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kithtaehyung · 10 months

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mami (m) (teaser) | myg/knj

— “then hurry up, mami. gimme one more for luck.”

title: mami (teaser) pairing: battle rappers!myg/knj x reader(f) , slight jhs x reader(f)😛 rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au summary: turns out, two of the guys you’ve been hooking up with are battle rappers. and roommates. and the most competitive gd people you’ve ever met. warnings for fic: [redacted] lmfaooooo🥴🥴🥴 warnings for teaser: cursing, yoongi’s fit, dirty talk, namjoon deserves his own gd warning throughout this whole fic so it’s included in the teaser warnings, too :^)) note: fuuuuuuck me lol. this is also gonna have some heavy 00s vibes so let’s fcking go🦋 est. drop date: jul-aug 2023 est. word count: 15-20k taglist: join here (will be checking blogs!) —18+ teaser below if you want to read :)) drops you right in the middle! minors dni.

Weeks go by and you keep your options super open, with the occasional run-in with Yoongi and the strangely refreshing dates with Namjoon.

As much as you want things to move forward with the latter, he’s kept every meet-up early and short, always checking his phone with pure concentration before heading out.

Did you think about whether or not he had a girl already? Absolutely. But just being able to have nice dinners and talk was pretty fucking harmless considering.

If he finally decides to cave in and split you in two, maybe you’ll re-evaluate. But you hope that happens sooner rather than later because you are aching to feel anything he’d give you.

That and the frustrating fact that he looks more and more attractive with every damn date.

Speaking of attractive things…

One dingy, smoke-filled event on south side, just as you were cussing someone out for slapping your ass, it was Yoongi that shocked you by stepping in, quietly shielding you and taunting,

“You wanna try that again?”

“Fuck outta here, man. Just having a good time.”

When your surprise of a savior aims one slitted eye over his shoulder, he asks,

“You having fun?”

And your arms fold in calm revenge. “Not with him.”

“Didn’t think so.” Turning back around, Yoongi simply eases, “I’ll let you off this time, but only cus she’s listening.”

Your blink is immediate.

“But I better not see your sorry ass anywhere near her by the time I get on stage.”

Safe to say, it didn’t matter if he saw that guy or not.

Because he definitely saw you after the show, right before you tugged his stupid tracksuit into the nearest bathroom.

Ever since the first, all your dates with Namjoon have been innocent.

So it sends shivers across your arms when low words slip into your ear. Words so spiced that they cause your thighs to squirm on the cheap vinyl booth you both occupy,

“I gotta say… I didn’t expect us to talk this much.”

Breath hitching, you slowly turn, fixated on the veins running down his arms while admiring the way neon lights make rainbows of his chains. Not giving much of your own thoughts away, you simply ask,

“This time? Or at all?”

“Honestly?” His smile coats you in a layer of warmth. Which is strange considering how frozen you really feel. “I don’t usually do dates.”

What?

You’ve never moved away so quick. “Wait, really?”

“Oh, shit. Was that bad to say?”

“No, I”—pure relief juts out of your mouth—“Neither do I.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Namjoon challenges with a grin, shaking his head when you nod multiple times. “Nah. You can’t tell me your fine ass has never gone out before.”

“First of all,” you tut, smirking at his true nature coming through, “This ass has been taken out more times than yours.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Flipping your head, you give him a mocking once-over, feigning boredom even though you wanna mount those goddamn thighs and ride them into next Wednesday. “I just don’t waste my time dating.”

“Then why’d you keep coming?”

“Why’d you keep asking?”

At your coy tone, Namjoon’s smile grows and grows, and you’re enjoying where this is going an obscene, frightening amount.

Instead of responding, he simply lifts an arm to skirt knuckles right up the front of your dress, finally looping one under the necklace dangling from your neck. When he presses a bold thumb down, you cease breathing as he softly tugs forward, your entire body following without resistance.

And just as your lips hover against his, he challenges,

“Cus if I asked you anything else, you would’ve ran.”

Oh, fuck.

Butterflies scatter at his insinuation, and they fall victim to his honeyed smirk when you taunt,

“Try me.”

What the hell is he gonna say? Based on your earlier conversations, you could tell he has a way with words. You don’t have to spell a single thing out for him, that’s for damn sure.

The look you get is pure sin before he moves to your ear, his mouth hidden from the rest of the bar and hot breath stroking your neck. Anticipation keeps your body fully alert, and yet it still doesn’t prepare you for whatever comes out of this dude’s mouth.

“Like if you’d ever let me paint those tits.”

The fuck.

“Or if you’d let me be the first to make you squirt.”

The fuck?

Your exhale comes out stilted before stuttering out, and your chest physically heaves because—

“What, that’s all it takes to make you shy?”

Holy shit. You haven’t felt this way in years.

Truthfully, you can’t even think up an inkling of a response.

Because the hand on your necklace slides downward, a finger lowering your dress bit. By bit. By bit.

Before letting it spring back with a snap.

tbc. :)

💌 l m f a o what do we think!! 💌

A/N: PFFFFFT SO. thank you so much for reading and for all of your support in general. as you can probably tell, i am sweating writing this whole thing if this is what i decide to share as the teaser dklfjdsklf honestly y’all i need all the strength i can muster for these two DEMONS that are haunting the everloving SHIT out of me LMAOOO ++ taglist: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ no emails collected, just put your username and make sure ur age is visible on your blog somewhere so i can see it when i check. ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#ah geez do not perceive me LOL #namjoon fic #yoongi fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #teasers #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #namgi fic #yoongi x you #namjoon x you #bts #fic:mami

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incorrectnamgi · 10 months

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Pre debut namgi be like:

Namjoon : *Gets down on one knee*

Yoongi: Oh my god, it’s finally happening.

Namjoon : *Falls over*

Yoongi: The poison is kicking in.

#incorrect bts #incorrect namgi #bts #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x min yoongi #min yoongi #namgi #suga #namgi fic #agustd #rm #rm x suga #namgi au #yoonjoon #sugamon

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elleomoonchild · 9 months

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Fevered Honey - a Namgi omegaverse AU

Namjoon was tired of spending his heats alone, but he didn’t have much luck attracting alphas. Maybe it was his ‘bigger than omega average’ size or his overly sweet scent or naturally shy demeanor, but Namjoon just hadn’t found the connection he’d always craved with an alpha. But as he got older his heats became more unbearable to deal with alone…

Which was how he found himself at the city's most luxurious and exclusive heat/rut hotel…being taken care of by the alpha of his dreams.

Min Yoongi was a smaller alpha, with a cute face and intense eyes. A deep voice and big hands and heavy scent that left Namjoon feeling dizzy. He was the perfect choice for a heat partner…but as Yoongi treats Namjoon like he’s always wanted the omega will find it hard to separate his heart from what is meant to be only a business transaction.

#namgi #bts namgi #omega namjoon #alpha yoongi #omegaverse #bts omegaverse au #ao3 fanfic #Namgi ao3 #namgi fic

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snowpetaly · 8 months

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September arrived 🍂🥧

Feel free to use 🧡 credits are welcome!

prompt idea: young adult, falling in love, slow burn, collage & high school student, coffe at the afternoon, fall time, strangers to friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, light angst with bitter fluff

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rainbowsuitcase · 8 months

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Namjoon X Yoongi - Training

18+ smut

Yoongi with fitness trainer Namjoon for a boyfriend. Yoongi who was never into exercising but seeing his boyfriend naked makes him want to join him in the gym just to watch that amazing body being made, to see the sweat on Namjoon's pecs and maybe get fucked by him in the bathroom after.

Namjoon who fucks him on all fours and pushes him down to his elbows, leans over him to whisper in his ear, "Push your shoulders back, chest down."

Yoongi gasps out between moans, "Get- get fucked" and Namjoon just laughs and tells him,

"That's your job."

"C'mon baby we gotta fix that posture," Namjoon says when he’s fucking Yoongi against the wall, forcing him to keep his back straight, to not slouch, even though all Yoongi wants to do is wrap around Namjoon's shoulders and dig his nails into his back.

Yoongi thinks he's finally won when he’s riding Namjoon, but Namjoon just makes him do all the work until his thighs are burning so much that he physically can’t anymore, crying because it’s not enough. Only then does Namjoon flip them around and pushes him into the mattress.

Yoongi complains so much, the ultimate pillow princess before he met Namjoon, but really he loves it. He loves how he has to work for it, loves the praise when he does, loves the way Namjoon calls him a good boy in his deep, fucked out and satisfied voice.

#bit #smut #namgi smut #namjoon x yoongi #bts smut #bts fic #namgi fic #trainer namjoon #pillow prince yoongi #kinda dom namjoon #he just wants his boyfrie's back to not hurt!#he's a good guy #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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wwilloww · 2 years

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sh. | chapter twenty one | ot7

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.5k WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. some sexy dreams. duel.

AN back on the sh. horse after a short break! this chapter is the result of a poll that i did a couple of weeks ago. thank you and many hugs and kisses to @thatlongspringnight and @hesperantha and @hobi-gif for helping me out with this chapter. i have no idea where i would be without the ability to brainstorm and edit with these incredible folks.

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: DUEL

The night winds around you, the darkness on the edge of the fire pit leaning in closer as the embers begin to burn low, painting your friends’ faces in golden shadows. Familiar shapes drift across their features as the flames flicker, but then the shapes shift, building a fragile dance between what you know and what you don’t. In a way they do look different. When just days ago they felt like strangers, they once more feel familiar. But not in the old way. Not in the way you used to know them. In a new light, like meeting a stranger on a train in a foreign city and talking through the night. It’s the kind of strange, burning closeness that feels like it could disappear at any moment.

The eight of you stay up late, huddled around the dwindling fire, sharing jokes and stories from quarantine and little touches. A hand on a thigh. Hair brushed away from an eye. Fingers tangling in the dark spots between seats. What surprises you is that even after months in quarantine passed with seemingly nothing happening in your personal life, there is still something to talk about. With them, there’s always something to talk about.

Soon, it becomes too cold to stay outside and yawns begin to pop up around the circle. Reluctantly, you all shuffle inside, as what feels like winter air rushes down the mountain towards you, slicing straight through the wool blanket you have wrapped around you.

“I wonder when it will snow,” Jimin says, taking one final glance over his shoulder towards the mountain.

“It’s quite late in the year for there to be no snow yet,” Namjoon replies, ever-knowledgeable. “Soon, I think. Soon.”

Everyone breaks into their separate directions, murmuring and mumbling goodnights.

Hoseok lingers, though. He reaches for you and squeezes your hand. When you look in his eyes, there’s a deep sadness there. You want to reach for his face, to brush the despair from the window of his gaze, but your hand remains at your side.

“I’m so sorry about everything. I’m so sorry I caused you pain.”

It’s okay, you almost say, but then you stop yourself and swallow the words down. “Thank you, Hoseok.” It’s not about excusing him. It’s about accepting him. And it’s easy to accept his apology, especially when the warmth of his hand sinks like a song into yours.

“Goodnight,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and reluctantly lets go of you.

You watch as he disappears down the hallway, an ache in your chest as you watch him go. But that ache is very quickly replaced with deep exhaustion, a weariness to your bones. Your feet hurt, your chest is tight, your eyes are heavy. All you want is to crawl into somewhere cozy and warm and cocoon for days.

Jimin, who you hadn’t realized was lingering behind you, approaches you, a hand sliding over your shoulder. You jump at the sensation. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were here.” You wonder if he witnessed the exchange between you and Hoseok.

“Do you need somewhere to sleep tonight?”

You nod and he opens his arms. You rush into his hold and he squeezes you tight.

“Why do I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks?” you ask.

“I dunno,” Jimin chuckles. “Maybe you’re in love with me. Maybe you’re obsessed with me.”

You stiffen and he notices.

“You know I’m joking.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He leads you back to his room. You haven’t been in here since that memorable night with him and Jungkook, and your face warms as you think about it.

You both get ready for bed in silence. Jimin seems quieter than usual. Like he knows you’ve seen something you’re not supposed to.

When you get into bed, you cuddle closer to him, slipping underneath his arm and pressing your face to his chest. He’s like a ball of warmth shielding you against the cold.

When your fingers play against the hem of his shirt, he tenses. “You know we don’t have to do anything tonight,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer. “I didn’t bring you back here just because I needed a fuckening. I wanted you here because I miss you and I want to be close to you.”

You warm at the words.

“I miss you too, Jimin.”

Sleep flutters at the edge of your consciousness and you give in for a moment, letting your eyes slide shut. It feels so sweet to let yourself rest. But something nags at the back of your mind, and eyes closed, you press closer to Jimin.

“Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

He hums in response. A non-answer. It feels like a wall between you and him. But he doesn’t say anything more, and as you wait for him, sleep takes over.

You sleep deeply.

********

The logic of a dream is something that you’ve never quite understood, let alone thought too deeply of. It appears, wrapping you in tendrils of place, time, knowing that sink into your skin. You become an actor of sorts in the play of your mind.

Tonight is no different.

The dream starts innocently enough.

In the way that dream logic operates, as soon as you step into the room—a barn converted into a dance hall—you know who you are, where you are, and what’s going on. Even as the swirl of blurred faces flashes by you, it’s like you’ve been in this world your whole life.

Here, in the barn-turned-hall, you’re surrounded by flickering candlelight as a small band of local instrumentalists sits in the corner, stringing along a lively jig while a wicked spring wind throws itself against the walls. Hordes of local townspeople trip and twirl through the space, as the band plays one perky dance song after another. Everyone knows these dances by heart. Even you find your feet tapping, itching to dance along with them in rows of coordinated patterns.

Someone calls your name and you turn to find a familiar face—Namjoon—standing behind you. As the local printer and owner of your town’s press, Namjoon was a frequent figure in your childhood, playing with you in the fields, your families joining one another for dinners and picnics. Until at some point, his frequency became familiarity, and then light smiles turned lighthearted. Recently, your heart had been flipping a little more when you saw him. His hands are stained with ink, but he’s done up finely for the occasion, trousers clean and pressed, collar standing high, and eyes shining bright in the candlelight.

He opens his mouth to speak, but a matronly stranger steps between you two, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Kim,” she says, a smile glimmering falsely on her lips. “My daughter has been keeping her card clear all night, waiting for your arrival. Of course you’ll dance with her first.” There’s an unspoken “and only” written across her face. Immediately you don’t like her.

His smile hardens ever so slightly. Ice sinks through your veins.

He’s not yours.

“And of course we’ll want to talk about that printing job for my husband. I know how eager you are to help him with his business. Considering you’ll be part of the family oh-so soon.”

“Of course.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and as the older woman pulls him away, the back of his hand brushes against the hand you’ve got clutching your skirts. A zing of electricity sparks through you. It’s like a secret, that he’s passed to you with no one else knowing. When you look up at him, he’s looking away, at the woman he’s being led to. Your heart aches. You don’t want him looking at her like that.

That’s when you hear your name a second time.

You turn to find the local dressmaker—Hoseok—grinning before you.

“You look awfully lonely standing there like that,” he says. He leans against a lone wooden pillar, his roguish grin dancing on his lips. He’s done up nicely, as he always is, in vibrant and fashionable fabrics, always the latest styles.

“Are you just here to call me lonely and run away again?” You step closer to him, your gloved hand ghosting against his chest. He looks down at it and grins.

Your history with Hoseok in this world is fully-formed in your mind: a boy you grew up with, who liked to tug on your hair and run for the hills, who turned into a man who’d nearly kiss you before smirking and running for the hills. He always left you wanting more.

“Perhaps,” is all he says.

You roll your eyes and step away from him.

“In that case, I’ll be on my way—“

As you step away he captures your hand in his.

“Dance with me.”

“Everyone will see,” you say. In the past, Hoseok had been so careful with who saw you, when, doing what.

“I find there’s a certain kind of invisibility that one can don in a large, drunken crowd,” he offers with a grin. “On the other hand, maybe I don’t mind too much who sees.” He leans a little closer, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Maybe I want them to see.”

Since when did he want them to see?

When you hesitate, he continues.

“Please.”

You place your hand in his.

Just like that, he whisks you off into the crowd. The dance blurs the way dreams do, but all you feel is the closeness of his chest to your own, the way his hand grips your lower back like you’re something of his. Your body warms to him. He’s holding you tightly. Tighter than he should. During a twirl, where your back is pressed to his front, you feel the ghost of his lips against your neck.

“Hoseok!” you gasp.

“What?” You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice before you turn to face him.

“You can’t do that.”

“But I want to. Do you want me to?”

The question pings something deep within you, but you find yourself answering honestly: “Yes.”

“Then let me continue.”

As he swoops before you and the music swells, he passes quickly in front of you, circling you as the dance commands. The hall fades out into darkness and it feels like it’s just the two of you, dancing among a set of stars. “What ever will I do with you?” he whispers from behind you, before stepping in front again. His gaze flickers between your lips and your eyes, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“What do you mean?” you whisper.

“I mean, I am absolutely and entirely taken by you—and I have no idea what to do about it.”

The sincerity singing in his eyes knocks you off guard. But you scramble to your senses, quickly saying. “Well, you ought to do something about it before someone else does.”

He chuckles. He’s so close to you and you swear he’s going to kiss you. The dream narrows to a sharp sense of reality. You can feel his fingers drifting up your arm. You can smell the scent of pine and fabric on him. And though you’ve never kissed before, not by anyone, you feel like you know exactly what he will taste like, what it will feel like: like the earth being moved beneath your feet. He moves closer. And the music stops. The rest of the hall flickers back into your vision.

Someone coughs from behind you.

You step back from Hoseok and turn.

“Namjoon—”

“May I have this next dance?”

You nod eagerly, and are quick to let go of Hoseok’s hand, quick to step away from the confusion, the tension swirling through you. Though you don’t miss the hard gaze that is exchanged between them.

The music starts up again, a livelier jig than before, and you find yourself hoping alongside the sturdy man before you.

You can feel the glare of the girl burning into your back, but there’s a kind of delight in having him, having Namjoon all to yourself, even if it’s just for a moment.

His movements are strong, sincere, filled with the weight of intention. You can tell he’s been practicing his dances, but sometimes notice that he’s counting aloud, just under his breath. It makes you giggle. When someone calls out his name, encouraging him on, he accidentally steps on your toes. He apologizes profusely, and you smooth a hand along his shoulder.

“You can step on my toes any day of the week.”

As his hand grasps yours, there it is—the same warmth that was there with Hoseok is here too, writhing within you, glowing in your chest. Why is it the same? If anything, it should be different. But his hand on your lower back feels the same, his proximity still urges the same flickering light within you.

Your brow furrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—“

“Do you need fresh air? A turn around the garden?”

“That—“ At first you’re quick to dismiss the idea, the notion of slipping away with someone you’re not supposed to. The indecency. But the thought of a chill seeping beneath the tightness of your dress and easing the strictness of your breath sounds divine. “That might help some.”

He looks relieved at your acquiescence, and takes your hand. Walking through the middle of the dance floor, he leads you to the doors.

There’s a little garden outside, one with tall bushes and a little bench that looks over the hill and down towards the town you call home. Little golden lights brighten the windows, though a few go out as you watch over them.

For a while the two of you sit in silence. This is something familiar to you. Silence with Namjoon. The way he knows when to let it settle over the two of you like a comforting blanket. You want to lean into him, but propriety says otherwise.

“The stones in your hair—“ Namjoon suddenly touches them with a careful finger, eager discovery hindered by his desire not to mess up the careful updo you’ve managed to create. “—They remind me of the stars that take up residence in your eyes when it’s dark.” In the real world, a line like that would make you cringe. It would probably make him cringe too. But here, in this world, it takes your breath away and you shiver when he says “Like this,” and leans closer, his breath brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck. But he pulls back.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” The words tumble from your lips.

His brow furrows.

“I—” He stops himself before going any further.

I do want to touch you but—.

A million sentences could follow that “but,” and you lay waiting for them.

“We—we should be getting inside. Before anyone thinks anything of your disappearance.” His face is set, his jaw tight.

“I’d very much like to be in charge of my own disappearing acts,” you say. But then you soften. You have your reputation to think of. “But—you’re right. Best to avoid the gossip.”

Namjoon leads you back inside, the heat of all those bodies hitting you as the doors swing open to reveal no one other than your Hoseok. Yours? The natural claim surprises you.

Hoseok’s gaze lights on the gentle grasp you have on Namjoon’s arm and his eyes narrow.

When he speaks your name, there’s an edge to it. But you realize it’s not directed at you. Namjoon, however, seems to notice who it is directed at—himself—and tightens his grasp on you.

“You know,” Namjoon says, turning you towards him. “You ought to come by the press sometime. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you around those parts of town. I’m adding on a little wing—a bookery—”

“Or you could use your free time to come by the shop,” Hoseok cuts in quickly, his hand reaching for yours. He turns you towards him. Never, not once, had you ever seen him show such an apparent display of affection. “I’d love to make a dress for you.” His gaze roves over you. “I could guess your measurements, but there’s something about the experience of having someone make something just for you. The experience of an expert dressmaker—” In his eyes you see what he imagines. The measuring tape held tightly between his teeth, his hands ghosting over your figure as he drapes fabric and takes measurements. The goosebumps that will rise. The looks that will be exchanged. That concentrated look you know and love so well as he crafts a garment just for you.

Perhaps the shoulder of your dress will slip off, revealing untouched skin. Perhaps Hoseok will take notice. Perhaps he will slowly, but delicately, fix the fallen fabric, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I have the best editions of books for leagues,” Namjoon continues, shouldering in front of Hoseok. “I know you love to read. I’ll have only the best selections laid out for you. You should see the gilding on these books.” In Namjoon’s gaze, you see his hopes flicker. “We could even take the books out. On a tour of sorts. Maybe a picnic.” You know that this is a big deal to him. Namjoon never let his precious books out into the sunlight, let alone into a potentially muddy field, with all its hazards. But you can’t help but let the idea of a picnic with Namjoon fill your imagination. The sunlight dancing on the planes of his glowing face, his fingers drifting nearer and nearer to yours—

“In fact, I’ve been meaning to try out a new French style,” Hoseok continues. If you’d be willing to be my model I’d love to practice—and of course you could keep the dress. A gift.” He grins.

“I could show you how to use the press. You could put your poems into print. Our very own local poet.”

“I could—“

“My goodness,” you cut in, and both of the men quiet, waiting with rapt attention for what you have to say. “I’ll have a hard time choosing between whether to spend my money on a new dress or a new book,” you say, flattered by the pressing attention though unsure of how to break the tension that hangs like silken spiderwebs between the two men.

“It’s a gift!“ Both men say at the same time.

“But for now, I ought to say goodnight.”

You think the only way through this situation is out, so you turn your back, not missing the fallen faces of the two men, but just as you do:

“I’ve asked your father for your hand.”

You whirl around. The two men that hold your heart stand behind you, but instead of staring at you, they’re staring at one another.

“You’re already engaged,” Hoseok says, his eyes burning into Namjoon.

“An engagement that can be broken.”

“You’ve always been quick to break things, haven’t you?” Hoseok says. “What, for instance, were you doing out in the garden?” He steps closer to Namjoon, leveling him eye to eye.

“It’s none of your business,” Namjoon cuts back.

“It is though, isn’t it?” Hoseok says, before turning to you. “Your father said yes to me, so you are my business now.”

“Your father said yes to me as well.”

The two men glare heatedly at one another. A small crowd has gathered around you all.

“Then I suppose there’s only one way to solve this,” Hoseok says.

Namjoon nods.

“On that point I can agree with you.”

“A duel.”

The two men storm out of the room, but not before Namjoon hesitates, gripping your hand in his.

“I’m doing this for you.”

“I don’t want you to do this for me. Just stay, stay. We can sort this all out.”

Namjoon shakes his head and disappears.

You run out of the hall after them, but they’ve already taken off towards the thick woods that surround the hall. You walked here, but launch yourself onto the closest horse, who whinnies with dissent, and speed off after them. The trees whip at your face, your dress, like hands grabbing you from the darkness, but still you speed on.

Soon you reach a clearing.

Everything is wrong. There should be witnesses for a duel. There should be a reason for a duel. The two men stand fifteen feet apart, pistols drawn. There is a hardness to their faces, one you don’t recognize. One that scares you. Would they really go to such lengths to tear each other apart, just to get to you?

The notion frightens you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hoseok says through gritted teeth.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you cry.

Namjoon ignores you and nods solemnly.

Duel.

The harsh trill of a cellphone ringing breaks through the early morning mist, and you look down to find a phone in hand, the number 222-2222 lighting up the screen. A strange mixture of confusion and dread fills you as you press the answer key but nothing happens. You press again.

The ringing doesn’t stop.

You open your mouth to say something, to call out to them again, but their confused, angry faces are getting farther away. The meadow before you is fading, the fabric of the grass turning into actual fabric, the world darkening, zooming out—

A clock before you reads 2:23am, and you half understand you’re in bed, as a voice behind you grumbles, and murmurs, “Jin, why the hell are you calling me at this godforsaken hour.”

Muffled, but clearly enough you hear: “I think you should come to our room.”

“Why? I’m sleeping.”

“You know, we could be doing things other than sleeping.”

“I already have a sleeping buddy.”

“Even better. Bring them.”

“Hit me up when it’s not the fucking middle of the night. Goodnight Jin.”

A dial tone.

Shuffling behind you.

A hand slipped over your waist.

“Sorry.”

You revel in the touch, how it feels so similar to dancing with Hoseok, with Namjoon, and you cuddle closer to the warmth.

You go searching for the tendrils of the dream. You find candlelight, the crisp smell of a garden in spring, the feeling of being pressed close to a body. Wanted. You go searching, looking for a door back into the world you were just in.There’s a desperate need to know what happens next. To know they’re okay.

But all you find is smoke.

At some point waking descends out of the flashes of logic and into a landscape you’re unfamiliar with: rolling hills and marshes, towering ancient trees that provide shelter from a distant sun and long grasses. You find yourself reaching back through the dream for the familiar and warm touch of broad hands pressed to your lower back, but all you find is the damp coldness of spring.

Half-awake, you wipe your hand across your damp forehead. There’s someone close, you can tell by the warmth next to you in the bed, the feeling of it drawing you like a moth to a flame and when you burrow into their side, their face, their identity, flickers between seven different faces. Sleep pulls you back in, and with a sense of loss, you don’t dream again.

When you wake fully the sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains, tossing rosy hues around the bedroom willy nilly. It’s one of those mornings where you blink awake and your whole body zings with energy. You’re on the far side of the bed from Jimin and he sleeps peacefully, a little bit curled up in himself.

You slip out of bed and tiptoe through the house. Finding yourself in the library, perhaps subconsciously looking for someone in particular, you find it empty. On the table lies a book.

It’s a beautiful thing, ornate and gilded, but new, like it’s been produced in the last couple of years. You pick it up and flip through. Random words catch your eye: the unwinding crevice, blueberry sunsets, the body beneath the body. That’s enough to convince you. You pick it up and carry it out with you.

Someone’s puffy jacket is hanging on a hook near the door and you slip it on before heading outside. They won’t mind, you think. The air is cool and crisp, but is warming from the golden touch of the sun.

You eye the fire pit, where you had been so comfortable last night. But in the morning light, it looks stark and barren and empty. You don’t want to feel that way. You look to the forest. Even as something tight coils in your stomach, you find yourself drifting towards it.

That’s when you know: you’re going to climb a tree. Just like when you were a kid, you’re going to find a tree and you’re going to climb it.

It takes a while to find the perfect one: a sturdy one with big, frequent branches. You grin.

You slip the book into the jacket, zipping it up tight so that the book is pressed to your chest. Then with one hand, you grasp the rough bark of the branch immediately above your head and begin your journey upward.

This feels like something you’re not supposed to be doing, climbing the tree like this, let alone with a book as beautiful as the one you carry tucked away in your jacket. Still, you climb higher, wrapping your hands around the next branch and hauling yourself up.

When you’re high enough, you stop and settle into the nook between branch and trunk, resting your back against it. The corners of the book poke into you, but you find yourself breathing deep and finding a space of rest within yourself. The cool morning air fills your lungs, finds a home in your limbs. The tree supports you, holds you.

Carefully, you pull out the book and begin reading. The pages of the book flutter in the late autumn air, a crisp sound, like birds wings in summer. In all honesty, you don’t really understand what’s going on. The story is beautiful, a story about a young adult winding their way through a foreign city, interacting with stranger after stranger, but the sentences are long, the words big, and the meaning blurry. But the language, oh the language. You can feel the beat of the words, like a drum in your head. It pounds out a song like you’ve never heard before, one that winds through you and settles warmly in your chest. There’s something familiar here, even if you don’t know what it is.

That blurry song follows you to the end of the first chapter. But the last lines, the last lines, are what bring it all into focus.

“Are you going to come home?” Beatrice asks.

“What do you mean, ‘home?’”

“I mean whatever you want it to mean. Whatever you make it to mean.”

And something within you aches in response.

← || series m.list || →

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mintchocochipwrites · 5 months

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🔞 Bad Habits

Namjoon's bad habits lead to him spending late nights at a club, conversations with strangers he doesn't even know. One dangerously beautiful stranger draws him in and Namjoon can feel the paradise when he lets him take control only for the night to end alone with no memory of last night and bite marks on his neck.

Written for Fright Fest '23

Words: 13,8k | Complete (Sequel maybe??)

Ship: namgi

Rating: E

Tags: human nj, bottom nj, sub nj, vampire yg, top yg, (hard) dom yg, bad coping mechanisms, bdsm, degration, spanking, edge play, overstim, the list for kinks is too long read them on ao3, aftercare, consensual and negotiated kinks

❗️TW: description of an anxiety attack, mention of suicidal thoughts

#bts fanfic #namgi #namgi fic #this is one third smut two thirds depression #my works

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ze-eternalmarsh · 1 month

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Name: 21 questions

Ship: Namgi (Namjoon/Yoongi) - BTS

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Wordcount: 10,023

Type: One Shot

Tags: smut, fluff, humor, 21 questions, domestic, friends to lovers, first time, praise kink, choking, drunkness (tipsy), soft

Summary:

Yoongi and Namjoon play 21 questions with one another and end up learning more than they had planned.

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douglass-fir · 1 year

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Let's talk about Namjoon who just wants to Feel Pretty.

[18+] Let's talk about Namjoon who might have a secret Pinterest board for lacy, delicate undergarments. Namjoon who spent a little too much time drunk and online, and buys a pretty, pink, lingerie set.

When it arrives in a discreet box, he hardly remembers buying it. He blushes red as he opens the lid and runs his fingers across the lace, the prettiest shade of pink he's ever seen.

He's momentarily mystified before swiftly closing the box, looking around the dorm, and running to his room. He throws the lingerie box on the bed and stares at it.

I mean, it’s already here. Might as well try it on.

So he shuts his bedroom door and clumsily strips, stepping into each tiny piece one by one, pulling the garters taught over the fullness of his thighs. Namjoon can’t help but look in the mirror and blush. The pink bralette is snug, pushing the soft curves of his pecs together. His dusky nipples barely visible and hardened from the rough texture of the lace. He shivers when the loose-fitting strap slinks downward over his shoulder.

He turns around to peek at the round swell of his ass, skin warm and golden against the pink garters, stockings a size too small, making the flesh of his thighs spill over the seam and kiss. He can’t help but chub up at what he sees as he turns back around. His shaft is straining against the lace, curving upward, his tip peeking out past the band, shiny and smooth.

He struggles to adjust the straps properly, and is so engrossed in the process that he misses Yoongi knocking and immediately barging in, a notebook in hand, “Joon-ah you left this in my—”

Yoongi drops the notebook.

Namjoon drops his hands to cover himself. Fruitlessly. “I’m so sorry, god, shit—I—I’m leaving…I'm leaving! Carry on!”

Yoongi steps back and closes the door behind him.

Namjoon is mortified.

Not one to leave things unsettled, he immediately grabs his phone.

NJ: hyung I’m so fucking sorry. NJ: i didn’t mean for anyone to see that. NJ: it was just something i wanted to try. NJ: hyung, fuck, please answer me…

It’s a minute before his phone pings with a response.

YG: joon-ah it’s fine. i should’ve knocked. it’s my fault. YG: i’m glad you’re trying things that make you happy.

Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief.

NJ: please promise you won’t tell anyone. i’m begging.

YG: joon-ah, have i ever shared your secrets?

NJ: no. you haven’t. i’m sorry you had to see that. i’m sorry.

An insufferably long pause lingers before the reply comes through.

YG: as long as we’re being honest here…i’m not.

Namjoon can feel his heartbeat in his thumbs.

NJ: you’re not?

YG: i’m not sorry.

YG: actually, wait. i am sorry for barging in. but you, wearing that fit? should never apologize.

Namjoon might fucking die. He tries to stuff down the panic attached to his long-held crush on his favorite hyung. Yoongi who is always quietly confident in his sexuality. Whose shy, lingering stares feel like 100 pounds on his chest. Another ping on his phone snaps him out of it.

YG: sorry that was forward.

NJ: no, it’s okay. really. thank you i think?

Yoongi is typing. Then stopping. Then typing again. Seconds pass that like feel like hours before more messages come through.

YG: you know… YG: if you need help YG: with adjustments, i mean. fitting… YG: i can help you out. no pressure

The thought of Yoongi’s hands on him in this state send his blood rushing south. Sure, they’ve seen each other naked. It’s hardly avoidable. But like this? Delicate and pretty and /open/ from so many angles?

Never like this. Fuck it.

Namjoon’s hands shake as he types.

NJ: yeah. ok. that would be helpful

He throws the phone on the bed like it’s on fire, clutches his t-shirt to his chest, and waits. This time, the knock is almost silent.

“Joon-ah? Is it okay if I—”

“Yeah. Come in,” Joon croaks.

“Should’ve done that earlier, huh,” Yoongi blushes as he enters and closes the door behind him. “This okay? I just…noticed you needed a little help. This isn’t entirely new to me.”

Namjoon nods his head. “You’ve helped with lingerie fittings?”

Yoongi steps forward. Namjoon’s skin shivers at the first touch of his hands, slinking a finger under the bralette strap, dragging it across his skin as he slips it in place.

“Just my own,” Yoongi says shyly.

“Oh.”

Yoongi blushes, smiling softly as he pulls the straps taught, glancing up briefly to meet Namjoon’s eyes before looking down again. “It feels nice, doesn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon admits. “Feels different.”

Yoongi clears his throat, keeping his eyes lowered as he works, “Feels different…how?”

Namjoon’s skin is on fire but the adrenaline has him feeling heady, maybe a little brave.

“Pretty,” he says in a low voice. Throat dry. “Feels pretty.”

Yoongi nods knowingly as he bites his lip. He taps his fingertips on it as he contemplates. “Want me to fix the back too?”

Namjoon nods, still gripping the t-shirt as he turns around, revealing the thong snug between the soft curves of his ass.

He hears Yoongi’s breath hitch. “I’ll just uh…adjust the garter straps,” Yoongi breathes as if coaching himself, before Namjoon feels fingers graze his thighs.

Yoongi works silently, but Namjoon’s pulse is thumping loudly in his head, dizzy from the rush of his hyung’s hands on him. Those hands—pink and large, fingers knobby and cool against his warm skin. He’s willing his half-chub to go down and spare him an early grave before he notices Yoongi has stopped moving.

The room is silent.

“Hyung? …You okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. “It’s just…this really suits you, Joon-ah. You’re…you’re beautiful,” he says so close to Namjoon’s skin, he can feel the hot puff of air from his lips.

Namjoon’s every nerve is on edge, feeling so overwhelmed that he fails to hold back the soft “ah—” from his throat as he arches backward, just a hair.

Just enough for Yoongi’s lips to graze his skin.

“Mm sorry—”

“No. No, it’s okay, hyung. I…I like it,” his voice shakes.

Namjoon can feel the air practically vibrating between them, can feel Yoongi’s hands tremble as they return to his skin, grazing his knuckles over his broad shoulders and down the muscular curves of his arms. “Do you like to feel pretty, Joon-ah?”

Namjoon feels like the air has been sucked from the room.

“Yes,” Joon hiccups, just a trace of shame in his voice, but it feels so good to say it out loud. Yoongi presses a feather-light kiss to Namjoon's back. He can feel the wet seam of his lips against his skin, pillowy and warm. He feels kisses trailing across his shoulder blades, hands now running delicately over Namjoon's thighs, tracing the garter straps with his fingertips.

“…Do you want to be pretty for me?” Yoongi whispers.

Joon hears a soft whine before he realizes it’s coming from his own lips.

“I’m gonna need you to use words, pretty.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon trembles, choking on his words. “Wanna be pretty for you.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. Namjoon feels fingers dig into his hips, feels Yoongi’s forehead tip forward against his back.

“Can I look at you, Joon-ah?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon whispers, breathless as he turns around and starts to lower the t-shirt in his hands, the skin of his chest blooming pink. Yoongi takes the shirt from him and gently drops it to the floor.

“Fucking hell—” he groans as he runs his fingers down Namjoon’s collar bones, dragging downward and pressing his large palms to his chest.

He squeezes and massages the soft flesh, watching it swell over the lace. Namjoon’s head tilts back with a sigh and Yoongi leans forward to graze his nose against his neck. Namjoon jolts as the sensation of his hyung’s fingers sneaking beneath the bralette, seeking out his nipples and squeezing gently before groaning into his neck. Namjoon nearly loses his balance, and Yoongi takes a hand and wraps it around him, digging his fingertips into the flesh of his ass and pulling it forward.

“Ah—ah-” Namjoon whines as their hips collide and he feels the tip of his cock exposed, peeking through the lace, rubbing up against the soft cotton of Yoongi’s t-shirt. “Hyung if you keep going like this I’m gonna come—”

Yoongi gets on his toes, pushing forward to press his lips against Joon’s ear. “Want you to come. Want to see you all flushed and pretty for me, get your pretty panties all dirty—”

“Fuck—fucking shit—” Namjoon feels dizzy, losing his balance again and tumbling back onto the bed. Yoongi follows him down, urging him further onto the bed until they hit the pillows.

They stop to catch their breath, Namjoon smiling in embarrassment and covering his face. Yoongi is having none of it—using his nose to nuzzle away Namjoon’s hands and pressing their lips together.

And it’s…so soft.

None of the frantic energy from moments ago. Just dragging their lips together, Namjoon getting lost in the feeling and comparing the softness of Yoongi’s lips against years of fleeting daydreams. His senses are electrified, savoring every detail.

The deep sighs that escape Yoongi’s lips, tickling his ears. The way his lithe body fits against his, the way Yoongi’s long fingers thread through his hair hold him like something precious.

It’s so much more than he imagined.

“My pretty Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi whispers fondly as he comes up for air. He flashes a gummy smile before dipping down and gently kissing down his jawline to his neck. “Let me make you feel good?”

“I’m not gonna last long, hyung—I can’t—”

But Yoongi is already snaking downward, sitting on Namjoon’s thighs. He leans forward and nuzzles the lace wrapped tightly against his cock, a featherlight touch. Joon feels warm breath against his cock and he’s throbbing, peeking further from the lace, twitching at the sensation.

Yoongi works upward and parts his lips in a soft 'O', letting the wet, fleshy part of his mouth linger on the tip before snaking his tongue around the top. Namjoon’s balls draw up tight, “Hyung—I’m gonna—”

Yoongi begins to nuzzle the lace-covered shaft again. “Go ahead pretty,” he groans. “Come for hyung, do it—”

Namjoon snaps, body pulsing in waves, hips jerking, ropes of white shooting upward and pooling on his skin.

Yoongi leans back and watches in awe, slackjawed, lazily milking Namjoon with one hand, sighing gentle encouragements as he palms himself through his shorts with the other.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, returning to earth before looking at Yoongi fondly. He reaches out and pulls him forward by the arms with a slight jerk, leaning upward to kiss him hard.

“Hyung, want you to come on me,” he pants.

“Yeah?”

“C'mon,” Joon works frantically, pushing Yoongi’s shorts down and releasing his cock and god it’s gorgeous. Long and slim and pink and fits perfectly in his hand.

Yoongi's soft thighs trap Joon in. He cries out when Namjoon begins to work his cock, “Close Joon-ah, I’m so close—”

“Want you to come on my tits, hyung,” Namjoon says, delirious, breathing into Yoongi’s mouth, jerking him in long, deliberate strokes, hands wet with his own release.

“Been such a good hyung, made me feel so pretty, don’t you wanna come for me?” he says as he thumbs the tip.

And that’s all it takes, Yoongi’s voice cracks as he spills over the edge, falling forward against Joon's neck and dirtying the delicate lace of Namjoon’s bralette.

And then he laughs.

They’re both laughing, pressing their foreheads together. Giggling from the high of it all.

“You’re pretty good at that, hyung,” Namjoon chuckles.

“Well…the first one’s free. Further garment adjustments may cost you.”

"Ouch," Namjoon scoffs, before leaning forward to press their lips together.

“However, I am a man of business," Yoongi adds. "But for someone as pretty as you, I’ll offer a discount."

“Thank you,” Namjoon playfully bites his lip. “Hmm…maybe next time, we can both be pretty?” Namjoon asks as he raises his brow. "You know, if you want."

Yoongi laughs and covers his face, blushing and nodding bashfully.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, baby. It's a deal.”

Namjoon lifts a hand to trace his cheek.

He thinks it's the prettiest shade of pink he's ever seen.

♡♡♡♡

twitter | ao3

#namgi #namgi au #namgi fic #namgi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfiction #btsfic #bts fic #bts in lingerie #namjoon wants to feel pretty #those melons deserve luxury support

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eightlightstar · 7 months

Text

Shoelaces

pairing: K.NJ x M.YG genre: Fluff warning(s): None word count: 817 summary: This was the first thing that Yoongi had noticed about Kim Namjoon, the fierce rapper who went by the name Runch Randa and the leader of their would-be group. He did not for one second think at that moment that, this one thing was going to become their thing and one that would make his proposal a lot more funnier and memorable.

2010:

Yoongi: “Yah! Kim Namjoon! Tie your shoelaces goddammit. If you fall and then are unable to perform, the entire day will be compromised”.

Namjoon: “Everyone was busy and since you know I can’t tie it by myself, it doesn’t make sense that you’re yelling at me hyung. I am sorry about fighting over the food last night but can you please tie them for me?”

Yoongi sighs in exasperation. It is not that he’s angry about last night - he maybe, a little - but it is just that he’s too worried about his Joonie. Someone always has to look after him while he’s off looking after the group as the leader. It’s just that his worry comes off as exasperation and anger sometimes. He bends down and quickly starts tying Namjoon’s shoelaces. He smiles fondly when he hears Joon whisper, “WOW!” in amazement. ‘Little Namjoonie, excited at the smallest of things’, he muses.

He quickly gets up and says, “There. Done. Please learn how to do it Joon-ah. We’re busy as it is and I cannot imagine how busy we might be after debut”.

Namjoon: “Okay hyung. I’ll try to. If not, won’t I always have you?”

And he has the audacity to wink. Yoongi’s heart does a whole backflip but he does not let it show.

2015:

Seokjin: “Yoongi-yah, I think you’re the only one who’s ready. Can you please go and tie Namjoon’s shoelaces? He only recently learnt how to do them and now he hurt his hand.”

Yoongi: “Oh for the love of--okay hyung. I’m going.”

When Yoongi approaches him, Namjoon is sitting on a couch fully ready except for his shoelaces being undone.

Yoongi: “Well what do we have here? Kim Namjoon, failed at tying his shoelaces yet again.”

And he chuckles lightly. There’s no bite behind his words, just pure fondness.

Namjoon: “Ah hyuuuung”, he literally whines and Yoongi melts further. “You know I learnt how to do it. Well, it was you who taught me in the first place. But loooook! My hand is bandaged. So yeah. Please?” He does his best puppy eyes.

Yoongi: “Okay okay stop being so cute. How could I refuse that whining anyway?”

And he bends to tie his boyfriend’s shoelaces yet again.

Namjoon: “Wait. You do it differently. This was not what you taught me???”

Yoongi: “It’s all the same Joon-ah. As long as it doesn’t come off while performing it should be fine.”

Sometime in the Future:

Yoongi is nervous. So nervous that he has bitten his nails raw - a habit that he had quit during the pandemic. He’s proposing to Namjoon in like a few minutes and he cannot stop his heart from beating too fast. But all that nervousness washes away when he beholds Joon cycling towards him. He had chosen the Han River - the perfect place for his perfect nature-loving boyfriend. Yoongi was standing with his back to the river, with the ring in his right jacket pocket. Namjoon came towards him, smiling widely. Before Yoongi could respond he enveloped him in a bear hug so tight that Yoongi was almost lifted off his feet. After they came apart, Yoongi literally blushed and Namjoon started giggling.

Namjoon: “You’re so cute hyung. I am so lucky to be the only one who gets to see you all flustered like this just by a hug.”

Yoongi: “Ah stop the teasing already. Anyway, what are you doing tonight? I thought we could go to dinner. Just the 2 of us. It has been so long.”

Namjoon: “I’m not doing anything because I had just finished writing a song before I came here. If we wanted to go to dinner, we could have gone from home. Why did you call me here then hyung?”

Yoongi: “Oh that. Right. Um...Joon-ah, we’ve been together for years now and it has been wonderful. But I wish it could be more than that. I wish we could be more than what we are now. So um…”

He gets on one knee and Namjoon gasps.

Yoongi: “Kim Namjoon, will you do me the honour of marrying me and making me the happiest person alive?”

Namjoon almost tears up as he says “Yes hyung” while extending his hand. Yoongi slips the beautiful platinum ring onto his boyfriend’s finger and when he looks down to wipe his own tears, that’s when he notices it.

Shoelaces. Again.

He laughs through his tears and says, “Wait. Let me do this again”.

Namjoon looks confused but nods anyway.

Yoongi: “Kim Namjoon, will you let me tie your shoelaces for the rest of our lives together?”

Namjoon bursts into laughter as Yoongi finally gets up - of course after having tied his fiancé's shoelaces. They embrace each other and after pulling back, look into each other’s eyes and smile fondly, remembering the fact that it was always about those darn shoelaces, right from the start.

A/N: I just based this off of when Yoongi said that Namjoon didn't know how to do his shoelaces when he first met him. XD

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