I made myself happy and angry writing this woot
Title: Equilibrium
Fandom: BTS/Bangtan Boys/Bulletproof Boyscouts/Whatever they call themselves
Pairing(s): Jin/genderqueer!Namjoon
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Mentions of sex, transphobia, gender dysphoria
Summary: Namjoon is a boy, Namjoon is a girl
772 words
Russian translation by Arcane Hero available here
Also on AO3
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin feels it in the rough hairs on his thighs, prickling against his palms like week old stubble, dark against skin too pale and not pale enough. He wants to count them, he wants to tally and total them, regurgitating figures on the statistics of gender as if something so abstract could be described by averages and standard deviations.
He doesn’t want Namjoon to think he means it, he just wants to see what it takes to defy the numbers; because he knows that only once Namjoon emerges beyond the patronising glare of a society that will not take him seriously will he allow himself to shine as brightly as he ought.
Seokjin’s fingers tighten over taught skin and tense muscles, he runs his thumb along the inside of Namjoon’s thigh in the space left by the seam of his jeans. He shines plenty bright enough for now, but it’s so easy to see where he’s holding himself back.
Namjoon is a girl. Seokjin sees it in the lipstick smeared across her cheek - so perfectly painted onto her lips mere moments before, but he’s careless and clumsy and his lips have touched hers too roughly for the colour to stay inside the lines. Seokjin still feels the ghost of Namjoon’s powdered skin against his tongue from where he has ruined her handiwork; his thumb comes up to trace the edges of her mouth and he ruins it some more.
He doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. Seokjin likes the way that the broken creases of rouge and eyeshadow send his mind to sordid places, the lines he changes something he can never entirely separate from sex. Namjoon likes the way Seokjin reshuffles her features with his tongue and with his hands. The same girl goes to bed with him every night but a new one emerges in the morning and they both know that her face has nothing to do with the rebirth.
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin can see it in the line of a jaw strong enough to carry the words he forces through clenched teeth and howls through megaphones in equal measure. The bullshit and the brilliant, as difficult to phrase as each other if you’re doing it right. Seokjin runs his tongue along the clean line of his chin and wonders that he doesn’t cut himself on it, wonders that his lips don’t shatter when they kiss the angular curve below Namjoon’s ear.
Namjoon is a girl. Seokjin can feel it in the pleats of her skirts and the nylon of her stockings. Sometimes she wears it to bed, sometimes she doesn’t, sometimes Seokjin slips a hand under her dress to feel her dick harden in her panties, sometimes he fucks her with her tights around her ankles.
Usually he just strips her naked, dispenses with the extraneous details and reminds himself, with every inch of his body and with every breath in his lungs he reminds himself that girls can look like this too.
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin hears it in his voice when he raps and when he talks and when he loses all control of it as he fucks him into the mattress. The bass is deep enough to drag Seokjin under and there he remains, mesmerised by the steady, ever present rumble of Namjoon’s thoughts given life.
The same voice cracks and crumbles after the days, weeks of promotions and interviews and variety shows and people, insensitive, naïve people who have worn away Namjoon’s tolerance for ‘manly men’ and ‘alpha males’. She wants nothing more than to bury her head in Seokjin’s neck and cry every last masculine relic out of her body. And Seokjin will catch himself thinking of conversations held in melodic baritone and wonder how he could ever have mistaken that voice for a man. It’s all too obvious that Namjoon is a girl.
Namjoon is a girl.
Namjoon is a boy.
Seokjin thinks it makes perfect sense and he tells Namjoon as much when he’s unsure about the makeup and the dresses and when she’s unsure about her passport and her Y chromosome. He sees the lines in Namjoon’s identity and follows them meticulously, feels them grow less and less counterintuitive every day.
Not everyone is so forgiving, not everyone is so willing to learn.
“Do you think you can be both at once?” Namjoon asks the summer dress in Seokjin’s right hand and the surf shorts in his left. He looks so scared to choose. Seokjin hands him both and closes the wardrobe,
“You can be whatever you want to be. I’ll still be here.”
A/N: I'm honestly not sure if I'm really happy with this or if I've just been an overly pretentious arse with my writing style. Either way this is really just me trying to sort through my own gender demons and using Namjoon as a medium for that...oops?
Fandom: BTS/Bangtan Boys/Bulletproof Boyscouts/Whatever they call themselves
Pairing(s): Jin/genderqueer!Namjoon
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Mentions of sex, transphobia, gender dysphoria
Summary: Namjoon is a boy, Namjoon is a girl
772 words
Russian translation by Arcane Hero available here
Also on AO3
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin feels it in the rough hairs on his thighs, prickling against his palms like week old stubble, dark against skin too pale and not pale enough. He wants to count them, he wants to tally and total them, regurgitating figures on the statistics of gender as if something so abstract could be described by averages and standard deviations.
He doesn’t want Namjoon to think he means it, he just wants to see what it takes to defy the numbers; because he knows that only once Namjoon emerges beyond the patronising glare of a society that will not take him seriously will he allow himself to shine as brightly as he ought.
Seokjin’s fingers tighten over taught skin and tense muscles, he runs his thumb along the inside of Namjoon’s thigh in the space left by the seam of his jeans. He shines plenty bright enough for now, but it’s so easy to see where he’s holding himself back.
Namjoon is a girl. Seokjin sees it in the lipstick smeared across her cheek - so perfectly painted onto her lips mere moments before, but he’s careless and clumsy and his lips have touched hers too roughly for the colour to stay inside the lines. Seokjin still feels the ghost of Namjoon’s powdered skin against his tongue from where he has ruined her handiwork; his thumb comes up to trace the edges of her mouth and he ruins it some more.
He doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. Seokjin likes the way that the broken creases of rouge and eyeshadow send his mind to sordid places, the lines he changes something he can never entirely separate from sex. Namjoon likes the way Seokjin reshuffles her features with his tongue and with his hands. The same girl goes to bed with him every night but a new one emerges in the morning and they both know that her face has nothing to do with the rebirth.
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin can see it in the line of a jaw strong enough to carry the words he forces through clenched teeth and howls through megaphones in equal measure. The bullshit and the brilliant, as difficult to phrase as each other if you’re doing it right. Seokjin runs his tongue along the clean line of his chin and wonders that he doesn’t cut himself on it, wonders that his lips don’t shatter when they kiss the angular curve below Namjoon’s ear.
Namjoon is a girl. Seokjin can feel it in the pleats of her skirts and the nylon of her stockings. Sometimes she wears it to bed, sometimes she doesn’t, sometimes Seokjin slips a hand under her dress to feel her dick harden in her panties, sometimes he fucks her with her tights around her ankles.
Usually he just strips her naked, dispenses with the extraneous details and reminds himself, with every inch of his body and with every breath in his lungs he reminds himself that girls can look like this too.
Namjoon is a boy. Seokjin hears it in his voice when he raps and when he talks and when he loses all control of it as he fucks him into the mattress. The bass is deep enough to drag Seokjin under and there he remains, mesmerised by the steady, ever present rumble of Namjoon’s thoughts given life.
The same voice cracks and crumbles after the days, weeks of promotions and interviews and variety shows and people, insensitive, naïve people who have worn away Namjoon’s tolerance for ‘manly men’ and ‘alpha males’. She wants nothing more than to bury her head in Seokjin’s neck and cry every last masculine relic out of her body. And Seokjin will catch himself thinking of conversations held in melodic baritone and wonder how he could ever have mistaken that voice for a man. It’s all too obvious that Namjoon is a girl.
Namjoon is a girl.
Namjoon is a boy.
Seokjin thinks it makes perfect sense and he tells Namjoon as much when he’s unsure about the makeup and the dresses and when she’s unsure about her passport and her Y chromosome. He sees the lines in Namjoon’s identity and follows them meticulously, feels them grow less and less counterintuitive every day.
Not everyone is so forgiving, not everyone is so willing to learn.
“Do you think you can be both at once?” Namjoon asks the summer dress in Seokjin’s right hand and the surf shorts in his left. He looks so scared to choose. Seokjin hands him both and closes the wardrobe,
“You can be whatever you want to be. I’ll still be here.”
A/N: I'm honestly not sure if I'm really happy with this or if I've just been an overly pretentious arse with my writing style. Either way this is really just me trying to sort through my own gender demons and using Namjoon as a medium for that...oops?