HI this was supposed to be a birthday present for kayla sugaquillz but. i had midterms hell this week and greatly overestimated my ability to write while all that shit is going on, so please consider this a work in progress ><
kayla i hope you have had a lovely birthday!! and i hope you like this lmao you tweeted something like “i want someone to write me dumbification yoongi for my birthday” and i just. did it i’m sorry i hope you don’t mind that i borrowed this idea gjmdskaf;ja but for real you’re a wonderful friend and you’ve been with me here for so long and you are so kind and i’m really grateful to be able to call u my friend and...i am a disaster but i hope you enjoy this anyway!!! it is just a little token of my affection for you!!!! and i am sending u lots of love and smooches on this day hehehe
buT!! without further ado here he is:
It’s been a week since Namjoon brought it up.
He had been joking, Yoongi is more than certain. There’s no other way to interpret what Namjoon had said, a sarcastic little note about how his ultimate kink was being dumb and begging for cock. Yoongi can’t even remember the context of the conversation anymore, the sentences that had followed before and after buried completely in white noise whenever Yoongi tries to recall them. He’d completely focused on that one particular comment, that one particular idea, in the following days.
He knows Namjoon had been joking. He knows that.
He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about it.
Yoongi stares at the wall opposite the dining room table. It’s completely bare except for a sideboard — old, a little faded, probably antique and magical in some way Yoongi would never anticipate — with a single framed photo of a cityscape hung above it, perfectly centered in between two windows.
He interlocks his fingers, biting into his lower lip as he stares outside. Leaves rustle. Golden eyes glare out at him from the darkness.
He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about it.
About Namjoon — about himself, groping desperately at Namjoon’s shoulders, whine rising out of his throat as he begs. For sex, for Namjoon’s attention, for the feeling of his cock buried inside Yoongi’s body because he doesn’t know any better, can’t think beyond his own need, nothing but a body and stupid little brain within it, and —
“Hey,” Namjoon says. He taps Yoongi’s shoulder as he returns from the bathroom. His fingers are cold against Yoongi’s skin, no doubt chilly from the water he’d just washed his hands with. “What’s up?”
He takes a seat across from Yoongi, staring at him from behind big round glasses. The faded blue tips of his bangs dip below his eyebrows just far enough that the appear to be comically enlarged from behind his glasses. Yoongi resists the urge to grin. He’ll need to cut Namjoon’s hair soon.
“Nothing,” he says, turning back to his food. He’d cooked that night — had brought all the ingredients and the materials to Namjoon’s house to make dinner for the two of them. It’s a nice thing to do for date night — Namjoon lives alone, so they get the space to themselves, they don’t have to spend the money to eat out, and while Yoongi is cooking he can blast whatever music he wants and shout at Namjoon whenever he grabs his ass. It’s nice. “Just thinking.”
“You looked like you were totally spaced out,” Namjoon says. The legs of his chair drag against the floor as he scoots in. “What’s on your mind?”
Yoongi’s cheeks turn red. “Nothing,” he says. The lie is obvious, and he internally curses, staring down at his own plate. He’s acting weird. Namjoon is going to know he’s lying. Fuck.
But he really doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s stupid. Stupid that he wants to be stupid, because — who wants that?
“Yoongi,” Namjoon says. He tilts his head to the side, reaching across the corner of the table to rest his fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand. Shit. Fuck. He’s so fucking considerate and caring, genuine fucking worry flashing over his expression when Yoongi glances up at him, and — for a split second Yoongi wonders why in the world he would ever choose to date someone who’s so fucking well-adjusted. It just makes Yoongi look like a dumbass in comparison. “What’s wrong?”
Yoongi groans, tossing his head back. “It’s really nothing, Namjoon, we can just — can we just drop it?”
The sentence comes out sounding harsher than he means for it to. The edges of Namjoon’s lips pull down into a frown, and —
Fuck, why does Yoongi always screw shit like this up?
He feels his whole face heat up as Namjoon stares at him. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, his fingers tapping against the back of Yoongi’s hand, and it’s just —
God, it’s so embarrassing.
“It’s really just — it’s not a big deal, it’s stupid, I’m just — holy fuck.” Yoongi’s tongue fumbles within his mouth, a useless lump of meat. He can’t stop thinking about Namjoon’s broad shoulders, commanding line of his jaw — even if he looks like a noodly dumbass most of the time with his too-long blue hair and his bangs in his eyes and his big Harry Potter glasses and Yoongi also loves that. But there’s something so fucking mouth-watering about all those other qualities, about the idea that Yoongi is small and pretty and Namjoon is big and manly and it’s stupid, because they’re both just people and Yoongi’s stupid lizard brain is being archaic.
He takes a deep breath in.
“It’s really, really dumb,” he says.
Yoongi is really, really dumb. He supposes he’s halfway to fulfilling that weird kink after all.
Namjoon frowns. He looks genuinely concerned. A few seconds tick by, leaves rustling in the wind outside, low hum of the magic that keeps Namjoon’s wacky witch refrigerator cold continuing in the background, Yoongi’s pulse thundering in his ears.
It takes him a few moments before he realizes that he’s made this situation awkward enough that he’s going to have to come clean. There’s no way out of it now. Fuck.
Yoongi resists the urge to scream.
He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just — it’s not. It’s not important. I just have a new — I was thinking about — sex stuff, and it’s stupid, and nothing’s wrong. Nothing wrong. I just think I might be into something new and it’s kind of weird and I don’t really want to talk about it, and I was just spacing out thinking about how fucking weird and stupid it is and then you came in and I acted weird because I didn’t want to talk about it and now you’re worried and I still don’t want to talk about it but I don’t want you to be worried, so can we please just stop.”
Namjoon blinks.
Their food is getting cold. Yoongi has to work very hard to resist the urge to slap himself in the face.
“It’s a sex thing?” Namjoon asks.
“Yes,” Yoongi answers. He pulls his hand out from underneath Namjoon’s and folds them in his lap. “Completely unimportant. Monumentally stupid. Can we just go back to eating?”
Namjoon blinks. “Um,” he says. He stares out at Yoongi from behind his glasses, eyes wide. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”
Yoongi sighs. “Okay,” he says. He throws his hands up in a gesture that’s meant to be flippant, but he’s sure ends up looking more defensive than anything else. He bites his lower lip. “Cool. Awesome. Great.”
—
The two of them watch a movie together, later that night.
Yoongi sits curled against Namjoon’s chest, shoulder tucked into Namjoon’s armpit. He’s not really watching the television, head turned almost completely to the side. His ear is flush against Namjoon’s chest — and if he focuses he can hear the the thump of Namjoon’s chest, feel the way his lungs expand as he breathes in, feel the comforting hum of magic that always rests just beneath his skin.
It’s nice.
Yoongi has never dated a witch before this — not that it’s particularly unusual to have done so, but Yoongi had simply never gotten the chance. There’s not much difference, really, other than the magic. Yoongi had never been around so much magic in his life.
“You awake?” Namjoon asks.
His voice rumbles through his chest. Very slowly, Yoongi nods, snuggling closer. Namjoon is warm and Yoongi is cold. He tucks his bare toes underneath his own thighs, wishing he was in a position that would allow him to shove them under Namjoon instead.
“You wanna, um — talk about the thing now?”
Yoongi groans. He means for it to come out as a groan, at least. In reality it sounds more like a whine. “No,” he says.
Namjoon breathes out. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Internally, Yoongi swears. He hates that Namjoon is so good. And considerate. And nice. What the fuck is up with that? What in the world could Yoongi have done in a past life to deserve someone so fucking kind and caring and well-rounded —
He digs his forehead into Namjoon’s collarbone. “I wanna be dumb,” he hisses.
Namjoon blinks. A long moment passes in silence. “Huh?”
He doesn’t sound judgemental. Doesn’t sound distressed. He just sounds like he legitimately has no idea what Yoongi means.
Yoongi closes his eyes. “I wanna be dumb and beg for dick.” More silence. Namjoon’s hand is soft in the small of Yoongi’s back, his fingers curled gently in the material of Yoongi’s shirt. “Because you made a joke about it a while ago and my stupid little lizard brain is like, really interested or something, I don’t know, it’s stupid, we’re just people, it’s dumb — “
“Okay, stop.” Namjoon cuts Yoongi off and then laughs, tapping his fingers against Yoongi’s spine. “Sorry, I was gonna let you finish — “
“We don’t need to talk about it, it’s fine — “
“It’s really not all that weird, like, we’ve done stuff before where — “
“It’s just really dumb and not important and I’m sorry that I worried you — “
“I’m, like, a little dominant, and I don’t really mind that or anything — !”
“And it’s not like even a thing that we could really do, it’s just a fantasy kind of thing and — “
“Oh my god, will you stop talking over me, I’m trying to have a conversation with you — “
“I don’t wanna!”
Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. Namjoon immediately bursts into giggles.
“Jesus,” he says. “You’re, like, five.”
“It’s embarrassing!” Yoongi hisses. He can feel his own cheeks heating up, his heart pounding against the inside of his chest. The idea of Namjoon manhandling him, bending Yoongi over the side of the bed while he whines and begs and cries for Namjoon to fuck him, hands twisting into the sheets as Namjoon’s larger body hovers over his own —
“You’re so cute.” Namjoon reaches over and pinches Yoongi’s chin. Frown still tugging at the edges of his lips, Yoongi bats his hand away. “And it’s not impossible.”
Yoongi blinks. “What?” he asks.
“I mean, there are spells,” Namjoon says. He reaches back over, dragging the tips of his fingers down Yoongi’s cheek. “Remember that time I made that — “
“Yes,” Yoongi says. He presses his lips into a thin line. He remembers very well the time Namjoon had made a little jelly toy that would wrap itself around a finger or a hand or Yoongi’s cock and squeeze all of its own accord —
“There’s lots of stuff like that,” Namjoon says. And he’s usually so soft, so kind, so sweet with his big round glasses and his floppy bangs and his dimples pressed into corners of his lips. But in that particular moment he seems everything but soft — confident, amused, like he thinks Yoongi is silly and his worries are inconsequential and his shyness is adorable, and —
Yoongi loves it.
“It wouldn’t be that hard.” Namjoon tilts his head to the side. “Little spells that shift your, uh — mood and biological state aren’t really super difficult — obviously there are the, you know, um, ethical considerations but it’s not like that’s really a problem if you — you know, consent. Obviously. Um.”
Silently, Yoongi stares.
“So I could probably make you, you know. Horny. And dumb. If you wanted.” Namjoon stares at him, bottom lip pinched in between this teeth. “If you — you know, obviously that would take a lot of trust, so it’s fine if you don’t, and I don’t think you mentioned it as, like, a thing you really wanted to try, so you know, that’s, um — “
Yoongi doesn’t know how Namjoon manages to be so wonderful.
The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. Voices spill quietly across them from the television, lapping at the edges of Yoongi’s awareness.
With a sigh, Yoongi pulls back just far enough to shove his toes under the curve of Namjoon’s thigh. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds good.”
He turns away and pretends he can’t see quite how wide Namjoon smiles.
—
They talk about it a little more, obviously.
Historically Yoongi has always had a hard time talking for extended periods of time about things that embarrass him. It’s a little hard for him to acknowledge sex outside of the bedroom — thoughts wash through his mind completely unbidden, but the moment he goes to speak them it’s as if his whole body freezes up — but they manage, regardless.
Yoongi wants it to be a surprise. Wants to give up his control over the situation. Trusts Namjoon more than enough to let him take it.
And he wants to be stupid. Yoongi spends so much of his time worrying — anxious about work or life in general or how far he’ll manage to get before he dies. He gets so nervous talking about sex that they end up discussing everything over five or six separate mini conversations because Yoongi feels like he is going to die trying to get the words to leave his mouth, and — he just wants to be able to let it all go for once.
So they decide on a date. Yoongi will stay over the night before, will clear his schedule, and then at some point during the day Namjoon will literally work his magic.
—
“Uh, going to the store,” Namjoon says as he pulls his jacket on over his shoulders, adjusting the sleeves and flipping the collar up. Yoongi resists the urge to snort at how ridiculous he looks. “Back in like thirty, forty?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says. He has his laptop sitting on his knees, in the process of answering a couple of emails and scrolling absentmindedly through his twitter. He really doesn’t have much to do that day, and he’s almost regretting it now — his stomach is tied up in knots, his limbs tingling with nervous anticipation. He doesn’t really know much about magic. He has no idea what Namjoon might spring on him — whether it will be a spoken spell or something he drinks or something else entirely. It’s got him nervous. “I’ll be here.”
Namjoon shuffles awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his keys from one hand to the other, gaze falling to the floor. He seems nervous as well. Yoongi can’t help but smile.
“Okay, um, cool.”
He stands there for a few more moments, hesitating in the doorway. Yoongi turns his gaze back towards his computer, hoping that will break the tension, but Namjoon only continues to hover, weight shifting from heel to heel for nearly thirty seconds before he finally steps out of the doorway and over to the couch.
He bends down, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead. His hip brushes awkwardly against the side-table right next to the couch.
“Love you,” Namjoon says.
Yoongi blinks, turning his gaze upwards. He stretches upwards, rising just far enough to press a chaste kiss to Namjoon’s lips. “Love you, too.”
Namjoon grins, squeezing Yoongi’s shoulder. “Okay,” he says. He wanders over to the front door, shooting a glance over his shoulder before finally tugging it open. “See you in, um — soon, okay?”
Yoongi nods, eyebrows raised. He turns his gaze back towards his computer screen. “Okay, Joonah, I got it.”
—
It’s about ten minutes before Yoongi finally sets his computer on the coffee table and stretches out.
He’s answered all of his emails. He’d refreshed his twitter about twenty times. He’d watched a bunch of dumbass youtube videos. His stomach is twisted up into knots, his thighs tingling every time he remembers what’s going to happen at some point during the day —
Or maybe Namjoon is just psyching him out.
Yoongi glances around the room, squinting suspiciously at his own cup of coffee sitting a few inches from his foot is kicked up onto the table. Namjoon wouldn’t psych him out — that’s weird and manipulative and Namjoon is not honest to a fault.
Well — he is also a little weird, to be fair. But that’s a quality Yoongi can deeply appreciate.
He sighs, standing up for a moment before giving up and collapsing back down onto the couch. He’s tired. He wants Namjoon to be home already. This is torture.
Slowly, he glances up. His eyes catch on a piece of paper sitting on the side-table.
Yoongi squints. That hadn’t been there before.
He reaches for it almost without thinking, mouth watering as he feels the thick parchment in between his fingers. It’s folded into thirds like a pamphlet would be, paper thick and coarse. He doesn’t even think as he unfolds it, eyes immediately catching on the ink-black symbols scribbled down the paper. He can’t stop himself from reading them, eyes soaking in each little stroke, each little hook and dot Yoongi’s stomach somersaults inside of him, throat going dry as he looks at each and every character, hands trembling and eyes watering, and —
He sucks in a sharp breath when he gets to the end. Can feel his toes curl and his heartrate pick up, sheen of sweat materializing on the back of his neck. His mind goes completely blank.
Fuck, Yoongi thinks. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes that it’s started. That what he just read was a spell, that Namjoon had created to make Yoongi horny and stupid, but it seems so unimportant. Yoongi groans, his eyes fluttering shut as he soaks in the physical sensations — his thighs tingling and his heart pitter-pattering in his chest, his cock growing hard and he just —
Namjoon.
Yoongi groans, paper falling from his hands. It lands haphazardly on the floor and Yoongi bends in half, clutching at his stomach. Namjoon. Where is Namjoon? Why isn’t he here? Yoongi’s whole body is burning and he’s hard and he wants Namjoon, where is Namjoon — ?
Fuck. What the fuck. Yoongi feels his own jaw drop, tongue lolling in his mouth. He wants cock. He wants Namjoon to be there and he wants Namjoon’s fingers twisted in his hair and he wants Namjoon to fuck his throat, wants to choke on it, wants for Namjoon to be there.
Before he’s even completely aware of it, he has his nose buried in the seat of the couch. It smells like Namjoon, fabric dampening as he breathes against it, breathes it in. His muscles completely relax, his hips falling flush to the cushion. He reaches out, groping blindly for one of the throw pillows and presses it to his face as he begins to kick his hips forward, length of his cock dragging roughly against the material of the couch and it feels good but it’s not enough, just breathing in Namjoon’s scent and not experiencing his touch, his presence.
Yoongi groans. A thin stream of drool drips from his lips, wetting the fabric of the pillow. Where is Namjoon? He thought that not too long ago but Yoongi’s brain can’t seem to hold onto the memories, can’t seem to wrap itself around the concept of time, around the fact that Namjoon isn’t there. Why isn’t he there?
When Yoongi hears the door click open, he nearly tumbles off the couch.