#namjoon x ot6 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

games, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You don't have a crush on Min Yoongi. You two are just fucking. Yup. You ignore him for two weeks because of Pokémon. Sorry. Twelve days. He's mad about it (and drunk?). Oh, shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; OT6 are nosy so now it's somehow crack???? this always happens idk how; friends-with-benefits; soulmate vibes(?); ft my obsession Pokemon Scarlet / Violet; feels + smut (fem reader, penetrative sex, scratching, m-receiving oral, mutual masturbation, choking); non-idol!AU; switches between your POV and Yoongi's POV

“Yoongi?”

Wow, that was loud and unexpected. Knocked you right out of your very pleasant dream of stuffing your face at a buffet with thick, juicy slices of prime rib, complete with flakes of premium sea salt.

“YOONGI?!”

You could still almost taste it, but, like all dreams, the savory delight slipped away from you rapidly as you groggily blinked and realized you were resembling a croissant folded into this couch.

“You have a crush on Min Yoongi of all people?!”

Similar to the flaky buttery pastry, you had no idea what the fuck was going on. Unlike the product of a baker’s pride, sentient life required you to reorient yourself into humanity, hazily taking note of the MapleStory mushroom-printed blanket draped over you and your empty hands. Your hands had been holding your phone before you passed out. You were obsessed with mobile puzzle games recently. It was nice to have games on the go to occupy yourself instead of, bleh, socializing. It was awesome. When you figured them out too easily though, they made you sleepy.

Anyway, where the hell was your phone?

“Really?! Yoongi-hyung? Oh my gosh, he texted a human being all in his own? Wow!”

That kind of excitement could only be the voice of…

“Come on, guys, hyung’s been better about such things recently. He’s surprisingly sentimental, you know.”

And that sensible voice was none other than…

Someone snorted.

That was Kim Seokjin.

You rubbed your eyes to see a familiar man holding your very expensive Samsung smartphone with your customized Rotom phone case, poking at the screen as if he was his own.

“What kind of illegal activity are you doing over there?” you hummed as you sat up, knowing full well he did not possess access due to the fingerprint scanner. One time you snuck up on him as he tried to snoop on your phone. He had flung it, so this time you calmly stayed on the sofa as your longtime friend on the armchair jumped, thoroughly scaring himself and the lean, tan drink-of-sunshine standing behind him.

“You’re awake!” Seokjin blurted. Tall, gangly if you squinted, absolutely handsome, somehow always dancing on the edge of endearing caretaker and walking disaster, Kim Seokjin threw himself out of the plushy white armchair and shoved your phone into your face accusingly as if you were the one responsible of wrongdoing. His chestnut-brown poofy hair bounced as he relentlessly poked you in the head. “You’re texting Min Yoongi! Is that the one you have a crush on?!”

“Er, technically all hyung asked was when the group was meeting up…” Jung Hoseok squeaked, radiating apologies while Seokjin continued poking you in the head with his free hand. “I tried to tell him not to touch your phone.”

“I’m sure you did,” you replied. “I’m also sure he didn’t listen.”

“Hey. Answer me.”

“Hyung…” The concerned, deep voice was coming from the barstools in the kitchen behind you, in the don’t-annoy-her-that’s-rude-but-also-it's-not-my-place-to-scold-since-I’m-younger tone. Kim Namjoon, who was probably reading a book and drinking tea at the counter. He must have been banished there. The last time he had done the same activities in the living room, he had spilled tea all over Seokjin’s white rug. That had earned him a good yelling.

You glanced at Hoseok’s rueful expression and half-smiled, waving your hand to indicate you weren’t that bothered.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

Kim Seokjin believed he needed to know such information about you because he had been your friend since your accountant mother started dragging you to house calls to a very specific home (mansion) in hopes of child you falling in love with the dashingly handsome son of one of her clients (she told his parents that it was because she couldn’t afford daycare, but even child you knew better). Instead, Seokjin and you became inseparable hopelessly addicted gaming fanatics that could not imagine each other naked without puking.

You did end up becoming inseparable. Just not in the way your mother wanted.

Oops.

“I don’t have a crush on Min Yoongi.”

“Oh yeah?” He said it in a high-pitched, disbelieving tone. You swatted his hand and snatched your phone from him, peering at the message preview. “Why is he texting you then, huh? HUH?”

Your phone vibrated.

Sorry to bother you. I would have texted Seokjin-hyung, but he’s annoying.

“He says you’re annoying.”

“Ex-cuse ME?”

“Here’s the proof.”

“EXCUSE HIM?!”

“What.”

“Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

“What are you doing here?” Kim Taehyung sputtered, obediently opening his apartment door to the slightly shorter, much more imposing figure of Min Yoongi. His long black hair was wild and windblown, puffy black parka zipped all the way up, hood out but useless at the moment. Light denim jeans and black boots crusted with snow. Nothing but his serious, intense demeanor made him imposing. Yoongi carefully kicked off the white ice before stepping in, slowly raising an eyebrow at Taehyung’s askew brown locks and rumpled gray sweat set.

“You’re not leaving like that are you?”

Taehyung frowned. “I’m not, duh. Jimin’s taking ages to use the bathroom. I think he fell in the toilet.”

“Hey! I heard that! Who’s out there?”

“You won’t believe it,” Taehyung shouted back to the disembodied voice coming from inside his apartment. He pushed his hair back from his eyes like he himself couldn’t believe it, revealing his classically handsome sharp features and stunned frown. “It’s Yoongi.”

“YOONGI?!”

The Min Yoongi, of the hour it seemed, rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing back there?” he called to the voice inside from the front hallway, not moving.

“Fixing my hair!” Park Jimin yelled back several decibels louder.

“I’m surprised,” Taehyung said, looking scowling Yoongi up and down like he was some kind of unidentified foreign object. “I thought you weren’t coming. Didn’t you say you were busy?”

“I made myself unbusy,” Yoongi grumbled back, pulling out his phone.

“You don’t make yourself unbusy for no reason.” Taehyung persisted, sticking his face in between Yoongi and his phone, making those cat-like eyes above narrow in annoyance.

“There’s alcohol.”

Taehyung wiggled his dark eyebrows. “I thought you were cutting back.”

Deadpan.

“Life’s shit, man.”

The younger male broke out into his boxy smile and booming laugh, pulling his head of brown curls back to double over. It was the combination of Yoongi’s dead-inside expression and monotone reply that was making Taehyung snort, that and Yoongi’s immediate return to his phone as if nothing was happening. Yoongi still made no move to actually step further into the apartment. He simply continued standing in front of the closed front door, on the welcome mat next to the shoes thrown about because Kim Taehyung couldn’t be neat unless he was impressing someone, and those people were not his best friend Park Jimin and unexpected-guest-but-still-friend Min Yoongi.

“You’re so funny, hyung.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows as he stared at his phone and gave Taehyung absolutely fucking nothing to work with to continue the conversation.

“I guess you intend to drink since you stopped by here,” Taehyung chattered on, bored and unbothered about Yoongi’s lack of communication. “I’m closest to the train station and in between the karaoke bar. Plus sharing a taxi with us is cheaper than paying on your own.”

Silence.

Taehyung prodded Yoongi’s arm.

“Uh huh.”

Innovative answer.

“I think everyone is going to be there then,” Taehyung continued on, smooth baritone voice calming as he listed the people. “Namjoonie-hyung, Seokjinnie-hyung, Hoseokie-hyung, Jimin, Jungkookie, you, me…”

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“He’s asleep.”

Taehyung pointed to the couch. There was a blob of gray, black and white, too much fabric and face-down into the couch pillows. A poof of wavy black hair the only indication the pile was a human and not forgotten laundry.

“What is he, a newborn infant?”

“I don’t know. He said he was tired. If we don’t let him nap now, he’ll pass out during karaoke and we’re not strong enough to carry him out. Remember last time?” Taehyung sighed.

The monochrome blob that was supposedly the man named Jeon Jungkook suddenly snored, as if on cue.

“Yeah, I don’t know what he’s is doing in the gym but he’s unmovable,” Yoongi muttered.

The phone vibrated.

“Oh, is that me?” Taehyung immediately felt around his pockets and looked around. “Ah, where did I–”

But it was not him. Yoongi looked down. Unfortunately, you’ll bear witness to my awful singing. I apologize in advance. The corner of his lips ticked as he read the message. He breathed out. One, two, three, four seconds, and typed back. That makes the two of us then. A part of him thought he shouldn’t have started this conversation. He wasn’t good at this small talk thing, but one had to make some kind of effort in getting to know someone. And, anyway, he knew himself.

Do before getting carried away.

And, yeah, he wanted to know this one.

“I knew it.”

Yoongi slowly blinked, sensing an ominous presence staring at his phone screen, most certainly reading the name there. Sigh. He pulled his arm back and put his phone in his pocket, looking up to see the grinning, scheming, falsely-angelic face of Park Jimin looming into his peripheral view.

“Oooh, Min Yoongi has a crush.”

Yoongi said nothing, because saying nothing was better than reaching over and strangling Jimin. The latter would require physical effort. Oh, and perhaps land him in jail for murder. But that was only because Taehyung was here as witness.

“Huh… I thought I got a notification,” the latter commented, emerging from his bedroom with his uncased smartphone. Yoongi often wondered how Taehyung never cracked it, but perhaps he just bought new ones when he did. Taehyung often chose aesthetics over practicality. “Oh, finally, you’re out of the bathroom. Do I have to open a window to spare myself?”

“Tae, Yoongi-hyung has a crush,” Jimin sing-songed, bouncing around the older male teasingly as Yoongi remained statuesque. “He’s texting Seokjinnie-hyung’s lady gamer friend.”

Yoongi did not confirm or deny this information as Taehyung’s brown doe eyes went wide.

“OH?”

“Hyung’s flirting.”

Yoongi felt his right eyelid twitch.

“Jungkookie! Jungkookie, wake up, I have news!”

The blob trembled, suddenly alive, shaken violently by a hyper-excited Taehyung who couldn’t believe his ears even though he did not fact-check Jimin and had zero proof if his best friend was telling the truth or not. Apparently, he was filled with too much glee to relay this sudden revelation to the youngest, sleepiest one of the soon-to-be-drunk-as-fuck-karaoke group.

“W... Wuh?”

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook was not that articulate when barely roused from the dead.

“Yoongi-hyung’s flirting!”

Those big peepers snapped open.

“He’s WHAT?!”

“Mmm.”

The night smelled like smoke and someone’s delicious dinner.

“I should, ah, head home now that you’re safely at your door and all that.”

The winter night framed his figure. A halo of streetlamp light caught the gloss of his wavy black hair. Long and dark and shadowy, strands curling around high cheekbones and fair skin. He caught your gaze as you turned to face him. Black-brown eyes and unreadable expression. Half-zipped parka, black sweatshirt, and blue jeans with gray paint splattered onto one knee. No scarf. Strange, because you knew this man was the kind of guy who always wore a beanie and prioritized sensibility over aesthetics, and yet.

Min Yoongi raised his hands and exhaled into his curled palms, warming his nose at the same time. He looked away from you to do so.

“Cold?”

He shrugged. “It’s winter.”

You half-smiled, lifting your ungloved left hand. “My hands are always warm. My face always gets cold first before my hands.”

He eyed your fur-lined leather jacket. A chocolatey faux fur, softness peeking out from the tougher black fabric. Then his eyeline shifted. Intently observing your face. If you were younger, you might have thought you had to react differently. Been shy like the movies or some shit.

You simply waited, keeping your touch hovering in the winter night.

Slowly, you lowered your hand.

Something fluttered in the darkness that was those eyes. You had seen it before, maybe even spied it earlier this night. It was only a get-together between friends, drinks and karaoke, neither activity you particularly enjoyed which led to your original decision of not going. One small detail changed your mind, and he was standing right in front of you. Your singing was awful, but Yoongi was still polite enough to say that you were better than he was. I’m only good at rap. Sure. You heard what he said and his singing voice proved to contradict it. So Min Yoongi was that kind of liar, huh.

You didn’t say goodbye yet.

You could see Yoongi was waiting for you to say it first. You removed your other hand from your jacket pocket. Empty, purposefully leaving your keys behind. Calmly stared into those dark eyes as he stepped forward. You could feel it. The fire beneath the waves. Felt it all night. In the stolen glances, in the way he spoke to you, polite with piqued curiosity, in the way time stopped when your eyes connected.

You smiled.

His cold fingers touched the back of your hand.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need the conversation to be with words. His hand on yours, chills wrapping around the warmth. Experiential. Testing the feeling between you and him. You didn’t need to wonder what he thought of you. He had reached out and touched your hand and you let him, reaching between you and him to softly rub the back of his knuckles, silently speaking to those dark eyes and parted lips through touch. His other hand raised and laid above your joined hands.

Black strands curved around his cheeks as Yoongi lowered his head.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered, smokey and dusky.

Bodies closer, breath mixing. Your head tilted. Lashes lowering. Cold night air disappearing because of the fire under the water, breath to breath, hot, almost burning, the desire to break the surface rising, rising.

“Is it this?” you murmured, barely audible.

You could tell a lot from one kiss. He did not hide his hesitancy or his want. Honesty from the very beginning of his lips on yours, surprised at the way you pressed back against him and inhaled, imprinting the moment to your memory with his scent. Your grip tightened and his did too, telling you everything you needed to know, kiss after kiss, pulling him to you, away from the winter night and memories of a friendly get-together, about to change them into something…

Else.

Yeah.

Fuck it, you were already pushing his parka down his shoulders before your front door finished closing. It was dark but that didn’t matter when you remembered where everything was, flicking on low lights and bringing his face close to yours again, creating the magical moments on your own, not waiting for Yoongi for do so. He was enough magic in his breathless gasps and the way he seamlessly followed the fervor of your kiss, his shallow sighs saturated with lust. There was very little talking except the conversation of bodies. Not much to say when you collided him into the wall and slid your hands under his sweatshirt, skin to warm skin, kisses turning to hot breath and flicks of tongue against his neck, shivers under your lips, and then he flipped the situation, strong hands on your shoulders and rolling against the wall, pinning you with his body.

Hair all over his eyes.

Shaking inhale.

A hall lamp lighting the left side of his face.

“Too fast?” you asked softly.

Dark orbs flickered to yours.

“… No.”

Closer, his air becoming your air.

“I just don’t want you to think this is the reason I walked you home. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Walking at night alone isn’t safe. People are crazy.”

You half-smiled. Alright, more of a smirk. “Maybe I’m one of them.”

A light chuckle, impressed and amused at the same time. “I was trying to sober up too.” Giving excuses.

“Heard you have a high tolerance.”

“Alcohol is alcohol.”

“So, does the alcohol wanna fuck me or do you?”

No one ever called you subtle.

Yoongi closed the distance, his hair falling against your forehead. You could tell he was struggling with himself whether or not to be swept up in the waves of your fire, or maybe struggling with what was wrong and what was right, or maybe he was hesitating once he felt your relentless energy under his hands, but you could also feel something pressing against your crotch and it wasn’t one of his legs.

He was very calm once he made his decision.

“What do you like?”

Your hands in his hair, his ear between your teeth, and his moan into your pillows. Clothes all over the floor, body to body, so much heat that you both seemed to forget it was winter. His hand on your breasts, your hard nipples between his fingertips, your mouth opening and extending your tongue, teasing him, tangling your legs in his. There was some irresistible about his smile and his smirk. You chased both, running your nails over his back and ass, his hard cock pressed to your thigh and his hiss against your neck, do you have condoms, we shouldn’t, but he didn’t need to finish since you were already prepared.

“I’m not irresponsible.”

“Oh?” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow. Glanced at your rumpled sheets, his naked body as he rolled down the condom, and then at your naked body. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

You just smirked.

You were often careful after the first time, following the energy of the other person rather than your own desires. But this time, something was different. Your hand would press to his chest, fingernails curling in, and, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, his length filling you, contented sighs mixing, raking your nails down, lines of pain in your wake, listening to his hitched breath, his eyes flashing.

He didn’t say it, but his voice was in his racing heartbeat and throbbing cock.

More.

Not quite competitiveness but more like pleasure from pushing the limit. There was a certain measure of reservedness, like how he waited patiently for you to lift your leg up onto his shoulder. First one, and then you tapped his other arm. Yoongi raised his eyebrows, but he lifted his other arm, hand back to your mattress once you were folded under him.

You lifted your hips up and rammed into his crotch.

He sucked in a growl and winced, screwing his eyes shut. Probably to avoid you seeing anything too embarrassing. You let your muscles slowly close in around him, squeezing his hardness, letting yourself feel him inside you. Appreciating. He didn’t move right away. You did, steadily fucking him from below, his chest against your thighs, keeping the smirk on your face to stay as infuriating as possible.

“Fucking… Are you enjoying this?”

Low and dangerous, sweet chills up your spine at his deep voice.

“Do you fuck without the intent of enjoying it?” you countered.

He narrowed his eyes and fucked you into your mattress. Merciless and hard and deliberate. Good rhythm, which you expected. Intensity over speed, which you did not expect. Yoongi knew what he was doing. He was not just chasing his own pleasure. There was no need to with the way that you were nearly sending him over the edge with the control of your own muscles. He slowed down for a moment, lifting a hand and tracing your jaw with his fingertips, whispers under his pants, you have nice lips, you know, the perfect shape, and you licked the air, the tongue is better.

Cocked eyebrow, open-mouthed smirk.

“I’ll have to find out next time.” He ticked his head downward. “You wanna get off with me?”

“I will if you fuck me hard enough.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not. You’ll feel it, trust me.”

You thrusted with him to get that depth you liked and he did, in fact, feel it.

“F-Fuck!”

You bit your lower lip and grinned, throwing your head back and feeling your moan vibrate in your chest, lengthening your high with the containment. Eyes closing, no more talking, your arms up and hands clutching the pillows, fucking him as he fucked you, his swears turning into moans as he felt your orgasm convulse around him, honey wetness sticking to your inner thighs and his, chasing a higher high, cutting off every one before the final crescendo, not letting yourself fully let go, not yet, almost there, not yet.

Saturating every second with vicious, hot pleasure.

Somehow Yoongi knew. Felt it, chased it with you, his muscles tense, rigid, holding back too, building the higher high, harder, steady, fuck, so good.

Your name tumbling from his throat, the warning, and his from yours, the moment, orgasm so intense you forgot to breathe for a second, suspended, and then the crash, gasping as you felt him twitch inside you and your walls pulse, electricity shooting through your nerves, tingling and euphoric, gripping your pillows covered in your hair as Yoongi leaned forward and covered you in his hair and hot breath, colliding kiss matching the escalating beats of racing hearts.

Yoongi stared into your eyes much later, all his clothes back on.

“What?” you asked.

“Just memorizing your eyes.”

He kissed you.

“Love is more circumstance than fate.”

“I always thought so, too.”

These kinds of things came up in conversation around others. These were moments that happened by happenstance. For instance, in the middle of Taehyung’s tirade about how true love was definitely fate between two beings who had a connection unique to themselves that could not be replicated, and he deliberately ignored Yoongi when he pointed out that every connection one had with another was unique because it was between two individuals.

You and Yoongi shared a look of faint amusement in the midst of Taehyung’s abrupt soapbox speech.

Hoseok blinked and repeated his question of whether or not he suited the acorn-shaped pouch that was slightly overpriced despite being on sale. Namjoon injected and said that if he has asking then it meant that he was hesitating. Seokjin told him who cares, just buy it, it’s cute. That was enough convincing for Jung Hoseok. He brought it on the spot.

You found Yoongi afterward, waiting for you around the corner.

“Oh. I thought you went home.”

He looked at you, lowering the hood of his parka.

“I thought about it, but it had been a while since I appreciated the night.”

Then there was silence, until you were close, and then those dark eyes stayed on you, tendrils of black between you and him. Your fingertips touched the button placket of his coat. His head lowered. His breath had a little sweetness to it because of the Korean liquor. You kissed him.

You closed your eyes when you did.

You didn’t say much more.

You didn’t really look at his apartment when you arrived. You were too entangled in the lip lock and pinning his wrists to the wall. Heat pressed to heat. His tongue thrusting between your lips. The cold rapidly defrosting once skin was against skin.

Your nails down his chest.

Heavy exhale, burning anticipation.

You didn’t need to ask yourself, why am I like this. People spent years wondering on their own, but those years were already behind you, in lonely nights of both your parents working overtime and you alone at the table doing homework, cooking your own meals, cleaning up after yourself. If you wanted the video games to distract your brain, you had to be a good daughter. Being a good daughter was not that hard. Do all the things you were supposed to do and take up as little mental space as possible.

Something like that.

You ran your tongue along the inside of Yoongi’s thigh and savored his shudder.

The only detail that slightly annoyed your mother was that you weren’t interested in marrying Seokjin and Seokjin was clearly not interested in marrying you. Not much she could do about that. She gave up on asking for those kinds of details after that, mostly to avoid her own disappointment.

You wrapped your tongue around hot, taut skin, controlling the pressure of your tongue and lips. Up, down, tongue moving independently along the underside of the head, so precise that you saw his fingers sink into his sheets, surprise rippling over his features. Raised an eyebrow at him, letting the amusement show.

Yoongi smirked, a look that suited him very much.

All the way down, hitting the back of your throat. Easy. Guess a lot of people could call you a whore for that but, then again, the ones who actually knew were probably too busy pining over the fact that they would never feel it once more. Didn’t help that you acted as if it never happened once you were done.

You had dedication to games, but to people?

Not really.

It was fun to figure out people. It was fun discovering Yoongi. His sounds, every sigh, the tone of his moan, the way his breath shook when you took him deep and slow. He became very hard every time you went as deep as possible, past the point of breathing. He didn’t try to push your head or interfere with your pace. It was as if he trusted your movement, which was what he should do, because you knew what you were doing.

You swirled your tongue around the head as you went down.

He sucked in a gasp and closed his eyes, visible tension over his chest.

There was a strange familiarity to his movements. That was the only way you could describe the ease of reading his body language. Sometimes you let yourself feel the extent of the pleasure and sometimes you let the pressure build in your body to wallow in the torture of the buildup, like what he was doing now. He wanted to last, so you made it last. Not too fast. Tongue all over his hard, pulsing length, slowing down at the right moment of his hips shivering, layering the intensity again, stroking his balls as you sucked him, spreading the dripping saliva all over.

You hadn’t been having sex with Yoongi for very long, but it felt like you already knew his body.

You let him consider the possibility of you not letting him cum and then you continued the intensity, pushing him over the edge.

“… F-Fuck…!”

Rammed the throbbing head down your throat and felt his thick, salty orgasm spurt into the confines, leaking over your tongue and the roof of your mouth, breathing in to push it back. His hips involuntarily jerked and you immediately reached up to grip them and shove him back down, swallowing around the harsh pulses.

You heard Yoongi moan, low and sweet and erotic.

People were like games.

Only few had replay value.

He thought about saying something, but there wasn’t much to say.

It was his policy to not make something out of nothing. Grander, more general things, sure, he kept those ambitions. But, day-to-day, he learned it was better to go with the flow. You didn’t have disappointments if you didn’t expect much to begin with, so Yoongi didn’t expect much and let himself feel what he wanted to feel.

Like his hands on those thighs and pressing delicious legs to his chest as he sank in.

He tended to enjoy the fucking on top simply because it was easier for him. Most of the time, he didn’t feel much need to experiment or be creative. Most of the time, they weren’t worth it. Her? He fucked her in every position he could think of. This time, he felt the urge to fuck with most of his clothes on, with her holding up his shirt as he thrust into her on the edge of the bed. Not the most optimal position for maximum pleasure, but the arousal in the unnatural movement was enough to get him off.

Her too.

He could tell by the unforgiving clenching around his cock and the sopping wetness that was sticking to his balls, which was causing him to last minutes. You would think the human body would last longer if it felt better, so the pleasure could be felt more extensively, but his dick was much more interested in the instant gratification it was getting.

Oh, well.

He would have to fuck multiple times then, to prolong the pleasure.

She was the one to ask him first. Meeting without the false alibi of just happening to be at the same gathering at the same time. He went with the flow. Their fingertips touching. Her leaning in and kissing his collarbone, lips so soft that they made his nerves spark and muscles shiver, tilting his head back as her tongue traced a thin line upwards, wet heat against his pulse, her hand falling from his hand, tracing his neck.

“Choke me,” he whispered.

Yoongi liked doing things for the sheer curiosity of it.

She sucked on his ear when she choked him and electrified his whole body with lust, his hands finding her hips and slamming them down on his crotch, moaning into her ear shamelessly.

Yoongi knew he got himself into moments like this.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

His fingers buried into her wet, warm pussy and he inhaled, drinking in the sweet scent of her juices, in, out, so good, the feeling of power and pleasure at his fingertips, tactile and visceral and intense. Staring into those piercing eyes with one hand around his neck and the other around his hard cock, choking both until he came on her thigh and hip, but not before she came onto his fingers, pushing himself to the brink with his forearm vibrating. Ended up being sore the next day.

Worth it.

Yoongi told himself to do before getting carried away.

He was getting carried away, especially when he was alone.

His shaking breath, breathe in, breathe out, high on the bliss, their lips colliding, covered in each other, salty, sweet, sticky, closer but not, and it was nobody’s fault but his own, because he always thought about saying something, but didn’t.

There wasn’t much to say.

He looked into those eyes, and he didn’t want to say anything. Just wanted to appreciate their shape, their color, the feeling they gave him when he gazed into them, like he could live million lifetimes but recognize those eyes every time. A strange kind of familiarity that didn’t have an explanation. He had known Kim Seokjin for a while, but Seokjin was protective of his female friends, especially his most important one.

So, Yoongi stayed respectful until his brain started getting carried away because his dick wasn’t doing enough.

Well.

He tried.

“I gotta ask you something.”

“You can ask me after you press A, you dimwit.”

“I am pressing A. It’s lagging!” Seokjin growled, bopping you on the arm. You continued leaning against his broad shoulder as the Pokémon raid loaded up. “Are you dating Yoongi?”

“Mmm,” was your reply as you pressed the buttons in order. Battle, Swords Dance, on your Ceruledge. Had to get the setup going to do the most damage before your stats become nullified. The raids in Pokémon were meant to convince players to participate in online play, but math and logic could help you solo or duo them quite easily. You needed Seokjin there so you had one less idiot AI. In fact, Seokjin only purchased this generation of Pokémon to help you out in certain things. Raids and completing the Pokédex. He wasn’t as attached to the series as you were. He played so he could understand what you meant when referencing it, but he wasn’t that invested.

He was a good friend.

“Are you or not?”

“Don’t think it’s any of your business,” you responded absentmindedly, reaching over to command his statistically-perfect Arboliva that you gifted him for this very purpose to perform Helping Hand. You might as well have been doing this raid alone. Seokjin was basically simply a spare console accompanied by a warm body.

For now.

Kidding… unless?

Nah, he was too much fun to tease.

“It is my business. You’re my friend, he’s my friend and, if you two are dating, it’ll make the group all weird.”

“Your friend group is already all weird.”

Seokjin prodded you in the head as you selected Bitter Blade for your attack move. “Be serious.”

“Ask him.”

“I did. He said to ask you.”

“Huh.”

Silence.

“… I’ll kill him if he abandons you.”

You couldn’t pause the raid. It was timed and the raid Pokémon had to be defeated in that time, or you would get kicked out. You didn’t say anything. Just kept pressing buttons, turning automatic.

“Well, I won’t kill him. I’ll make Jungkook kill him.”

Reaching over Seokjin, who did nothing to help you. He just held the Switch as you selected the correct moves and thought about who you needed to raise next. Maybe a Gardevoir. You needed more special attackers to avoid Abilities like Cursed Body and the Burn status condition.

Seokjin was suddenly quiet.

“… You think he’d do that?” you finally said, not quite sure what you meant in asking that.

You felt a hand on your head, bringing you closer to broad shoulders and his game.

“I don’t know.”

One thing about Seokjin was that he always told the truth.

“Are you getting your dick wet or what?”

Yoongi blinked slowly.

“What?”

“Jimin, you can’t ask that,” Hoseok scolded, whacking Jimin’s chopsticks with his own to punish the younger male because the walking sunshine was too pure-hearted to physically strike Jimin. “Eat your food.”

Jimin thinned his plump lips and gave Yoongi the side eye instead of eating his meal like Hoseok told him to. “I think you are. I feel it.”

Yoongi made the executive decision to ignore Jimin and continue serving himself the soup, adding plenty of vegetables. “Hoseok, haven’t you been working a lot lately? You need to eat more meat. You’re getting too thin.”

“You sound like my parents, hyung,” Hoseok laughed jovially as Yoongi added extra slices of marinated beef onto his plate. “Thanks, thanks.”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Jimin continued, buzzing away like a determined bee.

“I get it wet every day. It’s called a shower.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And I answered you.”

Jimin squinted under his fluffy auburn locks. “You’re sussy.”

“Huh?” Hoseok blinked rapidly, cocking his head. “Sussy?”

“Suspicious. Taehyung taught me.”

Hoseok’s lips curled into a round ‘o’, seemingly filing away this new lingo. “Man, sometimes I feel so old around you and Taehyung even though I’m only a year older.” The bustling restaurant complimented his cheerful voice, warm smells and fragrant conversation mixing with the clinking of plates and glasses. He reached over the table, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re talking to someone though. I thought you were going to die alone.”

Those cat-like eyes shifted away.

“… Thanks.”

Nothing more.

“Uh oh, there’s trouble in paradise already.”

“Is something wrong?” Hoseok asked, frowning slightly at the older male’s reaction.

Yoongi sighed, and shook his head.

“It’s nothing. There’s not much to say about it.”

Hoseok caught on right away, nodding intently. “Right! Speaking of, Jimin, I heard you are leading a theater production all on your own.”

“A-Ah, just the choreography for the songs…” A small hand attempted to wave away Hoseok’s sudden unwavering excitement. “Really, it’s not that serious…”

“Yes, it is! A musical! With weeks and weeks of shows…!”

Yoongi avoided looking at his phone all night. He kept his eyes forward and focused on the conversation with his friends. If he didn’t, he would be stuck in his thoughts, wondering what all those nights really meant if all he had now was silence and a loveholic’s hangover he didn’t ask for.

“Oh, shit.”

Those were the first words you had spoken to a real, physical, in-the-flesh human being in a long time (Seokjin didn’t count). First words you had spoken all day, actually. Wait. Maybe you exclaimed out loud, you little fucker, get in the damn ball, earlier. Highly probable. No need to censor yourself when you were at home.

“You have left me on read for two weeks.”

“Oh… shit.”

After the shock had set in, the cold suddenly became apparent. It was winter, after all. Extra obvious by the snow on the ground and the big black parka the person outside your door was wearing, although the red flush around his neck and cheekbones was not from the icy breeze.

“Two weeks,” the man at your front door repeated with a growl, and he started advancing which, in most cases, would be a sign to call the police.

“Surely,” you sputtered, fumbling with your phone in your other hand, letting go of the knob because the screen was tab after open tab of various Pokédex entries of the Pokémon you were considering spending your previous in-game money on to make statistically perfect. Ahem, anyway, you hurriedly changed apps to your Messages app, your eyes widening as you saw the dates of your last messages.

Oh shit.

“Actually, it’s only been twelve days–”

“Twelve days of nothing,” he snapped, slamming closed your front door that you were honestly slightly grateful for. It was fuckin’ cold out there. “And what do I hear tonight? Just yesterday you were speaking to Jeon Jungkook on the phone.”

And, at this point, Min Yoongi got in your face.

You held your phone close to your purple sherpa pullover and stepped back as a stern, gracefully annoyed expression confronted you. Wild long black hair, furrowed eyebrows, and flashing dark eyes. Flushed pink lips twisted into irritation. Open jacket revealing his black sweater and light blue jeans, strange for such a cold night.

“Have you been drinking?” you observed, catching a whiff of his exhale.

“I’m not drunk,” Yoongi countered, backing up and scowling. “I was at Namjoon’s and then I remembered you lived nearby. So, I walked.”

“You… walked?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked slowly.

“Kim Namjoon… if you’re walking… that’s about an hour away….”

The scowl straightened out, leaving a stoic profile as Yoongi refused to look at you.

He grunted.

You were surprised.

“I… Jeon Jungkook called me.” You felt the sudden urge to fill the space of silence as the man before you kept his gaze at a firm ninety-degrees to the wall despite your face being right there. “He was worried about Seokjin, because he kept trying to call him. Seokjin had sent him a box of grapes from his uncle’s farm and Jungkook was trying to thank him via call because his mom told him he couldn’t simply text, but Seokjin wasn’t answering the calls and then Jungkook got worried so he called me since I have Seokjin’s family number but then I reminded Jungkook that that rich guy and his family went to a luxurious mountain resort to go skiing and wouldn’t be back until next weekend,” you finished in a jumbled mess of oversharing.

Silence.

You were highly aware that your Nintendo Switch was loudly playing the classic, cheery jingle of the Pokémon Center in your bedroom, echoing the bright notes throughout your apartment as, er, your possibly-soon-to-be-past fling? current interest? situation-ship? continued staring at the wall as if the paint was the one speaking to him.

To reiterate, you were surprised.

“I… I didn’t think you cared,” you explained, looking up at Yoongi.

He turned his head.

Looking down, black hair around his cheeks. Lashes lifting, slow motion, dark brown orbs raising, then the darkness was on you, and there was no anger, no malice, the heated air of his rash imposition fizzling out once your eyes connected.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out, as if he was about to say something emotional but then stopped himself. His brows knitted together, a moment of recollection, and then.

“Namjoon said I should be honest, so I’m here to tell you that you pissed me off by ignoring me,” he mumbled.

You blinked. Slowly, once again.

“O… Oh. I apologize.”

Silence except heartbeats.

Yoongi looked away.

You could piece the entire picture together now. Your eyes shifted, side to side, to his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, to the faint tint of pink around his ears and neck, to his relaxed shoulders and that tense heart, and you were surprised because Yoongi had always held himself with a devil-may-care attitude and straightforward bluntness. Not that you didn’t think there was more, but rather it seemed as if he didn’t want to address that under any circumstances and you had no need for more when you were your own happiness, and so you asked him another question.

“Is this you or the alcohol talking?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue and frowned, flickering glare meeting you. “Alcohol doesn’t make you a different person. I’m not someone else just because I had a few bottles with Namjoon. I have a high tolerance anyway.”

You smiled.

“I know. Wanted to make sure you were thinking the same thing I was.”

That was why Yoongi and you ended up in this situation. Because he seemed to always end up thinking the same thing you were. There wasn’t much discussion or mystery. There was you and there was him in the same place at the same time. Multiple times. Overlapping interests, but not all the same. Kept things interesting. Discovering you had the same core values and then the same kind of comfortable silence that turned into his hand on yours, experimental, are you thinking what I’m thinking, bodies closer, breath mixing, heads tilting, is it this?

Playing the game.

The Pokémon Center music faded out and then picked up again, always aggressively joyous, always ready to nurse your team back to full health.

You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Hah… I’ve just… been playing the new Pokémon game came out recently, so I took time off to play it… thought I said…”

“You did say,” he interrupted.

Awkward pause.

“You did say,” and this time Yoongi sighed, suddenly smacking his palm into his forehead and rubbing it, mussing up his own hair. “You did say, and I believe everyone should enjoy something with the kind of passion you exhibit for your interests. I just wanted you to involve me even though I know nothing.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would I involve you in something you don’t care about?”

“I don’t care about it yet.”

“Why would you care about it?”

He flung his hand away from his face and scowled. “Are you an idiot?”

“Depends, are you confessing?”

Again, no one ever called you subtle.

Frigid embarrassment, and it wasn’t from you. Shocking. Suddenly your wall became irresistible to Yoongi’s eyeballs once more. You patiently waited.

“… No.”

“Ah. I see.”

You did see, straight through his bullshit.

Yoongi pursed his lips and gave you the side-eye. “I don’t want to play games.”

You shrugged. “Well, I do, because I’m a nerd, and I could make you a nerd too if you take off your shoes and come to the bedroom.” Chewed on your lip and felt that you should go back to being serious, at least for a moment. “I am sorry. I thought you would call me a kid, and I like you enough to not want you to be so ignorant, so I especially avoided speaking much about playing Pokémon. Honestly, I would rather hear you say that you don’t want to see me anymore than hear you talk shit about my cute pocket monster friends.”

Yoongi surprised you again.

He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t hate Pokémon. I used to watch the animation as a kid. I somewhat regret not being more into it, because then maybe you would have let me in a lot more if we had that common interest.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Putting your dick in my pussy is not letting you in a lot more?”

He raised an eyebrow back.

“You’re right. That was the alcohol talking,” he replied in a deadpan voice.

You smiled.

He smiled back. It did not seem like he wanted to and it did not seem like he could help himself either. What a predicament. You couldn’t relate.

“Do people like to tell you you’re difficult?” you asked with too much glee, unable to hide your amusement any longer.

The corner of his lips twitched. “All the fuckin’ time.”

You nodded knowingly. “Did you know we have that in common?”

He ticked his head at you, messy black hair over his cheeks and open-mouthed smirk. “Strangely enough, I seem to have learned that tonight.”

“I’m about to teach you a lot more, this time about Pokémon and not about how deep I can throat dick.”

“Consider giving me a supplemental lesson about the latter in the morning when I’m completely sober.”

“Hmm, I accept if can you listen without falling asleep.”

Yoongi eventually did fall asleep, but he did last three hours and retained most of the information in the morning despite being a drunk, ahem, not drunk (according to him) man confessing his feelings at your doorstep. In the future, once he had purchased his own game and was playing alongside you, he would insist that moment was not the one when he confessed, that he definitely confessed later (sober, mind you), and that he definitely did not purchase a Nintendo Switch and start studying the Pokédex more because of you (he had simply found the game a good way to wind down).

Games were just more fun to play now when he had a player two.

Yeah.

We know better.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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intplayboy · 2 years

Text

BTS MASTERLIST

copyright © 2022 by kumiko. all rights reserved. my works or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from me except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

if you want to be updated click on works schedule. and to be tagged in any work, please complete the tag list form. <REQUESTS ARE OPEN>

please read the before you read post!!

key: ✓ - complete | ✑ - on going | ✎ - in the making

OT7/MULTI

drabble list

series:

TOUCH - MAFIA! BTS OT7 X EXPERIMENTED HUMAN! READER [✑]

summary: 007 (you), a girl who grew up in an experimental facility with no knowledge of the outside world, unexpectedly escapes, encountering seven of the country's most malicious and notorious men. How will both sides of their lives change?

masterpost chapters out now

‎

SCHLIMAZEL - IDOL! BTS OT7 X F! READER [✎]

summary: [schlimazel - a consistently unlucky person.] You surely did not imagine encountering the individuals you admire most while beaten and bruised. Yet, it ironically became the beginning of an unforeseen and beautiful friendship that unknowingly evolved beyond that. a story about acceptance and emotional longing.

masterpost chapter 1 out now

‎

imagines/oneshots:

YA'ABURNEE - HYBRID! BTS OT7 X HUMAN DETECTIVE! READER [✎]

summary: after being inadvertently recruited as a former ex-criminal by your home's oahu special task force three years ago, a particular case that sets your blood boiling causes you and your team to devise an infiltration plan that sends you all across the globe to south korea. however, halfway through your mission, you were injured and separated from your team, leaving you in a dense forest with unforeseen company.

masterpost sneak peek now out - [ multiple parts tbd... ]

‎ ‎for more ot7 drabbles, oneshots - go here

‎

KIM NAMJOON

series:

yet to come...

‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎

KIM SEOKJIN

series:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎

‎ ‎

‎

MIN YOONGI

series:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

JUNG HOSEOK

series:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

PARK JIMIN

series:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

KIM TAEHYUNG

series:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

imagines/oneshots:

yet to come...

‎ ‎

‎

JEON JUNGKOOK

series:

THE YOUTH - JUNGKOOK X F! READER FT. BTS OT6 (PLATONIC) [✎]

summary: it's 2027, and the government has suddenly waged war on its citizens. more specifically, the youth, ages 6 to 20. as a result, four types of people remain within this tragic burning nation: the military, who chases down the youths, the deviants, who are the rebels, and the screechers.

‎ ‎

‎

imagines/oneshot:

yet to come...

#bts #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts ot7 #ot7 bts #bts x reader #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #suga #jhope #bts masterlist

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bulletproofscales · 9 months

Text

BTS nsfw one shots

same page, same number on the scale (ot3 - taejikook - fat maknae line - hurt/comfort - misunderstandings )

a reason to eat (ot7 - jimin centric- fat jimin - kinda angsty at first - bpdy worship)

happy relationship weight (ot7 - seokjin centric - chubby seokjin - hurt/comfort - overstimulation)

what to do on free days (established ot7- namjoon x seokjin x yoongi x hoseok x jimin - namjoon centric - stuffing - overstimulation - sub/dom)

part 2 (namtaekook - public place)

dense and persistent (taekook - chubby jungkook - slowburn-ish - hurt/comfort-ish)

lunch break (yoonjin - obese yoongi - stuffing - pinning - public place - degrading)

BEANS (unfinished- taejin - obese seokjin - farmer taehyung- stuffing - sexual tension - nsfwish

seven days a week ( OT7 , Jungkok centric , fat ot6 )

draw me like one of your fat boys (taejoon - obese taehyung - professor namjoon - model taehyung - explicit - lots of flirting, pwp )

A nice middle ground (prequel draw me like one of your fat boys) (taekook - jikook ar ein an open relationship - mentions of jihope -kink discovery - stuffing - ripping clothes - getting stuck - breaking chairs - slight nsfw )

i wanna be keeping you warm (namgi , plumber porn cliche au , fat namjoon, breath play, body odor)

a spooky dick apointment 7/7 (ot7, hoseok centric, monster fucking, noncon-roleplays, every chapter is tagged individually)

i can smell your lies (minjoon , fat namjoon , sweat, underwear sniffing , handjobs)

pump the gas (collab with @jktummies !! namjin, a/b/o, fat seokjin, heat sex, strangers to lovers , stuffing , gas, body odor)

room for three ( jihopekook , threesome , rivalry , pwp , semi public space , fat jeon jungkook . part one in sfw! )

a helping knot (taegi, a/b/o , alpha taehyung, omega yoongi, heat sex, fat yoongi)

making ends meet by making clothes brust (sope , chubby yoongi , pwp , maid cafe , semi public sex , mentions of drug use/selling , sex work, stuffing , handjobs , d/s dynamics )

a shift in the balance (ot7 with vmin centric, feedee taehyung, feedee jimin, mutual weigth gain, kink discovery)

flowerworks (namkook , established relationship witch namjoon, miscommunication, hurt comfort, power play, magic sex)

first times (drabble, taegi, trans FTM taehyung, fat yoongi, oral sex, eating out)

a live reaction to old crushes (jikook , bjs , fat gamer jk , humilaition , body shaming )

#ignore this post!!#rearranging my masterlist

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theharrowing · 6 months

Text

Happy NamGi Day!

in honor of such a glorious holiday, and because i am feeling a little extra today, here are all of my namgi fics, as well as some of my personal favorites!

♡ - fluff | ☽ - smut | ☁ - angst | ✎ - wip | ☆ - personal fav

just namgi

One Day at a Time | 2 parts, 39.4k words, ☆ ❣ Yoongi x Namjoon | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣feat. established Namjoon & Jung Wheein ❣ past acquaintances to lovers, a/b/o ⚠ infidelity, mpreg, painful knotting ↳ Yoongi loves to help others. As a professional surrogate, he takes pride in using his body to help families bring life into this world, and love into their homes. But when his high school crush Kim Namjoon hires Yoongi to help him and his wife conceive, things get…precarious. |Or, Omega Yoongi gets bred by Alpha Namjoon and holy shit, does he fall in love.

Sun Seeker | 3 parts, 38.7k words, ☆ ❣ Namjoon x Yoongi | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ strangers to lovers, tattoo shop au ↳ Namjoon does not do impulsive. He doesn’t understand the fuss about body modifications, and he has never considered getting one. That is, until he meets Yoongi—the prettiest man he’s ever seen, who happens to be a tattoo artist—and he can’t stop thinking about going under Yoongi’s needle to have an equally pretty design tattooed onto his skin.

Entanglement | oneshot, 10.9k words ❣ Namjoon x Yoongi | ☽ ♡ ❣ best friends to lovers, confessions, loss of virginity, very little plot ↳ Namjoon is eager to finally lose his virginity and decides it would be wise if his best friend Yoongi helps him. (He is totally not in love with Yoongi, or anything…)

Lips Like Honey | oneshot, 13.9 words ❣ Namjoon x Yoongi | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ strangers to lovers, light angst, very little plot ↳ Chef Min is easily the prettiest man Namjoon has ever seen and now Namjoon is questioning everything—including his sexuality.

Honsool | 3 parts, 8.5k words ❣ Yoongi x Namjoon | ♡ ☽ ❣ friends to lovers, requited unrequited, snowed in au ↳ The whole group is snowed in during their winter trip and Yoongi drinks enough whiskey to finally tell Namjoon how he feels.

namgi x reader

Collateral | 22 parts, 245k words, ✎☆ ❣ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ feat. Taehyung x Jungkook, Seokjin x Hoseok, Jungkook x Reader ❣ strangers to lovers, mafia au, poly ⚠ drug use, graphic violence, dark themes - see fic warnings ↳Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You. But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

namgi x members

Pretty in Pink (Make Him Purr) | oneshot, 15k words, ☆ ❣ Yoongi x OT6 | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ established relationships, canon compliant, animal play, marathon sex, light angst, very little plot ↳ Yoongi—long-established power top of the group—secretly wishes he could shed all of his responsibility and allow the members to take care of his needs while he’s dressed in a frilly pink kitten outfit. Well, it was a secret until Namjoon discovers the outfit, pulling the cat out of the bag, so to speak, and forcing Yoongi to decide whether to show that side of himself to the rest of the guys.

my favorite namgi fics by others

The One by nicedress | oneshot, 22.2k words, ☆ ❣ Yoongi x Namjoon | ☽ ☁ ❣ strangers to lovers, pistolverse au, serial killer au, smut, angst, fluff if you squint ⚠ dead dove! murder, slut shaming, rape culture, open ending - see fic warnings ↳ Every stamen lured into Yoongi’s bed leaves him with a new blossom on his skin and a new grave on his property. When he encounters Namjoon, a stamen who refuses to touch any pistil unless it’s his soulmate, all Yoongi sees is someone naive and easy to control. Someone to help around the farm without complaint. Someone to dig holes without realizing they’re graves. Someone Yoongi’s not quite willing to kill—not yet.

What the Stars Look Like Under You by nicedress | 11 parts, 134.4k words, ☆ ❣ Yoongi x Namjoon | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ strangers to lovers, porn star au, sub/dom, smut, angst, fluff ⚠ implied/referenced rape (not between namgi), panic, suicide ideation - see fic warnings ↳ After building a porn career as a popular submissive, a scene gone wrong sends Yoongi spiraling. Switching roles gives him new purpose and shields him from the trauma he’s not willing to face, but having the world’s most pretentious, ecofriendly Dominant steal his spotlight isn’t making things any easier.

Forever Rain by Kumatokkii | 9 parts, 66k words, ☆ ❣ Yoongi x Namjoon | ♡ ☽ ☁ ❣ enemies to lovers, rapper au, smut, angst, eventual fluff ↳ Underground rappers Agust D and RM have had an unspoken feud that's spanned years, always hinting at each other in their lyrics, never fully saying it. Then Agust D crosses the line and calls him "Namjoonie" in his rap, on stage, for all to hear... To Namjoon's utter embarrassment.

♡ - fluff | ☽ - smut | ☁ - angst | ✎ - wip | ☆ - personal fav

HAPPY NAMGI DAAAYYY!!! 🎉🎈💜

#namgi day #the most wonderful time of the year

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minminyoonjii · 10 months

Note

Im sorry about the whole Wattpad thing love. That happened to me and I lost all my stuff. Do you mind me asking what all was posted?

Stray Love Haven, a Straykids Prompts and Praises book, an old Oneshot Book, and a Bangtan Namjoon x OT6 full-fledge Littlespace Book. It wasn't complete though. On the bright side, I crosspost the majority of my work on Ao3. Some that don't par with Ao3's standard of more than 1k word count, didn't make it. This week lowkey has been chaotic. My dumbass just came back from a car accident;; Haha. Ha.💛

I live. Is it what it is.

#˗ˋˏ°•𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴•°ˎˊ˗#stray kids smut #secretmoonlight #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fic #stray kids lee felix #stray kids lee yongbok #lee felix gifs #felix gif

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magini0 · 8 months

Text

Kimset - (I)

Pairing: ot6 x Jungkook | Jungkook x Everyone

Genre: Witch AU, Ex's to lovers, Romance

Summary: Jungkook has until the next Witching Moon to develop a cure for his chronic illness. With his race against time, he really doesn’t have the nerve to be constantly pestered by his old coven mates—whom he had left behind after a mission gone wrong. Back as a famous healer and sponsored by a renowned magical society, Jungkook is ready to do what it takes to survive. Now, if only his former coven would back off and stop being so damn persistent in making up for their old mistakes…

Word Count: 14k

Also accessible on ao3 => Here Next Chapter => Here

"Souls are priceless. They exist only once, tied to the nature of our very existence. They thrive when their host does, weep when we do, and wither when we pass. Souls cannot lie. They lack the ability to speak and, therefore, compensate for their silence through the non-negotiable. Emotions. A language in its own right, complex and intricate, and on most occasions, we fail to understand them ourselves."

The train was more relaxed than it usually was during rush hour but packed enough that some people had to stand and grasp onto the railings to keep themselves from losing balance. A sharp contrast to the near body-to-body contact one would be familiar with during Busan rush hour when businessmen and women would return home from work. Permanent-looking frowns and scowls etched onto their features, their smiles seemingly drained away from the exhausting facade of customer-friendly dedication.

"People have the innate ability to do what souls cannot, and that is to deceive and lie. Whether to others or ourselves, is a completely normalized aspect of humanity." The woman stated, a natural tut to her voice that lingered with a chiding nature. It was clear she disapproved of dishonesty. "A flower cannot lie about its withering nature nor conceal its yellowing leaves. A cat will never lie about stealing food from the canary; it will simply defend its actions through sharpened claws and ruffled fur."

Lying is a uniquely human ability.

"It's this dishonesty that forces souls to weave a more noticeable, irrefutable honesty between each other. People are not meant for solitude, the cumbersome weight of loneliness marrying itself to a melancholy so heavy, it kills. That is why, on every individual, there is a red string. An extension of one's soul, connected to another across some part of the world. Those connected by these red strings are called soulmates."

Jungkook's playlist had run its course a few minutes ago, headphones now resting pointlessly over his ears. He had listened intently to the little lecture the kid's mother provided, his eyes drifting to the red strings attached to his pinky. The tip of his tongue toyed irritably with his lip piercing. Six loops, tied and knotted securely around the little appendage. Secure, occasionally tugging him in one way or the other.

"So, like you and Appa?" The little kid asked, his voice innocent and cheerful. It had a lilt to its tone.

The woman laughed, lips creasing upwards and revealing small dimples on each of her cheeks. Small little smile lines were beginning to grow across her features; the woman seemed to smile a lot. Jungkook thought briefly, looking away from the sweet display as if it singed him to look at it. In many ways, it did.

"Mhm, just like me and Appa." Again, that sugared tone made Jungkook cringe. He knew he was being dramatic; he wasn't even supposed to be listening in on this clearly tender moment between mother and son. But the train left little space, or rather, privacy.

"Soulmates are meant to be together, my little cherub. It's meant to be."

Bullshit.

Jungkook nearly had to restrain himself from spitting out those words. Memories of Namjoon dragging him to the nearest bookstore off campus because apparently the author of his favorite book series released multiple versions of the same story, but with different endings, and Namjoon just had to have all of them. Even the threat of getting caught by the cynical dean didn't deter Namjoon. Which is what ended up happening. They were stuck in detention for two weeks and had cooking duty for one, but how could he have been mad when all Namjoon could do was beam and gush about the endings, revealing his dimple and shaping his eyes into little crescents?

Or Hoseok, who had bandaged him up after a nasty fight with Ju-won, the academy's grade-A asshole. He had hidden out in the botanical greenhouse, sulking quietly and licking his wounds as he tried to recuperate himself; tears trickled down his cheeks and soaked into his uniform. Jungkook had the nasty habit of hiding his pain rather than seeking comfort in his hyungs. Hoseok was a phenomenally skilled witch, but his greatest skill pertained to finding Jungkook when he didn't necessarily want to be found. It's how he ended up sitting on the edge of the garden's large mahogany work table, Hoseok hiking up his pants and tending to his scratched knees. Kissing his bruised and split knuckles and wiping away his tears one by one. Until his pain felt phantom and eventually disappeared altogether.

Jin had gone ballistic when he caught word of Jungkook's brawl when he and Hoseok returned to the group's shared dorm. Pacing up and down the room, flailing his arms in a dramatic fashion as he lectured and chided Jungkook. He could still recall the way Jin's eyes melted from stern to a weakening tenderness. Kneeling down in front of Jungkook, an action that nearly gave him a heart attack at the time, pulled him into one of the warmest embraces he'd ever felt. How delicately Jin draped a blanket over his shoulder and pleaded with Jungkook to confide in them in the future if Ju-won became too much. Jin had whispered that once they graduated and were officially able to form a coven, Jungkook's burdens would become theirs as well.

They never did form a coven.

The light-recorded voice of the subway station announcer declaring his stop had Jungkook forcing the memories of his past away. Glancing down, he stole a brief look at the six red strings attached to his finger, and his heart squeezed painfully. As if the truth of his situation pained it enough to halt its beating purpose, and weep alongside him. He inhaled sharply, forcing air into his lungs as the metro's tightly sealed doors slid open. Placing one robotic foot in front of the other, he got off the subway and returned to the busy world of Busan. Businessmen shuffled alongside him, shoulders tense and strung uncomfortably straight behind them. Jungkook momentarily remarked how grateful he was to not work in a cubicle all day.

In the dimly lit depths of the subway station, a sense of unease gradually began to bloom. An unsettling, familiar itch underneath his skin warned him. Practically declared the wrongness inside his body. As the trains rumbled and screeched on their tracks, he felt the tight, spine-curdling sensation—a fleeting brush of something unsettling against his senses. His lungs halted, body tense as he paused his steps. Bracing himself for the approaching horror of his growing symptoms, the city's constant hustle and bustle oblivious to the quiet terror Jungkook fought within himself in public.

He leaned against a concrete pillar, eyes darting toward the flickering fluorescent lights that cast uneven shadows upon the worn tiles. It was there, in that indistinct interplay of light and darkness, that he sensed the dreaded whisper, a sensation akin to a cool breath upon his neck.

Shifting his gaze over his shoulder, Jungkook felt his fear cement him to the dirty tiles. The shadows around him seemed to move like wraiths seeking form, flickering at the edge of his vision. He blinked, wishing the taunting shadows to leave him be. To abandon their morbid pursuit towards him and return to their rightful place. But then, in the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse—a shadow that moved, distinct from the others. It was as if it had detached itself from the ordinary play of darkness. Like the outline of a silhouette, a barely perceptible figure materialized for a fleeting instant before fading back into obscurity.

The subway arrived, its doors sliding open with a hiss, and a crowd of commuters shuffled forward. The shadows returned to their rightful place, and only then did he feel his lungs fill with air again. The world stayed oblivious to his dilemma because, of course, they would; they couldn't see what he saw.

Jungkook stood frozen against a directory board, displaying all the subway station stops across Busan. His aura quivered, and the dread torpid pull of experiencing one of his illnesses' symptoms weighed him down immensely. Sometimes, he forgot he was sick to begin with, that the magic inside of him was running rampant and inviting things—shadows, to come and torment him. With a slight push, Jungkook leveled his breathing and began walking again.

The plastic grocery bags rustled against each other as he navigated his way through the crowds with practiced ease. Upon leaving the station, Jungkook took notice of the soft drizzle from the sky. Littering the ground in small dots before darkening the paved asphalt entirely. It was raining, because of course it had to be. The sky seemed to cry whenever Jungkook lost himself in his reminiscence.

Taehyung and him had missed the bus back to the academy, having gotten separated from the rest. No doubt an intentional act now that he thought about it. Although all seven of them were connected by those red strings of fate, Jungkook and Taehyung took the longest time to bond. Taehyung was bratty and stubborn, and Jungkook was hot-tempered and just as obstinate. The tension between them was usually thick enough to slice, and most of their conversations were spent bickering and annoying each other. Jin used to joke about how their sole purpose in life was to give him gray hairs and premature wrinkles. It wasn't until they had their biggest argument to date and Taehyung had taken to spray painting a local store in Hangawoondae—the town adjacent to the academy—an act of vandalism the store's owner grew livid over. Typically, a breach of rules would be punished through acts of service, but this was Taehyung's third offense. The punishment would have been expulsion. Jungkook still recalled bursting into the Headmaster's office and berating Taehyung for taking credit for his artwork, effectively taking the blame for him. Jungkook had ended up with weeks' worth of detention and unpaid labor at the store Taehyung vandalized. Neither of them talked about that moment, a lingering awkward tension now between them as neither of the two wanted to start the desperately needed conversation. Neither of them wanted to initiate vulnerability.

The two had decided to walk back to the academy in the rain, fearing the dean's punishment for their tardiness. But the rain had been ferocious, forcing them to seek shelter in a nearby shrine. They were soaked, uniforms drenched and clinging uncomfortably to their skin. Jungkook could still recall the sound of Taehyung's unfiltered laughter and could picture the way his eyes creased and face contorted into one of sheer amusement and happiness. A lot had been said underneath that shrine, a vulnerability blossomed between them, and the red string tying them together had never felt more in place.

Taehyung and Jungkook returned to the academy that noon, standing beside each other as the dean scolded their existence to the high heavens. Neither of them could force the smile off their lips, hide how their fingers occasionally brushed against each other, and how their relationship seemingly had changed upon their return.

Ironically, Jungkook had felt the closest to Taehyung. Both of them were troubled, lashed out, and dealt with their emotions in problematic manners; they understood each other's deviant natures.

Now, in the present, Jungkook refused to shield himself from the rain. The drops darkened his clothes, cooled his skin, and pulled down his hair as it grew wet the longer he walked. A part of him hated the rain, perhaps mainly because it reminded him so mercilessly of the delinquent he fell in love with underneath the cover of a shrine all those years ago.

The bookstore was a small distance away, half a block, and clearly visible from its location as a corner piece of the street. The brick walls were painted a mat black, while the doors wore a more rundown but still striking auburn color. Over the two red doors, on a black ledge before the bookstore met the classic unpainted bricks of the apartment overtop, stood bold golden letters reading, BOOKS. The name always made Jungkook snicker; his Halmoni was never the creative type. Opting to be direct over some mystical fantasy titles. She sold books and prefered to make that quite clear. The red doors had a similar design to old telephone booths in England; beside them, separated by a black pillar, was the store's display window. Books are neatly organized and spaced, entirely deceiving of the chaotic nature inside the actual store.

Seeing the familiar store always made Jungkook release the tensions residing inside him; he wouldn't be surprised if that was due to some of his Halmonis spells, but she vehemently denied these accusations, boasting about her calming aura instead.

The inside of the store was a sharp contrast to its outward appearance; the black and reds gave the store an elegant impression. The interior was different, the floorboards an assortment of different woods. Bookshelves overflowed with books to the point that Halmoni had opted to simply start piles on the floor, some nearly beginning to kiss the ceiling. Small lounge chairs were placed by the windows, and plants and ivy snuck around any pillars and support structures within the store, sometimes raining down on bookshelves. The store always smelt acutely of cinnamon and vanilla, depending on what tea Halmoni had chosen to brew herself that day. The aisles were narrow, with occasional floorboards creaking depending on where you stepped.

Jungkook adored the store, in all its hazardous nature. He felt at peace at the disorganization, the warm scents, and the smell of old pages. The idly chit-chat between patrons, Jungkook loved it all.

"Aish, if I didn't know any better, I'd say your mood was causing this weather," Chae-Won stated casually, pulling Jungkook out of his memories. The hell was going on with him today? He thought bitterly; entering the bookstore he worked at must've become so familiar; not even the calming jingle of the bells attached to the door frame had alerted him to his arrival.

"Sorry, Halmoni." He muttered half-heartedly, his head filled with too much to really feel any remorse. Quite frankly, Jungkook wasn't even sure what exactly he was apologizing for. He held the plastic bags of groceries loosely, walking around the front counter and into the actual home he shared with Chae-Won, an elderly woman who had practically adopted him and insisted he addressed her as his halmoni. That was approximately six years ago, and now Chae-Won felt like family to him.

He set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, vaguely aware of the soft footsteps that had followed him into the space. He focused on organizing and storing the supplies he got, Chae-won was a very disorganized person. However, most items need to be stored in the lower cupboards to accommodate her small stature. He devoted his sole attention to the rather mundane task, all to avoid the worrisome stare of his halmoni. The elderly witch had the innate ability to detangle Jungkook with a simple look, finding the root of his problem with frightening accuracy. Jimin had that ability, too.

Jungkook nearly flinched at the thought, his movements halting as he looked at the now spotless kitchen. Vegetables in the fridge and other dry ingredients stored in the pantry. There was nothing else to do, and yet he still struggled to look up and meet his halmoni's gaze.

A long sigh filled the room, sounding both tired and sympathetic. Jungkook nearly recoiled at the sound, stealing his body as it leaned against the kitchen counter. His eyes were transfixed against the window, watching the raindrops trickle down the glass and race towards the bottom. The sound of shuffling, footsteps, and the kettle being filled and turned on occupied the room. Two mugs clink together as they are grabbed from the top cupboard and placed on the counter, followed by more rustling of clothes. The water began to screech as it boiled; a moment of silence and then the sweet aroma of herbs and oranges filled the small space.

"Sit with me, honey." Jungkook forced his gaze to part from the window, glancing at Chae-Won, who had already sat down on the couch in the living room. Adjacent to the kitchen, a large archway connected the two rooms. Two cups of tea simmered on the coffee table, and Jungkook pushed himself off his spot against the countertop, walking over at a lethargic pace before sitting down beside her. Grabbing his cup of tea, thanking her quietly, before taking a sip.

Halmoni was a short, elderly woman. With gray hair that was often tied into a round tight bun atop her head, her body naturally hunched over as she stood and walked. She had smile lines and wrinkles to indicate all the happy years she's experienced. Usually, a wool shawl was draped over her shoulders, as she tended to get cold rather quickly. If one were to picture a sweet, old witch who tends to a bookstore, that'd be his Halmoni.

"Repressing what has happened will not make it go away, honey." Halmonis's voice cut through the rooms stillness, the pattering of rain against the windows accompanying her gravelly tone. Soft, but a clear indication of her old age. Jungkook inhaled sharply, releasing a shuddering breath as he tried to focus on the tangy smell of oranges, the taste of sweet herbs, and fruitiness.

Yoongi had loved tea. Exam season was always so stressful for all of them, but Yoongi upheld himself to the strictest regime. He'd burrow himself in books and papers, hold himself up in his room, and pull all-nighters. Jungkook recalled how dark circles always formed underneath Yoongi's soft features during the weeks leading up to the exams. Shoulders permanently tense, a usually relaxed expression contorted into one of exhaustion and concentration. Jungkook, who often struggled with insomnia, would sneak into Yoongi's room with a tray of sweets and tea. He'd coerce him into taking a break, light the fireplace because Yoongi tended to let the flames dwindle and drape a blanket over the both of them as they took a break on the couch. Yoongi would often feel too drained to uphold a conversation during those moments, and Jungkook didn't mind; they basked in the comfortable silence their company provided them with. Yoongi would tend to fall asleep in those moments, head resting against his shoulder. Jungkook couldn't bring himself to mind and would make his late-night visits more frequent.

"I know," his voice came out raw in tone as if the words were forced out against his will. Despite himself, Jungkook knew. He knew running was fruitless, he knew ignorance was temporary, and that he'd continue to hurt for so much longer.

"I know, Halmoni." He repeated, voice more stern this time. A weak attempt to convince himself that perhaps if he repeated the words often enough, he could begin to believe them as well.

The sound of small clinking porcelain chimed throughout the room; Chae-wons eyes appeared downcast as she set the cup down and back onto the coffee table. "Emotional healing is a process, just like physical injuries; we have good days, where we can walk on our own, and we can have bad ones, where we are once again confined to our beds."

I know, the words were itching to escape him. He knew, he knew how futile his attempts at suppression were, how pushing through what had happened wasn't healing him. But sometimes Jungkook just felt so cursed to be one of the only people in the god-damn world whose soulmates didn't end up together. How fortunate it was to have found them all, how much praise they had gotten for their sheer luck; the thought nearly made him snicker. Luck, yeah, he didn't have any of that.

"Oh, my little cherub." Chae-won sighed, a pained lilt to her tone that made Jungkook gaze harden. Her hand reached out and placed itself atop one of his, her fingers wrapping around his cold hand and giving it a tight squeeze. "With everything that's been going on, the diagnosis—"

Jungkook couldn't prevent his expression from contorting, eyebrows furrowed, and expression scrunched up as he cringed at the words. Delicately chosen, all to avoid hurting him further. Nexus Entropy is a chronic disease that gradually kills the afflicted individual in stages.

Jungkook was dying; his own magic was slowly devouring him. It was a rare illness, genetic apparently, but it seemed to have skipped over both his parents and actual grandparents. To summarize, that meant that Jungkook was once again being fucked over by fate itself.

"By shunning the world, honey, you're punishing yourself." His Halmoni finished, once again ripping Jungkook from his heavy thoughts. His mind was like a viper, his thoughts snaking around his body, piercing his soul with its venom. A fierce-like grip around his throat and heart, squeezing and seemingly choking him on his own words.

"Jungkook, you've done so much already. You've contributed priceless information to medical research for supernaturals. For heaven's sake, m'boy!" Jungkook couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze because, at the core of his research breakthroughs, it was all accidental. Jungkook hadn't meant to necessarily cure any other disease, but his own, curing E.E disease was only a successful byproduct of his failed attempts of curing himself. He vaguely recalled the news uproar about his discovery, but Jungkook went by the pseudonym of JJK. He didn't want them to see his discoveries.

Jungkook was a green witch, meaning that he had a knack for anything pertaining to nature. Most supernatural diseases couldn't be cured by modern human medicine; they needed to be derived from specific mystical ingredients that Jungkook had a tendency to cultivate. His powers were slowly waning from his illness; cultivation, potions, and medicine is what he chose to distract himself with. A sharp contrast to the bellicose habits of his youth.

Chae-won got up, ignoring Jungkook's questioning gaze as she walked over to a drawer and pulled out a familiar-looking letter. It made his slack body tense, posture straightening, jaw clicking as he ground his teeth together. The red taunting wax seal makes his body cold, hands and feet tingling with wild nerves. His stomach dropped, coiling and clawing inside of him like two meerkats fighting and tussling with each other.

"Halmoni I–"

"I found it while cleaning your room," She cut him off, giving him a look that quietly scolded him for even leaving his room in such a messy state. Jungkook had grown messy, too tired to force himself to clean. Sometimes, the reality of his situation dawned on him so harshly that he couldn't force himself to even escape the clutches of his bed. Sometimes, those days turned into weeks. Halmoni was very considerate during those times, bringing him newly delivered books before she put them onto her shelves, bringing him tea, and letting him pace himself while still providing her presence as support. Occasionally, she'd cast a spell to clean his room while he was out. She always insisted that a clear space was key to a clearer mind.

The letter had a wax seal keeping it shut, the wax being indented with the design of a golden eagle. It was clear that Jungkook hadn't even bothered to open it because he had known that it was a letter from the Vesperium Veil University, a place he swore he'd never visit. No, Jungkook swore it all off. Studies, magic, adventures, and love. He wanted to work at his Halmoni's bookstore until he died, peacefully miserable and wallowing in his own puddle of self-pity and remorse.

"You're hurting, honey. You're allowed to be hurting. But there's a part of you that loved magic, and I know you still do cherub. You worked so hard back then; please don't give all of that up." She pleaded, handing the letter over to Jungkook. Although only a flimsy piece of paper, it felt like the most cumbersome weight he had ever been forced to carry. The sight of that letter choked him.

"Your hearts hurting—it's been hurting, and the wounds done to our heart take the longest to heal. Sometimes they don't heal at all,"

Jungkook didn't think he'd heal.

"Eventually, we have to learn how to move forward. Hun, I think it's time for you to take that step." She finished, standing up and gently resting her hand on his head. She petted it, once, twice, before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head before leaving the living room and returning to the front of her store.

And just like Halmoni, the sun seemed to leave with her. The noon casting the world in a golden glow made the living room look oddly tranquil. A peacefulness that sharply contrasted with his emotional turmoil. Jungkook had grieved for the past six years, had tried coming to terms with his break-up for one, accepting his diagnosis for another, and had stopped moving forward the day he left the academy. In the third year, he began pursuing his education under Kwang-sun in an attempt to cure himself.

Glancing at the retreating sunlight, a memory of him and Jimin at fourteen flashed before him; the two had known each other since elementary. Since then, Jimin used to call that red string connecting their pinkies his lucky ribbon. Jimin had run up to him, huffing and puffing, cheeks reddening from his galloping pace as he panted before him. Nearly doubling over as he rested his hands on his knees, Jungkook had been so worried, but all his anxieties were stilled when Jimin looked up. Flashing the brightest smile, eyes scrunched together in crescents at his sheer happiness. In his hand was a letter, folded neatly with a silver wax seal. That night, Jungkook and Jimin had both gotten their acceptance letter to the Sable Spire Institute: For Young Witches. There wasn't a more prestigious and well-known wizarding academy in all of Korea. That night, they had snuck onto the rooftops to look at the stars, a woolen blanket draped over them. Jimin had held his hand and made Jungkook promise to always stick together. Jungkook did and, in return, made Jimin swear the same.

Jimin had broken his promise.

They all did.

A bitterness he usually swallowed resurfaced, his eyes refocusing on the letter in his hand. He stared at it for some time, unsure for how long exactly, but by the time he pried away the seal from the paper, the golden hour had long passed. The sky is now covered in dark maroons, purples, and a growing blue.

Unfolding the letter, he read with a shaky breath:

"Dear JJK,

We are delighted to extend our warmest congratulations to you on behalf of the faculty and administration of Vesperium Veil University. It is with great pleasure that we offer you a place at our prestigious and exclusive magical university for the upcoming academic year…."

Jungkook's eyes skimmed over the acceptance letter half-hazardously, rushed, and partially uncaring. Accepting this invitation would fulfill his seventh ring of education and would provide him with a complete magic permit, subsequently allowing Jungkook to use magic anywhere. But most importantly, it would declare him a Master and enable him to teach. A silent ambition Jungkook would most likely carry to his grave.

The seventh ring was held back at an establishment, but for non-magicals, it was simply referred to as an exclusive university. The Vesperium Veil was one of these esteemed locations, notorious for its brutal trials but famous witches. Anyone who managed to succeed at Vesperium Veil was bound to become a renowned witch.

Jungkook scoffed; he never sent in an application. It must've been Kwang-Sun, too hellbent on not letting his "talents" go to waste. But perhaps if Kwang-Sun hadn't, Jungkook wouldn't have been presented with this opportunity; the thought lessened his agitation from not being consulted about this. Vesperium Veil University was famous for its achievements; it was legendary.

And here Jungkook sat, uncertain if he even wanted to attend. But the nagging voice of his Halmoni beckoning him to move on, ringing throughout his mind on repeat. It made the decision, which would've been much clearer a week ago, uncertain.

Standing up and promptly ignoring the sharp popping of his knees—something that visually aged him nearly a decade—he left the living room. He headed to the wooden staircase, a crooked assortment of wooden planks that creaked and sang of old age depending on where one stepped. On the second floor were three rooms, one being his bedroom, another being a storage closet, and the one closest to the stairs was Halmoni's room. Jungkook was conveniently the furthest, and it comforted him to be distant. The silence his room carried was comforting, a stillness inside that generously seemed to offer him time to think, to process.

Swinging his door open, he glanced at the cluttered mess that was his room. He had three windows, one on each side of the corner where his bed stood. Both large and tall, giving a clear view of the street before him. The last was against the ceiling, where the roof came down to reach the building's walls. The windows provided ample sunlight, which was necessary for the sheer amount of plants Jungkook had accumulated over his years of living with Chae-won. Over one of the windows was a shelf nailed to the wall, a simple wooden plank upheld by sturdy metal hooks. From the ledge, vines and ivy rained down onto the wall and nearly provided a curtain for the window. There was a bookshelf that mainly held medical books and research he had studied throughout completing the fourth, fifth, and recently sixth level of education. His desk, an abomination to any neat freak, was littered with papers, spread open books, pens, and pencils. A candle resting on an elegant candle stick, for when the old building once again lost power and Jungkook needed to resume his work, was already half melted. Wax dripping onto the wooden tabletop.

Kicking the door closed with his heel, Jungkook threw the letter onto his desk before promptly flopping himself onto his bed. A queen-sized mattress without a frame, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to buy and build one, was pushed against a corner. Multiple blankets and pillows decorated the surface, and upon all the trouble today brought him, it was all too tempting to just sleep his complexities away.

But he couldn't; peace wasn't necessarily something he got a taste of often. Sometimes, he entertained the idea that perhaps overthinking was his true talent.

Perhaps it was time to come to terms with what had happened; their mission had failed, his soulmates had broken their promises, they never became a coven, and Jungkook suffered from a chronic illness that would one day kill him. In many ways, the letter in his possession felt like the last opportunity he held for tasting magic again. To indulge in the pleasures of learning, discovery, adventure, and intimate connections with other witches. He'd never have to see them again, and although his soul seemed to sob at the thought, it brought him relief.

Glancing towards his desk, the folded letter sat like an elephant in the room. His gaze lingered before drifting upwards towards the decorated walls. Newspaper clippings were framed, along with specific certificates, that illustrated his achievements throughout the past years. Jungkook hadn't been the one to suggest or even collect evidence of his accomplishments. It was his Halmoni's idea; the old woman was hellbent on celebrating him.

If only he could share those same sentiments. Jungkook thought, a strange heaviness taking form inside him at the sight of the cut-out articles, once again celebrating the anonymous JJK. They branched out from small achievements like developing a more obtainable medicine for the common witching flu by substituting newt syrup with a subclass of thistle. To extend the life expectancy of someone diagnosed with Draemori Flux and his most prized achievement: providing a curing for Faerune S. Fever. A brutal disease with even more terrorizing fatalities.

But despite the evidence of his good deeds, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to be proud. Because he knew, he knew that those discoveries weren't intentional. They were byproducts of his selfish pursuits and desperate attempts to cure himself. It hadn't ever been his intention to heal others; he came into this field because it used little to no actual magic and relied upon knowledge instead. It was something Jungkook's depleting body could still do without causing harm. When he looked at that wall, eyes lingering on the testimonies of his supposed selflessness, all he could really feel was guilt.

Despite what has happened, losing his coven to the third level trial, Jungkook still loved life. The uncertainty of existing, not knowing when or where the next change will emerge. The raw purity of morning dew, the charming melodies of singing birds at the crack of dawn. The purity of emotion, hate, love, despair. Despite its pain, Jungkook loved living.

He wanted to continue living.

"Hello, sweetheart. Jung-so is in his usual spot." The sweet barista—Han—mused as she set his coffee on the counter. After completing his apprenticeship, Jungkook had begrudgingly decided to take a year off. He now focuses his efforts on small jobs like helping out in the bookstore and occasional tutoring.

Tutoring, by far, was his favorite job. Teaching kids, watching them learn, and taking in new information brought him joy. Perhaps because he had met some inspirational teachers throughout his childhood and wanted to return the same level of care he had received as a kid to the next generation. Besides, kids were cute.

He tutored a small batch of kids, ranging from anywhere from elementary to high school. He had to silently thank his strict parents to value his grades above anything else; when showing his academic history and apprenticeship under Kwang-sun, parents seemed more than eager to accept his cheap labor. Jungkook didn't do it for the money, sometimes even offering to teach for free if the parents seemed hard on cash. After all, education shouldn't have a price.

Jung-so was one of the kids he tutored for free; he had met his mother—Iseul—in Halmoni's bookstore trying to barter on a zoology book for her son. They exchanged more frequently when she visited and eventually she disclosed her situation. A single mother working at a twenty-four-hour convenience store to keep them afloat. When she mentioned her ten-year-old son, Jung-so, struggling in school, Jungkook offered without thinking.

It was only supposed to be a short session until Jung-so got caught up in math, but upon seeing how eager Jung-so was to learn, it quickly became a long-term arrangement of meeting every Wednesday and Sunday to go over anything the kid needed. They met at a cafe across the street from the convenience store where his mom worked; after each tutoring session, Jungkook would walk the kid back there to ensure he got to his mother safely.

Grabbing his coffee and the kid's hot chocolate he always ordered, he walked to the back of the cafe and greeted the usually hyper boy. Only he wasn't acting hyper today.

No, Jung-so was a cute kid. Normally cheerful and a little hyper, unable to sit still for long and shifting his focus constantly. But today, he sat still. Head lowered and gaze focused on his restless hands that played with the hem of his school uniform. Something was clearly wrong, and it worried him deeply.

"Hey kid, what's wrong?" He asked softly, setting his bag down and shuffling into the booth beside Jung-so.

"The MCA came to our school today," Jung-so all but mumbled, not even bothering to reach out for the warm hot chocolate he usually leeched off the moment he set it on the table. Okay, now he was really worried.

"What happened?" He asked worriedly, the MCA were government officials who worked for magicals, but usually, they were very friendly. It took a moment for him to realize that the MCA must've conducted the annual magical testing to see if students were part of the magical community or remained null. People presented with magic throughout elementary school, which is why during those three years the MCA came to test the students. Still, that didn't explain why Jung-so was so upset.

"Well.. my eomma isn't magical, but it turns out I am," Jung-so mumbled, playing with a loose button on his school uniform.

Jungkook's eyes widened, nodding dumbly as he processed the information. Of course, witches didn't necessarily need to be related to a witch to develop magic; mana could build within anyone really. But perhaps Jung-so's father could have had mana, but Jungkook didn't know. It wasn't his business to pry.

"Ah, and you're upset over that?" He asked carefully, watching as his little question seemingly unleashed the dam of tears the little kid was trying to hold back. The sight broke his heart, Jung-so hiccuping and rubbing his eyes harshly with his sleeve out of frustration. Without sparing it a second thought, Jungkook pulled the kid into a comforting hug. Rubbing his back in soothing circles, letting the kid freely express himself as he held him.

At first, Jung-so was just some kid he tutored, but throughout their time together, Jungkook really began seeing him more as a little brother. Someone Jungkook wanted to protect.

When Jung-so calmed down, his eyes were a little puffy, his hair a tangled mess, and nose a little leaky. Jungkook got up, went to the cafe counter, and grabbed a few tissues before returning. Besides his gentle reassurances, he didn't say much until he was sure Jung-so had calmed down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He finally asks, silently hoping Jung-so would accept his offer. Jungkook, after all, was a witch himself.

"Everything's gonna change," Jung-so admitted, sniffling.

"It is. Magicals go through a different system than humans do."

"I don't want things to change."

Ah. There was the actual problem. Jungkook nodded, beginning to gently rub small circles onto Jung-so's back.

"Change is constant. Even for humans. You won't be able to escape it either way," He began, keeping his voice light and soothing. Gentle—a little scared to make Jung-so cry again if he was honest. "But it can also bring a lot of good things; you'll get to do cool stuff now that others can't." He added, trying to cheer the kid up a little.

He assumed that Jung-so and Iseul didn't know much about magic, mostly because he could recall how the stressed-out mom marveled at their magically self-organizing bookshelves. A sense of responsibility washed over him, feeling like it was somehow his job to gently introduce them to the upcoming changes they'd be facing.

Still, on the pursuit of cheering Jung-so up, Jungkook focused on the hot chocolate still left untouched on the table. Focusing on the object, zeroing in, and recalling the simple levitation spell every witch learns during their first year at a magical cratered school. He makes the warm beverage begin to float, watching observantly the way the corner of Jung-so's lips curve upwards. The little boy watched with slight fascination as the cup floated around him, making him chuckle before landing back on the table.

He ignored the dull ache that erupted within him, his core upset at the usage of magic. Technically Jungkook shouldn’t even be using it, not if he wanted to extend the little life expectancy he had left. But seeing Jung-so cheer up made the uncomfortable pressure oddly worth it, so he opted to ignore the throbbing and simply massage the sore spot over his chest instead.

"Can I do that too?" Jung-so asks, mimicking Jungkook's earlier gaze on the cup and joyfully exaggerating his actions with displayed hands. It was Jungkook's turn to laugh at that.

"You'll learn how to levitate objects during your first year; pretty cool, huh?" He mused, leaning in and covering his mouth with his hand as he mimicked telling Jung-so a secret. "But don't tell anyone I used magic in public, okay? I'm not exactly allowed."

"You're not allowed to use magic in public?"

Jungkook shakes his head, leaning back against the soft booths padding with a small but amused smile. "Well, not yet. I'm not qualified yet." He explained, trying to uphold his smile as he thought of that abysmal letter. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took a sip of his coffee. It had been a week since his Halmonis had confronted him with it, and the folded paper still remained blissfully untouched on his desk.

"Let me explain," He began, setting the cup back down. "Unlike humans, us magicals—"

"Why don't you just say witches?" Jung-so interrupts.

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head at the boy's impatience. "Well, magicals is an all-inclusive term. Witches are only one aspect of a much larger community." He could practically see the next question forming on the boy's lips and held up his hand to pause him. "There's all kinds of people out there that carry magic, such as demons, Dokkaebis, vampires, fairies, Selkies, sirens, and so much more. Us witches are the most like humans; the only difference is that we contain mana."

Jungkook didn't want to overwhelm the boy, but he also wanted him to understand that he wasn't nearly as alone as Jung-so thought. A brief sound of acknowledgement and Jung-so continued on with his questioning. "What's mana?"

Jungkook scolded the human education system for that because why didn't they at least prepare the students, even just a little? Magicals and humans were separated after elementary school, not for any segregational purposes but to fulfill more specific educational needs.

"Mana is the magic inside you; it's what witches like us harness to perform magic. Without mana, we'd be just like everyone else. The more mana, the stronger spells you can perform." Jung-so nodded, letting out another sound of acknowledgment.

It made Jungkook hum in amusement, trying to recall his earlier point before he was derailed by the boy's question. "Ah! Yes, unlike humans, we magicals diverge from the traditional education system after elementary. This is why the MCA—Magicals Class Association—tested you. It's to make sure you get the education you need." He explained.

Jungkook never got tested by the official governmental process; he was the son of two powerful witches and, therefore, got tested privately. He only knew about the actual happenings during the testing from Jimin, who had also found out about his new abilities during elementary. Although Jimin was much more aware of witches due to his association with Jungkook. A fact his strict witching parents were most unhappy about.

"Instead of attending a regular high school, you'll go to one specifically for magicals and—"

"What if I don't want to go? I have friends now, and none of them tested as a witch."

Jungkook couldn't even be mad at getting interrupted; this was a lot to take in, after all. He ruffled Jung-so's hair, chuckling softly. "You'll have three full years until you do that; I'm sure you'll find magical friends throughout that time. Even if you don't, you'll make lots there! I promise Jung-so, you won't be lonely."

"Promise?" That timid, insecure voice once again violently tugged at Jungkook's heartstrings. He nodded quickly, pulling the kid into his arms once more. "I promise, buddy."

"Now, let me finish before you interrupt again. I might lose my point completely if you do," He jokingly chided, pulling away and playfully nudging his pointer finger against Jung-so's arm. The kid laughed, letting him continue.

"I want to explain this to you so you know what's going to be different in your life; uncertainty is only going to let that mind of yours go wild, and lord knows what'll happen then." He teased, rolling his eyes before continuing. Unable to hide his smile at the giggles his exaggerations earned him.

"Magicals follow a seven-level system. From preschool to high school is a total of three levels. These are the only necessary levels you need, they are mandatory.” He explained. “If you want to pursue a human career after that, you’ll simply attend a human university. However, you won’t be allowed to use magic in public or apply for magical jobs.” He glanced at Jung-so, waiting for an approving nod that the kid was indeed—still following along.

“However, if you want to work in the magical community things will go differently.”

“How different?”

“After you're done with high school, you won't be attending university—" He watched Jung-so's mouth open for a question and shook his head to keep the kid quiet. "Instead, you'll get an apprenticeship with another magical. For me, that was an old, pruney but kind man who studied medicine. Apprenticeships range from three to six years; mine lasted five. A completed apprenticeship will take you to level six. The seventh is an extra level, not necessarily needed—but advised if you want to involve magic in your profession or use it outside in public."

The thought of the letter currently sitting on his desk flashed through him, haunting him like a ghost. That was his ticket to completing his seventh level, and then he could become a teacher. He could gradually teach little kids like Jung-so about magic instead of giving them a crash course in over an hour.

"Have you completed your seventh level, hyung?"

I might, I have the letter, I could, but I won't. Right?

"No, buddy, I haven't."

Instead of redirecting the attention back to math or science, Jungkook spent his tutoring hour purely on magicals. He wanted Jung-so to be knowledgeable about his own community, and every moment he spent gushing about his own experiences made him feel more and more like an utter hypocrite.

After having a chat with Iseul, Jungkook returned home to the bookstore. Unable to look at the letter waiting on his desk, instead hopping into his bed and trying to tune the rest of the word out.

He wasn’t very successful.

It took three more days of avoiding his own bedroom until he caved. Glancing at the letter, Jungkook made the rash decision of accepting. By the time he was done, an odd feeling emitted in his chest. It wasn't negative, no—it felt similar to when one would plant a seed and stare at the tilled soil expectantly. Anticipation.

Glancing at the window as he stood, Jungkook marveled at the night-cloaked sky. Walking back downstairs to the bookstore section of their home, he pushed open the door and glanced at his Halmoni, standing a few meters away from him by the cash register. Sending off a customer with her signature smile, Jungkook waited as the man left. Silence seemed to drag between them, even as the store's usual customers wandered about.

"So?" Her nasally voice dragged out curiously.

"I'm moving forward, Halmoni."

Her sigh was quivered, a look of relief washing over her wrinkled face. Shoulders sagging as she released the breath Jungkook hadn't even noticed she was holding.

"Good. That's very good, Kookie."

"We can salvage this," Jungkook's voice trembled, a shaky quiver to his words that hinted at the raw turmoil being erupted within him at the moment. His heart was frantic, clawing inside him—reaching, all because he was currently losing the only thing in his life that mattered. Tears pricked at his eyes, unyielding as he tried pushing them back. But the anguish inside him was rampant and wild. Because this was his nightmare, sparking such a guttural clenching as his soul coiled inside himself.

"Speak for yourself; I'm not the one who ran off like some dog with its tail between its legs." Seokjin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as a scowl etched its way onto his usually calm features. Eyes, usually holding such devotion, were now clouded with contempt. Seokjin's gaze was focused on Taehyung.

The boy previously sitting hunched on the couch looks up sharply, gaze narrowed, and nose flared in barely contained anger. "Who the hell are you calling a dog?" He spat, the sheer venom in Taehyung's voice making Jungkook swallow. No, none of this was right. Taehyung only used that voice with rude people, people he brawled with, people he cussed out before vandalizing their dorm rooms. Not one of his soulmates.

"Taehyung–" Jungkook knew what they saw wasn't real; the Deep toyed with their minds. Made them envision and hallucinate their worst fears in one another; they were angry at each other over nothing.

"Shut it, Kookie." Jungkook's words got caught in his throat, eyes widening at the bitter tone. It was a tone so painfully familiar that its presence nearly sent him back to his childhood. A time filled with neither happy endings nor warmth. A place in his past his hyungs had promised to keep him from, to help him heal from.

Taehyung had stood up, taking quick, forceful steps towards Seokjin. When in reach, he began jabbing his pointer finger into Seokjin's chest as he spat every word. "I'm not some snobby princeling who only validates their existence solely through mommy and daddys praise–"

"Oh please, what do you know about responsibility?" Seokjin had cut him off with a burst of cold, empty laughter from his own rebuttal. The rudeness and unfamiliarity of such actions made Jungkook cringe internally, but he wasn't sure how schooled he was in keeping his expression. No, not when what was happening felt so devastating. No, this wasn't like their previous bickering; this felt like more—this fight would have consequences.

"Enough! Clearly more than you." Taehyung nearly barked, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he clenched his fist so tightly it began turning a pale white.

"Let's not kid ourselves here, Taehyung; I think we're far past the point of lying." Namjoon's oddly arrogant tone chimed in, laced with disapproval usually reserved for Namjoon's parents.

This was getting so out of hand Jungkook needed to find a way to stop this. "Namjoon, not you too." Their leader, usually a gentle and patient staple of their soon-to-be coven. Namjoon would never talk to any of them like this, so why now? Why, why, why, why?

"Ha! Calling me a liar—that's rich coming from you, Namjoon." Taehyung was livid, it was apparent. Jungkook reached out, placing a hand on his lover's shoulder, only for Taehyung to brush him off roughly. The rejection stung; it was too familiar.

They had been passed this.

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?" Namjoon's eyes narrowed, silently analyzing and challenging Taehyung to go on. To put it simply, a look like that from Namjoon was demeaning. As if you were the product of insubordination itself.

"You know exactly what I mean, Namjoon. Whatever it takes to remain in charge, em' I, right?" Namjoon tensed, shoulders pulled back and back straightening.

Jungkook didn't understand that reaction but didn't want to delve deeper into it. He wanted this to stop. It wasn't real; the Deep was at fault. "Lets all just calm down, take a moment to ourselves—"

"Jungkook, stop playing pacifist here." Jimin's voice cut through his desperate pleas, making Jungkook's words catch in his throat like a noose. Eyes flicker over to his childhood friend, his first love, his soulmate.

"Jimin?" The words escaped Jungkook the moment he found his voice again, although the tone he used was pained and hoarse. Jimin no longer met his gaze. No, no, no, no, no.

"Don't let this out on Jungkook, Jimin." Yoongi's baritone voice berated, and a part of Jungkook was grateful for it while another winced. Yoongi's voice sounded just as raw and uncertain as Jungkook's.

"Oh, yeah. I should just bottle everything up until I accidentally implode on someone. Or, maybe just lock myself away all day long—" Jimin and Yoongi were complete opposites, while Jimin was open and vocal about his thoughts and feelings. Yoongi struggled; he handled his emotions differently. A way that may be different than what they'd prefer, but it was a way Yoongi felt was best. They understood this, so why was it being brought back up?

"Fuck off." A defensive tone Jungkook hadn't heard since they'd met Yoongi. No, they were going backwards.

"Please, spare us the noble-knight facade, Yoongi; we all know who you really are."

“And who am I, Jimin?”

"Stop–" Jungkook felt desperate, his own soul weakly tugging on the strings around his finger. Something that had always made him smile, something that he cherished more than the stars in the sky. This coven was Jungkook's world, and he was watching it go off in flames at the moment.

"A lying, secretive, deceptive son of a—"

"Stop It!" Jungkook's voice boomed for a moment, the arguing halting. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung stilling. Jimin and Yoongi paused, and Hoseok turned his attention to Jungkook. Hoseok hadn't said a word since they came back from their debriefing. But he had a distant, calculating look in his eyes. It unsettled Jungkook to his core, acutely anxious about what was happening inside the witch's head. Why wasn't he trying to contain the situation with him?

Jungkook wanted this to stop; all of their emotions were too strung up. Another sharp tug or pull, and he was afraid they'd snap. "Stop it! Can't you hear yourselves? Fucking—stop, please. This isn't how we handle things."

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Jimin's voice filled the room, sounding apologetic but strained. Stealing a glance, Jungkook can see the remorse in the boy's eyes. The way they looked so unhappily at him, it took that string of fate between them and wrapped it around his heart—tugging painfully.

"But I can't be a part of this coven anymore, not with these people," Jimin whispered, single-handedly crushing Jungkook's heart to pieces.

"What?" He pleaded—begged, that he had misheard.

"I second that. You make me sick." Hoseok's voice cut through the room, and Jungkook felt tears cascading down his cheeks. This couldn't be happening, no, no, no, no.

"No—"

"Fuck all of you, honestly. I can't believe I fell for any of this bullshit in the first place." Taehyung spat, turning around and walking towards the door. He swung it open, not sparing the rest of them a glance as he stormed out. Seemingly taking the sunshine with him, Jimin scoffed another last insult towards them before leaving, too. Jungkook's eyes darted towards the remaining members, his own lip wobbling pathetically as his mind wailed for the two to return. They could sort this out.

"This was such a mistake," Seokjin muttered, unearthing his breath. Brushing his fingers through his hair and successfully tussling up the messy strands further as he, too, walked out the door.

Jungkook couldn't do it; he couldn't bring himself to look up at the remaining three. Not when all he'd get to see was them leaving—leaving him.

"Please." He whispered.

Neither Namjoon, Hoseok, or Yoongi had the decency to look him in the eyes. Something Jungkook was both grateful for and hated. Because he deserved to be looked at, for them all to confront him while they left.

"Sorry, Kookie, but I can't do this anymore either. It was nice while it lasted." Yoongi sighed, hands in his pockets as his slouched figure retreated from the room and left, too.

Namjoon and Seokjin remained silent before they, too, left.

Seven turned to one, and one turned to none.

The sun stopped shining that day, and his world stopped spinning. Jungkook had lost all that mattered to him in a single day. They had completed the third trial, but at what cost?

Eyes fluttering open, Jungkook slowly returned to the present. Watching the trees move past as the train moved, the tracks provided a nearly soothing thumping soundtrack. Rich green fields, occasional patches of grass that remained unattended and therefore let the blades reach impressive heights. Farmer fields, dirt patches, agriculture, fenced cows and horses. Jungkook took his time getting lost in the present beauty around him, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he suppressed a dry chuckle.

He was hopeless.

He was constantly returning to the past, unable to stay, and haunting himself with the possibility provided by two simple, daunting words: What if?

His six soulmates left, but they never really left.

Watching the world pass by him, he gradually lets go of the Jungkook, whose nickname became Kookie, a nickname he hates nowadays, and slowly accepts that he is someone new.

That's what all this was for, anyway, for him to move on. To hopefully complete his seventh trial and begin teaching; if he failed, then Jungkook wouldn't really have much time to do anything else regardless. The two options were oppressive in nature, but somehow, they still provided him with a strange sense of hope.

This year would change everything, better or worse; Jungkook was ready to be himself again. Despite the past, who he lost, Jungkook wanted and will move on.

The train halted thrice before it settled on his stop, his back cracking as he stood up. A small grunt escaped him as he rubbed his sore muscles. He preferred train rides over flying, but sitting in one spot for several hours resulted in soreness no matter what he did. Grabbing his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder, he pulled his suitcase from its resting spot above his seat before hopping off the train. Other students wandered around the station, a little chaotic as everyone tried navigating their own way through the busy crowds.

To say he was a little overwhelmed was an understatement; tired from the trip and hungry, all he could be bothered with was a meal and a bed.

"Mr. Jeon?"

Perking up, Jungkook looked around before something tugged on his pants. Looking down, his eyes widened at the sight of a Siamese cat, an elegant blue bow tied around its neck like a collar. It sat before him, tail swishing irritably as it looked up at him in mild annoyance.

Of course, how could he forget? At VVU, students were assigned familiars; guides to help them through the process of their seventh level. Glancing around, he saw that some students were greeted with all kinds of animals. Sheep, deer, and an assortment of birds, from pigeons to hawks. Others got significantly more intimidating—cooler, familiars. A tiger walked past him; a short blonde student even got a bear.

"They gave me a cat?"

A sharp swipe at his ankle made Jungkook drop, hissing at the painful scratch just delivered to his exposed skin.

"Ungrateful bastard, I'll have you know I'm the prettiest familiar here." The feline hissed, cold blue eyes peering up at him with a judging look.

"I won't have myself be judged by someone who dresses like they've only ever heard of the word fashion through a dictionary. Honestly, just because something is on sale doesn't mean you should buy it." The cat's voice was high-pitched, an accent to her tone that made her sound oddly formal. As if she crowned herself royalty.

"I should leave you here." Her voice chided, tail flicking. Somehow, Jungkook managed to feel a little small in front of the feline's scrutiny.

"But I won't, Mr. Jeon. Now follow me," Without another word, the cat turned around and began walking off. Leaving Jungkook slightly stunned because he had just been told off by a cat, scrambling to compose himself and follow.

"And for the love of all, straighten your posture."

Straightening his back and lifting his chin, he followed the authoritative cat. It was amusing seeing a tiger familiar lead another student down the same gravelly path from the train station. Comparing the cat and the tiger, one would think the cat had more power. She carried herself with a natural prowess, not even sparing others a glance.

"And before you address me as just some cat again, I'll have you know my name is Balam, and I have overseen several royal witching generations."

Ah, so he was correct about the cat treating herself like royalty. A practiced snobbish attitude that one would usually imagine when engaging with royalty was very present in the small feline.

"I'll be your guide throughout this year. I'll help and aid you wherever I can; however, I will not do things for you." She continued, not even glancing at him. Simply assuming the newcomer and her new witch would follow. "You'll do well to remember that." She finished, walking up to the university entrance.

Upon handing in his acceptance, the university's familiars could choose which student they'd like to guide for the respective year. It was one part choice, and the other was instinct. It made him wonder why Balam seemed to have chosen him; by simply glancing around, there were a lot more posh looking students wandering around. People who might've been a much brighter fit for Balam, compared to him, of course. They carried themselves with the same aristocratic arrogance Balam did.

"Of course; if I gave you my full name, we'd still be standing at the train station. The one I gave you shall suffice," she stated bluntly. Completely ignoring the slight stupor Jungkook gave in response, proving his suspicion right that the familiars sole intention throughout this year was to scold him.

Upon entering the actual campus, Jungkook quickly realized that University was a light term; it was more of a gothic European castle. Large winding towers point to the sky, a courtyard filled with chatting and bickering students. If it weren't for the fashion and students littered with electronics, Jungkook might've assumed they had entered another time period altogether.

There was a courtyard in front of the building, enclosed by open stone hallways leading to other parts of the building. A gravelly path began from the front gate and snared itself around the fountains in the center of the field before splitting off and leading towards the stone steps towards the—castles—main entrance. A set of large, impregnable wooden doors that led into the university. Although the architecture was imposing and a lot to take in at its naturally dark demeanor. Jungkook didn't actually find himself halted because of the building but because of the abundance of magic in the air.

Throughout the lovingly tended to courtyard, pruning shears seemed to magically float about. Skillfully trimming, tending, and aiding the bushes, flowers, and trees throughout the space. Two students had carelessly plucked one of the white roses from the lining rose bushes and began shrieking as a subsequent pruning shear began chasing him. Water cans also seemed to be flying about, tending to the flowers diligently.

Jungkook had nearly forgotten what it was like to be present around active magic, visible incantations, flying objects, and other notable hexes. It was refreshing, and an odd part inside himself felt oddly rejoiced at the sight.

The inside of the university did not disappoint either, although filled with winding hallways he'd surely get lost in later. The entire space—no matter what room—felt special. Rich and purposeful.

Jungkook hadn't even been aware his mouth sat slightly ajar until Balam’s sharp hiss, "Close your mouth before you begin to catch flies." Perhaps if he wasn't so tired or in awe of his new situation, he would've sent a snarky or sarcastic remark right back at her.

"I'll show you to your dorm now. Considering that you are in your seventh level, you'll be sharing your space with students on the same level as yourself. You'll have a total of six students—"

"Seven people all in one room?"

"If you'd let me finish." She huffed irritably.

"Sorry."

There was an awkward pause, and Jungkook was sure that if he looked down, he'd be burnt to a crisp from Balams scolding glare. Eventually, she cleared her throat before continuing, "In total, there are seven bedrooms; you won't be sharing a bedroom with anybody, but what you will be sharing is a living room, two bathrooms and a kitchen."

Jungkook nodded, not necessarily surprised. It was a similar living situation during his time at the academy, only that the bedrooms were meant for two people instead of one. He had been bunked with Taehyung, something Jimin and him had been devastated over when they first arrived. Of course, Jimin had grown all too fond of the idea when he realized they were soulmates. But Jungkook had remained devastated for much longer. Taehyung and him had been in constant competition with one another over Jimin's attention. Something Jimin revealed later to have been utterly amusing.

When confronted with the front door to his dorm, he stood in front of it silently. Shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to another. He grabbed his phone, opening the camera and quickly fixing his hair to the best of his abilities.

“Will you stop that? You’re worse than a fish out of water.”

“Ok, ok. I’ll open it.”

Entering his new living quarters became both nerve-wracking and exciting, leaving a mixture of giddy anxiety to settle within him. Silently, Jungkook prayed to whatever god would hear him that his new roommates for the year would like him. Balam seemed to have little regard for his own nervousness, walking past the shoe rack that seemingly already had six pairs of shoes neatly resting against the wooden storage. A neat set of pale yellow house slippers were set out for him, and Jungkook carefully took his own shoes off before slipping into the more appropriate houseware.

"Hyung, I think that's them!" An excited voice chimed out; the nature of its tone sounded strangely familiar to Jungkook.

"Jimin, calm down. You'll scare them off before they're even properly inside."

Jungkook recognized that voice.

Park Jimin

That was Jimin-ssi getting lectured by Seokjin-ssi.

As if being able to sense something was off, Balam sent Jungkook an inquisitive albeit concerned look. Ah, Jungkook hadn't spent much time with familiars. His Halmoni had one when she was younger; she would talk vaguely about the owl with a deep nostalgic melancholy that didn't let Jungkook question why the familiar wasn't physically summoned anymore. Familiars couldn't necessarily die; when they became close to death, their physical bodies would depart, but their spirits would continue living in the spirit realm. They only needed time until they could be summoned again. The bond between a witch and their familiar was inseparable, and it was the familiar that chose the witch. They'd form a bond, and the familiar would eventually die alongside the witch.

It was why familiars only ever bonded to one person, and even then, it was a rare occasion. Despite that, Balam seemed rather in tune with Jungkook's current emotions, and her tail changed its pace from a gentle swaying to a rather cautious flicking.

Spinning out from the corner, Jungkook's thoughts came to a screeching halt. His throat locked itself in place, and his body froze. Before him stood his oldest friend, the love of his life, and the creator of so many firsts.

Jimin looked older—it had been several years, after all—now having dyed his hair a warm bleach blonde, some of his roots still hinting at the natural color of his hair. His face, as strikingly stunning as it had always been, looked back at him with pure shock. Eyes wide, flicking over his entire body rather rapidly before zeroing in on his own face. As if confirming Jungkook's very presence to himself as well.

Jimin wore a dark beige cardigan, the knitted and oversized garment looking cozy and warm. Underneath was a loose white shirt that complimented a silver necklace around his neck, leading Jungkook's eyes to Jimin's piercing. Ah, that was new. He thought, being able to recall Jimin's lingering gazes on the earring jewelry in stores. Always claiming that one day, he'd get one.

Both of them stood frozen, eyes taking in the form of the other. Perhaps if he wasn't dealing with years worth of emotional heartbreak suddenly getting figuratively thrown at him, Jungkook would cuss himself out for only wearing a simple black hoodie and some gray sweatpants. The trip from Halmoni's bookstore to Viel was lengthy, a nearly ten-hour trip. So he had chosen comfortable instead of fashionable; he hadn't expected to meet one of them again, regardless.

But he couldn't bring himself to waste much attention on the fact, now that he was being assaulted by a past he had just come to leave behind.

Footsteps seemed to be approaching from a distance, soft and slow, as the person seemed unaware of the silent moment transpiring between himself and Jimin. Every emotion he had refused to acknowledge for years was bubbling inside him, fighting for dominance, leaving him stunned and unable to pick one to actually go with.

"Jimin, what did I tell you about bombarding our new roommate—"

Kim Seokjin.

Kim fucking Seokjin stood before him now, too.

Seokjin stood just as still as Jimin as if he was being confronted with a wild animal. Seokjin had dyed his hair as well, a brown color with a reddish warm tint to it. It was nicely styled with the part off to the side, complimenting the turquoise satin sweater he wrote that loosely shaped his upper body before being tucked into some white pants. It was simple but painfully familiar.

The eyes of his older hyung—friend? Ex—flickered over him, but unlike Jimin, Seokjin seemed to find his voice much quicker.

"Jungkook?"

Again, that voice he hadn't heard in forever addressed him like a deer caught in headlights. As if he was about to make a break for it, and the thought seemed all the more tempting now than ever before. This wasn't what he came here for; the plan was to come to Veil to move on from his past, find new people, and build new relationships. They weren't supposed to be here.

Jungkook was pulled out of his stupor by the nudging of Balam against his leg; the familiar must be tuning in with his emotions. Even if it was just surface level, Jungkook's entire being felt heavy. A glance down seemed to answer a question of hers she hadn't even asked, prompting the familiar to step in front of Jungkook and redirect the attention of the room.

"How rude, a new guest enters, and you neither offer to take his coat nor provide some refreshments." She scolded, and oddly enough, that familiars chiding tone seemed to provide him an odd sense of comfort at the moment. He watched as both Jimin and Seokjin straightened at the scolding, unable to form words as they stammer and stumble over themselves like baby giraffes.

It would've been an amusing sight if Jungkook didn't have a hundred-and-one things to think about at the moment.

"Now, my witch is tired after his travels and needs to be shown to the remaining available room to be given time to recuperate and freshen up before dinner."

Being redirected by the strict familiar once again, Jimin rushed to grab Jungkook's suitcase, and Seokjin carefully ushered him inside. He decided to ignore the lingering gazes, the hovering touches; he couldn't think about any of it. Especially not when the entrance hall led to the open-spaced living room, where the rest of his past resided.

Yoongi had large, clunky headphones on and was nodding his head off to some music. Sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sheet music sprawled about in utter disarray, with a laptop resting on top of some of the papers, his headphones connected to the device. He had kept his hair black, slightly longer, as his bangs threatened to slightly cover his eyes. Yoongi's back leaned against Hoseok's legs, who was sitting on the couch mindlessly scrolling on his phone. He also kept his hair a natural black; however, Hoseok's hair had more of a natural wave to it. Compared to Yoongi, whose clothes resembled a dark academic style, Hoseoks seemed more light and summery. Much like his personality, Jungkook noted.

His eyes lingered on the sight for a moment, soaking up the sheer domesticity surrounding the two. It was a sight he had taken for granted all those years ago, something that would've warmed his heart now cultivated an uncomfortable bitterness inside his chest.

Namjoon sat not too far off, a steaming mug of what he assumed to be coffee in his hand with a book in the other. Unlike the rest, Namjoon was the only one who had dyed his hair an unnatural shade of gray. With the sunlight hitting it, making those natural highlights practically glow—his hair nearly looked silver. A warm, black sweater covered him. He sat comfortably on a cushioned windowsill, reading silently as he took occasional sips from the mug.

It felt strangely surreal like nothing had happened to them, making Jungkook acutely angry. Another nudge against his leg had his momentary rage return to a simmer, a strangled sigh escaping him, sounding shakier than he'd have liked.

"Jimin, have you seen my hairbrush—" Taehyung had come out from a hall down the left side of the living space. No doubt where the actual bedrooms were.

Wide fox-like eyes met his own, widening and ironically also taking on the expression of a deer caught in headlights. Just like the rest, Taehyung's hair had been dyed as well. A medium shade of brown, complimenting his soft features despite the messy nature of his hair. He wore a mustard colored wool sweatshirt, with a white dress shirt seemingly underneath. Its white collar and sleeves folded over the sweater, and his pants were a light beige. Glancing at Jimin, Jungkook noted that both Jimin and Taehyung wore a rather light academic style of clothing.

"Jungkook?"

Taehyung gasped a name that seemingly grabbed the attention of all the others inside the room. He could feel their eyes on his body, practically bolting him to the ground with how much he hated this situation. None of this was supposed to happen; he wasn't ever supposed to see them again. The sound of a mug drooping pulled his attention towards the windowsill, Namjoon stood practically frozen as he had dropped his mug and stumbled onto his feet.

Seokjin had muttered something under his breath at Namjoon, something along the lines of 'you clutz’ as he walked over, grabbing a towel from the kitchen and hurriedly beginning to dry the floor. That sheepish look on Namjoon was strikingly familiar, from the blush that dusted his cheeks to the way he rubbed his neck to relieve a phantom pain. It was too familiar; it hurt.

"Goodness, sake! Has everyone here lost their manners?" Balam exclaimed, promptly pulling whoever was still in a daze back to reality. Hoseok stood up, grabbing Yoongi's forearm and helping him stand as well.

"My room," Jungkook finally muttered out. Cringing internally as those were the first words he had managed to say in all of, well, this. "I'd like to settle in," he added.

Jimin perked, clearing his throat. "Oh. Yeah, right. Follow me!" He cheered softly, ushering Jungkook down the hall and into the last room. Opening the door for him, Jimin set his luggage down by the closet. The room was nice and simple. Veil was a very rich institute, and it showed. Especially in housing, as the room was set out with a queen bed in the left corner. A bookshelf, a desk, and a closet built into the wall covered by a mirror.

"Ah, Jungkook I—"

"Jungkook needs some time to freshen up from his travels." Balam's strict voice chimed in, effectively shutting Jimin up as the blonde halted, mouth ajar before promptly shutting it with a lowered head before closing the door.

For the first time throughout that entire encounter, Jungkook felt himself regaining the ability to breathe. Balam hopped from the ground onto the chair and eventually to the desk, sitting down and looking at Jungkook with a prodding look. However, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to care. He walked over to his bed and sat down, a long, shaky sigh escaping him.

The edge of the bed dipped under his weight, his head in his hands as he breathed sharply, trying to process everything that had just happened to him.

None of this should be happening.

He wasn't ever supposed to see them again; he was supposed to move on. What was he to do now? He couldn't possibly live with them for an entire year! Frustration seemed to catch flame inside him, flickering and growing as he sadistically delved further into his own misery because he had been improving—slowly. He had been returning to a normal rhythm and had carried himself out of the thick of his regret and anger. Only for them to be back and look at him again—stand before him. Flooding his mind and heart with all the feelings, the memories he had tried so desperately to suppress.

It wasn't fair, it didn't feel fair—

"Mind telling me where that mind of yours is wandering off to?" Balam mused, her tone uncharacteristically sweet. Ah, he had nearly forgotten that he wasn't alone in his little spiel. Balam reminded him of a strict guardian, someone who didn't hesitate to smack their young across the back of the head after doing something idiotic, but also the type that would hug and console their pupil if they were upset with open arms.

"I—" What exactly was the best way to approach this conversation? He didn't need to tell Balam anything; she wasn’t entitled to his past. But Balam was his familiar and would continue to be throughout the duration of his year. Familiars could tune into their witches' emotions, and although his and Balam's bond was very brittle and new, the cat could still feel a small amount of what he felt. Glancing at the change of demeanor from the feline, it was enough.

"We knew each other." He said, inhaling sharply as he tried to steady his own heartbeat. Mind searching for words, simple but capable of conveying the depth of the broken bond between the other six men in the shared complex. Silence filled the room, the only sound consisting of Jungkook's quivering breaths. Glancing at Balam, those icy blue eyes stared back at him quizzically, silently telling him to continue.

"Soulmates—we, we were soulmates."

"Were?"

Soulmates. A word that has haunted Jungkook throughout his entire life. From childhood, he didn't make much of the term nor the red string around his pinky; it had been Jimin who sparked his own anticipation for the others they were connected to. It was Jimin's senseless rambling about true love, princes and trolls, love at first sight, and happy endings. Jungkook had always just been content with Jimin by his side; having that red string connecting them was all he really needed or wanted. But it wasn't just Jimin's fault; the media romanticized the living hell out of soulmates. Through songs, literature, art, dance, cinematography, photography, the list was endless. And everyone had fallen for it.

Including Jungkook.

Pinpointing any specific emotion inside Jungkook at the moment would be like trying to shoot for a bullseye with a blindfold on. Like a circus of wild raging monkeys, his feelings switched between hate, hurt, conflict, anxiety, and so much more he couldn't put a name on.

He slowly pulled his face out of his hands, the weight of the world suddenly feeling like too much on his shoulders. Pressing onto his chest, misting his eyes, and with choked words, he muttered a simple response.

"Yeah, were."

Balam didn't ask for more, eyes narrowing incrementally as she took in the implication and meaning of those words. It was clear that without asking for much more, that Jungkook hadn't expected nor necessarily wanted to see those other witches. Fortunately, Balam wasn't their familiar and, therefore, had no obligation to the other witches or their feelings. Her main focus would remain on her witch.

"I see," She muttered, prompting Jungkook's eyebrows to knit together in slight confusion.

He wasn't sure what the familiars next steps would be, how Balam would try and approach this situation. He already hated this enough as it was that he had to be vulnerable so quickly in front of his otherwise strict familiar. That all too familiar embarrassment washed over him, prompting him to wipe away any rebellious tears from his eyes and straighten up. He didn't meet her gaze, a slight fear that those eyes might have turned patronizing throughout his little display of weakness.

"Well, wallowing won't do us any good." She stated, tone softer but returning to its regular sternness. Jungkook nodded meekly, lifting his head to try and glance at the cat's general direction. She seemed to have waited, staying silent until Jungkook finally decided to meet her waiting gaze.

"In moments like these, it is easier to take one step at a time. Looking at the bigger picture will get us lost in its details; it is an invitation to become overwhelmed." She explained, hopping off the table with a nonchalance usually associated with cats. "So, let us take our steps slowly."

Again, Jungkook found himself nodding. Watching as his familiar stopped beside his suitcase, sitting down beside it before glancing at him again. "You have traveled far today; I suggest you go take a shower. I will go and arrange for your dinner to be brought to your room in the meantime; I think it is best you fully collect yourself before facing any of your roommates again."

"So, three steps in total. Freshen up, eat, and rest. Tomorrow will be another day; we shall figure out how to proceed then." She hummed.

Jungkook nodded a final time, finding those short instructions manageable. He got up slowly, going to his suitcase and opening it carelessly. It would have prompted a scolding from Balam, but she remains oddly quiet at the moment. He grabbed some clothes, simple but comfortable, grabbing his toiletries afterward. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he felt Balam brush against his leg silently before opening the door. The hall and living room were deathly quiet; one could hear a pin drop, and it gave him the impression that he wasn't the only one holding his breath at the moment. Balam was familiar with the dorm layout, so she guided him to one of the two bathrooms.

The first thought of sharing two bathrooms between seven men unnerved Jungkook about the potential mess he’d find inside, despite this being only the first week of everyone moving in and settling. He had met his fair share of messy people, but upon opening the door, Jungkook found a very tidy space. Three baskets were laid out on a shelf, and two seemed filled while one remained empty.

"We decided to split the bathrooms between us hyungs and the maknaes." Yoongi's calm tone explained, and Jungkook's shoulder instinctively tensed. The voice was painful; it caused an ache inside himself that Jungkook had thought was healed, or at most scabbed over—but hearing Yoongi's voice made it feel raw. Turning around, he took in Yoongi's figure, leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression seemed twisted, eyes holding a look he couldn't quite place.

"Okay," was all Jungkook was really able to say at the moment. A part of him wished he could fake some more nonchalance like he didn't care, but he did, and he couldn't force his voice to sound dull in front of one of the men he had loved. Yoongi shifted, clearly uncertain how to continue the conversation, and Jungkook silently prayed he'd just walk away.

"Will you be coming to dinner?" Yoongi asked.

"No."

Before Yoongi opened his mouth, Balam let out a small hiss, "The boy wants to freshen up now." She stated, ushering Yoongi away from the bathroom and letting Jungkook lock it. He exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he had been holding, trying to forget those familiar eyes peering through him. His mind threatened to run off again, and the previous instructions from Balam pulled him back in. Three steps: Shower, eat, sleep. He could do that.

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shysoftbebe · 1 year

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-BTS Masterlist -

Bangtan Sonyeondan {BTS}

Individual One-Shots

Kim Seokjin

Lost Favor

Aid

Min Yoongi

Studies

I don't know how to talk to him

Jung Hoseok

Hunter

Deal

Price

Kim Namjoon

My Place

Brother's Best Friend

Family Things

Park Jimin

Interest

Agreement

Insecurities

Knocks

Kim Taehyung

Dead Don't Stay Dead

Stop Running

Jeon Jungkook

Chokehold

Soft

Polyamorous Relationships

Hinderance

2. Truth

3. Confidence

4. Shot

5. Found

6. Good News

7. I missed on Purpose

8. Human

9. Worthy Mate

10. Interest { BTS x OT6 x Jimin x Reader}

11. I'm Home

12. Their Terms

13. I-I like you. All of you

14. Jealous

15. Go home with me {Jikook}

16. Something wants in

17. You're Home

18. You matter, I don't

19. Strongest

20. New Chapter

21. Feral

22. Matter

23. Curse

24. Promise

25. Soft

26. Creep {NamSeok}

Series On-Going

Jikook x Reader - My Choice {Part 1/?}

Jikook x Reader - My Choice {Part 2/?}

BTS x Reader - Now You Owe Us {Part 1/?}

BTS x Reader - Now You Owe Us {Part 2/?}

BTS x Reader - Now You Owe Us {Part 3/?}

BTS x Reader - Now You Owe Us {Part 4/?}

BTS x Reader - Come With Us {1/?}

BTS x Reader - Come With Us {2/?}

BTS x Reader - Play Along {1/?}

BTS x Reader - Play Along {2/?}

#btsmasterlist #bts #one-shots #poly #individual #y/n #yoongi #jin #jimin #hoseok #namjoon #taehyung #jungkook #series

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rainbowsuitcase · 8 months

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Fanfic Rec Friday #5

in case you didn’t know (i belong to you) by maipurplesyou (couldn't find socmed) - Seokjin x Hoseok, 10 254 words, T - Fake Dating AU, Friends to Lovers

Seokjin and Hoseok’s friends are certain that they’re dating each other (they’re not) and they decide to play along just to get them off their backs.

settle down inside my love by stellataes - Yoongi x Namjoon, 21 535 words, E - Fake Dating AU, Former Fuckboy Namjoon

Yoongi jumps at the chance to be his gentle, nerdy best friend Namjoon's fake boyfriend on a reunion weekend at a luxury hotel. That is, until he learns that Namjoon was famous at University for his sexual prowess, and that all of Namjoon's friends he's currently seated at dinner with have first hand experience of it.

BTS Fake Dating Fest - Fest full of fake dating stories

Of All the Fish in the Sea... by deepslowpanic - Seokjin x Yoongi, 16 724 words, E - Soulmate AU, Friends With Benefits, Misunderstanding

Yoongi wakes up with a soulmark matching Seokjin's. Seokjin says it's cool, Yoongi tries to deal with it.

in this moment i will trust by CrabWhisperer - Yoongi centric OT7, 7 139 words, M - Royalty AU, A/B/O, Non-sexual BDSM

Yoongi is the newest member of Hoseok's pack and tonight, he's finally feeling brave enough to find his place in it.

Searching For Safe by thestarskeepfalling - Hoseok x Jimin, 145 131 words, T - A/B/O, Pack OT7, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Non-traditional Omegaverse, Found Family

Jimin runs away from his pack to find a safe space in Seoul, but the big city is nothing like he imagined.

Home by sopemoon - OT6 + baby Jungkook, 13 786 words, E - Hybrid AU, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Past Miscarriage

Yoongi lost his kittens, but things change when he finds an abandoned baby bunny in the forest and tries to protect him from a pack of wolves. But the last thing on the wolves' minds is hurt them.

don't play no game that I can't win by misspamela - Yoongi x Jungkook, 52 566 words, E - Fake Dating, Mutual Pining, Misunderstanding

Jungkook accidentally stumbles into fake dating Seoul's rising hip-hop genius.

Yoon(g/j)i by aprofessorstale - No pairing, Yoongi centric, 17 378 words, T - Coming Out, Self-discovery, Genderfluidity, Nonbinary Character

Yoongi finds out they're genderfluid and starts experimenting with what that means.

Maybe Samgyeopsal Will Be Our Always by TheLostPevensie - Seokjin x Yoongi x Namjoon x Hoseok, 16 283 words, T - Blind Double Date, Domestic, Fluff and Humor

Seokjin and Yoongi, boyfriends, meet Hoseok and Namjoon, boyfriends. And the rest, as they say, is history.

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btschooseafic · 1 year

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AO3 Recs

on a night of second chances by crabwhisperer [completed]

ot7, namjoon centric, a/b/o dynamics, canon compliantish, misunderstandings :(

#bts fanfic #bts fanfic recs #ot7 #ot7 x ot7 #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse #archive of our own #kim namjoon #namjoon centric #ot6 x namjoon #canon compliantish #misunderstandings #polyam #ao3

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nomimits7 · 2 years

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Unfortunately Fortunate

Title: Unfortunately Fortunate

Pairing: Namjoon x OT6 (Namjoon centric)

Warnings: suicide encouragement (Briefly) A lot of self doubt. Self-hate. Blood. Guns. Gunshots. Inaccurate use of medical techniques. Don’t do what they do. I wrote this because I needed to get out of my own head. Let me know if I missed a serious tag.

Summary: Namjoon is in the wrong place at the wrong time and he meets the right people.

preternatural /ˌpriːtəˈnatʃ(ə)r(ə)l/ Learn to pronounce adjective adjective: preternatural; adjective: praeternatural

- beyond what is normal or natural

***

‘It’s okay, just breathe, that's all you have to do. Just breathe. In… and out. Okay. you’re going to open your eyes and it will be alright. It’s not real.’ Namjoon opened his eyes to a dark room. He can’t remember the last time he had a decent night of sleep. Ever since the world fell into the hands of the preternatural, nothing has been the same.

To put it simple, the world resembled the fucked up nature from that one Dr. Seuss movie ‘Cat in the hat’. The only difference was that the Cat resembled some type of mafia group that controlled everything and all the jokes and colours in the movie is replaced by the firing of guns and the splatter of blood. It was a weird combination of a colourful city where you need to survive the constant rain of bullets.

Namjoon had tried to make sense of everything, but since the chaos had taken a hold of his closest friends and family, he gave up. It was like some viral virus that would infect the mentally weak and vulnerable and eat away at their rational minds and human nature. It turned them into killing machines that would literally shoot anything that moves.

One might ask who controls all these mindless zombies. That is where the cat comes in. The so-called leaders of this chaos infused world were able to control the actions of these creatures. In actual fact there was no virus and there was no mind control, but Namjoon was convinced some kind of sickness had to take a hold of you for you to join them. To become one of the preternatural. Most did it just to survive, others because they owed them something.

Namjoon didn’t have many people in his life to begin with, but that didn’t stop the ones he had of either joining the gang or the resistance. The saddest part of it all was that all of them, regardless of the side they joined, had died in one of the many wars they had between each other. Maybe it's his own fault for not sleeping. He did live in the most run-down part of the city. The gold mine for all the wars and fights. Why? Because if some innocent fool got caught in the crossfire they wouldn't be missed. Who would miss the rat that lived in the sewer?

Shivering from the lack of comforter, Namjoon sat up straight in his tiny room. He had to get out of his own head. He had a tendency to let it run wild and spin in a dangerous circle. Namjoon was blessed (or cursed, depends on how you look at it) with a very active mind. He was capable of seeing what most people couldn’t in most situations. He was also one of the unfortunate souls to be graced with heterochromia iridium as well as heterochromia iridis. One being the different colours his eyes were, the other being the different colours within one of his eyes. Why this was unfortunate was the attention he gathered. In a world such as his, attention is the last thing you want. Especially from the preternaturals. Even the resistance could become a problem. Namjoon preferred to hide behind his hair most of the time. He also tended to avoid any type of eye contact.

Back to his active imagination. Namjoon tend to overthink most of the time. He knew how easy it would be to break down his door and kidnap him. He was physically incapable to evade any intruders. He just doesn’t have the muscle mass to back him up like most do. He lived off the scraps of his daily job. He also knew how easy it is to get lost in the maze of allies in the area. He also knows the tell-tale signs of a coming war. His mind was on a constant rollercoaster ride to nowhere about the ‘what ifs’.

Come to think of it. If he gets up now and starts preparing for the day he might be able to start his shift earlier at the bakery. He might be able to put in an extra hour or two to help his pay check at the end of the week. The heavens alone knew he needed it. Luckily his boss was a very kind soul. That lady would bend over backwards for him. He had no idea what he did to warrant this type of treatment, but he prayed to anyone who might take pity on him that she would last him a good while more.

With a goal in mind Namjoon gets up and heads to his bathroom to wash up. He had no set routine like any good human would have. He didn’t need to look special for anyone. He had no reason to look after his skin. He had barely enough to look after his body as it is. Not even to mention his mental health.

With quick precision that stems from years of practice he quickly gets dressed in the dark. He can’t remember the last time he had electricity in his home. Can it even be called a home? Anyway, the electricity was cut off a few years back. Not because he couldn’t pay, but because the owner of the building owed the preternaturals. In turn for his life he had to give up on something. That something turned out to be confort. He was promptly banned from living anywhere else in the city. At least he suffers the same fate as all his renters.

One would think with the disappearance of electricity the cost of living would ease up a bit. Ah, what a hopeful idea that has been. The slimy bastard refuses. Unfortunately most of the inhabitants have no choice but to stay.

Like most people here, Namjoon has no choice but to bite down on the leather strap and take the beating life gives him. He would rather take the beating than give up his freedom. Even if the freedom comes at a rather expensive cost. Namjoon knows, like most, he will also most probably die of hunger or neglect just for being too stubborn to take the easy way out.

Once he is all dressed Namjoon takes care to take anything of value with him as he leaves. It’s extremely early in the morning, but he knows that the bakery will be open. He knows that his boss rarely sleeps. Just like he is riddled with nightmares of the horrors he had to witness, she carries her own demons around. Like a stubborn mule, neither of them refuse to talk.

Walking into the bakery, Namjoon wasn't surprised to see his boss elbow deep in some kind of dough. He would not call it normal bread dough. He refuses. He knows what goes into that dough and trust him when he says it’s not what a normal recipe would tell you to add. Unfortunately, this is the only surviving, cheap, bakery left so even if it tastes like sand mixed with trash, people still buy it.

It’s all they have. It’s all he has. It does nothing but fill the empty space in his stomach, and that's all he needs to survive. His main goal in life is to see the next sunrise. He has no plans to escape to find the small pleasures of life. Oh no, he has long given up on wanting a better life for himself. He can be happy like this. At least he can pretend to be.

“Namjoon? What are you doing here so early? Oh, be a dear and add some more flour to this batch. I have been struggling for a good thirty minutes already” his bosses said in a strangled voice as she tried to fight the dough.

“Sure thing boss” Namjoon says with a half salute, ignoring her first question. He knew it would be best not to think about the why’s for now. That is not a great way to start a new day.

“Thank you dear. Oh I do hope you get to make it out of here one day. It will be such a honour to tell everyone I helped one young soul escape. Anyway, let’s get busy. I want to get another batch in the oven before dawn, ``the boss lady said as he finally freed her arms.

Namjoon could only scoff at her words. It’s been the same since day one. She would always tell him of her hopes and dreams for his future. How he needed to escape. The saddest part wasn’t her wishful thinking. No, it was the fact that she could not see how he was literally dissolving in front of her eyes. He has lost weight, his eyes are sunken in, and his clothes haven't been changed since three days ago. He still washes them every night, but it's only because he has no other choice.

Perhaps she is deliberately ignoring the signs. Maybe it makes it easier for her. It’s either that or she is bat shit crazy. Then again, he would take his chances with her anyday over the brainwashed zombies they serve as customers. Ah, Namjoon can’t even count how many mini wars took place in the safety of these walls. The bakery never claimed a side, so both the preternaturals and the resistance came by. Those mini wars usually lead to bigger ones just outside the door. Luckily they always try to avoid too much damage to the bakery itself. Namjoon firmly believes it's because his boss is such a sweet lady. No one wants to lose the last bit of human warmth over something as simple as stale bread.

But just like the customers hate each other, Namjoon has had his fair share of being in the line of fire. Not literally. Take this bloke he has standing in front of him. All tattoos and piercings. Even if he belongs to heaven alone and knows which side, he smells worse than Namjoon even looks. Gods, some people have no self respect anymore.

Namjoon has been listening to how low he is as a mere sideless human is for the better part of twenty minutes. He obviously has heard it all before, but the guy seems to have an endless need to keep talking. Namjoon always argued that if he was so worthless, why would they want to even talk to him?

“... I just personally think it would be easier for all of us if you just ended it yourself. No one wants a mere little rat like you ruining their day. I mean look at you. You disgust me. Here, take this. These are some heavy pain killers. With how thin you are, three would do the trick. I would take five to be sure but do us all a favour” Stinky tattoo man says.

Well, that sure was new. Not a noise could be heard as the words seemed to linger in the air. Everyone that came by the bakery knew that just like the boss, Namjoon wasn’t on the side. Gosh, most of the rude customers were rude to him in the way of just not answering. Never has anyone taken the time to address him in such a crude manner.

“I know,” Namjoon said. It was all he could after such a deep stab was thrown his way. He knew he was useless but he never knew just how useless and unimportant he would be. Namjoon couldn’t look up at the man still stinking up the spot in front of him. The man himself had frozen at his words. Clearly Mr tattoo had not expected Namjoon to agree with him. The way the warmth drained out of the air around the small bakery was palpable.

Slowly, everyone else got to their feet. Namjoon had no idea what was happening, but the hand on his arm urging him to move into the kitchen was enough of an indication to know it wasn’t something good. The small bakery was soon filled with the loud voices of both the resistance and the preternaturals. Both sides seemingly angered by the man who dared steal the warmth from their little sanctuary.

It soon became clear that the man wasn’t from any of the sides. Namjoon should have seen that his mark didn’t match any of the others. He never understood where the rule came from to be marked in the neck by the side you belong to. Maybe it was mutual to be able to distinguish friends from fo, but the spider was not one of the marks. The resistance chose the lily flower. The preternaturals chose a red bullet.

The fact that this man chose a place in the middle of two already claimed territories, not that the resistance claimed any, to make a scene only meant one of two things. Either he is just very unfortunate and has no idea that his life is practically over, or he is here on a mission to try and get some information from one or both groups. Oh and don’t even get Namjoon started on the resistance being a glorified, crime fighting, equal rights for all gang that is no better than the preternaturals.

Namjoon would much rather want to go home and have another nightmare than talk about what was sure to happen within the next five minutes. Sure enough the first shots are fired, but just as fast as it began it fades. Just like always, both groups move to the outside to avoid ruining the small bakery. Namjoon always hated when it ended up like this. Inside the bakery the two groups could fight for the same cause, but just like a small candle flame in the middle of the rain, it quickly dies out.

The walk back home would be a pain in the butt and Namjoon knew it. They usually wait like thirty minutes to see if the mini spat would last longer. If it did, the bakery would close earlier and Namjoon would lose an entire day's worth of pay. Luckily most of the time it only lasted for ten minutes.

Unluckily, this so called ‘little spat’ would not stop soon. It seemed like Mr. stinky caused a bigger problem than Namjoon had thought. It was hard to tell if the fighting was about what the man said or just another excuse to try and overthrow the other side. Whatever caused them to fight, it was clearly not going to end soon. Especially not by the way, Namjoon could see more people arriving.

If Namjoon was being completely honest. Like one hundred and twenty two percent honest, it was kind of flattering that both sides would get so fired up at someone else's comment towards him. But he knew it was more because of the place and not because of him. Outside the bakery, neither group held back to try and convince him to join them. From promises of security to freedom. Riches and basically anything he could desire. He always found a way to escape them, or just avoid them.

Back to the new problem at hand. Namjoon had to get home, but the rain of bullets is blocking his usual route. He knew he could go around and hoped the fight wouldn't spread to any other parts. Then again, would he rather get lost in the allies or die by bullets? One doesn’t sound worse than the other. Were the bullets was a sure way he would die, the allies held something worse. Uncertainty. Desperate people do desperate things and even if he has nothing of value, they won’t hesitate to target him.

Namjoon hated choices. Apparently his life wasn’t difficult enough and now he had to decide how he would rather risk dying. Like he had a choice in the matter at all. Deciding he would rather take his chances with the back allies, he heard bullets hurt like a bitch, Namjoon quickly bid his boss goodbye and hightailed it to the nearest alley.

Once Namjoon was in the alley, he slowly started making his way towards his tiny home. He could n’t have wandered far when a chorus of voices started shouting in his direction. Turning around, Namjoon could see one man chasing another. They were heading in his direction and Namjoon was once again torn between running and trying to become part of the wall.

By the time his malnourished brain caught up to the situation, the first guy shoved him out of the way as he darted down the alley. The other seemed to have other ideas as he swiftly pulled his gun out of its holster and fired. Namjoon heard the man gasp before he heard the impact of the bullet to the bone. The first guy immediately dropped down to the ground, unmoving.

The one that took down his prey stopped dead in his tracks. Either he was afraid to move closer, or he was very sure of his abilities to shoot a moving target, because the next thing Namjoon knew, the man turned his gun to him.

“You poor little boy. Just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time” The man said as he approached Namjoon and leaned forward, crowding him against the wall.

“I see no marks on you boy. You should have joined the resistance when you could. Now there will be one less little cockroach in the sewers” The man whispered in Namjoons ear as he pulled his trigger.

Being shot doesn't feel at all how Namjoon had imagined it would. There was no shearing or scream of pain. The laughter of the other man was there as he walked out of the alley, but Namjoon just felt a very distinct numbness in his bones. That was followed by warmth. It was almost comforting in the way it rapidly spread over his stomach. Namjoon is not sure why the man chose to shoot him in his stomach. Firstly there wasn’t much there. He hadn’t had the chance to eat and he was severely dehydrated. Secondly, if Namjoon could recall correctly, there weren't any major arteries in that specific spot.

The sound of grunting broke the slight daze Namjoon found himself in. The sound was too far away and deep to be his own. Abruptly Namjoon’s head whipped in the direction of the other man. He was moving. He was alive. Seems like the one that shot him was either a newbie or just plain stupid. Usually they don’t show any mercy to their enemies.

With slightly more wobbly steps Namjoon made his way over to the grunting man on the ground. The man was shot in his shoulder in a very dangerous place to be exact. He could easily be on the brink of bleeding out. As Namjoon dropped to his knees next to the man, their eyes met. Namjoon could see how the others eyes first scanned his neck, which was literally unclaimed, before they locked onto his eyes. Namjoon could also see the exact moment the other actually saw his eyes. The heterocromia was not easy to miss.

Without missing a beat, Namjoon ripped a piece of his own shirt as he scanned the other's wounded shoulder. After quickly mapping out the general path of all the major vessels, and concluding that the bullet might have narrowly missed the man, Namjoon stuck his fingers into the wound. The man instantly cried out and tried to scramble back, while searching for his own gun. Before any of the two actions could be successful, Namjoon ripped the bullet out and just as quickly scrambled to cover the wound.

The others' eyes were as large as the moon as he started at Namjoon. Namjoon had no idea if it was out of admiration or shock, probably both. He swiftly dropped the bullet in the other's hand as he roughly rapped the other's shoulder in the flimsy bandgade. Once Namjoon was satisfied, he once again looked at the others eyes. His own mind seemed to be slow as he slightly smiled.

“If I didn’t remove it, you would have lost your shoulder. The resistance uses devastator bullets. They are supposed to explode on impact, but they have a slight delay sometimes. I hope you will be alright though. I would throw that away before it activates” Namjoon said. Before the other could even process the words, more yelling was heard from further down the alley.

Namjoon knew he had to scramble. They won’t let him explain if he were to be caught with the other. So with a slight grunt he hoisted himself up and hastily wobbled away. His mind quickly turned back to his own wound and he made haste towards his home. He had to get the bullet out and fast. He has almost no medical training, but he was lucky enough to have read a medical journal once so he has a fage idea of what he needs to do.

***

“JIMIN!” The shouts ran out as two pairs of heavy boots sped down the alley. Seokjin was the first to reach Jimin as he slumped down against the wall. Slightly hidden from general view. He was not prepared to see one of his own in such pain.

Being in the mafia was one thing, but being at the very top was another. Seokjin knew the dangers. Hell, he himself has inflicted some of them to others who dared go against him and his followers, but nothing can prepare anyone for seeing someone you consider family get hurt.

It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Yoongi was just freshly recovered when the call came through of another fight close to the bakery on Drury Lane. The one spot that could almost be considered a fight hotspot. It has never been this serious though. Seokjin was no small sprout when it came to this world. He has been in charge for more than a decade. He built his empire up with no one to guide him. His men trusted him. Not because they had no choice, but because he made sure to care for them. He kept them safe, well as safe as one can be in the mafia.

Some shit about a spider being in their territory. Said spider laid in one of their vans. He was shot, but alive. Alive enough to be questioned. Seokjin wasn’t cruel. In fact, he hated torturing people, but that didn’t stop his youngest head subordinate. That boy loved the blood and screams. Hoseok even jokes that it makes him horny.

Back to the bakery. Even if the bakery wasn’t completely under his rule, the boss was one head strong woman, Seokjin kept it as safe as he could. His men were under strict instruction to not harm the place. The resistance did not always follow the same rules. They loved their guns. The bakery made the most horrendous breads and other nick nacks, but the warmth it provided was enough to keep it safe. Most of his men liked to go there.

Jimins whimpers brough Seokjin back into the present. He was soon joined by Taehyung as they did a quick once over of Jimin. Other than the blood soaked wound on his shoulder he looked fine. His wound was covered in a rag and he looked fairly stable to transport back to base.

“T-the bullet. W-we need to take it with” Jimin said as he grunted from being moved.

“What do you mean? Did the bullet go through?” Taehyung asked as he frowned. That was enough to stop their movements. Seokjin looked back down at the wound again. Once he looked closer he could see that the cloth was not from Jimin’s clothes. The cloth was torn and looked rather ragged.

“Jimin. Where is the bullet?” Seokjin asked carefully. Jimin merely pointed at a bullet off to the side. Taehyung fisibly flinched once their eyes landed on the small little bomb. Devastator bullets were exactly what their names stated. Devastating. They explode into millions of pieces upon contact. Jimin wasn’t supposed to be alive, let alone have an arm.

“Some boy took it out. He… he was here and saw the whole scene” Jimin said as he stood up with Taehyung's help.

“Taehyung. Hand me your phone. Now!” Seokjin said as he also stood up, while carefully taking the bullet. One wrong move and he might lose a hand. Once he received Taehyung's phone, Seokjin turned on its flash and pointed it at the ground. There, right next to where Jimin’s body layed was another pool of blood. Judging by the drop's direction, whoever’s blood that was, left in the opposite direction.

“Seems like someone was in the wrong place at the wrong time” Seokjin said while shaking his head. Jimin’s head shot up at that. Disbelief was clear in his brown eyes.

“Wait, he was shot too? Seokjin, we need to help him. He had no claim mark. He looked so small and fragile. He won’t survive” Jimin said as he tried to get out of Taehyung's grip.

“Calm down Jimin. We’ll find him soon enough. You are our first priority. I want you to try and think of anything you saw on him that could help us find him easier” Seokjin said. With a quick glance at the surroundings, Seokjin spotted an apron from the bakery not far from where they were. ‘Oh you poor boy’ Seokjin thought as he picked it up. It wasn’t covered in blood. The boy might have dropped it during the whole getting shot and seeing someone getting shot.

“His eyes. He had two different coloured eyes. One blue and the other was like half blue, half brown” Jimin whispered as he lowered his head to Taehyung's shoulder. What were the chances of finding someone with heterochromia. It certainly made it easier knowing that the boy was unique.

***

Okay, so remember when Namjoon first got shot and he stupidly thought that it wasn’t as bad? Yeah, scratch that. Being shot sucked balls. He is in so much pain he could die. He most probably will, but that's besides the point. He has no idea how the other man didn’t tear his arm off when he removed the bullet, because that shit was the worst. BUT, it’s done.

He never knew that feeling the inside of your own body could make you instantly vomit up anything and everything inside your guts. Luckily he had nothing except acid, but that too burned like a bitch. The wound being in his stomach didn’t help at all. He kind of needs those muscles to get the food (acid) out.

He had developed a fever somewhere along the way of getting home and removing the bullet. He also knew he was pale as hell due to losing blood and he honestly just felt like shit all over. Namjoon has never been as thankful for no electricity as he was when he took a quick shower. He just knew that the water that dripped off of him was painted red with his blood. He hated seeing blood, not even to mention his own.

There was this constant nagging in his head that he was surely in his last moments, but he did his best. He cleaned the wound as much as he could and he wrapped it in torn pieces of his sheets. If all goes well he’ll be able to go back to work tomorrow. Not like he really had any other choice. He needed the money.

With that in mind, Namjoon wobbled back to his bed and tried to get some sleep. He knew he wouldn’t be able to, but he was what some would call a stupid optimistic fool that believed in magic. He would rather think about the good then wallow in his own self pity. He was truly someone no one would miss if he died. Gosh, he doesn’t even think someone will find his body before it turns to bone. Dust even.

There was a good three hours of sunlight left when his eyes finally closed. Be it from exhaustion of multiple days without proper sleep, or blood loss, Namjoon was just happy to finally have some semblance of peace.

Normally Namjoon had no problem waking up and getting ready for work, but considering he is freshly shot, both of these tasks seemed near impossible. Namjoon could physically feel how drained his body was of energy. His movements were even more sluggish than normal. The little annoying voice in his head kept on nagging him to get back in bed and just not go anywhere, but he had to eat somewhere again and for that he needed money. With that in mind Namjoon left and made his way back to the bakery.

After reassuring his boss that he was perfectly fine, Namjoon got to work. The less she knew the better. He kept his movements small and he tried to move as little as possible. Things were going just fine until around lunch time. No one knew exactly what the leaders of both sides looked like, but the presence that followed the two men that just stepped into the bakery was a clear sign that they held some possession of power. The way the preternaturals all went quiet was a dead give away that these men belonged to their side.

Namjoon vaguely recalled seeing one of them the previous day, but he has no idea if it was the one who was shot, or one of the two that came running down the alley. It was also clear that these two men had never stepped foot inside the small bakery. The look of disgust was clear on their faces as they took in the poorly decorated walls and the clear bullet holes in the walls.

Their eyes finally landed on the counter where Namjoon held himself up. It was clear that these men were on high alert. Their movements were precise, calculated even. It was almost like they expected an attack. Maybe they did. If they truly held positions of power, they would become instant targets, but today they might be lucky. Usually after a fight like yesterday, the resistance avoided the area for the following days. Either to recuperate or to get more men. The only ones that always came back the following day were the preternaturals.

It was quite fascinating to see how a single signal could be understood by anyone in the gang. All the tall man had to do was wave his hand and one of the men sprang to his feet and locked the door. Some of the men even got up and went to the kitchen. To do what? Namjoon didn’t know. Maybe this was his angel of mercy. Someone that would put him out of his misery. Hopefully without much more pain.

In hindsight, Namjoon should have been terrified at the very prospects that they were locking them in, but that was really the last thing on his mind at this stage. Once the taller of the two made it to the counter, Namjoon immediately smiled. His brain was extremely slow in processing the fact that they were most probably not there to buy any of the bread. The smile was anyway such a natural reaction to anyone that came closer to the counter, he doesn’t think he would have been able to stop it.

“Wha-what can I get for you sir?” namjoon asked. He really prayed they didn’t want any of the bread in the back. He doubted that he would be able to let go of the counter anytime soon.

“I am actually here to return this. I found it close to one of my precious family members yesterday and I wanted to talk to the owner of it. They might have saved his life. Do you perhaps know if one of the staff lost their apron?” The tall man asked as he lifted the ragged apron up.

Namjoon visibly paled even more. He knew he forgot something. Why didn't the boss lady say anything? Why did she just continue as if nothing happened? Maybe she thought he would put it on once he started working at the front.

“Ah. That- that would be mine. I didn’t even notice it was gone. Sorry for troubling you sir” Namjoon said as he bowed his head. No way in hell would he be able to keep himself upright if he had to do a full on body bow.

“And who might you be?” The man said as his eyes scanned Namjoon’s hunched form. Searching for something, maybe for a sign that Namjoon belonged to a group. Obviously he would not get any. Whatever he searched for, he must have found it if the little humm he let out was anything to do with.

“Nam-Namjoon sir” Namjoon said as he once again dropped his head, gripping the counter a little bit harder. God, he was tired. His legs were wobbling even more and his fingers were going numb. He even considered just dropping down on the bakery floor for a quick nap.

“Namjoon. It’s good to meet you. I want to thank you for taking care of Jimin yesterday. I understand you are a rare one. Unclaimed and kind. Can you please look at me” The man said as he leaned forward slightly. Namjoon was hesitant. Why did the man want him to look at him? Did he want to see if he had any alternative motives? Perhaps. Namjoon slowly lifted his head. Not because of the hesitance, but just because it is extremely hard.

“Oh my. You are beautiful. Look at those eyes. They are exactly like Jimin described them. Divided but beautiful in their own way. One more question. I promise this will be the last one” The man said as he waited for Namjoon to respond. It only took a small nod for the man to continue.

“Where did those bastards shoot you?”

The effect was almost instant. As soon as those words left the man's mouth, a sharp pain shot through Namjoon’s wound. It hasn’t stopped bleeding since last night. Namjoon could not stop the hiss that left his mouth as he bent forward. In an instant the man rounded the counter and forced Namjoon to the ground.

His movements were fast and precise as he began lifting Namjoon’s shirt. Namjoon tried to fight the man as much as he could, but he was useless against someone that had actual muscles. Once the man succeeded in lifting up Namjoons shirt, a loud gasp was heard from the entrance to the kitchen. Boss lady’s eyes were wide as she took in the sight of Namjoon. His stomach was a purple-blue colour. The clothes he used to try and cover the wound were drenched in blood. His eyes had teared up somewhere and he just wanted to hide away from the world.

Maybe he was cursed. Perhaps his life would be an endless cycle of uselessness. He just knew this man would be disgusted by him. He would toss Namjoon aside like some old spoiled food. Namjoon was ashamed. He was afraid the man would throw him out, but he was even more terrified the man would actually try to help him. He was a preternatural. They don’t help someone that doesn't belong to them.

“Oh my. This looks painful. Okay, I am not going to allow you to die because the resistance wanted to take you out. They clearly have no regard for anyone that is not claimed. Come, Let’s get someone to look at this. You’ll probably hate me, but I claim you. You are now mine” the man said as he lifted Namjoon up from the floor.

“N-no. I-I fine” Namjoon said with no fight in his voice. He was tired, so so tired. The resistance didn’t care. This much Namjoon knew, but did he want to be claimed by the other side? Did he want to belong to the preternaturals? Perhaps Namjoon was just too paranoid. They would throw him to the curb as soon as they saw what he truly was. An injured little mouse in a rat's world. One that would not mean much. One that only had one goal in life. To survive.

“Hush now. I promise you I won’t let any harm come to you anymore. You will be safe, Namjoon” The man said as they exited the bakery. Namjoon had no idea what would happen to it now, but he hoped they would not kill the boss lady. She only ever wanted to survive.

The tall man, who was dressed in soft fabrics walked towards a black car. Clearly this car didn’t belong in these parts. Namjoon could only hope it didn’t. Someone with a smile such as this man, didn’t belong in this part of the city.

“By the way. My name is Seokjin. I am the leader of the preternaturals” The man said as he climbed into the car. His eyes were still on Namjoon even as he gave the command to drive. He was studying Namjoon. Just like Namjoon kept his eyes on him.

***

“Okay, let me get this straight. You claimed him, told him your name and then stared him to death?” Yoongi asked as he washed his hands. Stitching someone up was a daily task yoongi did, but stitching someone up that barely had any meat on their bones and that lost as much blood as Namjoon? Now that was a new challenge Yoongi wasn’t prepared for.

“No Yoongi. He passed out after like two seconds of staring. Anyway, how is he?” Seokjin asked as he looked over at a sleeping Namjoon.

“Alive. What do you plan to do to the kid? With his condition I am almost positive he’s traumatised. This kid has survived what most people would not. Why? I do not now” Yoongi said as he went over to Namjoon. He made sure the drip was still running as he tried to get something into Namjoons system.

“I’m going to keep him. The resistance shot him. He is unclaimed and just happened to be in that alley. There was no reason for them to shoot him. Aren’t they supposed to be fighting for the unclaimed? Or do I have it all backwards?” Seokjin said. He was disgusted with the resistance. When they took over the city, they wanted to make it better for everyone but one fool decided to go against them and before they knew it, the city was divided.

“Good. The boy has been through enough. He should be waking up soon. You can explain everything to him and then we can make sure he recovers… fully” Yoongi said with a small smile. Ah, Sometimes Seokjin forgets just how soft Yoongi’s heart could be. He was sure the rest would also agree.

“Help who recover?” A deep voice suddenly spoke up from the door.

“Taehyung, Hoseok? Come on in. I want to introduce you to someone. This is the boy that saved Jimin. He’s unclaimed” Seokjin said as he looked back at Namjoon. Both Taehyung and Hoseok made their way over to said boy. The disbelief on their faces was almost laughable. If Seokjin was honest, he would also have laughed if someone told him that.

“He’s so… fragile” Taehyung said as he looked up at the others.

“He is. Both physically and mentally. This boy has been through alot” Yoongi said as he looked back at the door when Jungkook and Jimin entered. Jimin was still pale, but he looked alot better than he did yesterday when they found him, and it’s all thanks to this fragile little boy.

“Wait, unclaimed? I thought you said the resistance shot him?” Jungkook piped up as he sat Jimin down in one of the other beds.

“He was shot by one of the resistance members. They knew he was unclaimed. I heard everything they told him” Jimin grunted.

“Come Jimin. Let me check your wound” Yoongi said as he moved over to the other.

“Those bastards. Wait, wasn't that fight started because some spider said a few words towards the worker at the bakery?” Hoseok said.

“Yes. I have this nagging suspicion that Namjoon was that worker” Seokjin said as he gestured towards the unconscious boy. Some of the others let out small curses. They obviously knew what was said. Their men had no problem in telling them exactly what happened. They loved that bakery.

As silence fell in the room, they all made a mental promise to track the resistance down. They were going too far. There was a mutual understanding that if it can be avoided, no unclaimed should get hurt. Clearly the resistance had forgotten about that rule.

***

It’s been a few weeks since Namjoon woke up in the home of the preternaturals. He freaked out at first, but they have been nothing but kind to him. They gave him his own room, with a nightlight that worked around the clock. They took care of his wound, fed him and even kept him company. They asked him about himself and in return told him about them. He hasn’t felt this seen in.. well forever.

Namjoon was still reluctant to trust them fully, but after they told him how they truly operate, and showed him, he began to give himself that little bit of hope that maybe they would not let him go. He liked being around them.

They showed no signs of forcing him to become an active member. They didn’t even ask him to get the claim mark. They just allowed him to live. He had more energy than he could ever remember having. He still had nightmares and he struggled to stay asleep for more than three hours. They did comfort him. Sometimes one of them would invite him to sleep in their rooms. He was hesitant at first, but some of the others were very persistent.

Jimin was the first to physically drag Namjoon to his bed and demand him to cuddle him. He slept a whopping eight hours that night. In return for their kindness, Namjoon told them everything he knew about the resistance. He shared their distaste for the other group. They made sure to get rid of them, bit by bit.

Namjoon’s life had never been so happy. All six of the others made sure he felt part of their little group. Namjoon finally allowed himself to believe that he might have found a place where he belonged. He was unfortunately fortunate to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he could turn back time, he would change absolutely nothing.

Namjoon finally belonged and that was enough. He didn’t need anything more than this.

#Namjoon centric #nomimits7 #bts #namjoon needs a hug #drabble thingy #eh

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

odd, m | knj

pairing(s): namjoon x reader

summary: Kim Namjoon goes on a solo trip, enters a magic shop, and then promptly destroys something. Yikes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; magic (or a hallucination?); a casual existential crisis; cameos from OT6 but not in the way you think; mentions of a familiar beak(!); slight crack; unprotected smut doubtful you'll ever be in this situation tbh (fem reader, quite a bit of foreplay, blowjob, penetrative sex, creampie); Namjoon's POV; reader has a single fixed characteristic: gold irises

happy RM day :D don't enter shops and drink the tea unsupervised

Kim Namjoon was an odd man.

Strikingly tall. A tendency to clumsiness. Strong, dark features with creamy tan skin and full of youthful, bright-eyed curiosity. He always held a book and he always dropped it at least once per day, if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, then he would accidentally abandon the book of the day in some random spot and have to retrace his steps to find it again. It always happened when Namjoon was struck by an idea and had to write it down. Still, he wouldn’t call himself scatterbrained.

A slave to inspiration, maybe.

There were worse masters.

Namjoon firmly believed that reassessing and reflecting on one’s life was important for self-growth. He would always tell others that being in one place meant that you could only experience the same light and the same shadow. Eventually, your eyes would grow accustomed to the light and it wouldn’t seem so bright anymore. Eventually, the constant exposure to the shadow would make it more noticeable, more present. As you get used to the light, you can no longer overlook the shadow. Mentally staying in one place eventually led to a distortion of the truth.

In short, it was important to constantly regain perspective.

There were times that Namjoon realized he needed to heed his own advice.

That was why he occasionally took solo trips to various small towns. It was always fun to go with a friend but he could recognize that companionship was sometimes a crutch, a distraction to avoid focusing on his innermost self. Sometimes Namjoon simply needed himself, a bicycle, and his book of the day.

And money.

He needed to eat, after all.

It was early autumn. The temperature was still hot, both day and night. Sometimes muggy, even. The only hint that it was the cusp of summer was the taste in the air, extra rich in this small town. Farmers were harvesting the crops of the season and preparing for the next. Now and then, Namjoon would stop and watch. Ask questions if they didn’t seem too busy.

It was quaint and quiet here.

The stores were all mom-and-pop stops. Families that owned restaurants for years. Convivence stores that had seen generation after generation of schoolkids come and try to nick a pack of gum, only to be stopped by a rolled newspaper smack to the back of the hand. Innocent tomfoolery. Everyone knew everybody. It was very different from the city, and that was why Namjoon visited. He would go down each street with his rented bicycle and memorize the layout of the stores. Spend time in a café and read his book or go to the park and watch the children playing with their dogs. In a few days, he would know where everything was.

Small towns were small, after all.

At least, he thought so.

One afternoon, Kim Namjoon tipped his beige, round brimmed hat upward and squinted at the weathered sign above a rickety black door. It was warm today. A thick dry heat. A rare breeze barely ruffled his loose white button-up shirt and white linen pants. He hadn’t bought these pants. His friend had gifted them to him, without thinking about Namjoon’s tendency to spill things. He felt bad if he didn’t use gifts. Less bad if it was his own money he was wasting.

Anyway, back to the sign.

“Oddities, Oddballs, and Olfactory Stimuli?”

The sign was weird for many reasons. One, Namjoon had never seen it before in the three days he had been here. Two, he was quite sure that he would have remembered, because the sign was in English and nothing was in English in this small Korean town. Three, it was straight up just a peculiar name for a shop and offered no information about what was inside… other than the contents would be strange and unusual.

Below the sign, there was a piece of paper taped to the cracked window. This time, in Korean.

“Come in and enjoy looking around. You will find your point of healing here.”

And underneath, in smaller text.

“Please don’t break anything.”

That should have been Namjoon’s personal signal to not enter, but he did anyway.

It was too eccentric of a place not to.

“Hello?”

His own deep voice floated around the store and then sank into silence. No, not silence. There was an old grandfather clock in a corner, tick, tick, ticking away. The whole place was crammed top to bottom with trinkets of all sizes from various eras and various parts of the world. Namjoon found himself wandering inside with awe, abandoning his book in the basket of his bicycle leaning against the shop window. The light fixture on the ceiling was quite grand – a pale pink and mint green colored crystal chandelier in the shape of a lotus. It cast sweeping diamonds of light across the whole store, slices of brightness dividing the eye and making it hard to figure out what to look at first. Old paper fans, tiny jade boxes to hold teeny treasures, breakable English china atop books with worn-off titles, pewter photo frames with nothing in them. An old Nokia phone that looked like it had withstood several typhoons. A white pot with a single sunflower in it. Fake, he realized.

Should he be touching things?

With his luck, maybe not.

Something caught Namjoon’s eye, making him stop and stare. He noticed it because the shelf was live-edge wood protruding out of the wall covered in dark green wallpaper. Upon closer inspection, the wallpaper had a texture to it, like crushed velvet, but the pattern was worn, impossible to tell if it was vines or something else. The entire shelf was devoted to wood cravings of small animals surrounded by dried flowers and clumps of desaturated and dehydrated moss.

A hamster clutching a strawberry.

A cat curled up and with a tangerine on its head.

A squirrel surrounded by a cluster of acorns.

A chick standing on a permission.

A tiger behind a forest of delicate baby’s breath. Or was that a bear? It was hard to tell, and Namjoon didn’t dare disturb the flowers to find out, lest they crumble.

Beside it, a hamburger.

One of those tiny, fun-shaped eraser ones.

Huh.

And finally, a bunny holding a light green glass bead that emulated a grape. It had an inquisitive expression with very large eyes. The artist had been careful to portray lively youth in those big peepers.

He wondered who set up this shelf with such dedication. Was each animal craved by the same artist? It seemed so. There were small imperfections here and there, so it must have been done by hand. With a small ‘oh’ of surprise, he noticed another miniature animal was hanging off a rope nailed to the wall, a leaf on its head, its arms around the rope as if it was holding onto a tree limb.

A koala.

Whoever this person was, they weren’t thinking about how these animals didn’t exist in the same place, except for maybe a zoo.

“Maybe that was the goal,” Namjoon murmured, moving away from the shelf only to abruptly stop, his hip bumping into a table. There was a loud clatter and his hands shot out and seized the wood, praying he didn’t do any damage.

Thankfully, the black teapot was a heavy cast iron and barely moved.

The cup rolled and Namjoon managed to snatch it before it traveled to the edge of the table. It was white, with a painted purple flower. Unfortunately, the sign on the table toppled over, smacking headfirst into the scratched up wooden tabletop. It was in an acrylic stand, so it made a very loud slapping sound as it made contact. Namjoon froze, the sharp noise cutting through the peace of the shop.

He winced, waiting for an owner to appear out of nowhere to yell at him.

But no one did.

After a moment of petrified silence, he reached over and righted the sign. It read, in Korean.

“Help yourself to tea. Made fresh daily by the Owner.”

He looked at the cup in his hand and then at the teapot.

It sat there, unassuming, but also accusing.

You rattled me up and aren’t even going to take a sip of my tea?

Guilted by the silent teapot, Namjoon carefully set the cup down and reached for it. Thankfully, he poured without incident. The liquid that came out was a glassy cool-toned brown, almost purple, with small violet flower petals drifting to the bottom of the cup. He set the weighty teapot down, and stared at the tea.

He decided it was unlikely that a stranger from a small town would want to poison him and lifted the cup. The first sip was quite bizarre. It almost tasted like nothing and then, all of sudden, a floral earthy aroma hit him, along with a subtle sweetness that ended with a bitter aftertaste. He took another sip, confused. He had tasted a lot of teas in his lifetime and he thought he could at least discern a single ingredient. It was definitely some kind of tea leaf and flower mixed together, but he couldn’t seem to place what it was.

It seemed more like a memory than a flavor.

Namjoon suddenly noticed a tarnished silver frame on the far wall, behind a wooden counter. The frame itself was intricate and pointed, almost medieval. European, for sure. It held a mostly black image that only vaguely showed shapes of a wide-brimmed hat and folds of a cloak. The only contrast was the white mask underneath. A long beak with holes in it. The oval eye openings were tinted black glass.

A plague doctor’s mask.

There was a nameplate at the bottom.

The Owner.

Namjoon nearly spit out his tea.

He did choke a little and set down the cup, hacking up half a lung as he tearily squinted at the picture, trying to discern if it was familiar or not. The art was so realistic that it seemed like a photo. It must be another antique. Yes. That was it.

A disturbing shiver went up and down his spine.

Strangely tingly around his neck and around his loins.

What the hell?

He jerked back and snapped his head to the side, feeling the need to break eye contact with the weird portrait. It was disturbing him. Giving him jamais vu.

Or déjà vu?

Before Namjoon could think about it further, a bronze plaque and a wooden box caught his eye. The plaque caught his eye because there was a paragraph etched into it. It didn’t seem that old, and it was in English. He stepped away from the tea table to read it and was surprised to find that it was familiar to him. A book he had read the translated version of, but the phrasing was close enough that he understood.

"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."

At the bottom, it held the title and the author, but Namjoon already knew.

“Brave New World, Aldous Huxley.”

He read the last line to himself once more.

Happiness is never grand.

The wooden box called to him.

It was a rather plain box, a warm brown, with no exterior decorations. Only a simple latch of antique brass. Not too small but not huge either. He reached forward but hesitated, staring at it.

It was at the moment that Namjoon realized the name of the store had advertised olfactory stimuli, yet, other than the tea, he hadn’t smelled anything at all. The store was rather scentless. It didn’t even smell musty or old even though there were things in it that were clearly aged. It didn’t smell like cleaning products either.

There was no discernable odor.

Forgettable.

Namjoon touched the latch and opened the box.

He raised the lid.

It tinkered, playing a slightly distorted but chiming tune. The inside of the box was lined with lush sage green velvet. In the center was a white and black crane with a crown of red feathers, wings outstretched like it was about to take off. It was delicately balanced on a metal rod. It seemed like at some point the crane spun, but at the moment it was stagnant, unmoving as the melody played.

It was not a melody Namjoon recognized.

However.

He breathed in, slowly, and he was sure now. He bent over just to be sure. Indeed. There was some kind of perfume emitting from the music box.

Dragon fruit and waterlilies and with the base note of clean ash.

Namjoon frowned, because the scent was familiar.

He closed his eyes and breathed in once more.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Truly.

Sweet, seductive to savor. Fresh, similar to sap leaking from sliced phloem. Smoke, a dying memory.

Namjoon shuddered and he tasted skin on his lips.

He told himself to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. He should, but the memories were already replaying and, although he knew he should stop them, they were as alluring as they were poisonous. Over time, every day, Namjoon told himself not to let the venom in, but the scent was too strong and the past was too cruel, and now he was remembering the moment were his hands touched what he thought was love, but it was all a lie, and yet the lie seemed so beautiful. So dreamy, in mornings with open windows and laughs of two drifting in the air. So calm, back-to-back with books in hand, and he would lean his head back and reliably find another leaning back, holding each other up. So passionate, nights that he thought would never end, the taste of another on his lips and the scent clinging to his skin, dragon fruit and waterlilies.

And now that dream was dead, burned into clean ash.

His heart remembered the pain of betrayal, but his mind was replaying all the nice parts, editing out all the shitty bits, tricking him into thinking that it was better than reality. He often wondered why that was, and maybe it was as simple as contentment being boring. Maybe there was no satisfaction in perfection, maybe feeling complete was dull, and that was why those events ultimately became what it was now. Maybe that was why Namjoon now believed that he always needed to move his point of light so it never felt dim to him, so the shadows never became familiar.

Or maybe love didn’t exist.

He exhaled, and opened his eyes.

The melody was still playing.

The red-crowned crane remained unmoving.

He remembered her name. Her face. Her body, every curve. None of those things were really that important. It was the feeling and what it symbolized that lingered. Perhaps he was foolish to question it, foolish to wonder if that was his own feeling or a feeling he made up, replicated from what he had seen in movies and read in books. He had made it grand, that happiness back then, kept it on a pedestal until it crumbled and was no longer love.

Perhaps love did exist.

It just didn’t exist for Namjoon because he didn’t believe in it.

“Happiness is never grand,” he whispered to the crane, and he believed in that.

He straightened and banged his elbow into the bookshelf the music box was on.

Three things happened at once.

One, Namjoon howled and clutched his elbow as his ulnar nerve flared with shooting pain.

Two, the box screeched as it was flung into the air, the jarring movement interrupting the tune and dislodging it from its spot. The plaque of text was apparently affixed to the bookshelf, so it did not move.

Three, the grandfather clock began to clang.

Namjoon watched in horror as the music box crashed to the ground, followed by a loud, gruesomely dreadful snapping sound. He didn’t even realize how many times the clock rang. He was too busy slapping his hand over his mouth and shrieking mutely in his head as his elbow throbbed in aching agony.

Silence.

The wooden box was face-down, in intimate suffering as such carelessly dropped things are.

He was going to have to pay for that, somehow.

Gingerly, Namjoon squatted and lifted the box, carefully turning it around, hoping for the best but knowing it would be the worst. He had heard the breaking sound, after all. Sure enough, he grimaced as he saw there was no crane poised at the end of the metal rod at the center. There was no more dainty melody either.

You done fucked up, Namjoon.

He berated himself quietly and looked around, trying to find the pieces of the white crane. It should have been easy to find on the dark hardwood, and yet.

“Huh?”

The floor was sage green velvet.

Namjoon looked at the wooden box lined with sage green velvet.

At the floor, sage green velvet.

At the box.

There was no box in his hands.

Startled, Namjoon jerked upwards. There was no bookshelf, just a wall of velvet that matched the floor.

Before he could scream, the scent came back. Dragon fruit, waterlilies, clean ash. So strong he could tell which direction it was coming from.

Behind him.

He spun around, nearly tripping on his own sandals, his hat flying off. His long dark brown hair was now freed, flying about his vision, but he was in too much shock to pay it any mind.

Before him, a woman dressed in white hanbok with black trim, wearing a headdress of red beads and gold thread. She stood out amongst the green, stark and intense. Her eyes opened, golden irises reflecting his own shocked face.

She uncrossed her arms and spread them, like a crane about to take flight.

Namjoon sputtered.

“W-Whoa!”

She spoke, a human voice that he understood, because she was speaking primarily in Korean.

“Welcome to Oddities, Oddballs, and…”

She coughed and scrunched up her face, as if she was trying to remember the exact pronunciation.

“Olfactory Stimuli.”

A swift roll of the eyes, as if she found the name of the store utterly ridiculous. Namjoon was too busy processing that he was seeing a real human being in the store – were they still in the store? – and that he was suddenly surrounded by floor, walls, ceiling of green velvet with no door or window or even a vent to provide some sort of exit.

“You will find your point of healing here,” she finished calmly, lowering her arms and offering a deep bow.

It seemed disrespectful not to return the gesture, so Namjoon stuttered and bowed himself, then yelped, seeing – or actually, not seeing – his legs. He was wearing a slate blue hanbok covered in a swirling pattern of clouds. Black trim and a charcoal gray inner layer, complete with zero recollection of owning such fancy garments or how he got in them.

Well, there was no clear explanation for anything right now.

Did he hit his funny bone or his head? Was this hallucinating? Would he know if he was hallucinating? Oh, no, what if there were roofies in the tea? What is he was being kidnapped right now and dragged off to his doom?

Namjoon jumped as fingers snapped in front of his face.

“Hello?” the woman remarked with slight irritation. “Are you alive in there?”

The hallucination was very beautiful but also losing patience with him.

“Ah, um.”

He cleared his throat and provided his best display of liveliness.

“Hello?” Namjoon squeaked weakly.

She blinked slowly.

He tried again. “Er. Hello. My name is Kim Namjoon.”

She seemed unimpressed and did not reply.

An awkward gap of judging stillness.

“What are you looking for, Kim Namjoon?” the woman in white said, lowering herself to the ground.

Scrambling, he folded his robes and sat. Somehow, he lost his sandals. He opened his mouth to ask about it, then closed it. Those gold eyes continued staring at him piercingly. He felt compelled to answer instead of asking questions. For some reason, he got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to get any answers, so he might as well give them.

“Uh… I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I saw this place from the outside and thought it was interesting, so I came in.”

The woman viewed him with a slight turn of her head, tilting it a little, like a bird surveying the scene before it.

He breathed in and the perfume was so strong, so sweet, so fresh, burning into his memory and leaving lingering smoke. His lips parted and he could taste the skin on his lips, passion on his tongue, and was it the person or the connection he missed or…

The feeling of not knowing?

Ignorance was bliss, after all.

The woman swept her hand and pulled back the sleeve of her robe, presenting her palm.

“Give me your hand.”

Namjoon raised his hand and placed it on top of hers, palm to palm.

Warmth.

She stared into his eyes and raised her free hand, tracing his knuckles, feather-light touch and déjà vu, memories of a different time flooding back. He sucked in a breath and glanced at her face, but she shook her head.

“It’s okay to feel.”

He was afraid to feel.

Not because he didn’t believe he was capable. Because it hurt even though he understood. Because he could break it down and speak about it in an objective sense but, in this case, Namjoon recognized that, by being objective, he was avoiding the subjective and the subjective was that it was real and it happened to him and it was partly his fault.

Guilt.

Did she ruin it, or did he? When he really thought about it, it was him that considered the comfort too stagnant and perhaps it was him that slowly fell out of love, in small actions, in the subtle restlessness that crept into his mind. There was no point now in distributing what amount of blame was to who. Perhaps his betrayal did not have visible and tangible consequences like hers did, but indirect emotional betrayal was still a venom, poisoning the foundation of a connection, killing it slowly.

She did cheat on him, yes.

Maybe she saved him and herself by cutting their love apart so violently and viscerally.

The scent of ash seemed stronger now, coating the notes of sweet dragon fruit and fresh waterlilies, weighing them down.

“Namjoon.”

He lifted his head, to golden eyes framed with glistening red beads and golden threads.

Happiness is never grand.

That was true. Happiness was the small things. He knew that. He could write a whole poem about it.

She stared into his soul, or at least it felt like that.

“There is no right or wrong,” she whispered.

There wasn’t.

Then why does it hurt?

Did it hurt because he felt like he wronged himself, because he wronged her by not speaking up, or because he lost something he couldn’t get back again? Of course, he couldn’t get it back again. That was what it meant to be an individual; every connection was unique. Then was it because he thought he couldn’t have something better with someone else? Or because he questioned it all in its entirety, the whole thing – the falling, the being, the breaking of love?

Why do it?

She flicked him in the forehead.

“Owie!”

He yelped and slapped his free hand to his skull, scrunching up his face in pain. Ow! That hurt!

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” she huffed.

“I’m not–”

Namjoon froze.

His forehead still hurt.

The woman in white frowned at him, and he could still smell it, dragon fruit, waterlilies, clean ash, born anew.

“Can you… Can you hear my thoughts?” he croaked.

She blinked at him, slowly.

Several seconds passed.

Then she sighed, shrugging. “Even if you don’t say your thoughts out loud, they exist. Even if there are no good words to fully describe how you feel, that doesn’t mean you haven’t felt that emotion. Even if you think you know your flaws well, they are still your flaws.”

She raised her free hand, the one she flicked his forehead with, and Namjoon recoiled, but she merely rested her palm against his cheek, waterfalling her fingers onto his skin. Her fingers were cool compared to his warm cheek. She smelled warm too, or was it the headiness of the perfume that was getting to him?

“Don’t be paralyzed simply because you know the truth.”

Namjoon knew he was pessimistic, always believing in the worst-case scenario.

“Am I… wrong?”

He spoke softly, afraid.

“For living as I am?”

For wandering to find a new light to motivate him? For visiting these small towns to rejuvenate him, without knowing what he was looking for? For running in this maze of life, fulfilling all his responsibilities, and yet feeling like there should be more, more what, he didn’t know, for believing something was missing in life even though he couldn’t guess what?

For not believing in love?

Suddenly Namjoon realized the distance between him and those golden eyes was narrowing, the air between them thick, sweet, fresh, smokey, clinging to his skin and his memory.

She smirked at him, the woman in white.

“You don’t have to believe in love,” she chuckled. “You only have to know that the love of Kim Namjoon is one-of-a-kind, ever-changing, an oddity in its own.”

Those gold eyes sparkled.

“And, you know, here, in this place where it looks like it is full of run-down junk?”

He could taste it on his lips.

Skin.

“Here, all oddities are treated as precious treasures.”

Her lips touched his.

“Also, you really should just believe in magic at this point.”

And then his world was sage green velvet all around, a gasp tearing from his throat, and then her hands in his hair. He could taste it, the kiss, floral and earthy, the same scent he has tasted before, a scent that plucked at the strings within and ignited an inexplicable intensity that bled into every vein.

Her white sleeves covered his shoulders like outspread wings and Namjoon took flight with those wings.

Believe in magic.

He didn’t know if he could believe in magic, but the fact remained that he was in a windowless, doorless room making out with a woman he was pretty sure an inanimate object less than ten minutes ago, and getting increasingly horny through every palpable kiss, so either the tea had some incredibly powerful hallucinogen in it, or he actually hit his head instead of his elbow and was currently face-down in the shop having a sex dream right now.

Either way, his dick was getting hard.

Her tongue slid into his mouth and he tried not to moan. So soft, so insistent, so many layers of clothes he wanted to rip off right now. If they appeared on him by magic, couldn’t they just disappear by magic as well? But that was apparently not how this worked or there was some otherworldly force dishing out this erotic torture of confining him to his clothes as her tongue fucked his mouth, her body pressing into his, heat between them rising, her hands crowning his head, teeth nicking at his lower lip, tumbling, falling onto green velvet, shivers fanning out from his spine and over his shoulder blades.

She licked his lips, lifting her head, looking down at him through her lashes.

Golden eyes framed by red beads and golden thread.

His hands reached for the tie of her robe.

She didn’t stop him.

“Are you meant to be mine?” Namjoon whispered, low and in awe.

She smiled.

Sweet, fresh, burning into his memory.

“You were meant to find me.”

The delicate melody began to play.

He took each end of the tie and pulled, slowly. It unfurled, and she breathed out, each action a note, each movement an additional petal added the blooming flower between them, like how she leaned down and kissed him again, like how he lifted his head to meet her halfway, the beginning of the dance that he knew well, but this one was different.

After all, he wasn’t usually in hanbok when getting laid.

Anyway, barring that, this one was different because it felt both real and dreamlike at the same time, both carnal and dainty in the way she grabbed his chin and pushed his head to one side before he gasped at the feeling of her tongue on his ear, grazing his skin and barely wetting it, whispering his name, a spell in a breath that instantly made blood roar in his ears and his body shudder, all in the utterance of his own name.

He breathed in, this perfume, and it meant something different now.

She kissed down, following the curve, just underneath the earlobe, rubbing her tongue against the pulse, and he felt each beat in slow motion, each inhale and exhale, savoring each kiss as they danced down, down, down his throat and his collarbones, hands undoing the knot, layers peeling back, petals opening, blossoming flower as each layer was lifted away.

Namjoon turned his head back, trying to catch his breath.

He looked up to the ceiling and expected to see the sage green velvet.

Instead, he saw the pitch-black night sky, twinkling stars and full moon shining down on him.

Self-revelation was turning out to be one hell of a drug.

Her tongue pressed flat into his abs and dragged down, breathing hotly over the stripe of saliva and sending goosebumps prickling over his skin, drawn-out groan emitting from his throat, his gaze entranced by the stars that he wondered if were real or not. His eyes closed but the memory of stars remaining. Everything felt real and maybe that was enough, hot and wet and softness of lips trailing down his v-line, and he was suddenly reminded of something he read, something along the lines of, art has intent when it is being made, but art gains meaning when someone grants it their own.

Her lips touched the base of his length.

Namjoon’s eyes opened and the stars were still there, soft sage green velvet still under his hands. He closed his fingers inward and the fabric followed, bunching up in his hands, slippery friction at his fingertips and he jerked his chin down, seeing her lips close around the dark-red head of his cock, golden eyes watching him, feeling the warm, wet tongue wrap around the sensitive skin and tease it, rubbing the slit with slippery, arousing, creating a different kind of slippery friction.

“H… Holy f-fuck…”

Her hands were on his thighs, gently placed as her head bobbed back and forth, expert balance as her lips kept the swollen head of his cock in delightful, suffocating torture, ignoring the rest of the length. Turned her head this way and that, observing him, amusement creeping in those golden irises as his breathing became shallower and shallower, trying to wrap his head around the fact that the music box crane turned into a human that was now sucking just the tip of his very hard dick.

He couldn’t.

Wrap his head around it.

Was this close to asking for something else to be wrapped, though.

At that moment, she slid her mouth down and kiss the base of his dick with the entirety of it down her throat.

Those golden eyes shimmered with mischief as he moaned.

Her fingertips pushed against the bottom of his balls and raised them up and suddenly he was in heaven, in the bliss that was tongue sliding out and licking his balls as the back of her tongue pushed up and sandwiched the upper half of his cock in that pocket, sucking him and licking at the same time, the full moon glimmering off the red beads and glided thread of her headdress and creating a visual halo because it was all becoming a blur of desire, deliberate strength and controlled speed, and he could do nothing but watch and feel, watch the lewd scene of their open traditional garments and feel the mounting lust eating away at his sanity, his hips shivering, trying to get deeper even though it already felt so good, feeling a weird satisfaction as he was denied and held down.

The sting of danger in those golden irises.

She slurped and her tongue went back into her mouth.

The sublime tightness closed in and her gaze sharpened.

You want more? I’ll show you more.

Namjoon almost choked at the sudden intense pressure, on the edge of too much, and her throat relaxed, rendering him into gasping shivers at the tight softness. This seductive heat so good that he wanted to melt in it, up and down and out of his mind, his back arching, layers of exquisite fabric slipping down his arms, clutching the sage velvet tighter, moonlight alighting his tanned skin and her exposed shoulders, golden eyes and teasing mouth, nimble tongue up and down his length. Shivering sparks, closer and closer to being unable to breathe. A slave to her melody, the rhythm claiming all his senses and his heartbeat, one last inhale.

Still.

Dragon fruit, waterlilies, a hint of clean ash.

She pulsed her throat around him.

The tension snapped and Namjoon swore under his breath, his head hitting the velvet and arcing back, his hair splaying all over it as his hips rocked forward with concentrated force and rammed his cock forward, flinching sharply with each shot of cum down her throat, whimpering when he felt the vibration of her chuckle and her swallow, quivering bolts of sensitivity shooting up his torso.

Hot.

She crawled up his bare chest, shedding the white and black robe in the process.

Lips to lips.

Namjoon could taste the flavor of skin and his orgasm.

Her legs slid up and he shivered, feeling viscous juices smear over his thigh, and then warm weight, her hips rocking into his tense muscle, capturing his lips, her smile against him, and he knew she was preventing him from speaking, trapping him in the hunger of kisses. Even though he knew, he pretended not to know, whining under her insistent mouth as she rode his thigh, her fingers burying into his hair, gripping his head, crowning him with her sensuality.

She made him his art.

He felt so, so good.

Maybe it was meaningless, feeling good in the rawness of sex, but Namjoon didn’t see it that way. This moment could not be recreated. These feelings could not be felt again, this simplicity and this desire, because everything outside had responsibilities and other aspects attached to it, but not here, not in the sage velvet and under the full moon with the golden irises.

He lowered his head and tasted her skin.

Like a memory being made, each bite and each lick. If it wasn’t real then why did it feel so real, why did her scent overpower his nose and stimulate his senses, why did he grip her waist and pull her closer, smearing her arousal on his thigh, and why did her moans sound so sweet, so sweet like a delicate song tinkering from a music box?

He closed his lips around her nipple and her fingers slid down his back, gentle moan egging him on, juxtaposing her nails digging into his muscles. Hips rocking, sucking hard, kissing across her chest and past that racing heartbeat that matched his, rewarding her gift of pain with a flick of his tongue, her scratches across his shoulder blades creating a wing-like pattern on his skin.

She pulled him along, throwing her body against their discarded garments and sage green velvet, staining the fancy fabric with their physicality. Dared him with her open legs and narrowed eyes, undeniable, all curves and allure, her fingernails dragging down, down, tingling tremors over his ass, guiding him to the slick heat.

Namjoon hesitated.

Only for a half-second, wondering if protection was needed for fucking the music box crane.

Her fingers wrapped around his length and pressed the tip into her already slick pussy, making him gasp and moan, his hips following her instruction, centimeter by centimeter, gawking at her in shock that was slowly being broken down by pressing pleasure.

She chuckled, cocking an eyebrow.

“Don’t overanalyze.”

The moonlight made her golden eyes sparkle.

“You’ll miss out on how good it feels.”

Even if Namjoon had thoughts, they evaporated as soon as she began to move her hips, sliding up so he bottomed out, the wet walls within wrapping around his hard cock and massaging him roughly. She hooked one leg around his waist and the other over his shoulder, using his body was leverage to start the pace. That sneaky smile, both endearing and provoking, inviting his strength, and Namjoon placed his hands onto sage velvet, slippery friction under his palms and all around his length, her hips delivering the heady ecstasy that he swore was more intense than usual and not just because it was raw.

Although that fact was doing a number of his sanity, for sure.

He clenched his core and pushed in, moaning deeply.

Holy fuck, it was so good.

She looked delicate but this desire was anything but. This was sharp sucking breath, fingers gripping velvet, hips smacking into hips, hot and tight and his skin tingling all over. Sweet, in her lustful exhale of his name. Fresh, in the way the shadows danced across her skin from the full moon. Passion like a blooming fire, flowers of flame flourishing across his skin, burning tension between their shared gaze, the scent of clean ash lingering as the apex neared, faster and harder and louder.

She squeezed him and he groaned, legs trembling with effort as he drove his hips in deeper.

“Namjoon…”

Those golden eyes shrouded by lashes, and yet the shadows could not dull the brightness within.

Remember this scent.

Her hand reached up and pushed his sweaty hair back, smiling teasingly.

“What a handsome face.”

He felt sudden warmth rush to on his cheeks.

A single compliment and he was blushing like a teenager.

While fucking.

Maybe he was still young at heart after all.

The playfulness in her expression deepened and she gripped his shoulder, thrusting her hips up and changing the angle. He didn’t have to look up to see stars; the altered position caused him to wheeze and clutch the sage velvet for dear life, the newfound, escalating pleasure now so vibrant and visceral that he struggled to catch his breath, oh, fuck, it was as if every throb of her walls was injecting his nerves with inescapable ecstasy, tight tingling tension ricocheting from his head to his toes, so much, too much, the high slamming into him and his hips slamming down, throwing his head back and depraved moan thundering out of his chest as he came, pressing deeper so he could feel the mixture of their juices around the shuddering, swollen head of his cock.

She sucked in a breath and clenched around him, letting out a hiss of finality, and his eyes rolled back, sensitivity suddenly amplified to a lightheaded, heart-stopping height, her orgasm leaking out around his crotch, thick and slick. Hips jerking, erratic breathing, filthy squelch, riding the wave of orgasmic bliss, not wanting it to end, and now they were building the rhythm again into an airless combined crescendo, bodies colliding, high achieved once more.

If it wasn’t so mind-blowing, he probably would have said something, but Namjoon was stuck in the heavenly hypnosis that was back-to-back orgasms, thoughtlessly wandering in pussy purgatory.

Happened to the best of us.

He sank down with a wanton groan, barely able to open his eyes. Her lips brushed against his, tiny kisses seasoning his memory.

Inhale that perfume, remember that scent, a flavor I want to savor.

Something he knew he couldn’t get back.

“Namjoon…”

Her whisper gracing his ears, feather-soft.

“I’m glad you broke me.”

Namjoon opened his eyes.

He was sitting on the sidewalk, next to his bicycle, holding his book in one hand and a wooden box in the other. It was already night, still warm. Above him, the full moon and far-away stars dotted the pitch-black ceiling. He had to squint to see anything, but the moonlight was enough.

Just enough to open the box and see it was lined with sage green velvet.

No white crane inside.

There was no melody that played.

When Kim Namjoon woke up the next morning and traveled to the same spot, same black door, there was no sign that read, in English, Oddities, Oddballs, and Olfactory Stimuli. There were no trinkets inside the cracked windows. Nothing but empty wood walls and floor caked with a thick layer of gray-white dust. No one remembered a weird little shop with a shelf full of dried flowers and miniature wooden animals. No one recognized the wooden box with the sage green velvet interior, not could they find the component that made it a music box.

Namjoon didn’t ask anyone about the peculiar photo of a plague doctor.

He would have to explain the bubonic plague and all that. It was a detail that didn’t seem that important anyway.

Namjoon held onto the box and placed it in his studio.

Sometimes, when he felt a particular lack of inspiration, he would open the box. Then, and only then, would it smell like dragon fruit, waterlilies, and clean ash. The scent would bring him back to recollections of that little shop, to the memory of a myriad of trinkets full of mystery. His mind would conjure up an image of a white crane with a crown of red feathers and outstretched wings, almost as if it was about to take flight, golden eyes watching him.

He would remember passion.

Playfulness.

Choking on tea.

Also, he would get a little horny.

How… odd.

masterpost

#namjoon x reader #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you

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jkeuphoriadreamland · 3 years

Text

Deviant ⫸KNJ

⫸pairing: Namjoon x reader featuring OT6

⫸genre: Yandere, smut, angst 18+ E

⫸w.c: 15.4 k

⫸summary: Jealousy can be a powerful thing, and when Namjoon feels threatened by your behavior, he makes sure to trap you in his web of seduction and charm--with nowhere left to go but deeper.

⫸warnings: Explicit, yandere, controlling, manipulation, aggression, dub-con sexual intercourse, rough touching, rough sex, pussy slapping, finger gagging, shaming, dirty talk, possessiveness, Namjoon finger fucks oc aggressively, masturbation, bleeding, dub-con taking of virginity, mentions of alcohol, jealousy, degradation, gaslighting, forced orgasms, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty sniffing, use of panties in a degrading manner, painful first time, ripping of clothes, impreg kink, belly bulge kink, car sex, sorta voyeurism, Namjoon spits his drink into ocs mouth because why not, praise kink, bruising, biting, oral, DOM!Namjoon, unprotected sex

⫸a/n: Thanks to the amazing @chimoona for writing this with me. It was an honor! Go check out her content! It’s amazing! This fic goes out the my true mvp, the one that’s been there since I had about 300 followers or so, and who never left my side. She’s supported my content since day one and now I am honored to call her my friend. It seems fitting to close out with her as the recipient of my last fic @rmsbicycle. Here’s one of the first posts I made about her. Thanks to her I stuck around. I love you <3.

🚨READ THE WARNINGS! THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON!🚨

He was sick of it. This was the fourth weekend in a row that you continued to strut around Jin’s house like you owned it. For weeks he pretended to ignore you, let things play out naturally until his time came, but the way you looked standing in front of Taehyung smacking him on the chest because of some lame joke he said had him feeling disgusted. Namjoon shifted in the seat he was sulking in. Jungkook was going on about some new game he’d been playing, but Namjoon’s eyes could focus on nothing but you.

“Oh, looks like I ran out of soju. I’ll be right back, bro.”

As Jungkook left, Namjoon let out a sigh of gratitude that the younger friend of the group had finally got the hint that he didn’t want to talk. Not waiting for him to come back, he stood up and marched up to Jin, his premeditated intentions unwavering.

“Why does she act like such a slut with the guys? Doesn’t that bother you, Jin? I know she’s been a friend of this group for a long while, even longer than me, but doesn’t it just seem a little weird?”

Jin chuckled and turned to look at you. Surrounded by Jimin, Taehyung, and Hobi, Jin could see what Namjoon meant. There was, however, no way he would ever call you a slut. He’s known you for a long time and your flirty nature was just part of who you were.

“She’s not a slut, Joon. She’s always been cute with us. We consider her our little sister.”

“What! I don’t recall little sisters wearing skirts that short.” Namjoon huffed and almost growled when he saw Taehyung run a hand over your leg. There was no way you weren’t doing something with all of them.

“Sounds to me like you’re jealous. She hasn’t given you the time of day since you joined our group. Why don’t you say hello instead of moping around here like a little boy in love.”

“Love?” Namjoon's eyes darkened at the assumption. “Far from it.”

Respect is often required in order to love someone, and that’s exactly how he had to play it in front of the others. In this room, around Jin, Namjoon hadn’t felt an ounce of respect for you since the second he set sights on your pathetic attempts to draw attention. He acted nonchalant with a casual lean to hide how this act affected him. Aside from keeping up appearances, it really did make him furious to see just how easily you got what you wanted. Meatheads like Taehyung and Hobi were too easy, blinded by testosterone. Only he could see your true colors.

“I’m not jealous either,” he added.

Jin smiled and nodded, clearly disregarding everything Namjoon said. “Talk to her then, if she’s so easy.” He couldn’t hide his amusement as it spread across his lips. “I bet you couldn’t get her to like you. No offense, but you’re kind of an asshole.”

Namjoon smiled back. “Thank you. None taken.”

You laughed from the other side of the room and trailed your polished nails down the front of Tae’s v-neck. The sharp tip of your digit hooked into the collar of his shirt and lingered for a second too long, like you were beckoning him to fuck you in plain sight. You didn’t need to say a word--he knew what your intentions were.

Namjoon waited until most of the guys left to piss or grab a refill from the kitchen. Only Tae remained, bewitched by your slutty wiles. Just seeing the confident expression on the idiot’s face made Namjoon want to rid him of it permanently. He needed a good reason to come interrupt this bullshit flirting session you had going on because it really wasn’t a good look on you. If there was anyone you should be focusing on, it was him.

“I need a drink. I’ll be over there if you need me. Oh, and by the way, I’ll have her laid out for me before the night is over.”

Jin lifts an eyebrow intrigued and nods before taking a long drink of his beer. “Best of luck to you. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Namjoon waves off the cynical nuisance he’s had to pretend to be friends with just so he could get to what he wanted--you. Because of you, he subjected himself to lame gatherings and parties just so he could get in with your crowd. It infuriated him how you could be so obsessed with these men, how you just threw yourself at them night after night. For whatever reason, they never took things further with you. Your teasing would have made him mad were he the one you doted on, but sadly, he wasn’t. And here he was yet again, at another party, except now you were present too. He’d been patient, getting to know each of your six male friends--talking to them, going to events with them separately, building their trust enough for them to welcome him to their homes.

It was months of torture knowing you’d been in the house just hours or even days before he was. He’d come to learn your habits and forgetfulness just by visiting the guys. Purses, sweaters, and even your hair ties were forgotten on many occasions allowing Namjoon to build up a lovely collection of your personal items. His favorite items to date were the extra pair of underwear you had stored inside of your small bag. He wasn’t even sure why you would need that when you were simply coming to visit your friends, and of course his mind raced with countless scenarios. That day he took them for himself, remembering to leave things behind so that it didn’t seem too suspicious that all your items went missing. It took him a few weeks but he was able to figure out that you hadn’t slept with any of them. It made him feel better to know you weren't tainted, and so he kept the underwear safe and in his pocket--always. Whenever he got anxious, he’d put his hand inside his pocket and rub the material between the pads of his fingers. If only you knew how much you and he were meant to be.

Realizing he’d been staring for longer than was acceptable, he began to walk toward the table that held all the liquor and made to reach for a cup. His actions resulted in Tae spilling his drink everywhere, including down the front of your shirt.

“Hey! What the fuck. Watch it, Joon!”

“Oh shit. Maybe you oughta get some napkins for that. If Jin sees this mess he’ll have your ass.”

“Wow, Namjoon. I just bought this shirt,” you whine.

“You know me--clumsy.” Namjoon gestures with his hands up in the air and smiles revealing his dimples.

“Yeah, sure. I gotta wash this.”

“Let me help.”

“No, I got it.”

“Come on, ___. Let me. It was my fault after all.”

At this point Tae was returning with the paper towels and you were giving in to the soft look Namjoon was giving you. “Fine. Just….don’t touch anything.”

Like a sweet puppy he followed behind you. He hadn’t gotten close enough to see your entire outfit, but the way your ass bounced as you walked had him balling his fists. Why were you wearing a skirt anyway? You were such a whore, and he realized more than ever how much you really needed to be taught how to behave. It actually took him back to the first time he saw you, this very outfit similar to the one that caught his eye. At the time he didn’t know any of the guys, let alone of your existence, but when he saw you walking by, swaying your hips, practically begging for attention, he knew he had to have you.

He’d gone to university at the command of his parents and he never really fit into crowds very well. Since he could remember he struggled to make friends simply because he was smarter than all of them. One night he went to a party after being handed a flyer. The excitement he felt from being invited was immense and his emotions were through the roof when they actually opened the door and let him in. After a few drinks he leaned against the wall seeking stability and then he saw you. How long has it been? Three? Four years?

He’d never fallen in love at first sight before, but there was no mistake you were the one. He knew he couldn’t just approach you as he was. Being called a freak for most of his life wasn’t easy, and he had to change--for you. He learned the hard way that not everyone would appreciate his form of affection, so he observed others and learned. He quickly developed a sense of style and personality that had many women vying for his attention. He’d fucked around with a few wanting to make sure that when his time with you came, he’d be ready. And now here he was, walking into the laundry room, alone….with you.

“This isn’t that big of a deal.”

The silence of the room was interrupted by your musing, peeling your shirt over your head without any thought as to who was around. In this case, it was Namjoon, who tried his very best not to gawk with his jaw on the floor.

Without the others flocking around you like birds to prey, you had a bit of innocence. A delicate pink lace hugged the swell of your breasts and covered just enough to hold your modesty. It surprised him, as he assumed you'd worn nothing at all with the way your perky nipples showed through your clothing. He was wrong. Pleasantly wrong, but still deeply critical of the way you held yourself around other men.

You swiveled around and shamelessly exposed yourself in front of the newcomer, which was another strike against your record in his mind. Absolutely careless--starved for attention. At least it was him and not one of the others who got to see you in such a state, however, it solidified his theory. You’re an insatiable whore who needs to be put in her place.

Namjoon averted his eyes to show respect. He didn’t want to, and it took every ounce of restraint in his body, but he managed to do it. Gestures like this were crucial to gain your trust. He learned this after a night of experimenting in college, in which he endured head from an overconfident co-ed. She was all lip and no tongue, but he gritted through it and smiled. When she shied away from swallowing his cum, he looked away so she could spit it into a tissue swiftly and dab the slick from her lips. He was a true gentleman then, even when it pained him to be. She called him back the next day and wanted to grab coffee--a domestic outing that he only hoped to have with you one day, when you came to your senses.

“Of course it’s a big deal,” he tutted, busying his hands with the washer dials. “I ruined your pretty shirt.”

You scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Joonie.” With a long stride, you stood beside him near the machines and began to run warm water over the fabric. “It isn’t ruined, see?”

Oh, he saw. But he saw more than just rivulets of water wicking away the bready scent of beer. Droplets had escaped the sink and stuck to your bare chest; some so thick and weighty that it slid down into the valley of your breasts. He dampened his lips, but quickly, so you weren’t put off by his unabashed lusting. He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea and treat him like one of your many other suitors. Already, you were throwing yourself at him like a fucking steak he desperately wanted to sink his teeth into.

“Looks like you don’t need my help after all. It’s already clean.”

You smiled and wrung out the damp shirt, then tossed it into the dryer to bounce out the wrinkles. You must have found his meek demeanor endearing, because you leaned against the machine and raised your eyebrows to continue the conversation.

“Don’t look too disappointed. You still have to wait with me while it dries.”

It was working. How easily your attitude changed when he simply showed disappointment in not being needed. Is that how you broke for those other guys? Did they show you the cracks in their hearts that made you bend to their will in any effort to mend them? Weak and predictable. He’ll play the part to get you to notice him, but the act stops once he makes you his.

“It’s nice having you alone like this,” Namjoon said with a bold smirk. “Rarely get the chance to hear your lovely voice when Taehyung is talking over it.”

“Hah.” You tried to hide it, but he noticed how the compliment brought a blush to the apples of your cheeks. “He does get pretty animated when he’s excited.”

“Which is all the time!--”

“--All the time!” You cut him off, finishing his sentence in unison.

You two laughed, and your hand slid over his unknowingly. He let you hold it there until you noticed, then pretended like it didn’t happen despite how flustered it made you. He would have loved to indulge in the moment and grab you back, but this had to be your idea. You had to want this--him--more than anything else. No one should be able to compete for your affection, and that level of commitment took time. He knew this better than anyone.

The game had just begun.

“Anyway, I really am sorry about your shirt. Maybe I can get you a gift certificate for coffee or something. I hope that’s enough to cover the damages.” Namjoon offers the bribe with a wink hoping you catch the bait.

“No, no! You don’t have to do that. The shirt is almost clean anyway. There’s no need to get me a gift certificate.”

“Hm..” Namjoon thrummed a few fingers against the tip of his chin. “Then perhaps dinner?”

You quirk a brow at the offer. “Dinner?”

“I’m thinking spaghetti. I don’t know if you like Italian, but--”

“--Are you asking me out?” Your amusement was evident in the high pitch of your tone and light in your eyes. It really was out of character for someone like Namjoon to propose such a thing, but the oddity of it all really was intriguing.

“Me...ask you out?” He pretended to be appalled, holding a hand to his chest to clutch his pearls. “That would be far too forward. I’m the brooding quiet one, remember?”

You bite back a smile. “Mhm.”

“You have me pegged all wrong, ___. I’m not the dating type. However, if you just so happen to be eating spaghetti in the same vicinity as I’m eating spaghetti.” His hand waved in the air, spinning his tale. “And we happen to be seated at the same table with a lit candle and gentle acoustic guitar playing in the background...”

“This is quite the hypothetical scenario, I’m having a hard time visualizing it.”

Then it was his turn to bite back a smile, because it was absolutely perfect. You were so thrilling to speak to, he really began to feel the bloom of love and infatuation beat back into his heart without the others around.

“Then don’t visualize. Meet me at A Mano Italiano tomorrow night. Let’s say...eight P.M.?”

As if on queue, the dryer’s buzzer screamed.

“Eight P.M.,” you confirmed, tugging your shirt back over your head. “Perhaps you’ll find me eating spaghetti within the same vicinity as you.”

“If that vicinity is A Mano Italiano, then the chances are very high.”

You pushed him by the shoulder with a giggle, then stood from the washing machine to straighten out your newly ironed shirt. “Okay, dork. Don’t get too cocky. Let’s get back to the party before anyone jumps to conclusions and thinks you’ve seduced me or something.”

“Hah.” It was alarming how much Namjoon liked the thought of that. A large part of him wanted to find a reason to draw out your conversation so the rumor would spread, but thought against it. No...dinner was so close, he could taste it. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

___

Namjoon waited to enter the restaurant even when he saw you arrive first. He sat in his car, dark eyes watching the nervous tension practically pouring out of you as you entered and spoke with the hostess. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. For all the pretense you put on while around your male friends, at this moment you looked like a vulnerable little lamb walking toward the table all alone.

He was glad he set up the table he wanted beforehand so that now he could simply sit in his car and observe your behavior. Cute. It’s not like he’s never watched you before, but this time it was different. This time he asked you out, or at least that’s what was alluded. He enjoyed the way you fidgeted with your fingers and checked your phone constantly. Every microexpression upon your face had him unconsciously shifting in his seat. The dress you chose to wear could mean many things, but all he could focus on was your skin. It was clear you took time to prepare for this date.

There was no doubt in Namjoon’s mind that he could win you over. He knew he had you after the way you responded to him in the laundry room. It was something he wasn’t expecting right away, but then again, you were a renowned flirt. Maybe this date wasn’t even really a date to you but an opportunity to get laid. Too bad for you Namjoon had a much bigger plan.

After about fifteen minutes he stepped out of his vehicle and walked right in making a beeline for your table. You barely had time to even notice his arrival, too busy checking your phone to make sure you hadn’t missed his text.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Though you were annoyed that he was late, his greeting made up for it. The way he was dressed was also enough to make you forgive him for any future thoughtlessness. “You’re late.”

“Am I? As I recall, wasn't this supposed to be a chance encounter? I just happened to be nearby and decided to enter. It’s purely coincidental that I found you here.”

“Charming. Do you always lie to the ladies like this?”

“You’re calling me a liar, ___? It’s only our first date. How about you get to know me first?”

“So it is a date!”

This time he could not hide his smile as he sat down to pick up the menu. Without a response he merely read over the items and mentally noted how your demeanor changed. Your shoulders were now slumped forward, head bowed--a bit of your hair hiding your face. Were you feeling shy? Insecure? Whatever it was--he loved it.

“What are you in the mood for? Choose anything you like. Your dry cleaning bill must’ve been through the roof. The least I can do is repay you with my kindness.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe how expensive it was. They tried to remove the non-existent stain and had the audacity to charge me an arm and a leg. You’re going to have to pay me back big time.”

You suddenly get your nerve back making Namjoon realize you thrived on being teased. How fucking perfect. It’s funny how this behavior was the very same that made him notice you, and yet, it also set a flame in his belly. He didn’t like it one bit. With him, it was fine, but there was no way he could bear watching you continue to do it with the other guys. This night would be crucial.

“I’ll pay you back. Anyway you’d like.”

With a wink sent your way, Namjoon set his attention to the menu once again, though his eyes were no longer reading the words on the page. Your leg shaking under the table made the water glasses shake, and Namjoon bit back a laugh.

“So, have you decided?”

“I--y-yeah I think so. The fettucini sounds delicious.”

“Good choice. I’ll get the same.” Namjoon waved over the waitress, and once the food was ordered, he crossed his fingers in front of his face and stared at you silently.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No.”

“Oh. Um, so...thank you for suggesting this place. It’s very nice.”

“Very.”

His one word responses had you squirming in your seat. You were already well aware that you were fidgeting, but his behavior was quite unlike what you were used to. It was easy for you to have the upper hand in almost every conversation with the men around you, but something about Namjoon had always been different.

“Why did you ask me out? I mean, we hardly ever talk. I see you around, but you always stay on the far side of the room. Are you scared of me?”

“That’s pretty presumptuous of you, ___. I’m just here to pay for my wrong doing. How’s that shirt by the way? I sure hope this skimpy dress you’re wearing doesn’t get any wine on it too.”

The moment your eyes widened like saucers Namjoon cocked his head and waited for your rebuttal. It took you a little longer than he expected. Perhaps you weren’t used to being told the truth, and yet something told him you liked that he had.

You grabbed the thin strap of your dress and tugged it higher suddenly feeling exposed. “This isn’t skimpy. It’s a summer dress. I dress like this all the time.”

“Oh, I know, ___. Trust me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it’s jus--”

The waiter’s entrance interrupts his words and the way you pout makes Namjoon want to reach across the table and set you straight. You really needed to stop being such an attention whore. He would ask if the dress was only for him, but he knew it wasn’t. You liked being seen, being desired--except no one should desire you, but him. No one understood how perfect you were and how much attention you needed. There would be no one to fill that role better than himself.

You both ate in silence, the tension palpable, but Namjoon was quite humored. It seemed you had a bit of a bratty streak--nothing he couldn’t fix. After the meal was done, you still hadn’t spoken a word. Namjoon had to give you credit, you were tougher than he thought.

“I don’t appreciate what you said about my dress. I happen to really like it and I don’t need you or anyone telling me how to look. I wore it for this date and because it’s nice.”

“So you wore it for me?”

Namjoon stands up and offers his hand. It felt like the entire date had gone terribly wrong and you were sure he was going to see you off. Before he even says a word, you beat him to the punch.

“I guess I’ll be going. Thanks for dinner. I’ll talk to you--”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m not finished with you yet.”

“No. I think we’re done here. I don’t even get why you asked me to dinner. I can see you have this preconceived notion about me and it hurts.”

Namjoon paused for a moment, reigning in his temper a little. His goal wasn’t to lose control and yet being around you always clouded his head. He wanted you to want him, just the way you wanted the others. Unclenching his jaw, he sits back down and reaches for your hand.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurt. It was never my intention to do so. I don’t have any preconceived notions about you. To be honest, I’m just a little jealous.”

“Jealous?” The word caught your attention just like he knew it would. Bringing your hand up, he manipulates your fingers with his own all while looking at you over the edge of your knuckles. He kisses them for good measure relishing in the small sigh you release from those pretty soft lips of yours.

“Mhm. I don’t get as much attention as the guys. I feel like you and I should get to know each other better. Let me start over, yeah? How about you come over to my place for some drinks. I promise to be good.”

You thought over his offer for a bit, his large presence yet sweet demeanor confusing the hell out of you. It was hard to read him since you’d only interacted with him while others were present. He seemed like a nice guy overall, and the others wouldn’t socialize with him as much as they do if he were a bad guy, right?

“I don’t know, Namjoon. I just feel like you might get the wrong impression. What are you even jealous about? I’m friends with everyone. That’s just me.”

“That may be true, but I have yet to experience that friendship. I think a little alone time will allow us to become closer. Come on, ___. Just for an hour or so, and then I’ll take you right home. Promise.”

“Well--”

“Say yes.” As he speaks these words over your knuckles, he kisses over the middle one, wrapping his lips over it as if it were the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. The action sends shivers throughout your body that settle right between your thighs.

“Yes.”

___

Namjoon walks around his car to open the door for you hoping that his gentleman-like behavior weakens your resolve. Being so near you wasn’t easy especially when you looked so gorgeous. When you slide past him to sit, he almost loses his composure--you smell fucking delicious. He focuses on making sure you’re seated fully before shutting the door and making his way to the driver side. You were already behaving exactly how he wanted and now that he was taking you home, he’d make sure not to fuck it up. He drove the entire way without saying a word, but the tension was palpable. As soon as he arrives, he turns off the ignition and jumps out of the car.

Tampering down his excitement, he lets his hand fall to the small of your back as he leads you out of the car and up the stairs to his front door. It took everything within him to let go so he could unlock it, but he had promised you he’d be good after all. For a moment, as he twists the knob, he feels vulnerable. You would be the first girl to see his apartment. All this time he slept in the beds of random women, all so he could become the man you couldn't resist. For him to allow you inside would be a big step, but he was more than ready.

When you walk in, he focuses on your face, watching the awe spread over your features. He steps to the side, hands clasped behind him letting you take it all in. He worked hard for what he had, and knowing you loved it just as much as him was rewarding.

“You live here? How can you afford this?”

Another thing you didn’t know about him. Namjoon was intelligent and smarter than most high honor university students. His last year he lucked out with an internship that got him the job he’d always wanted. Now he was living the way he wanted, except there was still one thing he didn’t have.

“Yeah. I was lucky enough to land my dream job right from school.”

“That’s amazing, Namjoon. So where is this drink you offered me?”

Namjoon gestures to take your purse and sets it on the couch. He walks over to the mini bar he had put in the corner of his dining room. It’s immaculate, like the rest of the room, furnished with all the trims a proper bar would have. Olives, citrus garnishes, cherries--anything your heart could desire. However, he doesn’t pause to ask you what you’d like. He clearly has something in mind as his hands become busy behind the counter, clinking ice into a chilled lowball.

“You can handle your liquor can’t you?”

You smirk and playfully roll your eyes. “Yes, Joon. I was in a sorority, I think I know how to drink.”

“I bet.” He begins to pour you a drink he suspects matches your tastes, the way you cross your legs and lean into the bar solidifying his assumption. You were easy--a dessert laid on a platter, and with a little liquor and a lot of attention, god knows what you would be willing to do.

“I hope you like something on the sweeter side.” The drink he chose was sugary enough to mask the amount of alcohol he poured into the glass. If he had to measure it properly, it would probably be 50% liquor and 50% fluff. But you need it on a night like tonight, for him to truly get to know you as he always intended.

Namjoon builds up the drink like it’s the elixir of life, serving it on a gold coaster and sliding it to the edge of the bar closest to you. The condensation on the glass is beautiful as it glides down the lip. You want to taste it and quench your thirst. If anything, it’ll serve as a nice distraction from your surroundings.

“This looks really yummy.” You swipe over the rim once and lick your finger, noticing Namjoon’s jaw tick.

“Maybe you should taste it and let me know how yummy it really is.”

Placing it on your lips, you let the liquid slide down your throat, the burning sensation revealing the amount of alcohol in the glass was more than appropriate for the drink. You didn’t comment, however, the sweetness distracting you if but for a moment. When you finish the contents, you set the glass down and lock eyes with Namjoon.

“Mm,” you hum, bringing the glass to your lips and lapping at the side of it to clean off a stray droplet.

You take far too long for Namjoon’s tastes. And the way your eyes narrow seductively to look at him while your tongue makes work of his glassware is sinful, to say the least. Discreetly he adjusts himself thankful that the counter was a little above the buckle of his belt.

“You must have been thirsty.” He comments casually while his fingers mindlessly fiddle with a olive spear beneath the ledge of the bar, jabbing the soft pad of his thumb with the tip of it.

There’s so much visual stimulation and he’s unsure of what to make of it. Your tongue swipes over your glossed lips and makes them shine under the low light. They naturally pucker, likely adjusting to the aftertaste of the alcohol on the back of your tongue. Those fucking straps on your dress keep falling, and he can’t stop his gaze from following them as they slip down your shoulders. But you keep adjusting them, like it isn’t a big deal.

“Very thirsty. You make a good drink. Perhaps you could make me another?”

Namjoon clinks his glass over the decanter, his own drink untouched. He swirls it in his hand and takes a small sip letting his eyes fall back on you. Lifting up his eyebrow, he sets his glass down with practiced control. The truth was, he was about to lose his mind.

“Sure. But you’d better keep an eye on those straps. Can’t have you being tipsy and falling out of your dress.”

Perhaps it’s the alcohol in your system, but you settle into your seat and recline for comfort. You adjust your posture and swing a leg over the other to rest a hand on your bare knee.

“Wouldn’t you hate that,” you giggle. Your unoccupied hand floats over your thigh and inches the fabric of your dress up a bit. “You’ve already seen me topless, Namjoon. Don’t act like a prude.”

Namjoon steps around the bar, his drink long forgotten and your second serving neglected as well. He enjoys how your head turns to follow him, completely caught off guard and not expecting him to boldly come to stand before you.

“Am I being a prude? Is this more to your liking?” His hand settles on your knee gently, jaw clenching and dragon eyes locked onto yours and nothing else. He waits for your refusal, watching your fingers twitch in an almost attempt to deny him, but he knew you wouldn’t. He tests the waters sliding up a little more, breathing out his frustration, the satisfaction of being able to touch your skin releasing years of tension.

When you don’t make a move to stop him, he slides your leg off of the other and opens them so he can settle between them. The hem of your dress climbs higher and again a strap falls over your shoulder.

“Baby, this will not do. This fucking pathetic excuse for a dress--useless fabric, made for nothing but ruining.”

You’re startled by his forward nature. Up until now he’s been quite reserved, aside from the playful banter over dinner. Now his hand lays on your thigh, and the heat of it warms your skin through the ‘useless fabric,’ as he stated it.

“R-ruining?”

Namjoon tsks and reaches over towards the counter to grasp his drink, hand still lingering on your leg.

“I’ll stop acting like a prude when you stop acting so naïve.” In a smooth motion, he brings the glass to his lips and drinks heavily. The sound of his throat constricting as he swallows the liquid is powerful, like he needs it to survive. “Open your mouth, ___.”

At first you’re unsure, the entire moment surreal. A tiny pinch to the flesh of your inner thigh causes you to gasp in shock. Looking back up, you shrink at the smirk Namjoon wears proudly.

“I said open.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, or the way his knees begin pushing yours open, but you find yourself hesitantly doing as he says. Tipping your neck back, you open wide and close your eyes not wanting to know what he will do. It’s exciting but also anxiety inducing.

“Good girl.”

Namjoon drinks the remnants of his glass and leans forward, head tipping in admiration of your beauty. He’s never been this close before, but your essence was intoxicating. He noses along your cheek and jaw, your reaction to him setting a fire in his belly. Your legs attempt to shut, but his stronger ones don’t allow it.

He doesn’t say anything or move further once his lips dance over yours. His breath tickles your skin and causes your lashes to flutter in anticipation. When you lock eyes, that’s when he parts his lips to share the alcoholic remnants with you. It’s still cold from the chilly cubes in his glass, but tastes like him.

You swallow what you can, but a small amount dribbles over your chin. It doesn’t make it very far, Namjoon’s tongue is already collecting whatever was lost.

“You’re right. It is yummy.”

You barely begin to process everything, your mind now a bit hazier with the amount of alcohol swirling through your system. “I--”

Rip

You feel a tug against your shoulder, the front of your dress now falling forward to reveal a bit of the top of your breast. The culprit stands before you with the tiny string dangling in his hand and a shit-eating grin plastered on his lips.

“Like I said...useless.”

He doesn’t stop after that. His moves are calculated and dominant--who are you to stop him? There’s a moment of indulgence from his end as he stares at your bared breast, weaving his fingers around the other strap.

“Everything you’re wearing is fucking slutty, baby. But that’s the point, right?” His grin grows wider, and then he gives a harsh tug to break the other side. “You wore it for me, so I get to choose whether I want to see it on your body or not…”

His hands make fast work of your clothing, tugging at it to expose more of your skin. In front of the other guys, he’d strain not to say anything while you were shamelessly exposed for their enjoyment. But in the comfort of his apartment, between the two of you, anything goes.

“Take this off and sit on the couch. Now.”

The low growl of his voice makes you jump and you don’t wait to see what the consequences of your disobedience will be. You slide your dress off, shame washing over you at the fact that Namjoon will be seeing your underwear as soon as he comes closer. The dress was fitted and panty lines would have ruined the look, so you couldn’t help but wear your tiny seamless pair. Kicking off the dress, you go to sit as instructed, but Namjoon’s voice stops you.

“What do we have here? I bet you did this for me too, didn’t you, dirty girl?”

He’s much too close, the raspy sound of his words causing goosebumps to spread over your skin. He continues to play his game of proximity and no touch, a game that drives you completely insane. The way his seductive energy had you submitting to him in less than an hour was unlike you. You never gave it a second thought, never imagined him to be this sexy, but you weren’t complaining.

You feel the tips of his fingers work their way up your spine, the feather-like touch drawing a gasp from your lips. He stops at your shoulder, the nail of his index finger following along the outline of your body as if he were memorizing your curves. He makes it back down to your hip and then replaces his finger with his hand. Sliding it down and over your pelvis, he finds your heat and cups it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, his body pressed against your back and breath tickling the sensitive spot on your neck. You want to scream at him, beg him to touch you the way you need, but you knew it would only fuel his already established opinions of your reputation.

“Nothing to say now? That’s funny since you’re always running your mouth, flirting with all the guys--talking all this game--and yet here you are. I would ask what you want, but the way your cunt is soaking my fingers tells me all I need to know. Filthy, filthy whore.”

With a sharp tug he rips the underwear down your legs, the action ruining the fabric and stretching the elastic so that they are no longer wearable. He pulls them from you and stands back up, the low moan that escapes you catching his attention. You bite your tongue in hopes that he hadn’t heard--but he had.

“Yum. You sound as good as I expected. Let’s see what other sounds you can make.”

He leans you forward and kicks your legs open. The position is awkward so you bend further letting your hands support you on the couch cushions in front of you. The hiss you hear behind you causes you to bite your lower lip, the fact that you could get him so strung-- intoxicating. You don’t get to dwell in this victory long, the sharp blow onto the tender flesh of your ass much too painful.

“Do you think this is funny? I find you’re really the worst kind of brat. Wanting all the attention but never able to handle the punishment. Tell me--for how many men have you stood with your cunt spread open like this? I bet if I opened you up like this in front of the boys you’d cum untouched.”

He leans over your body, placing the fabric coated in your juices into your mouth before delivering another slap, this one more angry. You can already feel the welts rising on your skin and it’s hard to find your voice with the way your mouth is stuffed full of your arousal. If you told him he was wrong, he might think you were lying, and if you admitted he was right, he might get even more angry.

There was no explanation for what you were feeling, but for some reason you wanted him to see you in a positive light. You didn’t want to disappoint him, and you don’t know why, but just the thought of him seeing you any other way made you feel sick to your stomach.

“No one!” You barely muffle out when you feel his body jolt a little in preparation to deliver another blow. You weren’t fearful of receiving another, the truth was, you were so incredibly turned on. But something about needing him to know that you were not a whore, that you truly have only ever let him do something like this was so important for you. Whatever this hold he had over you was, his perception of you meant everything.

Joon snickers at your response, the high-pitched declaration music to his ears. He knows you are somewhat innocent with men, and that you flirt mainly for attention, but he needs to be sure that there is still an untainted part of you in there somewhere.

“Good.” Gently he straightens you and moves you to the side so that he can sit on the couch in front of you. With a light tap to his thighs, he gestures for you to straddle him, and you do so without a second thought. His large hands come to wrap around your waist allowing him to hold you down flush against his obvious erection.

“I like you. I can feel how much you like me too. Look how much you need me. You’re ruining my fucking pants, baby.”

Guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders, he settles you to neatly on his lap, the closeness so incredibly erotic. He’s still wearing all of his clothes while you sit completely ruined and exposed before him. You try to look at his face, follow along with the seduction game that has your entire body surrendering without question, but you feel too shy.

“What’s the matter, whore? Suddenly you want to act innocent? That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think? You act like such a fucking slut with every other man. I think I deserve the same.”

One swipe up your slit with his fingers draws a gagged whine out of you. He continues to rub back and forth, his middle finger probing at your entrance but never pushing further. Your thighs begin to shake, the little strength you have left working toward keeping your control in order to prove to him that you aren’t the slut he believes you to be.

“Tsk, tsk, baby. You’ve soaked my hand. Is my girl needy? Do you want to cum all over my fingers?”

You somehow manage to lift up your face to acknowledge his question, your orgasm already so close it’s embarrassing.

“Know what I think? I think you would love to be mine. Wouldn’t you, baby? Mine to kiss and touch whenever and wherever I want--my shameless whore. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

Whatever he says, you agree to, your sex-hazed mind too focused on reaching your high and not on the words you so easily agree to. It was like he was saying everything exactly how you needed to hear it and you were already too far gone.

Namjoon continues rubbing back and forth, the palm of his hand hitting your clit relentlessly. It was fun watching you lose yourself, your frustration making you impatient and desperate. He doesn’t want to waste this time entirely, his goal to ensnare you never too far from his mind. He does, however, want to give you a going away present, one that will have you crawling back to him.

Deciding to indulge himself, he squeezes your nipple and tugs harshly. When you open your mouth to complain, he pushes a finger into you and swallows your moan eagerly, then snakes in his tongue and rips out the sullied fabric with his teeth. He spits what used to be your underwear to the floor carelessly so his tongue can keep your mouth busy, forcing your tight cunt to take another thick finger.

“You’re dripping, ___.” Namjoon swallows tight when feels how you become a soaked wreck just from the pressure of his digits stretching you out. “Gonna make a mess all over my nice pants, aren’t you? Fuck...”

Your body is perfect, the way it welcomes him so easily--it’s impossible for his ego not to inflate. He knows what to do, has worked so hard to get to where he is now. A woman’s body was always so much fun to navigate and he was quickly learning what made you weep. Small thrusts, and tiny lip bites have you broken-- exactly how Namjoon likes it.

“What if I do this?” He hooks up, right into your gspot, and thrusts with vigor. From the lewd squelching sounds that follow, he knows he can make you cum like this.

“W-what are you...Joon, don’t!” Your voice cracks pathetically as you strain to compose yourself. The alcohol must have gone straight to your bladder, because this feeling is overwhelmingly foreign, yet so familiar. If he continues, you’re certain you’ll release everything right in his lap. It’s embarrassing, but there’s nothing you can do but ride his digits and whimper for relief.

“Don’t?” His lips curl into a devilish smile and then he nips your bottom lip until the skin nearly breaks. He laves over the sore flesh with his warm tongue and whispers sin into your mouth, picking up his pace until he feels you begin to trickle. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

You tense your muscles to hold it in, until you can’t anymore. “I’m--Joon, s-stop!” Your head snaps to the side to bury your shame in the crook of his arm, face beet red and sweating.

With that, he withdraws for a mere second, only to sink in three long fingers, hooking into you hard and fast. “Cum on my fingers, little whore. You want to make me happy, don’t you?” He bites you again, this time at the slope of your neck, embedding his sharp teeth into your skin and creating a possessive mark. “Now.”

You nod, still hidden in his soft clothing. His jacket smells like cologne and his musk, and in this moment, feels like the greatest comfort as your legs shake beneath you. You’re certain you’ve lost all control of your body when you cum hard and scream silently with eyes clamped shut. All you can feel aside from the blinding pleasure is how soaked you’ve become, ruining Namjoon’s pants with your release.

“Fuck, you’re filthy.” He rasps into your ear, breath hot on your lobe. “Is this how you treat your gracious host?” His fingers thrust into you even after you’re spent, to draw out as much of your slick arousal as he can muster. The oversensitivity has you whimpering for him to stop, but he doesn’t relent. Though his movements are slower than before, it still hurts and you squeeze his solid arms, your nails digging into the fabric.

“J-Joon..it hurts.”

“Come on, pretty baby. I know you can give me one more. Be a good girl and try.”

Deciding to have mercy, he moves his thumb over your clit and presses against it, slow and calculated. He moves in a circular motion, then flicks over it rapidly all while his other fingers are still embedded inside of you. He moves them perfectly, as if he’s known your body for years.

It doesn’t take long for you to cum again, but this one felt more intimate, like he wanted it to be more pleasurable than forced. Unable to move, you lay against him, the wetness beneath you bringing a chill to your flesh. You feel embarrassed, but then his soft kisses on your shoulder calm you slightly. The evidence of your reckless behavior is hidden beneath you, but you can find no energy to care. It’s only when you hear him suck in his breath that you move from him in worry.

“___. Why are you bleeding? Are you on your period?”

Your heart thunders in your chest. No...no, not this...not now.

“N-no..”

He holds his fingers up so you can see--a droplet of blood slides down his palm and collects with the rest of your juices. “What is this?” His eyes narrow on yours, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you?...” There’s no way. You can’t be..

You slowly nod with cheeks furiously heated. That was all the response he needed. “You’ve never been with a man? I could have sworn…”

His words are leading into the territory you fear. You know he thinks of you as a whore when the truth is, you’ve never been touched by a man this thoroughly. The realization makes you feel pathetic, but you also wonder why you let him have you so easily. You suddenly feel completely exposed, and your nakedness isn’t helping. You look for something to salvage your dignity, but Namjoon is quicker, his jacket coming off of him as he swiftly places it over your shoulders.

“Thank you. I-- I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done this before. You’re the first.”

“You’re a virgin then. You’ve never had an orgasm?”

“No, I have-- just...not with someone else.”

Your confession makes Namjoon feel soft. This was a new revelation--one he wasn’t expecting at all. “I see. Did I hurt you?”

You can’t say the entire experience was without discomfort, but everything toward the end was just amazing. His touch was intoxicating, making the pain subside quickly. There was nothing done you didn’t want to happen. The proof was all over his pants.

“No. It felt really good. I’m sorry about your clothes. I’m so embarrassed.”

Namjoon tilts his head and brings your face to his own. He kisses you softly before pulling away slowly. “Please don’t be embarrassed. Forget the pants. How about I show you to the bathroom and find you a change of clothes?”

You nod nervously, surprise coming over you when he manages to lift you off his lap to set you down on two wobbly feet. “There. Now, follow me.”

He grabs your hand and leads you down the hall where he provides everything he promises. You can’t even look at yourself in the mirror after your shower, the water not having done enough to wash away your debauched behavior.

Namjoon waits for you to get clean and exit the bathroom. He offers to take you home, but you insist on taking a cab. He doesn’t want to push you, not now, not when he had you right in the palm of his hand. You were going to be easier than he thought. It would be like taking candy from a baby, except in this situation, innocence from a woman.

___

You don’t know how it happened, but your relationship with Namjoon took an unexpected turn. After you almost ran out of his apartment an embarrassed mess, he called you the next morning to make sure you were alright. By the time you’d hung up the phone with him, there was a flower delivery at your door, and before the day was through he managed to find his way to your apartment for a movie night.

It felt like a dream the way things fell into place so quickly. Over and over he worked to show you that he was truly interested in the real you, and although nothing was official, he made hints often about you being his and no one else’s. You often took it as teasing and flirting, but a tight grip over your hands and an even tighter hold of your waist whenever you went out together said a lot. You didn’t want to be silly admitting to liking such possessive behavior, but something in the way Namjoon swooned you was unlike anything you ever experienced before.

Every guy you’ve ever met flirted heavily with you in the hopes you’d give yourself to them, but not Namjoon. As a matter of fact, ever since the night he made you cum all over his pants he hasn’t attempted a single sexual advance. For a bit you assumed it was because he was trying to be a gentleman by getting to know you without the cloud of sexual desire, but now you were wondering if maybe he didn't like what went down that night.

As you stare at yourself in the mirror waiting for Namjoon to pick you up for your tenth date, a bit of doubt creeps into your mind. Tonight would determine his interest, the sexy black dress you were currently wearing with no underwear beneath, a temptation he most certainly wouldn’t be able to resist. He never really said what his sexual tastes were, and all you really had to go off was one night’s events to guide you. Your best guess was, if he had ripped your other pair right off, surely he preferred women without them.

You sigh out and arch a brow at the pathetic look on your face. “You really are dumb, ___,” you chastise yourself. Here you were trying so hard to get his attention, but you had no idea what steps to take. The ringing of your phone snaps you back into the now. A text from the man that consumes your thoughts glows on the screen and you rush to read it.

Joon: [I’m here, beautiful.]

Walking to the door, you swiftly open it and hurry to the elevator to meet him in the parking garage. As soon as the doors open, Namjoon glances up and swallows hard. Good.

He is leaning against the side of the vehicle looking like temptation itself. You needed to remind yourself of the goal you had set. This night was to entice him, not the other way around. Walking over to him, you smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. The air is crisp and you know for certain your nipples are clearly on display. You make sure to lean against his arm and brush against it, annoyed that now you’ve teased yourself in the process.

“You’re a bit too sexy in that dress don’t you think, baby?”

You smile and shrug your shoulders in response--he doesn’t like it. When he comes around and opens the car door, he dips down and breathes in your scent, his nose tickling the nape of your neck. You almost forget who the experienced person is in this little game you were playing. Sitting down, cross your legs and look up at him with your best innocent eyes.

“I put it on for you, silly.”

Namjoon shuts the door and says nothing more. When you arrive at the club, his arm instantly wraps around your waist to hold you close. The entire night he’s either next to do, holding you, or watching you from afar. You mostly laugh and have fun dancing with some random girls you meet, but when a man comes much too close, the entire night comes to a screeching halt.

“___, let’s go. Now!”

“But, we just got here.”

“I said now!” When he goes to grab your hand the mysterious stranger decides to speak up.

“Hey, my guy, we were just trying to have a good ti--”

Namjoon pushes the guy without a second thought causing him to land on the dance floor. He tugs you harshly and leads you all the way outside. The entire time you throw a fit and tell him he’s being crazy. The moment the cold air hits you both, he lets you go and turns to stare you down with fierce eyes.

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Namjoon! What the fuck. I was only dancing. Why are you being crazy?”

“Crazy? You wanna see crazy?”

You don’t get a chance to speak anymore. He drags you around the corner to the empty alleyway and presses you against the brick wall of the club. “I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you. You’re mine. That is what you told me, isn’t it? You said no one has touched you before...only me. That means you’re mine.”

“Joon, I know, but I wasn’t--”

“Baby, please just stop talking. Look at you. Look at this fucking dress. Don’t you know how sexy you are? I can’t even be close to you without---”

He has both fists pressed to the cement beside your head in frustration, his breathing rapid and eyes burning with a fire you almost guiltily take pleasure in. Was it right to find his jealousy attractive? To see the desire eating him alive...like he could lose control at any moment? The truth was, you were turned on by it and you needed him to know.

“Then touch me.” Reaching for his hand you guide it right to where you so desperately needed him to be. You remember the way he used his fingers--it’s all you can think about, but he tugs his hand back and away. “Joo-”

“My needy little whore. Do you think I want to touch you where anyone passing by can see? Is that what you like?”

“Wha-- no, I just thought.”

Namjoon grabs your hand once again and leads you to his car. He doesn’t say a word as he coaxes you inside, not even looking at you as he begins to drive. In that moment you felt like a true whore and were even more worried that you’d made him think even less of you. In less than an hour you’d managed to disgust Namjoon and push him away. You felt dejected and the memory of his opinion of you surfaces. After all this time, he really did think of you as a cheap slut, and you weren’t helping the matter.

When you arrive at your apartment, you assume he’s just going to leave you there, but he parks instead. He opens your car door and grabs your hand, tenderly this time, and walks up with you to your building. The entire elevator ride is awkward and you want to say something so bad, but the fear of making things worse stops you. When you get to your door, he simply stands to the side and waits. You glance over at him hoping to soften whatever may come, but the way he clenches his jaw and looks up to the ceiling isn’t a good sign.

You open and walk in, set your purse on the table and remove your heels. Now that you’re smaller in height, his tall frame dwarfs yours and you fold into yourself.

“I hope you know how much you hurt me tonight. I wasn’t happy at all. No man should be looking at what’s mine and no man should even touch what’s mine. You don’t get it do you, ___?”

His words set a rage within you. How did you hurt him?

“What! I didn’t even do anything! I was just dancing and he came up to me! What am I supposed to get when you don’t even want to touch me? Do you even like me, Joon?”

You’re halfway seated on a stool near the counter of your kitchen when Namjoon steps forward--you instantly regret your choice of seating. The corner is blocked off with nowhere to go.

“There you go again running that mouth of yours. It’s so fucking pretty too. It should be busy gagging on my cock, shouldn’t it, baby? Open up for me.”

Without a word, he slips his fingers past your open lips, your shock humorous to him. It was cute how tough you thought you were. He presses down on your tongue and when you wrap your lips around his digits, he smirks hungrily.

“Good girl. I’m going to need you to be quiet while I tell you what you did wrong. Can you do that for me, baby?”

You should be having an adult conversation with him right now instead of letting him manipulate you with his sexual prowess, but you’ve been needing his attention for so long. You simply nod and moan in response, the action earning you a chuckle from the man you so desperately want to please.

“Good. Now, listen closely so you don’t miss it. I want you to understand that when I pushed these very fingers into your untouched cunt, I claimed you. That means that no other person is allowed near what I own.” He presses his fingers further when he feels your tongue sucking him in. “You see what a fucking dirty whore you are? If anyone else saw this, they might try and take you from me. We can’t have that. I wouldn’t like that at all.” Again he pushes further and when you gag he pulls them out and then places them into his mouth, running his tongue down the length of them, all the way to his fingertips. “So yummy, baby.”

With a gentle kiss to your forehead, he walks off and right out the door without so much as a goodbye. Your current state is a mess and you can longer wait to satiate your body’s cravings. You run to your room, sliding your dress right off and jump into the bed where you search for your vibrator in the nightstand. You’re so wet you don’t even need lube, and by the time Joon texts you his routine goodnight, you’ve already cum three times.

___

A couple weeks passed, but the time dragged on. Minutes felt like hours around Namjoon -- some of them pleasant, but most of them not. It seemed your boyfriend had more layers of himself to unveil to you, bit by bit, day by day. You enjoyed the time you spent for the most part...until you didn’t. At those points, you told yourself it would get better, and it always seemed to.

His mannerisms began to shift once he was provoked at the club. As you gagged around his hooked fingers that night, he made it very clear you were his to play with whenever he pleased. You didn’t mind, as he began to kiss you more and show his affection physically. He never tried to fuck you though, but he’d do things to your body that, in your mind, were second best.

He’d cup your pussy while standing behind you at the grocery store where no one could see, or palm your breasts while watching tv. He’d be slow at the start, until he got himself worked up. One night while watching The Bachelor and you made a passing comment about how the man had a nice smile.

“Is that what you want, ___?! Apparently that’s all it takes to get your filthy pussy dripping--a nice fucking smile. You want to throw yourself at that dickhead like every other whore on the show? ...Huh?!” He began to get rough, biting marks into your neck and down your chest, but you were told you’d learn to like it.

While his possessiveness increased tenfold, you found it oddly charming...at times. The marks on your skin ached at the start, but they faded to pretty little bruises, subtly showing his claim. No one has ever gripped you with such passion, and there was no doubt Namjoon had passion coursing in his veins. Sometimes he became too passionate, tightening his hold on your wrist when you stumbled upon an old friend from high school.

“He’s just a friend,” you quietly assured him as you walked back to your apartment. But he wanted you to prove your loyalty, so you did.

He scared you a bit with his manic energy, but you did your best to remind yourself that this is how he expresses his affection, so you expressed it back. You got on your knees the second you stepped through the doors, sucked his vascular cock until you couldn’t breathe, and stroked him fast, to finish all over your face.

“What would your ‘friend’ think if I sent him a picture of you looking like this?” He squeezed his cock hard until a few lasting drops drooled over your lips. “You’re so pretty baby...Thank you.”

On one particular Saturday morning you awoke to the sounds of someone at your door. You were extremely exhausted after having stayed up until almost dawn talking with Namjoon. If he couldn’t be with you, he insisted you stay on the phone until he could hear your breathing even out signaling your sleep. You didn’t get up to answer but curiosity had you bouncing off the bed to see who it was.

When you open the door, all you can see is a huge bouquet of flowers that is so large it covers whoever is holding them. The delivery guy sets them on the ground, asks for your signature and leaves. You have no idea who would send you such beautiful flowers, but a tiny note sticking out of the top would clear things up in no time.

‘To the sexiest and most beautiful woman I know. Mine always - Joon’

It doesn’t take you long before you text to let him know that you got his present. He was probably sleeping, so you didn’t call, and now that you were giddy with love, your sleepiness left you. You knew you should at least take a nap because tonight you would be going out to meet up with the guys again with him. It feels like ages since you last saw them.

You mentioned to Namjoon several times how you missed them and wanted to see them, but he always managed to change the subject, making you forget what you asked for. It wasn’t like you meant to stay away for so long, but having a relationship took up a lot of your time and you knew this to be true of many of your friends when they started their relationships. So tonight you would make sure to have a good time and apologize for being such a terrible friend.

The day flies by and soon you’re on the elevator ready to make your way to meet Namjoon and be on your way. The ride to Jin’s house doesn’t take long, and the minute you enter, a booming cheer resounds throughout. Namjoon had asked you before you entered not to leave his side and hold his hand because being away from you would make him miss you, and you honestly tried to stick to the promise, but the boys tug you away faster than you could refuse.

You made sure to glance back at Namjoon, often trying your best to work your way back to him, but Jungkook kept wanting to show you some new videos he edited and Jimin had a lot of dating fails he was eager to share. Eventually you made your way through Hobi and Yoongi who talked about their music and dance club and then Jin had only greeted you the moment you entered, which left Tae. You had the intention of meeting up with him too, but you could see the look of annoyance on your man’s face. Although he was also talking to the guys and drinking, he wasn’t happy.

Finally free, you start to make your way to him, but Tae catches up with you first.

“Hey, sexy. Long time no see. Now that you’re Joon’s girl you can’t say hi?”

“Shut up, Tae,” you giggle and then hug him in greeting. “I was going to come say hello, but everyone was keeping me busy. I was actually just going to go talk to Joon real quick. Could you give me a sec?”

You turn to walk away, but Tae grabs your arm and spins you right back. “Why are you in such a rush? He gets to have you all the time. I’m sure he’ll move on from whatever he’s sulking over.”

“Tae, it’s not like that. You don’t know him. I’ll be right back.”

Again you spin and Tae grabs you once more, but this time he doesn’t turn you. He gets up close, right to your ear, and whispers. “What the fuck? This isn’t like you, babe. You and I could talk about anything. We used to fuck around. Why are you bei-”

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” Namjoon’s voice booms and you close your eyes already expecting the worst scenario.

“Shit, Joon. What the hell? I’m not going to take her from you.”

“Fuck off. Let’s go, ___.”

You feel torn because this is the last thing you want to happen, but one stern look from Namjoon has you moving. You get a moment to say your goodbyes noticing the look Jin gives you--was it pity? You weren’t sure. Before you know it, you’re back in the vehicle on another awkward ride home. You knew his jealousy was becoming too much, but he always made up for it somehow. It wasn’t like him to be jealous of his friends, though. You didn’t even know what he was so jealous about. It’s not like you were going to sleep with any of the guys. Hell, Namjoon hasn’t even taken things that far with you, so why would he think you’d be that way with someone else?

Although you’d been sexual in some ways with him, you still hadn’t had actual sex and you wondered if it was because he might not want to actually be with you. Maybe he was acting jealous because he knew how pathetically in love you were with him. Neither of you have said the word, but you were blatantly obvious, while he just got into fights. What was this relationship anyway?

“Joon. Why are you being this way? It’s obvious you don’t want me the way I want you. You always fight with me, get jealous, and then we end up getting each other off somehow. Is that even what a relationship is supposed to be? I’m trying here but I don’t get why you even wanna be with me.”

Namjoon hits the brakes of his car and parks off to the side of the road. His hands grip the steering wheel so tight you can see the white of his knuckles. Instantly, you swallow your words.

“I don’t want to be with you? Is that what you think, ___? You think I’m over here protecting you from people like Tae and other obviously desperate men because I don’t want you? Look at you! You’re so fucking hot and beautiful. Every man is out here trying to take what’s mine and yet you’re so painfully oblivious. Fuck!”

He smacks the steering wheel and then resumes driving, his foot pressing on the gas a little faster than before. You don’t know where he’s going and you’re too afraid to ask. He manages to pull into a park that overlooks the city, the trees so dense it’s hard to find the location unless you know exactly where it is.

“Get over here, baby.”

With a softer voice, he gestures for you to climb onto his lap, and you do so already knowing what’s coming. He always covered up your issues with sex, something you wish he wouldn’t do. There’s no way your relationship would progress like this. His lips, however, work their magic over your neck, and soon you’re melting right into him.

“Namjoon, we need to talk about this...we can’t just...ughh.”

Your words are stolen as soon as his fingers find their way into your panties. You almost didn’t wear any, but knowing this particular dress tended to fly up with even the smallest pick up in the wind, you didn’t take a chance. It didn’t even matter at this point. Your man found his way to your clit easily and his fingers were already experts in your pleasure.

He removes your jacket, teeth and tongue nipping and tugging on the flesh of your shoulders and neck the second they're exposed. Your arms lay upon his shoulders, thighs holding you up slightly to give him easier access. You think he’s simply going to make you cum and then sit you back down, argument forgotten, but the feel of his soft tip against your entrance stops the motion of your hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh, calm down baby. You love me, right? Hmm? You love me as much as I love you, right?”

His words are tender, eyes soft and brows creased as if the sudden revelation of weakness made him feel pain. You couldn’t deny him. Not when he just admitted to loving you in return. You blow out a breath and close your eyes, the tears threatening to spill over due to the overwhelming feelings flowing through you.

“Yes, Joon. I love you. I love you so much.”

“Good.” Your vulnerability was his drug, and wanting to prepare you for your first time, he slid in two fingers, working you open easily since your cunt was used to them. This time, he decides to press in a third without warning and the gasp you release makes him feral. You’ve taken them before, but not so quickly, and the way your body relaxes into them tells Namjoon you were more than ready.

He works your clit with his thumb while he scissors his other fingers into you, proud at the way you drip onto his palm. Knowing that it would only take a second, he removes his hand and then lowers you right onto his cock and thrusts up. You cry out into the vehicle, and dig your nails into his shoulders. He holds your hips down and slowly rotates them in order to bring pleasure back to you.

He centers you with a kiss, his mouth distracting you from the burning sensation you feel after taking his thick cock so quickly. His thumb finds your clit once more and the crease in your brow softens when he flicks it teasingly.

“There...it’s gonna feel better soon, baby. Look at my good girl filled up so full. I didn’t know if you were ready to take me, baby. Maybe I should take it out…”

“No! Please...don’t...it feel sooo..gooo-”

“Yeah, baby? How good?”

“So..so...”

Namjoon knows you can’t speak, but he can’t help teasing you. He can feel exactly how good, your cunt sucking him in so deep he can barely move. He knew this wasn’t the ideal place, that taking someone’s virginity, especially yours, should be done in a more romantic way, but he couldn’t let you go on thinking you could behave the way you had. And even more, he had to wipe the notion that he didn’t want you clear out of your mind.

When he knows you’ve completely surrendered, he tugs your hips forward, helping them to move against his rock hard cock. It was starting to hurt, being inside of you without moving a muscle, but he’d given you enough time to adjust and now it was his time to enjoy it.

Your sounds of ecstasy are enough to break any man, yet he remains in control, fingertips digging in deep and now settling on the round of your ass, hands motioning you faster and faster. His hips have now begun to meet yours, the in and out motions his cock is experiencing becoming too much to bear.

You feel so good, so warm, and so perfect. Your face is buried in his neck, arms wrapped around his shoulders and interlocked behind his neck. He could feel you trying to move, your hesitance adorable and evidence that this was certainly your first time. He’d practically taken your virginity with his fingers before, but being inside of you was another feeling entirely. He knew you took birth control to regulate your period, but he wasn’t certain if you took them faithfully. He didn’t care. You were his anyway.

With the way events unfolded, there had been no time to take out a condom or ask if you would get pregnant. All he knew was that you were his completely and the only thing left for him to do was claim you officially. Once he spills his seed into you, no man would ever be allowed to know this feeling. He would know you inside and out, just as he should.

You start rocking faster, the now pleasing feeling of his length rubbing against the walls of your cunt, something you never thought would feel so euphoric. When he starts pulling you down onto his lap and thrusting his hips faster, you feel as if you could faint. It was heaven, the moment, the pleasure--the pain. His breathing labored and heavy against your temple has you feeling more aroused even though he’s already fucking your brains out. He complains a little when his dick gets squeezed by your hungry cunt, but you can’t help it. You were so close to cumming, of that you were sure, but you struggled to find the end.

Namjoon, of course, senses your trouble. Pulling the dress above your head, he takes your bra off quickly and latches onto a nipple. Immediately he sucks and tugs on it like his life depends on it. Your neck is now exposed, back arched, and thighs shaking at the overstimulation. And just when you think you’re about to lose your mind, his thumb meets you at just the right moment. A soft stroke is all it takes for your body to lose control and rock uncontrollably. You don’t know what it is about Namjoon, but your orgasm is incredibly intense and lasts longer than you're used to. Small repetitive spasms continue to hit you and you shudder in his grasp. He continues to roll over the already swollen and sensitive nub, his solid cock letting you know that he wasn’t ready to finish just yet.

“Such a good little whore. Give me one more, baby.”

“I can-- I can’t,” you cry against his shoulder, already worn and ready to collapse.

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to feel me inside of you? Right here?”

His hand comes to settle on your lower belly and it quickly becomes clear what he means. He adjusts you slightly so that he can fully settle inside of you. He thrusts up using his powerful legs to balance him, and completely sheaths himself. The tip of his cock hits up against your cervix and you can see when his cock protrudes slightly from your lower belly. He does it over and over, gentle but firm and your whimper at the strange yet uncomfortable feeling.

“That’s my good girl. I’m gonna fill you up nice and good, claim this little pussy for me. You’re gonna be my good bitch and take my cum, right, baby?”

“Yes, oh god...yessss”

When he hears your broken voice, he can no longer hold back. Returning to your clit, he begins to rub desperately needing you to cum at the same time as him. He knows you’re close, so he swirls and rubs it in just the right pattern. As soon as you take in that familiar deep gasp, he spills himself inside of you as you both reach ecstasy.

The car is a million degrees hotter and your body is coated in a light sweat, but Namjoon’s soft laugh is all you can focus on. Barely able to speak, you moan in complaint and he chuckles a little louder. “What’s so funny?” you whine.

“Nothing, baby. I’m just thinking about how I’m the happiest man in the whole world.”

You smile and lean your head on his shoulder, arms limp at your sides. He was right. You were also happy and without realizing, you too felt a giggle creep up to your lips. As you both sat in the car catching your breaths, you realize that whatever fight you’d been having didn’t even matter. He loved you more than anyone you knew and that was the best feeling in the world. Namjoon was right.

Kissing his cheek, you smile and hug him tight, his dimples too adorable to ignore. He was utterly gorgeous, and so amazing to you. You couldn’t remember the reason why you were upset in the first place. “Let’s go home, Joonie.”

___

A few days passed but everything had changed. Namjoon became more attentive and gentle, even spending more nights with you at home, and you were glad for it. Your relationship was in the best place it could ever be. He must’ve said I love you a billion times already, but you never grew tired of hearing it. This was the softest you’ve ever seen him be and you were falling even harder.

Last night he made love to you too many times to count, the evidence of his presence clearly marked over your inner thighs and belly. You lay in the bed stretched out like a cat listening to the shower come on. You felt sore, yet you couldn’t get enough. Needing to replenish your body, you decide on making a huge breakfast for the both of you, but Namjoon’s phone rings on the nightstand.

You walk around to see who it could be, and Jin’s name flashing on the screen makes you curious. “Hmm, why would he be calling?”

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey, ____. I was hoping to talk to Namjoon. Is he around?”

“Sorry, he just jumped in the shower.”

Silence.

“Good. Listen, ___. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? What is it?” There has always been a level of mutual respect between you and Jin. He’s not known for beating around the bush either, which is a breath of fresh air.

“Tae and I spoke about the other day, and, well...we didn’t like how Joon was treating you. It didn’t sit well with us.”

“O-oh?” It wasn’t what you expected to hear, but then again, you really didn’t know what to expect. The fresh marks along the slope of your neck and the tender ache of your cunt return as Jin continues to speak.

“He snapped at Tae. Drug you out of the house like a dog. ___, we hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Then we see you, and, well...you were barely allowed to look us in the eye. It’s so unlike you…”

“It’s not like that, Jin.” But then why is your lip trembling and your eyes welling with tears? “He loves me a lot. I know it’s soon, but...sometimes these things can’t be controlled. It’s just the way he expresses himself, and…” You stall to think of the right response, but it sounds muddy and wrong, even to your ears. “Really, I’m okay.”

“Okay?!” Jin never raises his voice, let alone at you.

“Jin--” The pitch of his tone snaps you farther from the floaty bubble of comfort Namjoon has created for you in your room. “Why are you being like this? I said I’m fine--”

“Tae followed you two.” He speaks in deadpan, like he can’t risk the time it takes to add pleasantries and a soft tone to his response. “He was so scared Joon would do something stupid based off the way he was acting, so he wanted to make sure you would be okay.” His breath grows ragged with emotion, noticeably trying to reason with you. “He saw, ___. The way he treated you in his car...he said it didn’t look consensual, but he couldn’t be sure. So he waited until he could see your face.”

“He followed us? Watched us?” Jin I--”

“Despite being safe, he said there was something in your eyes that didn’t look right. Like they were cold and...lost.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about. What happened in the car versus what a spectator could see are two completely different things. Plus, if Tae saw...god knows his own fondness for you could muddle his perception of things. The news is so sudden, and it gives you no time to mentally prepare or form a rebuttal. Why do you need a rebuttal? The relationship between you and Namjoon is amicable...copacetic...loving and kind.

“Lost?” A lump forms in your throat as you take a ragged breath in. “Jin, I’m okay. I’m fine, see? I’m talking to you, I’m happy. I’m in love, Jin. I love him a lot…” Your voice trails on. Some of what you’re saying registers and some of it doesn’t. In the end, it all sounds like noise.

“I don’t believe you,” Jin states bluntly. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. I can’t believe that someone who treats you that way is someone you could love. And as for Namjoon, ___, I didn’t want to say this at the start because you seemed too happy, but Namjoon used to hate you. Spoke about you like you weren’t worth a millisecond of his time.”

“He...he what?” You weren’t blind to the way Namjoon thought lowly of you before you were together. The way he tore that dress off of you the first time he sunk his thick fingers into your cunt was telling of how little he cared for your sense of style or the way you carried yourself around other men. But it made you feel speci--

“He said you were a slut. That you were easy. He didn’t respect you then, and I don’t think he does now.”

Jin’s words cut deeper than if they came from Namjoon himself. Hearing them from one of your closest friends makes it feel...real. Like the micro insults thrown your way were more than jealousy and possessiveness.

Just as your mind begins to trail back to Jin’s voice, another one takes its place--

“Babe, who are you talking to?” Namjoon’s lips curl to a frown. “Is that Jin? I heard you say his name.” He shouts over your reply as you attempt to speak. “Hi Jin! Thanks for checking in. We’re great!”

In a flash, he’s by your side; snatches the phone from your hand and hangs up the call, then tosses it to the floor.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” His stare is intimidating, darkened beneath narrowed lids.

“We were just talking--”

“What did you say?!”

Tears stream down your face. You’re rattled, trembling to speak out. “I said we were happy. T-that I love you, Joon.”

“Why?” He takes one step closer and shoves you onto your back. “Clearly you needed to defend our relationship..” His hands are rushed and rough as he peels away your clothing, making you equal to his level of vulnerability, towel slipping off his hips. “Am I a monster, baby? Am I bad to you?”

“No. No!”

“Those fucking pricks think I’m bad for you. I knew they would. They’re jealous, just like I’ve been saying all along!” A TV remote tangles in his feet as he paces by your side of the bed, so he grabs it and tosses it at a wicker chair, splintering the framework. “Fuck! Don’t you see? God damnit, they’re ruining everything!”

You nod, because what else is there to do? You see the darker sides of your boyfriend--his temper, for one. You believe a part of what Jin claimed. Plus, the way Namjoon is handling your body is alarming--aggressive, fast, powerful. He could harm you if he really wanted to, but hasn’t. He’s positively agitated. You trust he’d never do anything to harm you, but for some reason, you’re terrified.

“We should stop, Joon. Uh...put some clothes on and talk about this.”

“Stop?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, burying his face in his hands. “You want me to stop. I thought you loved me..”

“I do!” You’re quick to come to his side, coaxing him to sit on the bed beside you. “Baby, I love you. I just need you to calm down, okay?”

He laughs and uncovers his face. “Words mean nothing. I need you to show me.”

“Show..”

He grips you at the wrists and presses your back to the bed. “Spread your legs if you’re a good girl for me.” He does it for you before you can comply, using his other hand to pry you open. “There it is. Mine,” he hisses, “Wet little cunt, dripping wet, waiting for me to fuck it.”

You wriggle in his hold as the circulation in your wrists begin to pulse, but you don’t say a word in protest. He’s right, you are madly responsive to his touch. Even if he scares you, you can’t help the way your body reacts.

“It belongs to you,” you coo through a few stray tears.

“That’s right.” He shows you his agreement, using two large fingers to rub through your arousal and cost your lips, holding you open to see your tensing hole. “Mine to use whenever I want. To fill with my cum, as many times as I can. You want my cum inside you, right baby?”

Your eyes grow wide as he turns over his hand and places the backs of his fingers against your clit. “Mmhm. Y-yes.”

A harsh smack follows, right against your most sensitive skin. There’s no space for a yelp or questioning before the next smack lands. This time, he finds the spot he was looking for, directly over your clit. Smack. Smack.

“Joon! Ah--s-stop!”

“Don’t cry, baby. It’ll feel good soon.” Your boyfriend assures you with gentle words while he picks up the pace, harder and faster, smacking your pussy and inner thighs until you grow numb. “Accept it...accept me. Doesn’t this slutty body want to be fucked? If you can’t take this, you can’t take my cock.”

You try, but the pain grows too strong. You can feel the hot heat of your cunt swelling from the shock, so you back your hips to escape the next blow. SMACK.

“Aghh, ow, fuck!” Tears spring from your eyes.

“Unless you want someone else’s cock?” Namjoon rises to his knees on the bed and shows off his glistening length, how it drips pathetically to fill you raw. “Is that what you want?” The anger returns to his eyes as he shouts, gripping his shaft and stroking it. “Tell me, ___! Choose now--me or them?! Be a petty little whore for those liars. Go ahead, but you’ll never see me again...” He lines himself up at your entrance and prods the tip in without warning. “Answer me!”

“You! You!” Your cheeks are stained with tears and beet red.

“You’ll never see them again?”

“N-never!”

“Promise me!” Namjoon spits, thrusting his fat cock into you. “Say it!”

Your vision blurs. The pressure of him entering you fully catches your breath in your throat and causes you to choke, struggling to respond quick enough. “I promise! I’ll never see them again!”

“You’ll stay here with me?”

“Forever!”

A smile curls over Namjoon’s lips as he gives you another firm thrust. “Good girl.”

In his eyes, he’s finally won. It was a long road with a lot of twists and unexpected turns, but he finally broke you down. He doesn’t have to fear the thought of you giving yourself to someone other than him, or running away to have your mind turned against him by nosy friends. You want everything he has to offer--your mewling lips are enough to indicate how badly he affects your body, and how undeniable his touch has become.

“Say you love me,” he pleas, railing into your cunt with slick smacks. “One more time, so I can cum.”

Like clockwork, you comply. He’s won. You’re all for him, and all he has to do is snap his fingers. In this case, he rolls his hips and fucks you deep until he can feel the familiar slick of your cum trickle over his bare thighs. Now your body is hardwired to his. With a little punishment and a rough fuck, he can turn you to putty.

“Like that,” he groans. His hips angle upward to pulse inside you, spilling everything he has. “F-fuck, all mine. All of you...forever.”

Thank you for all your support!<3

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

Text

Inevitable (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 6.9k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: Couldn’t stop thinking about how Yang Jungwon’s role model is Jungkook and they have similar features (especially as kids) and the sweetest smiles! Hence, the little angel we have here. I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Also, you can message me if you want to be part of the taglist!

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You stare at the grocery list, eyes squinting to try to read the words you’d half-mindedly written down this morning.

Your boss convinced you to take Friday off when it slipped that Jungwon has been having separation anxiety lately, as he hasn’t spent time with his mother this whole winter break.

You’d been doing overtime - on weekdays and weekends - and your boss, a mother herself, knows that overworking would take its toll on you and your son, especially as a single parent. It’s why you’re here now, grocery shopping with the little one, something he enjoys doing with you, too.

Still, it’s just one day and it’s not really enough to compensate for all the other days you work your ass off at the company, but the pay is good and the people are kind; those have been enough for you to stay the past two years.

A smile forms on your face once you decipher the crooked words on the piece of paper you’re holding up. You can make out the word ‘banana’ right before ‘milk,’ ‘choc’ somewhere near ‘ice cream,’ and ‘bron’ just next to ‘cereal.’ Brown cereal? Did he mean cocoa pops?

Jungwon has improved his writing and vocabulary and you pat yourself on the back for the times you’d forced yourself awake during your Sunday rest time just so you could guide him on his workbook. You congratulate yourself for thinking of showing him flash cards while he scrubs himself in the makeshift tub during bath time. And you thank the heavens for your best friend Taehyung’s bright idea of setting up a blackboard on the wall on Jungwon’s side of the bed so he can doodle until he falls asleep.

“Am I not the best uncle, muffin?” Taehyung had asked the little one then, who always knew what to answer.

“You and uncle Joonie are the best,” Jungwon had said.

Your kid is a ball of fluff, you’d almost think it’s genetic because you definitely are not one, but the other half of him is.

You brush away that thought before your chest begins to tighten. You choose to think that Tae and your older brother Namjoon, whom Jungwon spends the most time with apart from you, are true softies and he’d definitely gotten it from them.

You’re still smiling, insides warming enough to brave through the January cold until you realize that you’re no longer hearing your son’s buzzing sound that he does when he plays with his airplane. For all his softness, he does give you a heart attack every once in a while because of his tendency to scurry somewhere that piques his interest. It was probably the aisle that had those chocolates he wanted so you pick up your basket and rush to the one right next to where you are.

Your heart drops to the floor at the sight of your son standing in front of a man who’s crouching down, tinkering with the toy. It probably disassembled again and this does not earn you a pat on the back this time for forgetting to buy Jungwon a new one that’s more age-appropriate, and for not paying enough attention.

You’re partly shocked and partly curious - he’s a shy kid, tends to run back to you at the sight of an unfamiliar person, wide eyes usually on full display when someone tries to get his attention.

But not right now. He’s still wide-eyed but he’s sporting a shy smile, one he tries to suppress by biting his lower lip. Wonder where he got that from. Such mannerisms aren’t genetic too, right?

The mystery man hands him the toy airplane, which Jungown clutches to his chest. He bows at the man and whispers a ‘thank you.’ If that man wanted to do something bad, he would’ve taken Jungwon already but he hasn’t. You’re glad that at least a kind man has found your son.

“Jungwon, sweetie. Come here, please,” you call out, moving a bit to try to get the man’s attention to express your thanks but he’s sporting a hoodie that’s engulfing his face. Maybe you should’ve been more scared.

The stranger shakily stands up and turns as Jungown runs to you with his eyes not leaving his little toy.

Your eyes, on the other hand, can’t leave the figure standing just a few feet away from you, like a bad dream but that isn’t exactly a nightmare.

He’s here. He’s home. And he looks just as gorgeous as you remember - expressive onyx eyes, pretty thin lips, defined jawline, muscular build...

His own eyes move from you to the kid next to you, trying to come up with explanations, mind reeling at what this could mean. You sounded so tender, so loving, so… motherly.

“Jung—”

“Your—”

You both say at the same time. His eyes are fixated on Jungwon, probably trying to figure out who the child is to you.

“I’m babysitting,” you panic.

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow and just as he’s about to open his mouth to say something, Jungwon decides to not be shy in front of a supposed stranger.

“Mama, that man fixed my plane!” He excitedly says, and you hate to crush his little moment of joy.

Jungkook’s eyes are now saucer-like, not at all minding that you were caught in a lie but that you, the woman who’d broken his heart all those years ago, have a child. A child whose eyes uncannily and painfully resemble his.

You and Jungkook both seem to be in a daze, your own thoughts swirling in your heads at the situation that neither expected would happen.

You stopped watching his baseball games about two years ago and had avoided whatever news about him would come up. Except recently when you’d heard about him possibly signing with a South Korean baseball team. Looks like did because he’s here, and he hasn’t been in years.

You’d heard from your brother that Jungkook had been doing well with the LA Dodgers and you hadn’t expected that he’d up and leave what had been his home the past four or so years to, well, come home. You’re glad he is but you also aren’t prepared for this.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had tried his best to forget about you soon after you walked out on him that December evening, almost succeeding multiple times until he gave up altogether. He came home last week, earlier than what he’d told the media, since he knew they’d be hampering him about his homecoming, given his recent signing with the Doosan Bears, one of Seoul’s professional baseball teams.

He’d spent the past few days in Busan to visit his mother and arrived from his 4-hour drive just an hour ago. He’d hoped to reach out or run into you but didn’t expect it to actually happen today. He definitely didn’t expect you’d have a son, too.

“Mama, did you get my banana milk?” Jungwon asks, breaking the bubble of confusion and shock between you and Jungkook, both unbelieving at the reality of you finally being in the same space, breathing the same air after so long.

“Yeah, I—” you start, placing the basket down and picking up your son, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Your mind is a puddle of thoughts and you just know that incoherent words will escape your mouth if you don’t leave right now so you make a run for it, or at least try. You walk briskly, clutching Jungwon tightly with his arms wrapped around your neck, so you don’t see him smiling at the man following both of you.

Jungkook calls out your name, prompting Jungwon to state that the man who’d fixed his plane knows his mother.

There are more people with their pushcarts near the exit, making it hard for your quick escape. Jungkook is catching up and upon realizing you won’t turn back to acknowledge him, he talks to Jungwon instead.

“How old are you, buddy?” Jungkook asks, legs clearly made for this. He’s panting though, you can hear it in his voice.

You can’t make a scene so you just try to walk faster.

You feel Jungwon release an arm and you know he’s putting out the ‘four’ sign, something he likes to do.

“When is your birthday?” Jungkook asks shortly after.

Oh god, you think. Jungwon loves this question. “July 6!” He exclaims.

The footsteps become faint and you’re brave enough to turn back as you near the exit doors. Jungkook stands there, dots connecting, mouth agape at what this means.

You leave the supermarket and run to your car, hurriedly placing Jungwon on the car seat and driving away, willing the tears not to fall.

“Who was that, Mama?” He innocently asks.

You admit that you’d thought about the day you’d see Jungkook and let him know about the little one too many times, but this isn’t how you planned it to happen - in public, when you’re incredibly tired, and when you haven’t thought about what you’d say.

This isn’t how you planned on telling Jungwon, too, so you tell a half-truth, like what you’d done a few times before.

“He’s a friend, sweetcheeks. He’s just a friend.”

The tears eventually fall about 5 hours later.

You got home from the grocery - without your groceries, watched cartoons with Jungwon, had food delivered, then prepared him for bed.

You’re now sat on your couch, wine glass in hand, as you try to make sense of the overwhelming emotions of seeing the man that was once your world. Technically, Jungkook still is, considering that your son is half of him.

But it’s different now. Too much has changed since you broke up with him, since he left 5 years ago to chase his dreams of playing for the Major League Baseball in the US, the dream he’d shared with his father, the dream he’d spent his whole life chasing.

Baseball had always been Jungkook’s world; a given, you always thought, since his own father was a baseball star himself, whose dream of playing for the MLB materialized during a trip to Boston as a teenager, the blinding lights and massiveness of Fenway Park and the roars of the crowd cheering for the Red Sox so alluring that he’d made it a point to watch a live game at least once a year.

His own career as a professional player for the South Korean league had been commendable, leading his teams to championships and even playing for the 1996 Olympics. That had been the second best experience of his life, the first being Jungkook’s birth two years prior. Marrying his wife was a close third, and it was something the pair always laughed about. You know this because Jungkook raved about his parents a lot, used to talk about them like he just lived next door to his mother - whom he called everyday, like his father was still alive.

His father didn’t have the luxury of getting scouted by American teams because baseball wasn’t as big then, but his dream of playing for the MLB never faded. Just like what his own father had done, he’d taken Jungkook to a live game every year since Jungkook was six, and tried to watch in every baseball park of every major league team.

They’d only make it to seven though. By that time, the cancer had been debilitating and he had to give up that annual date with his only child. Watching the Lotte Giants in their hometown of Busan had been enough for 13-year old Jungkook, who’d likewise been fascinated by the game, so was waking up in the wee hours of the morning to still catch MLB games on TV.

Jungkook was 14 when his old man passed.

He rarely talked about his father’s death. He also rarely talked about his father outside of baseball. He was a father-coach, Jungkook used to say, not the scary, stage father type who pressured him but the incredibly supportive, only slightly critical one. He’d made Jungkook fall in love with baseball, made him have a reason to wake up everyday, made him have something work hard for, fight for.

After he passed, baseball became something Jungkook hung onto, something he used to remind him of the man that made him who he is today. It became the most sacred part of himself, not for the popularity it gained him nor the praises he received, but because it showed the best parts of him, which were also the best parts of his father - his self-confidence, his tenacity, his grit, and his resolve, his passion for his craft.

Baseball taught Jungkook the value of hard work, of commitment, of focus, while at the same time reminding him of his physical capabilities and limitations.

It’s why he took his Sports Science course seriously, knowing that until his last breath, he would live for the sport. He’d play until he’s physically able, and do everything else when he can’t.

Jungkook had always been a good leader - another trait he got from his father, served as the pillar of strength of every team he’d been a part of because of his vulnerability that allowed others to trust him, to believe him.

His self-confidence may border on arrogance, his forcefulness and intensity may be perceived as aggression, but behind his intimidating aura on the field - partly personality, partly physical prowess - is a tender human being who gets excited over sweets, gushes over Ironman merchandise, likes making blanket forts, squeals over baby animals, enjoys bear hugs, and who just loves to love.

Those were what made you fall for him in the first place. They were what made your naturally cold exterior dissolve until your heart had become bare for him, until your insecurities had become insignificant, until you’d exuded almost the same joy that he had.

Seeing him today just brought the memories back, as if nothing has changed with what you felt for him, as if the pain you felt when you told him it was over, when you walked out and he let you, was just a breath away.

You didn’t realize just how much you missed him until you saw him again, until his proximity reminded you how his laugh used to sound, how his wide eyes and sweet smile looked like, how his sensual touches used to feel.

The tears fall again. That pain, that love - it’s like they never went away.

“Uncle Tete!” Jungwon squeals as your best friend picks up your son from the floor, swinging him around in a circle, soft laughter reverberating through the walls of your cozy apartment. It only takes a few rounds before Taehyung puts him down and complains that his arms already hurt.

“What happened to working on arm exercises?” You chuckle.

“Don’t remind me, you know I hate lifting weights. Plus, like that would make much of a difference,” he exclaims, slim arms out, being swallowed by his sweater. “I’m not an athlete, you know?”

You flinch at the comment and so does he.

“Sorry, too soon?”

“Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes and settling in the kitchen, a bit farther away from Jungwon, whose eyes are now fixated on the TV.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have known Jungkook was back if he hadn’t decided to revive our group chat yesterday after 2 years to ask everyone if they’ve seen you recently because you apparently have a kid and he believes he’s the father.”

“Pretty straightforward, huh?”

“He didn’t wanna waste time. Didn’t even care that your brother is in the same group,” Taehyung shrugs.

“Probably knows Namjoon won’t check.”

“True. But still, how bold of your ex.”

“What did the guys say?” You ask, curious if they ever caught on. Your twice a year appearance since college graduation seemed to be enough for them.

“Yoongi cursed. Jin spammed with theories because he’s convinced you haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Hoseok sent a video message of his reaction, which was really just him freaking out. Jimin acted surprised.”

“And you?”

“I left the group chat.”

You smack his arm, earning you a scowl. “Real smooth, Kim Taehyung.”

“Well, what was I gonna say? ‘Yeah, Jungkook. Your ex-girlfriend was actually pregnant when she broke up with you and you’re totally the father?’”

“You could’ve feigned ignorance, you know, or like denied it until I figured out what to say.”

“___,” he deadpans. “One look at Jungwon and it screams Jungkook. His name isn’t actually subtle, okay? Look at your kid, he even dresses up and eats like the father he’s never met!”

You motion for him to tone it down but Jungwon is busy watching the Avengers cartoons in his Ironman pajamas while sipping his banana milk.

“I’m not projecting!” You say, defending yourself because you know that’s what Taehyung is gonna say.

“It’s not my fault that my kid chose Ironman as his favorite Avenger no matter how many times I pushed Captain America to his face, okay? He didn’t even mind the shield I bought,” you pout.

“And he won’t drink plain milk. If it’s not banana, it’s chocolate. And he loves sweets, loves to hug people, has the cutest laugh…” You sigh, still racking your brain on what parts of your son he got from you.

“Maybe the universe is the one projecting, you know? Like it just had to find a way for Jungwon to be connected to Jungkook, if not physically then by other ways.”

“Your theory is sweet but I doubt it, Tae.”

“My theory is backed by evidence. And a father’s instinct because that shit’s real. Jungkook was still around during those first two months, the bond probably developed then.”

“Jungwon was the size of a raspberry. It’s highly unlikely.”

“Can you just stop deflecting? The father of your son is here. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know! Get my shit together and figure out what to say? You know I’m not ready for this,” you exclaim.

“Funny that you knew exactly what to say when you broke up with him but now you don’t,” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you my best friend or are you out to get me?”

“I’m just saying. You made that decision all on your own. Didn’t even confide in me,” he pouts. “I could’ve thrown some other options that didn’t require you breaking his heart and yours too, and going through all this by yourself.”

“Except I didn’t go through all this by myself,” you pat his head. “I had you and Namjoon. You were all I needed. Still do.”

“We can never take the place of Jungwon’s father, you know that right?”

“I know, I just… He’s not just my kid’s father, Tae. He’s my ex-boyfriend too. The man I loved.”

“You mean love. The man you still think about, and miss terribly.”

You squint at him as if in question. It’s been years since you and Taehyung had shared an apartment where he’d seen you cry almost everyday. It was something he wasn’t used to because you don’t cry, especially in front of others, not when you found out you were pregnant, not when you walked into Jungkook’s apartment only to walk out of his life. Not when Jungkook skipped graduation and left early for the US.

Everything changed after Jungwon’s birth. It’s like all the tears you never cried decided it was time. And you had years’ worth of it.

“Your kid’s a lot more perceptive than you think. He tells me sometimes that he sees you cry when you’re in bed or when you’re watching TV with him, and why else would you be crying if it wasn’t for that man?”

Of course he does. Jungwon, again just like his father, is thoughtful and pays you a lot of attention. Seriously, what about you did this kid inherit?

“The dam breaks every once in a while, I can’t help it.”

“Now you can,” Taehyung says as he gives you a hug. “You should talk to him. And soon. You know he deserves it.”

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, unwilling to move from the comforts of his bed. Head throbbing from the bottles of SoJu he downed with his older cousin, Jin, last night, the events of the day before are mighty clear in his mind.

He’d really seen you, the woman who once laid residence in his mind and his heart that he could not get rid of no matter how hard he tried, because you’d broken every possible thing you could when you decided to break up all those years ago.

He remembers that night so clearly, how he’d been excited to finally spend time with you so he could ask you to go with him to the US. You chose to break his heart instead, deciding by yourself that it wouldn’t work out. The only reason he agreed was because he’d been too hurt to even think of another way, but whether he agreed or not, he knew you would’ve walked out of his life regardless.

But there you were yesterday, dressed in your favorite-colored down jacket, hair longer than he remembers, little kid in tow calling you Mama.

Mama.

He’d just gotten back in Seoul after a visit to his mother. He’d made sure to be sneaky, as he wanted some peace and quiet before all the interviews and events he’ll need to attend because of this “homecoming” that everybody seemed to be making a big deal out of.

He was doing well with the LA Dodgers, even had meetings and possible offers with the Boston Red Sox, the team his father obsessed over. Jungkook was well on his way for bigger things in the largest baseball league in the world.

He decided to sign with the Doosan Bears instead, not even his hometown baseball team. He’ll chalk it up to missing home, maybe breaking ground so he can play in the Olympics, too, just like his father.

He was gonna seek you out, that was definitely part of the plan. He still considers the breakup as partly one-sided and he wanted to know how you were doing. He also knew he was bound to run into you because there was no escaping your circle of friends, who apparently seemed clueless as well.

Except for Taehyung, obviously, because he’s your best friend and he definitely would’ve known. But you’re here in Seoul, how did you dodge the rest of them? And Namjoon had really been able to keep everything a secret?

There were so many questions. Jin took it upon himself to be his confidante last night because surprisingly, Jimin, his best friend, had been mum about it. Jungkook and Jin spent the rest of last night scouring through social media for any trace of you and that kid but there had been none.

Jungkook is desperate, not just because he wants to see you but the child… looked like him.

The grocery was a few neighborhoods away from his, but it was next to the bank he was in so he decided to just do his shopping then. He’d been going through the sweets aisle, ready to fill the pantry of his new apartment with his favorite snacks, then he heard a thump and a soft quivering voice.

He turned to see a little boy looking sad over his toy airplane whose one wing had been clipped off. An adult didn’t seem to be around and he definitely trusts himself more than any other stranger so he’d approached the kid and asked if he needed help.

Curious doe-eyes met his questioning gaze, until the little kid took the airplane and its broken wing in his arms and cradled them.

“It’s hurt,” the kid had said, and he felt his heart burst at the cuteness and softness of this child. Jungkook took the toy and easily fixed it, the sliding slot probably too hard for his little hands to maneuver. He was about to ask for the kid’s name when he heard a familiar voice call out, the kid looking up and scurrying away from him.

And then there was you.

Everything felt hazy until the kid called you his Mama. You’d picked him up and started walking away before Jungkook could even greet you. He’d seen your abandoned grocery basket, which he could easily pass up as his own because of the same things he’d buy for himself.

The wheels were turning in his head and it wasn’t until the kid, apparently named Jungwon, stated his age that Jungkook pieced everything together. Or at least the possibility.

Could Jungwon be his child?

At the thought of this, Jungkook froze, watched your figure disappear from his sight, the eyes of the child boring into him as you walked away again. The kid let out a small smile and Jungkook had seen enough pictures of himself as a little kid in the news the past few weeks to be reminded of how he looked like, and he looked like that. It was unmistakable.

The scene plays in his head again and Jungkook feels the throbbing of his chest match the throbbing of his head, the need to confirm his suspicions and know the whole truth seeping through his veins. He tries to calm himself down, which is difficult, but he knows he needs a level-head if the truth is what he wants from you.

It’s just past lunchtime and he calls Jimin for help. As he enters the passenger seat, Jimin asks his friend for the destination.

“Take me to Taehyung’s place.”

Jungkook is running on adrenaline. With a sober mind now and a still-aching chest, he’s willing his body to relax but he’s unable, focused only on finding the truth.

There’s concern and an air of acceptance in Taehyung’s face when he opens the door to Jungkook, the idea of him showing up here having something that Taehyung has considered. Jungkook has at least half a mind to reach out to someone else before going to you.

Taehyung welcomes him in, knowing better not to argue or match the other man’s emotions. Jungkook doesn’t ask questions though and instead heads for the refrigerator, bites his lips at the sight of the same brand of banana milk he’d seen in your grocery basket.

He walks around the apartment, not missing the small basket of toys by the window. He opens a room that’s actually Taehyung’s art room and sees a paint set for kids, a framed photo of him with Jungwon placed on a shelf and next to it is a painting, the words “Jeon Jungwon” written at the bottom. It’s all the confirmation that he needs.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Taehyung asks, arms on his waist now, a bit of annoyance seeping through at the disrespect being shown to him. He gets that Jungkook is upset, but Taehyung knows him, knows he’s probably coming up with his own conclusions in his mind.

Before Jungkook could say anything, they hear the front door open, Namjoon’s deep voice calling out.

“Tae, did you get to drop off the groceries at ___’s? Jungwon’s been asking for his milk since yesterday and—” Namjoon stops as he stands by the door, eyes wide at Jungkook standing there, no doubt trying to keep himself together.

“Are you Jungwon’s father now?” He directs the question to Taehyung, the bitterness in Jungkook’s voice not lost on all the men present, including Jimin who’d been having his own battle in his mind because pretty soon, the anger will be directed at him, too.

Jungkook is the kid’s father, he’s sure of it now, yet the thought of another man taking that role causes an ache in his chest.

“Jungwon sleeps here? Does art with you? Does he call you—”

“He calls Tae ‘uncle,’ Jungkook. The same thing he calls me,” Jimin says, essentially coming out.

“You knew? This whole time?” Jungkook yells, fists clenched as the anger builds.

“Just a few years ago but—”

“And you said nothing to me?”

“It was just 2 years ago.”

“And you’ve visited me twice a year since then and you never thought to tell me that I have a son…” Jungkook flinches at the word, unbelieving that it’s something he’d even say.

“Look, just calm down, okay?” Jimin tries, but he knows it won’t do much.

“Calm down? I’m fucking livid. I have a…” Jungkook stops himself, willing the tears not to fall. All this time, you had a child that you’d kept from him, without a care of how he would feel.

“Jungkook, just take a breath, yeah?” Namjoon says this time, walking towards the younger man and pulls him in for a hug. “It’s a lot, I know. But just breathe for a bit.”

Jungkook pulls away, a mix of anger and sadness in his eyes. “How could she keep this from me?”

“Only she can answer that,” Namjoon sighs.

“I need to see her,” Jungkook states after a long pause.

“I can ask when she’s free—” Taehyung offers, ready to get his phone.

“I need to see her now.”

Jungkook finds himself in Jimin’s car, with Taehyung in the backseat talking to you over the phone, saying that he’ll take Jungwon for the rest of the afternoon and that they’re on their way.

Jungkook listens to Taehyung talk to you with so much care, the way he always had all those years ago. Nothing has changed, really.

Back in college, people tried to keep their distance from you, afraid of your resting bitch face and usually cold demeanor. Jungkook had heard about you from Jin, a good friend of your brother’s, and couldn’t quite reconcile the incredibly friendly and gentle Taehyung as your best friend.

It was one of the things that intrigued Jungkook, and he’d find out later on, after pulling all the stops with his flirting and finally getting you to agree on a coffee date, that you really did have a bitch face and you were cold if you wanted to be.

But you were so unapologetically you that it was refreshing. It wasn’t a defense mechanism or anything, it was just really who you were, but that wasn’t everything about you - you were also caring, protective, generous, extremely hardworking, and very confident.

Jungkook had fallen in love faster than he could throw a baseball, and he knows he can throw past 90/mph.

You complemented each other so beautifully that fights were easily resolved, if any, dates were always exciting, and moments together were never boring, even if it was just you quietly working on a paper and him noisily studying his games.

Taehyung was relentless in befriending you and you caved in pretty easily. “Look at the smile,” you’d said once. “Who can resist that?” You always had a soft spot for your best friend and Jungkook never minded; he’d trusted your relationship and you when you said that he never had to worry about Taehyung.

Except now. Because Taehyung seems to be a father figure to his son, being what Jungwon had needed all these years, while Jungkook had been clueless about it.

The night you broke up with him, you left him a weeping mess and begging behind closed doors to please don’t go. He felt he’d lost a big part of him, felt the soul-crushing feeling of losing someone again.

The loss of you was something he couldn’t prepare for and he’d spent years trying to put the pieces again, all on his own, in a foreign country, while chasing his dream. It had been hard but after some time, he rationalized in his mind that maybe you were right, maybe it would’ve been very hard for the both of you given the distance, the time difference, the busy schedules. It wouldn’t have been fair; he’d accepted that.

But keeping his child from him like this? This is too much. This is ruthless. You made a decision again. All by yourself. And he’s angry.

Everyone is thankful that Jungwon is asleep, although it’s a chance for Jungkook to see the little one in slumber, looking like the most adorable boy in the world.

Jimin and Taehyung agree to leave first, Jungkook not wanting them to wait, although he’s unsure how long this conversation with you is going to last.

You’ve been pacing back and forth since Taehyung called, informing you of the impromptu visit and Jungkook being unrelenting in his decision to speak with you today. You would’ve wanted to wait, although you know that Tae is right - Jungkook needs to know as soon as possible; he deserves that much.

In your more than 2 years together, you barely saw Jungkook angry - that was more of your thing because he enjoyed annoying the hell out of you every time and you always gave him shit for it.

But you two barely fought - you understood his busy schedule and were never really the jealous type, despite the presence of his “fans” (except maybe around Sora who’d named herself as the president of Jungkook’s fan club like that shit still flies), while Jungkook always knew how to make it up to you. He rarely complained, too if you ditched him to work on your projects.

But this Jungkook is different - his nostrils are flaring, brows are furrowed, jaws are clenched you’re afraid he’d break his teeth.

You’re different, too. You’re nervous, more reserved, not with your usual crossed arms but with fingers fidgeting at the loss of control.

You lead him in the living room and motion for him to sit down but he dismisses you.

“Hi, Jung—”

“I need to hear it from you,” he breathes out. “I know, god, I fucking know but I need to hear it from you.”

You take a deep breath and you say the words you’ve practiced in your head. “Jungwon is our son.”

You see him close his eyes, bite his lips, and tilt his head. It’s how you know he’s trying to control his emotions.

The silence is deafening but you give him time to process.

“How? I mean, you were on birth control and you said you never missed…” He stammers.

“Pills are not 100%, Jungkook. It just happened,” you explain, racking your brain for days right after you took the test over how it might’ve happened. At one point you stopped; it was no use.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s the big question, the one he’s been losing his mind over. It doesn’t matter that it happened; he just doesn’t know how you could make that big of a decision all on your own when it concerned him, the other half of the child.

“You were on your way to the big leagues. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“But you thought it was alright to take away years with my son?” He seethes. “Fuck, ___. That wasn’t your decision to make.”

It wasn’t, not fully at least, you knew it. But he wouldn’t make that decision, so you had to.

“I made it anyway,” you respond, tone more stern now.

With all the pain and struggles it brought, it’s the one thing you stand by; it’s a decision you never regretted. Watching Jungkook play in the ballparks his dad never got to take him to, seeing him blow a kiss to the sky before and after every game, and catching him mouth the words ‘I love you, dad’ after his interviews have always been enough to trump everything else.

Jungkook had been living his and his father’s dream. It had always felt worth it.

“Why? I would’ve stayed,” Jungkook yells.

“Exactly. You would’ve,” you yell back. “I was sure that the moment you knew, you would’ve passed up a dream you worked your whole life for. I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you make that decision.”

“So you made it for me, by giving me none at all?” He scoffs. “Real brave, ___. And real fucked up, too.”

“It was the only way for you to go!” You exclaim. “If you had known, you wouldn’t have left, you would’ve settled, stayed behind… You would’ve given everything up.”

“Because that’s our child, ___!”

“And we didn’t plan on having him!” You shout, tears prickling on the corners of your eyes now.

“You’ve known baseball your whole life, Jungkook. Everything you’ve ever done was so you could play in the MLB and you did. You made it happen because you had the best opportunity and you took it, worked hard, got to where you wanted to be,” you rationalize.

He’s panting as he processes your words, mind going again to that night when you walked out on him, making sense of the reasons why, those you verbalized and those you didn’t.

“I know you, Jungkook,” you sigh, your voice taking him back to the present. “You’d take responsibility because that’s the kind of man you are. You would’ve insisted on taking care of us, on letting go of everything else for us, for your son. And I couldn’t let you give up on your dream, the one thing left of your father…”

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up my father,” he snaps at you, eyes so cold and you feel so small.

“You wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if you let that dream go for us.”

“Then you don’t really know me, ___. Because the hell would I give us up just like that. The hell would I give up time away from my son.”

He pulls his hair out of frustration, then lets go, tears now streaming down his face.

“I was 14 when I lost my dad, ___.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t know. And you aren’t sorry,” he retorts, his back facing you as he tries to get himself together. “I had to watch him wither away, had to stay by his bedside and watch him take his final breath because my mother couldn’t. I was 14 and I had to be strong for my parents. And I cried, every single night, for months,” he heaves.

He turns to face you, wants you to know how much you’ve hurt him.

“I almost quit school because I wouldn’t get out of my bed, wouldn’t talk to anyone. I told you I suffered, that I lost my way,” he continues, weeping.

But you didn’t know this, didn’t know he suffered like this, that he lost his way like this.

“But the dream kept you going, didn’t it?” You try. “It gave you purpose; you had something to live for, Jungkook,” you continue, reminding him of what the dream meant to him.

He’d been young but he had so many memories with his father about baseball; it had been the core of their relationship, the thread that kept them connected years after his death.

“In return for what?” He barks. “Fuck, I would’ve given anything to have my father again. And that includes that dream, ___.”

You stare at him, his body now crouching down on the couch, unable to fully lift himself up. You’d never seen him like this. He was never afraid to cry but this is different.

Your own tears are relentless, as if telling you that this is all because of you and you deserve this pain. You had broken this man, and you’d done so without regret.

He looks up at you, wipes his tear-drenched face, illuminating the pain, the longing, the anger.

“You took four years of my life away from my son. You robbed me of that chance. You didn’t even give me a choice. How fucking selfish are you? You had no right, ___,” he huffs.

“I just… I know you, Jungkook. You would’ve stayed and then what?” You say, trying to stand your ground, but even you don’t believe your words, at least not anymore.

“You’ll regret it down the road? Resent us because you had to stay? How would we feel? How would Jungwon feel, knowing that his father gave up his dream for him?”

“Really? You’re absolutely sure that’s what would happen? As if I’m not resenting you now?” Jungkook scoffs.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone be taken from you, to not have enough time with them. But yeah, you need to have the last say always, right?” He says coldly, allowing the silence to let you take in his bitter words.

“You can’t ever feel like you don’t have control so you make all the decisions by yourself. Hurting those in your wake before they hurt you. But it’s all good right because you stand by it? As long as it’s enough to rid you of the guilt even if it hurts everyone else?”

This is how he hurts you - peeling away your layers and throwing them back at you, until there’s nothing left but all the parts you didn’t want anyone to see. But Jungkook had seen them, accepted them, loved you despite them.

But he’s standing in front of you. And there’s no love in his eyes. You don’t think you deserve it anymore.

You give him this, the last say. And he takes it. And he leaves.

Like countless times before, you fall to the floor and cry. You cry until your sounds are loud enough, until you can no longer hear your own heart breaking.

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

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