It’s not to tear him down or even insult him. He just looks bad and each wheezing breath he takes is nerve wracking.

Hotch is more or less aware of what’s going on around him. Enough to hear Emily talking to Dave-- traitor.

“Yeah well,” Dave can understand that. He’s known Aaron long enough to see that when something gets that man down he doesn’t let up until it’s gone or nearly crippled by it. That principle goes for more than just UNSUBs… it’s right up his alley to let a simple cold brew into pneumonia.

“Color me surprised,” he mumbles. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. That boy… “Well, I’ve got to get ready. Take care of our boy, huh?”

Emily looks down at said boy and shakes her head. There’s a fat chance in hell she’s going to be able to have this stubborn ass man healthy by tomorrow but she’ll give it a try. “Alright.”

“I’ll call you at lunch but don’t be afraid to call if you need anything before then. Okay, bella? Take care of yourself, I love you.”

He’s gone before she can share the sentiment.

Her chest is tight from the affection, her cheeks flushed. She loves Dave too and she knows Aaron shares that with her. He’s been a large contributor in their lives for a long time. A father… a lot of the time.

“Shit?” She startles from her thoughts, frowning down at the man who she’d previously thought asleep. “Do I really look like shit?” His voice is a deep tangled mess of his normal husky morning sound with the addition of his inability to breath out of his nose. The answer is yes. He even sounds like shit but he looks up at her with theses soft pathetic brown eyes and she can’t--

Rather than tell him the truth she leans down and kisses his temple. “Of course not.”

He frowns at her, obviously he doesn’t believe that at all. He’s a profiler, a good one. So, she’d be worried if he did.

“Don’t worry about that,” she mumbles. Besides, she’s got herself quite the itinerary for the next two hours. Not only can Hotch have another concoction of whatever medicine she can find, Jack needs to get up and get ready for school. A task, she senses, is going to be a handful she’s not prepared to deal with.

She pats Hotch’s shoulder, the warning she gives before gently extracting herself from his body. The cool air hits her and she realizes just how hot his body had been pressed to her own. Looking down at him, lines of sweat visible on his soft grey shirt, she decides they need a slight divergence from her plan.

She pulls the blankets back off of him, despite his moan of protest and the hurt look he sends her way. “Take your shirt off,” she instructs, leaning down to lift the edge of the soaked fabric herself. Getting the message that he’s got no choice in the matter, he helps her wiggle his tall frame out.

There was once a point in their relationship where he refused to take his shirt off in front of her. In his mind, those nine stab wounds could be a deal breaker. The first time they’d had sex, he’d had a shirt on. In all fairness, she had on several layers of clothing as well. It had been a very jumping each other’s bones sort of affair.

Now, he doesn’t even think twice as he sits squinting in the bed he’s shared with her for the better part of a year. Scars open for anyone to see. A pretty bad case of bedhead.

She thinks his bedhead is pretty cute though.

“I’ll be back in an hour, okay?” She kisses his forehead, taking a moment to appreciate just how unraveled he looks. “Gonna get Jack off to school and then you and I can crash on the couch, okay?” She squeezes his hand within her own and leaves him before he can put up much of a fight.

Not that he’s sure he’s got too much fight left in him.

The first five minutes Hotch spends miserably spread out atop the comforter on the bed feels like hours. His brain is addled with the fever and he feels as hot and clammy as he looks. There’s a moment where he panics, convinced that Emily won’t come back at all. Down the hall he can hear her voice and with a content sigh, he lets himself slip off.

He wakes about ten minutes later, the sweat on his skin cooling and leaving him shivering from the light draft of the fan overhead. It takes all the energy he has to roll onto his side and pull blindly for a blanket to wrap his freezing frame in.

The door cracks open and Hotch winces as the hallway light hits his eyes, making him aware of a headache he hadn’t known he had.

“Daddy?” Jack’s sketchers light up the path he makes around to Hotch. “I gotta go to school, now.”

Hotch forces himself to sit up, smiling despite the way the room dips and twists. “Have a good day,” he manages though his voice is weak and raspy. Jack meets him halfway and they share a short lived hug. “I’ll see you later, buddy. I love you.”

Jack turns back in the doorway, “I love you too, daddy.”

Emily comes to the door, “you better go before you’re late.” She squats down and they share a hug, too. “Have a good day, Jack-Attack.” She rustles Jack’s hair, the two of them laughing before Jack and his light up shoes disappear down the hall.

They both listen for Jessica and Jack to leave, the sound of the front door shutting and the automatic lock to slip into place. With a sigh, Emily leaves her post at their doorway and steps back into the room. “Does it make you sad watching him get so big?” She sits down on the edge of the bed beside him, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment.

Of course it does and he feels like he misses so much of his growing up for this damn job.

But he can’t quit. He doesn’t know how.

“He--” his voice is more broken than he’s expecting and he has to take a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “The other week he asked me about shaving,” he looks over at her, the two of them sharing a fond smirk. “I told him we’d talked about when he starts eating a variety of food.”

Emily shakes her head, “you mean something other than dinosaur chicken nuggets, macaroni, and oatmeal?”

Hotch chuckles, doing his best but ultimately failing to stifle the cough that tickles the back of his throat.

She lifts her head and grimaces as each cough twists his face in pained ways. “I drew you a bath,” she tells him, rubbing circles on his back. “It’ll help with the aches and the fever.” She stands up, having decided that’s what they’re going to do first.

“Come on,” she urges. He’s unsteady on his feet but he’s better than he was last night. “We’re just going to the bathroom,” she offers out her hand. Calling his name out softly until he reaches between them takes her hand. “Slow and steady?”

He nods, the rough pads of his hands making the faintest scuffing sound as he uses it to steady his unsteady steps. “Slow and steady,” he repeats.

They work their way to the bathroom and he stands hazy and weak as she coaxes him out of his boxers. It’s the sort of thing he should do himself but bending down makes his stomach twist and the last thing they need is him puking a top everything else going wrong today.

She turns to check the water, knowing it’s cooled off but wanting to be certain. Sure enough, the water is still hot to the touch but not enough to burn her skin. She turns back to him, stepping out of the way so that he moves closer to the tub. He manages to get into the water without busting his ass or cracking his skull open… a small miracle.

He leans his head back against the cold tile, “I would understand if you have no general interest in sleeping with me ever again.”

Emily rolls her eyes, bending down to pick up his boxers. “Aaron, this is not the first time I’ve seen you drenched in sweat and shaky.” She thrives on the way his cheeks flush-- he’s such a school girl when it comes to talking about sex. Relishing the high flustering him gives her, she continues. “Although, normally it’s not a fever but that thing I do with my tongue and your--”

“Emily!” he groans, blushing impossibly hard.

Certain that she’s either going to send him into a coughing fit or give the poor man an aneurysm, she stops there. She bends down and plants a kiss on his head, scratching at his thick hair. “Make sure you scrub behind your ears,” she reminds him softly. Chuckling when he rolls his eyes-- that’s what he’s constantly telling Jack. “If you’re a good boy,” she whispers in his ear. “We can cuddle on the couch and I’ll play with your hair.”

He would rather be bludgeoned to death than let her tell a soul that he gets weak at the knees when she plays with his hair. But he’s a sucker for it. She knows the power she has over him in this moment but she does plan on making good on her word.

She’s not going to say no to a good cuddle on the couch.

“Promise?” he rasps. He’s got a dopey look to his eyes that melts her heart.

She cups his jaw in her hand, and infections be damned, kisses him. “Would I ever lie to you?”

#criminal minds #sick fic #hotchniss #hotly #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner

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aiimaginesbts · 7 years

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The Tiger’s Labmate (M)

~A Namjoon Birthday Fic~

Namjoon x Reader

Genre: University AU, fluff, angst and smut

Warnings: Public sex (I don't know why I keep writing these with Namjoon XD ), unprotected sex, inappropriate laboratory conduct

Word count: 8,456 words

A/N: As always, I have @hoeseok to thank for beta-ing this fic for me <3

Disclaimer/Copyright

You are perched on the tall laboratory stool at one of the tables, trying to look unaffected. However, it is difficult to maintain a cool facade when the girls in your class make a show for their sympathy for you as they pass by to take their own seats, smiling with pity, patting your back in consolation and saying words of encouragement in tones that are just chirpy enough to tell you that they're actually enjoying your misery. It isn't surprising though; you knew this would happen after the grouping for this course's lab came out and you are again paired with one of the guys.

Just then the man himself saunters into the room, quickly spotting you and heading over. Your gaze moves higher and higher as he approaches, finally having to tilt your head up when he stands next to your table. "I guess we're lab partners this semester," he points out the obvious with a dimpled smile.

"Yeah." You nod and gesture for him to take the seat next to yours. Namjoon. No introductions are made since he probably knows who you are, and assumes that you know him since you're taking the same course. Truthfully, you had to ask a classmate to point him out to you earlier. He's not easy to miss, you thought to yourself as you took in his towering height, his small, handsome face and his cute smile, wondering for a second why he hadn't caught your attention before. The answer is simple, really, and you know it yourself. After being paired with three different guys in various courses, you decided that the male population in your course are jerks and didn't bother getting to know the rest unless you had to.

Up close, Namjoon's height seems more intimidating, which is why you feel better when he's sitting rather than standing. His dimples look even more adorable at a shorter distance, and his eyes manage to convey a sincerity that somehow endears him to you. On the other hand, your wariness isn't something that is so simple that it can be brushed off with physical attributes. Before you can open your mouth to tell him something to that effect and probably make a fool of yourself from the get-go, the postgraduate student supervising the lab sessions for the course walks in and starts the briefing right away.

The first experiment is very simple and goes off without a hitch. Namjoon is pretty helpful and does his part so far, but that is to be expected. Perhaps it is the application of the theories you are taught in class that gets them excited, but they're always eager to run the experiments. It's getting them to write the reports that you find troublesome.

The labmates you've had before this were horrible partners. Knowing that they are paired with one of the top students in the year, they simply let you do all the work – essentially forcing you to do so since you need to keep your grades up to hold onto your scholarship. At first you tried to arrange meet-ups and write the report together, but they either contributed nothing to the discussion or simply not showed up at all. When you tried splitting the work, they didn't even bother to send in their parts before the due date, and you ended up having to finish their share of the work the night before the deadline.

Last semester you'd had enough. After two rows of being disappointed by your labmate, you marched towards the supervising postgraduate and demanded to work separately. As expected, she was taken aback by your unexpected request and the other students in the session enjoyed the drama, even though it was short – you weren't out to embarrass or demean your partner, no matter how angry you were with him. If you're going to end up doing everything anyway, might as well keep all the marks to yourself. At least others won't be benefiting off of your hard work. It was as simple as that.

There is no doubt that the girls are looking forward to witnessing another fiasco this semester, especially when you're paired with yet another boy. You absolutely loathed the fact that they have already expected that you will lose patience with your new partner, but unfortunately it is an outcome that you believe will unfold as well. So it is with wariness that you ask Namjoon how he plans to divide the report work between the two of you, fully expecting him to shirk the responsibility or make excuses to dump the work on you.

"Why don't we meet up and write it together?" He suggests with a nonchalant shrug.

"That's fine by me. How about we do it on Thursday night?" As long as you actually turn up, you add to yourself.

He winces at the idea. "Sorry, but I have badminton practices on Thursdays. Can't we do it another day?"

You frown, not wanting to reschedule the days you have set for meetups for your other classes and unable to rearrange your own club meetings. "How about the weekend? My evenings are full on other weekdays."

"I don't really want to spend time on homework on weekends," he hisses, features scrunching in repulsion at the idea. It may have been cute if you're not so frustrated you are tempted to pull at your hair. Or better yet, at his brown locks. However, before you can voice your irritation or come up with another solution, he suggests, "Why don't we divide the reports? You write the one for this experiment, I'll do the next one, and so on. That way we can work on our own time."

You purse your lips in thought, intrigued by the idea. "Sounds good, but how will I know that you won't submit a shitty report?"

His only response is a rise of his right eyebrow, which makes your heart flutter for no good reason. Still, you can't bring yourself to trust him without seeing the quality of his work. "Why don't you pass me the report at least two days before the due date? I'll do the same. That way we can check if there are any mistakes that needs correcting." And I'll have time to write a proper report and toss out your shitty one.

"Sounds reasonable," he says in that deep voice of his as he hurriedly shoves his things into his black backpack, obviously in a rush to join his friends who are already walking out to get lunch.

"I guess I'll take this one then," you call out to his retreating back, and he acknowledges you with a wave. Looks like you have about two weeks until he shows his true colours.

As you've expected, Namjoon finds nothing unsatisfactory in your first report, submitting it as it is. Trepidation starts to creep up on you as the days pass after your second lab session, anticipating Namjoon's email. You can't explain why you're feeling this way when you've already prepared yourself to receive shoddy work. Unlike the other guys you've been paired with before, you find yourself really wishing that he will not disappoint you.

Surprisingly, a notice of an email from Namjoon pops up on your notifications three days before the deadline. Immediately you open it and read through the attachment, the assignment that you've been working on before lying next to your laptop, completely forgotten. Diving into the report, you expected a simple write-up that doesn't explain the results of the experiment well, or worse, a blatant copy of a senior's report, but it is nothing like that. Pleasant surprise fills you with every page, every sentence like drops of water pouring into an empty glass after a long drought, and you actually have to read the document twice before replying to the email, unable to believe there is nothing you want to change.

From: y/n y/l/n To: Kim Namjoon Subject: Lab Report

Nothing to add or correct. I'll print it out and hand it in at the next lab session.

He doesn't reply so you assume that he doesn't have a problem with it, but the next time you see him, a corner of his plump lips seems to be curled up just a smidgen. Ultimately you decide that his smugness is just a fabrication of your imagination, and decide not to comment upon it.

This part of the semester continues in more or less the same manner; each of you taking turns to complete the report, neither of you having anything to correct or add to the other's work. Your classmates quickly lose interest when the supposedly imminent blow-up on your part never arrives. For once, you have been lucky enough to get a partner who isn't only a smart and responsible student, but also a good-looking and friendly man. Not that you know him in much depth, really, since you never really interact beyond the lab sessions and the formal-sounding emails you exchange with each other, but you can tell that he's a warm and kind person just by watching him from afar. The semester passes by without any incident, because you don't count slowly falling for your labmate worthy of note.

Until one morning, you wake up to find that another email has been sent to you last night, just after you had gone to sleep. Seeing the name of the sender fills you with dread and you quickly tap on the notification to open it, rubbing sleep from your eyes as the application loads on your phone. The message jolts you up more effectively than any cup of coffee ever could.

From: Kim Namjoon To: y/n y/l/n Subject: Lab Report

I was just going through the calculations again and spotted a mistake. I've corrected it and will print it out to submit in the morning.

You check for an attachment, looking for the amended report but there is none. Immediately you type out a text to Namjoon – the first message you've sent to him that isn't in the form of an email.

Y/n [07:15]: There's a mistake in the calculations?

After staring at the phone for several moments, you start to feel like an idiot for expecting a reply right away. It's pretty early and he is probably still asleep, since the lab session is the first class of the day and it doesn't start until nine. In an effort to stop obsessing over his reply, you decide to take a long shower to soothe your nerves.

The cool drops of water hitting your body doesn't do much to distract you from the mistake you might have made, but it does calm you down a little, and by the time you get back into your room, your phone illuminates with a reply.

Namjoon [07:40]: Good morning to you too.

Before you can feel bad for bombarding him without a proper greeting, your phone chimes again.

Namjoon [07:41]: It's just a simple mistake. I already corrected it and made changes to the subsequent calculations so don't worry.

Biting your lower lip, you consider your reply as if he is right in front of you and you need to say it to his face. Of course you worry. Perhaps you did make a mistake, but what if you got it right all along and he just botched up your report? However you don't want to come off as frantic and distrusting, especially since he has done nothing wrong so far. You find yourself keen to give him the benefit of the doubt, but past experiences have taught you to be thorough.

Y/n [07:50]: Can I see it before we hand it in? I'd like to see where I went wrong.

The phone goes quiet for a while after that, during which you try not to badger him with more messages. It has taken you a few minutes to think about and type out your last reply, so he probably put down his phone to do other things. Instead you switch on your laptop to open your copy of the report so you can try to detect any mistakes. However, before you can open the document, the screen of your phone brightens with another message.

Namjoon [07:58]: Sure, I'm about to head out and grab some breakfast. Why don't we meet at the lab before it starts? It should be open by then.

You stare at the device in your hand in surprise. Truthfully you expected him to simply email the file back to you, but you suppose it's easier to meet so he can point out the changes to you himself. Although he must be confident with his correction, since there won't be any time to change the report by then. Shrugging to yourself, you toss the things you need for the day into your tote bag and head out.

The walk to the chemical engineering block isn't too far from your dormitory if you take the shortcut, but this morning you decide to walk past the other academic buildings, brisk steps covering the longer route allowing you to vent out the nervous energy bouncing inside. As it is, you're already in the lab when Namjoon arrives, cheeks bulging like a squirrel harbouring what you guess is the last of his morning meal.

"Here," he barely manages to make out with his mouth full, handing you a packet of chocolate bread. "Have you been waiting long?"

You shake your head, both to his question and at your surprise at his gesture. "Aren't you going to eat that?" He asks. "I didn't poison it, you know."

"No eating in the lab," you state, dropping the bread in your bag. Then you smile at him, wanting to let him know that you appreciate it. "But thank you. I'll eat it later."

He laughs at your response. "You're such a good girl, y/n." For some reason, you can take his words as a compliment, blushing instead of feeling irritated as you would with someone else. Looking down at the bag where the food is being kept, you feel warm and suddenly relaxed. Lifting your gaze, you look at Namjoon settling down and rummaging his bag for the report. Then you realise; you trust him. He has proved all your expectations wrong and shown his capability and sense of responsibility over and over again. There's no reason for you to worry. He must have made the changes after making sure that he is correct, and you feel a little small for doubting him.

Still, when he turns the pages of the report, you lean closer to see the numbers his index finger is pointing at. "You just did a miscalculation here. It's supposed to be three-point-six to the power of negative five, not the power of negative six," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

You plunge your hand into your bag to search for your calculator, but he is one step ahead of you. "Here, use mine," he says, setting the black device on the table so he can watch while you double check the mathematical workings.

He is right; your calculation was off by a power of ten. The guilt deepens as you try to formulate an apology. "I did get it wrong. I'm sorry about that, and thanks for correcting it."

"Hey, it's no big deal," he grins, the prominent dimples making another appearance. "I can't believe that the tiger actually makes mistakes."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh! Um," his eyes dart away from yours as he realises that he has committed a faux pas. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Everyone makes mistakes after all."

"No, I don't mean that," you clarify. "What did you call me?"

This time you can see the tips of his ears colouring as you zone in on the slip of his tongue. "I thought you knew... the guys in our class call you that. B-behind your back, of course."

He says it like it's a good thing, but you ignore his last sentence. You know that they talk about you behind your back, but to have a nickname that isn't meant in a good way actually hurts more than you could have imagined. To you, caring about your grades is a good thing, necessary even, since you have a scholarship to maintain. Attending a private university costs a fortune, but you made your choice when you wanted to join one of the best programs the country has to offer. You have no choice but to do your best in assignments, tests and reports, even if it means having to be strict with your partners. It's just as frustrating for you to get an uncooperative teammate as it is for them to get an overzealous one.

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have said that," Namjoon apologises, correctly interpreting your silence as a sign of being hurt. "Especially since I don't agree with them."

"It's not like I enjoy asking people to do our joint assignments properly," you say, glad to hear that your voice is coming out strong and stable. "I'd love for someone else to take the reins, but we can't all be rich kids who don't need to care about their GPA."

"I understand. That's why I really am sorry."

You nod mutely, accepting his apology. A few moments of silence pass, and he adds, "Some rich kids do care about their GPA, you know."

Scoffing in disbelief, you glance sideways to see him already looking at you. "You mean, like you?"

"Well, more than academic performance, I'm actually interested in learning. I'm not here to just get a degree to make my parents happy. Although there's that too, of course," he acknowledges with a tilt of his head.

You hum thoughtfully at his statement, a little impressed despite yourself. Once in a while you've had to remind yourself that you're ultimately in the pursuit of learning, not just to get straight A's. "You must be one in hundreds then."

"The only one in this class probably," he laughs, and you can't help but crack a smile even though it isn't even that funny.

"And you're the only one around here who makes me feel happy just by smiling," he comments on your improving mood.

"What?"

"I'm just saying you should smile more. You look so uptight most of the time."

"How can I help it, with the guys calling me names behind my back," you say half-jokingly, trying to gloss over the fluttering of your heart at his previous comment.

"Who cares about them? A smart, capable woman like you doesn't need a man to survive, or to be happy. Unless... you need to get laid?" A wiggle of his eyebrows accompanies the last remark.

"W-what?" You repeat stupidly, flabbergasted at being asked such a daring question by the guy you've developed a crush on out of the blue.

"I mean, how long has it been since you've gotten some physical satisfaction?" He rests his elbow on the table and plants the side of his face in his palm, watching you as if your answer to the question is the most interesting thing in the world. You, on the other hand, don't think you've ever felt more mortified your entire life.

Before you can think of a response, he bursts into laughter. His impossibly deep voice makes his guffaw insanely sexy, and your body responds accordingly, tingling at the pleasant sound. "You're cute when you get all panicky like that. It's good to see another side of you, different from the intimidating student with perfect GPA. See, you're a normal human being just like the rest of us," he nudges you playfully and looks away, a signal that you're off the hook.

However, something about his words, something about him makes you want to answer the question. To expose your weak, vulnerable self. To show him that he should not be intimidated by you. "It’s been a while."

"Hmm?"

You're not sure if he didn't hear your whispered answer, or if he doesn't understand what you meant by it. "It has been a while since I... got any physical satisfaction, as you put it."

At first he looks surprised by your confession, but in a split second his features soften, then turn thoughtful. You can almost see the gears turning in his head before he ceases any and all of your mental activity by leaning in to whisper, "How long has it been since someone got this close to you, then?"

Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear, the close proximity, the smell of soap from his morning shower mixed with his scent causing your heart to beat twice as fast. "A-a while."

"Really?" He sounds genuinely surprised, but is quick to recover to pull back just a little so he can cup your face and look into your eyes. "Then... how long has it been since you've been kissed?"

Before you can answer, he darts forward, pressing his lips to yours. Even though the kiss is soft, almost hesitant, it catches you by surprise. Your eyes wide, unblinking, unlike his closed ones, so near you can see each eyelash, but not for long. It's not difficult to give in to the kiss, your eyelids fluttering shut and you press back against him.

Sensing your reciprocation encourages Namjoon to deepen the chaste contact, angling his head to get even closer and making things a lot less innocent. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you part them immediately, letting him explore your mouth. The hand on your cheek remains there, his thumb softly brushing back and forth but his other hand has other ideas, moving down the side of your body.

The white lab coat you're wearing adds another barrier to his touch but he doesn't let it deter him, continuing to the hem of your skirt where it meets your knees. He pushes them apart so he could drag his stool a little closer between them, hiking your modest skirt up to your mid-thighs. You're already short of oxygen from his kiss, but air flow seems to completely stop as you feel the slightly rough palm brushing against your inner thighs, making its way closer and closer to your center.

Nervousness mounts inside you, but you don't want to stop him, regardless of what he may think when he discovers the proof of your arousal between your legs. Sure enough, it only takes a gentle pressure on your panties to tell both of you that you've soaked through the material. He pulls back a little, breaking the kiss but still close enough for you to see that his brown irises have all but disappeared with lust. "How long has it been since you've gotten this wet?"

His question retains some of the teasing that it had earlier, but it is almost unrecognisable under the need in his voice. "I don't remember," you breathe, barely able to get the words out. The statement is truthful; you honestly can't remember when you've gotten so aroused, if ever. All you know is that you want him to keep touching you, even if it causes you to burst into flames.

You sigh into his next kiss as he rubs your core through the ruined panties, but shame returns when he backs away and abruptly sinks to his knees between your legs. His hungry gaze pierces into you as he silently hooks the band of your panties. Biting your lower lip, you nod and lift yourself up using the seat as a leverage so he can pull your underwear down.

With your skirt bunched up nearly to your waist, your pussy is completely exposed to him. Knowing that he can see your juices dripping onto the stool fills you with utter mortification, but his position between your legs prevents you from closing them. He runs the tips of his fingers up and down your slit tentatively, experimentally applying more and more pressure, enjoying the increasing volume of your moans until two of his digits pierce into your warm heat.

You hiss in pleasure as your walls part to make room for his fingers, moving in and out slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed. Unconsciously you buck forwards, blinding searching for more, just a fraction of an inch but it doesn't go unnoticed by Namjoon. Using his free hand, he coaxes you to widen the space between your legs so he can lean forward to flick his tongue over your clit.

"Namjoon!" You gasp and he groans, from the taste of you or from his name uttered so wantonly from your lips, you're not sure which. He alternates between giving your bundle of nerves kittenish licks that drive you crazy and pressing the flat of his tongue against it, making you tremble. His digits never stop moving, now making obscene noises every time he shoves them into your flooding core, but you can't bring yourself to care.

That is, until his dewy lips form an 'o' to suck on your clit, and any remaining sense you have is tossed out the window. Your grip on the edge of the table is so hard that your knuckles turn white but you hold on, calling his name over and over as the only thing you can think of is his mouth attacking your sensitive bud and his fingers hooking to brush against that spot inside you and you simply explode. From head to toe your body shakes from your orgasm, head thrown back as you hold on to the table and the strands of his hair so you don't topple off the stool.

Blinding white adorned with stars fills your vision as your high takes over, not noticing that Namjoon has removed his fingers so he can lap up your juices. Once you've regained your sight, he has already licked you clean, although the lower half of his face is covered with your essence. The sight floods your pussy again and this time you make the initiation, pulling him up to share a rough kiss, but before you can do anything else, the sound of your classmates approaching wrenches both of you back to reality.

Remembering where you are drives you into a panic, hopping down your seat to yank your ruined panties back on so hurriedly you almost fall over but Namjoon quickly grabs you by the shoulders and hold you steady until you're ready to sit again. Then he swiftly wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt just as the first of the students pile in. Your cheeks are blazing with arousal and embarrassment, and for the rest of the morning you can't bring yourself to look at Namjoon for more than two seconds, focusing on the motions of the experiment instead of his face, his lips, his fingers... and the tent in his pants that he tries to hide by standing as close to the desk as possible.

After that incident, you find yourself talking to Namjoon a little more. Just a little more. Your conversations mainly revolve around classes and assignments, never anything personal, but at least you've gone beyond the formal weekly emails that you exchange for the sake of your lab reports. However, neither of you brought up that occurrence again, and you start thinking that it was just the one time. Slowly you're able to gather your courage to act normally around him again, even as your feelings for him grow, enraptured by his personality and wit. On the other hand, part of you is disappointed that he hasn't made another move since.

Your contact with him, even in classes are still minimal, since you usually sit with the more studious girls and he typically hangs around with the guys in the class, although sometimes you spot him sitting away from the rowdy crowd when he wants to concentrate. Times like these make you wish that you can sit next to him, wondering if he will make interesting comments on the topics covered in the courses as he usually does in your shared lab sessions. The cowardly side of you prevents you from taking the leap, afraid of what others will think if you suddenly sit close to him, wondering if people will assume that you're dating if you do so.

It's not much of a concern for Namjoon it seems, as you find out a fortnight later. Halfway through your Process Plant Design class, the lecturer flashes the next assignment on the large projector before the computer room. You look at the problem carefully, mentally planning the design of the heat exchanger in your mind, but your thoughts are interrupted when he declares that the work must be completed in pairs. Upon finishing his announcement, students get up from their chairs at once, navigating around the long tables to secure a partner of their choice. You're glued to your seat, watching your girl friends pair with each other, swivelling your head to see anyone you can team up with.

"Wanna do this together?"

Tilting your head up, relief washes over you even before you see Namjoon, because you already know that it's him. You'd recognise that pleasant voice anywhere. You nod, agreeing right away and pull up a chair so he can sit next to you in front of the computer you've been using. This course includes the usage of AutoCAD, a drawing software that you find very engaging. You thoroughly enjoy figuring out the commands needed to draw the equipment, examining the results at different angles, slowly building the 3-D models to completion.

As usual, you like to do things methodically, but Namjoon works a little differently than you do. You don't notice very much since you take turns working on the lab reports separately, but now that you're discussing the assignment, you realise that he loves trying new things. He prefers to attempt the problem at hand using steps that are not established, experimenting with the software. At first you find it extremely frustrating since it results in a lot of mistakes, but slowly you start to enjoy his way of going about the homework, learning almost as much about the software in one day as you have the whole semester.

In fact, the two of you get so engrossed in the drawing that you stay for over an hour after the class ends, the lecturer telling you that he needs to lock the room by eight that night and reminding you to leave by then. You don't stay that long, but the sky is already tainted a deep orange when you and Namjoon exit the building. You start heading off in the direction of your dormitory, but he stops you by grabbing your wrist, freezing you in your tracks at the first physical contact you've had with him since he touched you so intimately.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my dorm," you answer incredulously. He must know where you're staying; most of the students are staying at the dorms, as the university is quite isolated, housing options are very limited.

"I'll walk you back," he offers, but it's more of a statement than a request.

"Isn't the boys' dormitory the other way?"

"Yeah, but it's getting late." True enough, the walkways between the buildings are deserted, most of the students have already headed back after classes, the latest of which is at 5 o'clock. You don't intend to argue with him, but the direction he's dragging you towards makes you dig your heels into the cemented walkway, forcing him to slow down, but you're not strong enough to make him stop completely.

"Namjoon! Why are we going this way?" You exclaim as he pulls you away from the buildings into the large circular garden in the middle of the academic structures.

"Because this is a shortcut, dummy."

"I know that," you retort. The beautiful campus has the departments built around the huge garden. Although a 'park' seems a more fitting term; it has sections of trees growing thick and in large enough groups that it's impossible to see through them, several gazebos and even a stream running through it. Cutting across the gorgeous green space would bring you to the other side of the academic grounds, and your dormitory lies just beyond. "But we’re not supposed to use this way after six!"

Namjoon rolls his eyes, suspecting the reason for your protests. "You don't believe this place is haunted, do you?"

"You know that if a security guard sees anyone entering this place after hours, they ask you to take the longer route, don't you?" You counter.

"Did you see any guard stopping us?"

"No."

"Good."

You jerk your arm out of his hold irritably, but continue to walk on the stones placed in a twisting path, a trail made for aesthetic purposes as well as to discourage people from trodding on the grass. "Do you know why one side of the buildings is never finished?" The buildings surrounding the garden are built in the shape of a five pointed star, but one side remains unfinished and deserted.

His non-committal shrug almost goes unnoticed out of the corner of your eye as you widen your strides, eager to escape the park. "It's because they won't let the university build on their land."

"Who's 'they'? You mean ghosts?" He doesn't sound convinced, not by a long shot, but he's not making fun of you either, and you're thankful for that.

"Ghosts. Demons. I don't know, supernatural beings. The university isn't new and it's not like they don't have money so why don't they finish it otherwise? It's the only explanation. And you know that stream is part of their dwelling too, don't you?" You point to the running water just a few metres away, repeating the stories your seniors have told you.

"You know that people say talking about them is a way of summoning them, don't you?" His soft whisper from behind you lends the words a creepy air and you immediately clamp your lips shut. You continue walking resolutely, fuming at your own idiocy. "You were the one who made me talk about it," you blame him. Only silence greets your unfair accusation, and after a few steps you realise that the sound of his sneakers have stopped.

Turning around, your heart leaps into your throat. Behind you stands no one. "Namjoon?" You call, fear making you frantic, wondering what caused his disappearance.

"Namjoon!" You start to retrace your steps despite being scared out of your wits, finding him being the only goal in your mind. However, before you can take more than a few steps, a hand taps your shoulder from behind, making you scream, the worst scenarios playing in your head. It's only Namjoon, laughing so hard he has to clutch his stomach.

"Fuck you, Namjoon! That was mean," you scold him, your voice coming out much louder than you intended as you realise that he must have hidden in some of the greeneries to scare you. You march past him at full speed, not caring for his company for a second longer.

He follows you from behind, still chuckling softly but it soon dies down when he realises how angry you are at his little prank. Catching up to you is easy with his long legs but upon catching sight of your teary eyes he sobers completely, then apologises somberly. You ignore that apology as well as his subsequent ones and after a while he falls silent. Still, he sees you right to your dorm, where you leave him without so much as a 'goodnight', much less a 'thank you'.

Over the next few days, messages from him continues to fill your inbox at sporadic intervals; either apologies or attempts to start a conversation, all of which are ignored, but he has a good sense to stop just before he gets on your nerves too much. The time also gives you a chance to reflect upon your actions. Instead of remaining angry at Namjoon, your vexation turns onto yourself. You're not completely unreasonable, and you do know that he was just playing a harmless joke, but when you actually think about it, the reason you're so annoyed is because how it made you react. The crush on him is something that you've already acknowledged, albeit a little begrudgingly, but what you didn't expect is the depth of your feelings for him.

You're used to being overlooked, used to being made fun of, used to being talked about behind your back, used to be taken advantage of and used to being the brunt of jokes due to your intimidating behaviour in classes, too-serious personality and strong outward front. You've told yourself over and over again that you don't care, yet it has made you even more closed off to people, afraid to show that you're just as flawed as the next person, that you're not strong because you want to be, but you're strong because you have to be. It doesn't matter what others think of you because people don't really know you, but with Namjoon it's different.

It may have started out as an accident, but Namjoon has seen through your cracks and instead of thinking less of you as you'd expected, he respects you even more as a person because of it. Your weaknesses, instead of being something to be hidden, becomes the reason he wants to get to know you better. The progress may have been slow, but you've been lowering your guard more and more around him as your trust in him grows. Perhaps that is why it hurt you so much when he laughed at you, even over something silly.

Your insecurities may have played a part in the way you reacted, but you know that it's your shock over your feelings for him that made you lash out. The thought of him in danger, or of simply being absent in your life leaves you cold and terrified. After being used to distancing yourself emotionally from most people, the thought of liking someone this much and potentially opening yourself to being hurt is more than you can handle.

Most of all, as more time passes by, the more idiotic and immature you realise you're being – up to the point where you have no idea what to say to redeem yourself. So when the following week rolls by you sit there on the bench next to him, watching him twist the small red valve wordlessly, still being stupidly silent because you don't know how to express regret over your behaviour.

The air between you and Namjoon is heavy, only broken by his simple comments at how much sodium hydroxide has been used to titrate the solution in the conical flask. Normally you would argue with him over the shade of pink your phenolpthalein has turned into, but this time you write down the readings without complaint, accepting his decisions; your foolish way of making up to him that he probably won't recognise.

Nothing worthy of note happens all morning until you're done with the experiment. You're washing the glasswares used while Namjoon puts them away, and just as you're rinsing the last beaker you hear a smash of glass next to you. The supervising postgraduate swoops down to your table, telling Namjoon off for breaking the glass burette. Others file out of the lab, eager to get lunch but you stay behind, even though you can't do or say anything while he's being berated for his carelessness.

With a warning to be careful in the future and orders to clean up the mess, she exits, still frowning and mumbling to herself, leaving Namjoon behind with you. You get off of your chair and walk over to the corner of the room, scooping up the broom and dustpan that sit on the floor. "That's okay, you can leave, I'll clean up," he says, but you shake your head and start sweeping up the pieces that fell on the floor. "Sorry for troubling you," he apologises yet again, starting to pick up the shards of glass on the table.

"Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself." You let go of the handle of the broom to reach for a cloth to protect your hands as you take the sharp remnants of the glassware from him. He nods gratefully, taking over the sweeping. "Besides, that's my line."

"What do you mean?" He asks, confused.

It's time to set your ego and fears aside. The only way for things to change, for better or worse, is to push past your insecurities. "I'm sorry for acting the way I did before. I know it was just a joke."

"Nah, I'm the one who took it too far," he brushes it off, but you want him to know that you're sincere. About everything.

"Still, I shouldn't have gotten so mad and ignored you after that," you reason, and before he can argue, you continue, "besides, I never returned the favour you did for me that time." You have doubts about bringing this up, but you want him to know what you desire and this is the only way you can think of to bring it about.

"What favour?" His expression is genuinely puzzled as he tips the contents of the dustpan into the special bin for broken glassware.

"Uhm, that... you know." You can feel your cheeks heating up, even though he isn't looking at you, too busy taking off his lab coat and folding it.

When he takes in your hesitation and expression, however, the topic that you're trying to broach suddenly clicks in his mind. "Oh." It delights you to see him flaring pink as well, for the first time seeing Namjoon in a less than his usual confident state. "You don't have to. I didn't do it to get anything in return."

"Why did you do it then?" You ask even though you're dreading the answer. It's not because he pities me, is it?

"Because... I like you," he says with a shy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck nervously before mumbling, "and you look really pretty in a lab coat."

"Oh." This time it's you who aren't sure how to respond. The cleaning is done, but neither of you move, almost frozen, both not wanting to leave the company of the other. Namjoon has made his feelings clear. It's high time that you do the same. "Well, to be honest... I said I want to return the favour, but it's really because I want to do it."

"Oh." The tension is so thick that you can cut it with a knife. "Why do you want to do it?"

Presented with the same question that you've asked him before, you find the answer thankfully easy. "Because I like you too." With the confession off your chest, you step closer to him. Placing your palms on his chest, you note that he has gotten completely stiff, from shock or nervousness, you don't know which, but his muscles jump pleasantly under his shirt at your touch.

Putting your weight on the balls of your feet and his steady form, you tiptoe to press your lips against his. Namjoon's reactions are reflexive, leaning down so he can deepen the kiss, his hands on your back pushing your body flush against his. Evidence of his arousal is made clear to you just as you feel your underwear dampening, reminding you of your promise. This time it is you who sink down on your knees, trying to make quick work of his belt and jeans. Although the lab takes up most of the floor and it is lunch time, if anyone passes by they can still see you and Namjoon, but that risk adds to the thrill of doing something forbidden. No one would believe that the rigid model student would do such a thing, in a laboratory, no less.

Once you manage to undo his button and zipper, you impatiently pull it down with his boxers, and his cock slaps you in the face as it's released from its confines. "Shit! Sorry, are you okay?" He cups your face in concern, but it doesn't mask how his voice has grown husky with lust. You smile up at him, taking his shaft in your fist and flicking your tongue over the tip, much like the way he flicked his own over your clit weeks ago.

Namjoon's groans fill your ears as you suck on the head, growing louder when you take more and more of him in your mouth. You start bobbing your head up and down his cock, giving him a preview of your warmth as your pussy gets wetter and wetter, begging for his dick. Your hand pumps the other half of his length that you can't quite swallow, meeting your lips every time you take him in. His fingers tangle in your hair, his tight grip providing you with balance but he doesn't force your movements. "God, you're amazing," he croaks when you fondle his balls gently with your free hand, the sudden twitch of his hips warning you of his impending high but you stop before he could reach his peak.

The only sounds coming out of his gaping mouth are the noisy inhale of air to replenish the oxygen in his lungs, but you can see the disappointment etched across his features at your denial. "Namjoon, I want you. Inside me," you tell him clearly, leaving no room for doubts or misunderstandings.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes," you confirm, nearly tearing up as you rub your legs together, you need him that much. He helps you to your feet and you let him, not trusting the little strength left in the lower half of your body, but he doesn't stop there. A squeal escapes you when he lifts you into his arms, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist so he can carry you to the table you'd just cleaned earlier, depositing you on the surface and placing himself between your dangling legs.

"Do you know how cute you are when you make sounds like that?" He asks right before he smashes his lips against yours, not giving you an opportunity to answer. "How beautiful you are when you have a serious look on your face?" Your mewls are muffled as he nips on your bottom lip. "How sexy you are when you're like this?" He undoes as many buttons of your blouse as he can without taking off your lab coat, exposing the tops of your breasts to him. "Do you have any idea how hard I've been crushing on you all semester?" He flips your skirt up and pushes your soiled panties to the side, shoving two of his fingers all the way to his knuckles easily due to your overflowing juices.

"Namjoon," you moan, holding on to him for dear life as he slams his digits into you over and over again, already making you shudder with excitement and desire.

"Do you know how delicious you taste?" Retracting his fingers from your heat, he pushes them into your mouth, watching like a depraved man as you suck on them, tasting yourself as your eyes lock onto his. "I could eat you out all day," he professes, coaxing you to lie down on your back and staring at your pink center with only his starving gaze makes you squirm.

You'd love to feel his mouth devouring your pussy again but right now you're desperate for something else. "I need you inside me right now Namjoon. Please."

"Anything you wish," he says with a grin. He tugs your underwear off and runs the head of his cock along your folds, coating it with your arousal. You're already going crazy with the simple contact, and you know you're destined for insanity the moment he pushes into you. Inch by inch he spreads you open, stretching you to the limit to make room for his cock until he's completely buried inside you.

For several moments all you can do is focus on your breathing, while he pauses to give you time to adjust to his size. "Damn, you're so tight. I don't know how long I can last like this," he breathes.

"I don't care. I just want you, Namjoon."

"Fuck," he mutters to himself at your words and begins to move, withdrawing until only the tip remains inside you, then plunging all the way in with such force that you let out a grunt as you're pushed back on the table. "Are you okay?"

"More than okay. It feels so good."

That is all the approval Namjoon needs. Holding your waist in a bruising grip, he starts thrusting hard, mercilessly pounding you into the unforgiving wooden surface. You can't control your cries of pleasure bordering on pain from his powerful thrusts, but you don't want him to stop, so you circle your legs around his middle, lifting your hips to try to meet his piston-like movements.

"Just look at your boobs bouncing in your lab coat like that, fuck you're so hot," he murmurs appreciatively at the sight before him. On the other hand, you can only whimper pathetically as your body jiggles with his thrusts, your limbs starting to tremble as he shoves you closer and closer to the edge.

His name falls from your lips repeatedly with growing urgency as you spin further and further out of control until you finally snap. Your screams heightens his pleasure almost as much as the sensation of your walls caving down on his cock, forcing his own high as he fucks you through your own. His release is hot inside your depths, and you relish the feeling, especially when he moans your name and bends over your body, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Soft kisses along your collarbones draws out a sigh of contentment from you, allowing yourselves a moment to come down from your euphoria before reality takes over.

As soon as you're both dressed, Namjoon helps you off the desk, but doesn't release your hand. His thumb swipes your hand back and forth tenderly as he asks, "I know I went about this all wrong, but would you be my girlfriend, y/n?"

You nod bashfully and feel his interlaced fingers tighten around yours as he smiles happily at your answer, his dimples giving you the urge to poke them. As you stroll out of the lab hand in hand, you wonder to yourself if you should bring an extra pair of underwear in your bag from now on.

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