When Jeongguk was nothing but a wide-eyed fourteen-year-old, filled with dreams of becoming one of South Korea’s most coveted and adored pop idols, not once had he considered the very real threat of his sexuality turning against him. Yes, he had been aware, even back then, that he’d be living in close proximity with other young and handsome aspiring male idols with abs and pretty hair and pristine skin and oozing sex-appeal from every crevice imaginable. What he hadn’t taken into consideration back then was that he was a gay little caterpillar just waiting to crawl into his gay little cocoon and be totally consumed by his desires. Oh how foolish he had been! In the mind of a young adolescent, he was convinced that loving girl idols and girl group dances made him one hundred percent straight.
Nope. He loves his IU and he loves his Wonder Girls, but not for the reasons he thought. Turns out he can’t masturbate to big tits and hairless vaginas, but it was only after he signed on with BigHit that this became apparent. Before he could even fathom why watching chicks bend over in miniskirts didn’t have his junior springing to kingdom come, he was scooped out of training and thrown in with six other teenage boys—most of whom were on the verge of adulthood. Not only that, but he was placed in an idol group with Kim Namjoon, the reason he signed with BigHit in the first place.
Things didn’t get easier from there. On top of all the stress and hard work being a freshly debuted group demands, Jeongguk was dodging hard-ons left right and centre, whether it was on stage or in the dorms. Naturally, his shy and timid self avoided his hyungs like leprosy. In hindsight, his hyungs probably thought there was something wrong with him. He didn’t eat with them. He didn’t talk to them. He barely made eye-contact with anyone because he was too scared he would either a) have an emotional breakdown, or b) sport a hard-on. Why? Because Jimin had abs and Hoseok was sexy and Seokjin had shoulders that went on for miles and Yoongi, Taehyung and Namjoon had voices so deep he swears their balls dropped when they were five or something.
Then there was him. Little ol’ awkward, lanky-limbed Jeon Jeongguk. His voice was cracking and he had acne, but he still somehow managed to win over the hearts of his devoted fans. He doesn’t know what creepy voodoo shit his mum did to pull that off, but by some miracle it worked.
After a few months though, Kim Taehyung decided they were friends, and by the power invested in all things weird, they did become friends. Then eventually, awkwardness paved way for only mild discomfort, and he was able to calm down enough to actually be apart of Bangtan. It came with its perks. He came to be known as the Golden Maknae, and was nurtured and encouraged by all the members of the group. He could speak to any of them without suffering a mini-heart attack, and their compliments and affection became welcomed rather than feared.
Only, the gayness couldn’t be avoided forever.
Just as he was settling into his own skin, more trouble came in the form of lust. Suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Hoseok as he spun and twirled with practiced grace. Jimin pulling up his shirt to show off his chiseled stomach during No More Dream performances was a force to be reckoned with. Taehyung wrapping his long arms around him and playing with his ears invoked emotions he’d rather not explore. Namjoon’s ability to take control… Yoongi’s rough and gravelly voice… Seokjin’s love and attentiveness…
Everyday is like an uphill battle. Fighting one emotion after the next, year after year. And as he got older, his mind got dirtier. It used to be about power struggle, a fight for dominance, a desire for control where he had none. But when adulthood finally hit, he realized domination was overrated, sending him down a dark, secluded path filled with baby pink and baby blue.
He realizes just how far deep he’s gotten when he starts wedging a purple Care Bear sweater behind the shoe rack in the closet he shares with Namjoon. He bought it online after a curious escapade through a clothes website for “Kawaii Girls”, and oops, his finger slipped. It was twice his size and brushed halfway down his thighs and it was pretty. Really, really pretty. But Jeon Jeongguk isn’t into that stuff—no. Definitely not. He’s supposed to be the Muscle Pig—you know, testosterone and shit. He keeps hetero porn magazines in plain sight under the bunk bed because he needs to make it clear that he’s straight. Straight like an arrow. He likes women with breasts and vaginas and fat asses and long hair and all that. Definitely. Absolutely.
The door is locked and he’s all alone in the dorm today. It’s a rarity he couldn’t pass up. So he stands in front of the mirror in his Care Bear sweater and boxers so tiny the material practically molds around his ass. They had an interview that very morning and Jeongguk made an executive decision to keep his makeup on. The eyeliner and eye shadow make his eyes pop like an anime schoolgirl. After staring at himself in the mirror for a perversely long time, he drops onto his back on the carpet and starts rolling around in the soft material, giggling quietly to himself. He misses this feeling, of being free. He misses being a child. No responsibilities or worries plaguing him. Just wonder and joy and excitement… He wonders what it’d be like to visit this feeling every now and again—not all the time, because that’d take away the magic of it, but just sometimes…
Breathing in deeply, he inhales the soothing smell of vanilla. He likes the smell of sweetness. He keeps perfume flavors of every ice cream in one of the drawers in the closet, along with all his other naughty secrets. Namjoon is so unobservant he doesn’t see half the colorful, cutesy crap Jeongguk stuffs into corners and discreetly hangs between his myriad of plain white shirts. Thank the gods for that. If he were sharing that closet with anybody else he would’ve been caught out long ago.
He turns on his side, eyes flitting over to the shoebox he keeps hidden under the letter jacket with his name printed in bold, white text on the back. Does he dare to reach for the box? He doesn’t exactly know when the other members will be back. All of them had split off to do their own things before their stage performance tonight. Everyone should be back before four o’clock—that leaves him about three hours of potential alone time, all by himself, alone, in the dorm, in his pretty sweater and his shoebox full of goodies. All the possibilities run rampant in his mind, should he snuggle into a nice choker or should he go for one of the cute headbands his fans had generously gifted him? Colour contacts or no colour contacts? More importantly, which member should he fantasize about today?
Yes, it is a bit fiendish of him to think about his hyungs in such a way, but can you blame him? Call it a figment of his imagination, but he swears they tease him on purpose. What happens on stage is something he can easily write off as fanservice, but what happens when there aren’t thirsty fans around to gauge the interaction is another thing entirely. Do they expect him to be immune to their touches? Perhaps it’s all just a game to them. Jeongguk makes it his business to be as aloof to their affections as humanly possible. He can’t let them know his secret, let alone give them the satisfaction of knowing just how profound their influence can be on him.
He crawls across the carpet, only to wince at how harsh the material feels scraping across his knees. Socks—he’s going to need thigh high socks. He pulls out the shoebox and picks a pair of white socks from his collection in the closet. He’s particularly fond of this particular pair because of the adorable pink bows that sit just belong the seams. He tugs the socks up his legs at a deliberate pace, admiring the material as it stretches to hug his calf and thigh muscles. A shudder passes through him as he stands before the body-length mirror, the little pink bows just peeking out from under the material of his baggy sweater.
Pretty, he thinks, he looks so, so pretty.
He bounces on the balls of his feet just to see the ribbons bounce along with him. A giddy smile plays on the corner of his lips. If only he could show somebody.
There isn’t a day that passes Jeongguk by where he doesn’t think of letting the others in on his secret. Of course he wants to. Bangtan is his family, his hyungs are his family, but it just wouldn’t be appropriate—of course it wouldn’t. Going by the lyrics Namjoon and Hoseok write, they’re quite plainly straight, and unless he magically grows breasts and a vagina he isn’t about to score with them anytime soon. Jimin is very image-conscious. Letting him in on the secret could complicate their sweet and simple relationship. Jimin will likely see this as a potential threat to their success more than anything else. Seokjin would be distantly supportive—sure, but he couldn’t imagine his eldest hyung being thrilled at the discovery. He can’t really picture the reaction Yoongi or Taehyung would have, but Yoongi would probably tell him to suppress this side to him whilst Taehyung would dish out some bad advice and land them both in trouble.
It’s a dilemma to be sure, but that doesn’t mean a boy can’t dream, right? If he weren’t an idol though, he’d probably be one of those camboys he’s heard so much about. His fans would call him pretty and sweet and tell him what to wear and what to do as they pump their fat, pulsing cocks from the other side of the screen… Jeongguk blushes.
Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he lowers back down to his knees, this time with the soft protection of his socks. He opens the lid to his Shoebox of Secrets, the place where he stores all his animal headbands and chokers and lubricant and dildos. There was a time he kept condoms in there too, when he was a little younger and clinging to the hope that one day one of his hyungs would see him this way and want him just as badly as he wants them. That was a different time though. Now he’s an adult, he can’t afford to be immature. He knows now that it’s all just a fantasy, and he’s OK with that. He can live with that. So long as Bangtan stays together, so long as they continue to thrive at each other’s sides, he’ll be OK. He has to be.
He dares to reach for the vibrator. It’s small enough to fit inside him and equipped with a handheld remote control. His heart gives an excited flutter as he holds it in his palm. It’s still relatively new—he bought it online a few months ago but he’s only had the chance to use it once since then. It may have been a bit reckless of him to purchase it, but if he were being honest, he bought it more on a whim. At the time he was frustrated and—admittedly—a little lonely, and as he was scrolling through “Kiki’s Online Kinky Store” he thought, what the hell? If his hyungs weren’t going to spontaneously satisfy him like they do in his dreams, then Jeongguk had no other choice but to do it himself.
Since the dorm is completely empty, now is as opportune as any to use his vibrator. Another time like this might not come along for another month or so.
He shimmies out of his boxer shorts before rolling onto his stomach, arching his back to have his ass in the air and his sweater sliding down to bunch around his chest. He shudders at the air that hits his bare bottom, his cheek glowing pink from the exposure. Logically, he shouldn’t feel shy or embarrassed, but he just can’t help himself. Feeling this way, feeling exposed and a little humiliated is apart of what makes the whole experience so delectable.
With one hand gripping a tube of lubricant, and the other gripping the vibrator, his eyes flutter closed, cheek pressed flat against the carpet as he imagines one of the members standing over him—Jimin, eyes glazed with lust and eying him hungrily. His hyung is all dressed up and handsome, almost identical to how he looked in the Blood, Sweat & Tears music video. Silver hair falls over his dark eyes, a dark red scarf tucked around his neck like a choker, his black jeans hugging his legs and his blue blazer complementing his skin tone. Jeongguk could image crawling over to him on his hands and knees to kiss the tip of his sleek, black shoes, and Jimin would smirk down at him and tell him he’s a good boy.
“H-hyung,” he whimpers as he spreads his knees wider.
His cock is small and hard between his legs. He can’t see past his sweater, but he can feel it start to poke his stomach. Drizzling his fingers with lubricant, he reaches behind him, slick digits running up and down his crack and soiling his clenching hole. He gasps, imagining what it’d be like to have Jimin behind him, gripping his hips and whispering hotly into his ear. He thinks of Jimin’s fingers instead of his own as he probes the twitching rim. Look at how needy you are for me, Jimin would tease, such a little slut for my cock and fingers.
“Hyung, please. I need it so badly. You haven’t touched me all day,” Jeongguk moans.
That’s because you’ve been a bad boy, Kookie. What are you trying to prove when you flirt with the other members and bat those lashes, hm? Trying to make hyung jealous?
“N-no. I wasn’t flirting, hyung—please!”
A whimper falls from his lips as he inserts a finger inside himself, roughly twisting the finger in a circular motion as he imagines Jimin sneering down at him. Lies. You think about the others fucking you too, don’t you? I bet you like it when Namjoon’s got his big hands on your waist. Is that why you’re so terrible at English? When hyung’s teaching you what do you think about most, his hands or his cock?
“It’s not true—it’s not true!” he cries, even though he knows it’s a big fat lie. Namjoon’s cock is the only thing he thinks about when Namjoon’s trying to teach him English.