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raplinesmoon · 2 years ago

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The Modern Prometheus (KNJ x F!Reader)

Part of Undisclosed Desires: An Anthology

pairing: scientist!Namjoon x f!reader (feat. Jungkook), slight Namjoon x OC genre(s): smut, angst, some fluff, drama, mystery, slight horror au(s): based on Frankenstein by Mary Shelley word count: 10.8k warnings: POV switches, unreliable narrator, mentions sickness, minor character death, grief, depictions of science experiments and anatomy, Namjoon is a questionable character, self-hatred, anxiety, jealousy, religious mentions, verbal altercations, implied infidelity, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, plot twist!; smut warnings: voyeurism, manhandling, foreplay, fondling, dry humping rating: 18+

summary: Kim Namjoon had always been a curious child, with a strong desire to understand the world. After a tragedy strikes his family Namjoon is left heartbroken. Grieving, he seeks to create a companion in the most unorthodox way. But what happens when the very life he created turns against the master whom she was supposed to love?

a/n: hello to this fic, which kicked my ass and took a piece of my soul with it. I’ve been stuck on it for months, deleting and re-writing nearly 6k, but it’s finally done and I’m sad. This was by far one of the hardest things for me to write, simply because Frankenstein is one of my favorite books ever! I hope I did the story justice while keeping it original, please enjoy! And a couple of thank yous: the amazing @yoon2k for helping me come up with the hyung line series, the wonderful @kithtaehyung for beta’ing the first part of this and encouraging me to continue, and the lovely @jjksblackgf for letting me use her name for the story!

Taglist: @miscelunaaa @shameless-army @firesighgirl @sunshinerainbowsbts @seokjinger-ale

7th July, 17—

To my dearest sister,

My apologies for the hasty nature of this letter. First and foremost, you should know that I am well, and in good spirits. I do not know when this will reach you, but our shift drifts on, now floating somewhere in the Arctic. I’m very grateful to the powers above that no harm has befallen us, even though we are surrounded by sheets of ice. There have been small dangers here and there, such as a strong gust or leak in the vessel, but so far we have made friends with luck. And I endeavor to keep it that way. I shall see success, for who can stop the determination of a man, especially one who finds himself on a journey.

But I’m getting away from my purpose, I fear. You see, dear sister, I write to you today because a strange incident has befallen our crew. It was last week, you see, when the ship was floating through a dense fog, with nothing and no one to be seen for miles. The crew was in bad spirits, the greyness outside coloring their hearts, casting a cloud over their once jolly natures. However, by a stroke of luck, the fog cleared, and it was then we figured out we were surrounded. Ice locked us in an impasse, as far as the eye could see. And in the middle of it all, a strange sight – a sled, drawn and carried by dogs, dragging around the sorry shape of what looked like a man. The dogs approached us, closer and closer, and we laid our eyes upon the human for the first time.

If only you had seen the man, my dear sister! Thin as a rail, limbs nearly frozen into rods. It was a wonder he was alive, a miracle even more so that he was able to communicate with our crew. Never have I seen a man in a more wretched condition. Three days passed before he was even able to speak a word. He’s in rough spirits I’m afraid, seeming less like a man and more like a savage animal, gnashing and thrashing about, as though he’s been possessed by a spirit.

And yet, sister, I see something in his eyes. Those eyes stare at me, they haunt me. I feel as though I see a ghost in them, the ghost of who this man used to be. I can see a time when those eyes used to be warm and full of light. I see him stare outside sometimes, as though he’s looking, searching for something. Or someone. Though when I asked him who, this was all he said:

“The one who fled from me.”

What could it all possibly mean? I fear I cannot even begin to imagine the answer. I shall continue to provide you with more information about this new and curious man. I feel a strange sort of attachment to him, as though he were a friend or even a brother. Heaven bless you, my beloved sister!

Yours,

Captain Jeon Jungkook

13th August, 17—

Sister,

I come with more news about my beloved guest. A strange being he is, capable of inciting my curiosity, pity, and admiration all at one time! It is evident to me that he is a wise and cultured man, his words melting together and coming alive every time he speaks, as though they ran off the pages of a storybook.

Although he still stares out onto the deck every day, looking for that maddening sledge, he’s also begun to show an interest in the lives of our crew. Always going around, asking them about what their dreams are. We’ve had many a conversation about mine. I’m perplexed by this man, who seems so worldly and loquacious. For when I told him of my noble plan to explore the world, to reach beyond and expand our very boundaries of scientific thinking. He began to tremble. I reached for his figure, worried that he was having some sort of fit brought on by his illness, but was greeted with his dark countenance, grim as ever:

“Dear friend!! Do you also share my madness?”

It was a brief outburst, one that was followed by a change in his expression to something full of so much sorrow and grief, that I couldn’t help but be moved.

No sooner had he uttered the words than did calm overcome him, his eyes looking out to the vast sea that lay beyond, and then looking down at the floor. He excused himself, bidding me goodnight before he retired. Before he left though, he uttered the most peculiar thing.

“I have lost everything, and I cannot start again.”

19th August, 17—

Sister, I already know this tale is one beyond ordinary comprehension, its events seeming like the far-off makings of a daydream, but I assure you, they are very real.

“Captain Jeon,” he said to me. “A brief while back, I had made up my mind, had resolutely told myself that the memory of all my misfortunes should be lost when I perish. But you changed my mind.”

“My name is Kim Namjoon. I was once like you, Captain. I sought for knowledge and wisdom, the same way you are doing now, and it is my only sincere hope that you shall take a moral from my tale of caution, that it should not prick you and sting like the thorns of a rose. My fate is nearly sealed, once the one I am waiting for returns, I shall lie in peace.”

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head, my dear sister, urging him not to expend himself so greatly, telling him his tale of grief could wait until we found safe passage. But he refused, and here I am now. Nothing will ever replace the melancholy in his eyes, the animated nature of his performance, but I hope these notes and manuscript can serve some sort of purpose. Here is the tale of a most extraordinary man.

“Namjoon!” his eomma yells, causing her only son, her plaything and her idol, the innocent creature bestowed upon her by the angels from above, to perk up from his desk. He sets the magnifying glass down, marveling at the way it made the lines of the map covering the surface seem even more crisp and sharp, drawing him deeper into its intrigue, the promise of a wide world out there waiting for him to explore.

“Your Appa and I need to talk to you,” his mother calls out again. “Please come downstairs.”

Back straightening like a rod, Namjoon rushes down the stairs of the Italian villa, running as fast as his little feet would take him. His parents had a surprise for him! What was it? A new toy perhaps? Maybe a pet, as a new plaything? His curiosity, as usual, got the better of him, as he stumbled over the last few steps, free-falling into mid-air, his arms swinging around to brace him from a violent fall.

The pain was bearable this time, Namjoon thought. Sniffling as he rose to his feet, his knees ached, rubbed raw against the rough tile, and he silently prays his father wouldn’t notice them bleeding through his breeches. Brushing off the mishap, his steely grit and determination returned, as he skipped gaily towards the parlor, eager to see what his parents had in store.

Rushing through the doors, Namjoon finds himself coming to a crashing halt. There was someone else here. Gulping, his eyes happen upon another pair, as bright and as curious as his own. A little girl stares back at him, the sunlight bouncing off her hair.

“Namjoon,” his mother says softly, beckoning him with a wave of her gloved hand. “This is Lady Kyla. She will be staying with us for the summer.”

Namjoon’s lips set into a pout, and he swings his hands behind his back sheepishly. He’d never spent so much time around another human being his age before, let alone a girl. Something about Kyla made his face heat up. She reminded him of the beautiful flowers that often grew outside their villa, swaying gently in the breeze.

That summer was a fond one, perhaps one of the few in Namjoon’s entire life. How he longed for those sweet days, running around the villa, hiding in the gloomy corners of the villa, playing together. He hadn’t known it at the time, but Kyla’s presence had been a blessing, a ray of sunshine. How unfortunate that her feeble light could do little to shield him from the shadowy days that were yet to come.

Not even a year later, Namjoon and Kyla’s little cohort was joined by a curious lad, who went by the name of Jackson Wang. Jackson was nothing short of an adventurer, leading the trio on dangerous quests, Kyla the dazzling princess, protected by her two knights in shining armor. Jackson’s dream was to be remembered in history, as a hero like no other, one who upheld all the moral virtues of man.

All of that was well and good for many years, until one day, the play-acting of children no longer interested Namjoon. He realized more and more that men were no longer the proprietors of their own fate. They were mere toys, pawns in this vast, wide world, at the mercy of nature itself. Namjoon began to withdraw from these silly fantasies at the time, picking up a volume of Agrippa and indulging the fervent longing that had begun to brew within him, to study all the secrets of nature.

And yet, it was still not enough for him. To Namjoon, there were always little tears, little rips in the fabric of his understanding, ones that he’d pick up on after countless hours of studying the philosophy of these alchemists. He’d ponder upon these inconsistencies, ranting about them to Jackson and Kyla, who supported his deep-rooted passion but did not even come close to understanding it. And so he drove himself mad, wondering why if these scientists claimed to understand the world, there were still things with no explanation.

All of these violent frustrations came to a head one night, during a most wondrous and violent tempest, the thundering bellowing from the heavens until the sound reached Namjoon’s doorstep. Namjoon watched the storm rage on, the lightning casting an eerie glow over everything in the house. And that was when it happened. A singular crack of lightning, and suddenly he heard a great splinter — the towering oak which had stood upon the hill outside, turned into nothing but a stump.

“Electricity,” was what it was called. His father had explained it to him the next morning, the way currents were conducted and energy could be harnessed, and Namjoon knew at once that the speculations of the alchemists were something he must abandon immediately. Nature was strong, powerful even, but it could not be the master of man. There had to be more advanced science out there, a way to understand it, to control it, to prevent it from wreaking havoc and destruction like he’d seen last night. And he’d devote his life to finding it out.

But then, the greatest tragedy of them all struck.

“Namjoon,” his mother croaks, her pale and ghastly countenance rendering her nearly unrecognizable. “My dear boy, please come here.”

“Mother,” Namjoon says gently. “You must rest, and recover.

“There is no hope for my recovery now,” she coughs. “I regret that I am to be taken away from you so soon. But please, as my last wish, may you indulge my firmest hope of your union with another? And then I shall resign myself peacefully.”

And then she was gone.

Blinking back tears, Namjoon doesn’t know what else he can say, what else he can do. His mother, his dear mother, has wasted away before him. The woman who’d shown him love and safety throughout his childhood. He looks upon her sweet, tender face, and realizes that he shall never again see her smile, hear her laugh.

But the worst part had been the passage of time after her death. Time had indeed dealt his family its most evil blow, for while the Kims grieved for their lost matriarch, the world moved on around them. The gentle nudging of society soon became a nagging that pushed their grief to the side, shoving them back into the real world. Before he knew it, Namjoon found himself at university, his awkward, gangly frame clambering around the campus, stumbling into every lecture hall he could find, hoping that it would help guide him in his course of study.

Until one day, he stumbled upon a discourse given by an extraordinary professor - talking about the discipline known as chemistry. As he listened to the words of the man, Namjoon felt his hair stand up on end, enthralled by the limitless possibilities the subject provided. It made no false promises, like the alchemy he’d held onto for so many years. No, this was what Namjoon had been looking for – a way to unfold the deepest mysteries of creation, down to every atom. This was where his future lay.

Two years. Two years had gone by for Namjoon, raving like a madman, wholeheartedly throwing himself into his studies. His professors all commented on the soul and spirit with which he pursued learning, but the truth of the matter was, Namjoon had begun to feel out of sorts. The more and more he dove into his studies of atoms and molecules and elements, the more he had begun to feel out of touch with the world around him, one that was teeming with creation, and more importantly life. Living, breathing organisms that were more than a mere collection of matter.

Namjoon missed his mother. He ached to feel the loving touch of her arms once more, her soft kisses pressed into his hair. His father had withdrawn after her passing, locking himself inside the house, making a rare appearance once or twice a year. Namjoon had never returned, the current gloom and sadness of his childhood home that had once been so bright too much to bear for his heart. Jackson and Kyla wrote to him constantly, asking after his well-being. Kyla in particular wrote to him often, wishing to come and spend time with him, but he rebuffed her coldly. Love had only made his heart weaker, and his body more fragile.

And so, Namjoon pushed on, advancing in his studies, until he happened upon the study of the structure and organization of life itself. Anatomy. It fascinated him endlessly, how so many organized parts and cells could come together to form a whole.

But his fascination didn’t end there. Unlike his other classmates, Namjoon sought to understand the essence of life itself - what kept a human living, breathing, and thinking for as long as they lived. Perhaps if he had understood these secrets long ago, he would have been able to save his mother’s life.

In his study of life, Namjoon developed a strange and macabre fascination with death. He visited morgues and charnel houses. He saw, limb by limb, how the human body fell apart, revealing what lay underneath. And thus, he began to harbor a secret. One so vast and powerful, it could change the course of the world as we knew it. Like a magic scene, the mysteries of creation unfolded before him all at once, and Namjoon was spellbound, drawn into a trance, unaware of the dangers that lay ahead.

Propelled by the force of the maelstrom that wreaked havoc upon his mind, Namjoon toiled with the boundaries of life and death themselves, and in doing so, he felt his chest tighten with emotion. No longer would anyone have to live without light in a dark world, to live with the heaviness of grief upon their hearts. In his room, hidden from the world outside, his skin grew pale and his figure emaciated. The seasons changed, the leaves turning from green to gold, and then blossoming forth into petals of pink and white, but he paid them no mind.

The rain pummeled against the window, striking the glass panes with such brazen force that Namjoon thought his whole studio would shudder and splinter underneath the weight of tonight’s storm. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he lets out a deep breath, one he did not even know he’d been holding for the past few years. It was done.

A crack followed his sigh, like a bone being set into place, and then a great groan, and his creation sprung to life. Namjoon stood there, paralyzed, the awe beginning to melt away, and shock and horror set in as he took in the sight of this new being. It was a woman, and yet it was not. For every feature he’d selected, eyes, lips, nose, and everything that was beautiful in its own right, fit together in the most grotesque of ways, and instantly his heart plummets. This was no human. This was nothing worthy of his love, or the labor he’d undertaken for the past two years. The empty void that had settled in his chest after his mother’s passing grew wider and wider, and Namjoon watches all his hopes and dreams become swallowed by the gaping vortex.

A bead of sweat trickles down his neck, escaping underneath his shirt, and Namjoon turns on his heel, running out of the room.

Panicked, he closes the door behind him, rushing across the hall to his own bed, drawing the scratchy covers over his head. His eyes flutter, willing for sleep to claim his restless frame, but it never comes. Instead, he lies awake, the pounding of his heart melding with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, creating a haunting rhythm to represent the doom that has begun to loom over the house.

A loud crack jolts Namjoon awake from his miserable sleep - the lightning illuminating the room in a silvery glow, and there, at the foot of his bed -– the figure of the being he’d created! Round eyes, if they could even be called so, staring at him curiously, like a lost child. Mouth moving as though it was trying to speak, but no sounds escaped.

Namjoon softens at the sight of the poor creature, looking lost and confused. He reaches out towards it, hands shaking, and nearly jumps when he feels two leathery palms take his hand in between them. His heart thrums at the gentle display, amazed at how soft-natured the creature was, despite its extraordinary appearance.

Tightening his hand in the creature’s, he realizes that he cannot give up now. This dream, this vision, it must be worth something. For the beauty of creation lay not in the dazzling appearance of things themselves, but in their ability to provide hope.

“I shall call you ___.”

Along the dark and rainy streets, Namjoon paces. He walks with no destination in mind, tormented by the shadows that seem to taunt him at every corner, springing forth into a malevolent dance. His heart thuds underneath his chest, skin ice-cold from the rain.

A week had passed since the strange miracle in his studio, and Namjoon had mostly kept to himself. ___ had roamed around his apartment, marveling at the strange and new world she found herself in. As clumsy as he was, ____ was clumsier. He’d had to pry many precious artifacts from her grasp, or make sure that she did not rip the pages from his chemistry books in order to read. Despite the astounding nature of his discovery, Namjoon couldn’t help but feel a sense of budding anxiety. He was afraid to show ____ to the world. What if they rejected her? Or worse, scorned him as a madman? Or a necromancer? People, as fickle and as proper as they were, wouldn’t be ready to accept something so different from the norm. He’d have to do some more finetuning.

His head churns with thoughts, the primary one being guilt. Fine-tuning? Had the experiment taken so much of his humanity that he’d forgotten that he’d created a life, one that he was now responsible for? It was his fault, his burden to bear for creating a being that he could not bring out into the world. ___ reminded him so much of an innocent child, smiling and laughing at the most mundane things, like a speck of dust floating in the air, or the wind ruffling the curtains.

He wished her childlike innocence would remain as such forever. That she’d never have to grow to experience the horrors of the world, full of pain and suffering. And so, he resolutely decided that she would have to be kept a secret.

“Namjoon!” A voice calls out to him in the rain, and he turns.

Jackson. There he was, bright-eyed and waving at him, and Namjoon felt color return to his cheeks at the sight of his old friend. Imbued with a sense of vigor, he rushes towards him.

“My dear friend! How have you been?” Jackson laughs, amused at the sight of Namjoon’s tall, lumbering frame pulling him into an embrace.

“Now you remember your old friends,” he teases.

“I am sorry,” Namjoon smiles, his dimples making a rare appearance. “I have much to share with you. Please come, I can make us some tea.”

The two of them walk together through the winding streets, back towards Namjoon’s apartment, when suddenly, Namjoon remembers his predicament.

“Jackson, please wait a moment outside,” he says. “I remembered that I’d been working until late last night, and need to arrange some things.”

“You think I don’t know how unruly you are?” Jackson teases, following Namjoon towards the door.

“Please,” Namjoon says harshly, turning, and his friend stops at the look of panic in his eyes.

Throwing the door open, Namjoon feels a cold shiver overtake him. Something was wrong. The wind whistled through the apartment, the shutters rattling along with the gusts. It was empty.

“Anything wrong?” Jackson’s voice asks him, and Namjoon feels a cold, clammy sweat overcome him. ___ was gone.

“No,” he shivers, not even daring to wonder about the disastrous consequences of his creation being unleashed on the world.

“Everything is fine.”

A nervous fever, the likes of which Namjoon had never experienced before, had taken over Namjoon’s body. He found himself prone to fits of madness, ones which had begun to concern Jackson, who had nursed him diligently. ___ was gone, unleashed out onto the world, and Namjoon was full of fear. Fear for himself, fear for others. What would they do if they happened upon her?

His only solace was a letter from Kyla. “Get well soon, my dear Namjoon, and return to us. To me.��

Soon, his father decided that enough was enough, calling for Namjoon to abandon the university and come home for a few weeks, back to the villa surrounded by nature that his family so loved. It was here that he tried to grapple with the happenings of his life over the past few months. How had he gone from achieving an extraordinary feat, one which men dared not dream of, to losing it all not even a week after? Sails set, he glided across the lake, hoping some signal of hope would find him amidst the murky waters below.

It was fitting then, that after uprooting the balance of the natural world, Namjoon should find a reprieve in the mountains. The river raging its course, carving a path through the rocks, the precipices dangling over his head - it reminded him how small he was in this great world, how foolish he’d been to try and master Nature itself. He could only hope that ___ had not fallen prey to the same mistakes he had. He shuddered, thinking of her all alone.

As he continued his trek, he occasionally stopped and took reprieve to enjoy the beauty that surrounded him. It was a different, more eerie kind. From above, a glacier loomed over his head, framed on either side by ravines of snow that looked serene and peaceful, but he knew that one wrong step could lead to his demise. The trees that grew here were barren and severe, lending an austerity to the scene.

Breathing heavily, Namjoon stumbled to the top, his chest constricting in pain. He failed to realize how much of his energy the ascent had taken, settling upon a large rock at the summit to catch his breath. His gaze shifted to the valley below, the barest hint of green peeking from underneath the sea of snow and rivers of ice.

Namjoon felt something wet splash onto his palm, looking down in surprise to see a few stray tears escape and run down his face. He bowed his head solemnly.

“Wandering spirits, please, wherever you are, allow me this brief moment of happiness in my wretched life.”

As he muttered the silent prayer, he heard a twig snap from behind him.

28th August, 17—

My dear sister,

As I write to continue this tale, I must also share some unfortunate news. It seems we have sailed into rough waters, left to the mercy of the mighty ocean current. I fear we shall be steered off course, and that our journey North will extend even longer than I had hoped. I did wish to return sooner, but I hope you can understand that I must continue on.

I fear for our guest. Namjoon seems even more uneasy the further we drift away, as though our rift with the land mirrors his own delicate temperament. After listening to his narration, I would have thought that the sea held a special sort of magic for him, being a man so irrevocably intertwined with our natural world, but it seems that is the opposite. We’ve come to a pause in the tale anyway, for Namjoon has stumbled into a fit, unsure if he can continue.

“I fear what you may think of me if I continue,” he said to me.

“Nonsense,” I reassured him. “Despite everything I’ve heard so far, my regard for you has not changed. My heart beats to know more. You have led a most amazing life, one that I would be honored to know about.”

“You may think me honorable,” he wails. “Yet I fear that it is all a lie. Nevertheless, I will indulge you. But a word of caution - let your reasonable mind be the judge of a miserable wretch such as I, and not anything as fragile and as fickle as a heart.”

Namjoon turns at the sound, and nearly topples over at the sight before him. In the dense fog, a figure approaches, one which he knows all too well.

“____,” he says, stumbling towards her, the wind knocked from his body. “____!”

She approaches him, the fog clearing to reveal her face, and Namjoon is shocked. While nothing has changed in terms of her makeup, there’s something inherently different within her spirit. The way she looks at him, it’s no longer like a child seeing the world for the first time, but he looks back to find a feeling of sorrow and anguish in her eyes that mirrors his own. It was so… human. Namjoon’s head spins in anger.

“How dare you?” he bellows. “How dare you leave my care, escape the safety of the home I so carefully crafted for you?”

He watches you flinch for a brief moment, hurt flashing in your eyes but it soon fades.

“I should have expected this,” you seethe, and he jumps back, in awe of your ability to articulate yourself. Where had you learned to speak?

“I should have expected,” you continue. “That you’d be angry with me for leaving. But Namjoon…”

A shiver runs down his spine at his name coming from your lips. Your voice is different, deep with a haunting lilt.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “Your name is Namjoon. And you are my creator. I beg you please, as a man with this gift, fulfill your duty towards me. I have seen little of the world thus far, but from what I have learned, I yearn to know more. I want to be like you. I want to live peacefully like the rest of mankind.”

A hollow chuckle escapes Namjoon’s throat, and he’s shaken by the lack of emotion in it.

“Live peacefully?” he says. “What makes you think any of us live peacefully? What secret have you discovered that humanity knows nothing of? What, pray tell, was your plan to living happily, to living like someone, or something you could never be?”

Hurt flashes in your eyes at Namjoon’s sharp words and he clenches his jaw, defiant and unwilling to demonstrate how much your expression grates at his nerves,

“Listen to me,” you spoke to him, reaching for his hand like you had that very first night, but he pulled it away with a scowl. “Hear my story, and then you are free to judge or abandon me as you please. Let us build a fire. It is cold.”

You beckon him to follow you to rest under a tree, where various sticks and stones have been gathered. He follows, lips parted in awe as he watches you work, your once unwieldy limbs now moving diligently and swiftly to craft a blaze. At once, his mind is reminded of the various myths and legends he used to read through as a child. In the blazing afternoon sun, he watches you bring the flame to life, setting the scene for your own trial by fire. A modern Prometheus.

The flames flicker orange and blue, and then you begin to speak.

“For most people, even children, their creation is as natural and as fluid a process as taking a breath, or sipping water. But when I was created, everything was a blur. It was a strange phenomenon, being able to sense so many things at once. I saw, smelt, heard, felt, and yet, I didn’t know the world around me. The light hurt my eyes, and for a while, I wished I could return to the darkness I had known before. One that hadn’t known who I was.”

Namjoon’s throat bobs, thick with emotion. He’d never considered the circumstances of your creation from any perspective other than his own.

“You were kind to me,” you continue. “I knew you were scared. I knew I was strange and different from you. I supposed that’s why you would leave me every day to attend to your duties. The very first time, I came to regret that my countenance would drive you away in such a panic. But then you returned, and all seemed well and normal. The world outside made you happy, I could tell. You felt free, felt like you were a part of something. Unlike me, cast into the oppressive loneliness of your apartment.”

“So I ran away. At first, the light hurt my eyes and the stones cut my feet. I stole clothes from your closet, but soon realized that my body could not fit them the same way yours did. I should have felt more like a foolish child, one who strayed from her parents. But no, I felt free, and I felt hopeful. Hopeful that like you, the one who made me, there would be a place for me in this world.”

“I do not know how long I walked. People would run and flee at the mere sight of me, shrieking and pointing at my body, my face. I did not know why they didn’t warm up to me the same way that you had. It was at that point I began to understand that I was a different kind of creature, one that was not human.”

“Eventually, on the outskirts of your town, I happened upon a small hut. It was abandoned, much to my relief, for I resolved at that moment to stay away from humanity. Many of the people I observed seemed unhappy, and my presence only contributed to their prolonged unhappiness. In the hut, I began to learn how to use fire. I credit its discovery with saving my life, for it kept me warm and well-fed.”

“Try as hard as I did, I could not escape the presence of humanity forever. Many of them would walk by the hut, and I took it upon myself to learn the strange sounds they used to communicate with one another.”

It is at this point that you pause, taking in Namjoon’s wide eyes. There was a malevolent sort of glee contained within their depths, awe at what had come to be of his beloved creation.

“Truthfully,” his voice rumbles. “I am shocked. I did not think you were capable of such a feat.”

“Why would you?” you continue on. “If you had been left to your whims, I would have been abandoned in your apartment all alone, left to wither away of my own accord, or to be disposed of once you grew resentful of my presence.”

“Why did you return to me, then?” he asks. “I provided you with so little. I could not even fulfill the basic duties of a caretaker. Do you wish to mock me, to flood me with that guilt? I live with it every day.”

“I must continue,” you tell him. “You’ll learn everything in time.”

“Two of my human companions came to the woods surrounding the hut often. I looked at them, realizing they were like you and me. A man and a woman. I observed the most curious of relationships between them. The man would stroke the woman’s hair, putting flowers in it, and they would laugh and converse and eat during the day. At night, they would touch and embrace each other often, whispering words in the dark. I began to feel a surge of emotions inside this body of mine, ones with which I was previously unfamiliar”

Namjoon’s cheeks go pink, breath hitching at what you possibly could have witnessed between this couple.

“That is not for your knowledge,” he says, breath low, even though there was no one to be found for miles around.

“I feared you would say so,” you look into his eyes, a sad smile overtaking your malformed features. “But I learned of the thing you humans called love, and that is why I have come to you today.”

Namjoon’s face blanches, and his heart begins to race. What had you come to request from him?

“Please teach me about love, Namjoon,” you ask, bright eyes shining for the very first time with tears. “In my brief time in this world, I’ve seen so much pain, and sadness and suffering - among humans, among animals, even among the crops that are grown for harvest. The world is bleak and full of so much desolation, it’s a wonder to me that anyone wants to live in it. But they do, and love is what drives them to do so. I sincerely believe it is at the foundation of everything.”

Namjoon remains frozen, unable to speak, taunted by the ghost of his younger self, who’d been overcome with all the world had to offer, love being among it. What a fool he’d been.

“I cannot love anyone anymore,” he says, bitter with grief. His mother’s eyes flash in the back of his mind. “I will not let myself be capable of it.

“But you were capable of it,” you pester him, and his temple throbs. “You loved your parents. You love Kyla.”

At the mention of her name, Namjoon’s gaze shoots up to yours, face heating in anger.

“How do you know about her?”

“Why should only you be privy to all the whims and fancies that this life has to offer, Namjoon? Why can I not indulge in the same passions?”

He opens his mouth, ready to protest, but you beat him to it.

“Because I’m not human? Because I’m not a real woman?”

Your voice breaks on the last word, and tears spill from your eyes.

“Why did you create me then? Why did you make something you’d come to abhor, if you weren’t even going to try to love it? Or let it find love of its own.”

“One chance,” you issue the ultimatum. “Give yourself one chance to love me, in whatever way you can. That is all I ask from you.”

Pity burrows itself deep within Namjoon’s chest at your forlorn figure. Could he ever love you? He loved the idea of you, back when he was hard at work in his lab. But you weren't what he expected at all. Maybe, just maybe if he tried to give you the love that you so desperately craved, he could find the dream he had lost sight of. And be happy once more.

“I shall try.”

“Namjoon, are you okay? You look quite pale.”

Namjoon’s eyes shoot up, meeting Kyla’s from across the breakfast table. She decided to pay a visit, worried and fretting that Namjoon had replied to none of her letters. He finds himself blushing, noticing that she’d only grown more beautiful as the years passed by.

“I’m fine, just thinking,” he responds brusquely.

“About what?” Kyla asks him. “Your head is always in the clouds, Namjoon. You need to come back down.”

He could not reveal the truth of where his concerns lay to her. You’d asked to meet him in the woods surrounding the villa. Today, his trial would begin, and he prayed that whoever was watching over him above would lead him down the path of prosperity. He shivered to think what would happen if he could not keep his promise to you, how you would react.

“I’m going to go for a walk in the woods,” Namjoon stands, excusing himself from the table.

“May I come? Kyla asks.

He shakes his head, offering her a small smile as consolation.

“Not today, Kyla. I would like to be alone.”

. . .

You’re waiting for him, perched on top of a rock. He approaches nervously, unsure of what you have planned. How was one supposed to bring themselves to love someone just like that? That kind of love existed only in fairytales.

He scoffs to himself, making his way to the middle of the clearing. Eyes widening, he takes in the sight of books, scattered all around you. The covers are worn, pages battered from use, and he wonders how you happened upon so many at once. Skimming through the titles, he recognizes a few of the names. Poets.

“I thought you could teach me how to read,” you tell him, holding out one of the books. “We can start with this one.”

“Why poetry?” he asks, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“I overheard the humans one day talking in strange rhymes,” you say. “He was reading her a book just like this, and she seemed to like it.”

A small smile makes its way onto Namjoon’s face. Your eyes, as strange as they look, light up with the same happiness he’s seen in a child discovering something new for the first time. He’s reminded of his summer days at the villa, discovering the world around him.

“Let’s start here,” he grabs the book, face blanching when he sees the cover. Milton’s Paradise Lost. His heart begins to race, wondering if you’d picked it out intentionally, whether it meant something to you. But you’re holding it out, a smile on your face, and his anxious spirit calms immediately.

He begins to read, his voice carrying melodiously against the wind, whistling through the branches of the trees. All the while, your eyes are on him, watching the way his mouth moves, his eyes widen, and his eyelashes flutter. The time passes by in an eerie silence, and he wishes you would say something, do something. But you just sit there and listen, focused on the story.

If the similarities between the text and your own entry into the world strike you, you say nothing, instead hanging off his every word. He finishes the chapter, closing the book.

“That will be all for today,” you tell him.

Namjoon’s mouth opens in shock. Nothing about the endeavor had been particularly romantic, or even stimulating in the way he’d expected. Were you playing tricks on him?

“You have a wonderful voice, Namjoon,” you whisper softly, and his heart freezes. “It sounds like what the humans call music.”

“I’ll meet you there in two days,” you tell him.

He watches you walk back into the forest, and his tongue feels as though it has been coated with lead. Where were you even staying? His entire being feels heavy, arms and legs weighed down with steel. He wishes to ask, but nothing comes out. Your figure disappears from his sight, and the burden of the questions he dared not speak presses heavy on his heart once more.

The days pass as such, Namjoon continuing through the pages of Paradise Lost one by one, with you hanging on to his every word. You don’t speak much during the sessions, stopping only to ask questions about a particular line, or repeat a passage that spoke to you. He’s grateful that you do not pressure his feelings to grow, simply asking to continue another time.

Instead, you leave him with small compliments, remarking on his hair, his outfit, or even the way his skin glows in the sunlight. They are but tiny, superficial, things, yet the endearing way you notice them causes strange feelings to churn within his heart.

In those formative years after his childhood had ended, Namjoon began to keep his heart under lock and key, building a glass castle around himself. He found himself partaking in the world around him, but no longer with any enthusiasm or investment. He often felt like a ghost, tormented by the guilt of his presence on this earth, wallowing in his unhappiness. Why did he live when his mother died? Was his empty, hollow soul truly of more value?

When you came into being, the emptiness and darkness only grew stronger. Namjoon felt as though he had tumbled into an abyss, one which he could never claw his way out of.

But being here, next to you, with the crisp air and birds singing, he felt the cracks in his heart start to heal. Reading Milton, exploring the story of creation again, made him finally feel as though his being was worth it. That he, Namjoon, had something to contribute to the world. He didn’t know if you were to credit, or he, for finally setting his mind straight from the madness.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost misses your question.

“The woman in this story, Eve,” you start. “She’s like me, isn’t she? She was created with the intention of being a gift, a form of salvation. But she turned out to be an abomination instead. That’s why they cast her out.”

“Can you ever forgive yourself for my creation, Namjoon?” you ask, shuffling closer to him on the rock. The warmth of your body moulds into his, sending sparks through his veins. “Will you forgive me, like God did Eve, for being so much less than you had hoped?”

Namjoon turns his face sharply towards you, panicking. The gnawing guilt had set in once more.

“I wish you could try,” you sob, voice breaking, a single tear falling from your eye and wetting the grey stone below.

Nostrils flaring, Namjoon feels a pain bloom within his chest. Something strikes within him at the listless and despondent tone with which you speak, and he snaps.

Lowering his face to yours, he watches your eyes widen in shock, nervously shrinking into yourself. He decides he wants none of that from you. His large palms come up to cup your cheeks, the skin devoid of warmth like his own, but he pays it no mind as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours.

You do nothing to respond, frozen in shock. The kiss is no more than a few brief seconds, Namjoon pulling away immediately after, but he swears you look dazed. If the same blood ran through your veins as did his, no doubt you would be flushed right now.

“You are not my Eve, nor a fallen angel,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t believe it at all. “You are ___.”

Namjoon knows that the visits in the forest should have stopped a long time ago, for they would not ever be fathomable, or palatable to anyone that were to find out. He had abandoned the idea of using ____ to further the achievements of science and medicine long ago. In her gentle presence, he learned that death, as much as life, was part of the cycle that kept the universe intact.

He knew nothing good could come out of the time he spent with her. It was dangerous to plant ideas in her head, to make her dare to dream that just because Namjoon had some semblance of acceptance in his heart, others would do the same. But, out there in the woods, he felt free. Free to be Namjoon, free to let his soul roam and wander, without the crippling feeling of being lost.

But human souls could never stray for too long, the iron shackles of society reining them in when they began to meander too far.

“Namjoon,” his father says sternly over the breakfast table one morning. “You should marry soon. I will not be around much longer.”

“Father, you are still young,” Namjoon admonishes him. “Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

“Everyday, I think about your mother’s last wish,” he responds. “Don’t you?”

It was guilt, Namjoon thinks. Guilt that brought him to tearfully say yes to his father’s proposition at the table. Guilt that made him put a ring on Kyla’s finger the very next day, the two of them dressed up and laughing along with his father, who beamed proudly.

He was a fraud. Namjoon would never become the son that his mother and father wanted him to be, for he harbored you, his biggest secret. He’d never be a loyal husband, nor a loving father. If he had any hope of becoming so, he had to let you go.

The stroll to the woods was a harsh one that day, he noticed. The wind howled, rustling the leaves, many of which had abandoned their brilliant hues of red and gold to become a muddy brown. A few of them detached, flying towards Namjoon’s face, and he shivered as the chill set in.

You’re sitting there, on the same rock you always are, but you’re not looking for him. Eyes trained on the ground, your figure casts a forlorn shadow, bent and broken, and he wonders if you already know.

“Sometimes, I think it would be easier if I were to tear up all the trees in the forest, to wreak havoc and destruction, like all you humans expect of me, and then to sit and watch the ruin unfold.”

Namjoon takes a step back, foot crunching on a fallen leaf, and you look up at him, devastation in your eyes.

“Maybe then a wretch like me could disappear.”

“I am sorry,” Namjoon stutters. “I did not wish for it to be like this, for things to turn out as they were—”.

You interrupt him with a harsh snarl.

“And yet, you were the one who said yes to her, Namjoon. You were the one who slipped the ring onto her finger, just like you were the one who created me. That type of responsibility is something you can never run from. It will torment you, haunt you to an early grave.”

A chill runs down his spine at your menacing threat, and fury sets in. He would not be pushed around by you like this.

“I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” he says coolly. “I tried to love you, in whatever way I was capable of. It is not my fault that I am a human, especially one who is weak to the follies and enjoyments of life, the pursuit of beauty and the act of procreation being among it.”

His words prick like thorns, and you wish you could bleed, bleed, bleed out, until you simply ceased to exist.

“You did not even try!” you scream, the sound ripping through the forest. “You were against me from the start! Why damn me to such a miserable existence?”

“It was a punishment!” he seethes, the vein in his temple throbbing. “I’ve been punished, and I will surely go to hell for this act of abomination.”

“Burn then! Rot!” you collapse into a heap on the forest floor. “But you will never find someone more loyal than I, someone who loves you more.”

“But I shall,” you rise, looking him directly in the eyes. “Make another like me, so that we may disappear together. Heed this final wish, and I promise I shall never leave my stain upon humanity again.”

Namjoon pales. Could he do it? Create another creature? His guilty conscience cracked into shards at the thought of how much danger the world could be in if you remained resentful. All because of him. He’d have to try.

As the days dwindled, and his wedding to Kyla approached, Namjoon felt the illness which had set in after your creation return. He tossed and turned every night in bed, prone to fits of coughing, and flinched at anything that dared to cross his path.

You had not contacted him again since the last time you’d spoken, but he felt your presence everywhere. At times, he would feel as though someone was watching him through the window, and Namjoon shuddered.

He’d returned to the university, assuring Kyla and his father that there was urgent work he needed to take care of. Carefully, he began to collect the parts, instantly transported back to those dark days of his first experiment. The madness that lingered dormant returned, but Namjoon pushed on.

As the being neared completion, Namjoon gave it a hard look. While you were gentle and submissive, he feared the consequences of unleashing a male creature onto the world. What if he rejected you, and gave into his baser desires? Men were wretched souls, delighting in murder and despair, and he felt his blood freeze.

Would the creature even be able to love you the way you desired? Would he be a shoulder to rest on after a hard day, reading you the great works of the poets? Would he be able to consummate a union with you, and bear children? The longer Namjoon thought about all these things, the more uneasy he became.

What you sought was not something the creation of another being could provide. Nor did Namjoon want another being to command your attention and affection. He wishes he could turn back time. All of his past mistakes swirl in his mind, and he realizes that he should have never thrown aside love for ambition. Maybe if he had stayed with Kyla after his mother’s passing, things would have been different. Greater yet, he should have never said yes to his father’s proposal. What kind of relationship could be built on lies?

In a fit of madness, Namjoon chooses the truth to set him free. A single flick of his wrist, and the match is lit. The flames flicker, their gleam reflecting in his eyes, and he throws it upon the half-finished being, sealing its destiny.

Taking in a deep breath, Namjoon pauses. Moments pass by, the ticking of his grandfather clock heard in the night. And then a knock. And another one.

The knocks grow louder and louder, yet Namjoon remains still, watching his breath release into the cold air. Behind him, he hears the door creak softly.

“You broke your promise,” your voice is but a whisper. Namjoon’s chest tightens when he hears how cold and listless it sounds.

“How dare you?” you continue. “How dare you take away my hope?”

Namjoon turns, stalking towards you, his tall figure caging you against the door. You shrink into yourself, glassy eyes boring into his.

“There was never any hope,” he whispers dangerously. “No one would ever be able to love you like you desire. No one would ever be able to fulfill your outrageous wishes. Except me. You are mine, and mine alone.”

He’s so close to you, he can feel your breath touch his lips, the curve of your neck extending outwards, your eyes never leaving his.

And then, Namjoon snaps, his full lips seeking yours, finally driven mad by the twisted passion that had burrowed itself inside him all along. He is not gentle, crushing you against him, tongue seeking entrance into your mouth.

A choked whine escapes your mouth, and Namjoon feels a tent form in his breeches. However, he doesn’t let up, detaching his lips from yours to leave more fervent kisses on the side of your face, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck.

You squirm underneath him, but Namjoon pins you underneath his weight, smirking when he feels your skin heat. His teeth graze the spot where your pulse should lie, and he bites down, rewarded with a sharp gasp from you.

“Could anyone else make you feel like this?” he taunts, licking a stripe against your neck, watching his saliva glisten on your skin in the dark. “Would anyone else kiss you here? Touch you here?”

He cups your heat in his hands, and you let out a broken moan, hips rutting against his warm palm.

“N-namjoon, please,” you sob, tears pricking your eyelashes. The burning inside of you was so unfamiliar, yet you craved more of it. You didn’t crave the touch of another such as yourself. You craved Namjoon.

“Say it!” he says, his own hips pushing wildly against your, cock throbbing underneath the heavy fabric. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breathing becomes shallow, stomach fluttering as the maddening pressure continues to build and build.

Namjoon groans, feeling your wetness seep into the fabric of his pants, when suddenly, he’s pushed away with a jolt.

Release never comes, your flushed and panting figure staring at him, tear tracks making their way across your solemn face.

“I’m no ragdoll,” you say through clenched teeth. “I am not yours to use and abuse as you wish. I’m not the meek creature you believe me to be anymore. Beware, Namjoon, for I am fearless and therefore powerful.”

His heavy breaths echo in the room as he watches you leave, your dark figure running through the lamp lit streets, and he knows he’ll never be rid of you.

The reckoning comes weeks later, on his wedding day. All day, Namjoon is wracked with nerves, seeming to all the guests as a young man in anticipation of one of life’s great events. But only he knows the truth.

The ceremony passes by uneventfully. Kyla looks as beautiful as the fresh spring flowers that grew outside his childhood villa, her face beaming with love and pride. Namjoon feels sorry for her. She should have married Jackson instead. He was a man far more noble, far more honest than Namjoon could ever be. He could be her knight, while Namjoon could only be her undoing.

Their first night together passes by in quiet solitude, Kyla’s shyness making itself known once they escape the ceremony. Namjoon brews a cup of tea, tapping his foot anxiously. A scream breaks the silence.

Rushing towards their shared bedroom, Namjoon’s heart stops at the scene he finds. Kyla is sobbing, curled up into a ball in the corner, while you loom over her, a menacing grin distorting your features to make you seem even more frightening.

“I shall tell you the truth about the kind of man you married,” you taunt, and your eyes meet his wide ones.

Frozen in place, Namjoon is powerless to stop you. Truth was the most powerful weapon you had against him. You’d been right the last time he’d seen you. Namjoon was a coward, but you, you were fearless. And you’d use it to ruin him.

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate for a single moment. He speaks not a single word, turning on his heel. Then he runs.

1 September, 17–

My dear sister,

Having heard this strange and fascinating story of horror, does your mind not congeal with horror? Mine surely does. There were many moments during this narrative where Namjoon was seized with a sudden agony, as though he contained the rage of a volcano. I feared he would not be able to continue.

Namjoon has spent his entire life in exile. He tells me that he’s wanted in England for witchcraft, and that after his departure, his father’s heart broke tremendously, and he passed. I’ve never seen a more lonely man.

And yet, he seeks to end his torment. Wishing to be lonely no more, he only wishes to find ___, to speak to her one last time. And then he wishes to rest.

In speaking to him, I wonder if my own journey of lofty ambition will inevitably be the anchor that sinks our vessel. Many a time, I have seen our perilous condition, and wondered if all this was worth it. Will it be worth it to never set foot on land again, to never see my loved ones? To lose your presence forever would be something I could not bear.

The sailors feel the same way, I fear, for this morning, I was roused by a group of them, shouting in my ear that they demand a mutiny. They demanded that I direct my course back towards England, and that there should be no more rash dangers.

I opened my mouth to agree, but was suddenly interrupted by Namjoon, his cheeks flushed and eyes blazing.

“Is this how you treat your captain? The one who leads you through every danger, who celebrates your every triumph? The journey you undertake is not one of merit because of how calm the waters were, but because you have managed to surmount the most insurmountable of obstacles. Be brave men, men who are honorable, who lay their lives and their pride down for the betterment of humanity. Return home with your heads held high, proud that you did not submit to cowardice.”

As he finished his speech, I could see that he was flushed, struggling to breathe, and I braced myself for his imminent collapse. Among the crew, there were hushed whispers, but no visceral reaction, and I saw Namjoon’s shoulders slump, his sunken figure almost deprived of life itself.

12 September, 17–

Dear sister,

It is done. We shall start our journey to return in a few days. Namjoon’s condition worsened, and he pulled me to his bedside after his visit with the surgeon.

“I am dying,” he said. “I do not think I’ll ever find ___ again, or be able to say these sacred words that I’ve been keeping in my heart for so many years. And so, Jungkook, I entrust them to you. I regret that for the majority of my life, I’ve been torn in between a battle of head and heart for my entire life. I sought to develop a creation, one that could push the boundaries of science and humanity as we knew it. But I should have remembered that nothing, and no one, is perfect. I should have been prepared to accept my faults. Along the way, I forgot that ___ was not merely a pawn for my use, but someone who I owed a duty to. It was my duty to ensure her long lasting prosperity and happiness as her creator, but I eschewed my duty because I was scared. I was a coward, and even bigger of a fool for creating someone I could not love properly. I fear I have committed her, and myself, to a life of eternal despair. Seek happiness in your tranquility, Jungkook. Do not fall prey to ambition, for as many lives as you think you can change, you may also ruin.”

Half an hour later, Namjoon was gone. I mourned his loss deeply, sister, for he was an extraordinary soul. My heart aches for the cruel way he left the world, despairing and aching inside, forever doomed to restlessness.

Soon after his passing, I was watching the ice float around us on the deck, when I heard a rustling from the cabin, where the remains of Namjoon lay. Over him hung a form which I could not describe, but recognized instantly. A woman, but with uncouth and distorted proportions. Silent tears fell from her face onto Namjoon’s pale ghostly body. I took in a sharp intake of breath, and she turned, stopping at my presence, and the jolting to the window.

“Wait,” I called out to her. “Please stay, ___.”

“How do you know my name?” she says. “What did he tell you?”

“I know your story,” I said to her. “I know the circumstances of your entry into this world, and the misfortunes of your life.”

“You may know,” she responds. “But you shall never understand. You shall never understand how I roamed the earth, miserable and alone. So many times, I wished I could just give in and become the monster that Namjoon always saw me as. And he would watch, as his fallen angel became a malignant devil.”

She looked forlornly upon Namjoon’s still figure, and there was such a sad yet unbelievably tender expression on her face, that my heartstrings felt as though they were being tugged by the dogs on the sledge Namjoon kept looking for.

“Namjoon will never know how much I loved him,” she sobs. “He’ll never know how I would have given the world to become someone he could love back, the woman he wanted with his entire heart, and not the monster I am.”

She turns towards me, pointing her shaking index finger towards where her heart should lay.

“From now on, he won’t have to worry. I shall quit this vessel and become the architect of my own demise, disappearing to somewhere where I can perish alone.”

As I listened to her, I could not help but marvel at how these two disparate, wretched creatures had found one another. The story of their undoing caused my chest to tighten, and I thought of you then, dear sister. I thought of your smiling face, and the care you have shown to me, and I realized how unlucky these souls had been to live their lives without love. Namjoon had perished, losing the love of his mother, his fiancée, his creation, and most of all himself. His cowardice and abhorrence for his creation had turned him into a shell of a man, and he wasted away.

I could not let that happen again.

“Please wait,” I interrupted ___. “What if there was a way? What if you could live your life freely and bravely, and not be doomed to the same miserable existence as Namjoon? Would you take it?”

Her breath hitches, and she slumps against the wall, eyes devoid of emotion, as though she is lost in thought.

“There are no guarantees that I would be accepted by anyone,” she says. “Namjoon could not accept me for who I was.”

“Namjoon was but one wretched man on this earth. The world is full of many kind ones, including myself. Come stay with me and my sister. We can introduce to our world, and help you live a life that’s peaceful and content, one where you would be comfortable. We wouldn’t push you, of course, but be there to help you whenever you desire to experience something new.”

“I’m afraid,” she sobs.

“And that is understandable,” I said. “There are many things to be afraid of. Even I was afraid when I undertook this extraordinary journey. But when we cast our fears aside, we can discover wonderful things. We can discover new places, new ideas. We can find light, laughter, and maybe even love.”

“Love?” she said. “Do you think there could be someone who loves me out there?”

“I think you can try,” I said. “Now will you join me?”

Her cold palm enveloped my warm one, the fingers clutching on tightly to mine. I made a promise then that I would never let ___ go. And so now, we make our way back to you, sister, transversing the darkness and distance to be borne by the waves to our home.

Sincerely yours,

Captain Jeon Jungkook

fin.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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sweetestofchaos · 8 months ago

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🤡 Yet Another Fic Writing Tag Game 🤡

Since it’s April Fool’s Day, let’s be fools about our own writing instead of pranking others!

This is a nice April Fool's alterative, I like it! Thank you for the tag Harrow.

Answer the following questions, then tag 3 others you would like to participate:

• Which of your characters are you an absolute fool for?

Right now? It would have to be Take on the World!Yoongi. His character is just so freaking relaxed and he falls into his new daddy role so easily.

• Which genre are you most confident writing in?

Fluff is my go to. It is easy to just fall in love with love, ya know?

• Who is your favorite minor character in any of your fics?

I had fun writing Taehyung in Blessed with a Curse. He was spitfire

• Which of your fic’s worlds would you most like to live in?

Blackthorn would be wild to live in...full of magic and wonderful food. But on the other hand, I think I would like to live in modern day Blackthorn (which I haven't written yet 😆).

• What is the silliest small detail you’ve ever written that still makes you laugh or smile?

I sometimes find myself throwing in real life situations (easter eggs) into my fics without meaning to. In totw, there is a scene where Hoseok gets scared and he starts cursing at Yoongi and at the end he is pouty and says "you made me curse"...which is what happened to him but it was with Jimin.

• If you could cast anyone in an adaption of any of your fics (other than whoever has inspired/shares the name of the character) who would it be and why?

I would really love to see Lee Soohyuk casted as Taehyung from Run From Me. He is such a beautiful man and I love him as a vampire. I wouldn't mind him playing another cruel broken hearted vampire again.

tagging: @jjksblackgf @proudahgase-exol @yoongiofmydreams

🤡 Yet Another Fic Writing Tag Game 🤡

Since it’s April Fool’s Day, let’s be fools about our own writing instead of pranking others!

Answer the following questions, then tag 3 others you would like to participate:

• Which of your characters are you an absolute fool for?

Good Morning! Hoseok. Hands down one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever written. Ugh I love him so much

• Which genre are you most confident writing in?

Rom coms, specifically ones that you’d probably see on the Hallmark channel or kdramas lololol

• Who is your favorite minor character in any of your fics?

Hoseok in Microcosmos. He’s just such a good dude and I adored writing him in this story. You might be noticing a theme here, and it’s that I basically love Hoseok in every thing I write 🤣🤣

• Which of your fic’s worlds would you most like to live in?

Probably the one in Worlds Collide. I love the idea of just a little bit of magic infused in our typical world. I had to think of this one a bit because many of my stories take inspiration from very real places in my life 🙃🙃🙃

• What is the silliest small detail you’ve ever written that still makes you laugh or smile?

Hoseok throwing out the coffee maker because he thought it was possessed in Microcosmos. Just imagining him jumping a mile in the air at the noise, then throwing it in the dumpster like the “moon’s haunted” meme makes me smile every time

• If you could cast anyone in an adaption of any of your fics (other than whoever has inspired/shares the name of the character) who would it be and why?

Woo Do-hwan would be Jin’s character in The Season. He is so good at playing characters that are sincere and interesting. I love seeing his work as an actor, and also (selfishly) I want to see him play a Prince Charming type character lolol

Tagging for the game: @sailoryooons @btsmosphere @theharrowing and anyone else who wants to join in!

#tag game #happy april fools #i forgot today was april fool's

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vvh0adie · 2 years ago

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It’s my birthday (Nov. 13) so I’m doing 21 songs for 20 years and the next💖

This from an ask game but I wanna do it so😗

🎶✨list songs u like to listen to, then, tag 10 others🎶✨

💖= current shower concert set list

😈= headphone repeat

“Black Ball” YoungBoy NBA 😈

“Candy Drip” Lucky Daye 💖😈

“Colorful Dream” David Bendeth 💖

“Darkness” The Police

“Future” j-hope 💖

“I Don’t Wanna Play Around” Ace Spectrum 💖

“Killa Killa” Gangsta Pat 😈

“Limo Wreck” Soundgarden 💖

“Love Theme From Spartacus” Yusef Lateef

“Make Dat Ass Clap (Back Clap)” Project Pat 💖

“Make No Sense” YoungBoy NBA 😈

“M.E.M.P.H.I.S” Hypnotize Camp Posse 😈

“Murder, Robber” Project Pat 😈

“Optimistic” Sounds of Blackness 💖

“Paint Me Silver” POND

“P.O.P (Piece of Peace)” j-hope 😈

“Red Rum” Project Pat 😈

“Sigma” BTS (Taehyung) 💖

“Tomorrow” BTS 💖

“What Is Love?” EXO 💖

“Your Home” SUMIN (+1) 💖 😈

Tagging: @kookieswan @chryblossomjjk @pamzn @parkdatjimin @sweetestofchaos @cutest-bunny-writings @egocypher @hobeemin @namjinsmoonchile @rkivian @aris-ink @ressjeon @temptaetions @babiekaykes @lovinglyrose @astronaut-jin-moon @purpleyoonn @the-boy-meets-evil @baljinciaga @sunshinerainbowsbts @joonscypher @raplinesmoon @hisunshiine @here4btsfics @here2bbtstrash @jjkeverlast @jjksblackgf @gimmethatagustd @bangtanintotheroom @playmetheclassics @chimcess @whoretan @jeonspub

And anyone else who wants to play🥺💖✨

#tag games

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xjoonchildx · 2 years ago

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i love your writing so much – i need to know your fav fics or just general fic recs! apologies if you’ve shared them before

hello sweet mae! thank you so much for saying this 💕

so i'm going to point you to my fic rec blog @ana-rex-yall (i gotta reblog a bunch of recs to it, that might be my homework for tonight 🤣)

but i'm also going to share a few authors i'm a little obsessed with right now because hand to god, they've never written a bad story.

i'm reading a @vyduan one right now that just -- JUST --

also: @hamsterclaw @smasmashie @jjksblackgf @reliablemitten @amethystwritesbts @7deadlysinsfics @joheunsaram

now LISTEN this is by no means a comprehensive list i'm just letting you know that these are a few that i've read recently and they all just deliver. i hope to have a lot more fic recs coming up for you guys soon 💕

#anagrams 💕#author recs!

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sweetestofchaos · 2 years ago

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HELLO DARLING I am here to ask you things hehehe sorry if any of these are repeats! 15 39 & 45 cause I like to pick your brain!

My sweet and wonder Hali!! You can ask me anything you want! These were really good questions! Sorry that I started rambling towards the end 🤦🏽‍♀️

15. What's your favorite AU that you've written?

A: Friends to Lovers will always be my favorite, no ifs ands or buts. I life is a friends to lovers au and we have two children/two dogs together. It's just something that makes me all giddy and happy 'cause it can happen in real life to anyone.

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

A: Yes! But not really too many writers. I know when I first got into BTS, I fell in love with @jjksblackgf headcanon about BTS seeing you in the club and I wrote a small series on that. I try not to let those around me influence my writing too much because I feel that I always end up comparing myself (which is a huge no-no). If anything I get inspired by little things like nicknames that the oc/mc is called or in a lot of a/b/o, the scents are a big thing too.

In a lot of my angst is based on my life. I get annoyed really easily, so I can be really petty...bless my bf for putting up with me. Things that the guys says will be stuff that my bf has said to me or I've said to him. That goes for angst and fluff too! My kids are my biggest inspiration for the softer parents aus. And I think that's really it.

45. What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic?

A: The way that I have embraced my black female characters. In my earlier works, I was so focused on making it known that her skin was brown...but now I can say that she's black without mention her skin tone because not every black person has brown skin. We come in a lot of different shades and I love that about us. So, now I focus on hair styles or actions/scents/mannerisms that lean more towards black people.

Also I used a lot of Ebonics (black speech) because I felt like I needed to when in all truth, I didn't. So, again that's something that I fixed because not everyone speaks that way. I switch up my speech depending on who I am talking to, which is a giving. But again, I had to keep in mind that not every black person or poc spoke like that.

Another thing is that I've gotten better at being more gender neutral with my reactions. Every poc deservers to find themselves in my work and I'm trying to keep that in mind while I write.

Ask me a question for fic writers?

#soc asks #soc answers #soc ask game

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marvelatthetwilight · 3 years ago

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Birthday Month Challenge

I promise I am working on my WIPs, I promise. However life has been a bit crazy. I got a promotion (yay me!) and have been working my butt off to prove myself and my writing (and reading) has taken a back seat. Thank you to everyone who reached out to see if I'm OK or wondered where I was. I'm OK, just taking some me time, but I'm coming backkkkk!

Also this was meant to be posted on Friday but I’ve had a stomach bug all weekend and so I’m now trying to catch up!

To get myself back into the zone, I've decided to give myself a bit of a challenge, increase engagement (since I haven't been interacting much on here recently I think my reach will be pretty minimal) I will challenge myself to write 30 different oneshots of varying sizes, one for every day of April.

To give me some inspiration, I will be using shuffle on my Apple Music account (which also has some of my sister's stuff on it) and using the song titles, and lyrics to inspire me.

I will put the days below the cut, and keep updating this post each time I post as well as adding to my Masterlist.

1st April - Happy For You (Demetri x female reader)

2nd April - Crying in the Club (Bouncer Bucky x female reader)

3rd April - Red (Ex-Bucky x female reader)

4th April - Starstruck (Steve Rogers x female reader)

5th April - Touch (Steve Rogers x female reader headcannon)

6th April - I Knew You Were Trouble (Demetri Volturi x female reader)

Marvel Taglist:

@arethosepotatoes @immelissaaa @gothkitteh @ambeen @wolfers-stufff

Twilight Taglist:

@volturidoll13 @wallwriterstuff @like-rain-or-confetti @moviequeen51 @raindancer2004 @officialfictionalwreck @megzdoodle @slasher-sweetie @reclusive-chicken-nugget @holl2712 @icarusinstatic @imdoingathingmom @fanfic-love-show @volturiwolf @awesomebooklover17 @cole22ann @amortentiaaaa @gurl-ly @mytwilightimagines13 @volturi-stuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @star-sunshine-sage @psychadelichues @inpraizeof @demetrivolturiswife @lovesanimals @juliannatryon @petrelsrose @brithedemonspawn @thehallowitch @kitkatkl @23victoria @train-wrecc @kenmasunwashedass @levisteeacup @purpledragon04 @your-next-wife @superheavymetalunicorn @karleetakeenan @vanessafinessa473 @the-twi-light-zone @nikkitc0703 @heartsarecompatible @deepfrz @simpxxslutxx @itscheybaby @sugakookiemonter @jjksblackgf @remembered-license @damnedangel98 @yinrose98 @thiccmemechicc

#twilight #demetri volturi #bucky barnes #steve rogers #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #twilight x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #demetri volturi x reader

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jjksblackgf · 2 years ago

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papi!jin masterlist

pairing — seokjin x reader summary — the sexcapades of a man that likes to flirt with power and desire.

≫ call me papi | ◆ | ♛ summary — Seokjin never forgot the day you called him papi. He’s been waiting for you to say it again, but since it hasn’t happened, he’s just gonna have to make you say it.

≫ bienvenidos a miami | ◆ | ♛ summary — Seokjin treats you for a quick trip to Miami. You’re in a mood to tease him, and he’ll make sure to deliciously punish you for that

≫ dámelo dos, papi | ◆ | ♛ summary — Seokjin always knows how to get you out of a bad mood. He brings his secret weapon, Jung Hoseok.

≫ belisima cartagena | ◆ | ♛ (upcoming) summary — Never tell Seokjin you had fun without him. Mistake. He will take it as a challenge.

≫ masterlist ≫ navi

#jjksblackgf writes

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dawnagustd · 2 years ago

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party time || jhs

Part of the Jack N’ Jill Series: Encore | Danger! | Party Time

⇢ Drabbles: Kink Hours Drabble

❃ Festivaled Away: Hope Fest hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Early 2000s Block Party ⤞ Main Event: No Underwear ⤞ Games: BDSM Chambers/Sex Rooms | Humiliation | Clothed Sex | Makeshift Restraints | Edging

❂ Lovers Through the Ages ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Naia through @bangtansorciere

Playlist | Main Masterlist | Kink Hour Drabble | Danger!

The “move bitch!” hits harder when you actually need someone to get the hell out of your way. Whatever Ludacris was on when he recorded the song playing through the speakers, is the same mood you’re in tonight

You’re usually the most rational person of the group; your friends blame your strict upbringing for that—but tonight it's the hell with it. You’re pissed off, restless, and a little horny. Just having a little trouble adjusting to this change mostly.

You still bleed, but your heart no longer beats. Wounds heal quickly, but you don’t eat or sleep. And most importantly you lack two things—a soul and self control.

“Hey Mandy,” you chirp, sitting on the couch you let your friends “borrow” from your parents’ living room.

Every weekend this is the hotspot for young adults, especially when Hoseok throws a party. This asylum shut down in the 80s, but Hoseok and his friends claimed it as theirs a few years back. Now it’s used as a hang out spot, and a place cops don’t dare to enter at night. There are people spread out everywhere, even on the neighboring deserted streets.

Your band got off stage an hour ago, but music still blasts through the old ward speakers. The members and a handful of groupies usually chill in the lobby—where they drink and do all of their other extracurricular activities.

This place is a hazard, but it’s the only escape some of you have. Your parents would have heart attacks if they found out their precious daughter was here with the guy they told her to never see again. But they were foolish to think you’d ever leave Hoseok alone.

They were right about one thing though—fucking around with him did lead to you digging yourself a grave. However, the unknown chemicals floating around in the basement didn’t want you to leave this world so soon.

You have no idea how or why you’re still living or breathing—but you feel great. As long as no one triggers any negative emotions.

Like the bitch sitting on your man’s lap, for example. She looks at you with disgust covering her features and gives you a forced smile. “Hey?”

You nod and turn your attention to the man of the hour.

“Hoseok.”

“What’s up, ma.”

You ignore the sting that comes with the dry greeting and shift the conversation to a more interesting topic.

“Hey Mandy, what kinda car you drive, babe?”

The slut nearly shakes loose her updo while whipping her head in your direction. Her prideful smile is only seconds from being wiped away.

“The pink Benz. Like the one from the new Chingy video,” she boasts.

You can see Hoseok and the rest of your friends becoming alert because they already know something’s up.

“Hm, that’s cute. Not pink anymore, though.” You take the joint from Yoongi and take a hit, leaning back on the sofa with a long and very much needed exhale.

“Please, girl. You see the body work on my baby. Why wouldn’t it be?” She laughs and looks around at her crew, oblivious to the horrible news she’s about to receive.

“It’s on fire, sweetheart,” you inform.

“WHAT?!”

She jumps up in her little jersey dress and white K-SWISS, then runs outside screaming. Her little clique follows closely behind. Your smirk widens and Hoseok gives you a look.

When she’s out of sight, conversations carry on like nothing’s happened.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, taking the joint from your hand. If only he knew the types of things your body goes through when he speaks to you in that tone.

You usually don’t allow your emotions to control you, but it’s hard to watch the person you’re fucking show everyone else attention except you. You know it’s for the best, to keep the peace between him and the band, but sometimes it’s just a slap in the face. Do they think you’d rat them out before one of their little groupies? You have no reason to; you’re just like them. Sure, they may be better at handling this new life than you, but they also aren’t tested every day by a man as hot as the one sitting next to you.

Maybe you should just blame it on the way he behaved on stage tonight. The way his body moved to the music was sinful, but the growling was fucking demonic. How you managed to get through that performance with him acting like that will always be a mystery.

You assume you were mesmerized, so caught up in his aura to realize that your thighs were rubbing together—just like one of the whores drooling at his feet.

So, yeah you get jealous whenever he acts like that in front of them, but what are you gonna say? What can you do about it?

“Nothing.”

You try to get up so you can leave the party, but Hoseok is too stubborn to just drop it. When you feel his cold hand wrap around your arm, you fall back into the couch and allow him to slide closer to you.

“No kiss tonight?”

“Hoseok, my parents have been calling me,” you lie. “And I’m wearing lipstick, and people are watching us—”

He scoffs. “Pretty, but full of shit. I see how it is.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a liar. A horrible one,” he tells you.

“I am not—”

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out your little flip phone, tossing it on your lap carelessly.

It almost slides to the floor, but once it’s secured you open it and examine your screen.

“Not one person has hit you up since you told me to hold your phone 4 hours ago,” he informs and your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.

“Fuck, am I really that lame?”

“You are…” his fingers begin to draw small circles on your skin. You panic because this party is huge. Someone from your school could be here, private university isn’t that big. Or one of your friends could see and would want to kick you out of the band, “but it’s sexy…and I like it.”

Of course, when you try to pry away he squeezes a little tighter.

“Am I taking you home or are you staying with me tonight?”

You look at the time and the bright “1:00 AM” mocks you. There is no way you can walk through the front door at this ungodly hour—high as a kite, dressed like what your mother would call a whore, wobbling because Hoseok’s bent you over twice on the way there.

“No, I’ll stay,” you sigh.

“You don’t sound happy about it.” He lifts his eyebrows and it disappears behind his bangs.

“I’m just not looking forward to arguing with them, you know. All they do is argue, and when they aren’t, they’re ganging up on me.”

“Ah, let’s not think about all that shit right now; it’s bad for my soul.”

The eye roll comes naturally because only he can tell a bad joke and get you to smile.

“You’re dead. You don’t have a soul, Hoseok.”

“Half dead, actually. My dick still works and I could’ve sworn my heart skipped a beat when I saw you in that skirt tonight.” His smirk should annoy you, but his dimples make you squirm in your seat.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because I was bending over?”

“Could’ve been…”

His words trail off and he becomes distracted by something or someone across the room. You look in the same direction and to your disappointment there’s a girl dancing promiscuously to Dirrty while taking off her clothes.

It’s about more than you can take, so you try to stand. However once again, Hoseok snatches you right back. “Slow your roll, baby.”

You huff when your plan to escape fails.

“Where are you running off to?” he questions with amusement present in his voice.

His painted nails trace the hem of your skirt, caressing your thigh to calm you down. You hate that it works, and bite your lip to stop yourself from relaxing your muscles. But it’s only seconds before you lean into his touch.

“I need to leave.”

“And miss the show?” he chuckles while pointing at the woman twirling her hips. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “I rather see you doing that, you know.”

“You’re a pig,” you scoff and he squeezes your thigh as a warning.

“And what does that make you?”

You gulp as his soft kisses make their way down your neck. Your clothing is bunched in your hand as you fist them tightly. Your breath hitches when his teeth graze your skin. Curious eyes begin to watch the act unfold and as soon as he starts, he suddenly pulls away.

You release the breath you were holding and suffer silently with disappointment.

“It’s attention that you want, isn’t it?” You don’t even have to answer for him to know that it’s true. He laughs, his whole body shaking so much that everyone around, including you turns to look at him. Instantly, he stops and looks directly at you. “I’m gonna leave the room and only one person’s going to follow me—it better be you.”

Your panties are soaking by the time he throws back his drink and stands up. Hoseok begins to walk away and people in every direction look on to see what your next move is. Before he can even leave the room, you’re grabbing your bag and following him out of the lobby into the asylum’s dark and eerie halls.

You have tunnel vision as you bypass all the envious eyes and side jokes. Only one thing is on your mind because you already know what time it is. There’s only one person more spiteful than you when you’re angry and that would be a pissed off Hoseok. No matter what he has planned, it’s going to be bad—but it’s still going to feel so damn good.

“You look so beautiful when you cry.”

Hoseok circles the table, his shoes thudding against the grimy floor each time he takes a step. He searches for the perfect angle, the best moment to snap a photo of you squirming and moaning in agony.

All you want is for him to touch where you need to be touched. However, all he’s done for hours is taunt you with broken promises.

“Say cheese, baby.”

As if you could do anything with your panties shoved in your mouth.

The more you struggle the tighter your bindings become. You’d think the old cords and tubes just lying about would snap easily, but Hoseok took extra measures to make sure you couldn’t move.

“So…beautiful.”

He aims the camera at your wrists so he can capture the way the cords dig into your skin, only temporarily scarring your flesh. The sight of you tied to a gurney, defenseless and at his mercy excites him in ways only you can understand.

You share a fetish for pain—he to inflict and you to receive.

You have a whole catalog of private photographs to show the lengths you’ve gone to fulfill your twisted fantasies.

He’s always said he struck gold when he met you. Girls would laugh and call him weird for the things he liked, so when he met someone who wasn’t afraid of the dark side, he couldn’t resist tainting you and making you his.

“Now this is art,” he whispers while inserting two fingers into your pussy. You attempt to scream his name, but it only comes out as a muffled cry. “So wet. I bet you wanna come so bad right now, huh?”

“Mmhm!”

Your eyes are blown out and beads of sweat form on your skin. Hoseok twists and curls his digits inside of you as he moves them in and out, making legs buckle and threaten to give out at any moment.

Your body works desperately to gain more friction, and just when he hits the right spot—his movements stop and he pulls out of you.

“Not right now, sweetheart.”

The tears sting as they form in your eyes; denial seems to be the theme for tonight.

Hoseok laughs while he sucks your juices from his long fingers, and teases you for thinking he was going to let you come so easily.

It’s been hours of this—him torturing and capturing his favorite moments on camera. Your body’s so worked up and overstimulated. Though, since you’ve crossed over your tolerance is higher, and you can withstand so much more.

Neither of you can ever resist the urge to test your new limits nowadays. Even if it means dragging it out for long periods of time. The results are always worth the wait.

“So delicious,” he comments, and you can only stare ahead at the wall as embarrassment washes over you.

His mouth is filthy and his desires are sadistic. You had no idea that either would turn you on strongly.

Hoseok snatches your panties out of your mouth and tosses them across the room. He walks over to the window, looking over the crowd before he returns to your side.

The first blow he delivers comes without a warning, and so does the second. You’re sure everyone can hear your screams, but it’s become too much to contain them anymore.

He stops for just a moment, only to ask you a question. His hand still rests on your ass, attempting to soothe the skin he’s abused only seconds before.

“Now you wanna tell me what’s been up your ass lately?”

His chilling touch does little to tame the heat rushing through you. Your dormant heart begins racing for the first time in what seems like forever, the throbbing nearly as intense pulsing within your core. You clench your fists as tightly as the bindings that strap you to the gurney.

“It’s nothing, Hoseok. Please, just—ahh!” you wince. “Fuck, this isn’t fair.”

“Liar, liar…if you lie to me again your ass will be on fire,” he chuckles.

The moonlight that shines into the darkness enlarges his silhouette, making him appear twice his size. The hollowness of the room allows his voice to project and ricochet off the grungy walls, giving you chills and shakes.

A sigh leaves your lips as the stinging subsides. Although the ghost of his touch still lingers in the reddened marks that resemble the shape of his palm. You cave and submit to the pleasure, moaning while his hands continue to roam all over your body.

“It’s them. Isn’t it, baby?” Hoseok leans over your body, pressing his ear against your back so he can listen to the sound of your blood pumping through your veins again. “Jealous, aren’t we?”

Shamefully, you confess.

“A little bit.”

He shushes your whimpers and strokes the hair out of your face. You feel the cords grow slack around your body, and you relax under his gentle touch. However, your reverie is short-lived because your punishment is right around the corner.

“Well sweetheart, if you wanna be a whore…” He growls out his words as he tugs your hair. The back of your head collides with his shoulder and you can only stare at the stars through the hole in the roof as you wait, your legs trembling with need.

He collects arousal from your inner thigh and brings it to your swollen lips, smirking when you absentmindedly dart out your tongue to taste yourself on his fingers. “Oh, I don’t have any problems treating you like one.”

Hoseok moves swiftly when freeing you from the device he’s created to restrain you. He pulls you to your feet with your hands still tied behind your back, and you require his support to stand properly because your legs can no longer keep you up on their own.

“Come here,” he commands, and he drags you towards the glassless window.

He uses his body to pin your lower half against it, and his grip on your hair to keep the upper portion from toppling over. “Hoseok…”

He ignores you and continues to yell in your face.

“This is what you want, right?” You hear his zipper sliding open, and seconds later the blunt tip of his dick touches your ass. “You want everybody to know you’re getting fucked, don’t you?”

You bite your lips raw trying to suppress your moans, but he squeezes your cheeks and forces you to let them out. The people below are clueless to what is happening five floors above them, but you’re sure before this is over they will be well aware of what is going on.

“Answer me!”

“Yes, Hoseok! I do. I fucking do,” you say while looking him in the eyes.

He shakes your head slowly, and the tone in which he speaks is condescending.

“Shut up, you know what you want.” He lets go of your face so he can position himself at your entrance. Desperation leaves you trying to push back on his erection, but he wants to move at his own pace tonight. “You’re just a dumb little whore who’s needs me to make decisions for her. Isn’t that right?”

“Hoseok, please.”

“Uh-uh, not until you accept it,” he tsks.

You turn to him again. “I am, okay. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Still with the attitude, I see. But no worries…I can fix that.”

He chuckles and tilts your head downward to look at the people below.

“That’s a long way down, isn’t it?” he asks, and you respond with a nod.

You gulp. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s a good thing that you trust me, huh?”

“Mmhm,” you moan once he starts to probe you with very shallow and tiny thrusts. You almost allow your mind to slip away, but his previous statement comes back to haunt you the second you remember your fear of heights. “Wait. What are you talking about?...Ohh, shit!”

Without another word, Hoseok impales you with every inch of his dick—leaving you gasping, panting, and balling up your fists to cope with the intrusion.

He curses as your walls squeeze around his girth, making him twitch inside of you. You both fight through the sensitivity in silence.

“Better keep your back arched if you don’t want to fly away from me,” he warns, voice dripping with amusement. His impatience grows, and he can no longer stand there buried in your warmth. Hoseok’s pace starts fast and strong. Your eyes roll back as you get lost in the feeling.

Even though you can’t move, you still feel like you’re floating away from yourself each time he plows into the depths of your womb. “You probably wouldn’t even care, would you?”

The skin slapping noises echo through the room and drowns out your soft incoherent babbling. Your vocal cords are totally trashed after a night of singing and screaming his name over and over. You mumble responses in hopes that he can hear you, but he’s quick to tell you that he can’t.

“Speak up, bitch. I can’t hear you.” He pinches your nipple through your shirt, growling in your ear when your cunt clenches around him like a vice as a response. “Well, fuck me. So your pussy talks, but you can’t?...It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

“Come. I need to—”

“What was that?”

“I said I need to come,” you rasp, but once again your request is denied.

“Sorry, I don’t speak whore. Try again.”

You can’t do anything but sob. Mascara runs down your cheeks, and leaves a bitter taste on your lips. “Hoseok, please. I can’t.”

“I don’t give a shit!”

Nearly at the speed of light he snatches your hair, his hunting knife coming out of nowhere to lay flat against your jugular. Your gasp seems to travel through the open air, and alert several people surrounding you. Hard bangs are heard on the door behind you, but Hoseok just keeps going, slowing down his movements momentarily.

“I knew this would get you to speak up. You were gonna come all over my dick had I not stopped,” he grunts in your ear. “Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

“Hoseok…”

“Shh. Don’t talk, just listen…and comprehend if you can,” he interrupts.

Your eyes close, trying to focus on anything other than the intense feeling in your core. You’re exhausted, overstimulated, but still begging for more like you aren’t already fighting to keep it together.

“Tell them,” he requests.

“Tell them what?”

“To fuck off. You’re fucking your boyfriend.” The sharp blade moves across your throat slowly, and then over your shoulder. Your body shudders when it travels down your spine, stopping at the lower portion of your back where your hands are bound.

Your scalp stings from all the tugging and pulling, but isn’t enough to pull you away from the high you’re trying to reach. Hoseok is like the devil in your ear, feeding you whatever he needs to so he can have his way. “Do it,” he encourages.

“But—”

“But, nothing. You said you wanna be a whore. Well, whores don’t give a damn about who knows…or who sees. Tell everybody or I’ll stop. You want that?”

“No!”

His smile widens at your reaction, knowing he’s got you where he wants you. “Then tell them who you belong to, and stop being such a pussy.”

He slams into your sensitive heat, making you yelp out his name.

“Hoseok!”

Pleased with the way everyone is now paying attention, he cuts your bindings, instructing you to hold onto the ledge and continue calling his name. He fucks you from behind and abandons his blade so he can tease your bundle of nerves beneath your skirt.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg and he promises that he’d never.

His painted nails dig into the sides of your throat as uses you like a toy and pulls you back on his throbbing cock. You’re covered in his marks already, but he still takes the opportunity to leave more with his teeth.

The feeling in your center begins to build up again, and you’re certain you’ll go insane if you don’t reach your high this time. Hoseok’s moans and growls fill your ears, drowning out the squelching and lewd sounds coming from between your thighs. Whatever song is playing, it seems to be one that he favors because his thrusts aren’t missing a beat as he plows into you.

“Fuck, Hoseok.” This time he doesn’t need a warning because he can’t take the way you’re squeezing around him. “Please?”

Finally, he caves.

“Yeah, baby. It’s okay.”

You don’t wait for him to tell you twice. Your orgasm hits fast and hard; you have to reach behind you and grab his hair to ground yourself, leaving scratches on his arms in an attempt to cope with how deep his dick travels into your womb.

Feral noises leave your lips when an intense wave of pleasure takes over you, and the feeling leaves you floating on air as your body attempts to come down from an overwhelming high. However, Hoseok isn’t done with you yet.

“Just one more,” he moans, but you shake your head. He continues pounding into you, and sobs begin to tear from your throat.

“Too much, Hoseok,” you whine, but he’s only moments away from pleasure.

“I know, baby. I just can’t get enough, sweetheart. Just one more,” he begs, returning his attention to your sensitive clit. “Please.”

“Okay…!”

As soon as he gets the greenlight his only mission is to release his load, and rob you of the last bit of strength you have left. Within seconds you both are howling out each other’s name, and everyone who is witnessing the sight before them are left speechless.

Hoseok’s seed fills your womb and soothes you until you are no longer tense with oversensitivity. Your head lolls back on his chest and your body goes limp in his strong arms.

He gives you a few seconds to pull yourself together then slowly slips out of you before he turns you around.

“Is there something you wanna say to me?” he asks, forcing you to look at him. You nod your head, and Hoseok asks you to elaborate. Your post-orgasmic high allows you to tell him without any fear or shame of rejection.

“I’m tired of sharing you,” you confess.

“Sharing me with who?”

You roll your eyes in pretend thought. “Mandy, and whoever else sits on your dick when I’m not around. I get it, you like brats, but why am I not enough?”

Hoseok kisses you before you can continue your rant of self destruction. He holds you and caresses your body in a way that brings you comfort and peace—something you’ve been craving for so long. He stares at you after your lips part, but you’re too afraid to ask what he’s thinking.

“If you haven’t realized, I’m a little fucked up,” he says after what feels like an eternity.

“So am I, Hoseok.” You look down at yourself and then back at him. “If you haven’t noticed.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

“But ever since…you know. I’ve never felt more alive. I’m becoming less afraid to be myself,” you admit.

“A crazy bitch who burns people’s cars to a crisp?”

“Shut up.” You throw a light punch to his arm, but he acts as if it did severe damage by clutching it and whining. “It was in the heat of the moment.”

“Literally,” he adds, and you both start laughing. His smile is everything, and you wonder if it’d be too much to tell him that. Hoseok senses your conflicting thoughts even amidst the jokes, and pulls you deeper into his embrace. “I’m yours, okay. I only did that shit tonight to piss you off…because apparently that turns me on.”

“I hate you. You’re such an asshole,” you cry, but still hug him tighter. “Our hearts are beating.”

He sighs. “Yeah, they are.”

“Does that mean?...”

Hoseok pulls away before he answers. “No, your marks are disappearing already.”

You look down when he touches your wrists.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he says to you.

Immediately, you shake your head. “This isn’t your fault, Hoseok.”

“I was talking about tonight. Seeing you mad is sexy, but I don’t like hurting your feelings or making you feel like you aren’t enough for me,” he admits.

You tell him it’s all forgotten and his grin returns. This time you don’t hesitate.

“I like seeing you smile.”

He nearly chokes on his saliva. “Please don’t make this weird.”

“Shut up! It sounded smoother in my head, okay. Forget it,” you laugh, pulling away to give the bird to whoever is shouting at you from the ground.

Hoseok wraps his arms around your waist and looks out into the night with you, using the position to kiss your cheek.

“Thank you. No one’s ever said anything that nice to me before,” he says after a while.

“Wanna hear some more?”

He scoffs. “Fuck, no.”

You giggle and focus on the city lights in the far distance, a thought running through your mind suddenly.

“So what now?”

His lips pout and he shrugs. “Depends on what you mean, I guess.”

“Like are we going to stay here or…”

“We?” he repeats and you nod.

“Yeah, we.”

“Us?”

“Hoseok,” you warn.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, earning a glare. “Chill. I haven’t really thought about it. What do you wanna do?”

“Well, Mandy is the mayor’s daughter and I kind of just destroyed her car so….”

“I guess we have to leave town then,” he suggests.

“We?”

Hoseok nods and ushers you towards the middle of the room to grab your things. “Yeah, we. Did I stutter? We die together, we ride together. Simple.”

“No matter what?”

“Through everything,” he assures.

You stare at your feet, and you can feel as he begins to sense that something’s off. “Even if one of us got angry and busted the other’s car windows?”

Hoseok’s entire mood changes, and he removes his arm from around you.

“Run.”

You smile nervously. “Can I call you later?”

“Get out!”

You leave without another word, but your smile doesn’t fade. No one would ever have the balls to pull something like that with him, but you aren’t everyone.

And that’s exactly why you were able to walk out of there alive—partially, at least.

#hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #jhope x reader #jhope smut #bts smut #bts x reader #bts angst #bangtanbathhouse #festivaledaway #bangtansorciere #bangtangames #btsdreamcourt #bts imagines #bts fics #hoseok angst #sugakookitty

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raplinesmoon · 3 years ago

Text

The Test Kitchen (KSJ x Reader!)

❅ Holiday in Handcuffs ❅ hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤖ Spaces: [8I,3I,3J, 10G, 10H]

Pairing: Husband!Kim Seokjin x YouTuber!Reader

Genres: floof

AUs: established relationship, holidays AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: oc breaks glass, some kissing, otherwise super cute fluff

Ratings: G

Summary: Tiktok made you do it… again. Luckily Jin is there to help you have some fun in the kitchen.

A/N: It's basically December, so I can post this... right? I had this cute idea for husband Jin lovingly helping his YouTuber spouse with their cooking channel, and it was so cute I think I nearly died writing it. This is based on my favorite Youtube channel, Rachhloveslife, who does tons of vids testing out hacks with her absolutely adorable husband! Srsly, they’re goals and you all should watch them for a smile. Thank you to the wonderful Moon (@lavienjin) for looking this over for me <3 I hope you enjoy! 🥺 Lots of love, Isi 💜 Banner made by me.

Taglist: @jinpanman @sunshinerainbowsbts @joheunsaram @kithtaehyung @jjksblackgf @minyfic

“Helloooo my lovely people, it’s December and you all know what that means! It’s basically the most wonderful time of the year!” you accentuate your intro with jazz hands as you slide on the red Santa hat you’d dug out of the basement especially for this video.

“And everyone, look-, look, I decorated!! Just to get in the holiday spirit!” you excitedly gesture to the string lights and tinsel you’d hung up for the video, paling when you realize half your string had gone out and was now dangling limply from the cabinets.

“Or, at least I tried. You know, because holiday cheer is all about spirit anyway! A for effort.”

Nice save.

“Now, today, I’m very excited because we’re going to be diving into the vast world that is holiday Tik Tok. A world that, until recently, I didn’t know existed, until my husband showed me all these cute little DIYs and recipes and decorating hacks. You guys, I AM OBSESSED. So I thought it’d be fun to try out a bunch of different recipes for you guys, and of course, we’ll have Jin come in and try them too!”

Speaking of Jin, you had a long day of filming ahead, and he was supposed to be arriving any second with your daily cup of Dalgona coffee. As a native, he’d initially been all grumpy and grumbly when the trend had hit the interwebs, mumbling under his breath that it wasn’t even “authentic” to traditional Korean dalgona.

A few trials later, and the two of you had become hooked on the sweet, foamy beverage. You made Jin eat his words as he got up every morning to prepare the two of you a cup before heading off to his office to work from home in a crisp white dress shirt and fleece pyjama bottoms.

Hearing him pad into the kitchen with two cups, you smile as he slides you your cup out of the camera’s eagle-eyed view.

“Madam, your coffee,” he smirks with a whisper.

“Okay, now that I have been deemed caffeinated, it’s time to spread some Christmas cheer! And I feel like now, more than any other holiday season, we really need a bit of cheer. So come on and cosy up, grab some fuzzy socks or a blanket, maybe grab a mug of tea, or maybe even hot chocolate, ooooh that sounds so good right now. Also this hat, this hat is getting very hot, and I’m wearing fleece pyjamas and the heat is on and let’s just not talk about the poor planning here and jump right into it!”

Jin shoots you a warm smile before taking a seat at your kitchen table behind the camera. As a raging introvert, sometimes having a bubbly YouTuber for a wife was a lot to handle. But his favorite days of the week were the times he got to sit down and help you test and film and edit. His heart always fluttered at seeing you so passionate and invested in doing what you loved, and bringing joy to your hundreds of thousands of subscribers.

“So for recipe #1, we’re gonna be making these shortbread cookies, but they’re not just shortbread cookies. Look everyone, they’re also little lids!! Like these cute little lids that you could just put on a mug of hot chocolate to keep it warm! How genius is that?”

Jin had a couple of questions about the shortbread cookies. He was doubtful that 1) they’d be as cute and adorable as Tik Tok made them seem (the app had a bad habit of overselling anything and everything), and 2) whether they’d actually keep anything warm without turning into a soggy mess. For now though, he’d just sit back and enjoy the way your eyes widened and lit up over the recipe in question.

“Now, to begin, we’re gonna roll out some dough,” you grunt, as your ball of shortbread dough smacks onto the counter with a satisfying thunk!

“Does this rolling pin in my hand make me look menacing?” you ask the camera, but really you were asking Jin.

Jin shakes his head vehemently. You were too cute, you couldn’t even be scary if you tried.

Your shoulders drop and you pout slightly at his response, but decide to keep chugging along.

“So the funny thing about shortbread actually, is that baking it during the holidays is kind of a tradition in my family. My dad had this really good shortbread recipe that he used to make when I was a kid with lemon zest, rosemary, and orange zest. I remember I got so upset one year because when Jin and I had just started dating, his parents taught us both how to make songpyeon for Chuseok, and the same year, my dad taught Jin the holiday shortbread recipe but not me! I threw such a fit, and my dad was like, “you’ll just have to keep Jin around so he can teach you one day.”

Jin remembers your first holidays together like it was yesterday. Although it had been a whirlwind, flying to Korea for Chuseok and staying there for a few weeks, and then flying back to spend the holidays with your family, he wouldn’t have traded your sleepy, puffy cheeks and jet-lagged cuteness for anything. That was the first time he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

“And now, I couldn’t find a cookie cutter that fit my mugs perfectly, so I’m just gonna use this glass bowl to stamp out the shapes,” you hold it both hands, palms flared outwards, showcasing the glass bowl as though it were the most precious artifact.

Jin’s eyes widen as your hands slip, and the bowl wobbles, tumbling into the air. Poised and ready, he darts into the frame, pushing you out of the way of the falling glass as it falls to the ground and shatters into hundreds of tiny crystalline pieces.

He looks up to see your despondent face as you take in the disastrous sight, reaching over his broad frame to cut the camera.

“We can always edit that out,” he says gently, noticing how tears glisten and cling to your lashes.

“I’m always so clumsy,” you sob, wrapping your arms around him and burying your head into his chest. “I can’t even hold a bowl straight, I ruin everything!”

Jin learned the hard way that filming recipes for YouTube meant more than your fair share of kitchen disasters, often resulting in the air smelling like burnt dough, or the stand mixer going haywire, causing batter to hit the walls. No matter how many times you edited it out with the “oh no no no” sound from Tik Tok, he knew you took each little failure to heart, lamenting at how you couldn’t be like those aesthetic influencers you saw scrolling on your phone every day.

“People love you because you’re real, baby, not because you’re perfect,” he presses a kiss to your hair. “Accidents happen. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

He smooths your hair and gives you another kiss, running to your supplies closet to grab a broom. Sweeping up the evidence of your transgression, he gives you a wide smile and reaches to take your hand in his, wiping the smudged mascara from under your eyes.

“Now, let’s roll the camera. We have some cookies to bake, don’t we?”

“Okay guys, we are back! And recovered from our little mishap,” you chuckle. “Just to recap, while we were away, Jin helped me finish up the cookies and put them in the oven! And now, we are gonna get started on the next recipe, which are these adorable peppermint spoons to go with our cookie lids!”

“So this recipe is from Tiktok," you recall, “but my mom actually does this at home using chocolate during Christmastime with our little nieces and nephews!! So, you know, maybe if this hack turns out to be a success, Jin and I can incorporate it with our little ones someday!”

Sputtering as he takes a sip of water right when the words come out of your mouth, the tips of Jin’s ears turn red. Yet another holiday season where the whole family would ask about when you were planning on having kids. It wasn’t that he didn’t want kids, of course. Jin’s heart swelled at the thought of you, him, and a little baby, making pancakes on a Sunday morning, the small squeals and giggles along with the clapping of tiny hands. But there was no pressure in his mind. You were both still young, and enjoying each other’s company. Children could come later.

“So I got these crushed up spoon moulds from Amazon,” you continue on, “but that’s not the cool thing. Look what I found!”

You hold up the bag of crushed up candy canes. You’d jumped up in delight when the two of you had gone shopping together for this video, not even excited about the hack, but more excited to tell the world about the amazing new revelation that was crushed up peppermint.

Now, all you had to do was sprinkle them into the mould and pop them into the oven, and then your viewers would love these cute spoons that took no effort at all.

“I was just thinking,” you ponder, “these are so easy, you could totally make them, and package them up with a cute little mug, and maybe some hot cocoa mix and give it to friends. We should totally do that! Right, Jin?”

Looking beyond the camera, you see Jin nod and give you a thumbs up. You’re unsure whether he’s agreeing with your suggestion or merely telling you that you’re doing great, but you don’t mind his encouragement either way.

“Jin is too shy to talk right now, but he agrees with everyone. So don’t steal this gift idea from me!” you joke.

Finishing up the candy spoons, you pop them into the oven and cut the camera once more, happy that this hack seems to be working out so far.

“Nice recovery,” Jin says from behind you. “I told you everything would be okay, didn’t I?”

“I know,” you sigh, “but I always make you say it every time. I somehow can’t believe my own brain, but totally melt from the encouragement from my awkward, dorky husband.

“Omg, melt?!” you nudge his arm. “Do you get it?”

“Babyyy,” he tugs on your arm, grinning as he pulls you away from the counter. “You’ve been working so hard since you got up. Let’s take a break and eat. I made some kimbap yesterday, and we can play some Mario to unwind before we start filming again.”

Jin has barely finished persuading you to come along when you lean over and press a kiss to his pink lips, his face flushing at your bold actions.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

“AAAND NOWWW, for the grand finale! It’s a Christmas miracle!” you yell, gesturing to the side as if you’re presenting a magic act. “Everyone, after months of persuading, I have finally convinced, the one, the only, my darling husband, Kim Seokjin to join us for our taste test!”

“Everybody give him a big round of applause,” you jump up and down, making crowd noises with your mouth as Jin awkwardly stumbles into the frame, greeting the camera with a small wave.

You usher Jin over, proudly presenting your hot chocolate themed creations to him. He takes in the scene, his chest swelling in pride as he takes in your cute cookie lids, peppermint spoons, and the ever famous Tik Tok hot chocolate bombs that he’d helped you frantically finish after the two of you spent too much time lazing around, playing Mario Kart.

With a glint in his eyes, he nods his head, his eyes glancing over at the pile of dishes that rest in the sink. You let out a tiny gasp, catching onto his mischief, and slowly press a finger to your lips and let out a small “shhh!”. Not even one minute into his camera debut, and his chaotic side was already making an appearance.

“I had a crazy thought,” Jin blurts out. “What if we put the hot milk on these chocolate bombs, and it just turns into a big gloopy mess? That seems pretty likely.”

“Jiiinnnn,” you whine. “Everybody, tell my husband to stop being a pessimist just because he’s the better cook.”

You grab the measuring cup full of hot milk, and drop a hot chocolate bomb into two mugs, one for you, and one for Jin. Pouring the milk into each cup, you feel your breath hitch, Jin’s heavy breathing behind you, as both of you wait for the long awaited surprise.

“I-, wait, oh, I see it-, oh,” your voice drops, taking in the melted chocolate that looks more like sludge at the bottom of the cup.

“I guess it kinda worked,” Jin scrutinizes. “But let’s be real, drinking this would clog our arteries. So it looks like all our efforts were in vein!! Get it?”

He guffaws, nudging your shoulder as giggles escape you too, the both of you doubled over in laughter from his dad jokes.

Still, determined to save this, you reach over and grab one of the peppermint spoons, stirring the hot liquid with it. You let out a tiny “oops” as half of the spoon completely melts away, dropping into the sweet liquid, and turning it an even more unappetizing color.

“Well folks,” you say, looking up at the camera with a smirk, “we struck out on 2 out of 3 of these recipes. Now, for the grand finale, will these cookie lids work?”

They look cute enough, you think, as you grab one of them from the baking tray, plopping it on top of the cup.

“Aaaand salvaged!” Jin announces, hand meeting yours in a high five. “They had us in the first half, not gonna lie, but my amazing wife manages to make everything work.”

“And there you have it folks,” you declare, wrapping up the video. “Tik Tok baking hacks that kind of, semi-worked? That was more anticlimactic than I thought it’d be, but we had so much fun! See you all in the next video!”

You reach over to turn to press the button to stop recording, but not before Jin’s “Aish, kids these days” sneaks into the A-roll.

“Ugh," you groan, rubbing your temples. “I was so excited for some of those, I thought they’d work! There’s like hundreds of videos on Tik Tok about them!”

“It’s not you baby,” Jin wraps his arm around your waist. “They’re just bad recipes that somehow happened to go viral. Maybe next time we should bake some of the recipes from your family cookbook? And I can ask my mom for some of hers. I’m sure the viewers would love that.”

“You know,” you sigh, a sleepy yawn interrupting your train of thought. “That’s not a bad idea. My dear Jinnie, you always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Now, I think someone is a little tired, don’t you think? Let’s go to bed.” He supports his weight, the two of you lumbering up the stairs sleepily to your cosy bedroom, changing into your matching flannel pyjamas.

As he listens to your quiet snores, Jin looks out the window, silently watching the snow fall outside, painting a magical scene in your front yard amongst the twinkling lights. Soon enough, there’d be another day waiting for the two of you in the test kitchen. In his heart, he knew this holiday season would be your best yet.

A/N pt 2: Thanks so much for reading! As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway <3

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