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Play Me (All Night)

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It must be the locked-in-syndrome. Or a coma. Either way, Jimin is scared out of his mind: he is unable to move at all. He can’t move his hands or fingers. Can’t move his feet or toes. Not his head. Not his mouth. He can’t scream for help. He can’t even make any kind of noise to advise anyone in their dorm that he is suffering.

 

It’s scary. Fucking terrifying. But what is maybe the worst of all is that he can’t open his eyes either. All he can do is stay still and wait for this horror to pass or for one of his members to find him and realize he needs help. Panic takes over like black, viscous fog, spreading ice-cold and dewy in every cell of his body.

 

But he can do this. It will pass. This is just like his stage fright. Or a mild panic attack when he feels he is not enough. He knows how to handle this. He breathes in slowly. Breathes out slowly. Counts his breaths. Focuses on anything but the ugly monster that is the panic sitting fat and grinning in the pit of his stomach.

 

He will snap out of this - and tomorrow probably he will laugh about it already. Right? The wet feeling of a despaired sob travels up Jimin’s throat, but no noise comes out. He only feels a tear slip from his eye.

 

Maybe it’s just a nightmare? A nightmare that feels very real. Very real. Maybe he can try to wake up. He musters all his strength trying to separate his teeth in order to sink then into his tongue, his cheek, his lips - anything, really, that would make him wake from this horror.

 

But it’s useless. He can’t. Can’t move a single muscle. All he can do is lie in his bed and wait for someone to rescue him. Why has nobody tried to wake him up yet? Don’t they have a meeting at the company at… what time was that again? And what time is it now? For all he knows, it could still be the middle of the night or almost noon already.

 

Having lost any notion of time, suddenly Jimin sees something. A light. That means... his eyes must have been open the whole time already. The light is too blinding to see, so Jimin’s brain pieces together another surprising piece of information: he is definitely not lying in his bed - as he assumed. He is standing. But where?

 

“This one...” he hears a female voice say: “...and this one.”

 

“How can you even tell them apart? They all look the same.” a different female voice sighs.

 

“Mom!” the first voice whines.

 

It’s like looking out of a floor-to-ceiling window... but there is a giant in front of his window... a girl-giant. And then he’s moving. No, it’s not actually him that’s moving: he is being moved. Fingertips appear at the edge of the window and he sees the world fly by... giant teddy bears, giant stuffed lions and tigers, Barbie dolls.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he thinks he also caught sight of that pretty herringbone pattern jacket Hoseok wore for the Idol MV shoot... or was it Yoongi? Anyway that must have been an optical illusion, since the world in his vision is wobbling and flying by.

 

The only constant is the giant face of that damn girl appearing with a weird smile as she looks at him. Jimin is reminded of that scene with Godzilla and the girl... but in this case he can’t even scream and flail his arms at the giant kidnapping him. He can’t do shit.

 

His own, fast breath sounds loud in his ears. The world outside has become a little darker and stiller again. He tries to make out what’s in front of him... legs. Long legs. Normal sized - not giant sized - legs. The pattern of the pants looks vaguely familiar: a 70s inspired honeycomb pattern in pale turquoise.

 

Jimin wonders why his brain sees patterns from their Idol suits everywhere today... does the dread manifest in those ridiculous patterns dancing in front of his eyes like white spots? But then he realizes he also sees the patterns closer - as in: on him. He is wearing something with the same ethno pattern as his Idol suit. Only the fabric is wrong: it’s cheap, shiny polyester instead of heavy, matte cotton.

 

Like dice tumbling on a casino table, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fall into place in Jimin’s mind: Idol suits, Barbie dolls, the stiff legs in the suit... it can’t be.

 

<Namjoon!>

 

Jimin silent-shouts the first thought in his brain making sense again, because now he recognized the pattern of the pants in front of him.

 

<Ji-Jimin?>

 

Jimin hears his hyung’s voice - it’s him, he is 100% sure. Namjoon can help him. No, he will help him!

 

<Hyung, hyung! I’m here! Help me, please! I can’t move.>

 

<Jimin, hold on. Is that you? Ah... there you are. In the box below me. Anyone else there!?! Hello!?! Guys???>

 

<Hyung, shut up and help me! I said I can’t move!>

 

Jimin knows he can’t talk - least alone scream - but somehow Namjoon hears him. The breathless, uncertain quality in his voice manages to freak him out even more than he already is.

 

<Jimin... I can’t either...>

 

The younger immediately and passionately hates the resignation and fear in Namjoon’s voice. He hears his own voice break in desperation:

 

<H-hyung. What do you mean?>

 

<Oh Jimin, this has to be a nightmare...it just has to be.>

 

Namjoon sounds like he is talking to himself - like he is not believing that Jimin is somewhere close by and needing help. Or worse even: like he is not believing Jimin is real. And Jimin is just confused and horrified.

 

It gets worse when the giant fingertips are back - and the face of the giant girl. Jimin feels his inside shake in fear, but outwardly he remains still like a statue. But it gets even worse - it gets worse for two reasons:

 

One: the window and the walls around him disappear. He slides out of them and then the giant fingers hover closer. They unfasten the wire holding his legs and waist and then they close in on his shoulders... Jimin screams from the top of his lungs, because the fingers will crush him. They will break every bone in his body, squish his body like a bug. No sound comes from his mouth. No sound comes from his bones. It feels like a miracle that the giant fingers don’t pulverize his bones as he is lifted into the air.

 

Two: as he flies, he sees Namjoon. Namjoon is not Namjoon. Namjoon is a doll. The RM doll. They had seen pictures at company meetings and then the prototypes of the real dolls a few months ago at Bang PDnim’s office. They decided not to speak about them as Barbie dolls, but Mattel dolls. Still. Namjoon is a fucking Barbie doll in a box. And there is an empty box next to him - which means Jimin is also a fucking Barbie doll.

 

Jimin tries to compute, but his mind goes blank. He’s exhausted from the constant, pitch-black, clawing fear. His brain just doesn’t have what it takes to understand this. Him and Namjoon are dolls. This is not how he imagined his career to end. He always imagined they would fight and break up. Or be wrapped up in a scandal and disband. Or just fizzle out like a light bulb at the end of its lifespan. Or he would get injured and have to quit. Or die in a car accident caused by crazy sasaengs. Or one day decide it was simply enough like Taemin’s hyung did. No, that was not very likely. It would be more likely that one of the countless planes they took crashed.

 

What he never imagined, though, was that the end of BTS and the end of his career would be him and Namjoon turning into dolls. Dolls purchased by a fangirl. Jimin takes a look at the girl as she frees Namjoon from his box. She could be 12, 13 maybe, but he’s never been good at guessing age. Straight, blonde hair, but otherwise unremarkable, really. She’s neither pretty nor ugly. She could be nice and kind - or she could be a school bully.

 

She seems to be a fan, however. Jimin can tell, because he’s seen the starry eyes and the enamored smile countless times in front of him during concerts. The Chimmy headband, the Persona albums and the half a dozen BTS posters on her wall are more than telltale, too.

 

If only he could move! It sends nasty shivers down his spine every time her giant fingers reach for him to turn his head this way and that way, to lift an arm, to bend a knee or to fold him until he sits down. He is still afraid she will break him, but surprisingly none of the touches or movements hurt.

 

Jimin also learns that although he can’t move on his own or make any real noise, he can communicate with Namjoon. When he tries to speak Namjoon hears him. And he hears the elder although his face is an impassive facade and he does not open his mouth to speak. The girl, in contrast, can’t hear them.

 

She turns on Idol and grips each of them in one hand, making them bounce up and down in an attempt to recreate the choreography. The girl sings along, butchering the words with an American accent:

 

“I do what I do, geunikka neon neona jalhashyeo. You can’t stop me lovin’ myself”

 

She doesn’t hear how Jimin teases his hyung despite the deep shit they are in:

 

<Hyung, I know you’re sometimes stiff when you dance - but today marks your new low.>

 

<You’re not doing any better than me today.> Namjoon deadpans.

 

Both of them chuckle and Jimin doesn’t even want to imagine how much worse he would feel if he were alone in this situation without the reassurance and cleverness of their leader. His presence somehow makes it more bearable. After all, Jimin lately had felt like they were not spending enough time together just the two of them - he had caught himself missing Namjoon even though they saw each other every day at the dorm and for work.

 

He knows the direction his thoughts are twisting... and he decides he doesn’t want to go there today. The giant, however, picks up exactly where Jimin normally shuts off his thoughts for the sake of their friendship, their work relationship and - ultimately - their career. Jimin suddenly hates and fears the girl a thousand times more.

 

She lowly mumbles, putting words into their mouths as she moves them to stand in front of each other:

 

“Jiminie...”

 

<It’s Jimin-ah if you talk to him directly. Jimin-ie is when you talk about him.> Namjoon lectures, but it’s in vain as she doesn’t hear.

 

“... can you help me with this move? I just can’t seem to get it right.”

 

“Yes, of course, hyung.”

 

She brings Jimin’s arm forward to place it on Namjoon’s biceps.

 

“You’ve really been working out lately, hyung. You’re so buff.”

 

“Ha-ha. Don’t say that, Jiminie...”

 

<Jimin-ah!> Namjoon and Jimin correct in unison.

 

“...you’re making me blush.”

 

The giant giggles after speaking these words for Namjoon. She moves Jimin’s hand deeper, brushing the elder’s hand before letting it rest on his hip. Then she imitates Jimin’s high, melodic voice:

 

“Your hips... they are too stiff. You need to do some exercise.”

 

Jimin snorts at that weird line, but Namjoon’s eyes suddenly look uneasy as he addresses the younger:

 

<Jimin-ah. Even though that does sound like you, I don’t think I like where this girl is going...>

 

She speaks for Namjoon: “Yeah? I know a good exercise for my hips: to fuck you.”

 

Jimin’s eyes widen in shock and he feels all the blood drain from his face as the girl moves them closer. Absentmindedly, he hears Joon mumble no, no, no! as his face comes closer and closer and closer. The lines of his eyes, nose and lips blur when they come too close to focus.

 

He feels fingers twist and angle his head, then the distance between their faces disappears and he senses Namjoon’s lips on top of his. To his surprise, they don’t feel like plastic. They are warm and soft like real lips. Like Namjoon’s lips - his beautiful, thick lips. And it feels like a real kiss as their lips move against each other, nice and slow.

 

All of a sudden, there is a noise from the door and Jimin recognizes the lower female voice from the shop:

 

”Amy, dinner is ready!”

 

“Mom!!! I told you to knock a million times!” the daughter screeches in rage.

 

Jimin lands face first on the carpet - the prickly green fibers feeling much more unpleasant than Joon’s lips - as the girl flings both of them to the floor in an attempt to hide what she was doing.

 

Before she stomps out of her room with angry steps, Amy leaves the two dolls leaning against the head of her bed. Silence falls. Jimin is trying to process what just happened - and what might happen once she comes back to play with them. A heavy feeling of helplessness and despair expands in his tummy, but he also feels the shame hot in his cheeks because he just kissed Namjoon. And - outer circumstances aside - he didn’t dislike it at all.

 

A groan from Namjoon rips him from his thoughts: he watches as the doll slowly topples like a chopped down tree until lying flat on the mattress.

 

<Oh fucking great.> Namjoon sounds ashamed and mad.

 

He can’t control his movements and the girl placed him standing up haphazardly, so now he’ll just have to lie here until she comes back and has the mercy to make him stand up again. Jimin, however, can’t help but chuckle at the seeming clumsiness of his hyung.

 

<Don’t laugh. This sucks.>

 

<Sorry hyung, you just looked funny falling. Standing up and not being able to move a muscle is not much fun either...>

 

Jimin swallows before adding in a quiet voice: <I’m sorry for that earlier.>

 

<Me too, I’m sorry. I mean it’s not like we had a choice - she made us kiss.>

 

Namjoon’s voice is quiet, too. It sounds consoling and familiar in this weird world they are suddenly plunged into. Jimin really feels thankful that he’s not alone - and thankful that it’s Joonie who is here with him. This whole situation scares him shitless, but it’s a little more bearable thanks to his hyung.

 

<I’m scared of her coming back.> Jimin mumbles.

 

Out of the blue they hear a female voice - unfamiliar, yet sounding more like when the two of them speak in their doll-voice between them than the voices of the humans.

 

<You’ll get used to her.>

 

Jimin looks around and she speaks again: <Up here on the shelf, pretty boy.>

 

<Where?> Namjoon asks, because he can’t see from where he is lying like a log.

 

Jimin finds her sitting on the shelf. A Barbie doll. Dark bob cut and pouty mouth.

 

<I’m Becky. Well, I used to be Becky at least. Amy cut my hair short and started calling me Min Yoonji a few months ago when she became a BTS fan.>

 

<I’m Park Jimin. And this one lying here is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, she really looks like Yoongi when he dressed as a girl for Run BTS.>

 

<Really? Nice to meet you Yoonji. So our Amy here is an ARMY?>

 

<Yeah, she’s completely obsessed with you guys. And with fanfics.>

 

<Fanfics?> Jimin almost chokes on the word while Namjoon just groans again.

 

Of course they know what fanfics are. During one of their counseling sessions, Jimin’s psychologist even talked to him about how he felt about that phenomenon. Admittedly, it was disconcerting to know that thousands of people use him as inspirations for their stories - to know he is the protagonist in thousands of drabbles of porn.

 

Jimin never had the curiosity to read any after once initial encounter left him disgusted a when they were still rookies. He knows, though, that their curious and thorough leader Namjoon every now and then looks into them, because he always wants to have a vague idea of what ARMYs are up to.

 

Yoonji speaks up again: <Yes. You know... she’s not a bad kid, but lately she’s been playing a little rough. I think the whole puberty thing is hitting her really hard.>

 

A nasty, sticky lump of uneasiness forms in Jimin’s throat. Yoonji continues to sound unbothered and clearly happy to meet the two newcomers:

 

<Anyway, I’m sure we’ll have the chance to play together soon. I’m looking forward to that. She only has two male dolls, Ken and Aladdin, and they were getting a little bit boring already. But you two look like fun.>

 

<Oh god, how do we get out of this?> Namjoon groans, because he has a clear idea what Yoonji is hinting at.

 

The giant girl appears again and closes the door behind her. Jimin feels panic rise in his chest. He had hoped dinner would buy them more time. The Persona album on play, she takes her two new dolls to sit down on the carpet, humming along. Her attention is on Jimin, making his skin break out in goosebumps from the idolizing stare. He feels nauseous when she whispers Jiminie as the pad of her index finger grossly swipes across his plush, pouty doll lips.

 

<No, no! Don’t! Stop it!> Jimin whimpers.

 

Amy starts undressing him and he is beyond embarrassed - he wants to puke when her fingers graze his bare skin. She hums along with Boy With Luv as she picks some doll clothes from a box and dresses Jimin again: black slacks and a silver lurex tank top that sits ridiculously tight, because it’s a woman’s top. She completes the look with a black choker before gently brushing his hair.

 

“Pretty.” she beams at him, clearly satisfied with her styling.

 

Jimin internally squirms. He relaxes a bit when she changes the playlist and makes him dance to Dimple, trying to mentally teleport himself back to when he performed that song on stage for Muster. He goes through the choreography in his head to distract himself, but then suddenly Namjoon is behind him, glued to his back.

 

“Hi, pretty.” she makes the elder say.

 

<I’m sorry, Jimin.> the elder sounds apologetic and uncomfortable against Jimin’s ear.

 

<No worries, hyung.> he pretends to be fine even though his mind is reeling with all the horror scenarios that his new life consists of.

 

Amy raises Jimin’s arms to clumsily wrap them around Namjoon’s head and places the elder’s hands on Jimin’s hips. It surprises Jimin again: it feels real. It feels like he is leaning against a real, warm and solid body, soft hair tickling his bare arms and secure, large palms bracketing his hips.

 

The girl speaks for RM: “What’s a gorgeous little omega doing all alone here on the dancefloor - smelling like going into heat?”

 

<Oh god, no.>

 

The real Namjoon sounds horrified and disgusted - it freaks Jimin out, because although he doesn’t understand, Namjoon must know something... and it can’t be anything good.

 

<H-hyung? What? Don’t scare me, please.>

 

<Jimin-ah... I’m sorry.>

 

There is too much distress in his voice - it alarms Jimin.

 

<Now you’re even scaring me more than before.>

 

As their bodies are pressed together in a slow dance, the elder explains the alpha-omega universe in a few words and Jimin’s mind goes blank. It’s disturbing and disgusting... yet if he were not about to be the helpless protagonist of this kind of story, he might be able see the forbidden appeal behind those twisted, archaic dynamics.

 

Namjoon’s lips on his neck wake him from his musings as he hears Amy say in a poor imitation of his pouty voice:

 

“ ’m not. My heat is not due until next week.”

 

She switches to RM: “But I can smell it on you, little omega. Let me take you home and help you through it. I’ll be the best you ever had.”

 

Her Jimin-voice sounds bitchy: “Fuck off, I can take care of myself.”

 

The younger immediately misses the other’s comforting body warmth when she separates the two dolls. Jimin dances to the first few beats of Pied Piper - if you can call that hopping up and down in Amy’s grip dancing. Then he apparently starts walking, walking out of the club towards home.

 

“Hi again, pretty.”

 

She makes RM appear from the side and crowd into Jimin’s personal space - making his heart jump, because it managed to startle him.

 

Continuing in her RM-voice she moves them closer: “You have two choices, sweet-cheeks: either you follow me home like the pretty, docile omega you are. Or I’ll make you come home with me.”

 

Jimin stares at his hyung’s face with dread. The impassiveness of the plastic features only adds to his fear - but he thinks he sees his dread reflected in his eyes.

 

<I’m sorry, Jimin.> he sounds bitter.

 

<You can stop saying that, hyung. It’s not like you can do anything about it.>

 

Then he feels being bent and thrown over the elder’s shoulder. They walk until they apparently arrive at their destination, even though they are still in the middle of the room on the carpet. Amy says for RM:

 

“I locked the door and nobody will hear you scream... I bet you’ll be really loud and sound really pretty when I do you.”

 

Jimin feels the fear prickling under his skin, but to defy it he huffs: <Are girls her age seriously reading rape fantasies?>

 

<You never read any of those fanfics?>

 

<No. Why would I. It’s just sick and twisted. Plus, her lines sound lame.>

 

<You’re right... maybe it’s better...>

 

It sounds like Namjoon is not finishing his thought on purpose. It makes Jimin break out in cold sweat, because can it get any worse than this?

 

<Hyung, she’s just playing, right? She’s not gonna make us actually do it?> he sounds insecure and pleading for reassurance.

 

<I really hope so, Jimin-ah.>

 

Namjoon’s voice is gentle, but instead of comforting him, it makes Jimin just want to jump right out of his skin - or better said: out of this plastic prison of a doll body - and disappear.

 

“So what’s your name, baby? I’m Namjoon, but you can call me daddy.”

 

“Fuck off. Let me out.” her impersonation of Jimin sounds bitchy again.

 

Suddenly Jimin’s left cheek stings and his head whips around. She had raised Namjoon’s hand to slap him hard. It leaves him dumbfounded, so it’s difficult to understand what Amy is saying for doll-Namjoon and what the real Namjoon is saying to him:

 

“You’re crying... you look pretty when you cry. Gonna make sure to make you cry while I fuck you real good.”

 

<Of fuck! Sorry! Sorry, Jimin, I’m so sorry!>

 

But as Namjoon rambles, his hand grabs Jimin’s jaw to hold him in place while Amy says:

 

“Let’s try again, petal. Name?”

 

“Ji-Jimin” the girl whines high-pitched.

 

“Jimin. Such a pretty name. Now let’s start with the fun part. Clothes off.” Amy imitates an assertive, lusting Namjoon that doesn’t sound like Namjoon at all.

 

She strips Jimin while the elder stays fully clothed in his original suit. Jimin just wants the ground to swallow him as he feels both her and Namjoon’s eyes on his naked body. But instead of the ground opening, her fingers spin him around and suddenly he feels Namjoon’s hot breath tickle the small of his back.

 

<Hyung, no...> his voice sounds weak and wet, because now really tears start clinging to his lashes.

 

<Sorry, I’m so sorry, Jimin.> there is sincere regret in Namjoon’s voice.

 

<I know. I’m sorry, too.>

 

Jimin tries to clench his thighs together, but Amy spreads them. Then he feels the elder’s nose bump against his bum. Amy speaks for him:

 

“Your slick smells so good. And you’re wet for me already.”

 

<W-what? My what?>

 

<That’s... it’s a thing in those male-male alpha-omega fics. The ass of an omega gets wet like the pussy of a girl when she’s turned on.>

 

Namjoon tries to sound matter-of-factly, but Jimin can hear the embarrassment in his tone as he continues:

 

<And I don’t know why, but you... you also seem to...>

 

Before Jimin can reply he squeaks, because he feels a hand reach between his legs, fingers dragging along his crack. He tries to squirm away from the touch in vain. But he also feels it: the fingers glide through something slick coating his skin between his cheeks. It hits him that the strange floral scent - a bit like that soft, flowery fabric softener Jungkook likes so much - radiates from him.

 

<This can’t be really happening. Hyung, make this stop, please.>

 

<Shit, Jimin-ah. I’m so sorry. I want this to stop, too. It’s a nightmare. I’m sorry.>

 

A tiny part of his brain bristles at Namjoon calling touching his ass a nightmare, so he bites back:

 

<Stop saying you’re sorry. I get it. You’ve said it enough times.>

 

<Sorry.>

 

Jimin squeaks scandalized once more when Amy bends his torso forward and shoves Namjoon’s face against his ass.

 

“Taste good, too.”

 

He shivers at her words and the feeling of Namjoon’s hot, wet tongue licking a stripe across his hole. He feels so humiliated and ashamed. He really feels like he is going to cry when the tongue is replaced by one of Namjoon’s long fingers entering him, pushing in with some difficulty, because he is so tense despite the wet glide of that weird slick that is coating his entrance.

 

Amy’s lewd imitation of RM doesn’t help either: “Gonna open you up for me, baby.”

 

Namjoon’s uncomfortable groan doesn’t help either: <Oh my god, I’m sorry! I-I don’t want...>

 

Then the finger is gone and Jimin hears faint rustling of clothes. She must be taking Namjoon’s clothes off, he thinks. Something in the elder must have flicked a switch: instead of just babbling a flustered sorry like a broken record, he now sounds like his brain is working again as he talks to Jimin in the familiar fast, determined way - a little like his mouth is too slow for the speed of the thoughts of his 148 IQ:

 

<Jimin. Do you trust me?>

 

<Hm? Yeah?>

 

<Focus. This is important: do you trust me?>

 

The level-headedness in his voice makes Jimin’s brain kick back in, allowing him to concentrate instead of drowning in his fear and shame. He sounds secure when he answers:

 

<Yes. Of course. I always trust you.>

 

<Good. So you have to know that I never - understand: never ever - want to hurt you in any way. I would never do anything against your will. I would never do anything like that if I was myself. But I’m not. I’m a fucking plastic doll and we’re both at the mercy of this perverted girl.>

 

Jimin tries to nod in understanding, forgetting that he can’t move his head on his own. The elder continues with seriousness:

 

<You need to tell me: when I touch you does it feel like plastic?>

 

Jimin gets what he means. His cheeks feel hot from mortal embarrassment, but he negates:

 

<No. Not at all. It feels real. Like your hands...>

 

He cuts himself off before adding how real Namjoon’s lips felt against his own.

 

<Damn. So it’s not just me. It feels absolutely real. That means if she really continues her play all of it will feel real.>

 

Jimin lets out a mortified whine at Namjoon’s insinuation, but he carries on:

 

<Jimin-ah, listen to me: I really don’t want to hurt you, so you’ll have to try to relax. You were clenching so hard around just one finger... I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m asking you to try to forget all this horror and try to play along. Try to think of something else... think of someone you really want to do all these things to you. Forget it’s me.>

 

Namjoon’s monologue gets more and more rushed towards the end, because Amy started bending Jimin’s legs and arms in shape, leaving him on hands and knees on the floor, before also bending his legs and reaching his arms out to grab the younger’s hips. All that Jimin can add before he feels Namjoon’s warm skin against his own - and his hot erection - is:

 

<OK.>

 

Jimin immediately forgets that he didn’t like how Namjoon suggested he should imagine someone else in his place, because the panic threatens to take over again. The other feels so big and Jimin is sure that it is a very, very bad idea to shove something that big up his ass without proper preparation. But he imagines Amy doesn’t know or - more probably - doesn’t care.

 

Relief washes over him like a soothing wave when he feels Namjoon’s fingers again even though it burns a little when he pushes two in. The girl is making him thrust them into Jimin harshly, but Namjoon’s voice is gentle and calming:

 

<Shhhh, it’s OK, Jimin-ah. Breathe out slowly and try to relax. That’s it. Just like that.>

 

Amy’s words are a filthy contrast to Namjoon’s: “Fuck, such a tight little ass. Gonna wreck you, little omega.”

 

“Yes alpha. Give it to me. Give me your cock.”

 

But Jimin tries to ignore her cringe-worthy lines - it’s not even that hard when Namjoon crooks his fingers and hits his sweet spot, making him gasp for air. He hears Namjoon hum softly behind him, content with his discovery. He gives that little bundle of nerves some extra attention and Jimin squirms internally. It feels too intense, sparking a fire inside him.

 

He misses the fingers inside him as soon as they are gone. Instead, the hard length of the elder grinds against his ass before the warm, blunt head catches on his rim. Namjoon feels huge. It makes Jimin tense when he senses the pressure increase. The hardness doesn’t care about the resistance - Jimin feels it pressing in with steely determination. It’s uncomfortable, making him tense even more. A small, pained noise vibrates in his throat.

 

<Jimin-ah. Focus for me. Focus on breathing.>

 

Namjoon’s voice sounds strained, but it has an effect on Jimin:

 

<Breathe with me, OK? Slowly in... good. Now breathe out slowly and relax.>

 

It works. Jimin tries his best and feels the slide getting easier although it burns. The burn is hot, but the sweat on his back is icy cold when Namjoon bottoms out. Jimin groans and Namjoon is quick to try to soothe him:

 

<You OK? Doing so well, Jimin-ah. Don’t forget to breathe. In and out slowly as you make your muscles relax.>

 

However, slow is not a concept in Amy’s playtime: she separates the two dolls a little just to crash them against each other again. She sets a fast, hard rhythm - punishing rhythm would be the right fanfic jargon.

 

Jimin hisses, because he lacked precious time to get accustomed to the stretch - Namjoon drilling into him mercilessly stings like a bitch:

 

<Fuck. Joon!>

 

<Shit, I’m sorry!> his voice is a little breathless, but he tries to sound composed and genuinely concerned.

 

The girl makes him say: “Holy fuck, so tight. Gonna be all loose and sloppy when I’m done rearranging your guts.”

 

Jimin’s body is jostled by the powerful thrusts - but thankfully the human body is a wonderfully resilient thing and gradually he grows used to the thick girth splitting his ass in half. The stretch no longer painful, yet the feeling of utter fullness still makes it hard to breathe. Namjoon is big, after all. And Jimin likes big.

 

When Jimin doesn’t pay attention for a second, the thought that Namjoon fills him perfectly flits through his head and makes him moan before he can stop himself. Namjoon stopped talking a while ago, so luckily he doesn’t comment Jimin’s noise either. He just breathes harder behind Jimin as he pounds into him.

 

Amy bends the alpha, pressing his torso against Jimin’s back until his arms give out and his cheek is squished against the carpet. She growls like an alpha:

 

“Mine.”

 

She makes the omega sob: “Not yours.”

 

“I’ll make you mine. I’ll mark you up to show the world who you belong to - me. I’ll pump you so full of cum everyone will smell you’re mine.”

 

Namjoon groans in disgust, but Jimin gasps and fights for air like a fish on land: the other’s cock is buried deep, impossibly deep inside him and the new angle makes his tip ram against his prostate. His vision blackens at the edges as his brain turns to useless pulp.

 

He can’t think around the huge sponge of pleasure expanding in his body. It’s overwhelming. He knows it’s wrong for it to feel so good - but here he is pressed into the floor getting fucked more thoroughly than ever before. He feels so hot like he’s running a fever that clouds his head. He feels small and helpless, but filled so all-encompassing. He feels so used, but he would let Joon use him any way he pleases and still thank him for it.

 

His mind is fogged, yet he mumbles: <J-joon. Right there. Feels good.>

 

<Feels good, darling? Here?> he hits home on purpose and Jimin gasps.

 

Namjoon continues with affectionate awe in his voice despite the strain: <Want to be good for you... you deserve only the best. And you feel... feel so amazing, Jimin-ah.>

 

Jimin feels the elder’s lips on his back, trailing wet kisses up to his shoulders and neck. They become more harsh as Namjoon ups his rhythm. More than kisses, Jimin knows he is marking him with red and purple splotches everywhere. He shivers when he feels Namjoon’s teeth sink into the soft, giving flesh of his shoulder.

 

Amy supplies: “Your porcelain skin looks so good all marked as mine.”

 

The bites hurts, but in a good way - they make Jimin’s cock twitch. Only now, he realizes he is fully hard, cock rubbing pathetically against the carpet every time his body is moved with Namjoon’s thrusts. It’s too much - again - but at least this way he is not able to think. All he is able to do is feel. And it fucking feels glorious.

 

A particular hard bite on his sensitive neck makes him yelp in pain as Amy imitates his voice:

 

“Alpha. I’m yours. Take me. Claim me. Make me your slut.”

 

<Sorry.> Namjoon whispers in a hot puff against his skin.

 

<Don’t be.> Jimin whispers back and wishes he could kiss him now.

 

Instead, Amy separates their bodies without care, making Jimin wince at the sudden loss. She twists and turns them into a new position, making Namjoon stand and Jimin wraps his legs and arms around him like a koala.

 

<Sorry, I’m heavy.> Jimin mutters and avoids his hyung’s eyes, his cheeks burning with shame.

 

<You’re not. Don’t apologize.>

 

It’s a good thing their doll bodies don’t religiously follow the laws of gravitation, because Namjoon holds Jimin easily. They both groan when Jimin sinks back down on Namjoon’s length. The younger still doesn’t dare to meet his hyung’s eyes, but when he does his heart races from the look of adoration and arousal in his otherwise impassive doll face.

 

Jimin really, really wants to kiss those plush lips. He wants to litter his face with kisses, starting with that absolutely endearing dimple that even his doll face has. But he can’t move his head to reach the other’s lips. He can only start to move himself up and down Namjoon’s cock as Amy’s large hand guides him to meet his thrusts. The pace is nowhere near tender: it’s even harder and faster than earlier.

 

If the visual of them desperately clinging to each other while fucking like wild animals is just half as pornographic as it feels, it should make Jimin embarrassed down to the bone. There’s a wet squelch adding to the obscenity of it all every time Namjoon slams into him and distantly in the back of his mind, Jimin wonders if Amy can hear it - or just the two of them.

 

The drag of Namjoon’s cock inside him - almost pulling out completely every time just to bury himself deep and hard - is driving Jimin insane with how good it feels. It feels like reaching his brain, making him forget every attempt at decency in front of his leader as he starts moaning loud and uninhibited each time his ass smacks against Namjoon’s sweaty skin.

 

He doesn’t really have it in him to pay Amy’s stilted words much attention as she growls:

 

“Fuck, you sound so pretty bouncing on my cock.”

 

He does, however, perk up in alertness when Namjoon whispers low - almost too low to understand:

 

<You really do.>

 

The praise washes hotly over his skin, making him whimper. He manages to open his eyes with difficulty and finds Namjoon studying his face with dark eyes. He holds his intense gaze, feeling how it makes something akin to immense satisfaction because of the unmasked want in the elder’s look.

 

But then he senses something else - something that his brain doesn’t come to terms with: Namjoon grows. He’s loose enough to fully enjoy the elder’s thick girth pulling out, pushing in - however it feels like he is getting even thicker, stretching Jimin even more.

 

Amy whispers in the alpha’s voice: “I’m gonna knot you and you’re gonna take my knot like a good little cockslut.”

 

Namjoon groans - it’s pleasure mixed with pain. He catches the confusion in Jimin’s eyes and explains, breath hot and labored against the younger’s cheek:

 

<Tha-that’s another fanfic thing. Knotting. The base of the alpha’s p-penis swells and locks the bodies together.>

 

<Sh-shit.>

 

<Yes.>

 

Jimin doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to feel. He hates it - passionately hates what the girl is putting him through. But he also loves it - Namjoon is fucking him silly. Namjoon. The person he always felt guilty to be fantasizing about, because he deserved better than to be a secret jerk off fantasy. And he feels... he makes him feel so much that Jimin is completely overwhelmed.

 

It’s too intense how that weird swelling is stretching his walls, catching on his rim. He’s sensitive from being used too rashly, so it’s a lot to handle. But at the same time that glaze of pain covering the pleasure turns Jimin on. He was only vaguely aware of this side of him before - but the feeling doesn’t compare to anything he ever experienced before.

 

He sobs when the sensation gets too much to contain - he feels like his brain will evaporate from all the heat he feels in every cell of his abused body. The pleasure is mixing with all that heat - it radiates and pulses. But it’s the beautiful affection in Namjoon’s hoarse, wrecked voice that seals the deal:

 

<Shhh... doing so well, darling. Just a little more.>

 

Jimin feels every fiber inside the confines of his body tighten and vibrate and he lets out a broken cry when he plunges over the edge, shooting hot, white semen between their bellies - the high powerful enough to whiten out his entire mind for a second.

 

He’s not really there when Namjoon’s knot gets nearly too big to fit anymore. Jimin doesn’t have the strength to even whimper when the elder forces it into him one last time before his hips still. Yet, he feels like floating on fluffy, white clouds once Namjoon is completely buried inside him and Amy twists their heads until the elder’s lips are on top of his.

 

His lips feel heavenly. They are warm and plush - and finally within his reach. But all that Jimin is capable of doing is opening his mouth, because Namjoon licks against his tongue and teeth desperately as he grinds tight little circles against Jimin’s ass. Jimin whimpers from overstimulation, but the elder groans into his mouth as he shivers through his high.

 

Their lips move more lazy, tongues brushing gently. Namjoon hums deep and sated - it makes Jimin’s lips quirk into a tiny smile, because it’s cute, really. Then he winces in pain, because Amy roughly lets them topple to the ground: Namjoon is crushing Jimin’s body underneath him and the knot locked inside him is jostling uncomfortably.

 

<Sorry.> Namjoon whispers against his lips.

 

<Ouch.> Jimin whines, but gifts the elder with a small, warm smile.

 

They don’t pay any attention to the girl swearing: “Fuck, you’re the perfect cum-dumpster. I’m gonna keep you and fuck your pretty hole over and over again until you forget your own name.”

 

Their lips connect again. It feels intimate how they are tangled up and pressed close. Jimin sighs contented at the sensation of connectedness. He’s blissed out of his mind and wants nothing more than to kiss and cuddle until he falls asleep with Namjoon as his personal heavy, warm blanket and snug butt plug.

 

Later, when Amy is asleep, they are both dressed in their Idol suits again and lie on the mattress next to her head. She arranged Namjoon to be the big spoon with an arm thrown over Jimin’s middle. It’s more than Jimin could ask for - still, it feels not enough. He feels empty and needs Namjoon to kiss him and stroke his head. But all they can do is lie lifelessly still.

 

Jimin thinks about what just happened - what will happen next if this is really his new life as a doll from now on. He feels sorry for himself suddenly. It’s a clammy feeling of helplessness and despair and makes his eyes water.

 

Namjoon picks up the sound even though he tried to hide the tiny bursts of wet sniffles. His voice is low and full of concern:

 

<Jimin-ah. I’m sorry. I really am. Don’t cry, please.>

 

The elder adds in a small voice: <I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am I hurt you.>

 

<Tha-that’s not it, hyung. I just... I just feel sad and scared. I could use a hug...>

 

Jimin inhales shakily before continuing to whisper: <I’m sorry, I know I sound clingy. It’s stupid, really... but I really need a hug and a kiss to feel less... less empty.>

 

The compassion and tender care in Namjoon’s words are like a gentle caress on the younger’s skin:

 

<Darling, you know I would if I could. I would take care of you so well and treat you like a prince...>

 

Jimin feels himself relax listening to his hyung. It sounds like a fairytale as he continues:

 

<I would shower you with hugs and cuddles and kisses. I would very gently, very carefully clean you up amidst kisses to every inch of your beautiful, warm skin. I would wrap my arms around you, making you feel secure and loved. I would kiss the top of your head and hold you close. I would worship your lips and cheeks and nose and eyebrows and eyelashes with kisses - oh! and the little moles on your forehead: I would kiss them, too, while tenderly brushing your hair away.>

 

Jimin hums pleased at the thought. He tries to conjure the images vividly enough to feel the warmth of Namjoon’s lips and hands on his skin. The elder adds with reverence in his tone:

 

<And just when you would be close to pushing me away from smothering you with all my affection I would run us a bath, so you could relax in the hot water while I gently clean you and give you a scalp massage as I wash your hair. Then I would wrap you in a huge, soft towel and take you to bed like a little burrito.>

 

Jimin chuckles. Namjoon is adorable. And Jimin believes every word he says. He can totally picture Namjoon taking care of his partner like this after sex. Jimin just wishes it could be him. He continues to listen:

 

<Then I would actually kick Hobi out and make him sleep on the couch, so we could crawl under your clean sheets, because - remember - we made a mess of my bed.>

 

This picture has Jimin crack up in laughter, making Namjoon snicker along. Warmth spreads under Jimin’s skin comfortably. He pushes away his earlier thought of someone else being the recipient of Namjoon’s after care - instead he dreams big. He dreams of being the one. He falls asleep with a small smile on his face.

 

 

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

 

 

When he wakes it’s dark. Jimin sucks in a sudden, upset breath as he sits up abruptly. He blinks and tries to make out his surroundings. His mind has the fuzzy speed of a sloth, but relief washes over him as he realizes he is back in his room. He is able to move every muscle in his body as he pleases. The sleeping figure of Hoseok in the bed next to him is familiar.

 

It was a dream. A nightmare. But - oh boy! - what a nightmare! He shakes his head as if to shake away the spider webs of the horrors still clinging to him. But when he shifts in bed he winces: he is sore. Horribly sore. The pain shoots up his ass like razor blades.

 

Was it really a dream? What did he do before going to bed? Definitely nothing that would explain the pain radiating from his core. That kind of pain only has one possible explanation. Confusion makes him pout and draw his eyebrows together.

 

Carefully, he gets out of bed and pads out of the room barefoot. He is sore, thirsty and puzzled. His plan is to combat the first two problems with painkillers and water before starting to think about the third one.

 

Jimin drowns the little white pill with water in front of the open fridge, then he refills his glass. As he walks back towards his room, he passes Namjoon’s bedroom. The door is cracked and soft light is filtering into the hallway. He stops briefly, but decides to continue walking.

 

“Jimin-ah?”

 

His hyung’s voice makes him stop in his tracks. It sounds the same as in his dream. The elder appears at the door and his face is guarded and unreadable. He asks:

 

“Can’t sleep either? Care to come in?”

 

Sudden nervousness prickles on Jimin’s skin like needles. Part of him wants to run away when he thinks of Namjoon’s role in his lewd dream. But part of him wants to see the real Namjoon in flesh and blood just because of his role in his lewd dream. He restlessly shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

 

It’s the warm light in Namjoon’s gaze on him that finally makes Jimin nod and slip into his hyung’s room. Out of habit, he heads for the bed and plops down. The sudden sting shooting up from his butt reminds him to be more careful next time as he tries to mask the flicker of pain running over his features. He reclines on the bed in search for a more comfortable position.

 

Namjoon regards him intently as he asks:

 

“Are you all right? It looked like you’re limping?”

 

A blush creeps up Jimin’s face: “Um. N-no. I’m fine. Just got up because I had a nightmare.”

 

“Hmmm, really.” the elder hums, studying him.

 

As many times before, Jimin feels like Namjoon can look right past his act - like he can look directly into his soul. But before he can start to squirm uncomfortably, the other’s features soften and he sits next to Jimin with a small smile.

 

“I had a nightmare too.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. It was pretty realistic.”

 

Jimin searches his face for a clue that they are talking about the same thing - even though he doesn’t know what he would do with that information.

 

“Mine too.” the younger supplies lowly and looks away.

 

“Scary?”

 

“Kind of. Yeah.” he looks back and right into Namjoon’s kind eyes.

 

Those eyes read Jimin’s face: they see the hesitation pinching his brows, the confusion curling his lips and the dilemma coloring his cheeks. They read him like an open book until Namjoon softly inquires:

 

“An ARMY called Amy?”

 

“H-how do you know?”

 

“’Cause I dreamt the same.” he says simply.

 

Namjoon’s words are simple, but they knock the air from Jimin’s lungs. A wave of shame rolls over him hotly, so he lets his back hit the mattress and hides his face behind his hands with a groan.

 

“Hey, hey! Don’t be embarrassed.”

 

“Oh god. So it was not only a normal nightmare.”

 

“No. It felt very… real. Are you OK? I’m really sorry, gosh, I’m so sorry for everyth...”

 

Jimin interrupts him before he can apologize for the millionth time in the past few hours:

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, you can stop apologizing. I’m just sore, but I took some painkillers.”

 

Of course Jimin is not OK. If he was confused when he woke up, Jimin is a hundred times more confused now. Especially because he essentially wants to explain to Namjoon that he doesn’t need to apologize for fucking his brains out, because he loved it and wants to repeat the experience. It makes him feel very vulnerable. Vulnerable to rejection. He bites his tongue and just listens to the gentle care in his hyung’s voice:

 

“OK. Good. Can I get you anything? Glass of water?”

 

Jimin’s mind flicks back to all the promises of after care Namjoon made before they fell asleep. But it feels like too much to ask for. He musters every bit of bravery and mumbles:

 

“I could still need a hug, really.”

 

Namjoon is quiet and pushes his jaw forward like Jimin watched him do a thousand times when the gears in his head are churning. It’s so Namjoon. After a few seconds his expression softens and he slowly and tentatively lies down next to Jimin, wiggling closer and carefully pulling him into a soft embrace as if he is afraid to break him.

 

Jimin contently snuggles closer and sighs when he feels Namjoon tighten his arms around him as he hooks his chin over the crown of Jimin’s head. He feels a bit better... but still insecure and empty. He hides his face in the elder’s broad chest, inhaling his familiar and soothing scent deeply.

 

“Better?” Namjoon asks.

 

The vibration in his chest feels nice against Jimin’s cheek, so he whispers before he can think: 

 

“Hm, yeah. Talk to me. Tell me I did well.”

 

He feels his hyung suck in a sharp break, but then he feels the reassuring purr under his cheek: 

 

“I got you, Jimin-ah. All of this must have been agonizing for you, but you did so well. You can really be proud of yourself.”

 

The sincere praise soothes Jimin’s agitated mind - so when Namjoon pauses he urges him to continue with a whine.

 

“OK, OK. You did amazing, Jimin-ah. Whoever you choose to be intimate with can call themselves lucky - you... you were so good, Jimin-ah. Beautiful. So, so beautiful... and the sounds you made? So pretty. And you felt so good. Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you this - I’m sorry, I’m overstepping a line here.”

 

Namjoon suddenly sounds uneasy and flustered - and Jimin hates it. He hates that - again - his hyung does not picture himself to be the one to be with Jimin. He feels small and miserable that Namjoon obviously does not want to be with him. But as his lips form into a pout against the other’s soft t-shirt, a thought manifests: tonight, Namjoon feels like he owes Jimin. It should be OK to shamelessly exploit that.

 

“Hyung, no, you’re not. Tell me if I’m overstepping a line when I say: I want all the things you said. You said you would take care of me after... after what we did. I... I want that. All of it.”

 

Namjoon brings some space between them to look at Jimin, gauging his expression.

 

“All of it?” he incredulously asks.

 

He looks hesitant, but not disgusted, and his hands stay firmly on Jimin’s body, so the younger determinedly nods.

 

“Wait a second... this could be a classic Stockholm syndrome?”

 

“It’s not.”

 

Jimin sounds annoyed, because how can someone as clever as Namjoon understand so little? Always overthinking things. He continues, lips pursed in a pout:

 

”It’s not the Stockholm syndrome. It’s simply… it’s bullshit when you say someone else is lucky to have me - I want all of that with you. So don’t overthink it - just shut up and kiss me.”

 

There is a rainbow of feelings in Namjoon’s pretty, dark eyes: from disbelief to realization, from relief to awe. Then they flutter closed as the distance between them shrinks until Jimin feels the other’s plush lips on top of his. They feel every bit as soft and luxurious as in his dream. The kiss stays chaste as they just savor the sensation of each other’s lips and the proximity of their bodies.

 

Namjoon’s voice is low when he breaks the kiss to bump their noses together:

 

“You mean I can smother you with kisses and cuddles until you grow tired?”

 

“I’ll never grow tired.” Jimin smiles against his lips.

 

He means it. Namjoon breaks into that wide, happy smile that makes him look like the most beautiful person in the world. Judging by the way Jimin’s cheeks reduce his eyes to slits so he can hardly enjoy the sight of Namjoon smiling, Jimin must be mirroring his brilliant, glowing smile.

 

Jimin reaches his hand out to the adorable dip of the dimple on the elder’s cheek. It’s no secret that he loves to play with his cheeks - he has started making a habit of it on stage where Joon couldn’t push him away. But now with just the two of them in bed, lying close, it suddenly feels incredibly intimate.

 

He pinches and squishes his cheek gently, watching the content expression on the other’s face. Namjoon grins as he regards the concentrated fascination on Jimin’s features. He looks a little ridiculous when Jimin creates fish lips by squeezing both cheeks towards his mouth. Yet, he manages to make the younger’s heart flutter when he says:

 

“Can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard, Jimin. Literally everyone wants you. Let me make it up to you… I’ll replace the horrible memories from that nightmare with new, better ones. I’ll treat you like you deserve. Because you deserve everything.”

 

“Deal. And then you kick Hoseok out as you promised. Because remember? We’ll have made a mess of your bed.” Jimin chuckles and pokes the elder’s cheek.

 

“But not tonight baby. You said you’re sore and we have all the time in the world.” Joon observes as he softly places a little kiss on each mole on Jimin’s forehead.

 

Jimin smiles at the pet name. He likes it. Likes it almost as much as melting in Namjoon’s embrace as they start kissing again.