Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

P L E A S E   D O   N O T   R E P O S T   M Y   S T O R I E S   E L S E W H E R E   W I T H O U T   M Y   P E R M I S S I O N  !!

“It’s time I lost my virginity,” Yoonji announces calmly to her own reflection, washing her hands in the stinky bathroom of their favorite club.

“Fuck, there’s no toilet paper. Give me a tissue,” her best friend Jimin calls from one of the filthy pink stalls. “Did you say something?”

She rummages through Jimin’s see-through plastic backpack for a pack of paper tissues. “Open the door,” Yoonji raps her knuckles once on the door of the stall, tissues in hand. “Here you go. And I said I don’t wanna be a virgin anymore.”

Park Jimin, her silky brown hair tucked behind her ears and tumbling to the side of her face, stands in that awkward half-crouch over the dubious toilet, black lace panties around her knees, skirt hiked up around her waist.

"Wow. Nice to see there's at least something you can't make look good," Yoonji comments.

"Fuck you," Jimin replies with a dazzling smile, standing up, pulling up her underwear, and smoothing her blood red a-line skirt back into place. "So," she continues conversationally as she flushes, "What's this about losing your virginity?"

"I don't know. I'm kinda sick and tired of it, I guess. Just want it out of the way," Yoonji replies, walking back to the mirror to apply chapstick and straighten the pins on her black leather jacket. "Like, I don't mean to succumb to stupid societal norms, but I feel like, you know... I’m 21. At this age it's gonna become the focal point in any potential relationship, which sounds exhausting and... I don't know... I'm just over it, I guess. It’s not a big deal."

"Yeah," Jimin nods thoughtfully. "That makes sense. So who are you gonna do it with? Are you just gonna pick up someone here? Wait, are you gonna do it tonight?"

Yoonji looks at her with an expression that would leave anyone else properly shamed and cowering, but Jimin is entirely unfazed. "Of course not. I need to give it some thought."

"Why not? Have a few drinks, pick up a cute guy, take him home, get him to fuck your brains out, and voila - mission accomplished."

"Because. I want it to be good," Yoonji answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Jimin snorts, eyes trained on the smudgy mirror where she seems to be completely reapplying her entire makeup. When Yoonji doesn't say anything, she looks at her with wide eyes, mascara wand halfway to her face.

"Oh shit, you're serious? Yoonji, literally everyone's first time sucks. My first time, he tried so hard to be gentle and draw it out and make it good for me and all I could think about was when the fuck are you going to come already because I'm bored out of my mind and I need this to be over."

"Well," Yoonji looks at her defiantly, "I don't want that. I want someone who knows what he's doing and who can make me feel good."

"Hmmm, good luck with that," Jimin mumbles, a thoughtful expression on her face. She loops her arm through Yoonji's, makeup bag finally back in her backpack, and follows her out into the club. "It can't be anyone too hot," she adds, louder now, to be heard over the music.

"Why not?” Yoonji protests, a little offended. “I could totally get a hot guy to fuck me."

"No, it's not that," Jimin shakes her head. "You could. But trust me, hot guys are the worst in bed. Remember when I dated that rich dude for a minute?"

Yoonji remembers. The guy was way too clean cut for her taste, with his family money and business school and new car, but he was undeniably scorching hot.

"He was so shit in bed..." Jimin actually shudders at the memory. "Like, he genuinely thought that it was enough that he looked like that, and that he didn't need to do anything else. That's why I dumped him after like three weeks. I swear, getting off by myself was so much less work. And like, even Jungkookie wasn’t that good when we first started dating... It took me ages to teach him what I like," she shakes her head in exasperation. "No, what you need is someone who is hot, but doesn't really know it. Guys who think you're out of their league try extra hard to make it good for you."

“Hmmm, okay, that makes sense. Where do I find one of those?” she asks, but her question is drowned out by the obnoxious bass of some edm track. It’s a question for another day.

She sighs and gives up, making her way through the crowd to follow after Jimin.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, bitch!” a visibly drunk guy yells at her when she pushes past him.

“Not a bitch,” she shoots back. “A cunt,” she correcs and points to the pin on her leather jacket with a saccharine smile.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin bursts out without preamble a couple of days later and throws herself next to Yoonji. The frame of her ugly dorm bed creaks suspiciously.

“What the fuck, Jimin,” Yoonji presses a hand to her chest. “Don’t fucking do that, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she huffs. “And who’s Kim Namjoon?”

“That,” Jimin announces with a smug smile, “is who you’re gonna lose your virginity to.”

Hmmm. Kim Namjoon. Yoonji scrunches her nose, trying to remember where she knows him from. The name definitely sounds familiar.

“Isn’t that the noodly blond nerd in our music production class?”

“Yup,” Jimin nods, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“Mmmm, wait a minute.” Yoonji thinks she remembers Jimin talking about him at some point, but sometimes it’s hard to keep track of all of her friend’s hook-ups. “You fucked him that one time, right?”

“Yeah, after that Halloween party. Best sex of my life.”

“Seriously?” she raises her eyebrows incredulously. Kim Namjoon is cute enough, tall and lean, amazing lips. But he’s got that whole nerdy thing going on, with his cardigans and glasses, and he does not look like the best sex of anyone’s life, let alone Jimin’s.

“Totally. He knows what he’s doing, trust me. I was so glad I picked him up,” Jimin turns over to lay on her back, her hair spread around her head like a halo. “Plus, he has a huge crush on you so that’s perfect,” she adds as an afterthought. As if this were common knowledge.

“What?” Yoonji snorts. “He does not have a crush on me. We don’t even know each other.”

Jimin looks at her, a little endeared, a little exasperated – an expression that says that although Yoonji’s reaction is annoying, it was also very much expected of her.

“Oh my god, Yoonji. If you stopped scowling for once and paid attention you’d see. He thinks the sun shines out of your ass. He’s always staring at you. I’m surprised he doesn’t start taking notes when you speak in class. Plus, after we had sex, he asked about you. It was cute. Totally tactless and borderline offensive to yours truly, because seriously, I hadn’t even put my panties back on yet. But still, cute.”

“Huh,” Yoonji frowns. Kim Namjoon. They don’t say anything else, and Jimin changes the subject, but damn it if Yoonji doesn’t catch her mind wandering back to the cute blond string bean dude later.

Now that Jimin has planted the seed in her head, it’s like suddenly Namjoon starts popping up everywhere. Of course, he’s at school where he’s supposed to be. But she also keeps running into him all over campus. Yoonji doesn’t normally pay attention to other people in her classes much – she’s got laser focus on her own work, and it usually makes her the most successful and least approachable person in any class she attends. Now that she’s got him on her radar though, she has to admit that this Namjoon person does actually make pretty good contributions to every discussion he takes part in. He’s eloquent, and self-assured, and, unlike most of these other fakers, he seems to know his shit. It’s kinda hot, if she’s being honest. It doesn’t hurt that, now that Jimin’s told her about it, she catches him staring at her all the time. It’s cute. Whenever she shows up, he checks her out head to toe. He seems awfully embarrassed about it, but like he can’t help himself. She tries bending over in front of him once to tie her shoe laces. When she turns around with an expression of fake innocence, he looks like he’s going to keel over and die. Or grab her and fuck her senseless. Definitely one of the two.

Well. Looks like Jimin was right. Yoonji thinks about it a lot.

More than she cares to admit.

So when she spots Kim Namjoon at Hoseok’s party, it seems like the perfect moment to take things into her own hands.

Yoonji is not much of a talker, but when she does speak, she does so with a bluntness that a lot of people find unsettling. Now, tongue loose with a couple of drinks, her last shred of inhibition is gone.

It doesn’t hurt that Namjoon is looking delicious, in a simple black tee and skinnies, hair all fluffy and in contrast with his thick-rimmed black glasses. He’s holding a cup, and she notices that he has beautiful hands. For an instant she wonders what they would feel like cupping her tiny breasts. Roaming under her pink plaid skirt. The thought sets off a warm tingle between her legs.

Without giving herself time to think about it or change her mind, she strides over to where he’s standing and talking to Hobi.

“Hey Yoonji, baby! You’re here,” Hobi exclaims and pulls her in for a tight hug.

“Hey Seok. Next time you call me baby, I’m gonna kick you in the nuts.” Hoseok laughs, bright and loud, but they’ve been close friends for years, and he knows she would definitely do it.

She turns to Namjoon. “Can I talk to you?”

“Uhm, sure?” he looks surprised. Of course he would be, she doesn’t remember that they’ve ever exchanged anything other than a hello.

“Cool. Come on,” she grabs him by the hand – relishing how soft and warm it is – and pulls him away from the crowd.

Of course, the unspoken rule is that the host’s room is off limits, but she doesn’t intend to actually do anything tonight, just talk to Namjoon. So she doesn’t feel guilty when she pulls him into the little hall, and then through the door into the darkness of Hobi’s bedroom. She closes the door behind them and turns on the bedside lamp.

“Sit,” she motions to the neatly made bed. Namjoon looks utterly confused, but does as he is told.

The dim light of the lamp is casting a golden glow over his skin. He’s pretty, she realizes with a start. Yoonji has never been one to thirst after boys for their physical appearance. All her life she’s fallen in love quietly, with her best friends, and then kept it to herself, because honestly – what words or actions can even carry the weight of such all-encompassing feelings? She hasn’t really wanted anyone ever since at the end of high school Hobi told her he was gay. It hurt at first, knowing nothing can or will ever come of her feelings, but then over the last couple of years, all that longing gradually transformed into a tenderness that she rarely shows, but he knows is there. Not a trace of desire left.

Now Namjoon is looking at her, and he’s so fucking tall that he barely has to raise his eyes to where she’s standing, even though he’s sitting down. And maybe it’s just Jimin giving her ideas, or maybe it’s the alcohol, or her desire to get this whole virginity business over and done with. Or maybe it’s the way his t-shirt is stretched over his shoulders and the way he’s looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars. Whatever it is, Yoonji is startled to realize she actually wants this. Wants him. Fuck, what if Jimin’s got it all wrong, and he doesn’t like me at all?

Well, she’s here now, and he’s waiting for her to say something, so there’s no turning back.

“Hey, so. You like me, right?” she asks. No point beating around the bush.

“Uh, yeah. You’re cool,” he starts, a touch of blush starting in his cheeks.

“No, no, no,” she shakes her head impatiently, interrupting him. “I mean like, you’re attracted to me?”

He stares at her for a moment, mouth a little open. “I’ve seen you stare at me. My lips. My legs and ass. Not subtle, dude.”

Namjoon looks like he really wants the earth to swallow him. “Look, I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to stare, I just really… I’m sorry if you felt like I was… I don’t know, objectifying you. I just...”

“Wanna have sex with me?” she cuts him off, loud and clear. He stops mid-sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, do you want to have sex with me?”

He pauses, visibly nervous, eyes bugging out. “Is this a trick question?”

She chuckles a little despite herself. “No. It’s not.”

He still looks wary. Yoonji sighs and leans against the wall. “Okay, look. I’ve never had sex with anyone. And I don’t know, I wanna finally do it. So I thought I could do it with you. If you’re interested, that is.”

Namjoon is still staring at her, and she wonders if she’s broken him somehow, because he’s not saying anything.

“So?”

“I… I’m processing what you said. And I’m trying to figure out how to answer and sound the least amount of assholish.”

She huffs out a long breath. “Just say yes or no. We don’t have to make this into a big deal. Because it’s not.”

“Yes,” he blurts out before she’s done speaking. “Of course I’m interested.” There’s still uncertainty in his face, but he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t falter.

“Good,” she nods, satisfied. “I have a request, though.”

“You mean, apart from asking me to sleep with you?” he asks with a small cheeky smile, obviously starting to recover from the confusion.

“Yes. Well, I mean it’s about that. I want you to make it good for me. Can you do that?”

He leans back on his hands, looks at her where she’s standing against the wall. It’s bolder than before, now that he probably feels like he has permission to do it. He bites his lip a little, eyes catching at her thighs in her short skirt.

“I think so… I’d like to try.” When he meets her eye, the shy nerd is still there, but there’s something else present, something more self-assured, and she feels heat wash over her.

“Do you… Did you want to do it now?” he asks.

“No,” she shakes her head, peeling herself off the wall. “But I think we should kiss,” she declares quietly, matter-of-factly, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. “You know, just to make sure our chemistry isn’t terrible, or whatever.”

She’s full of shit. She never planned for a kiss tonight, never planned for anything apart from maybe asking him about it, and that’s a big maybe. But he’s looking at her with his puffy lower lip caught between beautiful white teeth, and she wants that to be her, feels the physical need to find out what it feels like to bite at those delicious lips.

She’s a little nervous and tries hard not to show it as she walks up to him. He doesn’t get up, but he takes her by the hand when she comes closer, and pulls her in between his legs.

“Hi,” he says quietly, still holding her forefinger gently, his eyes full of something ridiculously close to adoration.

“Hi,” she replies, voice the slightest whisper. Standing there in front of him, Yoonji leans in tentatively. Slowly, as if afraid that he might scare her away, Namjoon reaches up toward her. He pauses, hand uncertain about whether it’s allowed to touch, brown eyes asking for permission. Without thinking, she gives it with an almost imperceptible nod. It’s stupid, but she feels like she’s falling forward, into him. Ever so slowly, his long fingers reach up and tuck a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. The gesture is tender, and something inside her chest takes flight with it. She’s not sure what to do with all this, feeling a little overwhelmed, so she leans the rest of the way in, which, admittedly, is not much, because – god, he’s tall – cups one clean shaven cheek in her hand, and lets her lips drop down to his. It’s gentle and dry, just testing the waters, nothing but the promise of a touch. His lips are soft like cotton candy, and they feel so nice against her own, so she kisses him again, a tiny, butterfly thing, her other hand coming up to hold his face too.

“Can I… Is this okay?” he murmurs quietly, warm hands hovering over the backs of her legs, just above the knee. The look in his eyes is imploring and honest.

Yoonji scoffs. “I just asked you to have sex with me. Yeah, you can touch me.”

He shrugs, quiet. “It’s still important to ask. People can change their minds, you know. You know you can change your mind, right?”

“Okay,” she nods simply. Right now, as his large palms settle on the backs of her thighs, changing her mind is the last thing she wants. But it’s still a good thing to hear. Yoonji has always been far from helpless – a spiteful alley cat. But she’s not stupid. She knows what people are capable of doing. She knows that a tiny thing like her could bite and scratch and spit fire all she wants, but a man could still hurt her. She hates knowing that, but it’s there.

But now, here, with this pretty boy, she feels safe. The way he touches her delicately, with reverence, like she’s something precious. She likes it. When she leans in for the third kiss, she stops just shy of touching. Like magic, his lips part in anticipation under the caress of her breath, his eyes fall shut. Yoonji tilts her head, her own mouth open. This time the press of her lips is firmer and her tongue, curious about the taste of him, flickers across his bottom lip. She can hear his breath hitch in his throat, hands gripping a little harder at the soft flesh of her legs, and then he’s opening his mouth to her, sweet and wet and intoxicating. His tongue is a teasing presence, giving her tiny kitten licks and retreating maddeningly, making her want to go deeper, until he surrenders all that he’s got to her. When he pulls away for air, tugging her lower lip with his teeth, Yoonji realizes, somewhat embarrassed, that she’s chasing after his mouth.

He starts to smile, opens his mouth, maybe for a smartass comment, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t want to hear anything, waste time on anything when they could be kissing, so without a word of preamble, she plants her knees on either side of him, straddles him and braces one hand on his shoulder, the other already guiding his face into another kiss. This time, there’s nothing tentative or shy about the way she crashes her mouth into his, open and eager, the way she licks into his mouth, tongue and lips and teeth and so much hunger for the taste of him. His hands find her thighs again, this time a little higher up, and it feels so good that she moans quietly into his open mouth, whole body arcing into him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against her lips. “Are you sure you’re a virgin?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer, just kisses her like he’s drinking from her, her mouth full of sweet nectar, and strokes her legs with firm pressure that makes wetness pool in her panties. Without thinking, she lowers herself to sit in his lap. When she grinds down experimentally, the rough fabric of his jeans offers relief that has her groaning in his mouth. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she has a fleeting thought that maybe this is embarrassing – the fact that she blindsided this boy, practically dragged him into Hobi’s bedroom, and is now rubbing her wet underwear all over his clothes shamelessly. But the way he’s kissing her is making her feel so good she can’t find it in her to care as she continues to move in tight circles.

His hands move up, up, up until they’re sliding under her skirt to grab at her ass, squeezing and spreading it a little. The pull on both her holes is delicious in a way she’s never felt before. She breaks the kiss and looks down, where she’s riding the prominent bulge in his pants. Her forehead drops against his, involuntary little gasps falling off her lips like ripe fruit to fill the space hollowed out between the curves of their bodies.

“God, Yoonji, you’re so fucking cute,” he huffs out fondly. Yoonji wants to tell him to shut the fuck up. Maybe get up and leave. Because who does he think he is, calling her cute. But it feels so good, so tingly and wet. His hands grip her tighter, spread her wider, and he starts rutting up into her. Her underwear has shifted a little from the frantic movements, the seam digging into her folds on one side, just barely teasing the side of her clit. She should probably adjust them – she’s leaving her juices all over the front of his jeans, which could potentially be pretty awkward once she gets up off his lap. Her skirt has ridden up, revealing her bare thighs, and one of his hands slides to the front to lift it all the way up. Their gasps mingle as they both watch. It’s hot, seeing the delicate cotton of her pink and white striped panties, soaked and twisted, against the black denim of his tight jeans. It’s even hotter when she hears how his breath catches at the sight. So close she can almost taste it, her movements stutter, and she loses coordination. But he takes over, pushes up into her, keeps her hips moving effortlessly. She feels tiny, relishes the feeling of being manhandled, the almost guilty, helpless loss of control. She grabs onto his hair hard enough to hurt, unable to move, lips open without a sound. Don’t stop don’t stop, everything inside her screams but she can’t form words. Like he can hear her anyway, he keeps going, keeps up the pace even as she starts falling apart in his arms.

Yoonji is no stranger to orgasms. When you’re notoriously single for years, you learn to make yourself feel good. But this one takes her by surprise – steals the air right out from her lungs and makes her whole body shudder almost violently. There’s something about someone else holding the reins, having control of her pleasure that makes her lose herself, forget her own name and everything else but the feeling spilling over from her core.

Still panting hard, she slumps against him as she comes down, arms around his neck, forehead against forehead. Her legs feel like jelly. Through the post-orgasmic haze, she feels the hard outline of his dick still digging into her.

“D’you… You want me to do something about that?” she gestures vaguely downwards, words rolling around her mouth difficult to get out.

Namjoon chuckles softly. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. Really, she offered out of courtesy, but truth be told, she feels too languid and sated and she’s glad she doesn’t have to face the intricacies of handling a dick right now.

“Can I… Can I kiss you again?” he asks, his voice quiet and warm like honey. She just nods, not trusting herself to speak just yet.

The tenderness of his kiss catches her off guard. It’s quick and sweet, just a soft press of his lips, and a fond brush of his nose against hers.

“So.” He’s whispering, and she enjoys the way his voice feels almost like physical touch on the side of her neck. “Do I get to see you again, or was this it?”

Lazy like a kitten, Yoonji stretches out in his lap.

“You’ll see me again. Give me your phone.” She types in her number quickly. “Here. Text me so I have yours.”

More self-assured than she feels, she gets up, smooths down her skirt, readjusts her panties.

“See you soon, Namjoon,” she calls from the doorway. As she shuts it behind her, she can see him flopping backward onto the bed.

Chapter Text

Yoonji

Condom size?

And do you have any preferences re: brand, texture etc

i hope you don’t need the ones for premature ejaculators

Namjoon

lmao hopefully NO

no preferences

regular size

but I can get the condoms?

Yoonji

Nope

No offense

But I know guys carry condoms in their wallets for ages

I’d rather not risk it

You’re cute

But I don’t wanna have your babies

OR your chlamydia

Namjoon

Lol I don’t have chlamydia

but fair enough

Yoonji

Friday night, my place?

Namjoon

Okay

Can I take you out for a meal or coffee first?

Yoonji

Fuck off

This is not a date Namjoon

If you’re not comfortable with just casually taking away my purity

and ushering me into womanhood

pls say so now

Namjoon

No, we’re good

i’m okay with debauching virgins

Text me the address

–

Jimin

Hey

Break a leg tonight

OR BETTER YET

Your hymen

Yoonji

Huh

you’ve really been waiting all week to say that

Yoonji doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Honestly, she doesn’t. But it still happens.

It’s not her fault. That’s just what her body does when she’s tense. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone, but by the time Friday rolls around, she’s a ball of nerves.

Her dorm room is mess-free, Tae has been expedited to her boyfriend’s place. The bag of assorted condoms and lubes and even a vibrating cockring is ready on the bedside table (she stood and stared at it and turned it over in her hands and then finally tossed it in the shopping basket, almost immediately wanting to go back and return it). Now there’s nothing to do but wait for Namjoon. So she curls up on her bed and waits.

When she blinks her eyes open, the room is bathed in darkness. The only light is coming from the huge, coin-like moon outside her window. Her body feels pleasantly heavy, encased in her ripped skinnies and a comfy t-shirt. Her eyes are starting to drift closed again when she hears a knock from the door. Shit. That must be what woke her up in the first place.

Stretching and yawning, she takes her time getting up and padding to the door. Namjoon is standing in front of her apartment, bundled up in a scarf and a bulky jacket against the autumn chill. The jarring hallway light reflects off his glasses.

He takes her in, head to toe. Yoonji hasn’t looked in the mirror, but she can take a pretty good guess at what she looks like – crumpled t-shirt, hair sticking up every which way, probably a pillow crease or two on her cheeks. Definitely not ideal, but what the hell. Namjoon can just deal with it. Isn’t he supposed to have a crush on her anyway?

“Did I get the time wrong?” he asks. The confusion is a cute look on him.

He can’t seriously expect her to speak just yet. She literally just woke up. So she presses a finger to her lips to indicate that he should shut up and steps out barefoot into the hall to take his hand and lead him inside. She hopes his legs are warmer than his icy fingers, because her toes are going to need warming up.

Without turning the lamp on, she closes the door behind them and hears him toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his coat. She takes it from him and throws it carelessly over a chair.

He hesitates, unsure of what to do. Yoonji is still drowsy and can’t be bothered to think about the protocol for these situations, so she leads him to the bed, turns up the covers and crawls in.

Namjoon settles in behind her, fully dressed. His clothes and fingers and cheeks are still cold from the outside, but for once, she doesn’t mind, still flushed from her nap. She sighs and curves into his body. He drapes a heavy arm over her middle, and she snuggles closer.

And sure, she doesn’t mean to. This time she really, really doesn’t. But fuck it if Yoonji doesn’t doze off again.

When she blinks her bleary eyes open, the first thing that registers is the solid warmth of Namjoon’s body against her own. The second is his deep, even breathing. He fell asleep too, she realizes.

She turns around in his arms and faces him. The light coming from the outside gives his face a glow that, if Yoonji were more poetic, she might call ethereal. He really is kinda beautiful – she doesn’t mind admitting, here, in the safe darkness.

Pushing up on one elbow, she hovers over him.

“Hey. Joon,” she murmurs softly. Her lips come down to kiss one of his puffy cheeks. “Wake up.”

This time the kiss lands on his eyelid. When his eyes flutter open, the dark smattering of his eyelashes casts a pretty shadow over his cheekbones.

Yoonji knows that she was the one who woke him up, but she still feels a little frozen in place, a little caught unprepared under his gaze. He hums, a hedonistic, deeply pleased sound, so lazy and content. Full and rich and honeyed like a warm, ripe peach. His fingers come gently up to her cheek.

It’s a sleepy, smiley kiss when he lifts up his head and presses his lips against hers. Every touch is slow like molasses, still wrapped up in soft, feathery drowsiness.

It’s just gravity, Yoonji reasons. Just laziness, that makes her sway into him, that has her falling into the next kiss and the one after that. (they’re just as good as she remembers just as sweet just as soft just as hungry his lips his tongue her fingers in his hair the week has been too fucking long and now she’s finally kissing him again)

His hands glide down to grip her waist, and instead of feeling nervous, all the tension seeps out of her like air out of a balloon and she feels steady. Anchored.

It’s just convenience, just a matter of being comfortable when she slings a leg over him. When she lets him pull her all the way up into his lap, as if she were light as air.

Maybe there’s something wrong with her. Maybe she’s having a stroke or an out of body experience or a really vivid dream. Because she doesn’t think about anything, can’t process anything but these sharp fragments of reality. Everything is broken and splintered like one of those weird paintings that Tae is always dragging her to see in the museum. The swell of Namjoon’s Cupid’s bow between her teeth. The slow drag of his tongue on her neck. The gentle bite he leaves on her shoulder. The fire. God, the fire. Igniting again, somewhere deep and low inside of her.

His fingers are digging into the soft flesh of her waist, skimming over bare skin where her t-shirt has ridden up. Oh. What an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? He groans when she breaks the kiss and sits up to whip off her t-shirt and toss it somewhere to the side. For a second, she just sits there, eyes roaming along the lines of his body sprawled under her, before they meet his gaze. Even in the dark she can see the way he’s looking at her, drinking her in, like he’s drawing her or trying to memorize her.

One of his hands reaches up. A thumb traces the shape of her lips gently, and she lets them fall open. She feels far more naked than she really is, utterly exposed in her bra and jeans. It’s a little scary. Something small inside of her wants to flinch away, hide. She doesn’t give into it. Just stares into his eyes with a lot of heat and a little defiance, sits up a little straighter, lets her palms fall to his hips.

His hand drifts lower, strokes down her throat, pressing against the crook between her neck and her collar bone. Over the meager swell of her breast. Across her ribs (it almost tickles, almost has her pulling away but she resists).

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters with reverence.

Is she? Her nose almost scrunches at the thought. It’s not something that she ever thinks of herself as: beautiful. She thinks of her own body mostly in utilitarian terms: as tired or hungry or horny. A bundle of needs to be taken care of. She thinks of it as capable sometimes – on rare occasions when she surprises even herself with some sort of a physical achievement – like when her team used to win basketball cups in high school, or that one time Jimin taught her one of her choreos. She thinks of it as an extension of her personality – jagged and full of sharp edges to protect all the gooeyness she doesn’t really let anyone see.

Sometimes, when her hair looks particularly good or her pale cheeks get a flush from the frosty winter air, she thinks of herself as cute – although she’d rather die than say that out loud.

But no. Yoonji definitely doesn’t look at her small mouth and her thick eyebrows and wide-set eyes and non-existent breasts and boyish hips and ever think – wow, I’m beautiful.

Not that she actively dislikes herself, or doesn’t think she looks kinda okay. She just doesn’t have that kind of relationship with her own body, that effortless physicality and femininity that comes natural to someone like Jimin.

She’s just… Just Yoonji. Just bony knees, and a tummy that’s a little too soft, and hands that are a little too big.

But Namjoon doesn’t look like that’s what he sees. Namjoon looks like he really does see someone beautiful. His hands settle on the tops of her thighs, thumbs long enough that they’re almost grazing the inseams of her jeans (just a little more just a little further what if i shift my legs a little maybe?).

“Jesus fuck, you’re sappy,” she smirks and tugs up the hem of his sweater and t-shirt both. She can hear his chuckle, muffled by the layers of fabric as he sits up to pull them both off in one go. And then he’s shirtless before her, a flat belly and strong chest and planes of smooth skin. She can tell by the moonlight that it’s darker than hers, and the contrast between them where they touch has her enthralled.

She presses up against him experimentally. It’s a new feeling, one she thinks she could get used to. Basking in someone else’s warmth like this. Feeling with more than just her fingertips. Bare arms around her, palms splayed on her back. The heat of Namjoon’s chest against her own. Wet, open kisses trailing down her neck, each one painting her body with lust.

He pauses and looks up at her when he reaches the strap of her bra, hooks it with a finger.

“Can I?”

She nods.

“Look, Yoonji, I need you to talk to me, okay? If you don’t want something. Or don’t like something I do. Or you want me to stop. I need to know you will tell me.”

His eyes are earnest and sweet and Yoonji feels more called out than he probably knows. Because, if he hadn’t said this, if he wasn’t going out of his way to make sure she’s comfortable and safe around him, she’s not entirely sure she would say something. It’s a shameful thought, but she wills herself to look at it anyway.

It’s so hard sometimes, even for her, with her attitude, to speak up. To be clear even just with herself about what she wants and doesn’t want. A whole lifetime of “be a good girl” and “don’t be difficult” to overcome.

“I’ll tell you,” she promises the both of them.

“Good,” he says, serious but satisfied. Then he’s kissing her again, nipping at her lips until she opens her mouth. His hands come up to cup her face, guiding her, kisses so deep and firm that she’s feeling a little lost in them. For a few moments, she forgets to do anything but let herself be kissed so thoroughly she’s left breathless.

Then she remembers she’s allowed to touch too. Her hand reaches up, two fingers tracing the outline of their kiss, as if she needs to confirm it’s real. She swallows his moan at the intrusion. He flicks his tongue at her fingertip, and it’s exciting, like she’s been caught doing something secretive. She dips the fingers tentatively into his mouth, and feels it all, feels the slick plumpness of his lips, the slide of their tongues. It’s hot. She runs the slippery fingertips down, and lets them drop to his nipple on a whim. It grows hard under her touch.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breaking the kiss. It’s heady, this power they have over each other: if she touches him just right, he will gasp her name. If he kisses her like she wants him to, desire will zing harder down her spine. Suddenly she wants, needs to know: what are all the ways they can make each other whine and beg and fall apart?

Namjoon’s lips trail lower, down her chin, her jaw, her neck. He worries every spot with sweet licks and sucks until she’s writhing in his lap. His hands slip her bra straps off her shoulders, and one slides down her back to unhook it. She lets it drop, a little cold and a little shy, but then he’s scooping her up in his arms again, tongue drawing the lines of her collar bones. With every move and shift her bare nipples brush against his chest, and she wants to scream for a firmer touch. She lifts up on her knees, her breasts directly in front of his face. It’s probably a little heavy handed as far as cues go, but Yoonji’s never been one for patience or subtlety, and he was heading in that direction anyway.

She surprises even herself with a throaty moan when his lips finally close over one small breast. Her arms wrap around his head on an instinct, fingers playing with the silky strands of his hair almost unknowingly. He doesn’t tease. His tongue is hard and relentless against her nipple. She feels every circle and flick twice: on her breast first, then its echo between her legs. Well, fuck Kim Namjoon’s fucking height, because when she tries to grind down on something, anything, there’s nothing underneath her.

He catches the almost imperceptible movement though, recognizes her intention, and flips them over easily. Yoonji might think about it later, analyze it and wonder what it’s about, the jolt of excitement that courses through her every time she feels small and helpless with him. But not now. Not now when his mouth is back on her breasts. Not now when his fingers are dipping between her legs to cup her over her jeans.

She arches into the touch, but it’s not nearly enough, so she slips her own hands between their bodies to unbutton them. He takes over, hands much steadier than hers when he works the buttons one by one and stops, maddeningly, without undressing her. Her knuckles are probably white from how hard she’s gripping the sheets, aching to be touched.

Namjoon, however, seems completely unconcerned with the little bucks of her hips as he shifts lower to plant dirty, open-mouthed kisses down her ribs; her tickly sides; the dip of her bellybutton.

Lower. A lick along her hip bone. (not low enough)

Lower. Along the edge of her waistband. (not low enough)

Lower. Lower. Please, just a little lower.

She could almost thank him when he has the mercy to pull her pants down. In retrospect, maybe skinny jeans weren’t the best choice for this, she thinks to herself grudgingly, impatient to be rid of them. But Namjoon doesn’t rush it, just wiggles them down unhurriedly, kissing a dewy, tingly path down her legs as he takes them off slowly.

Patiently, as if they have all the time in the world (as if Yoonji isn’t burning up), he kisses her bony ankle. Runs his tongue up to her knee. Nuzzles at the inside of her thigh. One after the other, sloppy kisses bloom up her legs like wild flowers.

His hands come up to rest under her ass, kneading at it almost lazily. His mouth and teeth nip and scrape at the soft, sensitive skin all the way up to her panties. His tongue traces at the seam, rounding the curve of her thighs, breath ticklish. She feels vaguely embarrassed, a small coil of humiliation in anticipation of the moment he touches her and feels just how soaked she is.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs right into the damp patch on her panties with a tiny flick of his tongue. Yoonji wants to sink down into the matress, and, if possible, lower, deep into the cold hard ground. So not only is she dripping wet, apparently it has a discernible scent.

Namjoon must feel her stiffen, because he kisses the top of her mound and adds soothingly “Shhh, it’s good.” His mouth opens and presses lightly against the soft cotton. “So good.” A tease of his tongue. “You’re so pretty, Yoonji.” Its pointed tip dips into the top of her crease. “All of you so beautiful.”

Yoonji’s chest is heaving with harsh inhales now. Embarrassment be damned, she needs more than these fleeting touches. She can hear blood whooshing in her ears, her center throbbing while Namjoon teases everywhere around it, nothing but his hot breath brushing against her clit.

She’s squirming, whole body focused on the sole aim of getting his tongue to the right spot. When his mouth moves away completely, she feels like she could cry. Her hands knot in his hair, grabbing hard, determined to steer him the right way (he knows, the bastard knows, he’s playing with her on purpose). But before she has the courage to actually do it, Namjoon just hooks her panties with a finger, shoves them unceremoniously to the side, and finally latches his mouth right over her throbbing core.

“Oh god,” Yoonji mutters, whiny and low, then shuts her mouth closed. It’s so much, torture and relief all rolled into one, that Yoonji’s knees ache to press together. She wills them further apart, lets them fall either side to the bed, until she’s spread all the way open. Namjoon notices, hums against her clit, the hand on her ass stroking and squeezing in reassurance.

Namjoon eats her out the same way he kisses her: slow and thorough and unpredictable. It’s not as tight as she needs it to be – the edge of her panties coming in the way, so after a few moments, her impatience takes over again, and she lifts her hips to shimmy out of them.

He stares in wonder at her smooth, hairless mound. It was a point of worry earlier in the day as she contemplated the dark curls between her legs. She knows Jimin sometimes goes out of her way, trims and styles them into cute designs like a heart or an arrow. But that’s very much not Yoonji’s style. She went back and forth between a few different options until she finally got tired of thinking and shaved it all off. She enjoyed the silky feeling of her skin afterwards, and, judging by the way he runs his entire palm over it gently, so does Namjoon.

When he lowers his body between her legs again, he hooks them over his shoulders and huffs out a happy little sigh at the first lick like she’s dripping with honey. Yoonji cranes her neck but only sees the mop of his blond hair, so she lets her head flop back onto the bed again.

“You can watch, you know,” he murmurs, warm lips brushing deliciously against her flesh when he speaks. “If you want to.”

For the millionth time tonight, she feels exposed, like he notices every little thing she does, every little way her body betrays her wants and intentions. She lifts herself up on her elbows and looks down. Namjoon is grasping her thighs, nestled between them like he couldn’t think of a better place in the world to be. His eyes looking up at her are ablaze as his fingers spread her folds. He sucks at her clit eagerly, tongue alternating between tight twirls and fat, blunt licks. Yoonji’s hands shake under her, barely keeping her up.

From where she’s propped up, she sees when his hand slithers down to unbutton his own jeans. The movement draws her attention to the way his hips are rocking lightly, rhythmically into the mattress. The thought of this turning him on so much has her biting her lip against a loud moan.

Delicious pressure ebbs and flows in the pit of her belly, almost overflowing when he digs his tongue deep inside her just once, experimentally.

“Oh fuck, Joon, more,” she croaks out, the needy voice that comes out of her mouth sounding foreign to her own ears.

Namjoon presses one last feather-light kiss to he inside of her legs, then has the gall to sit up. She blinks up at him, mind blanking as to what the fuck he’s doing.

“Condom?” he asks with a cocky grin. “Or do you want the dubious one from my wallet?”

Oh. Right.

“The bag on the bedside table,” she points.

He raises an eyebrow when he takes in the heap of products in the bag, but thankfully doesn’t comment on it, just grabs and opens a random box of condoms. He disposes of his own jeans and underwear quickly, and then he’s kneeling between her legs, tearing the crinkly packet open. Yoonji’s not that innocent, has seen a couple of dicks up close before. Gave a few lackluster, utterly forgettable handjobs – mostly to see what all the fuss was about and to put a stop to some rather underwhelming fumbling and pawing under her skirt. Each experience left her thoroughly deflated.

But now, looking at Namjoon’s broad chest, his lean, muscled thighs, the flex of his biceps as he rolls the condom down, Yoonji is jittery with how much she wants him. Fuck, she never thought she would say this, but even his dick is pretty.

Condom on, he leans down to kiss her on the mouth. She’s come to expect tenderness from him, but this kiss is filthy from the start. His lips, his tongue, everything tastes like her. Something primal in her loves it. His hand runs down her ass to her thigh, as he guides it up and curves it around his body. Yoonji follows his cue and hooks both her legs around his hips, the new position slotting his hard cock right against her clit. He rocks into her, never breaking the kiss, the slide made smooth by the mix of her own slick and his saliva between her legs.

She never thought she would be this feverish for it. Every time the head of his dick catches against her opening, she finds her hips wiggling to keep it there longer, drive it in deeper. It’s all she can concentrate on, her mouth falling slack even as Joon’s still kissing her. Finally, he gets the message and lines up, but instead of pushing it all the way in like she wants him to, he just drives her crazy with these maddening shallow little thrusts that are only making it worse.

Her hands unknot from behind his neck and slip down. She grabs fistfuls of his ass and, without preamble, pulls him all the way inside.

“Oh fuck, you cocksucking motherfucker!” she screeches, then tacks on a pitiful “Ouch” at the end for good measure.

It burns. It burns like Kim Namjoon’s dick fucking ripped her in half.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking annoyingly flustered. There’s not enough room between them for that, but she really thinks she might feel better if she punched him.

“Do you want me to pull out?”

Yoonji exhales through her nose. It hurts like hell, but she’s here already, right? She’s come this far. It would feel like defeat to give up now.

“No. Just...” she tries to keep her breaths even. “Just don’t move for a while, okay? It hurts.”

“Okay,” he nods then comes back down on his elbows. “I’m really, really sorry,” he whispers again, pressing tiny, apologetic pecks to her lips. They are distracting her from the pain, so Yoonji kisses back – chaste, dry nips at first. She doesn’t even notice when the burning subsides, too wrapped up in kisses ever deeper as Namjoon coaxes her mouth open. All of a sudden, she realizes that she’s moving, bucking down on his length, the sensation not exactly good, but not unpleasant either.

Joon lets her dictate the tempo for a while, his hips staying completely still while she adjusts and explores tentatively what feels good. When he finally moves, Yoonji is more than ready. He fucks her slowly, shallowly, and Yoonji doesn’t feel much except the good but frustratingly slight brush against her clit every time he pushes in.

So this is it, she thinks. This is sex. A note of disappointment creeps into her thoughts. Because it’s not boring, exactly, it’s not bad. It’s okay. Nice, even. But she knows that she won’t be able to cum from this.

She wonders how much longer it will take for Namjoon to finish and if he will at least take care of her after, with his mouth or fingers. She’s surprised when Namjoon kisses her once more, then sits up on his heels. Still fucking her, he smooths his palms down her thighs. He lifts her legs up, bends them and presses her knees all the way down into her chest. It’s a strange feeling. A little ridiculous, and a lot vulnerable, and secretly, more than a bit exciting. When he resumes the snap of his hips, she finds herself unable to move, unable to do anything but take it. Fuck, this feels different. This feels so good.

The tempo is not particularly fast or hard. Just steady and relentless in a way that has arousal building up in her in an almost unbearable intensity right from the start. It makes her simultaneously want to push herself harder onto his dick and flinch away. But she can’t do either of those things, whole body pinned in place where his hands have her folded almost in half. Her moans are now bordering on whines, in time with every thrust. Jesus christ, she sounds like a porn star, she realizes. She would blush from embarrassment, but by the heat in her face and chest she can tell they are already flushed. Over the whimpers coming from her mouth, she can hear the lewd sounds of his balls slapping against her ass. This angle makes his dick feel so big, every slide in and out endless. She relishes it and needs more and needs to move away from it, all at the same time. Pleasure builds in maddening increments, every slide bringing her closer. Her insides clench in anticipation, thoughts of god, this is it, it’s coming but then it just doesn’t, over and over again. It’s infuriating. Yoonji’s never ever been this desperate for anything in her entire life.

She looks up at him. His face is even prettier than normal, glistening with a light sheen of sweat, lips hanging slightly open. His gaze falls down to where he’s fucking into her and he watches for a few moments before focusing back on her face, something searing and determined in his eyes. Yoonji wants to scream at him or slap him because how does he seem fine when it’s taking up all of the effort she can muster just to keep herself from begging? Something tickles the side of her face. Her hand touches it instinctively, and only when it comes away wet does she realize she’s crying, for fuck’s sake, her lashes clumped together and sticky with tears. A sob is caught in her throat so she shuts her mouth tighter, jaw clenching almost painfully because fuck him, fuck Kim Namjoon, she’s not gonna cry and beg. She doesn’t care how much she needs it, she’s not-

One of his hands pushes further at her thigh to indicate that she should hold it up by herself, and then, before she even realizes what’s happening, his thumb comes down to her clit. His hips keep the same pace, the length of his dick snapping in and out like nothing has changed, like she’s not hanging by a thread. Her hands scramble up to grip the edge of the bed, eyes fall shut because she can’t look. It’s just too much. It’s too much, something too big building in her. Coming so fucking slowly, something too massive is looming from within her, growing and threatening to burst. The pad of his thumb is so much larger, so much rougher than her own fingertips, giving her sensations that she only feels by herself when she masturbates over her panties. He doesn’t fucking care that she’s falling apart, just flicks his thumb over her hard little nub over and over again and pushes in and out almost leisurely. Barely managing to keep her legs up, Yoonji’s body squirms and shivers involuntarily, and then the cresting wave tips over and everything inside her collapses and folds in on itself. As if from underwater, she can hear the broken wail coming from her mouth. She can hear him groaning “Yes baby, just like that.” But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this flood of pleasure spreading from where Namjoon is touching her, threatening to drown her whole.

It goes on and on, waves dissolving into ripples, but she doesn’t want it to end. She lets her tired legs drop down, plants her feet do drive herself further onto his cock, grind against him in an effort to prolong the feeling. His breath hitches in his throat on a quiet “Oh, fuck”. His hips start snapping faster, harder, erratic and frenzied, and then he’s falling over her, braced on his elbows as he buries himself as deep as he can. Inside her, she can feel him twitching and pulsing. His face is scrunched up in concentration and she can’t resist tugging him down, kissing his open mouth, although he’s too lost to return it.

When he finally slumps over her she hugs him closer, kisses his temple, sated and fond and maybe secretly a little bit proud of herself. His warm weight over her body is comforting, maybe just a little too heavy, although she can tell he’s trying to keep most of it off her. She cards her fingers through his soft hair, almost lulled to sleep by the gentle tickle of his exhale against the side of her neck. He nuzzles against her ear, brushes the tip of his button nose against her cheek, against her own nose, until he’s kissing her, both still a little breathless and too spent to make it anything but lazy and sloppy and utterly perfect.

When he moves to get off her, she actually, honest to god whines and pulls him closer.

“Just have to throw away the condom, be right back,” he huffs out with a husky little laugh. She doesn’t have time to be embarrassed about her neediness, before he’s striding back to bed. He lies beside her, and she is pleased when he tucks her into the crook of his arm and kisses her hair without her needing to ask for it.

Yoonji feels like she’s melted into a puddle. The steady rise and fall of Namjoon’s chest underneath her is hypnotic. She wonders whether it would be bad manners if she dozed off in his arms.

“Oh wait, I got you something,” he chuckles sweetly, suddenly remembering. Yoonji grumbles when he dislodges her to get up. After a few moments of fumbling, his fingers find her bedside lamp and turn it on.

“Fuck, at least warn a girl,” she mumbles, squinting against the light.

“Sorry. I thought my presence was already dazzling enough.”

“Ha ha,” she says but he doesn’t seem to mind her acerbic tone. Instead, he just lifts his crumpled jeans off the floor and starts rummaging through the pockets. For a moment he looks worried, but then his face lights up.

“Ah, here it is,” he finally says, extracting his hand and presenting it to her, palm up. Yoonji sits up to look.

There, tiny in his big hand, is an embroidered pink heart-shaped patch that says “Bite me”. She looks up at him. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know, I just thought it was cute. Reminded me of you,” he shrugs.

“So dumb,” she shakes her head reproachfully as she grumbles. “Getting me presents. I told you this was just sex, Namjoon,” she complains gruffly, but she can’t quite hide the small pleased smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“Oh yeah, sorry. My bad,” he replies without a hint of regret, a satisfied grin of his own lighting up his face when she takes the patch from his hand. He lies back on the pillows, limbs looking way too long in Yoonji’s queen bed. He really is so pretty like this, miles of smooth skin and lean muscle, completely unconcerned with his own nudity. She’s allowed to stare, she thinks, especially after what they just did, so she lets her gaze roam freely.

“So why did you wanna do this now? Why like this?” His question snaps her out of her reverie a few moments later. She looks away, a little shy about ogling him.

“Mmmm, I don’t know. I just felt like… Ugh,” she exhales struggling to put words to this nebulous feeling inside her. “I felt like it was becoming this thing, you know? Like, I don’t really give a fuck about what people think of me...”

He chuckles fondly. “Yeah, I’ve kinda noticed.”

“But,” she continues, “it can be exhausting, you know, all these presumptions.” He nods seriously, like he knows exactly what it feels like when people make presumptions about you.

“And like, at this point, this virginity thing was gonna start seeming like it matters? I just didn’t want that,” she shrugs. “Because it doesn’t. I’m… was… I was still a virgin just because it kinda never happened. Not because I’m a prude, or because I was saving myself for the love of my life, or because I’m frigid or any of these other things that people might think it says about me. It doesn’t say anything about me at all, and I didn’t wanna give it that kind of power. You know?”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” he replies, head tilted in consideration. They slide into a silence. Yoonji is not normally much of a talker, and she hates it when people rush to fill every lull in the conversation with small talk. Namjoon though seems to be just as okay with the quiet as she is. He’s not spewing nonsense or fidgeting awkwardly, or even throwing nervous glances her way, she notices. Huh. She splays on her back comfortably, enjoying the softness of the sheets on her naked body.

“So, uh...” Namjoon turns to face her. “In general, I’d say that went pretty well.” A smug little smirk lifts up the corners of his luscious lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” she tries to be dismissive, although it’s definitely missing the trademark Yoonji bite. “Alright. So you can make me cum. It doesn’t make you Jesus, you know?” she grumbles.

“Sure,” he agrees easily, now smiling wider. “But does it make me your boyfriend, though? That is what I really wanna know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoonji scoffs, grabbing the sheets and wrapping them around her tiny frame. “Of course not.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Namjoon’s grin falter as she gets up and heads to the bathroom.

“At best,” she throws over her shoulder, “it makes you the guy I’m agreeing to go on a date with.”

“Yeah… I’ll take that,” he calls from the bed, brilliant smile firmly back in place.

Yoonji closes the bathroom door behind her and leans back against it for just a moment. She gives herself exactly five seconds to press her palms to her flaming cheeks, and then she lets the sheet drop and turns on the shower.

Chapter Text

Hi! This is just to let all the subscribers to this fic know that it now has a sequel. These Precious Things felt complete, so it didn't feel right to tack the new story on as a new chapter. Instead, it is now part two in the Precious Things series. Please check it out here.