Love

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46783072.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Kim Namjoon | RM/Reader
Character: Kim Namjoon | RM
Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Ex Sex, Namjoon punches
a wall in anger in Chapter 7
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-04-27 Completed: 2023-07-18 Words: 12,844
Chapters: 7/7

Love
by hamsterclaw

Summary

Namjoon's your ex-husband, the man who committed even though he didn't really want to.
So why is he still hanging around now that you're over?
 Chapter 1

Kim Namjoon thinks of himself as slow to react, more of an analytical overthinker than a knee-jerk
reaction kind of guy.

But when he sees the man put his hand on his ex-wife’s shoulder, he’s stepped between them and
steered her away without a second thought.

You look pretty with your hair down, he thinks to himself.

He doesn’t notice the way you’re frowning at him until you swat at his arm.

He realise he’s slipped it around your waist, holding you the way he always used to when you were
married.

‘Mr Kim,’ you say, haughty, lifting your chin.

‘Why are you calling me that?’ he asks, hurt. ‘Joon-ah is just fine.’

‘I can’t call you Joon-ah,’ you reply. ‘That’s over familiar.’

Namjoon resists the very strong urge to remind you of all the times you’ve cried his name.

Joon. Joon-ah. Jagi. Baby.

You’re looking at him with a brow creased with concern. ‘Have you lost weight?’

‘Yes,’ he says, seeing an opportunity. ‘I don’t get your cooking anymore.’

‘Namjoon,’ you say, stern. ‘You can afford to eat anything you want.’

‘It doesn’t taste the same without you,’ Namjoon says. He flashes a dimple at you for good
measure.

‘Stop trying to be cute,’ you chide. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

In all reality, Namjoon’s never thought of himself as cute, but you’ve always seemed to find him
so.

He smiles, and he can see the corner of your mouth tugging upwards.

Then you sigh. ‘Come on then, let’s get you some food.’

Namjoon places a hand on your back as you leave the room together, enjoying the familiar feel of
your back under his palm.

You arch a little, reminding him of a angry cat.

‘Namjoon,’ you say, warning.

‘Sorry baby,’ he murmurs, obedient.

You look at him, eyebrow raised, and he grins at you, cheeky.

You laugh. ‘Namjoon. Stop.’

Namjoon knows he’s in then. It’s never that hard to work his way into your good books.

***

The next morning he wakes to your naked back as you sit up.

‘Hey,’ you say.

He loves the warmth of your smile, especially when you’ve just woken up like this.

‘Hey,’ he says, shifting in the sheets, propping an arm behind his head.

He can see the way your eyes drop to his bicep.

‘I’ve been working out,’ he tells you.

You roll your eyes and get up, ignoring the way he’s openly ogling your ass.

Your back to him, you ask, ‘hey, want to get dinner later?’

Namjoon’s been watching you so closely he can see the way your whole body stills, just for a
moment, as you wait for him to answer.

He doesn’t want to give you false hope.

You’re exes for a reason.

‘That’s not a good idea,’ he says.

Your voice comes out smooth, assured.

‘Of course,’ you say.

You’re fully dressed now, slipping into the heels you were wearing last night, picking up your
clutch.

You turn to him.

‘See you around, Namjoon.’

Namjoon watches you walk to the door of the bedroom.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up to see you out.

You keep walking like you don’t expect him to.

***

The party Namjoon’s at is a drag, his date is beautiful but her friends are dull, uninteresting.

He’s considering pulling his date into a corner, a quiet alcove, a little light seduction, when you
walk into the room.

You don’t see him at first, which is funny because he’s one of the tallest people in the room.

He drinks you in. You shine, you always have in his eyes, with the way you hold your head up, the
way your eyes coolly survey the people around you.
The dress you have on makes his pants feel tight at the crotch.

You’re looking around, casual, and then your eyes meet his.

And freeze.

Namjoon drops the arm he’s still got loosely slung around his date.

The look in your eyes makes his heart squeeze. Then you look away, and when you meet his gaze
again your expression is shuttered.

You wave a hand at him, casual, and turn to greet the couple who’ve approached you.

It’s a while before you’re unaccompanied.

Namjoon comes up to you, confident in the way he knows you find attractive.

You smile at him, cool, confident in your own way.

‘Nice dress,’ he says.

‘This old thing?’ you reply. You take a sip of wine, eye him over the glass.

‘Enjoying the party?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I am,’ you say. ‘You?’

‘More now,’ Namjoon says.

He moves so he’s closer to you. He’s always liked the way you have to look up at him.

You’re not looking at him, though. You’re facing away, and Namjoon realises you’re looking at
his date, coming towards the both of you.

Hye Mi’s no fool. She takes in the way he’s standing, turned towards you, and she smiles sweetly
at him.

‘Shall we get going, Joon?’

Namjoon allows himself to be led away. He looks back at you once, and you’re staring down at
your wine like it’s fascinating.

There’s something about the line of your shoulders that speaks of emotion, held back.

He thinks, not for the first time, how beautiful you are.

***

Namjoon’s at the gym working with his personal trainer, when he sees your familiar ponytail.

You’re running, facing out at the floor to ceiling windows, ponytail bouncing, expression
determined.

Namjoon sees an opportunity when the machine next to yours frees up.

He gets on, catches the way you look over casually then freeze when you see him.
You smile and then turn to face forward again.

He’s a patient man. He runs alongside you, slow, until you stop your machine and get off.

You’re out of breath, sweating, hair sticking to your face.

You’re beautiful.

You say, casually, ‘See you, Namjoon.’

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘Want to get a drink?’

***

He ends up buying you a beer at the sports bar a block down from the gym because ‘one drink,
somewhere close’ is all you’ll agree to.

You’ve changed into a hoodie, baggy sweats, tied your hair back loosely.

You eye him over your beer. ‘All good with you, Mr Kim?’

‘All good, Mrs Kim,’ he replies automatically, because it’s what he used to say to you.

Your mouth twists into a grimace.

‘Yeah sorry ex Mrs Kim.’

Namjoon’s irrationally annoyed with you, like how he felt in the final stretch of your failed
marriage.

You’d acted like you couldn’t stand him, looking through him, acting like you and he were in a
race to check out.

One you were determined to win.

And now you’ve both lost.

A part of him wants you to pine after him the way he pined after you. He’s still butthurt about it, so
sue him.

Namjoon looks up at his name being called.

Hye Mi’s walking towards you both, a furrow between her brows that gives him a tingle of
discomfiture.

‘Hey,’ she says, voice sharp.

You look up, and Namjoon can see the way your back snaps straight.

‘What’s going on here, Namjoon?’ Hye Mi asks.

‘I’m having a drink with Y/N,’ Namjoon replies. He’s got just enough beer in him to not give a
fuck about Hye Mi, he’s still got just enough residual anger with you to not care what you think,
either.

Why does talking to you make him so angry sometimes?

‘You’re divorced, right?’

You look up, brow raised, that cold bitchy face on that makes Namjoon simultaneously aroused,
scared and a tiny bit in love with you.

‘Yeah but we still fuck sometimes,’ you reply, brazen, shrugging with a calculated insouciance you
only get when you’re angry.

Namjoon’s been on the receiving end enough times to recognise it, now.

Hye Mi looks at him, like she’s waiting for him to speak up.

Namjoon can’t muster up anything better than, ‘yeah, we do.’

You snort, Namjoon laughs, and Hye Mi storms away.

You chug the last of your beer and get up. ‘You’re an ass,’ you tell him. ‘She’s not gonna fuck you
again.’

Namjoon shrugs. ‘That’s what you said when I moved out,’ he reminds you.

You laugh quietly. ‘You’re an asshole, Namjoon, no wonder our marriage didn’t last.’

‘Wait,’ Namjoon calls after you, as you turn and step away. ‘Aren’t we going to?’

You give him a once over, from his scuffed sneakers to his loose sweats to the chain between his
collarbones.

‘Nah,’ you say. ‘I have plans.’

Namjoon watches you walk away.

***

Namjoon’s loading groceries into the back of his car when he sees you, walking briskly towards
your car.

You walk fast, always like you have somewhere to be.

He’s about to call your name when you’re greeted by a tall man in a suit.

The way his hand slips under your elbow, helping you reach up to press a kiss to his cheek, rankles
Namjoon.

It’s familiar, intimate.

Namjoon calls your name anyway.

You turn around, scanning for him. Namjoon notices then that you’ve got makeup on, that your
hair is styled beautifully.

That the dress you’re wearing showcases your perfect ass the way it deserves to be shown.

You walk over, the tall man in tow.

Namjoon’s got no interest in a dick swinging contest when you spent the night riding his own dick
two nights ago.
You’re introducing the tall man as Seojoon, and Namjoon works to hide the flicker of emotion
across his face when you introduce him as Namjoon, your ex husband.

How well do you know this guy that you’re so open about the truth between you?

Seojoon nods very politely. ‘Shall we get going?’ He smiles at Namjoon, a clear dismissal, and
Namjoon moves quickly.

He says your name, locks eyes with Seojoon over your head as you turn to him.

You’re looking up at Namjoon, curious.

‘Let me know if you need me,’ Namjoon says quietly, leaning down to speak close to your ear.

‘I’ll be fine,’ you reply just as quietly.

Namjoon watches, jaw set, as Seojoon cups your elbow and leads you away.

***

The buzzing at his door is insistent, like someone’s jabbing erratically at the call button.

Namjoon already knows it’s you.

He pulls open the door, scoops you into his arms and tosses you on the couch.

You’re looking up at him, lips stained from red wine, hair falling over one eye.

Namjoon cups himself over his loose sweats.

‘Get on your knees,’ he says, voice thick from the sleep you pulled him out of.

You’re already sliding down to the floor, head in front of his crotch.

Namjoon weaves a hand into your hair, grips tight.

‘Come on, finish what you started,’ he says, harsh.

You haven’t done anything but look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and Namjoon’s cock
is already filling out.

‘Didn’t he fuck you well enough?’ Namjoon jeers.

He pulls your face against his hardening cock.

‘Why’d you come to me, ex-wife?’

‘I don’t know,’ you spit, defiant.

It’d be more convincing if you weren’t already burying your face against his crotch, mouthing over
his erect cock.

‘I know,’ Namjoon says, voice velvety as you tug down his sweats. His cock jumps out, pokes you
in the face, and you moan like you can’t wait for it.

He grabs your hair, tugs you up, slaps your hand away from where you’re trying to grab him.
‘Because no one fucks you like I do,’ he tells you.

His voice is quiet but stark in the silence of his apartment.

He pushes your legs apart, enters you, and the breath you suck in sounds like a sob.

He doesn’t want to see your face right now.

Namjoon stares at a point in the wall as he begins to move, concentrates on how your cunt feels
around him.

You’re so quiet he wants to check on you but he can’t.

He doesn’t give a fuck but that’s not the whole story, because behind the wall he’s built he thinks
that he still loves you so much he can’t face it.

And when you’re under him like this, the look in your eyes makes him want to cry.

Namjoon hisses because it’s snug, him being in you like this. He hits deep, rocking his hips against
yours, stroking your clit until your breathing’s more of a steady pant against his neck.

‘Joon,’ you manage, high and sobbing, and Namjoon, against his better judgement, flicks his gaze
to your face.

You’re beautiful, and he could fuck you forever if you’d let him.

‘Come on, come on,’ he grunts. He grasps your ass, pulls you against him, grinds his cock so deep
he thinks he might pass out from the pleasure of it.

He thinks that your cunt pulsing around him is the single greatest sensation of his life.

‘Fuck,’ he groans.

You’re milking the cum out of him, and Namjoon needs to give you all of it.

Fuck, he needs to give you everything.

There’s a beat of absolute stillness at the peak of his orgasm as the world stops.

And then it all comes rushing back.

He floats for a while then, relishing the scent and feel of you.

Your voice sounds out in the darkness.

‘You’re right, Namjoon, no one fucks me like you do.’

Your voice is completely neutral, a cover for the shades of meaning underneath.

‘I know, baby,’ Namjoon says.

His tears mingle with yours.

He knows he should get up, but for now, he can’t seem to let you go.
 Talk it out
Chapter Notes

Inspired by an ask on tumblr that made me wonder what this Namjoon would be like if
he and reader were asked to talk about their problems.

Your husband, Kim Namjoon, is generally punctual, but he’s unfailingly, always late to your
appointments with your marriage counsellor.

It’s a power play, he wants to show you that you can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to
do, even if it’s your marriage at stake.

Your husband, Kim Namjoon, is unfailingly, always an asshole.

It was hot when you were in college together, when he’d stroll in, thick thighs stretching out grey
sweatpants, sit next to you and copy over your shoulder in politics class.

It was hot on your wedding day, when he got bored at the wedding dinner and dragged you into an
alcove to shoot his cum down your throat whilst telling you to ‘swallow it down like a good girl,
Mrs Kim.’

Honestly, it’s even sometimes hot now, when you’re pissed off at him for being late and he
saunters in, manspreads on the couch and nudges your thigh none too subtly when your counsellor
Mrs Lee says something he doesn’t agree with.

Namjoon embraces his feral side with a don’t give a fuck attitude you can’t help but admire even as
you want to throttle him.

You’ve tried to throttle him a few times but he just laughs and pins your hands over your head and
fucks the anger out of you.

You’re in the middle of telling Mrs Lee about your week when Namjoon enters the room. He
apologises for being late, the good Korean boy in him coming to the fore just in time to charm her
and prevent her from yellow carding him.

If this were a game of football, and you a referee, your husband would be banned for the season for
his unsportsmanlike behaviour.

You try your best to hide your sour expression as he presents Mrs Lee with a small succulent for
being so accommmodating with her time.

Namjoon excuses himself to make a telephone call, even though he’s just arrived at this
counselling session, and you’re sorely tempted to stab him with Mrs Lee’s silver pen.

Your phone vibrates in your bag, and you’re reaching for it when Namjoon returns.

He sits next to you quietly, and to your surprise, the next 45 minutes are spent talking through the
difference in the way you and he communicate with each other. He doesn’t so much as roll his eyes
once.

As Mrs Lee sums up, you catch him eyeing your thigh where your skirt has ridden up slightly.

Ah, there he is, your familiar asshole. Hidden but never really gone.

Namjoon follows you out of Mrs Lee’s plush, soothingly neutral office, and into the car park.

‘Can you give me a ride?’ he asks.

‘To where?’

‘I have a date. It’s at the French bistro downtown.’

‘We’re still married, Namjoon, why are you going on a date?’

‘Keeping my options open?’ he suggests. The asshole has the audacity to smirk at you.

‘Nah. You can walk,’ you snap.

‘It’s not a date,’ he says, quickly. ‘I’m meeting Yoongi.’

You stare him down.

Finally you say, ‘OK. I’ll drop you off at the subway.’

You unlock the car, get in, and wait for Namjoon to fold his long frame into the passenger seat.

He gets in, pointedly adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs, reclines the back.

‘C’mere,’ he says, voice low, husky.

He spreads his legs a little, lets the bulge in his crotch show against the thin material of his pants.

Your husband’s at least half-hard, and you’re angry with yourself for even contemplating helping
him out.

Shit.

You’ve spent too much time thinking about it.

You can hear the smirk in his voice even without looking at him.

Namjoon says, ‘Look straight ahead, ok?’

His warm hand slips over your bare thigh, under your skirt.

‘I can see your bra,’ he tells you, conversational. ‘It’s that lacy one isn't it? Makes me want to bust
a nut just looking at it.’

His other hand skims the front of your chest, tweaks your nipple.

You bite down on your lower lip as he caresses you over the thin material of your blouse.

‘If we weren’t here I’d be sucking on your tits now,’ he continues. ‘Getting your nipples nice and
hard for me.’
He laughs softly. ‘Look at yourself, baby.’

Despite your better judgement, you drop your gaze to where your nipple is pressing against his
thumb, peaked and so sensitive you could scream.

Namjoon flicks his thumb over your nipples, back and forth, only reluctantly dropping his hand
when someone walks past on the way to their car.

Thank fuck you have an SUV.

Namjoon slides his hand under your skirt, fingers reaching straight for your core.

You can both hear how wet you are.

‘Fuck,’ Namjoon swears. His hand ghosts over his crotch, you can see the outline of his hardness
so clearly now you know he’s almost fully erect.

You reach out to touch him, and he stops you.

‘Let me feel you first, ok?’

Namjoon pushes your legs apart, strokes his long fingers over you.

‘Look at this messy cunt,’ he grunts. He slips a finger into you, and you whimper at the invasion.

‘Joon!’

‘Use me,’ he murmurs. He slips another finger inside you, and the stretch is so good you’re
moaning.

He rocks his thumb over your clit, leans over to mouth at your neck.

His tongue laps over your skin.

‘Wanna taste you,’ he groans.

His forearm flexes as his fingers move in and out of you, curving, hitting your sweet spot with the
precision of a man who’s spent years learning what you like.

You come with a gush of wet that makes him groan again, loud.

‘Fuck,’ he pants, using his wet hand to stroke himself.

‘Wait, fuck,’ you cry, beyond caring that you’re pushing the boundaries of public indecency.

You lift your leg over and climb on top of him.

‘Fuck, baby,’ Namjoon grunts. His strong arms curl around you as you seat yourself onto his rigid
cock.

He hisses. ‘Fuck, gonna come, fuck.’

He grinds you down into his lap, big hands either side of your hips. A moment later you can feel
him twitching inside you.

Namjoon buries his face in the back of your neck.

In amongst the impassioned swearing he moans your name, like he can’t stop himself.

***

A baby wipe cleanup and several muttered curses on both your parts later, you find yourself
dropping Namjoon off at the bistro.

‘Fuck, Yoongi’s going to be pissed, I’m so late,’ Namjoon says.

He makes no move to go, though, flashing a dimple at you, mischief in his eyes.

‘Should I just cancel on him and take you home instead?’

‘Don’t be an asshole,’ you tell him.

Namjoon laughs quietly.

‘Yeah.’

He gets out then, and just before he closes the door he says, ‘Hey. Ignore the texts I sent you
earlier, ok?’

‘What texts?’

‘I didn’t really have a phone call to make at our counselling session earlier. I spent the time texting
you instead,’ he confesses.

‘Kim Namjoon, if you sent me a bunch of dick pics I’ll block you,’ you threaten.

‘Yeah, it’s dick pics, I don’t mind if you save them,’ he says. He winks at you, slams the door
closed and then he’s off, hurrying across the street.

***

You’re snuggling into bed when you remember you haven’t checked Namjoon’s messages.

Your husband has a beautiful dick, you’ve seen it plenty but you figure you could always use a
visual reminder.

You click on the picture and freeze.

It’s a picture of you and Namjoon in college when you first started dating. He’s got his arm around
you, most of his face obscured by a cap but you can see just enough to know he’s smiling. You’re
tucked into his side, face bright with adoration.

You both look so young.

You both look so fucking happy.

A tear slides down your cheek.

Your vision blurs but you can see enough to read the next message.

I miss you.

You’re still thinking about him as you fall asleep.

 Vanilla guys

Namjoon says, ‘Sure, that’s the perfect picture, if basic, vanilla guys are your jam.’

He sounds like he doesn’t care one way or the other.

You frown critically at the photo, then sigh and put your phone away.

‘This is dumb, you’re right.’

You’re more hurt than you want to let on. Namjoon’s your ex-husband, once he thought you were
hot enough to marry.

And now he can’t even be bothered to say anything nice about the photo you’ve chosen as your
profile pic for this stupid dating app.

You’re staring at the TV, trying to curb your emotions, when Namjoon says, very quietly, ‘Hey, I
didn’t mean that you don’t look pretty in that photo.’

Shit. The last place you’d look for emotional support is your asshole ex husband, and here he is,
trying to provide it.

This can only end badly for both of you.

‘Shut up, Namjoon.’

There’s a warning in your voice, a tremble in the way you say his name.

Like always, Namjoon ignores the barrier you’ve thrown up.

Vaults right over it because he’s never cared to mind your boundaries.

He reaches out, tips your chin, turns your face to his.

His eyes on your face make you feel exposed.

‘What did you mean?’ you ask.

The words come out thin, your insecurities close to the surface.

Namjoon watches, fascinated, as your eyes brim over, as a tear streaks down your face.

It’s rare that you cry in front of him.

Instead of comforting you, Namjoon says, ‘There. Now you look hot.’

Your eyes flick up to his.

‘Take your top off.’

‘What?’

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Take. Your. Top. Off.’

He’s quicker than you are, deftly unbuttoning your blouse.

He licks his lips when he sees the bra you have on underneath.

‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Is that meant to hide anything? I can see your nipples.’

He’s not waiting for an answer. With one hand, he tucks a long finger under your bra, between your
breasts, tightening the band, pushing your breasts up.

‘These fucking tits,’ he mutters.

With his other hand, he pulls out his phone.

‘Hey,’ he says, tucking his tongue into his cheek.

When you look at him again, he takes a picture.

‘See this?’ he asks. ‘Put this picture up and you’ll get guys like me.’

You stare at the picture he’s just taken. It’s less raunchy than you expected, you can only see the
tops of your breasts. You look pretty hot, you have to admit Namjoon’s taken a good picture.

‘Guys like you?’

‘Yeah. Assholes. You have a type,’ Namjoon mutters.

He tilts his chin at you. ‘So now I’ve helped you, you can help me back.’

He grabs your hand, pulls it into his lap.

‘Let’s take another picture with my cum on your tits.’

Instead of answering, you open your mouth, and Namjoon says, with what sounds like complete
sincerity, ‘Sometimes, I fucking love you.’

He makes up for his lapse by tapping your chin with his cock. ‘Wider, baby, you’re not gonna fit
me in like that.’

He feeds his cock between your parted lips, inch by inch, until he’s almost all the way in, his
crown nudging the back of your mouth, making it difficult to swallow.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, hand on your shoulder. ‘You look so fucking hot when you’re crying on my
cock.’

He curls a hand over your breast, squeezing your flesh, thumb rubbing over your nipple. His hips
move against you, and you gasp in a frantic breath before he moves again.

You reach up, tug at his balls, and he groans, loud and long.

‘You ready?’ he asks, but he’s already pulling out, pumping his fist over his cock. The first spurt of
cum catches you across your bottom lip.

Quickly, you lift your tits up, and Namjoon groans again as he aims another stream of cum in
between your tits. He rubs his tip against your nipples, streaking white all over your skin.

‘Stay still,’ Namjoon grunts, and you stay perfectly still as he takes a picture of you covered in his
cum.

He reaches for you, pulling you into his arms, unmindful of the mess.

Namjoon’s never been finicky about sex. He’s also always given as good as he got.

‘Your turn,’ he tells you. He slides off the couch, grasps your ass to drag you down to the edge,
and puts his mouth on your cunt.

Namjoon puts his hands on your thighs, thumbs spreading you apart, so he can lap at your clit with
his tongue.

He nudges his phone at you.

‘Go on, film me.’

He looks straight at the camera you’ve got pointed at him with shaky hands.

‘You like this?’ he asks, voice husky, dimple flashing in his cheek.

He dips his head between your legs, tongue delving deep. When he comes up, your arousal’s
glistening on his lips, smeared across his cheeks.

He smirks at you.

‘You gonna watch this back later, baby?’

You can’t lie to him.

‘Yeah.’

‘I want you to. I want you to watch this and get so fucking wet you have to get yourself off.’

You moan. ‘Fuck, Namjoon.’

He’s back to licking your clit. He seals his lips over your clit, sucks, and you cry out so loudly
you’re worried your neighbours will hear.

Namjoon wraps a forearm around your thigh.

‘Stay still,’ he grunts. ‘I’ll take care of you, love.’

It’s too much. Namjoon reaches up to pinch your nipple as his tongue flicks back and forth over
your clit, and then you’re coming, crying his name, writhing under his mouth.

‘One more,’ Namjoon says.

He’s hard again, you can see when he gets up.

‘I can’t —-‘

‘You can, baby,’ he croons, hand stroking over your hair. ‘You can do it for me.’

He lifts both your legs up, plunges his cock into you, and you’re so sensitive you cry out as he fills
you.

He’s relentless, driving into you in hard, deep strokes, building you up after he took you apart.
He wraps a hand around your neck, squeezes just hard enough to make the air burn its way into
your lungs when you can next take a breath.

With his entire weight on top of you like this, the pressure on your sensitive clit feels so good
you’re already halfway to coming even before he slants his lips over yours.

He plunges his tongue into your mouth like it isn’t enough to fill you up with his cock, and you’re
gone, crying his name as you come again.

He grinds deep, drives his hips against yours, filling you up so good it’s overwhelming.

He twitches against you, letting you take his weight for a moment before rolling over, pulling out
of you with a groan.

You sit up, suppressing a moan at how well-used you feel.

‘Wait,’ Namjoon says, voice hoarse. ‘Let me take another picture. Wave that ass at me again.’

‘No,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

You get up, and he takes a picture of your bare ass anyway, the asshole.

***

You’ve had so many DMs since you posted that picture Namjoon took of you that you’re
considering deleting the app entirely.

He’d been right about you attracting assholes.

You sigh as your phone lights up again. Your thumb hovers over the screen as the profile loads.

It’s a dick pic, of course, but this one at least is a familiar dick.

As is the message under it.

Joon: You called for an asshole?

You don’t want to smile but you can’t help yourself.

A moment later your phone rings.

‘Hey,’ your ex-husband asks. ‘I’m in your area. Can I come over and watch our sex tape?’

He laughs like he already knows the answer.

You get up to take the latch off the door so he can let himself in.
 Favour

Namjoon’s shoulders look like a wall in the suit he’s wearing. Impenetrable, imposing. You use
him as a barrier between you and the world at this funeral.

You were close to your aunt, but not to the other members of your family on your mother’s side,
and to navigate the intricacies of familial relationships right now, in your grief, is impossible.

You’re at the very end of the pew at this church service, Namjoon between you and your great aunt
and her husband. You’re glad for his solid warmth, for the distance he forces as your ex-husband.

You’re aware of the quizzical looks you’re getting, aware that for most, it’s merely idle curiosity as
to why your ex-husband is here with you. The only narratives you’ve assigned are your own, the
reality is, no one cares that much about anyone else’s life when they’re busy living their own.

You’d bribed Namjoon to come with you to this funeral, in your desperation you’d promised him a
favour of his choosing, to be redeemed anytime.

You’re fully expecting him to ask for a threesome with his current squeeze, Sohee.

You’re a woman of your word, and anyway it’s not like you or he are strangers to welcoming
someone into your marital bed.

Your aunt, when she was alive, treated you like you were valid, and important. She gave advice but
didn’t nag. She took you seriously when you struggled to take yourself seriously.

She’d liked Namjoon but hadn’t been surprised when your marriage crumbled.

You haven’t seen each other as much as you’d have liked to in recent years. It’s just kind of how
things panned out. You’d thought you’d have more time.

You sit, dry-eyed, rigid in your seat as your uncle reads a poem your aunt liked. There’s a reading
by the minister. Honestly, you’re barely listening.
There’s a dam holding back your emotions, and you’re worried that if it breaks too much of you
will be washed away.

In your head, you work furiously to plaster over the cracks.

Namjoon holds your hand like he’s trying to comfort you, and you have a sudden hysterical urge to
laugh because he’s never been good at emotions.

Neither have you.

You’re so similar it’s a wonder your marriage lasted as long as it did.

You squeeze Namjoon’s hand, reassuring.

The wake is at your uncle’s apartment, and it’s stifling. He hasn’t taken down any pictures, the
place looks exactly the same as when your aunt was alive and living there.

You’d never realised how many pictures of you there were.

You stop in front of a picture of you and your aunt at the beach house your aunt and uncle used to
rent every summer.

You don’t look over at the person who’s stopped next to you, but you can tell by the smell of his
cologne that it’s Namjoon.

He shifts, and his hand reaches over. You think he’s going to try to hold your hand again, but
instead, his palm lands firmly, blatantly, on your ass.

He squeezes gently.

‘Shit, you look so much better now that your eyebrows have grown back,’ he muses, frowning at
the picture.

‘You’re such an asshole,’ you say, but there’s no heat in your voice.

‘You look like you’ve grown a cup size since then too,’ he says, tilting his head.

‘Jokes on you, I wear padded bras now,’ you say.

He follows alongside you as you walk over to the next picture.

‘The food’s shit, can we stop somewhere before we go to the beach?’

‘Sure, what do you want?’

***

It’s nearly sunset when you follow the ceremony to the beach to scatter your aunt’s ashes.

You almost miss it because Namjoon makes you stop and get him a burger. He gives you all his
fries, and you appreciate that he thinks it’s a sacrifice, even though you don’t feel much like
eating.

You hang back after everyone’s left, Namjoon’s suit jacket slung over your shoulders as you look
out over the water.

The sun’s dipped low, kissing the horizon.

It’ll be dark soon.

Namjoon says, ‘Damn, I hope the hotel has some decent porn channels.’
‘You’re such –’

‘An asshole,’ he finishes for you.

When you look over at him, he’s looking back at you, dimple flashing.

‘Since I’m being an asshole and everything, I guess I should call in my favour now.’

‘Sure,’ you say, past caring.

He waits for so long to speak that you can barely see him in the dark.

‘You should live your best life,’ he says, just as you think he’s forgotten what he was going to say.
‘Even if it doesn’t involve me.’

His hand finds yours in the dark, and this time, it’s so hard to let go.
 Five Fuck Friday
Chapter Summary

Namjoon and you have to pack up your old apartment.

Your ex-husband Namjoon shuffles up to you, eyes barely open, hair rumpled, hood up.

‘Here,’ you say, handing him the coffee you’d picked up on the way.

He accepts with a mumbled ‘thanks.’

You know better than to try to engage him in any form of interaction before he’s been caffeinated,
even though it’s not that early on a Friday morning.

You fall into step beside each other as you head up to the apartment you previously shared when
you were married. He adjusts his longer stride to match yours, hits the lift button.

You sip coffee whilst you wait.

The lift takes longer than it should, the mechanics of it always mystified you when you lived in this
building. To be fair, at least it seems to be working, it used to be broken down half the time.

You fumble with the keys as you reach your old front door. There’s a knack to it, an eccentricity of
the lock that you’d mastered whilst you lived here. You’ve forgotten it.

You’re frowning at it, trying to remember, when Namjoon mutters a ‘here’.

His warm hand closes over yours, and with a flick of his wrist, the key turns in the lock and the
door opens.

There’s an air of abandonment about the place now, it’s clean but empty, unlived in since you
moved out.

If you let yourself feel it, the sadness would be unbearable.

You wonder if Namjoon’s awake enough to feel it too.

You glance at him, and he’s brighter now, more awake.

‘We need to be done before this evening,’ Namjoon says. ‘I have plans tonight.’

Your ex-husband is incomparable in bed and someone you’d want in your corner in a fight, but
sometimes, he has the emotional depth of a puddle.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

‘Wouldn’t want cleaning out our emotional baggage to impinge on your Friday night,’ you say,
unable to curb your sarcasm.
Namjoon blinks at you. ‘It’s five fuck Friday,’ he tells you.

‘What?’

It’s Namjoon’s turn to roll his eyes, you don’t even think he tried not to.

‘Five. Fuck. Friday.’

‘That’s not a thing.’

Namjoon just shrugs, starts stacking boxes in the living room.

‘What even is five fuck Friday,’ you mutter to yourself.

Namjoon’s got his back to you as he picks books up off the shelf, arranges them in neat stacks in a
box.

He doesn’t answer.

‘Is it five fucks with the same person?’ you wonder as you pick up a box and head into the kitchen.

You think about it as you pack up the kitchen junk drawer.

Namjoon pops his head round the kitchen doorway.

‘Is it fucking five different people?’ you ask.

Namjoon just gives you a look as he takes the packing tape and black marker off the kitchen
counter and disappears into the living room again.

You wrap glasses in paper, arrange them carefully in the box in rows.

‘Is it the variation? Fucking five different ways?’ you say, as you step past him to stack your filled
box in the hallway.

Namjoon’s worked up a sweat, he’s shucked his hoodie and his thin white t-shirt’s sticking to his
back as he arranges boxes neatly, one against the other.

‘Wait!’ you exclaim as he tosses a box on top of your glassware.

The resulting crunch of broken glass makes you flinch.

Namjoon, a veteran of broken crockery, is unmoved.

‘Sorry,’ he says, indifferent.

‘I think your aunt gave us those.’

Namjoon raises a brow, takes a swig of water.

‘Yeah?’

‘Never mind.’

You’re glad Namjoon’s being so businesslike and practical about packing up your apartment, at
least you’re not tempted to dissolve in an emotional heap over the life you once had.
You’re trying to reach up to the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard when Namjoon says, ‘I can do
that.’

He doesn’t even move you out of the way, instead steps up close to your back, arms over your head
as he grabs the last glass.

For a moment you’re completely enclosed by his body, his chest pressed to your back, hips against
you. He presses his face into your hair and breathes in, so quick you almost miss it.

You turn into his chest.

‘Joon-ah,’ you say.

He leans down, plants a kiss on your lips, then hands you the glass.

You reach for the front of his t-shirt, but he’s already stepped away.

‘Want me to pick up lunch from the deli?’ he asks, as he leaves the kitchen.

‘Sure,’ you say.

It’s only when the front door closes behind him that you can take a breath.

***

‘Is it a metaphor for what Friday’s like in comparison to the rest of the week?’ you ask.

Namjoon reaches out, thumbs mustard off the side of your mouth, licks it off his thumb.

He follows it up with a big bite of the sandwich he got from the deli, ignores your question.

You swipe his drink away as he reaches for it.

‘Oh my god, tell me what five fuck Friday is!’ you exclaim, exasperated.

Namjoon takes your drink instead, drains it empty with an obnoxious slurp.

He tosses it in the trash bag, gets up from his seat.

‘I’m gonna start on the spare room, ok?’

You glower at his retreating back.

***

The sun’s starting to set when Namjoon reappears.

He hasn’t said much to you all day, just focusing on packing. You guess he meant business when
he said he had plans.

‘We can finish this tomorrow, can’t we? Most of it’s done.’

You look up guiltily from the album of old photos you’d been looking through.

‘Yeah, sure.’

If he notices what you’ve been doing, he doesn’t say.

‘I need to go take a shower before I go out,’ he says. ‘Do you need a ride home?’

‘Nah, I’ll finish off here and then go.’

He’s already leaving.

‘Hey, Joon,’ you call after him.

He turns. ‘Yeah?’

‘I’ll text you - if I finish up tonight we won’t have to come back tomorrow.’

Namjoon shrugs. ‘It’s up to you.’

He doesn’t look like he cares one way or the other.

***

It’s past midnight by the time you finish. You hadn’t intended to stay so late but you couldn’t bear
the idea of another day with Namjoon being distant and indifferent when you’re an emotional
wreck.

You take one last look around, partly to check you’ve packed everything, mostly because you want
to remember.

The kitchen counter Namjoon and you christened the afternoon you moved in.

The crack in the kitchen window you made when you threw a fork after Namjoon forgot your first
wedding anniversary.

The shower panel you once watched Namjoon masturbate behind. He’d put on a show for you,
hadn’t let you touch him. It’s still in your memory as one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

The dent in the plaster hidden behind a picture where Namjoon had slammed his fist and accused
you of cheating on him.

The turbulence of your relationship etched into the walls of the two bedroom you’d once shared.

The store cupboard where Namjoon and you had once hidden for twenty minutes at a dinner you’d
been hosting for your families.

The conspiratorial smile on Namjoon’s face. The warmth of his mouth, and the weight of his body
as he’d fucked you standing up, against the wall.

You’d come once, would have come again if Namjoon’s mother hadn’t come looking for you.

You swipe at your face, realising you’ve been crying.

Shit. You’re exhausted.

There are no sheets on the bed, not anymore, so you pull on Namjoon’s hoodie instead, curl up and
cry yourself to sleep.

You’ve always found his scent comforting.

***
You wake, disoriented, in the dark.

Namjoon’s spooning you, arm over your shoulders, face buried in the back of your neck.

He says your name, pulls you against him so you can feel how hard he is.

You help him pull your jeans down, pull his hoodie up, and then you’re bare skin against bare
skin.

You can hear him spit in his hand, the slap of his palm against his cock as he touches himself.

Getting himself as hard as he can for you.

By the time he pushes into you, you’re ready.

He slides into you, coming back to you like he’s always belonged with you.

You can’t see his face.

‘Baby,’ he says.

There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s holding back.

His hand’s splayed over your abdomen, holding you taut to him.

You put your hand over his, knit your fingers through his, and he holds you tight, like he’s
drowning, as you fuck.

He comes before you do, spilling inside you but still hard enough to make you come, gasping, face
in the mattress as he strokes your clit.

Namjoon stays snug inside you, holding you so tightly it’s hard to breathe.

You’re scared to look at him, afraid of what you’ll see.

‘Five fuck Friday is made up,’ he tells you, mouth against your skin.

‘I thought so,’ you say, too fucked out to muster any more words.

There’s a long pause, you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

Then he says, ‘I don’t know how to be without you.’

The sadness in his voice punches a hole in your chest.

You turn over, face to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as you hold him.

You comfort him the only way you know how.

He’s so dear to you, even after all this time.

After a while, his brow unfurrows, the lines in his face smooth out.

He sleeps in your arms.

When you wake in the morning, he’s gone.

 My girl
Chapter Summary

Namjoon's always careful with his words, but he mis-speaks, and he doesn't want to
take it back.

Namjoon sometimes wonders if something happened to arrest his emotional development.

People are supposed to grow aren’t they? Aren’t they supposed to evolve? They learn from their
mistakes and they learn from living their day to day.

Everytime Namjoon sees you he feels like he’s 19 again, the same cocky shit who didn’t see
anything wrong with asking you to sit on his dick two hours after you met.

He didn’t need to know your last name to know you’d feel good on the end of his cock.

He’d been humbled by how badly he’d wanted to make you come. Once he’d discovered the
sweetness of your pretty face as you fell apart, he’d vowed to keep making you fall apart, again and
again.

And you were always so so easy to please. You seemed always glad to see him, whatever time he
turned up at your door.

You never really asked for anything, not to meet up on Valentine’s day, not to hang out on a
weekend when he had plans, not for flowers or anything on your birthday.

The only reason he’d learned when your birthday was, was that he’d seen you with your friends, a
whole big group, out one night. You’d been surrounded by love, smiling faces and Namjoon had
realised then that you had love to spare. He guesses that’s why you had so much to give him.

Namjoon had dropped by a house party with his housemates, Yoongi and Hoseok, and he hadn’t
been looking for anything other than a good time when you’d caught his eye.

You were standing backed up against a wall, talking earnestly to some guy in a shirt, and from
across the room Namjoon could see the way the guy kept using his vantage point to look down
your top.

The entire scene rubbed him the wrong way. You were way too pretty to be visually molested by
some clown who didn’t even deserve to be talking to you.

He was halfway across the room before his rational brain caught up to his monkey brain but
Namjoon shut that all out and kept walking.

He walked right up to you, cocked his head.

‘Hey, you look pretty.’

You’d smiled at that, turned to introduce the clown to Namjoon like you were all at some fucking
tea party, and Namjoon had rolled his eyes, impatient.
‘Come on, let me get you a drink.’

You’d hesitated, and the shirt guy had tried to press closer to you.

‘She’s got a drink,’ he’d said.

Namjoon had just waited.

You’d said, ‘See you later, Marcus,’ and followed Namjoon round the back.

‘He’s not a bad guy,’ you’d said to Namjoon, after he’d got you that drink.

‘He spent the whole time checking out your tits,’ Namjoon had said, incredulous.

You’d laughed. ‘Don’t you do that too?’

‘I’m allowed. You’re my girl.’

You’d both froze.

There was an edge of something to your voice as you’d scoffed. ‘Am I?’

Namjoon had been appalled by his lapse.

‘One of them,’ he’d amended.

You’d said, not looking at him, ‘Yeah.’

He’d left the party with another girl that night just to prove a point.

He didn’t need you.

***

There was one night when you’d seemed more subdued than usual.

You always were more cynical than chirpy but you’d been pretty quiet as you watched the movie
together. He’d watched you checking your phone for a while before he’d asked, voice cold, ‘You
waiting for your other fuckbuddy to text you?’

You’d turned to him, mouth slightly open in surprise.

He’d watched as you processed his words, his tone, the look in his eyes.

He’d wondered if you knew how expressive your face was.

You’d said, ‘No. I’m just waiting for —-‘

He’d cut you off.

‘So you want to get on my dick or not?’

You’d seemed to be lost for words, so he’d said, more aggressive then he’d intended, ‘Come on,
you didn’t wear that dress because you didn’t want to get fucked, right?’

Your mouth had snapped shut, your eyes had flashed, and you’d said, ‘Shut up, Namjoon.’
You’d climbed into his lap, and he’d fucked you hard, until you’d been reduced to a whimpering
mess in his arms.

He’d felt a pang of guilt as he’d seen the handprints he’d left on your ass cheeks, but you’d said
nothing, getting your clothes on like you were leaving, after.

Namjoon had watched you, realised you hadn’t really answered his question.

‘Going?’ he’d asked.

You’d said, quietly, ‘Yeah, I gotta go.’

There was something about your manner that rankled, like you were so detached he barely
registered to you.

Namjoon had yawned deliberately, drawled, ‘You can get back home ok on your own, can’t you?’

You’d both looked at the clock on the wall.

2am.

‘Yeah,’ you’d replied.

You’d left without a backwards glance for your dorm across campus, and if Namjoon felt relief
when he saw you safe and sound the next day in class he felt no need to acknowledge it, even to
himself.

***

The first week you were late to class he’d been a little surprised. You were, as a rule, punctual,
always sat near the front like you didn’t want to miss anything.

He’d headed in your direction casually, to talk to you, but you were too quick, rushing out like you
had somewhere important to be.

The second week you were late the professor had made a pointed remark about the start time and
Namjoon had been close enough to see the way your expression dropped. You looked tired, and he
was no stranger to tiring you out but you’d never looked so wiped out before.

The third week you arrived on time but towards the end of class Namjoon had realised you were
asleep, slumped forward, head on your desk.

He’d seen the professor’s gaze on you, seen him about to walk over, and Namjoon had, without
really thinking about it, shoved the stack of textbooks on his desk to the floor.

The slap of cardboard and paper on the wood floor had been so loud a girl near the front had
screamed, and by the time the professor had looked back at you, you were sitting up, blinking,
dazed but awake.

You’re fast, but Namjoon’s stride’s longer than yours. He catches you easily.

‘Hey,’ he says, falling into step beside you. ‘Want to meet up tonight?’

You smile up at him. ‘I can’t. I have work.’

‘You got a job?’ Namjoon asks.

‘Bartending. My dad lost his job and I need to start paying my own rent.’

You’re matter of fact about it.

Namjoon says, ‘What about now? You have some time before your next class, right?’

***

Namjoon braces his hand against the headboard behind him, trying to stop it slamming against the
wall as you ride him.

His cock’s in heaven, slipping in and out of your cunt, wet, hot, tight. The rest of him is as
enthralled, the visual of you with your tits out, moaning as you fuck yourself on him has him most
of the way to coming.

Namjoon knows that the way you are now, all he has to do is stay hard for long enough to pleasure
you.

You slam your hips down on his so hard Namjoon’s pushed back, his fingers clipped between the
headboard and the wall. He barely registers the pain, because you’re calling his name, tightening
on his cock, and he’s coming too, groaning his pleasure as he twitches and jerks inside you.

You bury your face in his chest, and it’s only when you mumble something incomprehensible that
Namjoon realises you’ve fallen asleep.

The warmth in his chest takes him by surprise. He’s sticky with sweat and sex, but he wraps an arm
around you anyway. To his surprise, you snuggle deeper into his chest, your breath warm against
his skin.

Namjoon likes it.

He must doze, because he opens his eyes to you, fully dressed, trying to fix your hair that he pulled
into a tangled mess.

You give him a sheepish smile. ‘I’m sorry I fell asleep.’

‘It’s ok,’ Namjoon says. He’s soft with the honesty of sleep. ‘I liked it.’

The words leave his mouth and hang between you.

You appear to be caught in indecision, then you sigh and lean down. You press a soft kiss to his
lips, and rest your forehead against his, hand on his cheek.

Namjoon breathes you in.

He doesn’t think he’s ever touched you before without the intention of fucking you.

His mind races with all the things he could say, and he closes his mouth before any of it spills out.

You’re not waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, affection in your eyes. ‘I needed that.’

Namjoon wants to say, I needed you too.

Instead he smirks. ‘I like those panties. Are they new?’

You snort. ‘There you are, baby.’

You do up the last button on your shirt, the one he wasn’t going to tell you was undone because he
likes the view of your tits.

Then you’re off.

***

Namjoon’s first at the bar in the dive off campus, his friends had told him what they wanted to
drink but he’ll just get whatever’s easiest, fuck remembering the detail.

He registers that your profile looks familiar just as you turn to take his order.

You raise your eyebrow in greeting.

‘What can I get you, Namjoon?’

‘Out of here,’ Namjoon replies in a flash of honesty.

Your lips curve as you stifle a laugh.

You’re about to say something when Jiah, one of the girls he’s with, walks up. ‘We want shots,’
she says, hand on his arm, tugging him down even though he can hear her easily.

Namjoon loses eye contact with you as he turns to her.

‘I got you,’ you say, smooth, professional.

You pour out the drinks, take the rest of his order. ‘I’ll bring them to your table.’

Namjoon hands you his card, you tap and hand it back to him with an exaggerated flourish.

By the time you bring your drinks over to his table Namjoon’s been thinking about you non-stop.

You set down the drinks, give his friends cheerful waves in greeting.

Namjoon waits until you set his drink in front of him.

‘When do you get off work?’ he asks.

‘Late,’ you say, your smile never faltering. ‘Have a good night, Joon.’

***

There’s some guy talking to you around closing time like he thinks you’re going to want to finish
your shift and clock off with him.

Namjoon walks over, says your name. Looks hard at the way the man’s stretched over the bar like
he wants to touch you.

You say something that makes the man step back.

You wipe down the counter, hang up your apron, and grab Namjoon’s arm.

‘I said you were my boyfriend so he’d stop hassling me,’ you tell him, going up on tiptoe to reach
his ear. ‘Just play along for a bit.’
Namjoon, always ready to act like he owns you, slips an arm around your waist, throws the guy a
look.

It’s when you’re out in the cool night air that you say, ‘thanks.’

Like Namjoon’s in a hurry to let you go.

He’s half-drunk, and horny, but he’s not in a hurry to try anything.

‘Come on,’ you say. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

‘Nah, let me walk you home.’

You throw him a surprised look that honestly, makes him feel a little ashamed.

‘You want to walk me home?’

‘It’s late,’ Namjoon shrugs. He laughs, trying to make light of it. ‘It’s what your boyfriend would
do.’

‘You can stop pretending, that guy’s gone.’

‘I don’t want to,’ Namjoon says.

Again, the words hang in the air between you.

You grin at him, teasing. ‘You want to be my boyfriend, Namjoon?’

Namjoon thinks, Yes.

Namjoon shrugs. ‘Don’t you want me?’

You shrug back. ‘Do you want me?’

Namjoon thinks, Yes.

Namjoon says, ‘You’re the one walking around calling me your boyfriend.’

You laugh. ‘How drunk are you, baby? Want to come up?’

With a start Namjoon realises you’re at your dorm.

‘I have my own room,’ you say. There’s a note of uncertainty in your voice now, a quietness now
the night is over.

Namjoon’s never been to your room before.

He follows you up the stairs, waits behind you as you unlock the door and push it open.

Your room is neat, uncluttered for the most part.

‘Hey, you want to watch a movie?’ you ask.

‘Sure,’ Namjoon says.

He watches, a little amazed, as you tie up your hair, get changed into a loose tee and shorts.
You’re unselfconscious about winding down from the day in front of him, and your ease makes
him feel easy too.

‘I have a pair of your sweats,’ you say. You toss them to him.

Namjoon shucks his clothes, pulls on the sweats, looks around for a shirt.

‘You don’t need one, Joon.’

You say, ‘I’d normally take my makeup off now but I know you like it when you make my
mascara run.’

Namjoon leans back against your bed, widens his stance.

You climb into his lap. Your shorts are so short he can see your panties.

Namjoon tugs them aside, presses a knuckle against your cunt.

He groans. ‘You always feel so fucking good.’

‘You too, Joon.’

He’s hardening as you grind against him.

‘Put the movie on,’ Namjoon grunts. He tugs his sweats down, fists his cock. ‘Then come and
warm my cock for a bit.’

You lose your tee as you put the movie on, and when you come back to him he presses his fingers
into your mouth, gentle with your jaw.

‘Suck,’ he says.

Namjoon pulls your shorts and panties down.

‘Let me see.’

Obligingly, you get on all fours on the bed, let him finger you to the opening credits.

Namjoon pushes himself back, spreads his legs.

He positions you on him, and like every time, you take him so well, leaning forward without him
having to ask.

You moan when he fills you, cock snug inside your walls.

‘Don’t move,’ Namjoon warns.

He tugs your bra straps down, cups your breasts.

‘These tits,’ Namjoon tells you, ‘Fill my hands just right.’

You’re quiet save for your moaning.

Namjoon can feel you getting steadily wetter on his cock as he touches your breasts.

His cock’s as hard as he’s ever been.

Harder, as you arch your back to push your tits into his palms.

Harder, as you lean into his neck, cry his name.

‘Stay still,’ Namjoon growls.

‘Joon I’m coming,’ you gasp out.

Namjoon bites into his lip so hard he draws blood as you writhe your pleasure on his cock, cunt
fluttering around his hardness so beautifully he almost gives in and fucks you.

He pinches your hip.

‘I told you not to move, baby,’ he says sternly. ‘Who said you could come on my cock like that?’

‘Couldn’t help it,’ you slur, so fucked out you’d think he’d been fucking you all night instead of
just touching your tits with his cock in you.

Namjoon wraps his arms around you, holding you still.

He’s aching a bit now, he’s been hard for a while. He fucks up into you a bit, just to take the edge
off.

Shit, you’re so wet, and so fucking warm.

You moan everytime he shifts his hips, like every change in position pleasures you.

‘You’re so big, Joon,’ you say, breathy.

Namjoon grinds your ass down into his lap, and you whine. ‘So deep.’

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon agrees.

You’re well into the movie now, though neither of you are watching.

You shift a little, rub the pads of your fingers against your clit, fingers spreading over the base of
his cock.

‘Oh Joon,’ you shiver. ‘I’m gonna come again.’

‘Do what you like,’ Namjoon says, hoarse. ‘Just don’t fucking move.’

Your fingers move faster, drawing circles over your clit.

‘Joon!’

Namjoon feels the gush of your slickness dripping down his balls, and realises he’s coming too,
cock twitching as he spills inside you.

‘Fuck.’

He pulls you under him to fuck you the rest of the way, collapses on you in a sweaty, panting heap.

He’s still hard, sensitive.

‘Stay,’ you moan, muffled against the pillow. ‘Fuck, stay, Joon, don’t come out.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Namjoon agrees. He bites into your shoulder, and you shiver helplessly under him. ‘I
want to come again.’

‘Yeah,’ you agree. You’re most of the way to unconscious now, wiped out by your two orgasms,
whatever the fuck else you got up to today.

Namjoon thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but when he lifts up to take his weight off you, you turn your
head.

‘You promised to stay,’ you say, accusing.

Namjoon doesn’t know why you being cute makes him hard but it does.

Does he need to get his kinks unpicked? Analysed?

I’ll stay as long as you want, he wants to say.

‘Make it worth my while,’ he says.

You smile like you heard his thoughts and not what he actually said.

‘Go on, Joon, fuck me.’

Namjoon circles his hips, thrusts into you with a lazy snap of his pelvis.

You cry out.

He’s sensitive, but the way you cry his name when he’s fucking you like this takes the edge off.

‘One more,’ Namjoon says, turning you over to he can see your face.

‘Give it to me,’ you say, loose, fucked out.

Namjoon rolls his hips into yours, fucks you until you’re screaming. He’s leaked into you so much
by the time he comes that he thinks it’s dry, just the pulsing of his cock.

He’s so fucked out he has no words left, not in his head, nor left unspoken.

He holds you, and sleeps.

***

Namjoon wakes to you stepping back into your room in a towel, hair dripping.

‘I had cum all over me,’ you tell him, almost shy.

‘That’s what you get for being cute,’ Namjoon says, unrepentant.

You catch his eye in the mirror as you start getting dressed.

Namjoon rolls onto his side, arm under his head, to admire your bare pussy as you bend over to pull
your panties on.

‘Stop staring —-‘

‘Stop showing it to me,’ Namjoon retorts.

He throws the covers off, gets up to show you how erect he is.

‘Want some breakfast?’ Namjoon asks, fist curled around his cock.

‘If you make it,’ you say, not quite getting it.

‘I’m making some for you right now,’ Namjoon says, stroking himself.

You’re backed up against the wall, bra half on, looking at him warily.

‘Come on. Get this cum out of me and I’ll get you pancakes,’ Namjoon coaxes.

‘And waffles,’ you bargain.

‘Sure,’ Namjoon says, agreeably.

***

Breakfast at the mall turns into a trip to the bookstore because Namjoon wants to pick up another
book whilst he’s here.

You look through books as he makes his purchase.

‘You going to Mingyu’s party next week?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I can’t, I gotta work,’ you tell him.

‘Come on, it’ll be fun. One night off,’ Namjoon says, coaxing.

‘I can’t. I’m gonna be short on next month’s expenses as it is,’ you tell him.

Namjoon lets out a low whistle. ‘That bad, huh?’

You look at your shoes. ‘Yeah, I don’t want to ask my dad, he’s stressed enough.’

You laugh. ‘I shouldn’t even be in the mall. I have so much work to do.’

You look up at him. ‘This was fun though, I haven’t been out like this in a while.’

‘You can borrow my notes from politics,’ Namjoon offers.

You snort. ‘You’re the one always copying off me!’

Namjoon laughs. ‘I mostly just look down your top.’

You punch him in the arm.

‘Or at your legs,’ Namjoon adds, unrepentant.

He deflects your next blow easily.

‘Come on. I’ll walk you home.’

***

Namjoon watches, vaguely amused, as Hoseok pulls out all the stops to impress a girl.
The amiable nice guy persona. Check.

The cheeky smile. Check.

Then, the kicker, the twist in the tail - a suggestive comment, delivered straight-faced, just to show
he’s not all sunshine.

He’s never seen Hoseok fail when he tries, and sure enough, the girl, initially indifferent, is now
looking for Hoseok’s attention.

Yoongi, beside him, murmurs his approval.

‘Where’s your girl?’ he asks Namjoon.

‘Which one?’ Namjoon asks, unable to resist.

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi says, giving him a look.

Namjoon can see the group of girls by the door looking their way.

He straightens up, sips his drink, flexes a little.

Yoongi sees the direction of his gaze, turns his back on the girls.

‘This asshole schtick,’ Yoongi says. ‘Gets old quick.’

‘I don’t want to pretend to be a good guy and get anyone’s hopes up,’ Namjoon replies.

‘She seems like she’s got her head on right,’ Yoongi comments.

Namjoon laughs, short. ‘It’s not her I’m worried about.’

Yoongi’s looking at him carefully. ‘That’s what I meant, Joon-ah. She’s not the kind of girl who
hurts people on purpose.’

Namjoon changes the subject.

‘You looking to hook-up, Yoongi? White dress has eyes on you.’

‘Fucking always a white dress,’ Yoongi complains, but there’s a spark in his eye. ‘Like they want
to get married or some shit.’

‘I think you’re the one with the marriage kink,’ Namjoon snarks.

‘Shut up. Asshole,’ Yoongi snarls, but he’s already turning, acting like he didn’t know this whole
time that the pretty girl in the white dress has been eyeing him hard.

Namjoon scoffs, leaves him to it.

He has somewhere else to be.

***

Namjoon’d texted you he was gonna come walk you home after work, just so he doesn’t look like
some creeper lurking out here outside the bar.

You come out the back door, a little tired, a little dishevelled.
You smile, and Namjoon’s heart does a dangerous swoop in his chest.

You’re the prettiest thing he’s seen all night.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘I got you a snack.’

You accept the sour candy, pop it straight in your mouth.

‘Ugh,’ teases Namjoon. ‘I’m not gonna kiss you now.’

You shrug, indifferent. ‘I’ll kiss your cock instead. It’s never an ass like you are.’

You slip your hand in his as you walk, casual.

Like it’s not the first time you’ve ever held hands.

Namjoon wants to tell you how pretty he thinks you are.

Instead he asks, ‘What panties are you wearing?’

You say, gently, ‘Shut up, Joon-ah.’

‘Make me.’

You scoff, look up at him.

See all the way through him.

‘You’re cute, Joon.’

You are too, Namjoon thinks.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

 Wedding rings and everything
Chapter Summary

Got an ask on my tumblr from Chantelle about Namjoon and angry sex and this was
born.

Namjoon turns off the car engine, a flick of a switch, and there’s a beat, two, of absolute silence
that you know, you just know doesn’t bode well for you.

Your husband, for all his carelessness with your heart, has never once made you feel physically
unsafe.

Not in all the years you’ve known him.

You’re aware of the size difference between you, how could you not be? It’s evident everyday,
when you have to adjust the front seat after he’s been in the car just so you can reach the pedals,
when you have to grab a stool to get something off a high shelf in the kitchen that Namjoon could
reach effortlessly.

When he’s on top of you, so caught in the throes of his pleasure he forgets not to let you take his
full weight. How he steals your breath in so many ways.

But, truly, your husband’s never been like this before.

He gives you a long look in the dark of the car park, a muscle ticking in his jaw. No sign of the
dimples you love.

Namjoon exits the car, yanks your door open for you. He’s so close he’s crowding you, you have to
turn your head to prevent your face from hitting his broad chest, the way he’s leaning over you.

‘Joon,’ you say, a quiet protest, and he scoffs.

‘Joon,’ he spits. ‘Remember me? Your husband?’

He holds up his hand, platinum wedding band glinting as you head to the entrance to your building.

‘Didn’t you put this ring on my finger, wife?’

His voice has dropped to almost a growl, and your unease ramps up a notch.

‘Answer me,’ he snaps, when you’re in the lift to your floor, glowering at you, so big he takes up
almost an entire side of the tiny lift.

You force yourself to look up at his face.

‘I did,’ you say, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Namjoon watches as you fish your keys out of your bag, try unsuccessfully to unlock the front door
of your apartment.

He moves so quickly you startle, large hand closing over yours to help you turn the key, other hand
braced on the door next to your head to push it open.

You flick the switch, automatically, step out of your shoes, take two tentative steps down the
hallway.

‘Where. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You’re. Going.’

The fury in your husband’s voice makes you tremble.

You’re breathing shallowly, because he’s starting to scare you now.

The crash next to your head makes you jump, scream.

You stare in shock at the dent in the plaster your husband’s made with his fist.

Namjoon, your college fuckbuddy turned new husband, a man who’d rather fuck than talk, has just
punched a hole in the wall of your shared apartment.

You turn to him, shocked into silence.

He takes a step towards you, and you flinch back against the wall.

Namjoon stops dead.

He stares at you, the anger in his face melting into dismay as he studies your expression.

‘Fuck,’ he says, but there’s no heat in his voice now.

‘Fuck, baby, are you scared of me?’

You freeze.

Namjoon drops to his knees in front of you.

‘Shit. I’d never — you know I’d never —‘

He reaches for your hand. ‘I’d never touch you, not like that,’ he says, voice hoarse, shaky.

He nudges his face into your blouse, presses his cheek to your stomach, and when you reach for
him he presses into you eagerly.

‘Tell me to shut up,’ he says, looking up at you. ‘Don’t just put up with it if I’m scaring you, baby.’

‘You weren’t really scaring me,’ you tell him, and he groans.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tells you. ‘I’m fucking sorry.’

He’s nudged your blouse open now, tugged it out of your skirt, pressing kisses to your skin. His
mouth, warm and wet, makes you shiver as his lips travel down your belly, to the band of your
panties.

You reach down to help him unclasp your skirt, but Namjoon, a veteran of getting you out of your
clothes, shakes his head. In a split second he's tugging down your skirt, exposing your underwear,
your bare thighs.
He kisses your core over the cotton of your underwear, and you can feel the warmth of him through
the material. You suck in a breath as his tongue pokes against your clit.

'Take it off, Joon-ah,' you moan.

Namjoon, on his knees, yanks your panties down, seals his mouth over your bare cunt. He doesn't
start slow, just throws your thigh over his shoulder and kisses your cunt like he's starving for it,
tongue delving deep, slurping at your arousal, swallowing audibly.

He's messy, as desperate as he's making you feel, and when you reach down to card your fingers
through his hair, he groans.

He pulls back, eyes hot. 'Pull my hair, baby. Make me eat you ---'

'You like that?' you ask, breathless. Your husband's a sight to behold right now, lips gleaming with
your slick, eyes hooded, hair mussed even though it's been shorter lately.

'Fuck, yeah,' Namjoon grunts. 'Fuck.'

You tug his hair, pull his face between your legs, and Namjoon opens his mouth wide, laps at your
clit. His big hand moves from where he's steadying your thigh over his shoulder, and a moment
later you feel his fingers pressing into you.

'Joon,' you moan.

Namjoon says nothing, concentrating on fucking you with his fingers, licking at your clit,
spreading you open with his other hand.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you come, and Namjoon moans in approval as you buck your
hips into his face.

Your knees weaken, and Namjoon tugs you into his arms.

You're still pulsing around nothing when he pushes you down on your bed, undoes his belt.

You want to watch him undress but he grunts, tugs your hip.

'Turn over, ass up,' he tells you. 'You're gonna get fucked.'

You turn, and Namjoon drops to his knees again, licks a stripe up your cunt.

'Taste so fucking good,' he says, voice low, taut.

He scissors two fingers into you from behind, pulls out, and then he's nudging into you.

He feels fucking huge like this, like you can feel him all way in the back of your throat.

Namjoon groans, long and loud. 'Fuh -- uh -- uck.'

He stays completely still once he's filled you, one hand on your ass, kneading hard.

Then, he pulls out.

You turn your head to look at him in surprise.

He's hard, so hard, cock bobbing as he grasps himself.

'This is for you,' he tells you, voice strained. 'This is how fucking hard I get for you.'

You're not sure where he's going with this.

'You were flirting, weren't you, with Jia's brother, at dinner?'

You try to turn over but he's too quick.

His palm meets your ass in an open handed smack.

You squeak in surprise, try to turn over but he stops you.

'You can make it stop, you know how ---' He's stern, but you know what he's really checking.

You search your memory frantically for the safeword you agreed once when you were both drunk
and horny.

'I know how,' you tell him, and Namjoon studies your face.

He nods like he's satisfied.

He spanks you again, rings cold against the flesh of your backside, and you moan.

'I wasn't.'

Namjoon laughs, darkly. 'Don't lie to me.'

He hits you again, and this time it stings so much you cry out.

You know Namjoon will keep going unless you tell him to stop.

Shit, you don't want him to stop.

Namjoon strokes a finger along your slit, enters you shallowly. You try to push against him but he
pulls his hand away.

'So fucking greedy,' he scoffs.

He's still fisting his cock, and you could cry at how much you want him back inside you.

'Fine,' you say. 'I was flirting, a bit. But you were flirting too!'

For the second time tonight, your husband stops dead.

'What?'

'You were flirting with Jia and that woman with the green dress,' you point out.

You turn over, and for once Namjoon doesn't leer at your tits.

He's staring at your face.

'Did that bother you?' he asks.

You lift up your hand. Your diamond wedding band flashes. 'You put this ring on my finger too.'

For a moment Namjoon gapes at you.

'I don't want to fuck anyone but you,' Namjoon says, finally.

'Same,' you tell him.

Namjoon pulls you on top of him, mouth seeking yours. You can taste yourself on him still.

'Fuck, get inside me, Joon,' you gasp.

Namjoon grasps you tight against his chest, pulls you under him, enters you all the way in one
movement.

'Fuck,' he utters. His hips move, he fucks into you, deep, slow, letting you feel every inch of the
drag of his cock inside you.

You’re still so wet from his mouth and your own arousal the slide is easy, his pelvis grinding
against your clit on every deep thrust.

‘Joon-ah,’ you moan.

‘I’m here,’ he tells you. ‘I’m here, fuck, it’s me.’

You curl an arm around his neck, and he drops his face willingly so you can press kisses to his
cheeks as he fucks you.

‘I’m gonna come,’ he grunts. ‘You feel so good —-‘

You want to tell him it’s ok but he thumbs your clit, plunges in deep, and you moan his name again
as you come. Namjoon picks up the pace, pounding into you hard until he groans and you feel him
filling you with his warmth.

It’s a while before either of you say anything.

Namjoon curls an arm around you, kisses the top of your head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

You run your fingers over his bruised knuckles.

Eventually you say, ‘I was a little scared.’

He sighs. ‘I know. I never want to see that again. Tell me to shut up next time.’

He nuzzles under your ear.

‘You know I’d never hurt you like that, don’t you?’ he asks.

In your heart of hearts you do know.

You want to tell him that, but what comes out when you open your mouth is, ‘are you gonna fix the
wall?’

‘Yeah, promise,’ he says.

He pulls you under him, seals it with a kiss.

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