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xmint-conditionx · 3 years

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☆ flanked ☆ ch2 | knj

(verb) flank -

guard or strengthen (a military force or position) from the side.

attack down or from the sides, or rake with gunfire from the sides.

☆ pairing: soldier!namjoon x widow!reader; namjoon x fem!reader ☆ word count: 3.1K ☆ summary: you’re a recently widowed military spouse who is stationed at camp walker, south korea. you’re dealing with the tragedy of your husband’s recent death, and in the process, you accidentally meet a k-pop idol you’ve had a crush on for years. who knew you’d both be at the same post while he’s doing his compulsory service? who knew he’d be so damn nice? who knew it would be impossible to get him out of your head? ☆ warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, lots of fluff in this chapter tbh and you might die because dork namjoon has come to the party ☆ a/n: hey everyone c: sorry this repost is a little late; i've been sick the past two days and holed up in bed for the last one. i'm so excited to release this for you and start on the next chapter.

It is 6:05 in the morning, and you are awake. Not wide awake, but awake. You can’t believe you let Namjoon convince you to get up this early, because frankly, nobody has ever convinced you to get up this early. When he said that you’d have to get there first thing in the morning so you can see everything, you really didn’t think he would mean you’d have to get there at 7 AM. It’s always been your philosophy that it’s wrong to wake up before the sun, and you’re finding that getting out of bed in your pitch black room isn’t easy. You’re gonna have to make sure to clarify everything that man says in the future. Ugh, military men, you think.

You groan, muscles stiff as you finally manage to get yourself out of bed.

Bananas is obviously not getting the memo, the only sign of him being his fluffy tail poking out from under the covers. He’s never been into early mornings either.

Namjoon sent you a text yesterday and told you that the exhibit that he really wants to show you requires tickets. He then told you that because they only sell 100 tickets per day on a first come first serve basis; getting in line any later than 7 AM would surely be entirely too late, apparently. The Daegu Art Museum opens at 10, tickets go on sale at 9:30, yet you need to be in line no later than 7? Sure.

He seemed really excited about the exhibit, though, saying that Yayoi Kusama, whoever that person was, was a genius. So… you couldn’t exactly turn him down. Her works were deep and breathtaking and spoke so much about life, according to Namjoon. He had promised it would be worth it, and you thought about that promise as you groggily did your morning routine. Yeah, you thought, it had better be. If only he hadn’t sent too many pleading-eye emojis.

You grabbed your over the shoulder bag and gave Bananas a good belly rub before heading outside.

Despite being almost non-functional this early in the morning, you beat Namjoon to the museum. Gawking at the massive modern building, you walk up to the front doors, where a decent line has already formed. Okay, maybe he was right.

You find yourself a place at the back of the line and just as you reach in your bag to grab your phone to text him, you see Namjoon walking in your direction, long legs making short work of catching up to you. You catch his eyes lingering on your bare legs as he approaches, and for just a moment, you’re glad you chose to wear this skirt.

“Morning, Namjoon,” you groan, leaning up against the museum’s outer wall. More people start filing in line after you, and you’re thankful Namjoon wasn’t too late. “I guess you were right. Look at all these people.”

“Morning, peach,” he says with another one of his dimpled grins, “Glad it’s warming up out? It’s supposed to hit 20 degrees today.”

“Okay, it is entirely too early for you to be this happy,” you say, voice groggy. Namjoon just shrugs.

“Guess I’m just excited.”

You look around the small crowd that has formed and notice that a lot of the people are sitting up against the wall while they wait. You decide to do the same.

“I am too, trust me,” you say, back resting against the cool stone, “I’m just not usually up this early.”

“I see. Maybe conversation can keep you awake. Are there any other places in Daegu you want to see?” Namjoon inquires.

“Well, there is that aquarium I keep hearing about. One of my coworkers on post says that there are mermaids that do a little performance with the fish.”

“Oh! I know which one you’re talking about! I’ve actually been there a few times. I love it there! Fish are so cool.”

“Before I went into veterinary science,” you say, “I was originally planning on being a marine biologist.”

“You’re a vet? I didn’t know that! No wonder Bananas looks like such a happy pup!”

“Yeah,” you say, letting your head fall back, “he really is. But, I really want to go check it out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to an aquarium.”

“The mermaid performers swim around with a bunch of stingrays. Stingrays are actually not that dangerous, especially if they have the barbs removed from their tails.”

You feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

“A lot of people think they’re really dangerous because Steve Irwin died from a sting from a stingray, but his injury was a result of the barb piercing his thoracic wall. Most stingray injuries are actually very mild.”

“That’s interesting,” you say quietly, eyes fluttering closed.

“Some people think that cutting down their barbs is abuse, but it’s like cutting off a fingernail to humans. They don’t feel it at all and it grows back over time.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you say as you feel yourself slipping back into sleep.

“It’s the touch tanks that can be a little problematic,” Namjoon continues, oblivious, “Stingrays have a type of mucus that covers their body that protects them from bacteria. If that gets rubbed off, they become vulnerable. A lot of zoos and aquariums are taking plenty of precautionary measures though, like making sure the guests wash their hands before and after they experience the touch tank. In fact, I think that given the proper precautions, touch tanks…”

______________

The warmth next to you feels like home, and threatens to pull you back to sleep. You feel yourself holding onto something... firm and yet so soft, but it’s comforting, so you tighten your grip and nuzzle further in. You then feel a gentle breeze run across your legs and wonder where your blankets have gone. Bananas has probably hogged them all. You breathe in and smell laundry detergent, a little musk and… men’s deodorant? There’s the quiet chatter of birdsong, and an unmistakable trickle of water, and you instantly remember where you are.

Your eyes snap open to find yourself snuggled up to Namjoon, arms hooked around his bicep and cheek against his shoulder. He seems un-bothered by your lack of respect for his personal space; he doesn’t even look up from his book. Like it’s the most natural thing for you to be attached to him like this. Embarrassed, you quickly distance yourself from him and apologize profusely while he just chuckles a bit. He puts his bookmark in to keep his place and turns towards you as you blink yourself awake, tasting the dryness in your mouth. Oh god, you must have had your mouth open.

“It’s fine, peach. I didn’t even realize you were asleep until you started snoring.”

You gasp. “I did not!”

“Oh, you did,” he says, eyeing you playfully, “It was only a little though. And it was really quiet. Kind of cute, actually.” You play hit him in the arm that you had just been latched on to.

“Hey, don’t be mad at me. I bought your ticket!”

“You what?! What time is it?” you ask, scrambling to look at your phone. It was 5 minutes until open. “Namjoon, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I was going to, but you were sleeping so hard...”

“Well, at least that means I wasn’t all over you this entire time.”

“Oh, no," he says, "you were.”

You groan. “How did you get up and buy the tickets then without me knowing?”

“A man has to have some secrets, you know. Come on, let’s go look at some art.”

The inside of the Daegu Art Museum is stunning. The lobby is bright and open; the sunlight pours into that first room through the large windows, casting a lovely morning light on all of the bright and cheery visitors. Some of the larger pieces are displayed in this grand lobby, some towering ten of feet above you.

“Namjoon, this is beautiful.”

“Just you wait, Come on, first we’ll do classical, then lunch, then modern art. The best one we’ll save for last.”

Classical art wasn’t your favorite, but Namjoon got absorbed in just about every piece. When he saw one that really grabbed his attention, he would sit there gawking at it, mouth open as he read from the little plaque next to it. The way his eyes filled with wonder and widened with discovery at the newly rotated paintings was absolutely adorable. He almost had this child-like wonder about him, eagerly looking back and forth from the plaque to the painting and back again. You almost enjoyed studying Namjoon instead of the art.

You let him take the lead, showing you some of his favorite pieces as you navigate through the galleries. He is definitely in his element here. After he finishes his embellished tour of the classical works, you both decide it would be a good time to break for lunch. The museum has a little cafe, so Namjoon takes care of waiting for your orders while you are tasked with finding a nice spot to spread your blanket outside on the grounds. You see a spot beneath a tree offering up a little shade, so you spread the blanket over the soft grass and take your place, closing your eyes and breathing in the fresh air. Namjoon soon arrives with your food, and settles down next to you.

Before you start to eat, you remove your cardigan, exposing your chest and arms to the air, hoping to enjoy some of the new warmth in Daegu. You hear Namjoon take a sharp inhale, and thinking something’s wrong, you quickly look over at him. He’s got his eyes trained on you, and he swallows hard before he realizes you’re looking at him. He jerks his gaze away, finds something else to look at and shakes his head, as if to clear it. Was he… checking you out?

“Sorry, I thought I uh…” he trails off, “thought I saw a bug. It was, uh, just a shadow.”

“Uh, thanks for uh, looking out,” you say, before a thought strikes you, “Hey, Namjoon. I brought my painting stuff with me today. I was hoping to paint a little while we eat, is that okay? I don’t want to be bad company.”

He perks up, “Oh, yeah, sure. I can just keep reading my book. Hypervelocity stars aren’t going to learn about themselves!”

You set about getting out your watercolor palette, planning on using some of your bottled water to wet your paints. For some reason, you glance back over at Namjoon. He’s sitting with his back against the tree, legs crossed at the ankles, book in one hand, and bao in the other. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed together in concentration, and he lazily takes a bite, not even looking at the bao bun. You hold back a giggle when you see he got some sauce on his mouth. You can’t help but point it out by getting his attention and tapping your own bottom lip. Namjoon studies you for a minute, and slowly licks his bottom lip, almost too slowly. Before you can register what he had just done, he just smiles at you innocently and goes back to reading his book.

This man is going to kill you, so he might as well be the subject for your art. The way he’s positioned himself is just too adorable to ignore.

After getting the basic shape of his outline done and halfway through the details in his face, he stirs from his place under the tree. You watch him as he places his book down carefully on the blanket and walks toward your back, steps ever so gentle. You turn your head and see a little bird hopping around on the grass, and Namjoon is after it. He breaks off a piece of bread from his second bao and extends it towards the bird, who eyes him suspiciously. To your surprise though, it hops forward and takes the bread, chirping up at Namjoon. He goes to sit cross legged on the ground, but doing so ends up startling the bird, who then flies a short distance away on the lawn. Namjoon sulks and pouts a little before getting up and walking after the bird. This is the craziest thing you have ever seen. You love animals so much that you’ve dedicated your career to helping them stay healthy, but this is on a whole other level.

You go back to refining your art, throwing some color into the sky and on the tree, seeing as your main subject has wandered off.

You’re startled when he comes back from behind you.

“How’s the art coming?” he asks, looking over your shoulder at your book, “Hey! Is that me?!”

“Well, it was going to be until you started playing Snow White.”

“Yeah…” he says, looking down at what’s left of his sandwich, “the little guy ate all my bread.”

You laugh a little at him as he frowns at the char siu pork filling barely being contained by the thinnest bun dough you’ve ever seen. Widening his eyes, he downs the rest of the bao bun in one bite.

“Dind youh whanna fhinish youhr phaintingh?” he says, covering his full mouth as he speaks.

“I can finish it some other time. Let’s go see the modern stuff before I want another nap.”

Stepping into the large room that houses the modern art, you take in a sharp breath with how absolutely full it is. Sculptures, paintings, installations; and in the back of the room is a line leading to a small door. You don’t know where to look first, so thankfully your personal tour guide is there to show you the way.

You’re reading the plaque on a minimalistic piece when Namjoon comes and grabs your wrist, excitedly ushering you to follow him. He leads you to the other side of the room where he stops in front of a section of blank wall, gesturing for you to look at it. You sit there and wonder what in the world he could be talking about when you see it. A piece of bright pink gum is stuck to the pristine white wall.

“This wasn't here last time!” he exclaims in a whisper. “I can’t believe this.”

“Yeah, kinda sucks that someone did that.”

“No, you don’t get it. This is an installation.”

“... are you sure about that?”

“Yeah! Look, it's about how such a simple thing can ruin something so large. Like finding a fly in your chardonnay, or there being a hair in your food, or one small imperfection in a person ruining your whole view of them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s actual trash, Namjoon.”

“Of course it’s actual trash. I don’t think the artist could have gotten the point across without using actual chewing gum. It says so much. It might also be depicting the actual process of tainting something too! Like, how long did the artist chew the gum before they stuck it there? How much time and effort did it take them to ruin this whole wall with their gum? Where’s the plaque?”

As Namjoon searches the nearby walls for a plaque, a janitor comes by and scrapes off the gum, smiling gently at the both of you. You send Namjoon a pointed look, one that’s screaming “I told you so,” and then you both start laughing, having to hold back most of the sound in the quiet of the viewing space.

“Okay, last but not least. You ready?” The two of you were next in line to enter that small door you had seen at the back of the room when you first entered. The lady taking the tickets had already informed you that you would have five minutes once the door shut. You still had no idea what to expect.

“Yeah, I guess I had better be.” The door opened, letting out the museum goer who had just been in there.

Namjoon leaned up to your ear from behind and gently said, “Close your eyes.”

You were about to protest when he continued speaking, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I’ll walk you in there and tell you when to open. Trust me?”

You answered him by letting your lids drop. You felt him guide you by your shoulders as you walked gently forward and then to the right. You could tell that the floor texture had changed from the concrete you’d been walking on all day to something more plastic. You heard the door softly click shut behind you.

“Open,” he commanded softly, and you complied.

You could not make sense out of what you were seeing. The view went on forever, but you could tell that the actual room was so very small. Directly in front of you and on all sides were mirrors, infinitely reflecting off of themselves into the horizon. You were both completely surrounded by them. Scattered around the part of the room that wasn’t the black platform that you were standing on were delicate fairy lights in a cool white tone. It felt like you were floating in a void, so endless and empty. There were specks of brightness, but they did nothing to change the darkness enveloping you. Though it felt infinite, there was a nagging sense of being trapped. Surrounded on all sides. It was beautiful and terrifying to look at. Consumed by everything and nothing. You forgot Namjoon was there until he spoke quietly against your ear.

“This is what I think grief looks like. If it could take a physical form, this would be it.”

He’s right. He’s so right. You’re being swallowed by emptiness. You both are.

You both stand there in silence for the next few minutes, Namjoon’s warmth radiating onto your back, his hands still on your shoulders. Occasionally, his breath would brush against the nape of your neck.

“You really get it, don’t you?” you ask quietly.

“I can’t say I understand what it’s like to lose a spouse, peach. But I understand grief in my own way. I know this sounds crazy, because I don’t believe in any higher power, but I think we were supposed to meet each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... “ he starts, “I just feel better when I’m around you. I feel like a… better person. You don’t treat me like... “ he stops himself.

“Like what, Namjoon?”

“You don’t treat me like other people do. In a lot of ways. That’s... the easiest way to say it.”

You just nod, wanting to soak up these last few moments in this room with him. In this dark space, it’s not so scary to get close. You allow yourself to lean back into him, and he stiffens up for a moment before circling his arms around you.

“We’re gonna get through all of this together,” he says against your ear, “I promise. Together.”

#bts smut #rm smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #namjoon imagine #namjoon fanfic #rm x you #rm x reader #xmint-conditionx #flanked

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katsukikitten · 4 years

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Rouge 2

A/N PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE ON IF MENTIONS OF SUICIDE CAN OR DO TRIGGER YOU. I WILL BE UNABLE TO PUT A READ MORE ON THIS FICTION FOR A WHILE.

"I'm thinking of ending things."

A thought that has nestled itself in the back of your mind. Often creeping back to the forefront of your thoughts. Especially when things start to go right.

You stare down at the street below, many stories up. The street a long twisting river of tar, cars dwarfed boats and people much more like ants than anything else.

You thighs burn, soles of your feet tingle, urging you to join the bustling traffic below.

L’Appel du Vide.

The wind is cold as it whips through your thin shirt, chilling you to the bone as late winter refuses to die this high up, while the trees below have since begun to bloom.

Balancing on one leg the other dangles like a rag doll over the edge.

But this won't answer the call of your "dream" and you should know.

You've "fallen" from higher.

Still taking a step *is* tempting.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The voice is dark, deadly and you do not need to turn around to know exactly who it belongs too.

At least not since you were denied your one true joy. He has been like a shadow lately all though much to his dismay.

Not even Bakugou Katsuki could deny an order that came from the director.

It did not help that it was also his old Idol.

You twirl as if dancing before jumping from the ledge to the roof of the building. The hot head stands with narrowed eyes, toned arms crossed over a chiseled chest. He notices that your eyes are dull. Dead. It causes his stomach to twist in aggravating knots but you will never know what you do to him.

He stands in tones of bleached grey. Your eyes flutter from how hard they roll, especially so when he puts on this act.

You note the color fading in his eyes and wonder how much longer until it is gone. Until your world is once again plunged into a haze.

"I've fallen from higher." You state as if that is a fact he cares about. A strong hand latches harshly onto your wrist, tightening his grip as he pulls you further from the edge and to the door.

"Director wants to see you." He bites out, yanking you closer to him, "Now."

You allow him to drag you down the stairs and along the hall until the two of you stand before his door.

"Come in." His voice calls through the oak, you turn the brass handle allowing yourself in.

"Ah, Y/N dear how are you feeling?" His leather chair is turned away from you, he is still seated as he rummages through a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Unmotivated, agitated, depressed.

Suicidal.

These are all the things you want to say.

"The usual." You say instead in a joyful tone, if anyone notices that it is forced neither party says anything.

"Y/N, take a seat. Young Bakugiu, you may go." The director says still looking for that obnoxiously aloof file. You look to the man behind you who's eyes narrow into slits before a door is slammed shut. You take your seat at the large desk.

Finally the director swings around in his large chair, he is dwarfed by its size when before he would have dwarfed the chair. He is no longer the muscular poster man that he was.

No he is thin, cheeks hollowed and grey eyes sunken. He coughs into a handkerchief that is staring to stain a deep shade of grey. You wonder if it hurt when he was hit hard enough to obliterate his innards. Well you knew it hurt, you were more curious as to how much.

And was the physical pain worse than the emotional toll that came with the fall from the highest point in hero history?

You would assume that it was not.

Still you stare Allmight down, this is how he always was for you, only occasionally would he puff into his picture perfect form.

But he could no longer. He places a file on the desk.

"Y/N, you've been doing so well on your paper work. But you're behind again. Starting with the rendition of the incident with yourself, Bakugou, Tomaru and a shady alley." He flips open the mineola folder sliding it towards you. Instantly you pick out Bakugou's unkempt yet more than legible hand writing.

How could you forget it especially since Sensei forced him to share his notes with you for the days you missed class.

You read over the beginning of his account, he showed up just in time. Tomaru's hand was almost fully wrapped around your bicep. One digit away from activating his quirk.

Eyes avert to anywhere but the report, you can no longer read about yet another failure. You gulp down your sadness but all it does is lump oddly in your throat.

"Its exactly as Bakugou states." This time you hold eye contact, giving a small reassuring smile that he clearly doesnt buy. He sighs, tapping at his book titled *"Being a great boss, for dummies"*

You grit your teeth, for a moment you wonder if he would fire you.

Well the bright side of that was at least you wouldn't have any more paper work to do.

"Yes, but Bakugou showed up much later. You were the first to respond. Had he really caught you off guard?" Suspicion almost laces in his tone and you make a meek, embarrassed look. Willing the blood to flush your cheeks.

"Ah yes he truly did. He was as quiet as a mouse." You say softly. He stares you down with intense eyes while you hold his gaze.

You really needed to bullshit Allmight. He was the last person you needed breathing down your neck. After a few long moments he sighs.

"Please get as much paper as you can done. Or if you can only do one report. Please make it this one." With that he slides you the file. You close it shut, holding onto it as you stand to leave.

"I'll do what I can."

Instead you find yourself with eyes crossed as you stare at the bleak monitor.

The report you're working on filled with pages and pages of sentences.

But none that pertain to the actual events you're supposed to be detailing.

*"I'm thinking of ending things."*

Repeats itself over and over and over filling the screen as if it were an award winning novel.

Currently you've run out of "inspiration" so here you sit.

Waiting for it to come back again as the cursor flashes, ticking away the seconds.

Time lost to you as minutes bleed into hours.

"Oi, Zombie." Bakugou taps roughly on your desk, eyes mostly grey with only flecks of red.

Lazily your gaze finds his, he finds the same look in your eyes as this afternoon earning him the same gut wrenching twist. He grits his teeth, fists clenched as he waits for you to come to life.

But you never do.

"I'm not staying too late." You half lie half tell the truth. You'll move when your body is ready that or when you can firmly grasp the concept of time again.

The grey monitor stares back at you as blankly as you stare at it. You press a few keys just to keep it from locking.

Bakugou studies you and your mountain of paperwork, you always some how end of getting out of it. He knows it's not from sheer laziness and he wonders if the Director knows just how bad off you are. So he takes pity and fills it out for you.

Your mind wanders further down the silent rabbit hole, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. For a long enough time you think Bakugou has already gone so it's understandable when you almost jump out of your skin when he slams a popping palm against your desk. The fear comes and goes in a blink of an eye, his iris still only specs of red.

Better than everything being that sun bleached grey.

"Oi, I came in here because shit hair Kirishima is having a party tonight. He asked me to ask you." His voice is as gruff as ever yet you are unphased.

Another lazy stare is sent his way before you click a key on the keyboard once more. Silence stretches between the two of you, he lets out a low growl.

"Its his birthday so you have to go."

"But..." Your eyes flash to your calendar, APRIL in bold black letters stares back at you.

Had you really lost that much time? You were doing better this year, coping nicely, the world almost prismacolor yet something changed.

Snapped.

And for no apparent reason at all you were pulled by the undertow, gasping for air once more.

But seven whole months?

Maybe you hadn't been as well as you thought.

"Finish up whatever the hell it is you're doing because we need to leave, now." Bakugou snarls while you stare down at your lap.

"But I look like shit." You admit, black ripped jeans and a plain black shirt.

"You aren't fucking marrying the man, just seeing him at a party. Now. Get. Up." He leans closer to you, pushing harshly on the power button to smother your computer.

Your novel is lost to the computer God's and you're left staring at your own reflection.

God you really did look like shit. What with how harshly exhaustion and lack of sleep pulled at your once tight features. Eyes shadowed, lips in a perpetual frown.

You sigh as you stand, feeling far from wanting to socialize but it *had* been awhile since you had last seen him and since Bakugou said it was his birthday then really you had no other choice.

The air is cool with the promise of summer coming on the breeze, further sending your body into a confused frenzy.

But October could be warm when it wanted to be. Or so you remind yourself. Bakugou stalks ahead, as he normally does and has done since that incident in the alleyway.

He has a hard time letting you walk to the train station alone, especially at night. You watch as his black shirt and pants blend into the shadows, his grey hair sways in the wind reminding you of dying wheat in a field.

His hair flashes ash blonde for a moment before it returns to ashen grey. He glances over his shoulder to make sure you are still following him and when he decides be doesn't like your snail pace he shouts.

"Get your ass in gear we are already late!"

Although he stops, waiting for you before falling into your step.

Matching your snail's pace.

Before long the two of you are standing on the stoop to the Kirishima residence.

Bakugou looks down at you, he cannot tear his eyes away although he wants to. Dreading what comes next.

This was his least favorite part. He watches with close eyes as you take in a long deep breath that should end in a heavy, shaking sigh but instead it is as if a switch was flipped.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips, your eyes have some sparkle, your cheeks rosey.

It's as if you were *alive* and he loathes to know that you can fake that.

He loathes to know that not a soul can see how badly you're really hurting.

You open the door as soon as your facade sets in, shouting your arrival.

"Hellloooooo!!!" As if it is normal to pop into a home without being invited in. You seem to spy Kirishima quickly, pulling him into a tight hug.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask as you squeeze, his bones groan in protest. He furrows his brow and when he spies Bakugou glaring at the two of you from over the rim of a newfound cup he thinks he has put two and two together.

"Yea let's get you a drink!" Kirishima sing songs pulling you into the quiet kitchen. He pulls down various liquor to which you either approve or deny before he makes you a mixed drink.

"Why thank you, Birthday boy." You purr taking a sip, "Shouldn't I be making you a drink? I mean today *is* October 16th. It's crazy how quickly the year flew by."

Your stomach twists at the thought of another year gone, wasted.

You accomplished nothing. You never had and you never will.

But thankfully your worry does not show in your face or your voice.

This time Kirishima cannot keep his confusion hidden as he stares at you with dull grey eyes.

"Umm today isn't my birthday. It's not October."

"Dont be silly you must be drunk! Bakugou said this was your birthday party! I know I've neglected you all year." You laugh, a tinge of guilt pulls at your heart.

"No it's not that. How do I say this? Y/N, we're in the month of April. It's the 20th" He scratches the back of his head, "I threw this party for Bakugou."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #katsuki angst #katsuki bakugo #katsukibakugou #katsuki bakugou #katsuki #bakugou katsuki

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werejusttouchingeachother · 5 years

Text

Date Night

Req: i was wondering if you could do a smut w nct’s jaehyun. really fluffy and preferably sub jae w mommy reader?

Words: 1742

Genre: smut (m)

Pairing: Jaehyun x reader

A/N: I have no excuses for the title honestly this has got to be the shittiest title I have ever given anything I have ever written but it’s late and I can’t think of anything better that won’t require me to edit and add more dialogues but whatever anyway, to the anon that requested this, thank you for sending this in and let me know what you think! I apologise if the fluff is cringy and weird, this is my first time writing fluff, hence the looooong delay (i rewrote this a million times and I’m still not satisfied ahh) but I hope you like it 💕

The sun has long set when Jaehyun pulls up the car to the back of the dormitory, slowly parking it at the secluded driveway that was reserved only for the members and managers.

The two of you sit in silence, his hand clasped around yours over your thighs, thumb tracing slow soothing circles onto the back of your palm.

Both of your gazes are fixed on the time shown in green right near the digits of the radio station that was playing faintly in the car. You couldn’t help but feel a lump in your throat as Jaehyun tightened his grip on your hand when he noticed where your eyes were, not making a move to let go.

It was always like this—in fact, it had happened often enough that you should be used to it by now—the heavy feeling pressing down on both of your chests as you sat in this same car every night after spending time together, trying to prolong the moments until you had to part.

Dating an idol was never easy and it probably never will be—you knew this when you first said yes to Yoonoh when he had asked you out.

But now as you watched him give you a small forced smile that didn’t meet his sad puppy-eyes which were already working their spell on you and keeping you rooted to your seat, it was difficult to regret saying that ‘yes’. And as you raised your hand to place it gingerly on his cheek, you felt your heart melt into a puddle as he leaned into your touch, dimples finally coming out as he smiled more genuinely.

How could you resist that contagious smile, never mind regret being the cause of it?

“Yoonoh,” you say his name in a hushed whisper, the word falling from your lips like a dark secret that was meant only for his ears. He closes his eyes upon hearing it, and you know he’s cherishing the sound of his real name, the way that only you could make it sound endearing and melt him in an effect akin to that his smile had on you.

You’d decided that you’d only ever call him by that name when you saw the way that he was slightly taken aback at you mentioning it during your first date, the tips of his ears reddening as he stumbled over his words.

He wasn’t the nation’s perfect boyfriend, NCT Jung Jaehyun when with you.

No, with you, he was Jung Yoonoh, the dorky man who sent you videos of him singing 'Baby Shark’ in a chipmunk voice using the Snapchat bunny filter with captions like “will you still love me if I sounded annoying like this?” at one in the morning after a late schedule, followed by more squeaky bunny videos of him whining when you chided at him to sleep and get some rest.

You force the next words out of your mouth, mentally preparing yourself for negative responses so that you could spare yourself from the disappointment as you ask, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Yoonoh’s face slightly falls as a soft sigh escapes his lips, hand clasping yours and lowering it to his lap so that he could intertwine his long fingers with yours.

“I have practice,” he mumbled softly, the regret already tinting his tone as he continues, “There’s some meeting around noon about our upcoming schedules for the winter showcase and then… yeah. More practice.”

This was another thing you were supposed to be used to now but no amount of mental prepping would even help to lessen the disappointment when you hear about yet another busy day that he has planned out, one that you had no part of.

Reading the expression on your face, Yoonoh’s hand grips yours tighter to get your attention.

“Hey,” he says softly, his other hand reaching to caress your cheek. “Don’t worry. You can come here at night or… I’ll come to your place. Or—”

"Yoonoh,” you say, smiling as you press your lips to the back of his fingers lightly. “It’s fine. You need to rest more. I’ll just see you when I see you.”

He pouted at this, plush lip sticking out. “But I want to see you. I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” you whisper, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

Yoonoh searches your eyes for a moment before leaning forward. You meet him halfway, placing your lips gently on his over the gearshift. His hand snakes around the nape of your neck, holding you firmly as he deepens the kiss, mouth moving against yours. A soft whimper sounds in your throat as he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, the action causing sparks to fly over all your nerves.

You wrap both your arms over his broad shoulders, pressing as much of your torso against his as you could with the gear in between you two as you lick his lower lip for entrance.

Yoonoh immediately relents, his own tongue finding its way in between your parted lips. Your body is quick to respond to every move he makes, warming beneath his fingers as you arch into him. His hands grab your hips and you pull away from his mouth with a gasp as you breathe heavily, “Yoonoh-ah, we can’t, someone could—”

“Its okay, it’s dark here, no one will see us,” he assures you quickly, already trying to help you up. You don’t put up much of a fight, climbing over the gearshift and settling down on his lap in such a way that you skirt is splayed around your thighs that are straddling his legs.

Yoonoh’s hands immediately rest on your exposed thighs, his fingers feeling cool against you skin as you press yourself completely against him. You kiss him heatedly, hair falling around both your faces like a curtain.

His expensive perfume that you were addicted to and his natural musky odour enveloped your senses as you slightly shifted on his lap, feeling his hardness right against your clothed core. Yoonoh groaned lowly, fingers digging into your thighs as you grinded against him slowly. You moved your hips up and down in an almost torturous sensual dance, teasing both of you slowly until he was panting against your mouth.

“Babe,” he sighed and you pulled away from his lips, eyes meeting his wide ones. You cocked your head to the side, pulling your hair over your shoulder as your fingers worked on unzipping the fly of his jeans and pulling him free from the restraints of his clothes. You began riding him then, your panty dampening with both of your wetness and sticking to your folds such that you could move your clit against his length perfectly, the sparks of pleasure causing you to bite your lip to not moan out loud.

Yoonoh’s pupils were dilated as he gazed up at you, watching you ride him like you were the most beautiful sight that he’d ever seen. He recognised the look in your eyes, hands coming up from your thighs to rest firmly on your hips as you moved them over his bare erection.

You placed your hands on his shoulders as you started moving slower, breathing heavily with every torturously slow brush of your clit against him.

Yoonoh makes a whimpering sound of protest and you lean forward, latching your mouth onto his neck.

“What is it, baby boy?” You mutter and smirk as you feel his dick immediately twitch beneath you at the name, his favourite words falling from your mouth and echoing in the car, the words that always lead to his undoing.

You suck on the soft skin at his throat, kissing and nipping at it while moving your hips slowly until you feel his fingers digging almost painfully into your sides, hard enough to bruise.

“Use your words, baby,” you whisper in his ear, tongue licking a stripe right below it before taking the soft earlobe into your mouth.

“Let me cum,” Yoonoh breathes heavily, his voice thick with the most beautiful mix of desire and desperation. “Mommy, please.”

You smile in victory at the words that you’d been waiting for, raising your head to meet his eyes as you press your hands harder on his shoulders for support, almost pinning him back to the seat as you finally move your hips faster. Both of you exhale in sweet relief at the quick pace as you start grinding harder against him, the soft and wet fabric of your panty sticking to your folds and rubbing you just right with your movements, the friction causing your chest to heave with short breaths as the pleasure grows higher.

“Faster, mommy,” Yoonoh begs and you comply, grinding on him as quickly as you can, ignoring the dull ache in your thighs. He grabs your hips in impatience and you feel him slightly raising himself as he thrusts into you, helping you ride him harder.

It doesn’t take long until he falls apart, your hips moving swiftly as you feel him jerk beneath you, soaking your panties with his warm cum. His head falls back on the headrest as you continue moving, hitting your own orgasm a few seconds after his and Yoonoh is still cumming when you do.

The windows of the car are fogged up, both your bodies feeling entirely too warm and flushed in the air-conditioned car as you lean back against the dashboard, brushing back the hair that was matted to your sweaty forehead.

You meet Yoonoh’s eyes that were already focused on you, his cheeks tinted pink and lips swollen. His hands come around your sides suddenly, placing them flat on the dashboard as he leans forward and kisses you sweetly.

You relax into the kiss, shifting on his lap and then freeze immediately, remembering how you’re basically sopping. Yoonoh opens his eyes and you pull away, trying not to move much as you say, “Don’t stain your pants, all the guys are at the dorm and they’ll never let you hear the end of it. I let you mess up my skirt for a reason, Jung Yoonoh.”

He smiled cheekily. “You should have just let me finish inside you then rather than playing hard-to-get and being a tease.”

You kiss him then, grinning at his words as you promise, “Tomorrow night, baby boy. Same time, same place. I’ll even skip the panty for you.”

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