#joonie

— leaves little reminders of himself around the apartment without realizing it. books stacked beside the bed. hoodies over chairs. half-finished notes in his handwriting tucked into random places :(

— the type to stand in the kitchen late at night talking to you about absolutely everything before he leaves. music, life, fears, dumb observations, future plans. conversations with him always somehow feel endless

— buys you books before tour starts because “you’ll think of me when you read this part”

— definitely writes things in the margins too :( underlined sentences that reminded him of you or tiny “this is us” notes beside paragraphs

— starts sleeping closer to you before leaving. one arm heavy across your waist while he reads until he falls asleep halfway through the page

— acts composed the morning he leaves but keeps pausing before walking out the door like his body physically doesn’t want to go yet

during tour boyfriend!namjoon :(

— sends you long paragraphs at random hours because something reminded him of you and suddenly he has a lot to say

— the type to send pictures of ordinary things instead of glamorous tour stuff. a museum he visited. rainy sidewalks. coffee cups. trees he passed during walks :(

— facetimes you while sitting on hotel floors surrounded by his open laptop, unfinished lyrics, and clothes he still hasn’t unpacked properly

— likes hearing about your day in detail. not just “it was good.” he wants the small parts too. what you ate. what annoyed you. what made you laugh

— sometimes goes quiet after concerts because the adrenaline crash makes him miss home harder than usual

— admits he misses sleeping beside you more than he expected :( says hotel rooms always feel too cold and unfamiliar no matter how nice they are 

— sends voice notes while walking alone at night coming from the gym after schedules. low sleepy voice mixed with city sounds in the background

— keeps one of your sweaters draped over hotel chairs during tours because it makes unfamiliar rooms feel a little softer somehow

— when he can’t sleep he rereads old conversations between you two instead of texting because he knows you’re probably asleep

after tour boyfriend!namjoon :)

— coming home with him feels grounding :) like the entire apartment relaxes the second he walks back into it

— stands in the doorway for a second after getting home just looking around quietly before smiling to himself like “okay. i’m back”

— absolutely the type to pull you into the kitchen while he makes coffee in the morning just so he can stand there talking to you sleepily while sunlight comes through the windows

— domestic routines become sacred to him after tour :) museum dates. grocery shopping together. sitting on opposite ends of the couch reading while your feet touch

— gets soft seeing all your little habits again. the way you organize things. the mugs you always use. hearing you moving around in the mornings

— spends the first few nights back tangled up beside you talking until late because there’s too much he wanted to tell you in person

— honestly looks happiest doing the most boring things with you :) game nights, watering plants together, sitting quietly while music plays from the tv in the apartment

— after tour he loves you in an even steadier way. calmer. deeper. like every time he comes home to you he remembers what parts of life actually matter most

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)

"Quiet," Joonie whispers as she opens the door and leads you to the lounge. Inside, Xinyu and Yuki are on a couch, one on each side, feet mingling in the middle. You sit down next to your girlfriend on the other couch.

Hwiseo is out cold; you zip her pink hoodie up, and pull her blanket over her chest. You breathe in deep, then clear your throat.

"So... uh, you guys enjoy the night out?"

"Yup," Joonie leans on the armrest next to you, "would've been better if you were there."

"He's here now." Yuki chimes in. "So why don't we get started?"

"Wait," you interject, "you guys are all incredibly drunk. We can talk in the morning once you guys sober up."

"He's right. It'd be no fun without Seo awake to watch anyways." Joonie puts a hand on your shoulder. You lean closer into Hwiseo.

"Fine. But that won't stop us from having some fun," Xinyu says, crawling across the couch towards Yuki.

She grabs Xinyu's cheeks and pulls her in for a kiss. The sounds are beautiful and they're clearly trying to put on a show for you. It's working, and you notice Joonie eyeing your growing erection. You slide Hwiseo's blanket over your lap. A clear smile forms on Joonie's lips, something you spot out of the corner of your eye.

"You know you can't keep playing hard to get, right?" Xinyu teases. "You'll crack eventually."

"Yeah he'll crack for sure," says Yuki, in between kisses. "Hopefully me first."

Xinyu takes this as a challenge, pushing Yuki off her and sits down on the couch on the other side of Hwiseo. She nuzzles herself under the blanket the two of you were sharing. Her hand grabs on to your girlfriend's. She puppets it above your bulge, then rubs softly, careful not to wake Hwiseo up. You can't stop her.

Yuki approaches, then ducks down near your feet. She lifts the blanket up, and crawls underneath, in between your legs. Joonie snickers.

Your girlfriend's hand (piloted by Xinyu's own) retreats, and Yuki's reaches for your waistband. Joonie helps lift you up, as the lower girl pulls your pants and briefs down in one swift motion.

You hear a faint voice from beneath you. "Fuck. Seo was right about his cock."

"Guys, I- we shouldn't-"

Joonie shushes into your ear, her breath cooling the heat from the other women. She leaves a kiss on your cheek, making sure to leave extra saliva. She whispers, "relax, just enjoy it."

You look down at the tented blanket, Yuki says, "don't worry, it's not even cheating. Just pretend I'm not here"

Xinyu adds, "yeah, and I'm not even touching you," as she positions Hwiseo's hand on your firm cock. She folds her fingers around it, slowly starting to slide up and down. Yuki reaches up, finding your balls, squeezing gently. This gets a gasp out of you, but Joonie covers your mouth, masking the noise.

"Quiet. You can wait to fuck us until your girlfriend's awake, but let's keep this our little secret for now," Joonie states, pulling away from the wet side of your face.

"What if I can't wait?" The back of Yuki's head under the blanket rises, then stops right in front of the tent. "It's just... looking at me."

The three hands slip away, and are replaced by a wet sensation, just at the tip. This elicits a moan from you, causing your girlfriend to stir, "babe..."

Joonie latches on to Hwiseo's shoulders. "Go back to sleep, Seo." She grumbles in her slumber before settling down.

The sensations resume, the wetness falling lower and lower down your shaft, three sets of fingers twirling around your base and balls, and Joonie caressing your hair. She leans over, covering your entire mouth with a sloppy kiss. You nip at her thin lips, before her tongue invades your mouth. You let her explore; something you've always wanted to happen, despite the nature of her relationship with your girlfriend.

"Shit, I'm leaking." Joonie pulls away, before going back to laying on the arm rest. She pulls down her pants, spreads her legs, then leans into you. She grabs your hand, leading it under her panties. "Feel how wet you made me?"

"Damn, you guys really wanted to do this?"

"Mmhmm.." Joonie moans as you start to work your fingers. It doesn't take much effort before you slide right in, thanks to her abundant juices.

Xinyu speeds up the pace of her strokes, in turn making Yuki bob her head faster. You're reaching the end. It didn't take long, considering the four beautiful women surrounding you stimulating each of your senses: Joonie whispering moans into your ear, penetrating eye contact from Xinyu as she puppeteers Hwiseo, Yuki effortlessly and relentlessly vacuuming you into her mouth. "Stop. I'm gonna cum."

They don't stop. Xinyu jerks as fast as she can without waking Hwiseo up. Yuki slobbers on your head. Joonie lays into you, her face pressed against yours, with three of your fingers tucked inside her. You freeze as Yuki pulls off. Xinyu gets too fast to bear. You signal with a moan that you're ready, and Xinyu pushes Hwiseo's hand down to the base, applying unbelievable pressure around your shaft. You erupt, shooting into the blanket, in a series of pulses. The warm fluid flows down the sides of your dick, covering your girlfriend's hand in its entirety. Joonie dons a massive grin, watching the blanket turn dark, soaking up your semen.

Yuki slowly rises from the depths, hair tousled. She folds her arms, rests them on Hwiseo's lap, then rests her chin on them. Xinyu speaks first, "just so we all agree, I was the one that made him cum, right?"

"The fuck?" Yuki blurts out, "I was the one sucking his soul out down here!"

Joonie holds up a hand, reminding the girls to keep their voices down. "Either way, now we know he can keep up with us." She rises, picking up the soiled blanket, replacing it with a fresh one.

"But.. Joonie didn't get to finish-"

"It's ok dear, we've got all weekend. But for now, it's time to rest up." Joonie leads the girls, still bickering quietly to their rooms, leaving you and your girl alone on the couch. You pull your pants up, and snuggle up to her, clocking out for the night.

---

Your phone buzzes underneath you. When you open it, you're flashbanged by Xinyu's pink panties, framed by her pale skin. A short message follows: 'still soaking.' You get up, tucking the blanket under Hwiseo, heading to the kitchen for a drink. You pour a glass of water, and start to head back to the lounge, but stop when you notice your raging boner. You certainly can't go back to sleep with it, so you take care of it the only way you know how.

So there you are, in the girls' dorm kitchen, with your pants down, dick fully exposed. And there she is, the cause of your erection, in nothing but her underwear, waiting for you. "Thirsty?"

"Ye- yeah," you cover yourself with both hands.

"Don't let me stop you." Xinyu pours herself a glass of water, and leans against the counter opposite of you. "Seriously. Back to it."

She nods in encouragement as she crosses her legs, squishing together her long thighs, letting her mound bulge under her panties. You slowly get comfortable again, gradually stroking yourself, as she smiles. She tilts her head back, taking a sip, then accidentally spills water all over herself. She lets out an exaggerated gasp, sighing, "oh no."

"Where are the towels? Let me help," you offer, but she's quick to refuse.

"Just keep doing your thing." Xinyu reaches behind her back, unlatches, and pulls her pastel bra off like she's used to quickly stripping. Her small boobs fall out as she drops the bra to the ground. She approaches, points to your shirt, asking, "do you mind?"

You shake your head, then she lifts your shirt over your shoulders, using it to wipe down her body. She dabs it around her neck, slowly working its way down her chest, cupping her breasts in it. "Better."

Now dangerously close, locked in eye contact, she reaches forward, replacing your hand on your dick. Your hand moves from your crotch to hers, fingers slipping underneath her garments. You proceed to mutually masturbate in the dim kitchen, leaning into eachother, trying to mask your moans of pleasure. "You weren't lying. You are still soaking."

Xinyu nuzzles herself into your neck, letting out a soft groan, her body starting the shiver. "Fuck, faster."

Your fingers speed up, spreading her folds, the pushing into her, repeating the process, increasingly easier, and increasingly wetter. Xinyu tightens her grip around you, grabbing her own slick, using it as lubrication on your boner. She wraps her free hand over your shoulder, her extremely fit legs losing strength, as she loses composure. You support each other as much as you can while you both approach climax.

The two of you simultaneously release into each other's hands. Xinyu lets out a whimper as she convulses, and you pull her closer, masking the noise with your skin. Xinyu slows down, you release what's left, and hold on to her for a moment.

Eventually she pulls away from your embrace, unsheathing your hand, and picks up your shirt from the counter. Down on her knees, she wipes up the mess, then takes your hand and leads you to their bathroom. Xinyu grabs a spare shirt and tosses it to you, but you're interrupted by a cough.

"Uh. What're you two doing?" Yuki questions.

"He got up for a drink, but spilled all over his shirt." Xinyu covers for you.

"Yeah. Sorry to wake you guys up," you say with a meekish smile.

Yuki retreats with a furrowed brow, and Xinyu gives you a discreet smirk before you all head back to bed.

---

"Ready?"

You nod, smile so wide it almost lifts up the blindfold. The first hand grabs on to you. A familiar warmth wraps around your dick. The long nails, the tight, affirming grip; this could only be one person. "That's my girl. Too easy."

"I'd kill you if you got that wrong." Hwiseo withdraws.

"Practice round," Yuki chimes in, "now it's gonna get harder."

"Give me your hand," Hwiseo demands, "who is this?"

She leads your hand to a set of abs. She flexes under your fingertips. Such a firm tummy could only be "Joonie."

"Mhm," Joonie confirms. She backs off for a second. "Next."

A light kiss lands on your lips. Just a peck, so not Hwiseo, she would have smothered you in affection. They're soft and plump, and taste like cherry. "Xinyu?" you guess with trepidation.

"Disappointing. Still me," Joonie says with a frown (even though you can't see it, it's definitely there).

Shortly after, you're shocked by another sudden kiss, this time on your tip. "Fuck."

The lips fall deeper, accompanied by a tongue. She ends with a quick slurp, and Xinyu replies, "there! Now you know what my lips feel like."

You feel a girl straddle your chest as you lay back in the bed. "Open up," Hwiseo commands from the sideline.

The softest breast you've ever felt lands on your tongue. You pull it in, circling around the nipple as you feel her harden in real time. "Yuki," you murmur, still sucking. She moans with delight.

"Let's go a little deeper now, huh?" Hwiseo pulls Yuki off, and whispers something to the girls. "Hand."

You comply, and Hwiseo holds it open as another mystery girl sets herself down on it. She helps your fingers find the hole, and you slip right in. You've felt this before. "Xinyu!"

"Uhh.. yeah. But why'd you get that so quick?" Hwiseo teases.

"I dunno, her uh.. height I guess." You cough.

"I am the tallest," Xinyu says, patting your shoulder knowingly.

"Okay okay. Time for the final test." Hwiseo withdraws, huddling with the group. "If you guess this one right, you can take the blindfold off. Fail, and you can't fuck me for a week."

"Deal." You lay back and she returns with something in her hand. Hwiseo grabs your cock, holding it still, while using the other hand to put a condom on the tip, slowly rolling it down. It hugs you, and you grow warm with anticipation. The girls shuffle around, then one of them crawls onto you. Her thighs on yours, teasing your monument.

Hwiseo sits behind you, pulling your arms above your head. "No cheating. Just you and her pussy. You ready?"

"So ready." You exhale, and she falls down. Using her hand to guide herself, it takes almost no effort before you wind up fully inside her. It's the most welcoming feeling.

After you're acquainted with each other, she starts to move, slowly grinding herself back and forth. You can hear her cover her mouth, holding back her moans. Hwiseo's grip tightens, a comfortable amount, as the mystery girl becomes more erratic. The other girls help lift her up, before slipping back down your shaft. A small whimper escapes her lips, but not enough to recognize the voice.

You have three choices: Xinyu, Yuki, or Joonie. The weight on your thighs gives you a hint; it's probably not Joonie, she's too light. These legs have heft, she's putting all her weight in this. She's pushing so much force back and forth, digging into herself, grinding onto you. You've felt the inside of Xinyu's pussy twice, but can't determine if this is her. You can't reach for their hair, can't even smell them from this far away.

A name rings out, "Y-Yuki?"

She slows down, making more sensual movements, then Hwiseo takes the blindfold off. There Yuki is, riding you with all her might. Her short hair swaying just over her shoulders as she oscillates. Your hands are freed, and your first instinct is to reach for her boobs; you couldn't get enough from your earlier taste.

"I told you I'd be the first to fuck you," she says with a smirk.

"You did say that. And, fuck- it's worth the wait," you manage to spit out, amidst hefty thrusts.

Hwiseo is watching from the sidelines, completely enamored, while Xinyu and Joonie help Yuki ride you. Thankfully you already busted twice today, otherwise you wouldn't last another second. Yuki's pussy is sliding effortlessly along your shaft, and with the other girls there it's almost too much to handle. But you can't get enough.

Yuki's pace quickens to an almost impossibly fast speed, as she nears completion. One of her tits is gripped by you, the other is falling into Xinyu's mouth, and Joonie is rubbing her clit faster than she can ride.

Finally, Yuki combusts, with a long moan, and slouches over. She's left whimpering as you pull out, condom slick with cum. Joonie pulls her off, then Xinyu replaces her. She doesn't give you time to react before she's bouncing on it too.

"Give him a second, will you, Xinyu?"

She's impatient as ever, but you don't get to watch for long before Joonie's on top of you. With one knee on either side of your head, she sinks down on to your face. You give her slit a lick from top to bottom, before parting her lips, and entering her. She slowly rocks back and forth while Xinyu pounds herself onto you.

You can hear Hwiseo above you making out with Joonie, as a small dribble of cum rolls down your cheek. Your tongue's already tired, but you keep going, pulling her into you, trying to reach every place possible.

After minutes of riding, Xinyu reaches the same high as Yuki, bursting onto your stomach, then slouching over with a satisfied moan. Just Joonie left now, last one standing (or sitting rather). With the help of Hwiseo, you manage to push her to her limit, both of you rubbing her clit, with you taking light nibbles at her flesh. You cup your mouth over her entrance as she erupts, squirt coving your face, flying onto Hwiseo.

Gush after gush pours out, until you need to push her off for air. Joonie rolls onto the bed, you gasp, and Hwiseo wipes the squirt out of your eyes. "Holy shit."

Your girlfriend's not done with you yet. She pulls you by the arms to the edge of the bed, standing you up. "Now my turn."

She lays back, and you position yourself at her entrance, as hard as you've ever been. After holding eye contact and a brief nod, she yanks the condom off, ever eager to get you inside her. You close your eyes, and she pulls you in. You slide deep into Hwiseo, something you've done a hundred times, and still feels just as amazing as the first. She's gasps at your entrance, then exhales slowly once you're inside. You follow suit, then open your eyes, in awe of the four girls in front of you. The bed creaks, following the motion of you driving your cock into your girlfriend, as the rest of them play with each other. You grunt at each thrust, while Hwiseo gasps. Her boobs are bouncing rhythmically, as your hands grip onto her meaty waist.

She doesn't take long to reach her breaking point, after edging herself while you fuck her three best friends. She lets you know she's there with her erratic gasps, and you up the speed as fast as you can.

Hwiseo shatters, her cum flowing out onto the bed. You don't stop. You keep railing her through her orgasm. Her head falls back, as her body shifts along the length of the bed. Fully soaked, she lets out one more moan before falling fully apart.

"Hnng, where do you want it?" you barely manage to get out.

"Mm tummy." Hwiseo stretches out, giving you the perfect canvas. She grabs her tits, one in each hand as you pull out, and ready yourself above her.

You let out a harsh groan as you shoot onto Hwiseo's stomach. Your ropes land on her, cum pooling at the creases in her muscles, and her belly button. You get lightheaded as you unload, but you give her everything you have left.

"So hot." The girls coo from the sidelines. "Paint her."

Xinyu's earlier escapades and the 'group session' drained you hard, but Hwiseo always finds a way to milk the most out of you. After you're done, you switch places with Yuki, laying next to Hwiseo.

"Next time I want it all. You're gonna shoot on me, okay?" Yuki requests, as she gathers your cum in her hand, cleaning up your girlfriend.

"Fuck. Please let there be a next time, babe."

"Of course. After seeing how well these girls treat you, who am I to refuse." Hwiseo gleams. "Three orgasms in twelve hours? You'll fit right in with us."

Your smile drops.

"Wait, three?" Yuki questions. "I knew Xinyu was up to something last night!"

Hwiseo grabs your shoulder from the side, "I was awake the whole time."

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Even if I wasn't, waking up with a sticky hand is pretty damning evidence, you horny fuck."

"That may or may not have been part of the plan, but it was hot as fuck." Joonie snickers.

The university weight room smelled like damp turf, iron, and expensive body spray—a combination Y/N found thoroughly offensive.

You shoved your thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of your nose, clutching a heavy leather-bound binder against your chest like a shield. You were entirely out of your element in the athletic complex. Your domain was the fourth floor of the science library, where the air was quiet, the Wi-Fi was fast, and nobody threw a 15-pound medicine ball against the wall hard enough to rattle your teeth.

"Look who finally left the cave," a voice boomed from the power racks.

You didn't even need to look up to know who it was. Kim Namjoon. The university’s star quarterback, captain of the football team, and the bane of the academic advising department's existence.

He stepped out from under a barbell loaded with an absurd amount of weight, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead with the collar of his grey athletic shirt. Namjoon was massive—6'3" of broad shoulders, dense muscle, and a quiet, imposing presence that usually had half the campus swooning.

You, however, were entirely unimpressed.

"I’m here because Dean Vance threatened to pull my research grant if I didn't honor my peer-tutoring obligations," you said flatly, adjusting your cardigan. "Not because I wanted to inhale your protein powder fumes."

Namjoon smirked, dimples flashing deep in his cheeks. He tossed his towel over his shoulder and walked over, towering above you. "Nice to see you too, Y/N. Always so sweet."

"I'm efficient," you corrected, opening the binder and pulling out a heavily annotated syllabus. "You missed two lectures on Advanced Macroeconomics this week because of away games. You're sitting on a C-minus, Namjoon. If you drop below a C, you don't play in the rivalry game next month."

"I know the stakes," Namjoon said, his tone shifting slightly, taking on a grounded, serious edge. He grabbed a gallon water jug and took a long drink, his throat moving as you deliberately kept your eyes locked on his face—and definitely not on the veins running down his biceps or the sweat soaking through his shirt.

"Do you?" You raised an eyebrow, letting a bratty, skeptical edge color your voice. "Because looking at your last problem set, it seems like you think supply and demand curves are just suggestions. I've seen middle schoolers draw better graphs."

Namjoon paused, setting the jug down with a soft thud. He stepped closer into your personal space, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The sheer physical presence of him was overwhelming, but you refused to back down an inch.

"Is that right?" Namjoon leaned down slightly, his voice dropping an octave, warm and smooth. "You got a lot of mouth for someone who barely comes up to my chest, shorty."

"Height doesn't equate to high-level quantitative analysis," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "Now, put on a dry shirt, grab your notebook, and meet me in the study lounge in five minutes. Unless you need ten minutes to figure out how a pen works?"

Namjoon stared at you for a beat, his dark eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and genuine exasperation. Most people on campus tiptoed around him, intimidated by his size or dazzled by his athletic status. You, on the other hand, treated him like an annoying group project partner.

"Five minutes," he agreed softly, a slow, dangerous smile touching his lips. "Don't start crying when I actually pass this test, nerd."

"In your dreams, Captain," you called over your shoulder as you turned on your heel and headed for the doors.

The Study Session

The library study room was quiet, lit by the warm glow of desk lamps and the cool light of your laptop screen.

Namjoon pulled up a chair next to you. Up close, stripped of his athletic gear and wearing a simple black hoodie, he looked less like a crushing force on the field and more like a scholar—though his frame barely fit into the standard wooden library chair.

"Okay," you said, tapping the tip of your red pen against a printout. "Explain the relationship between price elasticity and marginal revenue to me. And don't use a football analogy."

Namjoon leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. "Why not? Football analogies work."

"Because this is economics, not the SEC championship," you snapped softly, though there was no real bite to it. "Go on. Impress me."

Namjoon sighed, but as he began to speak, your attitude shifted slightly. He wasn't stupid—far from it. In fact, as he laid out the theory, picking through the variables with surprising precision, you realized he was sharp. He just didn't care for the busywork.

"Not bad," you murmured, checking off a box on your sheet. "You actually read the chapter."

"I read it twice," Namjoon murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. "I don't like failing. At anything."

"Good," you said, leaning back and crossing your arms, giving him a challenging look. "Then prove it on the practice exam I made for you. Twenty questions. You have thirty minutes."

Namjoon picked up the paper, his massive hand almost making the sheet look tiny. "And what do I get if I ace it?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, a taunting smirk spreading across your face. "If you get an A, I'll admit that athletes aren't totally brainless. If you fail, you do my coffee run for a month."

"Deal," Namjoon said softly, his eyes darkening as he held your gaze. "But when I win, I want something better than an admission."

"Like what?" you challenged, crossing your legs under the desk.

Namjoon leaned in close, the scent of fresh cedar and warm skin washing over you. "I'll let you know when I finish the test."

The scratch of Namjoon’s pen against the paper was the only sound filling the small library study room.

You sat back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest, watching him with an expression you hoped looked entirely indifferent. But up close, in the dim, golden light of the lamp, it was hard to stay purely professional. Namjoon had stripped off his heavy black hoodie, leaving him in a fitted grey short-sleeved shirt that stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. Every time he shifted to write down a complex mathematical derivative, the muscles in his back and arms flexed rhythmically.

He wasn't just working through the equations; he was tearing through them.

"Time's almost up, Captain," you murmured, checking your watch with a deliberate, bratty smirk. "Two minutes. Don't tell me a little calculus is giving you a concussion."

Namjoon didn't even look up, though a small, deep dimple pressed into his cheek. "Shut up, Y/N. I'm double-checking the second derivative on question eighteen."

"Oh, so you can count past four downs?"

Namjoon tapped the pen hard against the wood, finally lifting his head. His dark, sharp eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a sudden, unwanted shiver down your spine. "If you don't stop poking at me while I'm trying to focus, I'm going to find a very creative way to quiet that mouth of yours."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you refused to let him see it get to you. You raised your chin, adjusting your glasses with two fingers. "You're welcome to try. But until you turn that paper over, I run this desk."

Namjoon held your gaze for three agonizing seconds before sliding the finished practice test across the smooth wooden surface. "Done. Grade it."

You picked up your red pen, tapping the plastic cap against your lips as you scanned his answers. You fully intended to tear his work apart, looking for any tiny error in notation, any missed step in his proofs, just to drag out the satisfaction of giving him a hard time.

First question: perfect. Second question: precise derivation. Third, fourth, fifth... spotless.

Your eyes slowed down as you reached the end. His handwriting was large and confident, the logical flow of his macro-economic models completely bulletproof. He hadn't just passed; he’d aced it.

"Well?" Namjoon asked softly, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his head in his palm, watching the subtle shift in your expression. "Do I need to start taking your coffee order, or are you going to admit you completely misjudged me?"

You slowly lowered the red pen, clearing your throat to cover the slight sting to your pride. "It's... fine. A couple of your graphs could be neater."

"A couple of my graphs?" Namjoon let out a low, breathless laugh, leaning forward until the heat of his body radiated off him in waves. "Y/N, I got a hundred percent and you know it. What happened to your deal?"

"I said if you got an A, I'd admit athletes aren't totally brainless," you huffed, crossing your legs tightly under the table and tilting your head up to glare at him. "Congratulations, Kim Namjoon. You possess basic human literacy and high school math skills. Want a trophy for your display case?"

Namjoon’s smile dropped into something far heavier, far more deliberate. The playful banter melted away, replaced by the raw, magnetic gravity that made him an intimidating force both on and off the field. He slid his chair closer—so close that his thick knee bumped firmly against the inside of your thigh.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that seemed to vibrate straight through your chest. "Always pushing. Always talking back."

"I don't back down just because you're bigger than me," you said, though your voice came out slightly softer than you intended. The proximity was overwhelming; the heavy scent of cedar, clean linen, and the subtle, warm musky undertone of his skin filled the small space.

"I know you don't," Namjoon whispered, reaching out. His long, thick fingers lightly brushed against your jawline, his knuckles sliding up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The contrast between his calloused, powerful hands and the gentle delicacy of the touch sent a shockwave across your skin. "It's infuriating. But it's also the only interesting part of my day."

Your heart knocked violently against your ribs. You tried to pull back an inch, but his hand slid down to rest firmly against the nape of your neck, his thumb resting over your pulsing neck vein.

"Namjoon... we're in the library," you breathed out, your bratty exterior finally cracking just enough to let your rising pulse show.

"The doors are locked from the inside, Y/N. Nobody's coming in here," he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle against your skin. "And you still haven't paid up."

"Paid up?" you repeated, your hands gripping the edge of the desk. "I didn't agree to anything specific."

"You let me decide what I wanted if I won," Namjoon reminded you, his gaze dropping down to your mouth, watching your lower lip tremble slightly. "And right now... I want you to stop talking and let me show you what happens when I stop being nice."

Before you could construct another sharp retort, Namjoon stood up, taking your wrists in his broad hands and effortlessly pulling you out of your chair. The sudden motion made your breath catch, your feet slipping slightly on the slick floor until you bumped directly into the wall behind the desk.

Namjoon stepped into your space, boxing you in entirely. He placed one heavy palm against the wall right beside your head, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room. Down here, pressed against the cool drywall with six-foot-three of solid muscle hovering over you, you felt entirely consumed.

"Still got something clever to say?" he taunted quietly, his dark eyes searching your face, tracking the flush rising along your cheeks and chest.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly against his. You reached up, placing your palm flat against his hard chest, intending to push him back—but your fingers merely curled into the soft fabric of his shirt instead. "You're dynamic... and obnoxious."

"And you're a brat," Namjoon growled softly, a wicked, breathtaking smile breaking across his features.

He leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was hot against your sensitive skin, making you gasp softly as his lips found the soft patch right beneath your ear. He gave a firm, teasing nip to your skin before laving over the spot with his warm tongue.

A high-pitched, needy sound slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You instantly clamped your mouth shut, embarrassment hot in your chest.

Namjoon pulled back just enough to look down at you, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "There it is. That's the sound I wanted."

"Namjoon—"

He cut you off, capturing your lips in a kiss that instantly wiped every thought, every equation, and every witty response clean out of your head.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep, possessive, and demanding—the kiss of a man who was used to taking control of the entire field and executing every play to perfection. His tongue parted your lips with practiced ease, exploring the warmth of your mouth with a rhythm that had your knees feeling like water.

His free hand moved from the wall, sliding down to cup your hip, his long fingers digging firmly into your soft flesh through your skirt. He hoisted you up slightly, setting you down on the edge of the heavy wooden study table.

You parted your legs instinctively to accommodate his broad frame as he stepped between them, his hard hips pressing firmly against your center. The heat radiating off him through his jeans was searing, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned chill of the room.

"Glasses off," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back for a fraction of a second.

"I need those to see," you protested weakly, your fingers tangling into the soft hair at the back of his neck.

"You don't need to see right now," Namjoon growled playfully, reaching up with surprising gentleness to slide your thick frames off your face and set them safely on a stack of textbooks nearby. "You just need to feel me."

Without the sharp focus of your glasses, the world blurred into soft shapes and warm light, narrowing your entire universe down to the feeling of Namjoon’s body against yours. His hands slid down your thighs, dragging your skirt up past your knees, his warm palms frictioning against your skin until he hit the lace edge of your underwear.

You gasped as his fingers found your soaked center through the fabric. "Namjoon... ah..."

"Look at you," Namjoon whispered into your ear, his voice thick with deep satisfaction as he rubbed the heel of his palm directly against your sensitive core. "So loud when you're not trying to prove how smart you are. So wet for a dumb athlete."

"You're... not dumb," you whined, your head falling back against his shoulder as his thumb found your clit through the wet lace, applying a steady, agonizingly good pressure. "You... you knew the whole chapter..."

"Focus, Y/N," he commanded softly, his thumb flicking across the sensitive bundle of nerves with rhythmic precision. "Stop thinking. Just take it."

He didn't wait for your permission. His hand slid under the waistband of your panties, pushing the damp fabric aside. Two long, thick fingers slid seamlessly inside you, stretching you instantly.

You let out a loud, breathless cry, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders as he began to pump his fingers into you, slow and deep, establishing an unrelenting rhythm.

"F-Fuck, Namjoon," you whimpered, your hips lifting off the table instinctively to meet every deep thrust of his fingers.

"You like that?" he growled, watching your face intently as you unravelled under his touch. He added a third finger, his thumb coming down hard against your clit, working you with the same precise, relentless drive he brought to every game. "Tell me how good it feels, brat."

"It's... it's too much," you gasped, your toes curling inside your shoes as the pressure built rapidly in your lower stomach. The sheer size of his hands, the deep sound of his breathing, the relentless pace he set—it was driving you over the edge way too fast. "Namjoon, wait—"

"No waiting," he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips again, drowning out your desperate whimper with his mouth as his fingers curled internally, hitting a spot that made your entire body lock up.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train, crashing through your nerves and making your inner walls contract tightly around his fingers. You shook uncontrollably, clinging to his broad shoulders as he rode out the waves with you, continuing to pump his fingers gently inside you until the hypersensitivity faded into a deep, throbbing ache.

When he finally slid his wet fingers out, you collapsed forward against his chest, panting heavily, your forehead resting right against his collarbone.

Namjoon chuckled softly, a deep, rumbling vibration against your cheek. He stroked your hair, placing a soft kiss on top of your head as you tried to gather your shattered breath.

"You done talking back for the night?" he asked, his tone dripping with fond arrogance.

You slowly lifted your head, your cheeks burning, though a lazy, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself. "That... was only the first half, Captain. You still have to finish the game."

Namjoon’s eyes darkened again, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as his hands moved down to unbuckle his belt. "Good thing I've got plenty of stamina."

The air in the library study room was thick, heavy with the quiet, lingering electric tension between you. You sat back on the edge of the wooden desk, your chest still heaving slightly as you adjusted your clothes and reached for your glasses. Slipping them back onto the bridge of your nose, the world snapped back into sharp focus—including Kim Namjoon standing right in front of you.

His belt was unbuckled, his hair delightfully disheveled, and his dark eyes were burning with an intensity that promised he was nowhere near done with you. But as he reached for your waist again, the sharp, sudden chime of his phone vibrated loudly against the wooden tabletop.

Namjoon froze, letting out a low, frustrated growl. He checked the screen.

Coach Sterling

"Don't pick it up on my account," you rasped, your voice still slightly raspy from the noise you’d been making moments ago. You pulled your skirt back down, trying to regain an ounce of your signature bratty composure, though your flushed skin betrayed you.

Namjoon sighed heavily, running a massive hand down his face before swiping to answer, putting it on speaker as he leaned his hip against the edge of the desk next to you. "Coach?"

"Namjoon, where the hell are you?" Sterling’s voice cracked through the small speaker, sharp and demanding. "The athletic board just flagged your academic eligibility status ahead of the scouts arriving tomorrow morning. If Vance hasn't signed off on your progress report by 8 AM, you're benched for the showcase game. The entire NFL scouting panel from Chicago and Dallas is flying in, Namjoon. I need that signed sheet on my desk tonight."

Namjoon glanced at you, his jaw tightening. The playful, arrogant haze of the last twenty minutes instantly vanished, replaced by the sheer, heavy weight of his real world. Behind the star quarterback persona was a guy carrying the entire university's athletic reputation—and his own professional future—on his shoulders.

"I have the practice test right here, Coach," Namjoon said, his voice dropping into that steady, grounded tone. "My tutor just graded it. A hundred percent."

"Is the official certification signed?" Sterling pressed. "Vance won't take your word for it. It needs your tutor’s official stamp and signature in the athletic department portal before midnight, or you don't dress out tomorrow."

"I'll handle it," Namjoon said quietly. "Thanks, Coach."

He ended the call and set the phone face down. Silence settled over the room again, but the energy had completely shifted. The playfulness was gone; the high-stakes reality of his career sat right between the two of you.

You looked from the phone to Namjoon. For all his teasing and physical dominance, there was a visible tension in his broad shoulders now.

"You really need this game, don't you?" you asked softly, leaning back against the desk, dropping your usual sarcastic defense.

"It's everything," Namjoon admitted quietly, looking down at his hands— hands built for gripping a football, but currently resting on an economics textbook. "Scouts are looking for reasons to doubt a kid who majors in something heavy while playing D1. They think if you have a mind for anything else, you aren't focused on the game. Vance made the peer-tutoring mandatory to keep me humble, but if the paperwork stalls..."

He looked up at you, his dark eyes vulnerable for a split second before his usual confident smirk tried to fight its way back. "So... you gonna sign off, nerd? Or are you going to hold my NFL draft prospects hostage until I buy you dinner?"

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips as you picked up your pen. "I don't sell my academic integrity for dinner, Captain. But..." You filled out the official digital verification form on your laptop screen, typing in your tutor ID and attaching his 100% test score, "...I do hold my students to high standards. You earned the grade."

You hit Submit. A green checkmark flashed on the screen: Certification Complete.

Namjoon stared at the screen, a genuine, blinding smile breaking across his face, his deep dimples popping prominently into his cheeks. "You actually did it."

"Of course I did," you huffed, crossing your arms and looking up at him through your lashes, letting your bratty edge return. "I'm a professional. Unlike some people who get distracted in libraries."

Namjoon’s smile transformed from relieved to downright dangerous in a fraction of a second. He closed the laptop screen with a soft click, sliding it out of the way before stepping back into your space, pressing his body firmly against yours once more.

"Distracted?" he murmured, grabbing your hips and pulling you straight to the edge of the table again. "Y/N, I wasn't distracted. I was just taking an intermission."

"The system says you're eligible now," you teased, your breath catching as his hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stepped between your legs. "You don't have to keep playing nice with your tutor."

"Good," Namjoon growled against your ear, his hands gripping your legs to keep you locked flush against him. "Because I'm done playing nice."

Namjoon didn't waste another second. He unzipped his jeans, freeing his broad, thick length that was already throbbing and slick at the tip. The sheer size of him made your throat go dry, a sudden mix of anticipation and heat curling deep in your lower abdomen.

"Namjoon..." you breathed out, your hands instantly finding his powerful shoulders for support. "You're... you're huge."

"You said I couldn't handle complex variables," he whispered, hovering the broad head of his shaft right at your wet, sensitive opening. "Let's see how well you handle this."

Without another word, he aligned himself and pushed slowly, firmly into you.

You gasped, your head snapping back as the thick head stretched you wide, filling you completely in one steady, unyielding glide. The sensation was overwhelming—a hot, heavy tightness that left you breathless, your inner walls gripping him desperately as he buried himself all the way to his base.

"Fuck, Y/N," Namjoon groaned, his eyes closing as his brow furrowed from the sheer pleasure of how tight you wrapped around him. "You're so small... fits so damn good."

"Don't... don't pause," you whimpered, your heels digging into the back of his thighs, demanding more despite the stretch. "Show me what you've got, Captain."

Namjoon let out a low, gut-deep laugh against your collarbone. "Still talking trash while I'm completely inside you? You really are relentless."

He pulled back almost all the way before driving back in, hard and deep, setting a slow, punishing rhythm that echoed through the quiet room. The heavy clack of the desk against the wall rhythmically marked every deep thrust.

"Ah! Namjoon—" you cried out, your hands clutching the back of his shirt, pulling him closer as he built momentum.

His pace was powerful, methodical, and completely unrelenting—the same calculated, unstoppable force he used on the field, but directed entirely at breaking down your composure. Every time he drove forward, his hips hit against your core with a heavy, wet slap, sending waves of intense electricity straight up your spine.

"Look at me," Namjoon commanded, his voice dark and thick with control.

You forced your eyes open, your vision slightly hazy behind your glasses. He was staring down at you, sweat glistening on his neck and chest, his jaw set as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even deeper.

The change in angle had him hitting a spot deep inside you that made your entire body jump.

"O-Oh god!" you squealed, your bratty exterior completely shattering into needy, helpless whimpers. "Right there—Namjoon, right there!"

"Yeah? You like when I hit that spot?" he growled, slamming into you with increased speed, his broad chest rising and falling heavily. "Say it. Tell me who owns this desk."

"You... ah!... you do!" you gasped out, your fingers tangling into his damp hair as your walls began to flutter and contract tightly around his thick shaft. "Namjoon, please—I'm close!"

"Not yet," he grunted, reaching down with one hand to press his thumb firmly against your swollen clit while maintaining his hard, relentless thrusts. "We finish together. Take it, Y/N."

The combination of his massive size stretching you inside and his thumb working your clit outside was too much. Your vision blurred, your hands clutched his shoulders for dear life, and with a high, shattering scream, your second orgasm ripped through you. Your inner muscles clamped down on him like a vise, pulsing wildly.

The intense tightness sent Namjoon over the edge. With a harsh, guttural groan, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his hips shuddering violently as he released deep inside you, his entire massive frame trembling with the force of his climax.

For a long minute, the only sound in the library study room was the heavy, ragged sound of both of your breathing.

Namjoon stayed buried inside you, resting his forehead against yours, his hands gently holding your waist as the intense heat slowly simmered down. He reached up, gently lifting your glasses to wipe a tear of pleasure from the corner of your eye before settling them back on your nose.

"Still think athletes are all brawn and no strategy?" he whispered, a tired, breathtakingly handsome smile gracing his features, those dimples deep in his cheeks.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, resting your hands flat against his warm, chest. "I'll... consider adjusting my research findings. But you still owe me a coffee."

Namjoon chuckled, giving your lip a lingering, soft kiss before slowly pulling out of you, making you groan at the empty feeling. He helped you fix your clothes, wiping you down with gentle care before dressing himself with easy confidence.

He picked up his phone, looking at the screen with a light heart, then looked back at you.

"Showcase game is tomorrow at three," Namjoon said softly, picking up your heavy binder for you and handing it over with a wink. "I expect my favorite tutor in the front row of the student section. Wearing my jersey."

You scoffed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you took the binder, though a bright, genuine blush spread across your face. "In your dreams, Captain."

"We'll see," Namjoon smiled, opening the study room door and gesturing for you to walk out first. "We'll see."

The stadium noise was a deafening wall of sound. Bright stadium lights flooded the turf, casting long, sharp shadows across the field as the fourth quarter wind blew through the stands. Tens of thousands of students and alumni were screaming, their energy vibrating straight through the aluminum bleachers.

You sat in the front row of the student section, pulled tight into a heavy varsity jacket. Underneath it, tucked neatly into your denim, was a dark blue jersey bearing the bold white number 61—Namjoon’s jersey.

You shoved your glasses up the bridge of your nose, holding a hot cup of coffee in both hands as you watched the team assemble on the field. You told yourself you were only here to make sure your tutored athlete didn't suffer a game-ending concussion before his economic finals. But every time Namjoon moved on the field, your heart hammered against your ribs in a way that had nothing to do with academic concern.

He was an absolute giant in his full pads, completely commanding the offensive line. Through the clear visor of his helmet, his dark eyes scanned the defensive formation with terrifying focus.

With thirty seconds left on the clock and three points down, Namjoon stepped up to the center. He called out the audible, his deep voice carrying over the crowd, clear and controlled.

Just before he placed his hand on the turf for the final snap, he turned his head slightly toward the front row of the student section. His eyes locked onto yours. Even from thirty yards away, through the plastic visor, you felt the exact moment he registered the giant 61 stretched across your chest.

A small, arrogant, irresistible dimple pressed into his cheek under his chinstrap. He gave you a quick, subtle nod—a private signal amidst forty thousand screaming fans.

The ball was snapped.

The collision of heavy pads echoed like a thunderclap. Namjoon drove forward with terrifying, explosive power, single-handedly driving the defensive line back and opening a massive gap down the middle. The running back surged through the hole, diving over the goal line just as the final horn blared across the stadium.

Touchdown. Game over.

The crowd exploded. Confetti rained down from the rafters as the team rushed the field. Scouts in high-end suits were already filling the sidelines, notebooks open, nodding in heavy approval as they watched Namjoon pull off his helmet. His high-fade hair was dark with sweat, his broad chest rising and falling as he grinned, accepting handshakes and backslaps from coaches and teammates alike.

Instead of lingering in the center of the celebration, Namjoon looked straight back toward your section. He jogged over to the wall, towering over the front barrier, wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

"You actually wore it," he called out over the roar of the crowd, his voice rough and breathless.

"I had to make sure my investment in your GPA didn't go to waste," you shouted back, leaning over the railing with a bright, uncontrollable smile.

Namjoon reached up, his long, powerful fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, pulling you slightly closer. He didn't care about the cameras, the scouts watching from the press box, or the thousands of eyes in the bleachers. He leaned up, planting a lingering, warm kiss straight against your lips right over the partition wall.

"Meet me in the private athletic lounge under the west bleachers," he whispered against your mouth, his dark eyes burning with that familiar, heavy heat. "Five minutes."

The private athletic suite was quiet, locked far away from the locker room chaos and the media interviews. Heavy leather couches sat against paneled walls, and the muffled, rhythmic thrum of the stadium celebration outside sounded miles away.

You barely had time to set your jacket down on the back of a chair before the door unlocked and slammed shut behind you.

Namjoon didn't even take off his uniform completely. He had stripped off his jersey and pads, leaving him in a tight, black compression shirt that clung to every defined ridge of his chest, abs, and shoulders, his lower half still clad in tight football pants and cleats.

He moved across the room like a predator, closing the distance between you in three long strides.

"Namjoon—"

He didn't give you a chance to tease him. He cupped the back of your head, pulling your mouth up to his in a kiss so deep and greedy it instantly made your knees go soft. The scent of sweet grass, stadium air, and raw, masculine heat rolled off him in waves.

"You looked so damn good in my number," he growled against your lips, his heavy hands gripping your waist and hoisting you effortlessly off your feet. He carried you over to the wide leather desk at the back of the suite, sitting you down firmly on the edge.

"I thought... ah... you had a post-game press conference?" you breathed out, your fingers immediately tangling into his damp hair as his head dropped down to bite lightly at the sensitive skin of your neck.

"They can wait," Namjoon murmured, his large hand sliding under your skirt, gathering the soft fabric up past your waist. His broad palm rested flat against your inner thigh, his thumb brushing against the damp lace of your underwear. "I spent four quarters thinking about putting you right back on a desk."

"You're full of yourself, Captain," you gasped, arching your chest into his as his fingers pulled your wet panties to the side, exposing you directly to the cool air of the room.

"Only because you keep proving I'm right," he taunted softly, his dark eyes locked onto yours as he slid two thick fingers straight inside you without warning.

You let out a loud, breathless cry, your back arching off the leather surface as he filled you instantly. You were already slick, completely prepared for him from watching him dominate the field for two hours.

"Fuck, Y/N," Namjoon growled, his thumb coming down hard against your clit, establishing a fast, relentless pace with his fingers that had your hips lifting off the desk to meet him. "Look how wet you are for me. Just from sitting in the stands?"

"It was... ah!... it was hot," you confessed, dropping your usual bratty guard entirely as the pleasure began to coil tight in your stomach. "Watching you... crush everyone..."

Namjoon let out a low, victorious rumble in his throat. He pulled his wet fingers free, sending a sharp wave of need through your body, and reached down to unlace his football pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his thick, erect length. He was fully hard, throbbing and leaking slick at the tip, looking impossibly large against your delicate frame.

He grabbed both of your knees, pulling your legs wide and draping them over his powerful forearms, positioning his broad tip directly at your entrance.

"Hold onto the desk," he commanded softly, his voice thick with authority.

You grabbed the edges of the polished wood behind you, your breath coming in rapid hitches. "Namjoon, please—"

He drove forward in one heavy, unyielding thrust, burying himself all the way to his base in a single, smooth stroke.

A sharp, high-pitched scream left your throat, instantly drowned out as Namjoon leaned down and captured your mouth, swallowing your cries as he began to work his hips.

The pace he set was punishing. The desk groaned under the weight and force of his thrusts, every heavy hit sending a shockwave directly to your core. The combination of his massive size, the grip of his heavy arms holding your legs open, and the raw power of his athletic build was overwhelming.

"Look at me, brat," he demanded, pulling his mouth from yours, his chest heaving as sweat trickled down his throat.

You forced your heavy eyelids open, your vision blurring behind your glasses. He was staring straight into your eyes, his jaw clenched, his broad shoulders flexing with every relentless drive into your tight body.

"Who's game plan are we running?" he growled, slamming into you even deeper, hitting that deep, electric spot that made your toes curl inside your shoes.

"Yours!" you whimpered, your fingers slipping on the smooth wood of the desk as you struggled to hold on against his speed. "Yours, Namjoon—ah!"

"That's right," he whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his hands moving down to scoop under your bottom, lifting your hips slightly to adjust the angle. "Good girl."

The change in position opened you up completely. Namjoon picked up the speed, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs in a fast, furious cadence that left no room for thoughts, math, or backtalk. The pleasure built so fast and hard that your body went completely rigid, your inner walls pulsing tightly around his thick shaft.

"Namjoon—I'm... I'm going to—"

"Do it," he commanded, his voice dark and strained as he drove into you harder, his thumb pressing down on your clit to push you straight over the brink. "Cum for me, Y/N."

Your orgasm shattered through you like lightning, a prolonged, full-body spasm that made you cry out his name as your body clamped down on him like a vise.

The incredible tightness of your climax broke Namjoon's control entirely. With a deep, gut-wrenching groan, he drove into you one last time, burying himself as deep as humanly possible, his hips shaking violently as he poured himself inside you in thick, heavy hot pulses.

The room fell into a heavy, quiet stillness, saved only by the sound of both your ragged breaths echoing off the walls.

Namjoon stayed buried inside you for a long time, his broad body resting heavily over yours, his face buried into the side of your neck as he took long, deep gulps of air. He gently kissed the sensitive skin under your ear, his large hand gently stroking your thigh as the intense tremors slowly subsided.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his hands on either side of your head, looking down at you with a soft, affectionate, and utterly ruined expression.

"You really are something else," he murmured, using his thumb to gently push your glasses back up your nose before kissing the tip of it.

You let out a soft, exhausted laugh, resting your hands flat against his damp compression shirt. "And you... actually know how to run a play, Captain."

Namjoon chuckled, a deep vibration that filled your chest, his signature dimples popping back into his cheeks. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up. I have a press conference to crash, and then I'm taking my favorite tutor out to dinner."

"Is that an order, quarterback?" you teased, a lazy smirk returning to your face.