You make a deal with your ex-coworker, Kim Namjoon, where you give him pleasure, for money. But the relationship that was meant for pleasure, and pleasure alone, soon turns into much more as you find yourself falling for him...
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• BTS RM AU.
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In an attempt to try and get yourself out of going to the party one last time, you said: "I don't have anything to wear," while you slurped down the microwaved ramen he had offered to make for dinner, as Seojin wasn't at the house as he thought she was, and he sure as hell couldn't cook himself.
It was late that night; you had taken a long nap, and woke up multiple hours later to Namjoon rocking you, asking you to wake up before the ramen got cold.
He was adorable.
Despite your wet underwear, and other clothes making you feel icky, you slipped them back on and went downstairs, hungrier than ever after five orgasms. Your legs were shaky at first, yes, but your love for ramen drove you down the stairs.
"And that's not an issue," he assured in response, setting his own ramen down on the counter beside you.
Yes, he was trying to forget the way you had made him feel earlier, but the emotion still lingered through him. He fought it off, though, and he didn't show any signs of being irritated.
He set his ramen down, and he grabbed your hips with his big hands. He picked you up slightly to set you on the counter, your pretty, makeup stained face hovering a mere centimeter above his own. The grip gave you tingles - he was strong - and you fought with the blood that was rushing to your cheeks.
The battle was lost when he looked up at you and dimpled kindly. But he then stepped back again, resuming eating his ramen.
"I have this tailor that I go to all the time to get suits. They have really pretty dresses. We can go tomorrow and you can pick out anything that's black or blue, as my suit has those colors," he said, stuffing his face. He must've been as hungry as you. "I'll pay for everything."
Okay... but... why?
"Do I have to?"
You sounded like a kid, but you really did not want to go.
"Yes," he chuckled, not budging, as he stepped forward again and brought his hands up to wipe the eyeliner stains from your cheeks. He liked the look during sex, but if someone saw you, they would've have thought something devastating had happened. The bags under your eyes, the tear stains, and the bruises on your wrists from the handcuffs. He hated the look now. "I don't have anyone else to bring, y/n-Ah."
But he had to have someone. Everyone loved him. Anyone would go with him. Why was he so persistent with you?
You were about to ask, your mouth on the verge of opening to speak, but his hand had pulled away from your face and you caught a glimpse of his forearm.
