Chapter Text
Namjoon doesn’t think it started the second he presented, it might not have even begun until his first heat, but it’s been going on so long that it feels like it. And he very quickly learned that it wasn’t normal; a handful of Grindr conversations that nose-dived into extreme creep territory proved that. Looking back, he wonders why he hadn’t seen it coming.
After all, how else is an alpha on a dating/hook-up app supposed to react when an omega says, “oh yeah, I’m basically always wet lol”?
He never gets the chance to explain himself, to say that it doesn’t mean he has an unnaturally high sex drive, his hormones are just Like That. The last message he got before deleting the app read “damn so you’d still take my cock even if you didn’t want it, that’s so fucking hot”. One panic attack later and he’s knocking on Hoseok’s door in the middle of the night, not remembering leaving his apartment. Hoseok, small and delicate like omegas are supposed to be and smelling like a basket of summer berries, wraps him up in his arms and lets him stay for a week because he’s too scared to be alone.
Things get better, mainly because existing in such close quarters with Jung Hoseok for so long makes you realize that life isn’t so bad after all, not when there are people like him walking around, waiting to love you. Quitting dating apps completely and restricting social circle to fellow omega coworkers slash best friends, Namjoon learns to live with and not completely detest what Hoseok jokingly calls his “leaky faucet”.
Half of the time it’s not bad, if he isn’t near his heat and doesn’t read anything that might turn him on while he’s at work or going out, it’s fine. But the week leading up to and right after one particular heat had been so miserable that he set out to find a viable solution. Packing extra sets of underwear everywhere he goes is both inconvenient and embarrassing, going to his doctor proved even more so because there was nothing he could do that didn’t involve testing him on different birth controls that might’ve fucked up his already fucked hormones.
It gets to the point where he vents his frustrations to Yoongi, his other best omega friend forever (and yes, Hoseok did make the three of them matching bracelets and yes it was both cringey and adorable). He still has to be drunk to do so, because it’s still gross and humiliating no matter what his doctor (and Hobi) say.
Turns out he should’ve gone to Yoongi at the beginning of everything, because while Hobi helped through emotional support, Yoongi puts up with an entire half hour of Namjoon’s slurred whines and complaints before gently taking the bottle of soju from his and asking if he had tried omegan products like pads or tampons. Namjoon says he hadn’t. He also says he would rather die than have either of his friends go shopping with him for said pads and tampons, he needs to retain some amount of dignity for god’s sake. Both friends sigh, Yoongi in relief and Hoseok in disappointment.
Finally, after several weeks of trial and error (he had thought he had reached his humiliation quotient, but it was exceeded the first time he stuck a tampon up his hole and the sensation of being filled—be it ever so small—had him gushing), he’s found a set of soft but super absorbent cloth pads that work wonders. On average he can last the entire workday on the large size, and during his pre-heats he just has to change the over-night pads twice. They don’t fit very well with boxers, but Namjoon discovers he doesn’t mind briefs at all, and the close fit helps determine if he needs to change.
He's so relieved that his first heat with the pads goes well (as well as unmated heats can go, especially when your nest consists of microfiber gym towels to cut down on mess), that he decides to treat himself and visit a bakery he’s been eyeing recently. Even though it just opened it seems to be doing well, the line of customers waiting in the mornings crowd the sidewalk, interrupting his morning bike rides to work.
Rather than visiting earlier while they still have a good selection, he stops by later in the afternoon and contents himself with picking from what’s left over. He’s grown a tad agoraphobic since his presentation, afraid of what a dumb alpha might do if he smells him and jumps to conclusions. His pads are also scent-blocking, so it shouldn’t happen, but Namjoon is nothing if not a worrier. And slick-scent does smell different from regular-pheromone-scent.
By some divine act the bakery is empty when he steps inside. There isn’t even a worker at the counter, just a bell and sign that says “Ring for service” written in impressive calligraphy. Namjoon doesn’t bother ringing it yet, content to take his time in deciding what he wants.
As he suspected, most of the pastries were gone. There is still an absurdly large rose and pistachio cupcake, buttercream piped in the perfect imitation of an actual rose, if said rose was pale green instead of red. Just below the cupcake sit three sad-looking mint chocolate macaroons, which Namjoon thinks is justified. Finally, his gaze snags on a small, round custard tart topped with precisely cut fruit arranged in satisfying concentric rings.
Not believing his luck that something so nice is still available so late in the day, he’s a little over-eager in ringing the bell, making it jump in place and letting out a harsh clang instead of a delicate ting. Fortunately, the light, musical call of “Coming!” that floats from the back room doesn’t sound offended.
Depending on how you look at it, Namjoon’s luck either continues to rise exponentially or crashes and burns.
The man emerging from the back room doesn’t necessarily look like an alpha, his hair is fluffy in a hobbit-like sort of way, his eyes are bright and almond-shaped, and he has some of the pinkest, plumpest lips Namjoon has ever seen, regardless of gender. He’s smiling and patting flour onto his pretty lavender apron, a nametag pinned by the collar that Namjoon can’t register because he’s not sure if he believes what he’s seeing. And then his scent hits, unmistakably alpha in a way that is very close to making Namjoon weak in the knees. He blinks four times in quick succession, pinches the outside of his thigh hard enough to tell him that no, he’s not dreaming, this is real life, people this beautiful really do exist.
Part of him wonders if this place’s popularity is because the pain au cholate really is that good, or if they too want a look at how an apron hugs a man with such broad shoulders and narrow waist. He quickly regrets the thought, because despite how attractive he is, the man’s eyes and smile exude genuine warmth. His voice does the same thing when—after several seconds of Namjoon probably gaping at him like a fish—he asks politely, “Is there anything I can get for you this evening?”
It’s enough to snap him back to the moment, for him to stumble over his request for the fruit tart and slide his card across the counter, keeping his hand limp on the counter, fearing what his body would do if they happened to touch skin. Too late, he realizes it’s a lost cause. When he shifts his weight, the old familiar sensation of soaked underwear has sticky hot humiliation rising up from neck into his cheeks. And it’s only a matter of time until it will be noticeable even through his jeans. All because of a stupid alpha.
A stupid, pretty alpha who knows how to bake.
Namjoon had hoped to last long enough to at least get his tart and make a hasty retreat, but the alpha takes his hand still on the counter, uncurls his fingers, and presses his card into his clammy palm before gently wrapping his fingers around it. Looking back, Namjoon knows that the alpha had only done so because he had been essentially unresponsive and refusing to make any move to take his card and receipt. In the moment, however, the shock of physical touch, the very gentle manhandling, and the unmistaken flare of nostrils that meant he could smell how wet Namjoon already was, all made his ‘leaky faucet’ gush.
So, he does the only thing he can think of, and runs out of the store the moment the man’s back turns. He doesn’t think about the tart he paid for but never got, he doesn’t think about if he could pick out the alpha’s own scent mingling with the general sweetness of a bakery, he just focuses on riding his bike as fast as he can back to his apartment. Even though Namjoon lives on the eighth floor, he doesn’t hesitate to take the stairs, not wanting to risk being in an enclosed space when he smells like he could take two knots at once. Adrenaline fuels him most of the way up, but he’s trembling all over the moment he gets inside.
He pauses only to double check the lock on his front door before stripping off every article of clothing on his way to the bathroom. He rubs his skin raw in his desperation to feel clean again, thoroughly dries himself with the softest, fluffiest non-heat towel he has, and finally feels his heart rate slowing once he is in a fresh, dry pad, thick cotton pants, and his favorite oversized hoodie.
With take-out ordered and the next episode of drag race queued up, Namjoon finally gives in and calls Hoseok.
“Miss me already? I just saw you not even two hours ago.” Hoseok’s cheerful teasing is strangely magnified over the scratchy quality of his phone’s speaker, and Namjoon smiles for the first time since, well…since he last saw Hoseok. Yoongi jokes about Namjoon registering him as his official emotional support pet, but he can’t help it if it’s true. Besides the pet thing, of course. He doesn’t know if Hobi’s into stuff like that and Namjoon is too afraid to ask.
“I literally almost died, Hobi. You need to know how close you were to performing Piece of Peace at my funeral.”
“Oh my god, I’ve already told you, I’m not singing my own fucking song I wrote when I thought I could ‘make it’ as a SoundCloud rapper while your casket lowers into the ground. Christ.”
Namjoon does his best to sigh forlornly and wait. It doesn’t take long, thankfully. He can practically hear when Hoseok rolls his eyes.
“Oh no. Are you okay. What. Happened.” He asks robotically. Namjoon contemplates easing him into it but doesn’t want to stretch it out any more than he must.
“Wet myself in front of an alpha.” He states bluntly.
Hoseok sputters on the other end. “Like, you accidentally ordered a large, iced coffee again so you drank it all because you felt bad and now are remembering why you can’t do that or…”
“No!” Namjoon retorts, scandalized. “I didn’t fucking piss myself. I stopped by that new bakery down the street from my apartment and this—this stupid alpha works there.”
Hoseok sobers instantly, which makes Namjoon feel a little bad about comparing someone so nice to the usual creeps he deals with. But it’s worth it just to kick Hoseok into Mama Bear mode.
“He didn’t say anything to you, did he? Yoongi hyung still owns that bat—”
Namjoon sighs again, pleased but not wanting Hoseok to know. “No, he didn’t say anything—I mean he said things to me. But nothing gross or weird. He was just stupidly, stupidly hot. And I fucking soaked my underwear for the first time since I got the pads. And I could tell he smelled it, and it was humiliating and I’m never going back, which sucks because I spent twelve thousand won on a fruit tart I’ll never eat.”
A confused silence follows, until he hears the chirp of his doorbell, letting him know his food has arrived. Namjoon makes sure to wait at least forty-five seconds after he responds to the notification on his phone before opening the door. He grabs the plastic bag, bringing it back to where his phone sits on the couch, Hoseok’s voice ringing out of it, cooing over him like his mom’s church friends did when he was nine.
“—rotten luck! The first nice alpha you meet, and you embarrass yourself by being too embarrassed about him knowing you want him to fuck you to wait for your tart.”
Namjoon tears open the plastic bag, although now his appetite is ebbing away again. “Surprisingly enough, I realized that myself. So, no need to rub it in.”
The silence hangs heavier in the air this time, and Namjoon chews on his lower lip, fiddling with the chopsticks. He focuses on separating the two little wooden sticks as slowly as possible, wondering if that would make them split evenly. Turns out, it doesn’t. But his disappointment is levied by the uncharacteristic gravity in Hoseok’s voice when he finally responds.
“You know I’m only two subway stops away. And I haven’t even ordered dinner yet. I can come over. You only need to ask.”
“Please don’t.” Namjoon says, cold panic shooting up his spine. “I know you were working overtime during my heat. You need to rest, I’ll be fine.”
“Namjoon,” Hoseok says, so tender it makes heat prick at the corner of Namjoon’s eyes. “Helping my friend feel better about an awkward encounter with a cute guy isn’t work. You aren’t a burden. Tell me you believe me.”
Namjoon takes a breath, blows the steam off his takeout bowl, and says, “I believe you. The cheese is solidifying on my ttokbeoki, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Hoseok hums, unconvinced, but lets him off the hook. Grateful, Namjoon messages him after the drag race episode is over.
From Namjoon:
sometimes I feel like shannelle could win, but the judges don’t like how put-together she always is.
whats wrong with not being vulnerable????
He knows he’s said too much when Hoseok responds immediately.
From Hobi 💕🙄:
it keeps people at a distance. Vulnerability is the key to human connection.
Gritting his teeth, he types back, “you’re one to talk, mr. emotionally unavailable. I miss Ongina. she wouldn’t put me through this” before shutting off his phone and getting ready for bed. When he slips in between his sheets and feels the thick padding lining the bottom half of his mattress, frustration and weariness rise so swiftly from within that he can’t stop the tears from bubbling over.
Above all, he feels stupid. The situation probably wasn’t as big a deal as he had made it out to be. He only made it worse by panicking and leaving without his tart. Just because the guy could smell that he was wet didn’t mean he was gonna leap over the counter and start groping his ass. A bit of slick trickles out of him at the thought. Namjoon glares through misty eyes down at his crotch. That isn’t sexy, he scolds his asshole, you wouldn’t want a normal looking alpha to do that, you shouldn’t want him to do it either.
Fuck you, his asshole says back. Or, well. Fuck me.
~
Throughout the next week, Namjoon throws himself into work, reveling in the physicality of hauling countless bags of soil, fertilizer, and seed into neat piles. He enjoys helping the sweet old ladies load various decorative trees into their shiny CRVs, just as much as he enjoys out-lifting the unsuspecting alpha dudebros who don’t even realize an omega is showing them up. He hasn’t had any issues with ‘the plumbing’ since that day but sticks to his extra thick pads just in case.
He gets to the store so early on Thursday that the sun is just beginning to peek through the rafters of the outdoor tree nursery, birds greeting both him and the morning with bright trills. Unfortunately, Yoongi isn’t so amused by his willingness to work overtime and ends up forcibly shoving him out the door in the early afternoon. Not exhausted enough to forget how sad and unsatisfied walking past the bakery makes him feel, Namjoon drives any possible superfluous thought out of his mind through the magic of loud ass music.
He’s only on his third replay of Fly by Epik High when a hand grabs his forearm, making him jump so badly he almost falls onto the sidewalk. Pulse galloping in his ears, he yanks his headphones out, ready to yell at whoever thought it was okay to touch someone without warning. The rebuke gets caught in a sudden intake of breath when he recognizes the man staring at him with wide eyes.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” The alpha from the bakery says, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “I called your name, like, five times, but you didn’t answer.”
Amidst the shock a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers, you remembered my name? It is this voice that his body listens to, and Namjoon can’t help but groan as he starts to slick up again. “Oh god, not you again.”
The man flinches, and Namjoon scrambles to explain. “That’s not what I meant, I just—was kinda hoping to not have to see or talk to you again. God, fuck, that sounds bad too—”
The man holds up a finger and Namjoon falls silent instantly.
“I just wanted to apologize for whatever I might’ve done.” The alpha says. He doesn’t look mad, just pained and maybe a little miserable. Namjoon can relate.
Namjoon chews on his lower lip, eyeing the finger that’s still up rather than risk looking into his face. “It wasn’t you. I mean, it was because of you, but not anything you did! Just, who you are as an al—person.”
Somehow Namjoon’s gaze drifts off course, because he sees the moment the man’s lips twitch in amusement, notices the sharp lift of a dark eyebrow when he responds. “Okay….”
“Goddamn, I’m saying everything in the worst way possible.” Namjoon mutters, scrubbing his hands over his face in a futile attempt to hide his burning cheeks.
“You are,” the man agrees easily, “but it’s adorable so I’m letting it slide. And because I still owe you a fruit tart. If you want, you’ll have a chance to properly explain yourself while I’m boxing it up for you.”
Namjoon recoils at the thought of reliving the same thing over again, he can feel his pad sticking uncomfortably to his skin, fully soaked by now. “Uh, how about instead I jump off a bridge?”
That startles a laugh out of the baker, and even through his self-pity and humiliation Namjoon feels a warm curl of pride at such a pretty man finding him funny.
“I’d rather you didn’t.” The man says, smiling fully now. Namjoon makes the mistake of looking directly at it and feels the breath leave him at once. “And you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”
For some reason, this pisses him off. How dare this perfect creature lecture him about how he should feel? Hoseok doesn’t know what he’s talking about, all alphas really are the same. Namjoon glares at the man. “Wanna bet?”
The man remains unfazed. “Sure.”
“Huh?”
For some reason that must be funny because he giggles. “I’ll take your bet. Come inside with me, have your fruit tart, and tell me what’s so embarrassing. If I agree that it is, then you win, and we never have to see each other again. I’ll even give you another tart, free of charge.”
“And if you win?” Namjoon asks, belly feeling oddly warm and tingly at the prospect.
“If I don’t think it’s embarrassing then I win, and you become my guinea pig on whom I can test out my ideas.”
It’s Namjoon’s turn to raise a quizzical brow. “I don’t even know you.”
The man holds out his hand, lips tucked into round cheeks. “Kim Seokjin, owner, and head baker of Everything Nice. It’s nice to officially meet you.”
Flashbacks of what happened the last time he touched this man’s hand play through his head like a war propaganda film from the forties, so Namjoon risks offending the nice baker in exchange for his dignity. Crossing his arms, he tries to sound stern, and not charmed at all. “How do you know I’d be a good guinea pig? Or that I would even have the time? It sounds like a pretty big commitment.”
“I haven’t met guinea pigs in other fields, but I’m pretty sure tasting baked goods letting me know if they’re shit is as fool proof as you can get. You don’t need to be ‘good’, you just need to be honest.” Seokjin says, almost annoying in his level-headed rational. “And, you know, willing to try new things. My sous chef threatened to quit yesterday if I didn’t stop interrupting his lamination process to try my new tropical éclairs.”
Namjoon stares for a beat longer, sighs, and clasps the hand still outstretched between them. Seokjin’s palm feels slightly dry, presumably from working with flour all day, but his grip is firm and doesn’t linger. Namjoon would’ve appreciated the gesture more if it didn’t trigger another dribble of slick to leak out; he’s honestly not sure if the tiny washing machine in his apartment can handle prolonged exposure to this man.
“So, let me get this straight—” Namjoon starts, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, pinching his thighs to keep him focused.
“I’m not but go ahead.” Seokjin says with a wink and a finger gun.
Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek; he’ll be furious if this goofy ass man is the reason he soaks his underwear for the second time in as many weeks. “I win and I get a free tart. You win and I get unlimited free pastries?”
Seokjin cocks his head in thought. “I don’t know about unlimited, but I’m guessing you work down the street somewhere, because I’ve seen you pass by almost every afternoon, usually on your bike. On your way back from work you could pop in and if I have anything new you would be the first to try it. You don’t need to come every day, I don’t have that much time to experiment, unfortunately, but maybe once a week? Do Thursday afternoons sound good to you?”
Namjoon huffs out a laugh. He wages a brief battle within himself on whether to feel flattered or creeped out that Seokjin noticed him. There is no hint of the leering tone he’s so used to hearing from other alphas, so he teases lightly. “Assuming you win the bet, of course.”
“Hmm, I very much doubt that I won’t, Kim Namjoon-ssi.”
Despite however unfounded it may be, Seokjin's confidence is both hot and comforting. Like he’s so sure Namjoon has nothing to worry about that it makes him want to drop his guard. But this is still an alpha he’s only just met, no matter how kind or gently teasing or how much he smells like home.
Namjoon must stay vigilant.
~
It’s been twenty minutes, Namjoon’s halfway through his replacement tart, and he’s having a difficult time remaining vigilant.
He blames Seokjin. What kind of alpha listens to his Leaky Faucet problem without batting an eye? Not that he had used the words ‘leaky’ or ‘faucet’ or ‘flooded basement’ or any other crass euphemism Hoseok has so lovingly come up with, but still. Namjoon is choosing to believe it’s because he had explained it in such a medically accurate way.
Well. What he had said first was, “My endocrine system’s fucked”, which just made Seokjin let out a confused little laugh, but it gave Namjoon time to think. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t tell the entire truth. He couldn’t say, “I am always somewhat wet but you’re so hot my body lost all sense of decorum and soaked my underwear.”
After all, “I have a hormonal imbalance resulting in overabundant bodily secretions,” sounds distinctly less sexy. Which is good because it has not ever made him feel sexy. It just makes him feel like he’s got a sticky, coffee-scented target painted on his ass.
Namjoon really should give himself the credit as much as possible, because if he thinks about it too much—about Seokjin being the only alpha who knows his secret and who doesn’t instantly sexualize him—he’ll fuck up and slip further into real-legitimate-depressingly-out-of-his-league crush territory. Of course, it would be helpful if he wasn’t already slipping.
When Seokjin pinches his eyebrows together in concern, when he murmurs, gentle voice full of empathy, “Ah, Namjoon-ssi that sounds so uncomfortable. I hate that you have to go through that.”
It’s enough to make Namjoon cry.
Even though he had dreaded it, the conversation turns out to be a remarkably healing experience. Like he gets to lift this huge weight off his own shoulders and onto someone who is still essentially a stranger. Especially when the stranger—when Seokjin—accepts it without batting an eye. He just leans in over the table, doesn’t try to touch Namjoon at all, and says carefully, “I’m sorry you were so embarrassed, and I don’t know if this helps, but you do smell lovely. Like a cup of caramel macchiato.”
Namjoon ducks his head, sniffling a little, choosing to take another bite of his tart rather than try to respond.
“Unfortunately for you,” Seokjin leans back in the booth, voice light and teasing again, “neither natural bodily functions nor hormonal imbalances appear on my list of ‘Embarrassing Shit One Might Do in Front of a Food Service Worker’. Which means I win! So, prepare those cute little taste buds of yours for next week. I’ll need them at full working capacity.”
Grinning so hard his cheeks squeeze his eyes shut, Namjoon can only think to lift his hand in a sloppy salute, certain he’s blushing. For some reason, though, he doesn’t mind Seokjin noticing.
For the first time in a long time, he’s excited for next week. And for the first time ever, he can’t wait to see Seokjin again.
~
“Oh my god, you’re smiling again, thank fuck.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes at Yoongi’s exclamation when he walks into the store the next morning but doesn’t bother correcting him. His brain is still rerunning You smell lovely and cute little taste buds and his extremely cringe behavior somehow being described as adorable.
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Did you get a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Uh…theyfriend?”
Namjoon cocks his head, passing by the counter Yoongi’s sitting at cross-legged, storing his bike in the back. He calls out, “You could just say ‘partner’!”
“Fuck you, its six forty-five in the morning!” Yoongi yells back. “My brain wasn’t meant to function in darkness.”
Deciding to take the moral route and not antagonize his best friend slash manager any further, Namjoon heads out the side door into the greenhouse to check on his babies. Cool, damp air fills his lungs, sluggish and earthy, familiar as a friend. The chives, green onions, and various chili peppers are doing well, Namjoon tells them as much, trailing a light hand over the tops of their stems and causing the morning dew clinging on to cascade down in silent showers.
Passing the towers of green beans and okra, he stops in front of his experimental shelf. Six buckets arranged in two rows of three each are perched on the wooden shelf Yoongi had built, dubbing it “Frankenstein’s workshop”. Just another example of Yoongi being dramatic. He only wants to try growing tomatoes, not invent a new species of them.
Although, he muses, that might be worth a Naver search later.
Currently those on the front row are what Namjoon calls ‘The Big Boys’, four five-gallon buckets of heirloom tomatoes just starting to flower. Behind them are the less tasty, but more popular and easier to grow cherry tomatoes. Namjoon stifles a groan when he sees how many more have ripened already. They sprouted only two months ago, and yet the vines are crawling all over the mesh walls.
Sliding his walkie talkie from the front pocket of his overalls, Namjoon clicks it on, spitefully hoping he scares Yoongi with the noise. “I don’t care how funny you think the name is, hyung, we are never ordering a species of plant called ‘Baby Boomers’ ever again. There’s so many already and it’s not even prime harvest season yet.”
Unfortunately, Namjoon hears no distant yelp of surprise, just the crackle of Yoongi’s morning voice mixed with the static of the radio. “Means we’ll have plenty to sell. Any leftovers you can take to your theyfriend.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I don’t have a partner, dumbass. And I can’t just bring him fuckin’ cherry tomatoes, that’d be too weird.”
“Aha!” Yoongi shouts behind him, pointing an accusatory finger from the doorway, completely ignoring Namjoon’s yelp of surprise. “There is a ‘he’, though! A ‘he’ that isn’t a hefriend—fuck, boyfriend—but could be one day!”
“Just because he is a ‘he’ doesn’t mean he’d want to be called a boy.” Namjoon mutters mulishly, annoyed that Yoongi succeeded in scaring him without even trying.
Yoongi nods seriously. “Very true. A ‘he’ that isn’t a theyfriend yet but could be one day.”
Very much wanting to escape this conversation, Namjoon turns his back on Yoongi, focusing instead on cleaning his Boys of any new suckers sprouting in between the vines. Still feeling the unsteady presence of a Yoongi who is not-fully-awake-but-awake-enough-to-be-a-menace, Namjoon sighs.
“We’re just friends, and I don’t even know him that well.”
Yoongi hums in response, which irritates Namjoon. Even more irritating, right before going back into the main building, probably to sit cross-legged on the counter like the gay millennial shift manager he is, he says, “It’s a good thing, then, that gifts of cherry tomatoes are just as appropriate for friends as they are for partners. S’cuse me—theyfriends.”
~
There is something instinctively satisfying about digging your hands through dirt for hours on end. The humidity in the greenhouse sticks damp strands of hair to Namjoon’s forehead, but the cool, moist soil feels so nice against his skin that he struggles to (not for the first time) resist shoving his sweaty face into the garden bed. Root veggie harvest time is one of his favorite non-holiday times of year, and he’s almost finished by the time he’s interrupted.
As usual, Namjoon hears Hoseok before he sees him, bright laughter carrying easily through the open doors of the greenhouse, and before he knows it his lips have started curling upwards in a fond smile.
“So, I hear you have a not-boyfriend.” Hoseok says, approximately two minutes after Namjoon first heard him enter the store.
Namjoon’s smile drops. His subconscious had clearly forgotten that Hobi’s halo is propped up by devil horns.
“That is…technically true.” Namjoon sighs, dreading the direction this conversation is leading. “In that I don’t have a boyfriend. I became acquainted with a nice stranger.”
“Ooh, steamy.” Hoseok says. “Don’t talk to loud, young ears abound.”
Namjoon glares up at him, which is a mistake. Anyone can tell you that the fastest way to stop being mad at Jung Hoseok is to look at, talk to, or be around Jung Hoseok for any extended period of time. Today Hobi is wearing a shirt with a cartoon flower wearing a cowboy hat that says, ‘What in carnation?’, along with patched jeans with colorful stitching and pink cowboy boots. Namjoon ducks his head quickly, forcing down his laugh. Goddamnit, he thinks, any frustration melting away and leaving only fond exasperation.
He does need to tell someone about what happened. And Hobi knows half the story, anyway.
Namjoon sighs again, this time in resignation. “It was the alpha from the bakery.”
“The alpha from—oh my god.”
Namjoon’s trust is rewarded with as understated a reaction as Hoseok can manage, which involves a whispered screech and his entire body wriggling in poorly contained joy. When he crouches down next to him, arms tucked into his body and small fists clenched tight, Namjoon pinches his lips together, unwilling to let Hoseok’s giddiness infect him.
“What do I need to do for you to tell me everything that happened?” Hoseok asks quietly. “I will literally do anything.”
“Stop using ‘literally’ incorrectly,” Namjoon deflects. “You wouldn’t literally kill someone for me.”
Hoseok lets out a wounded noise that forces Namjoon to glance over at him. Looking like a kicked puppy, Hoseok pouts. “I would literally kill someone for you, Namjoon. How could you not know this?”
Namjoon laughs nervously. “Right…anyway, I’ll tell you if you promise not to make a big deal out of it. Because it’s not.”
“I swear on my immortal soul that I won’t make fun of you for anything embarrassing you might say, unless absolutely necessary.” Hoseok says, holding his left hand over his chest.
Namjoon snorts in disbelief, lips quirking despite his best efforts. “I’m really only doing this because the sooner I tell you, the sooner you’ll stop preventing both of us from doing our jobs.”
Hoseok’s hands blur as he claps in excitement, “Yay! I knew I could use your goody-two-shoes nature against you one day.”
~
The nice thing about Hoseok (other than basically everything) is that he is the self-titled, “gay man with a plan”. This skill is mostly used to create flower arrangements customers pay extravagantly for, but he’s been known to whip it out for annual coordinated Halloween costumes and occasional birthday party. He’s sure that planning coordinating costumes of recognizable pop culture trios is listed as a special skill on his resume Some memorable ones for Namjoon have included but are not limited to: Blossom from the Powerpuff Girls, Quinn from Glee, Hermione the year before they found out Rowling was the actual devil, and—after a 10 hour documentary marathon in which several bottles of soju were consumed—a neutron (most known for page five of your high school science textbook). That had been a weird year, but fortunately Hoseok has already informed them this year will be Pokémon, and Bulbasaur is way more recognizable than dressing up as a giant grey ball.
Hobi’s aptitude for plans comes in handy when, after Namjoon tells him everything (trying to downplay any possible flirting while at the same time confessing how drenched he was once he left), he shrugs. “That’s easy, just change into an overnight pad before you leave here. Then you won’t feel as self-conscious and can be cute-awkward instead of stiff-awkward.”
“I can’t ever be cool or charming?” Namjoon asks glumly, hefting the two baskets of carrots and radishes in either arm, heaving up from the ground with some difficulty, sending two carrots tumbling. “Nevermind.” He mumbles.
Meanwhile, Hoseok springs lightly to his feet before tucking the carrots back into his basket, cowboy flower shirt somehow devoid of any dirt smudges. “The awkwardness is a part of your charm, Joon.” He says, earnestly, reaching up to ruffle his hair, “And you are cool! It just usually happens when you aren’t thinking about it.”
“Of course it does.”
At least he’ll be getting food out of this.
~
“I feel like I should warn you, this first one is a doozy.”
Namjoon looks up in alarm, “I’m sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry, Namjoon.” Seokjin says, and Namjoon can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but he’s too distracted trying not to preen at how his name sounds coming from his mouth. “I don’t want to scare you too much, but I’ve dreaded making these and although I would understand, I might cry if they’re disgusting.”
“I didn’t realize this would be so much pressure,” Namjoon jokes, nervously trying to lighten the mood.
To his horror, Seokjin grimaces. “I figured I would get the worst one out of the way just in case you decided to bail on me afterword. I wouldn’t blame you if you do.”
Suitably terrified at the prospect of trying whatever it is that Seokjin hates so much, Namjoon can only wait with wide eyes and bated breath while the alpha rummages behind the counter. When he straightens back up his grimace has transformed into a scowl, juxtaposed oddly next to what he’s holding in his hand.
“Is that,” Namjoon asks carefully, “a cake pop?”
Seokjin heaves a huge sigh of defeat as he hands it over. “Unfortunately.”
To cover his laughter and out of morbid curiosity, Namjoon shoves the entire cake pop into his mouth, chewing in a manner that more resembled a goat than any sort of desirable omega. That quickly becomes unimportant, however, once he realizes what he’s tasting.
“Wait,” Namjoon mumbles, mouth still half full but too excited to care, “this is good!”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me.” Seokjin retorts immediately. Namjoon may or may not shiver at the tone of his voice as he swallows the rest of the treat, slickening up quite a bit, but trusting his fresh pad to catch everything for him.
Thankfully, Seokjin misunderstands it as a shiver of fear.
“Shit, I’m sorry, that was harsh. I just mean, please be honest.” He says, his pretty brown eyes large and pleading. Namjoon doesn’t think this man could be harsh even if he tried.
“I am.” Namjoon assures him, licking his lips for any stray crumbs he may have missed.
Seokjin narrows his eyes. “It’s a birthday cake flavored cake pop.”
“That’s what it tasted like.”
“Dipped in white chocolate.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
To Namjoon’s amusement, Seokjin looks petulant at his nonchalance.
“You’re telling me that out of all the other things in the store, you would willingly buy that.” Seokjin shoots a disgusted look at the stick pinched between Namjoon’s thumb and forefinger.
Namjoon shrugs. “Maybe? I like small and sweet things sometimes.”
Seokjin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Namjoon eyes catch—again—on the stretch of fabric over his shoulders and the taper of his waist. Suddenly, his mouth feels very dry.
“Great, this means I owe Jimin ten thousand won.” Seokjin mutters.
Forcing his eyes back up to Seokjin’s face is difficult, but he manages. “What’s with the vitriol? Did a cake pop murder one of your family members?”
Lips quirking, Seokjin says, “It’s Satan’s perversion of a perfectly good—and many times difficult to execute—dessert. Why should I go through the trouble of baking a light and moist cake when I’m just going to pulverize it into crumbs and mix in what is arguably the worst cake topping ever invented?”
Scrunching up his face in confusion, Namjoon takes a guess. “White chocolate?”
“Buttercream frosting. I die inside each time I get a special order for it.”
“Huh.” Namjoon bites his lip, fighting his bemused smile. “Are these opinions popular in the baking community?”
“Jimin, my sous-chef, has deemed them ‘hot takes’, I believe.”
“Well, don’t fret too much.” Namjoon says, trying to will down the blush he can feel heating his cheeks.
“Oh?” Seokjin raises his eyebrows, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter, looking distressingly sexy again.
“The worst couldn’t scare me off, so it can only get better from here, right?”
Seokjin studies him for so long Namjoon’s sure he can see how red his cheeks are.
“That depends.” Seokjin muses. “Because now I’m not sure if I can trust your judgement.”
He can’t stop the look of shocked offense that crosses his face, but it’s worth it for the laugh that unleashes from Seokjin. The rest of the week passes by with Namjoon replaying that laugh in his head, over and over.
~
His will to abide by the terms of their bet evaporates the next week when confronted with a macaroon decorated in the dreaded color combination of brown and pale green. Namjoon instinctively balks and without stopping to think, says, “Don’t tell me that’s the devil’s food.”
Seokjin stops short, eyebrows raised in soft bewilderment. Warily, he asks, “Macaroons…?”
“Mint chocolate.”
“Noooo,” Seokjin groans dramatically, “not you too!”
“I’m sorry!” Namjoon says, trying to sound genuine. “It’s just the worst.”
Fortunately, Seokjin’s lips are pinched into a mischievous smile, eyes almost crinkled shut. He leans in conspiratorially, stage-whispering, “So, if you hate mint choco, and I hate mint choco, who’s flying the plane?”
Namjoon cocks his head. “Are you going to keep making me try things you don’t like?”
Seokjin heaves a monumental sigh, tossing the wrapped cookie onto the counter. He mutters morosely, “I don’t want to, but we live in a capitalist hellscape, Namjoon-ah. My sous chef, bread maker, and bus boy all agree that we are missing out on big money from people with less refined palettes than us. Well,” his lips quirk, “mostly me, but at least now I know you aren’t a total lost cause.”
Rolling his eyes and biting back a smile, Namjoon toys with the macaroon’s clear plastic wrapping. When he lifts the seal he can smell it, rich chocolate with a just hint of toothpaste. Wrinkling his nose, Namjoon looks back up. “Do I have to?”
“Of course not.” Seokjin responds immediately, only to stick out his lower lip in an outrageous pout, elbows on the counter, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. “But we had a deal.”
Namjoon’s sure the pose is meant to look ridiculous, but his heart kicks up speed anyway. As if sensing his resolve wavering, Seokjin adds, “If you do like it, then I’ll know it isn’t mint-choco enough. And if you don’t, well, you can have the last accursed cake pop as restitution.”
Silently vowing never to disclose this to Hoseok and Yoongi, Namjoon bites into the cookie.
Five minutes later he’s reluctantly leaving the bakery, cake pop in hand, butterflies in his stomach, and cheeks sore from smiling.
~
He thinks Seokjin takes pity on him the next week. The raspberry lemonade Swiss roll is easily one of the best things he’s ever tasted, letting out a noise that could only be described as obscene. It makes him thankful that they do these taste-test sessions with the ‘Closed, come back tomorrow!’ sign dangling over the front doors.
Except that means the scent of spiced pumpkin flooding Namjoon’s nose can only come from Seokjin.
Being able to discern his arousal so clearly might’ve freaked Namjoon out more, but Seokjin makes no move at all towards him. In fact, Namjoon wouldn’t have known he was affected at all, still staring at him like he always does, eyes dark and focused with a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. And it isn’t until just now that Namjoon realizes he’s never been alone in an enclosed space with an alpha since his presentation. Seokjin’s mentioned his three other employees, and sometimes he can make out the muted scents of two betas and a young alpha, but he has yet to meet them.
He waits for the cold spike of fear to lance up his chest, but it never comes. Seokjin—silly, gorgeous, and charming Seokjin—is the only alpha that has passed his omega’s vibe check. The thought is fairly earth-shattering enough for it to take up the entirety of his bike ride home.
~
Weeks go by, and Namjoon is treated with some of the best (and weirdest) desserts he’s ever tasted. Although it was out of season, the maple and bacon hotteok was so good Namjoon could have cried. He nearly cried again, for different reasons, when Seokjin presented him with bright green ice cream, only for it to be pistachio. He had been too genuinely relieved that it was delicious for his smack on Seokjin’s arm to cause any real damage, and Seokjin had been laughing too much for him to notice anyway. Tears were nearly shed yet again for an entirely different reason after trying a lime and chili flavored mouse that had been infused with ghost peppers instead of anything remotely normal or palatable. He was rewarded with the rest of the pistachio ice cream as apology, which Namjoon feverishly devoured, clutching the pint much like Gollum would hold the Ring, Seokjin observing with a face that looked far too much like it was struggling not to break open in laughter.
There’s an odd week where Seokjin presents him with three desserts, each one flavored to taste like his three employees’ least favorite foods.
“And they had to help you with some of this, I’m guessing?”
“Oh no. No one touches your desserts except me.” Seokjin says with a wink. Namjoon does not blush, thank you very much. “But they were around during the experimentation process. Taehyung likened it to psychological warfare, which I thought was sweet.”
Namjoon eyes him warily. “Was it a form of punishment?”
“Lost bet.” Seokjin grins. “They didn’t learn from your mistake.”
“It hadn’t felt like one until now.” Namjoon lies. It’s never felt like a mistake, it feels rather like one of the happiest accidents he’s ever stumbled into. He would never tell Seokjin this, but Namjoon would try a bit of anything Seokjin offered him, as long as it meant he’d keep smiling at Namjoon like he is now. “All right, lay it on me.”
The lemon donuts are actually quite nice (“Jungkook tried them on accident, poor thing. He just thought they were regular donuts, but you’d think I murdered his family by the look of betrayal on his face.”).
But the westernized kimchi jeon—kimchi mixed in with the sweet batter of two thick and fluffy American-style pancakes—taste so strange Namjoon doesn’t know how he feels about it. (“Taehyung had pouted for so long, claiming I was ‘wasting a perfectly good exotic breakfast item, hyung’. Thank god I had some batter leftover, I don’t know what he would’ve done if I had defiled all of them.”). The drastic texture differences and unsettling flavor combination isn’t so bad paired with the sound of that delightful, squeaky laughter.
He draws the line at the bingsu. Turns out he has limits after all.
“Seokjin-ssi,” Namjoon starts, struggling to politely express himself when presented with the abomination sitting innocently on the counter.
“Hyung,” Seokjin corrects firmly.
“Seokjin hyung,” Namjoon echoes shyly. The sweeping violin OST playing in his head screeches to a halt when the smell of vinegar hits his nose. He straightens and does his best to sound disapproving. “The donut I get, and the pancake might be a good novelty item—”
“Did I tell you they’re gonna be called ‘kimchi John’ instead of kimchi jeon?”
Namjoon’s lips twitch. “Clever. But hyung…what the fuck is this.”
“Jangajji-bingsu. Jimin’s worst nightmare.” Seokjin says with all the relish of Dr. Frankenstein upon reinventing life.
“You terrify me.” Namjoon whispers, half joking.
Even though Namjoon refuses to take a bite of the sour pickles, or the shaved ice they’ve infected, Seokjin doesn’t take offense. Instead, he gives Namjoon a wicked smile that makes his insides squirm pleasantly and his hole leak steadily. It’s a smile far more dangerous than usual, the kind that a respectable baker would not give to a customer. As has been the case most Thursday evenings now, Namjoon’s bike ride home melts away as he’s consumed with thoughts. Wet and messy thoughts.
That night he gives in and meticulously lines his bed with towels, shoving his briefs down to his ankles, laying back onto his pillow with legs spread, easily slipping two fingers inside himself, and imagines they were Seokjin’s. His Slick Problem has always been more inconvenient than sexy, so he rarely feels in the mood to get himself off. But tonight, he comes once on his fingers and again with a knotted dildo pressed snug against his prostate, the silicone knot stretching his rim with a delicious burn. It feels so good to be full that he almost falls asleep with it inside, but he had leaked so much slick that it slips out when he relaxes fully.
Namjoon may or may not shed a tear or two of hollow frustration.
~
The next week Namjoon is greeted not by Seokjin (which is kind of nice, because he had another shameful wank the night before just thinking about seeing him again and now he’s not sure he can look Seokjin in the face anymore), but by a very pretty beta who is sitting on the counter with his feet tucked under him, Min Yoongi style.
The beta drags his eyes up and down Namjoon’s body, probably judging the dirt smudges still caked on the knees of his overalls. Surreptitiously, Namjoon tries to brush them clean, cringing when he realizes that he’s just sprinkled dirt all over their pristine tile floor. Face heating up, he shoves his hands deep inside his pockets. He tries to smile in a normal, not totally robotic way, but doubts he succeeds because the man just raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, I see…” He mutters under his breath knowingly. Namjoon shivers in real fear. Raising his voice the man asks politely, “Good afternoon! I’m Jimin, how can I help you?”
Namjoon licks his lips and tries to swallow, stretching his mouth in what he hopes is a friendly expression. “Hello, I’ve got an, um. Appointment? With Seokjin hy—Seokjinssi?”
Jimin’s eyes seem to flash for a second before shooting him a sweet smile. “Oh, I know. I’ve been curious as to why we’ve been exiled to the back from two to four every Thursday. Are you, like, a food critic or something?”
“Uh, no. I…lost a bet?” Namjoon’s nerves phrase it like a question, but it’s been so long since they met that he had almost forgotten that there had been a purpose, one that didn’t consist of Namjoon making Seokjin laugh.
Jimin grimaces. “Haven’t we all?”
“Oh, yeah.” Namjoon grins, recalling the wonder that is Seokjin at his most Evil Genius. “He told me you guys had also lost bets to him; those desserts were something else. I couldn’t even try yours, and thankfully he didn’t make me.”
“He didn’t? Isn’t that interesting.”
Jimin’s voice is still light and friendly, but Namjoon can feel himself start to sweat under the force of the stare, eyes pretty and calculating.
“Is it?” Namjoon asks, except it comes out more like a squeak. “It’s not, like, a thing. Just a deal we made. Like a, um, casual, friendly deal.” He inhales shakily. “Ha—has Seokjin hyung said anything different?”
Jimin’s smile widens, turning more catlike and dangerous. “Hmm well, Seokjin hyung calls them ‘things’. He has a weekly ‘thing’ that we aren’t allowed to be involved in.”
Namjoon’s heartbeat kicks up, feeling far more intimidated in the face of this almost scentless beta than he ever has with Seokjin. He attempts a casual tone, but his voice creaks at the end. “O-oh?”
“If he had divulged any specifics, it would just be ammo for us to torment him with, so the fact that we don’t know anything about you means there is something to know.”
Namjoon swallows. Faintly, he says, “Sounds like a pretty intense work environment for a bakery.”
Jimin shrugs, nonchalant. “He’s not usually so secretive or, y’know, alpha about things, so it’s kind of exciting. Makes a nice change of pace.”
Heat blooms in Namjoon’s gut and he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. “What, um, do you mean he’s ‘alpha about things’?”
“Oh, you know,” Jimin smirks, examining the immaculate hot pink of his nails, “whenever he comes back from your—appointments, you said? Cute—he always looks like he’s been presented with four-course meal but hadn’t been able to—”
“Jimin!”
A head peeks around the door, eyes big and panicked. “Code Red! The Wolf has fled the tundra!”
“What?”
“C’mon! We agreed on the code.” The head hisses. “I don’t think you locked it right because hyung somehow was able to,” his voice drops to a loud whisper, “escape from the walk-in freezer.”
“Fuck.” Jimin breathes, his soothing beta scent spiking in real fear. “Why am I not dead yet?”
The other boy, another beta by the smell of him, winces in sympathy. A lock of wavy hair flops over his thick bandana as he does his best to crane his head closer without actually stepping past the doorway, like he’s trying not to be accused of trespassing. He continues in that same, loud whisper, “That would be because the, ah, wolf is currently in the back alley slamming your employee of the month plaque against the brick wall.”
Jimin’s affronted gasp covers up most of Namjoon’s snort of laughter, but it’s enough for the disembodied head of either Taehyung or Jungkook to swivel his way, eyes trailing up and down his form, nose twitching.
“Ohhh, I see.” He says, sounding eerily like Jimin. Maybe with a touch less devilish glee. “Is this hyung’s ‘thing’? Like, why he’s been so weird lately?”
Jimin scoffs. “Hyung is always weird, Tae.”
Namjoon’s eyes dart between the two, feeling like he’s listening in on a conversation not meant for his ears. Except he’s not. Both Jimin and Taehyung are aware he’s there, so technically this conversation is specifically for his ears. Also, this is the first real crush he’s had in fucking years, so he’s gonna take any extra intel he can get.
…also that pickle bingsu was truly vile, so Seokjin may have had it coming.
“He’s not normally so stressed about new recipes.” Taehyung says mournfully. “I’m starting to feel like the family members of Bake-Off contestants. It’s a lot of pressure.”
Cocking his head in confusion, Namjoon is attempting to find a polite way of saying ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ when an oddly accurate imitation of a rooster’s crow comes from the back room. It’s clearly supposed to be another form of secret code, but there isn’t much inconspicuous about the way Taehyung’s eyes widen to the size of saucers before vanishing, or the speed at which Jimin leaps off the counter, scurrying to join Taehyung and giggling madly.
He pauses right before the door swings shut, eyes hardening and voice turning steely, “Jin hyung is a good person who’s had shit luck in past relationships. You seem sweet so I’m rooting for you, but you need to know that it’s not casual for him. If you hurt him, I’ll be forced to fuck you up.”
Namjoon tries to swallow around his dry throat, nodding emphatically. Jimin smiles brightly, sending him a wink before darting away like some sort of dastardly Tinker Bell. Fortunately, he’s not alone long enough for his body to figure out if it wants to try calming down or ramp up the anxious fidgeting. When Seokjin walks in, holding a square box decorated with orange polka dots, he looks remarkably composed. His hair, clothes, and smile are all perfectly presentable, if but for the heady scent of alpha pheromones filling the room, clouding his nostrils, and urging him to submit.
It’s instinct for Namjoon to stumble back in alarm, tugging his shirt over his nose to make breathing easier. Seokjin’s smile slips, the warm spice turning bitter at the sight of Namjoon’s distress. He sets the box on the counter and presses his back to the wall, keeping both hands up in the air, eyebrows angled in a uncharacteristic, pained frown.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Seokjin says, voice low and desperate. “I’ll go in the back if you want to leave, I won’t blame you at all. Working with those idiots who barely listen to me makes it easy to forget how to act properly.”
Namjoon breathes in the remnants of Hobi and Yoongi’s scents clinging to him, cool mint and refreshing pine. It clears his head and calms him down, so that when he tugs his shirt back down, he can breathe in normally. The heady aroma is already dissipating away, an impressive feat from an alpha who just had to deal with such severe insubordination.
He does not overlook the significance of his instincts directing him to back up a few steps and breathe through his mouth, instead of their usual instruction to run, run, RUN.
“No, it’s okay.” He manages, the adrenaline thrumming through his chest getting replaced with shy giddiness. “Force of habit.”
Seokjin bites his lip, looking pensive. “Don’t make yourself uncomfortable just to save my feelings. I’d hate that more than if you just left.”
Namjoon tilts his head, eyebrow raised. “And miss out on my free treat? Hell no.”
Eyes narrowed and mouth pinched, as if trying not to smile, Seokjin relents, presenting the box with a flourish. There’s been a noticeable increase in creativity when it comes to the recipes Seokjin has him try, culminating, of course, in the roller coaster of flavor that was last week. Namjoon’s not sure what he had been expecting, but it isn’t a perfectly normal looking cupcake with an immaculate ribboning swirl of light brown whipped frosting. The color gives him pause. Knowing Seokjin, it could be a delicious mocha or his attempt to infuse various notes of tree bark, just to see if he could.
Seokjin huffs a soft, indignant laugh at his hesitation. “It’s nothing bad. Do you think I’d put you through that two weeks in a row?”
“I’m not ruling anything out when it comes to you.” Namjoon replies loftily, even as he brings the cupcake to his mouth. It’s really a shame that he hardly ever gets to taste Seokjin’s cakes, because they are some of his best work. The perfect combination of soft and moist, sweet and rich. He takes a curious lick of the whipped cream by itself and blinks several times at the zingy tang that jolts through him, as if he’s just downed a shot of espresso.
When he glances up, he notices Seokjin staring at him. Jimin’s words from earlier come to him again—he always looks like he’s been staring at a four-course meal. Now that he has the image, he can’t help noticing just how dark and glittering Seokjin’s eyes are, the intensely focused set to his eyebrows, the way he almost unconsciously licks his lips at the same time Namjoon does. His gut flips and his hole clenches down on nothing, slick and empty.
“Can you guess?”
Namjoon blinks. “Huh?”
“The flavor. Can you guess the flavor?” Seokjin must be repeating himself, because he’s got a small, patient smile on his lips.
“Um.” Namjoon swallows thickly, having completely forgotten the half-eaten cupcake about to crumble away in his hand. He shoves the rest of it unceremoniously in his mouth, doing his best to catch any stray crumbs or bits of cream with his tongue. He’s trying to talk with his mouth still full, in a weird, desperate attempt to wipe that look off Seokjin’s face. “Thdastes fabmiya.”
Seokjin’s eyes crinkle. “Didn’t catch that, sweetheart.”
Namjoon’s cheeks burn. He swallows, unable to look Seokjin in the eye. “Tastes familiar.”
Seokjin hums approvingly. “It should.”
Running his tongue around the inside of his mouth, he ventures a guess. “Coffee and caramel?”
“Caramel macchiato, specifically. Good job.” Seokjin praises; Namjoon preens. “It’s what you smell like to me.”
“Oh,” Namjoon says, not thinking. “You told me that before, didn’t you? I taste great.”
“I’m sure you would.”
Namjoon could’ve sworn it was a figment of his imagination if not for the panic that spreads across Seokjin’s face a second later.
“God—fuck that’s not—I swear I didn’t mean—not that I think you’d taste bad—”
His entire body filling with warm, fizzing pleasure, Namjoon grins, wide and pleased. The degree to which Seokjin is uncharacteristically flustered conversely fills Namjoon with courage.
“It’s okay hyung,” Namjoon doesn’t demurely tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, but it’s a near thing, “you can think about how I’d taste. I don’t mind.”
The air, always surprisingly tangy for a place full of sweet desserts, fills with the smell of cinnamon and clove, as if the boys in the kitchen are baking a pumpkin pie. It’s cozy, the smell. It feels like autumn arrived early and they should be curled up under a blanket in front of a crackling fire, cups of hot chocolate warming their palms, still cold from playing out in the snow.
Seokjin clears his throat, bringing Namjoon back to the present. He dares a glance, sees that same hungry look on Seokjin’s face, and wants to scream into his pillow like a lovesick teenager. He settles for cupping his cheeks with both hands in an attempt to cool down his blush. Thankfully, it’s Seokjin that breaks the tension-filled silence.
“I’m not sure if normal conversation will happen now.” He can tell Seokjin is trying to keep it light and teasing, but there’s still an edge of alpha underneath it all. He tries not to shiver. “Congratulations, you’ve rendered me useless.”
Namjoon bites his lip. “Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
Something in Seokjin’s voice makes Namjoon want to spread himself across the counter to be taken at Seokjin’s leisure. He shouldn’t, though, so he backs up, restricting his hands to the insides of his pockets and trying not to let the brightness filling his chest burst out into maniacal laughter. It’s hard when this feeling coursing through him has lain dormant so long. Before Seokjin he’d forgotten what it felt like to desire someone. What it was like to touch himself, not because he was in heat, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about someone in particular, and what it would be like for that person to think of him as well. Aside from the sinking feeling that his omega won’t be satisfied with any kind of fake knot, he’s never felt lighter.
He pauses, back pressed against the store entrance. Grasping hold of any stray bits of bravery left in him he says, “I’m really, really not sorry. Sweet dreams, Seokjin hyung.”
~
Afterwards, Seokjin starts acting odd.
It isn’t immediate. Well, it isn’t immediate as far as Namjoon can tell. Weekends are always big for gardening supply stores like theirs, so he only gets a glimpse of Everything Nice when he walks by in the morning, storefront largely hidden behind bustling customers. While biking home at the end of the day, he does his best to sneak glances through the window without crashing into anyone, a thrill running through him every time he catches a flash of dark hair or broad shoulders. After the two days of nonstop rush, Mondays and Tuesdays are his weekend, days meant for cleaning his apartment, attempting to shop for groceries, and tending his own large collection of plants.
So, it isn’t until Wednesday afternoon that anything feels different. Namjoon’s walking home, body sore from a day of helping Hoseok restock his supply of hydrangea bushes, envisioning a hot bath in his near future to help ease his back muscles. He’s not sure if his subconscious automatically makes him slow down as he’s approaching the bakery, but Seokjin’s approach doesn’t startle him this time around. Although it does confuse him, which is why he doesn’t register at first that Seokjin is thrusting something towards him.
Hands limp and unresponsive, Seokjin has to try several times for Namjoon to actually hold onto the oddly-shaped plastic bag. He’s just got one earbud out to hear Seokjin—who is already backing up towards his store—say, “I hope you like it, I had extra!”
He doesn’t think to ask what it is, or why him. He just blinks, open-mouthed, at the door swinging shut, lifts the bag up high enough for him to smell something savory and delicious, and thinks, hell yeah, I don’t have to order dinner.
~
Thursday is even stranger in that the same thing happens again. Seokjin’s outside, waiting for him, this time with two overstuffed bags of what Namjoon assumes to be carefully packaged leftovers. Quirking an eyebrow, Namjoon asks, “Ordered too much again?”
“Made too much again,” Seokjin says, holding the bags out to him. “Happens around this time of year, I guess.”
Namjoon squints up at the sky, summer sun ever so slowly starting to weaken into the first cool breezes of autumn. “Mid-August?”
Seokjin laughs, suspiciously stilted. “Sure, lets go with that.”
“Okay,” Namjoon turns his squint towards Seokjin. “Am I allowed to come in? Or is this a substitution for my weekly dessert? Not that I’d mind, that was probably the best dinner I’ve had in years.”
“Oh,” Seokjin’s whole demeanor shifts, not unlike a flower unfurling its petals once nudged into sunlight. “That’s—I’m glad. Very, glad. I made that as well.”
He points to the bags unnecessarily and Namjoon can’t help letting out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“Oh,” Seokjin says again, ears blooming a bright red that is both charming and devastating in equal measure. “Well, I hope you like it. I made it just for—just, ah, because.” He shrugs, unconvincing.
Namjoon stares, incredulous. He wants to ask, Hey, man, what the fuck is going on and why are you being so weird? without sounding insulting. But he can’t find the words, so instead he just says, “Thank you, hyung.”
When Seokjin smiles his cheeks puff up and his eyes shrink to crescents, so completely un-alpha like. Which is probably why it makes his heart skip several beats. He’s rushed off again, left to walk home deep in thought, reheat another truly excellent meal, and try not to think about how Seokjin—despite all appearances—would make a perfect mate.
~
He should’ve expected it, given the last two days, but Friday is when shit proverbially hits the fan.
Along with three bags of food (Namjoon still has some leftover from the day before, so this is getting a little out of hand), Seokjin produces a box holding what looks like a delicately rolled, miniature cannoli. Seokjin tells him it’s actually brandy snap and, as with practically everything he’s ever made, it’s fucking delicious. It isn’t until Namjoon’s halfway through enjoying the treat, appreciative noises and all, that he notices Seokjin keeping his distance. His first thought is that Seokjin is coming down with a fever, because Namjoon notices even from several feet away that his eyes look a little overbright and his cheeks are stained a light shade of pink.
Tongue darting out to catch the last of the cream, Namjoon asks hesitantly, “Hyung?”
Seokjin, unfocused, doesn’t hear him. Or, his gaze is very focused, but somewhere over his shoulder. Namjoon looks behind him, but other than the usual traffic nothing is out of the ordinary. He steps forward, asking again. “Hyung? Are you feeling all right?”
The movement seems to snap Seokjin back to reality, because he sucks in a sharp breath, jerking back several more steps. Tension sings in his shoulders, loud and clear. Namjoon balks, but before he can say anything, Seokjin speaks. Heat blooms low in his gut at the uncharacteristic but unmistakable Alpha quality to his voice, low and slightly hoarse.
“I’m okay, Namjoon-ah, just a little tired. A-hyung’s gonna have to miss our meeting next week, but I’ll be back the week after.”
Unthinking, Namjoon blurts, “Oh? Are you coming down with something?”
Seokjin lets out a short, deep laugh. Namjoon puts a steadying hand on the street pole next to him.
“Nothing life-threatening, just coming down with my rut.”
Ah, of course. Namjoon hopes Seokjin doesn’t notice his full body shiver. He aims for casual. “Oh, really? Good to know. Are you—”
He snaps his mouth shut, clenching his jaw until it aches. A question burns at the tip of his tongue, but he has enough dignity to keep himself from asking it. Instead, he pats his pockets in a weak attempt to pretend he forgot something. “I’ve got to uh, make this phone call. Give me, like, one sec, okay?”
Seokjin just cocks an eyebrow, dark eyes still trained on him even as he turns around.
Trying to shuffle a respectable distance away, Namjoon takes his phone out with shaking hands. He’s on the verge of doing something extremely stupid and he needs to be talked out of it. He needs strait-laced pragmatism slapped into him, if not physically then at least verbally. He needs Yoongi. If nothing but for the sake of his pride and firm belief in not succumbing to stereotypes perpetuated by pornography.
“Kim Namjoon, do you miss me already?”
Unfortunately for him, the probability of logic making its presence known at any point during this upcoming conversation, and for those nameless strong, independent omegas he’s about to disappoint everywhere, it’s Hoseok who answers.
“You left, like, half an hour ago. Aren’t I interrupting your weekly date? Shit, I forgot. You bitch at me when I call it that. Aren’t I interrupting your weekly ‘bro no-homo hangout session’ where your sexy alpha friend feeds you and waits with bated breath to make sure you like it?”
Namjoon double checks and sure enough, his fingers have betrayed him. The screen clearly says ‘hobi’ followed by the two small hearts and the eyerolling emoji. He lets out a world-weary sigh and brings the phone back up to his ear.
“On a scale of Sister Maria to, let’s say, you after three shots of tequila, how slutty would it be if—hypothetically speaking—an omega offered to help their newly acquainted alpha friend go through their rut? Just curious.”
The line crackles for a bit, probably because Hobi is too busy laughing at him to bother answering. Namjoon considers hanging up and retrying for Yoongi. Eventually, he comes back on.
“So, I am interrupting your weekly date?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Namjoon hisses. His eyes dart back to Seokjin’s figure, still standing far enough away that he shouldn’t be able to hear, but it’s clear he’s still staring at Namjoon. The thought makes him burn all over. “I know it’s a bad idea. Tell me to stop thinking with my asshole and start thinking with my brain.”
“You think with your brain way too much.” Hoseok says. “Fuck it, be slutty for once.”
Namjoon stifles a groan. “This is why I wanted to talk to Yoongi. Don’t enable me!”
“Your subconscious knew better.” Hoseok sounds obnoxiously smug. “Seriously, Joon. Out of the three of us, you’ve always been the pickiest with alphas. And for good reason! But he’s different, right?”
“What if I’m not thinking clearly?” Namjoon asks desperately. “You’ve never even met him!”
“Oooooh can I?”
It goes to show how far he’s fallen that Namjoon considers his question at all. Logic has got to win at least one battle today, though.
“Fuck no. Let me talk to Yoongi hyung.”
Hoseok replies with his own cheerful, filthy curses, voice slightly muffled as he maneuvers around the store, looking for their reclusive manager. Namjoon can imagine the appalled looks of the non-regulars who aren’t used to Hobi’s unique brand of customer service.
“Joon’s on the phone, wants to talk to you.”
Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief.
“His alpha not-boyfriend told him he’s going into rut and Namjoon wants to offer his services but thinks it’d be too slutty on principle. Even though he’s known the guy for, like, two months now. And even though the guy found out about his leaky faucet, like, as soon as they met and hasn’t tried to make a move yet.”
“Can I fucking talk to him?” Namjoon grouses. “Appreciate the run-down. Totally not humiliating.”
Hoseok must’ve handed the phone over, because Yoongi’s voice sounds clear as day next to his ear. “What, like offering your hole for him to knot over and over again isn’t?”
Namjoon is so genuinely scandalized that for about thirty seconds he’s unable to speak.
Yoongi, for some reason, takes this to mean Namjoon wants him to keep talking. Clearly the sigh of relief was premature. “I’d be more concerned if you were close to your heat, but it’s still a month away, right? So, fuck it. Or, you know. Let him fuck you.”
Namjoon gapes. How dare he copy a joke that Namjoon had thought to himself first. “Hyung!”
“Namjoon,” Yoongi chides, “you’ve been blushing about this guy for weeks. You have a supernatural ability to tell which alphas are the creeps. Better than me and certainly better than Miss Tequila Twink over here—"
“Holy shit, that would be a perfect drag name—.”
Yoongi continues over the excited background chatter. “You need to give yourself more credit. Listen to your instincts. What do they tell you?”
Namjoon chews on his lip. “Hyung, are you telling me you’d give me time off for a dick appointment?”
“If you had the guts to actually ask him, yeah. You only ever take time off for your heats, live a little.”
The bell above the bakery door rings. Namjoon turns to see Seokjin talking to a man that is neither Jimin nor Taehyung, wearing a bright yellow apron with ‘Let’s Get This Bread’ printed in flowery cursive. When Seokjin gestures to Namjoon on the phone the man’s confusion morphs into a teasing smile. Seokjin smacks him on the arm in response to whatever he said, the back of his neck turning red.
“Hello? Earth to Namjoon?”
“Shit, sorry hyung. I’ve been on here way too long, I gotta go.”
“Wait! What are you gonna decide? You gotta tell us, so we know whether we need to send out a search party if you don’t turn up to work tomorrow.”
Namjoon’s eyes are glued to the easy way Seokjin hauls the man, very buff and very clearly laughing maniacally, back into the store before turning back to face him. Their eyes lock and Seokjin smiles sheepishly, cheeks puffed up and pink. Namjoon quirks his lips in a way he knows shows off his dimple, a thrill running through him when Seokjin’s smile slips, cuteness fading into something darker. It’s all Namjoon can do to keep himself from scuffing his shoe or twirling an imaginary lock of hair.
“Fuck it, we ball.”
“That’s my man! Get those pipes clogged!”
“Ew, Hoseok.”
“Hobi, what the fuck? I think that actually dried me up, congratulations.” Namjoon takes a shaky breath. “I’ll text you both. Bye.”
“Have fun and be safe.”
The second the call disconnects Namjoon’s resolve wavers, but his feet carry him closer, enough to smell a strong waft of spiced sugar, so sweet and tangy that he doesn’t realize he’s breathing in deeply until Seokjin’s voice cuts through the fog.
“Namjoon, please back up. You’re making it difficult to—”
Taking three automatic steps back, Namjoon licks his lips. Difficult to what? He wants to ask. Control yourself? Something deep in his gut swoops low and hot at the thought. Seokjin, unable to take it anymore, dragging Namjoon to the side alley to mount and knot him like in the old days where alphas and omegas were driven by instinct and need more than anything else. The thought should alarm him more than it does, but clearly logic has been beaten down into submission throughout the past half hour.
Seokjin’s nostrils flare, eyes fluttering shut as he works his jaw, stumbling back until he’s against the bakery door. In a low, strained voice, he says, “I think you should head home. Don’t come back until next week, please. I don’t—I can’t bear the thought of one of them taking care of you.”
Is that what’s been going on? Namjoon thinks, dizzy and warm all over. He finds himself unable to do anything other than nod. When he stays rooted to the spot, Seokjin actually growls in frustration, voice laced with harsh desperation. “Namjoon—”
“Can I give you my number?” Namjoon blurts. “That way you can know I got home safely.”
Not exactly the question that Hoseok and Yoongi had psyched him up to ask, but the effect it has on Seokjin means it was the right one. His body relaxes and face splits into a wide, heart-stopping smile, canines catching at the skin of his plush bottom lip. Namjoon swallows hard, throat dry (it’s about the only part of him that is).
~
It’s with trembling fingers that Namjoon unlocks his phone, sees Seokjin had added himself as “alpha hyung”, and collapses onto his couch with a whimper. For his own mental well-being, he edits the name to say “Seokjin hyung” instead.
From Namjoon:
hyung, I made it home ^.^
From Seokjin hyung:
good
thank you for telling me, Namjoon-ah
would’ve been much worse going through this if I didn’t know you were safe
From Namjoon:
Hyung 🥺
do you
nevermind
From Seokjin hyung:
you can ask me anything
From Namjoon:
Okay 🥺 🥺
do you
have help? For during your rut?
you don’t have to answer that
From Seokjin hyung:
would it matter to you if I did?
From Namjoon:
I mean
I would be glad if that meant you could have a more comfortable time
From Seokjin hyung:
that’s very reasonable and mature of you
something I’m not very good at being right now
From Namjoon:
but
From Seokjin hyung:
Oh?
But?
From Namjoon:
but I would want it to be me
if I can help, please tell me. I want to
From Seokjin hyung:
Namjoon
From Namjoon:
Its ok if you don’t want to, I was only saying if you needed someone. I’m here.
From Seokjin Hyung:
Oh, sweetheart it’s not that
I would love nothing more than to say yes
The blood that was burning hot and fast through his veins just a second ago chills like ice at the words, at what he knows must come next.
From Namjoon:
…but?
The wait is excruciating, but his patience is rewarded with a rather terrifying block of text that takes him several minutes to read. And re-read.
From Seokjin Hyung:
But it’s not that simple for me. When we first met you told me about your hormonal imbalance that can make physical connection with others difficult. I’ve never really had the reason or opportunity to tell you, but I relate to that more than you know. I haven’t dated anyone in a long, long time, ever since I first presented. I didn’t it know it at the time, and I don’t know how to say this that doesn’t sound arrogant or, yk, like an alpha in rut lmao, but I am…above average in size. Specifically my
The message cuts off abruptly, but fortunately for Namjoon’s nerves, more messages pop up soon after.
From Seokjin Hyung:
Woooow this is so weird to say while in prerut
Fuck ok
I have a big knot. Like, big enough so that when I spent my first rut with an omega I was seeing for a while, I hurt them. It was on accident, of course, but it was bad enough that I couldn’t do it again. still cant.
so the thought of hurting you like that makes me physically ill
Namjoon stares down at his phone for a long moment, chewing on his lip. He thinks of his small collection of toys, the knotted dildo that couldn’t even stay inside him when he was thinking of Seokjin because he was so wet and loose. His fingers are trembling so much that the message takes longer to type out, but eventually he sends it, heart thudding loudly against his chest.
From Namjoon:
Well, if we are both being honest, even tho the ‘hormonal imbalance’ is the main reason I leak unusually high amounts of slick, it’s you specifically that makes my body go fucking crazy. I soaked my underwear when you touched my hand, hyung. I am not just trying to sound sexy when I say you make me so wet I am certain I could take you. and I want to
From Seokjin:
ljWEqiweoy%@#$(%
sorry dropped my phone
fucking hell Namjoon
From Namjoon:
Sorry 🥺
From Seokjin:
Don’t be, please
I want to, but
You make me feel unhinged
Hearing you moan, enjoying what I made you, my alpha wanted to grab you by the neck and mount you against the wall where everyone could see
Like, that sounds insane.
From Namjoon:
First of all, my omega was thinking the same thing, how it’d feel to take your cock in the back alley
Second, I trust that you won’t do anything that would hurt me
And third
Namjoon’s on his bed, sinking down on the heavy girth of the knotted dildo when his phone buzzes. Just seeing his name causes more slick to leak out, and he slips the rest of the way down, knot and all, with the barest twinge of pain. Adrenaline buzzing under his skin at what he’s about to do, Namjoon opens Seokjin’s message
From Seokjin hyung:
Duzyhzjs^^]!~
God Namjoon
Youre going to be the death of me
Definitely the death of my phone
…whats your third point
Grinning, Namjoon lifts up on his knees until just the blunt tip is nestled between his sticky slick cheeks, does his best to position his phone, presses ‘record’, and sinks down until the knot presses against the entrance of his stretched rim, letting out a soft moan. When he lifts again the wet squelch is loud and obscene, the feeling of the dildo stretching his insides not affecting him nearly as much as the fact that he’s filming himself for Seokjin. The next time he sits down on the fake, sub-par cock, he bounces a little, slipping the knot past the ring of muscle with a sucking pop. He sighs, impatient at the possibility of getting the real thing.
Bringing the phone up to his face, he lets the camera catch his dick, hard and leaking, straining toward his stomach. Licking his lips, Namjoon says softly, “I can take you, hyung. I promise.”
With that, he stops recording and sends the video before he can start overthinking it. Seven minutes go by (he counted) before Seokjin replies, the second Namjoon reads the message he clenches hard around the dildo and comes untouched.
From Seokjin hyung:
Aren’t you just gorgeous, like you were made for me.
Leaving now, be there in ten.