Hobi X You - Tumblr Posts

Little do You Know | OT7 | Twenty One

Pair: Bangtan (ot7) x f!reader 

Summary: In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose. 

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, playmate au, idol au. 

Chapter warnings: SMUT!!! Would you guys like the warnings for the smut to be detailed? Like, oral (f receiving), unprotecte sex, etc… Or just saying there’s smut would be enough? Please let me know!! 

WC: 4.3k

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Just because you agreed to add physical relations to your job as a Bangtan playmate, didn’t mean you were fucking them everyday and every hour of the day. In fact, it had been four days since you had The Talk and the only thing you did was kiss here and there whenever you were alone with one of them. 

Granted, that was still a work trip for them, and they were busy. From appearing live on the Late Late show, being nominated for a Grammy again and rehearsing for the concerts that were coming up, it didn’t leave them much time to do anything else. And a quick fuck backstage wasn’t really what they were after with you. 

Keep reading

What’s the angsty(est?) BTS x Reader story you’ve ever read? Can be any member. But what story have you read that hurt you so bad that you legit cried to. Looking for recommendations. :-) thanks friends.

STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is. 

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet. 

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body. 

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands. 

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts. 

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh. 

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough. 

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything. 

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi. 

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips. 

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again. 

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t. 

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself. 

You need some fresh air. 

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a  light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night. 

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore. 

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness. 

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do. 

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence. 

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil. 

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation. 

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye. 

One he doesn’t reciprocate. 

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals. 

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in. 

You furiously throw it out in the bin. 

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi. 

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen. 

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat. 

Hobi is calling you. 

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it. 

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you. 

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is. 

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression. 

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though. 

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it. 

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless. 

A reality check. 

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man. 

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene. 

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him. 

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?” 

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline. 

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale. 

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him. 

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?” 

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk. 

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached. 

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body. 

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume. 

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier. 

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it. 

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.” 

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?” 

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.” 

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be. 

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first. 

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.” 

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you. 

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will. 

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched. 

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face. 

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.” 

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood. 

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.” 

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him. 

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore. 

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog. 

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it. 

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging. 

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears. 

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.” 

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?” 

You do, but you can’t. 

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.” 

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm. 

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up. 

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath. 

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all. 

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away. 

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?” 

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames. 

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish. 

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him. 

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit. 

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour. 

But Jungkook stops you. 

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.” 

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around. 

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately. 

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you. 

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape. 

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out. 

And you just might. 

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.” 

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out. 

And so you lash out, using that freedom. 

You slap him. 

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes. 

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?” 

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice. 

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.” 

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you. 

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it. 

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up. 

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you. 

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you. 

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side. 

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning. 

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen. 

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.” 

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.” 

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.” 

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.” 

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.” 

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him. 

You turn around halfway. “Go home.” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you. 

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook. 

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you. 

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly. 

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?” 

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home. 

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing. 

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans. 

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that. 

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?” 

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before. 

Only the roles were reversed. 

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity. 

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand. 

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him. 

No—your joy, fully, forms. 

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries. 

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home. 

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left. 

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them. 

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him. 

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number. 

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth. 

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination. 

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand. 

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work. 

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.” 

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?” 

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world. 

“Not that much.” 

His heart quickens and you regret your words. 

“What do you mean not that much?” 

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through. 

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?” 

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for. 

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life. 

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events. 

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest. 

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.” 

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.” 

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.” 

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.” 

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night  off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it. 

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.” 

“You don’t?” 

You shake your head. “He threw it out.” 

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this. 

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.” 

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost. 

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so. 

It made you laugh. 

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness. 

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt. 

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them. 

“Can you stay over tonight?” 

“Only if you take a puff.” 

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair. 

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right. 

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music. 

Jungkook sent you a picture. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two

BLACKBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc

genre: smut, angst

word count: 6.1k

summary: opening jungkook's message brought in a blessing and a curse.

pinterest board: blackberries / taglist: join

warnings: breeding kink, raw sex, hobi rubs your clit......., provider!hobi, talks of pregnancy, slight nipple play, oc cries, ruined sex and orgasm, swearing, spanking, talks of punishment, heavy daddy issues

note: i loved every minute of writing this part, so i'm happy to bring it to you, finally. it brought a lot of clarity and direction as i was writing mindlessly all this time. this series will have one or two more parts (probably two more) and then i'll finally be done writing about two members:D. i love you, guys, so much. let me know what you think. i miss you. i hope you like this as much as i do. <3

The morning has spilled in like a friend through the dusky pink curtains, casting a soft light over the place Hobi is focusing on as he’s buried in your femininity, balls-deep. Lingering there as if he was nesting at home. 

You haven’t slept a wink. Neither has he, restless by your sadness-induced insomnia, zapped with consistent life by the threat that lit up your phone when drowsiness asked for your hand, longing to take you to its kingdom. If you were to become a princess, the matter was snatched away from you—or rather tossed back and forth as you drifted in and out of that threshold. Hobi suggested to you to open the attachment sent in the message, rip the skeleton out of the closet and burn it in celebration of your wedding, so you could rest… but you couldn’t. You were fearful and you lacked courage, because you knew that if you were to make your eyes the witness of what regret has forced Jungkook to do, calmness wouldn’t have been the embrace you sought. 

That is, if regret was truly the wave of emotion that swam past those starlit irises of his. You don’t trust your memories anymore—they’ve become a chaos of mist that you get stuck in when you dare to wade in it. And it’s so peculiar that you have to do it willfully, instead of being wholly swallowed by them, instead of being so unfairly and awfully haunted by them that there’s nothing left for you to do but to relive the anguish over and over again. 

To Hobi’s suggestion, you proposed to wait until the morning comes and the new day’s strength and possibilities greet you. You don’t really know where you found this wisp of positivity in you, but you twiddled with it all night, acknowledging yourself with it. The full moon rose up high in the blackness of the sleeping heavens, no cloud covered its magnificent light shining wistfully over the way Hobi spooned you and it gave you the notion, the whim to be as bare as it was. He had marked you with its phase, foreshadowed this flourishment with its crescent likeness on the flesh of your thigh, so you figure it’s only right that you use it when it’s right in front of you—that you complete it, make it full. 

You are going to confront Jungkook. Take the other end of this blanket’s pained darkness and flip it to its other side. Let the moonlight have it as you watch, hands by your side. Let the rays sweep it clean of its thick dust until it resembles its very own face. End the relationship once and for all. 

That means talking to him in a way that doesn’t correspond to the emotional violence that occurred hours ago. That means killing it with kindness, not raising your voice, nor your fists. And you wish to do it alone—without Hobi’s presence. You’re aware that if he were there, it would be proper. And not only that, he would also step in if the situation asked for it, but something tells you that this time… it’s not going to be a fight. 

It’s going to be a calm conversation between two humans that used to be close. 

This notion had been whispered to you the moment the light of your phone died until the sun awakened. Its voice kept you uneasy and fidgety—partly because you don’t know to whom the voice belonged to, partly because you simply don’t trust yourself. Being mean and uncompromising with him served as a shield. You don’t know what’s going to happen once you’re in a room with him all defenseless, but you have to risk it. 

You’ve been feeling very intensely that it’s meant to happen. 

It’s what Hobi has been feeling as well, taking your jitteriness in his grasp and kissing it away. He had begun at the nape of your neck and your shoulder and you encouraged him by closing your hand over his and leading it beneath the duvet, thinking that perhaps if you head into this direction of his holy lust, you’d find answers, you’d find instructions, words you could use later to unravel to Jungkook. You regarded his unfolding responsibility over your emotions as so terribly fatherly—grounding and validating that it aroused you; it soaked your little pajama shorts that he had dressed you in and the low gasp that reached your ears when he discovered it with the guided movement of his fingers… it felt better than any hit of the blackberry vape he bought you. 

Hence why you hushed your disagreement when Hobi shifted, craving to taste you. You wanted the clasp of the connection between you and him fully shut by having him inside you, and so you reached behind yourself, grabbed that intimate part of him to stroke him, to get him fully erect, letting go of him only for a brief moment to drag your shorts and underwear down. You didn’t perceive his hesitancy until he took a hold of your hasty hand, shadowing it with his palm against your knuckles like he had done yesterday in his car. 

His breath trembled before he spoke. “You’re not prepared enough for me.” 

You didn’t find your words until he sank his fingers between yours, another grounding sensation washing over you as he guided your hand to the parts of his manhood that feel the most stimulating for him. The tip of his cock and down his balls, his kids that he had promised that were yours. The essence of it drenched you even more, without him knowing—the perfect picture, greater than any painting you ever saw, of him loosening himself inside of you, the hot spurts, his growls, deepened by the flaring passion, then the clicking of connection, and your belly, full and swollen, carrying a concoction of him and you that will live beyond your death. 

“I can take it like this,” were your truthful words, head turned halfway to him as your side position allowed it to. 

Hobi closed his mouth over your cheek in a slow, deep kiss that you’ve never experienced before. A rising tide of tears flooded your eyes and stayed there, not wanting to pour over. His care, his knowing better, his responsibility, all the principle of his fatherliness. It soothed your body, encouraged the picture in your mind to bloom with more vivid colors. 

It was illogical, plain stupid to think like this within a week of knowing him, but why did it feel so right? Why did it feel like a step that didn’t waver underneath your bare feet, like the soft sand under the stable, still weight of the sea, right as a small, murmuring wave laps at the shore. Why did it feel that way? How come these thoughts never burst forth whenever Jungkook held you down and did everything that made your body call him Daddy? 

Was it because sex with Hobi never felt like a playtime, but something way more serious? Something way more mature, ripened, that had that darkened, tangy flavor of blackberries. A flavor that lasted, didn’t dissipate after swallowing. Something that you’ve strongly begun to believe is able to run the course of your entire life; that has the enigma to break the curse. 

Your attachment to him developed, grew a small pair of wings that curled within his chest, shivering like a newborn child. Not screaming, not crying. Quiet, calm, serene. 

Your tears threatened to pour out, its former decision not to wearing out. Your emotions longed to submit, longed to rest—and you broke open the lock, longing to love yourself back. 

“Let me rub your little clit and get you ready for it, pup. It’s gonna hurt if I don’t and that’s not happening under my watch,” he murmured, dragging his fingernails up your arm, flattening the pads of his fingers on the way down your breast and ribs, rooting at the overspilling pooch of your stomach—the source of your river of tears. He left gooseflesh in his wake as your liquid, freed emotions trickled down your cheeks, one that he warmed by pressing your back flush against his chest, placing the side of your head on top of yours, lips puckered in an eternal, oscillating kiss—the makeshift, heart-shaped sunlight that shines through the surface of your river. 

Overwhelmed by it all, you could only nod. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna make you strong, you want that?” Hobi continued, hand sneaking down your mound, your feminine flesh until he reached your heat, collecting your nectar, then drifting back up to your clit, stopping there. You writhed, your bum pushing up against him, mewling your agreement. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You parted them and Hobi followed your movement with his palm, guiding you to hook one of your legs behind his, shifting you a little onto your back, giving him more space for the expansion of the eternity of his kisses. He fondled your cheek with his, acknowledging himself with your tears, forcing them to be his when he breathed them in, exhaling with a mournful sigh. 

You had never been mourned before. And the feeling was too great—too, too great. 

“Don’t cry, pup. I’m gonna make it right. Everything.” 

He didn’t wish to fix you; he was determined to fix your life. You began to sob, your fingers finding his temple, sinking into his silky hair. Hobi waited for the halt of your liquidity, thinking it’s sadness, but your emotions didn’t bear its face. They were clothed in thankfulness and wore the face of a bride of felicity, a woman who carried dejection in her arms for her entire life, only to have been gifted joy by a man who saw her, met her and listened to his heart when it asked for her. 

You placed his hand right back, where it belonged. Became aware how his fingertips were the perfect size for the swollenness of your clit, which led you to think it was created for him, for his fingers only; that no one else would ever touch it because there would be no one after him. It has become his until the end of time. 

“I’m not gonna touch you when you’re crying,” Hobi whispered and you shook your head, pressing his middle finger against that sensitive part of you. 

“I’m not sad, baby,” you said in the same hushed tone, which halted your tears. “I’m happy. Those are happy tears. Touch me, please.” 

He used the same hand to turn your chin for his lips to kiss yours, slow and passionate, making you cry out. He sighed against you, breaking the exchange of affection to look at you in the growing, muted light, irises flicking between yours, deep in thought. And when he licked his fingertips and rubbed your clit, you realized he did it in order to watch your reaction because those same irises fluttered back into his head. He hissed, baring his teeth, and you mewled little sounds that almost made him roll them back again. 

“Your clit is so swollen,” Hobi commented, love stretching over his eyes, and your walls clenched, tightly. You knew in that very instant that the love you saw got engraved along those fleshy walls of yours, never to regrow into its former state. 

“My body is asking for you,” you murmured, using the similar words that you did yesterday in his car, when you teased him. 

He moaned. “Oh, yeah?” 

It were your eyes that rolled back and you let him espy your perversely innocent obsession with those two words. Your torso lifted off of the mattress, hips twirling in the rhythm of his circles, your throat emitting the sweetest, most prolonged noises. And he swore, mouth parted. 

“You like when I say that?” 

You nodded, your orgasm quickening in tandem with his motions. The blush that appeared upon his cheeks casted the room in a rosy glow. Even the moon shone differently—more gently, the heavens dressing themselves in the dawn of his warm emotions. It added much to the coming of your climax, the same colors dipping inside, and you yearned for his lips. 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He kissed you with a delicate hunger, burying his nose into your cheek, breathing hard. His other hand had sneaked around your torso when you arched it and as he kissed you, he lifted the hem of your pajama shirt and brushed his palm over your nipples. Streaks of the pinks of his dawn blasted in your dark vision, sizzling once he grabbed both of your breasts in that same hand, and your body gained momentum in its writhing dance, your nubs stimulated. And when his tongue greeted yours, you came.

His fingers glided along your wetness as you fell down from your high, unable to kiss him back. Hobi watched you with enlarged pupils and with reddened, puffy lips, out of which trickled little, rough noises of pleasure. He was pleased to see what he saw, cordially mellow life spreading over you, changing you. You felt it and you were fearful of it abandoning you, clutching it with all your might on the inside and he helped you—sank his fingers inside your heat, stretching you out, desiring to see it blanketing you, perpetually. 

And then he was on top of you, driving his cock up and down your glinting femininity, panting, licking his lips, murmuring something about how he wanted to look at your face when he gave you what you wanted. He held himself steady in his fist, humming with each snap of his hips, his buff figure glistening in sweat. But all that your attention was painted with was the blessed picture of him getting you pregnant. It dizzied your senses, hormones rushing in, overpowering everything else. 

And you didn’t voice it out until he was mid-stroke. 

“I want you to breed me so bad.” 

Hobi growled, gutturally, stomach clenching—making his abdominal muscles more prominent than before. He fucked you hard, stopping after each rock of his hips, your body reverberating. 

“Be quiet or I won’t last.” 

Due to the hormones intoxicating your brain, his rejection saddened you and your mouth rounded in a pout, hands clasping his muscled arms, your manicured fingernails scratching down the skin. Hobi only cooed at your reaction, leaning his weight on one arm, his hand petting your cheek, thumb tracing the half-moon of your mouth, failing to precisely follow the line, quivering as he continued to ram into you. 

He grinned once your expression broke and melted into an angelically lustful one. He gave you the entirety of him, his mound kissing yours, again and again. 

You caught your breath, got used to the overbearing sensation of him rapidly prodding your guts. “Give me your kids, please, please.” 

And your plea didn’t have an ending until he decided. 

“If you say please one more time, I’ll stop.” 

And you did. 

He pulled out, brows shadowing his deepening blush, and he pinned your hands behind your head, leaning his weight on them. His bedewed cock twinkled on the pooch of your tummy and you closed your thighs over it as much as your position allowed you, your legs hanging over his shoulders. 

“Eyes on me,” Hobi commanded and you lifted your gaze, boring it into his. “You make me wanna do bad fucking things to you,” he continued, groaning when you squeezed the muscles of your thighs, affected by his words—your heart quickened, drunk by the dark side of his desire. “Punish you. Ruin you. But I can’t. I can’t when you’re such an angel, when you’re so bite-sized. You deserve nothing but love and gentleness, so don’t fucking tempt me and let me fuck you like you deserve.” 

Maddened by his words, you began to lift your hips, thighs clenched, feeling small, courageous and girlish. Hobi closed his eyes, moaning. Fucked your thighs until he couldn’t take it anymore, holding them steady, staring you down. Then, he pried them apart and made love to them with his mouth, rooting at your stomach, marking it just once—on the skin just beside your belly button. 

“I love your little tummy so much,” he whispered, biting it, biting into your insecurity and chewing it out, making you cry out in pleasure. Took your hands in his, rubbed your knuckles. “Are you gonna be a good pup now?” 

Your femininity drooled for him and you nodded, but he wanted you to use your words. 

“I’m gonna be a good pup now, Hoseok.” 

He swore, kissing you hard on the mouth. “I don’t know what makes me crazy first. Hearing you say your pet name or hearing you say my name. You’re so good. So good to me.”

It was melting, what occurred next. In the same, poetic way the night melted into the morning, Hobi melted into you. He began to fuck you, languidly. No rush, no hastiness. Eye contact, hand holding. Nose to nose. Time might have stopped between you and him, but it went on beyond the atmosphere of the love you felt surrounding it from within. It reminded you of the love that swam past his eyes, of the way it got engraved on the walls of your heat—and with every tranquil stroke, you sensed him etching it deeper. The poem you recited for him, the picture of your swollen belly, the curved lines of his endeared eyes. You’ve gotten lost in it, and so has he—in the cherub pendant of your necklace, sitting proudly on your chest. The rosy light as it longs to look, too, at his studying material. It’s what brings him into the present time, tender eyes flicking to the side, where the light is spilling from, realizing that the morning has come. 

He places his hand flat on your chest, fingers over the cherub. “You’re wearing yourself on your necklace. Little baby angel with pretty, pretty wings.” 

You pucker your mouth, asking for a kiss, heart warmed by the fact he’s mentioning something that’s so dear to you. He gives it to you, chaste and gentle, whimpering against you as he twitches inside your femininity. He begins to move, smoothly, at that same slow pace. Love—that must be the wordless expression of love. You tremble all over.

“What do my wings look like?” you ask, thumb stroking his knuckle as your hands remain intertwined with his. You tighten your hold, stealing some of his stability. 

Hobi doesn’t pause to think; his answer is ready on the tip of his tongue. “You’re golden, pup. From head to toe, but differently. You’re smothered in pink. Gold and pink.” 

His imaginary wings quiver, pink and black. You sigh, pleased, heart thumping. 

“The sun is up,” he says, kissing your neck once. “Are you strong and brave like that angel to open the message?” 

You widen your eyes, mouth parting and drying in shock. “Now?” 

He smiles, lazily, focusing his kisses on your cheek. “Yes, now, pup. So I can make you forget about what you saw right after.” 

A moan escapes you and you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his back. Hobi picks up the speed, whimpering in your ear, hands gripping your waist—grounding you, giving you the notion that nothing bad could ever happen to you when he holds you like this, when he makes those sounds for you and when he’s connected with you like this. You can taste his strength when he nestles himself inside you to the hilt all over again,. And you smack your mouth, loving the tangy flavor of it. 

What a perfect time to open the message. 

“Okay. I can do it.” 

Hobi coos. “That’s my pup.” 

You clench around him and he growls, kissing you, the sound traveling down to your heart, steeling it. Breaking the kiss, he reaches over for your phone and hands it to you. You position it so both of you can see the screen as you tap on the singular notification, your stomach rippling while your heart remains strong. And while it loads, you whisk your gaze to Hobi. 

He’s nibbling his bottom lip. 

Nervous. 

Ache seizes you and you’d say fuck it and fling your phone away, but you’re aware you need to do this. So you and Hobi can have the needed peace. It’s a step towards the confrontation that will follow soon. 

“Can you hold my hand?” you ask, mouth rounded in tender emotion and Hobi doesn’t hesitate to take your hand. Interlacing your fingers with his in his style, he keeps your hand pressed against his chest and you can feel the vibrations of his violent heart. 

Your ache grows. 

The picture has finished loading. 

A canvas is poised behind the sunless background of his floor length windows, illuminated by the faint lights that shone in his living room. You’d focus on the drying art, on its colors, on its vague message, but you know, instinctually, that the message isn’t there. 

It’s right there in the reflection of his window. 

Jungkook is standing there alone, barren down to his manliness. Covering the base of his semi-hard length with a hint of decency, the largeness of his hand only conceals the fine hairs on his mound while the rest is naked to the eye. The glint, perpetuated and divulging his arousal, on the mushroom head of his manhood. The broadness of his chest, the slenderness of his waist, the tattooed sleeve that leads to the part of him that used to bring you so much pleasure. 

Your body betrays you; you clench around Hobi. 

You can feel his gaze upon your face, but it’s not scorching hot. It’s anything but. 

“Who is this person to you?” he asks, calmly, and you swallow with difficulty. The time has come for the truth; you can sense that it’s right, that it’s meant to be, but still you hesitate, try hard to find the bit of strength you have in order to use it to speak. But you discover that it’s all been used up, so you remain silent. Hobi calls you by your name, pressing on the matter, tiny stars of trust flashing in his eyes. “I’m not a boy, you can talk to me. You can tell me who this person is to you without me getting mad, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

It’s not that you’re fearful of his reaction—you just wish this never happened in the first place. You don’t want to deal with this, you don’t want to bring Jungkook into your relationship any more than he already is. But it’s inevitable. You can’t pause it. You can’t delay it. 

You can only face it. 

“He’s my ex,” you whisper, not trusting your own voice, worried that it’ll break and your tears will make an appearance. 

“I thought so, but I wanted to hear it from you. Good.” He licks his lips, eyes descending to your cherub before they fix on your mouth, pecking you. Your chest shudders with emotions. “When did you break up?” 

Your chin quivers. Inevitable. “Almost a month ago.” 

Hobi nods, thinking as he rubs his knuckles on your cheek. “Do you still love him?” 

A tear rolls down your cheek while silence echoes within your mind, body and soul. “I don’t know.” 

He cradles your face with both hands. “You squeezed around me when you looked at him. Got wetter. It’s okay. It’s too soon. I found you too soon.” 

You sob, loudly, uglily. Hobi shushes you, kissing your tears away. Pulls out of you and shifts onto his back, bringing you with him, so you can lie on his chest. Cocoons you in his arms, nose buried in your hair that he pets, breathing steadily while his heart tremors. You cling to him with all your might. Break and break while he keeps the shards of you whole, the sharp edges cutting his skin open. And you’re sorry, terribly, terribly sorry. You sink it into his chest, into his neck—kissing him there with your tears, your sobs and your hands that roam everywhere they can reach in the snugness that little by little find a way to help you voice it out. 

“I’m so sorry, Hobi. I’m so sorry.” 

He rubs your back. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

You disagree. Loathe your body for the way it sang for another man. “But I did. You felt what my body did. I’m so sorry.”

He even grew soft and pulled out of you. A dread courses down your treacherous body at a thought that seizes you—that in most probability this is the last time he showers you in the kindness of attention, that this is the last sun you’ll ever see for the rest of your life. 

Hobi brushes your hair back and gazes down at you, splitting your thoughts in two. “Look at me.” Rays of the heart-shaped sun paint streaks of rose gold in his pearlescent eyes. There must be all sources of light—you’ve never seen such stark luminosity. It pulls you in, tightens your attachment to him, encourages your private desire to be with him, stay with him, live life with him. You drift your fingertips along the softness of his skin on his chest that you’re resting upon, hear its hushed calling for you, but you fear it’s all in your mind. “Your body reacted the way it was supposed to. You spent some time with this person, loved him at some point and it just ended. Your body is still used to him and as much as it pains me, I understand it.” 

The shards in you crumble, staining his skin in crimson. Your fingers begin to itch to claw that accustomedness away, so you can be all new and pure for him. They tremble against his shoulder and like a kitty cat, Hobi rubs his cheek on it, soothing its tremor, soothing its ruination tendencies, and you let him, willfully, gladly. You want him to paint you so anew that you’d have to get to know yourself all over again, that you’d have to wade through heavy, murky waters in order to remember, faintly, your past love. 

You lost all respect for Jungkook—and, vividly, you sense the final conclusion to the chapter of your life with him. 

“I want you, Hobi. No one else,” you whisper, your tears dried upon your cheeks, on his chest, too. 

He lifts your chin. Looks at you for a time that seems centuries-long. “You want me?” 

You nod in his hand. “I want to spend my life with you. Is it also too soon to think that?” 

He laughs, softly, lips curled in a gentle smile. He swipes his thumb under your eyes, over your eyelashes, and he kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry. I said it because I want you all to myself. I also told you I don’t share, remember?” 

Yesterday in his car, when he wasn’t willing to kill the engine and fuck you in your silky dress and thigh-high boots because he didn’t want other people around to hear your sounds of pleasure. His smile reaches your mouth, rightfully, at the memory. You deem it belongs there. Deem these memories should be the only ones living in your mind. Those to come, too. Not the image of Jungkook’s bareness and the unknown canvas you didn’t even glance at. 

Now that you’ve descended to a state of calmness, you think about the matter of ‘soon’, portrayed by his words. You repeat them in your mind—“Too soon. I found you too soon.”—and admiration for him slinks into your heart, growing there into a bush of raspberries that you can strangely taste in your mouth. Every chamber of your weakened heart is perfumed by it the longer that sentence rings in your system. You’re touched by it, by his softness, by his lack of anger that would only be appropriate in this situation. And it means a lot to you, because all that you’ve ever known from the few men in your life, besides indifference, is anger. Your father, your first boyfriend, Jungkook. All of those men showed you that you’re deserving of the scalding, poisonous sting of anger due to your actions. 

Hobi isn’t like that. He regrets the time. His emotions shoot out into the realm, where your footfalls never made an imprint. 

Your sweetened body yearns to give back to him, but you don’t know how to do it in a way that isn’t lustful. 

You lift your torso, propping your forearms on his chest, breasts squished against him. Your hair falls around you, vivifying the beginning bloom of your arousal, the raspberries. And you blow them, against his lips, coaxing an endeared hum out of him. Hobi opens his mouth to speak, but you outrun him, needing to get something out of your chest. 

“Thank you for not being angry with me,” you say and the sunlight rises furthermore, gracing you with a picturesque aura that tightens the thankfulness, laced with the need to pleasure him, within you. “You’re not sharing me with anyone, and you never will. I’m yours and I want your kids. But I’m sorry that you regret it’s too soon. I’m sorry I’m not prepared enough for you. You don’t deserve this.” 

Hobi shakes his head, pressing his lips in a firm line, dimples etched above. You regard them as so beautiful that you trace them with your fingertip. He envelops his arms around you tighter, grasping the nape of your neck, drawing you in to kiss you. And the raspberries burst as he moves his mouth against you, priming your yearning to give back to him. 

A string of saliva keeps you bound to him as he withdraws and it propels you to kiss him again. He lets you, briefly, whimpers when you slip your tongue inside, and he forcefully pulls you away. Needs to say something—his eyes are full of that thumping urgency. 

“I could never be angry at you for something that isn’t your fault,” he breathes out, chest lifting rapidly as he pants, the urgency growing in size and you sense that he really wants you to know this. “And these kids?” He thrusts his hips against you and yours and his smile widens in unison—he’s pressed right against your naked mound and stomach, and the movement caused his balls to softly tap the round, fleshy edges of your bum. “They’re yours as soon as this settles, you hear me?” 

You coo, cradling his face, eyes narrowing in taut, tender emotion. And something of the same urgency spills out of you in similar fashion. “All night I imagined carrying your child. But I’ll start taking my birth control again until—”

“You don’t have to,” he disagrees, seriousness coating his tone, and your mouth parts. “As soon as this settles, you’re having my child, if that’s what you want as well.” 

The words—isn’t it too soon?—almost drips out of your agape mouth, but then your desire stops you. If it weren’t the time for it, would your desire for it still harmonize with your heart? 

Seeing your hesitancy, Hobi continues. “I have a house. A stable job. Money in my bank account. In savings. I’ve wanted a child for a long time and it got to the point that I had to physically stop myself from wanting it. And then I met you—and you wouldn’t stop tempting me with it.” He chuckles and you’re struck with speechlessness, your heart, your lungs swollen with a mania of affection, elation and passion. Merely your hands are able to talk—and you squeeze his cheeks, squishing them, prolonging his sound of joy, planting a flush across them. “You’re the person I was waiting for, pup. And the waiting is over. I have no reason to wait anymore, do I?” 

You kiss him and onto his lips you say: “You don’t.” 

He hums, deeply. Glides his hands down your spine to your bum, kneading it, and it’s instinctual—the way your hips begin to grind against the squishiness of him. In response, his lips latch onto your neck as his hands begin to guide your movement into a kingdom of vigorousness. Delightful pleasure anoints your body in rosy relief, exultation and in a rhapsody of excitement to see, to meet the new, upcoming face of your life. 

Hobi, the curse breaker. The enigma is revealed and your organs flutter, scurry to write a hymn for him. 

It’s what he absolutely, befittingly deserves. 

And more. 

You crawl back down until you straddle his knees, keeping your hands flat on his stomach as you take the softness of him into your mouth. You fail due to how lightweight he is, coaxing a giggle out of you and a determination to try harder to gratify your yearning to give back to him, and Hobi moans, pets your hair, the reverberations of his sighs stimulating your intimate parts. 

You swallow a little bit of him, pausing at his tip, your cheeks hollowed out. He sinks his fingers into your hair, body trembling underneath you, and it feels exhilarating. A question that needs to be voiced out springs in you, spurred from the subtle saltiness of his precum that you devour. 

“So, are you my boyfriend now?” 

Hobi grins, petting you as if you were a puppy—waggling your head as you toy with the tip of his cock, using your tongue, feeling him harden, little by little. “I’m your husband.” Your stomach flips, cheeks redden and Hobi laughs, gently. Your arousal drips down, unabashedly, down your inner thigh. He grabs your jaw, his length plopping out of your mouth. Another trickle of arousal follows the one that stained your flesh. “But yeah, I’m your boyfriend. You wanna mark down this day, pup?” 

You nod, speechless again, your mind a sultry, misty pool of lewdness and the image of your pregnant belly laps past your eyes, drenching you. “The day you stuff me full of your cum… as a boyfriend.”

Hobi rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath as your smile blossoms. He tugs you upwards until your pussy rests against his cock the way it did before, caging you in with one arm around your back while the other squeezes the fleshy part of your hip. 

“Grind your pussy on it, pup. Come on,” he orders and you listen, rolling your hips against his hardening manhood, your dripping essence making it an easy ride. Then, he kneads your ass cheek, descending to the back of your thigh and spanking it once, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you that rapidly stiffens him. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure rooting from your stimulated clit and you want more. 

You’d reach behind yourself and put him inside, if he hadn’t spanked your ass so hard that you cried out. 

“Fuck, Hobi.” 

Your eyes wet with pleasure-filled tears behind closed eyelids and when you open them, you catch the lopsided smile on Hobi’s face straightening into a narrow, firm line. Your heart quivers, the mist in your mind evaporates and you lift yourself onto your hands. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you ask, panic evident in your voice, but it seems as though he can’t hear you—his eyes are lost, unblinking, his being having strayed away to a dark corner of his mind.

It isn’t until you shake his cheek that he flicks his eyes up to yours. Wretchedness dims out their light and it might as well rip out your heart, with its raspberry fragrance and all. 

“The painting,” Hobi says and you furrow your brows, not sure what he means. 

“What painting?” 

He sits up, leaning his back against the pillowed headrest, licking his lips.  “In the picture he sent you,” he explains, his voice dull and low; your lungs constrict. Cold sweat prickles your spine and you can’t breathe. What did Jungkook paint on that canvas? “You didn’t look at the painting?” 

You’re ashamed to admit that you didn’t, so, breaking the eye contact, you shake your head ‘no’, your features drooping. Hobi takes your hands in his, his thumbs in the middle of your palms, and the gesture helps you reconnect the exchange of gazes. Pity floods the indistinct light and your lungs burn.

“He painted you. Bent over… his lap I guess. Your butt was red and it had his handprint.”

The fire of your lungs spreads to the rest of your body and you don’t hesitate before you grab your phone and dial Jungkook’s number. 

Don’t hesitate to burn him with the same fire. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan,

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three

RASPBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and luna)

genre: smut, angst

word count: 10.5k

summary: a step towards breaking the curse of your life—nothing could be sweeter than that, could it?

pinterest board: raspberries / taglist: join

warnings: anal sex:), blowjob, a bit of an argument?:), bathtub sex, ass eating, pussy licking, this whole chapter is a warning itself, oc and hobi are just horny, anger, crying, daddy issues, breeding kink, praise kink, spitting:), their emotions are all over the place, brief mention of suicide.

note: okay, this chapter might have salvaged this entire series. i wrote entirely through my feelings and the plot took a whole different direction. like i had something planned, but the characters do what they want. :) SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. THE CHAP WAS GETTING LONG. and i want the last (next) chapter to be juicy! please, send me your thoughts via my inboooox. i'll be waiting. do we trust jk or not? skfhskfhs. enjoy, my loves!

Perhaps, you should’ve seen it coming—the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t pick up. The rosily gold sunlight warms your fire of anger as you try and try again, the number beside his name on your screen rising and rising until another digit joins it. Something about it feels like a childish payback and you don’t really know why you like it so much. Why you like making him feel the way he made you feel when he spammed your phone after you made the worst mistake of your life by accidentally sending him the video of you professing that your intimate parts belong to Hobi. 

Perhaps, it's as simple as that—it’s childish. And you find yourself to be in a safe realm for your inner child to come out and live. Come out and take revenge. 

Another layer of warmth is pressed against your bare back, heavier, more homely. You swivel your head to bump into Hobi’s jaw, to catch the furrow of his brows as they serve as a shadow from the morning sun, along with the antique structure of his body. His trembling hands hook onto your shoulders, squeezing once before they drift down your arms. Inching closer, he wraps them around you in a suffocating hold. And it isn’t until he closes his lips down onto your temple and steals your phone, flinging it away, that you realize he did it in order to stifle the fire. 

“That’s enough,” he whispers and it graces you with the notion that it should be saved for another time, the picture of his tremor coming forth and the question of why. It kills you, slowly, the liveliness of his emotions, portrayed so gently by his hands. Why are they shaking? 

They snuffed out the fire, but the residue of the painting, colorless and bland, remains. It lines your skin—you can even see it in the streaks of the sunlight. The curves, the message. What was he punishing you for? It’s a question that now unfolds within the strange calmness descending down your body. Was he punishing you for having a man? For returning to your salvation that is in a lung burner? For going against him? Or for raising your fists—feeding him the poisonous negativity of your emotions? 

The need to reach for your phone and talk to Jungkook seizes you again and you fight against Hobi’s hold, but he says no. Sternly, seriously. Tightens his hold. Doesn’t let go. 

“Let it be,” he adds, rubbing your arm with the hand that lays across your chest. But you can’t, you can’t—

“Hobi, I can’t—”

Your sentence is silenced by the sudden kneading of his hands upon your knotted shoulders. Relief evaporates every need, every black fume of your doused fire. His hands bear strength now as his thumb focuses on the tightness of your muscles and you droop, you crumble. And what you didn’t expect—Hobi droops and crumbles with you. 

The violence of his heart against your back, it becomes yours when he pulls you into the shadows of the wavering structure of his body. Its stones ricochet off of your decaying figure, dropping onto the floor with a loud, thunderous thud. You feel the saddened line of his mouth against your cheek, into which he sinks, quietly as a mouse, his whimper. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t yell, his infelicity, bound to yours, radiates the entire room in gloom. Clouds swim past the sun and linger, the rosy glow snuffed out—just like your fire. 

The wedding of your joy has been put off. The groom has been left at the altar, and it’s all your fault. 

Why is everything so temporary? 

Why are you unable to be stable? To stay submissive amidst the ups and downs of your life? To stay calm, unaffected? 

You’re so weary of it. Weary of yourself, weary of your life, of the curse. 

You turn around and embrace him. Feel like it’s the only right thing you can do at this very moment. Hobi welcomes you in, lets you sign and recuperate in the kingdom of his arms. Rubs your back, gathers the ends of your hair in his hands as if it were a stream of water he longed to refresh himself with. 

It’s so different, to be given love when you don’t ask for it. Something opens within you, a circle of mildness that cracks its mouth wide to consume the edges of the curse until only its axis, its middle core remains. Lightness drives your hands to embrace him tighter, only for Hobi to follow the movement—lungs in sync while your heart tries to mimic his rapid movement. 

It’s like a wordless eulogy. Goodbye to the old life, to the old pain, so the new can settle. Hobi can sense it, too. Supports it when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the crown of your head, wets his mouth, prepares himself to speak. 

But then your phone starts ringing. 

Your heart lurches forward, but you dwell in motionlessness. You don’t care anymore. Hold the serenity, the lightness in higher regard. 

“Let it ring,” Hobi whispers, tracing circles on your back, the same pattern that has opened within you. 

You nod against his clavicle. “I will.” 

His hands descend to your waist and clenches it for a while, a sensation of groundedness washing over you, cleansing you. You kiss his collarbone. Then, a message dings. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Hobi asks in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair, muffling out the sound of another Jungkook’s intrusion. The idea resembles a paradise to you and you beg for it with a singular, pretty word. 

Scooping you up in his arms, he sets you down in front of your bathtub, your nipples brushing against his chest with the descent, awakening the dried pool of your arousal deep in your core. A fresh spring of water fills it until it brims over and so you don’t waste a drop, you slam your mouth onto his, kissing him. He hums, lowly, into your mouth, not foreseeing something like this, and the sound splashes in the pool, drenching you whole, showering your orchard in the life it needs. 

Slipping your tongue inside, he lets you taste him for a mere moment, before he clasps your mouth in his hand and stares you down. “Hold it.” 

Hold what? Your incessant stream of horniness for him? 

Reaching over, he fills up the bath with warm water with one hand, its mist rising up your body, spreading little dots of anticipation on your skin, erasing the lines, the curves and the message of the painting you never saw, but envisioned. And before he can straighten, you pull him back up. He smiles down at you, kissing you, tenderly, mouths smacking within the briefness and the pool within you heats up. 

Except for the orgasm he gave you in the middle of the night, right before dawn, neither you or him got the release you needed when you were connected. Pity ripples in your water and you grasp his manhood in your hand, semi-hard. How did he get excited this quickly? You coo, but only for yourself, drifting your hand down his poor, blue balls, squeezing them, coaxing a pained sigh out of him. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, softly, flicking your gaze up into his. They must be hurting, considering the amount of arousal that swirled inside without an ounce of alleviation. 

He doesn’t respond, but that’s an answer for you. Light flows from his eyes as seriousness draws his features tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You kiss his chest, gripping him a little before you let go, threading your fingers through your hair, parting them into three sections and, blindly, instinctively, you plait them into a braid, securing the end with a silk, thin scrunchie. Pink, like his imaginary wings. 

“Come join me.” 

Hobi shakes his head, though. Holds you steady as you swing your leg over the lip of the bathtub, sinking into the warm, misty water. At the sight of you kneeling, he lets out another pained sigh, prolonged this time and you feel so bad for him that you don’t think twice before you take him into your mouth. 

“Pup, fuck,” he moans, grabbing the crown of your head as his knees shake. All of his emotions are expressed through the tremors, you note, and it drives you to open your mouth wider, swallowing him deeper. “Oh, yeah, that’s so good.” 

Your walls clench and you mewl around him, dragging your tongue flat on the underside of him as you draw back, swirling the muscle around the tip of him as you grip him. You use your saliva to stroke him, making him cage in his bottom lip between his teeth again. Eyes rolled back, his reddened lip springs back, and he gazes down at you, fingers trailing down until they meet your loose plait, acknowledging themselves with the newness. 

“I love your hair like this. You’re so pretty,” he comments, voice so terribly strained, and you hum, pleased to hear such a compliment. You hollow out your cheeks on his tip, sucking him, slowly, and he repeats those words you love so much, your noises of pleasure rising in pitch. “You really do love it when I say that, don’t you? God, I adore you. All of who you are.” 

You withdraw, completely, without losing your grip on him, panting. Can feel your eyes send waves of love towards him as you bore them, piercingly, into his. He groans, divulging to you that he received the message, and you could burst, you could fly—turn this water into fire as his godliness from his precum sweetens your throat once you swallow, the aftertaste of him transforming you into an unknown being of holiness. You’re not God, you’re not an angel, either. You’re something else, entirely. A figment of his creation on the cusp of awakening and living. A moving picture of stability, submission and feline softness. Something he adores. Something he’ll soon love. 

And it pleasures you, intensely. 

“Do you adore me, pup?” Hobi asks as he wraps his hand around your braid. One time, two times, three times—until your hair is pulled so tight that he inclines your chin up to him, waiting for your answer. And he doesn’t have to voice it out—the dark side of his desire, the bad things he wants to do to you. You perceive them clouding his pearlescent eyes, making them brighter. 

You wish the moon would turn its face towards you, so it could see the change that is occurring.  So it could see the way you’ll use its magnetism to blanket yourself with Hobi’s darkness. 

Now you’re able to. Now you’re prepared. 

“I adore you, Daddy,” you breathe out, stroking him faster, your chest mimicking the rhythm. “And I want to show you just how much. You said you wanted to make me forget. Let me do that for you.” 

His moan transmutes into a vulgarity, a tender shade of pink scattering along his cheeks and you could eat them. Your heart thumps, colorfully, your longing to help him forget the taste of the bane of your life growing and growing like a thick bush of raspberries. He deserves it—needs it, considering the infelicity of his that he poured over you when he held you, his lack of words shared with you. He deserves the fucking world and you’re willing to go above and beyond to give it to him. To give it to your boyfriend. Your husband. 

“How? Tell me how you’re gonna do it.” 

You draw your face to his cock, but he pulls you back by your braid, coaxing a dark mewl out of you. A drum begins to beat in your clit—the start of his song, incited by his darkness. 

“Did I not tell you to use your words?” Hobi scolds, so awfully sternly, and you flutter all over, the peaks of your nipples stiffening, the drum picking up its rhythm. Your eyes widen as that darkness of his overwhelms you and you want more of it. 

“Help me say it,” you say, your heart not letting you lie to him as the words, ‘I don’t know how to say it’ were on the tip of your tongue. 

Hobi smirks, tightening his grip on your braid. Pain shoots up your scalp and even though you hiss, you like it. He inches forward, his lips a mere centimeter away. The radiation of his pleasure hits you, drifting down to your core. You almost reach your hand down to it, so the ache disappears, but you yearn to focus on him, wholly. 

“If you want to suck on this cock and if you want me to praise you, then you’re gonna have to give me those pretty words that I know you’re capable of saying,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue at the halt of your hand around him and you resume, pressing play on the movie of his guttural moans—and you moan along with him, enjoying the sound. 

Is that a hint of his pent-up anger? You believe, wholeheartedly, that it’s somewhere hiding in him, that he’s keeping inside, adamant on not letting it out in your presence. You want to unlock that cage and beckon it out, meet it, learn its name and its desires. And you’ll do it—just so Hobi feels better. 

You can handle it. 

And to do it, you linger, intentionally, in your quietness, ceasing your movement on his cock. In fact, you withdraw altogether. Arch your spine when you sit back, your breasts bouncing a little. And he lets you, unbelief slackening his hold on your braid, mouth parted. Perhaps, he’s thinking you don’t want to go along with the foreplay, so he’s taking a step back, but what he doesn’t know is that what you’re doing is as much of a means of it as it is one of healing. 

There’s no way he isn’t angry at your ex-boyfriend for punishing you silently for whatever he thinks you did. There’s no way there isn’t the same fire in him that burned in you at the sight of him marking you with the palm of his hand. He saw the painting, you didn’t. There is simply no way he doesn’t want to explode. 

Hobi does lots of things for you. Stifling his emotions until they lash out in the form of his tremor is one of them. And you crave, with your whole being, to do the same for him. Let him feel like he let you feel. Make him come, vividly, like he made you come. 

Adore him like he adores you. 

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” you purr, lifting your fingers to your breasts and swirling them around your hardened nubs. His eyes flick to them and enlarge. You spread your legs and let him see all of you, bolts of pleasure swaying your body like the water lapping at your stomach. “Withholding my words on purpose when you’re so hard, when you need me. Hm, don’t I deserve to be punished? Don’t I deserve to be punished so hard that I willingly give you my words?” 

Hobi pants and his nostrils flare, chest heaving and slightly shuddering in tandem with the drum in your clit. Sweat coats the antique structure of his body, darkening it as if rain fell upon it, staining it for a little while. You want to stain it with his ivory arousal—make a magnificent sculpture out of him to remember this important moment. 

His anger will change everything. His anger will be a step to breaking the curse—to settling the process of the bane, Jungkook’s intrusion. You may have decided to do this alone, but it was wrong of you. He should be the one to make order like the father he is while you stand behind him, clutching the material of his pants. 

You will get him there. 

“I want you to spank me.” 

He doesn’t let a second pass. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t.” 

Your heart cracks, but you will strength of the raspberries into it. “Yes, you can. You can make me red and you can show him. You can show him who’s the boss. Who owns me. Who has his handprint on me. It’s you and it’s always going to be you. You have every right to do what I know you want to do, Hoseok.” 

He raises his brows, mouth agape. Clenches his fists. “You want me to spank you and send a picture of it to him?” 

You nod, dipping your hands into water. 

“Why would I stoop to his level?” he asks, scoffing, and your throat dries, struck with shock. You didn’t anticipate this kind of answer from him and you don’t know what to say, his fatherliness and dominance enveloping you in a milky blue aura of smallness. What does he want to do, then?

Hobi steps closer. Doesn’t bend at the waist. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t get on his knees. He lets you look up at him in your smallness. Lets you feel his control, the manliness of his stature and energy and you gulp. Turned on and intrigued at the same time. 

“I’m not a boy, pup,” he says and you wish he would touch you, touch your pebbled nipples, soothingly, feeling yourself needing it as he reprimands you. “I don’t need to play games. I’m too old for this shit. This is what pubescent boys do when they feel threatened, when they feel jealous. If I were to play his game for you, I’d only encourage him. I wouldn’t be stopping it, I’d be kicking the ball over to him. Do you really think I want to do that?” 

You let out a breath. Your muscles tense, ready to scream out the question that has been boiling in you all this time. 

“What do you want to do?” 

He sucks in a breath, baring his teeth. There it is—there is that anger, the whole resplendent, monumental rawness of it. 

“What do I want to do?” he asks as if he couldn’t believe you’re asking him that question, as if he couldn’t believe you’re allowing him to have a part in it. It thrills you—and as it thrills you, it moves forward your transformation. 

“Yes, tell me what you want to do. Tell me how you want to settle this.” You stand your ground, inviting him in, inviting him into your life, to have a say in it, to have a fatherly hand in it; letting the sunlight make it right, make it alive, real and serious. 

“Is that what you want? For me to step in?” he whispers, that disbelief still ringing—and you pout, touched by it. 

“Yes, Hobi,” you hush out, leaning over and grabbing his hands. He lets you hold them for a second before he untwines your hold and cradles your face, kneeling by the bathtub. 

The light in his eyes is too overwhelming and you melt into it, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender. He presses his lips in a firm line, his thumbs brushing away your flyaways, and you lean into his touch, head tilted to the side. 

As he tastes the newness of the conjunction to your life and his, you ask again. “What do you want to do?” 

He sighs and takes in heavy breaths right after, seething, pressing his forehead against yours. And as you and him close your eyes simultaneously, he finally answers. “I want to break his fucking face.” 

Dots of gooseflesh chill your skin and you don’t stop yourself from humming out your pleasure of hearing that. “Yes, Hoseok.” 

You feel his gaze on you as he continues—and it might as well have been him who opened your eyes. “I want to break his hands for creating that degrading, shitty painting of you. And I want to break it. Destroy it. So it never sees the light of the day again.” 

You choke out a moan, your whole body set on fire—a different one, this time. A blue fire, milky blue like your aura of smallness. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Hobi groans, kissing you, nastily. Tongues and clashing of teeth, hunger and anger gratified as he pours it out into your mouth. Lets you taste it, swallow it. The same fire, but brighter, bigger, scorching hot, so alluring. 

You don’t have to fan the flames of his will. He’s already decided. 

“Once I’m done with you, you’re gonna send him a text,” he shares his plan with you between hard kisses; you can only whimper in your neediness in response. “You’re gonna tell him that you’re coming over to his place to talk, to look at the painting.” A sigh, a suction of lips, a moan. “Alone.” A swirl of tongues until the details of his plan spiral in the same dance in your brain. “I’ll come with you. And I’ll settle this once and for all.” 

He withdraws, letting you breathe. Your body tingles, your lips, especially, every nerve ending crying out in need, whimpering at the way he studies your form—eyes lifting and falling over your swells, curves and marks. And something about the way he ogles you like that makes you feral. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks, that urgency flashing again in the light of his eyes, and you nod—a thousand times. “Repeat it back to me.” 

The drum in your clit becomes unbearable and you can hear its song in your brain. All thoughts fade to nothingness, memories, triggers, pains. All of it evanesces, but one thing remains.

His plan.  

“I’m gonna text him that I’m coming over to his place alone to talk and you’re gonna come with me and settle this like the Daddy you are,” you stream out, panting, focusing on the sudden numbness of your lips as his kiss still engulfs them as a new memory. 

Hobi grins, pleased, and it propels you so fucking quickly to lean over and lick up the underside of his now fully hard length. Even though you can’t see it, you know the grin breaks as he deeply moans, your tongue circling his sensitive, red tip. You begin to suck it, bobbing your head up and down in a short, curt motions, and he fists your braid in one hand while the other digs into your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as you give him what he befittingly deserves. 

“Good girl. My good fucking girl. Oh, yeah. Like that, pup. Fuck, it feels so good. Just like that,” he praises and your whole body clenches and doesn’t let up, your nectar dripping into the water. “I’m gonna fix everything and then I’m gonna make you a Mommy, arasseo?” 

You growl around him, taking after him, his words intoxicating you enough to withdraw, yearning to have him inside you. But not in the place, where he engraved his enigma, the breaking of the curse. You burn to have him stretch out the hole, where no one has ever been—the one you teased him about on your first date. 

He blinks at you, hearing your sound, and his grin grows all over again, massaging the back of your scalp as if you were a puppy. You reciprocate it, devilish with your own plan. Feral, feline, and incessantly horny for him. 

The water reaches your belly button and you turn off the tap without breaking the contact. Then, you tug his hand, inviting him into the bathtub. 

“Let’s pretend,” you say, knowing beforehand that he’ll get the message, the meaning of your vague words, and Hobi curses, pleasing you, brushing his hair out of his forehead, exposing the undercut that makes you even wetter. 

Such a beautiful Father. 

You tug him again. Create space for him in your tiny bathtub and he loosens your breath when he gets in and manhandles you—pushing you flush to his body and over his lap, his hands coming over your bum, kneading it, his slender fingers sneaking to the little hole that craves him. The sunlit water sloshes and it’s so intimate—the way it ripples around your body and his, stilling as he looks deeply into your eyes, the two of his digits circling around that virgin part of you. 

He’s going to consume the little purity you have left and there’s nothing you want more at this moment. 

“You want me here?” he murmurs, growling as he feels you open for him there when he prods it, and you drip, drip, drip onto his thighs. 

You kiss him, chastely, in his fashion, willingly giving over your purity. “And from the back.” 

He chuckles, flashing his white teeth, and you want them all over your body. The effulgence of his blush, too. 

“Lie back. I’ll get you ready for it.” 

Preparation, such an important word in your relationship. 

You do as he says, giddy, leaning against the rounded wall of the bathtub. Yelp as he raises your hips above the surface of the water and right onto his mouth, delving onto your pussy without a second spared, licking over the entirety of her, mouth open, letting you see everything. 

“Fuck,” he moans, smacking his mouth, and your legs hanging in the air begin to tremble. “I can feel you throb for me. You wanna be Mommy so bad, don’t you?” 

You can’t stop it, the scream of agreement that emits out of your mouth; that goes on once he swirls his tongue around that drumming pulse, learning its song—because as soon as he does, he sucks it, possessing it. Your orgasm crests and his hands never shake, never waver, holding you up as if in Greek celebration. 

You can feel the stone burst forth from your legs, completing, little by little, your transformation. He’s creating a sculpture out of you. Not of Virgin Mary, not of Mary Magdalene, either. A sculpture, authentic, of you. And on the cusp of your orgasm, he takes his tongue to your other, tiny hole, fucking you there with a verve as if he sensed the work of his hands that resume the godly abuse on your clit after he tells you to place your feet on the rim of the tub. 

And when you come, you’re white, smooth, magnificent and whole. 

You’re you, in the simplest of words. 

Mind spinning, swimming in the delight of groundedness, authenticity and love, all your body asks for is to be taken. You go to turn around, but Hobi stops you with a hand on your waist. 

“I want to look at you when I fill you up,” he croaks out, shades of pinks adorning him. As he is the God of everything, you think at heart he must be the God of all pink flowers with the way they blossom underneath his skin. You believe the same flowers will sprout out of your stone as soon as you’re stuffed full and feignedly bred. “I want to see the look on your face when you feel our kids inside you.”

Our kids. You close your eyes at the wave of a profound emotion sprinkling over you and you feel like crying, feel like sobbing, begging him for it, wanting your old life to be finally ended, killed, destroyed, wanting to cling to him with your whole being and newness, to his godliness, his flowers, his masculine fatherliness. You want to live in him, and the notion, the craving is so intense in you that you exhale it out with every breath, with every pleading word you give him. 

“Please, breed me. Please, please, please.” 

He sucks in that breath, eyes large and dazzling, filled with so much tenderness and adoration. Pulls you flush to his body again, raising you just a little bit as he lines himself up at your little hole. Spits on his fingers while boring that gaze into yours, so terribly up close, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your bum as he spreads that lubrication over his tip. Does it again, rubs it over your hole. And a perverse obsession with it overpowers you, seizes you in its grasp, and you crave it. 

You gaze your lips along his, sharing a breath that is perfumed with the scent of roses. “Spit in my mouth.” 

Those eyes of his narrow in dark, dark pleasure and he nods in a promise. Driving your fingers up his undercut, you let your body follow his guidance as he sinks you down on him, stealing your mouth in a deep, long kiss that showers your figure in those familiar tingles. Discomfort parts them while you stretch around his tip, though, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, even when you mewl. In fact, he steps into that realm of the painful sensation by thumbing your clit, by toying with your tongue, and whimpering into your mouth when you convulse around him. Gets rid of anything that prevents you from accommodating him. 

Your thighs burn at the slowness of your descent, but once he’s nestled, at home, and you feel so full that you could come from it alone, Hobi breaks the kiss; and using the height difference, he spits into your waiting mouth, growling. Even his saliva is filled with powerful godliness and when you swallow and show him, the same power becomes yours. 

And he smiles. It seems as though he can see it on you and his mouth widens in a lopsided grin. You clench around him. 

“You’re such a good pup,” he praises and you do it again, coaxing a growl out of him. He still remains motionless, waiting for you to get used to him, and your love for him grows owing to that. “That was your reward.” A sigh, a grin. “Now I’m gonna fuck you hard.” 

You latch onto his neck, trembling like him. “Yes, please, Daddy.” 

It’s not just your life and his that joined. It’s your soul and his that becomes one singular face of joy when he begins to pound you. He whispers to you to keep holding onto him like that as he drives in and out of your little hole with such rapidness and hardness that you lose your own knowledge of your name. All you know is his. 

Hobi. Hoseok. Daddy.

And you whisper it, you say it, you scream it. All while the water sloshes around you; all while you stretch and tighten around him and his praises for you are strained, choked out, giving you all of his strength while remaining full of it as if he never gave you an ounce of it. 

His eyes never leave you, never stray away from your emotions, your pleasure, the twists of your features, the opening and closing of your mouth. And you look right back, your feline energy dousing him in sweat and ardor, the force that furrows his brows, that tightens his lips in a firm line and loosens it in pleasure as he bares his all. 

And suddenly, you’re up in the air and your wet back soaks your bed sheets. Hobi rummages in your Nike box under your bed and you feel yourself stretched open, a gaping hole for him. You gasp when you drift your finger along it and you already miss him there. 

Hobi chuckles at your disbelief, your most favorite toy in his hand. A pink egg—a clit sucker and a vibrator at the same time, though the vibrations never did much for you. It’s the pressure, sucking waves that kept you company in your singleness before Jungkook and after, save for the waves of the sea. 

“You never thought you could stretch like that, huh?” 

The ‘huh’ pinches you, but you shake that feeling away, understanding Hobi’s dislike when you asked him to spank you. A momentary sensation before your horniness washes it away at the soft sound of the toy coming to life. 

“Do you have lube somewhere?” Hobi asks, but you can’t speak. You point to the bedside table and he’s quick to slide it open, fishing out your raspberry and strawberry scented lube. 

What a coincidence. 

And you laugh when he squirts it on you from a distance, its coldness refreshing like a lick of ice cream to your heated body. And Hobi laughs along, smearing it all over you, especially over your still gaping, red hole, fingering you there with two fingers, fleetingly, just to tease you, just to pull those sounds out of you that get his head back in the game. 

Then he’s inside, back home. You can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi can’t swallow down his noises, growling and humming as loud as his body asks, ramming into you until all you can hear is his pleasure and the music of skin slapping on skin. 

And when you least expect it, he places the pulsing toy on your swollen clit. 

Your muscles strain, tense and taut, your throat dead silent as you can’t speak, can’t compose any sort of song of the delight that paralyzes your body. You scratch your nails down his back in effort to declare to him the beauty of his artwork and Hobi whimpers, pounding you into the mattress while keeping the toy steady, your breasts bouncing up and down, gleaming in the sunlight, pebbled, aroused, begging for his tongue when he looks down at them, his blush deepening. 

“Look at me,” he commands, stopping, so you can focus, and you begin to inhale quick, staccato breaths as your orgasm nears, the pressure in your tummy coiling and coiling, threatening to rip. You open your eyes, just in time to catch his endeared coo—because he can see how close you are. His lungs mimic the same rhythm, abdominal muscles prominent and defined as he, again, gives you his all. “There, baby?” he asks, speaking of the placement of the toy, and you’re only able to nod. “Ready to become a Mommy? Daddy is right there with you, pup. You squeeze around me so well, you’re doing such a good job. We’re gonna come together, yeah? You want to come with Daddy?” Another nod—because you’re trying your hardest to stall your orgasm as he jackhammers your little hole. You thank him in your heart, like the God he is, that he’s keeping the toy steady because if he were to move it… you’d come on the spot. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’ or I’m not letting you come.” 

You hiccup, shuddering so awfully pitifully while your cat-like aura of power strengthens, giving you all that you need to say it. And your eyes narrow in that sultriness, mouth pouts and you dig your claws deeper into his back, making him fuck your ass harder in payback that feels more than fucking delicious. 

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, fuck. Give it to me, please. Make me a Mommy, please, fuck. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

And it’s a litany without end as Hobi moves the toy side to side and sweeps you off your feet, bringing you over the threshold of your shared home with you as his bride in his arms. You come, violently, its electric sparks shocking Hobi and he pumps you full of his cum, never stopping his hard motions, even as he twitches, growls—praising you, groaning the two words you like—and shudders just like you. He fucks you through your feigned impregnation, throwing the toy away when you squeak in overstimulation in the middle of your delirium, and he kisses you as if he hadn’t done so in a thousand years, sucking your lips so hard that they must bruise, his mound hitting your clit and stimulating it further. The warmth, the wetness—tears line your eyes and the same ones wet his eyelashes as he presses his elbows on either side of your head, panting against you, his nose brushing yours. He stares down at you, a look full of shadowed, yet pure love, the realization that you’ve done it, at last, but differently, bathing his face in light that blinds you—and blinds your tears, drying them as you smile up at him, running your fingers through his hair, through his undercut. 

“I got a big load for you, pup,” he croaks out, fucking you, slowly. “I can’t fucking stop coming. You feel so good. I’m weak for you, fuck.” 

You sob, finding your voice, made tender by his cock. “Give it to me, Hobi. I want it all. All your kids.” 

He moans and proves it to you how weak he is by emanating such a pathetic sound that forces you, most saccharinely, to clench around him all over again, milking him out of every drop you stirred but never drank. 

And for it, Hobi marks you in the middle of your breasts. A big, red hickey, redolent of your raspberries. You hold him to your chest, like the Mommy he made you into, as he sucks onto your skin, nibbling, licking, the noises akin to blowing those raspberries while he makes sure the bruise lingers for as long as possible. Then, he travels to the peak of your left nipple, trailing his tongue flat over the curve on his way up, and you’re wet, bespeckled with his children that trickle out of you as another wave of sopping arousal comes over you, because he begins to make love to that stiffened pebble. You cry out, tug his ruined hair, try to tell him you can’t anymore and Hobi hears you, takes care of you. 

Drags his teeth along your nub. Flicks his eyes up to you as he sucks. “Milkie, please, Mommy.” 

You burst into a roaring laughter, your shoulders shaking, arousal erased, and Hobi chuckles, lifting himself onto his hands and kissing your forehead. He moves you to your side of the bed, your skin dry and scented by him, soothed by his natural scent and the residue of his patchouli fragrance. And you revel in it, as he leaves you for a moment to fetch some wet wipes, with which he, mirthlessly, cleans you off his stickiness. His aversion to it makes an indentation in his face as his brows curl downward, features solemn and terribly serious. 

Such an abrupt, speedy change of energy. Laughter dies out and fades into nothingness that spreads across your private atmosphere shared with him. Your mouth emulates the form of his dourness, cheerlessness blotching your now clean skin with invisible, downcast glitter that scarcely shines in the sunlight—and even that lessens, a cloud expanding over it, dimming it. 

You touch his face and he looks up. 

“Just a little more time and it’ll be here,” you say, seeping that hope, that promise into his pores by swiping your thumb along his warm cheek. “And then my belly will be big and full. And you’ll be Daddy Hobi.” 

He smiles, sadly, eyes glistening, and he kisses your nose, folding into your chest. You caress him, his hair, his back—discover plump, thick marks of your fingernails and you lighten your touch, barely grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. When he resurfaces, another, different dents embellish his face—the fresh memory of the way he’s accepted hope on your bosom and you kiss him, sealing it. Kiss that downturned smile. That red nose, those brisk cheeks. And his eyelids, wetted by his eyelashes. 

“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” Hobi asks, turning over a new leaf, moving past. 

You brush his hair back, enjoying the silky feel of his strands slipping through your fingers. “With you.” 

He blushes, profusely, and you’re struck by the impression that he’s falling for you. There’s no fight this time, no war, only housewarming, submission and stability. You grip his hair, thank him with the silent gesture that also expresses how much it means to you because you, too, have fallen for him. With your heart, with your soul—with your entire being that has undergone so many transformations. 

Now you’re climbing a mountain with him and on its peak, your children, your home, your future await you. You’re almost there. You’ve become who you were meant to become and Hobi has received the promise of his deepest longing. 

One more thing, one more lift of the knee and you’re there, hand in hand with him—your husband, your God. 

He kisses you one last time, tells you to rest while he makes you coffee and breakfast. Hands you your phone. Helps you think of a short message that you immediately, without a thought spared, send. And while you lightly slumber, you dream of the promise, of the hope. Dream of your swollen belly, the ethereal picture revealing you looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror as Hobi stands behind you, assuaging you of the weight of your child by holding it with both of his hands, his imaginary wings, fully rosy, carrying half of it, folded over his knuckles, your fingers sunk between his and the feathers, silky, soft like his hair. It melts into another scene, in which you both hold the child, hip to hip, gazing at the mountain you climbed together once upon a time and the child, bearing a heavenly, delectable concoction of your and his features, cannot pull away their eyes from the peak. Their hair blows in the wind, rippling like their Father’s wings, and you and Hobi break their hypnotion by kissing each of their cheek. 

Hobi wakes you up with the same kiss—as if he was kissing you and not his child. And something about it heals you, gravely. 

You tell him about it over coffee and breakfast and he weeps. And while you weep with him, your tears fall for another, secret reason. For the period that you slept, Hobi baked vanilla pastries with raspberries and you would tell him about it, too, but you’d sit at the table all day. He has a curse to break and you don’t wish to prolong the time, not when you sense that it’s burdening him. 

Because his shirt is blood-splattered, he takes you to his house. And what you’ve never expected to happen—you meet his roommate. 

A munchkin cat with the littlest legs you’ve ever seen. Black and white coat blankets her chunky body and you sink onto your knees, extending your fingers to her tiny pink snout, just like her Daddy’s, and you die as the fur baby sniffs you and doesn’t run away in fear. It keeps smelling you in curiosity and you think it’s due to the fact she can recognize Hobi’s scent all over you. You’re so absorbed by the furry animal that you don’t even care to look around the vastness of its home and, like your child, you get broken out of the spell when Hobi chuckles. 

“Pet her. She likes you,” he says and you hear the familiar clanging of keys being set on the table, the leather of his wallet sliding along the wood and the thud of his phone as he empties out his pockets. 

Giddiness seizes you. 

You stroke down the baby’s fur on its head, cooing at its softness, at the way the wisps whirl in the air the more you pet it. And you squeal when she leans in into your touch as Hobi did not that long ago. Now you know who he gets it from. 

You take it into your arms, scratching its neck. It purrs and your heart springs, eager to embrace it. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you ask, enthralled by it, nuzzling your face into her fur. 

Hobi pets your head and you feel as small as the baby. You look up at him, knowing you radiate, visibly, the energy. He smiles down at you, shines down his love and joy clutches you so hard that you can’t breathe. 

“A girl,” he says, his smile widening, and before you can ask about her name, he already tells you. “Her name is Luna.” 

Luna. She’s your new best friend, your little baby, and you begin to entertain the idea of bringing her along to your misfit visit to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment because you can’t let go of her. Not when she purrs most homely, most happily. Not when she likes you so much that she’s not afraid of you. 

You haven’t grown up with animals, so when the opportunity comes and you get into contact with them, it’s difficult for you to unattach yourself from them.

Luna is yours now. 

Hobi pivots on his feet and you’re quick to scurry onto yours, following him into his bedroom. As you carry her, you take a moment to look around his living room. The color beige lines every detail of its spaciousness. From the walls, to the pigmentation of the stones that decorate the side, where a huge flatscreen hangs up, to the smooth floors that glow in the light. Beige, whites and grays, with the tiniest hints of browns, greens and yellows. Small plants and bigger palms sit in the corners, by the windows, and they give the room those colors—as well as his collection, which comes as the biggest surprise of all, of his modern art. You can see a rainbow of Bearbricks everywhere you look, especially in the brown kingdom of his bedroom. 

Those pretty one-eyed fuckers stare at you there. Along with their KAWS brothers. And they’re colossal. 

Hobi’s back faces you as he rummages in his closet. You kiss Luna on her empty head before you set her on the bed, walking over to Hobi amidst the dimmed light. His curtains are pulled in tight and you think about how he must’ve been getting ready for bed when he called you last night, only to sleep in your light-filled bed. You wrap your arms around him, too hasty with your need to give him your affection—you smear your foundation on his blue shirt, staining it further. And you kiss his back, planting a red lipstick mark right in the middle. It’s going in the laundry bin, anyway. 

Hobi reaches his hands back, fingers tapping along the open back of your white top, drumming there and you smile, finding it cute. 

“You really like those figurines,” you murmur, propping your chin on his spine, drumming your fingers on his abdomen in similar fashion. 

He laughs, softly, as if embarrassed, and you dig your claws, faintly, into his skin. No embarrassment for him—you’re not letting that in within him. 

“Don’t you fear they watch you while you sleep?” 

Now he laughs through his nose, swiveling his head halfway. “They’re my dream catchers.” 

You hum, endearingly, in high pitch, liking the sound of that. Wonder if he knows that he’s such a poet. “Everything you say is so poetic.” 

He massages your waist, deepening your hum. “Something tells me that’s your doing.” You punctuate the sound with a vulgar word and he squeezes the place he holds. No laughter, only alluring, affectionate seriousness. You sigh, blissfully. “I actually have a book of poetry here.” 

Your brows rise. “What?” 

Hobi clasps your hand, dragging you to his small library that is organized with his dream catchers. He pulls out a thick book with a white cover and hands it to you. 

Birthday letters by Ted Hughes. The husband of Sylvia Plath, the reason behind her suicide. The female poet who loved E. E. Cummings, the female poet, whom you loved, too, in your lonely girlhood. Who always inspired your longing to die as the curse over your life went on. 

It’s surreal to be holding a link to her when you’re standing at the end of the chapter of this curse. 

You didn’t die. 

You didn’t die. 

“I stole it from my school library,” Hobi explains with that lopsided smile of his, so fond, so full of old memories that you’re learning at this moment. Time stands still and you strain your ears, wanting to hear every syllable of it. “Everytime I would go hide there, mess around or just study, I’d always see this book. It would always be right in front of me. I thought, and I still do, that it has some kind of meaning. That it somehow needs to be in my life. So I took it. And it’s been here for more than a decade. I’ve never even read it.” 

You pout, touched by the symbolism, by the fact he never opened it. “Never?” 

Hobi shakes his head, shortly. “Never.” 

You look down at it, caress its cover. “Maybe it’s a dream catcher, too.” 

His mouth ends curl. “Open it. Read me something.” 

His fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and you sense the magnetism of the symbolism attached to the book closing over you. You watch the work of his hands as you slip your digit into the middle of the book. Page one hundred and forty two. Portraits, the title of the unknown poem. But you don’t read it until he bares his chest and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

You stand between his outstretched legs. He rubs the back of your knees, waiting.

You skim your eyes over the page and break, prematurely. 

Licking your lips, you begin. 

“What happened to Howard’s portrait of you? / I wanted that painting.” 

You lose a breath, your throat constricting, and you gaze down at Hobi to see him lost in a thought that you can’t discern. 

Can he perceive the link? Does he realize who Howard is as you bring that poem into reality with your recitation? 

You continue, biting your lip, momentarily.

“Spirits helped Howard, ‘Sometimes / When I’m panting, I hear a voice, a / woman’s, / calling Howard, Howard — faint, / far-off, / fading.” 

Your phone dings in the front pocket of your ivory mini skirt—Howard has texted you back. The book droops out of your grasp as you fish out the device, your screen enveloping the room in a small twirl of brightness. 

Jungkook: my door is always open for you 

You pocket it back, the light snuffed out. The book quivers and you steady it with your other hand. “Jungkook texted me back.” 

Hobi is deathly still, in an uncanny way. “What did he say?” 

You lick your lips, but it’s not enough moisture. “That his door is always open for me.” 

He props an elbow on his knee, his teeth nibbling on a fleck of skin upon his thumb. “Keep reading.” 

Your breath shakes. You risk the question swathing your heart, needing to know whether you’re on the same page before you can go on. “Can you see the correlation?” 

He blinks, rapidly, as if awoken. “To what? You mean to the painting of you that I’m about to break?” 

You nod, relieved that he sees it, but the heaviness loiters. Slightly, you fear the next lines. “Jungkook is Howard.” 

His eyes stray, his being crestfallen, his mouth biting into his cuticle. He doesn’t say anything and you’re not sure if you should read on, but he taps the back of your knee that he still holds, propelling you to do so. 

In fact, he tugs on it, guiding you to sit on his thigh—like you did in your favorite reading armchair when you cleaned his wound. You flutter a kiss on the healing bruise that has the colors of his home and with a wet thumb, Hobi angles the book so he can read along with you, staining the page with his humanity, imprinting his presence, the gravity of the moment into it. 

It took a decade for the time to be right. Enough for him to read this. 

With you. 

You push away the panic regarding him not reacting to your affection, figuring the importance of this moment is held in higher regard. Clearing your throat, you continue. 

“He got carried away / When he started feeding his colors / into your image,” you stop, the words affecting your vocal cords with emotions. Hobi is the only one who knows what colors Jungkook used in the painting. How can a random page in a random book describe the flavor of the bane of the curse upon your life? How is it possible? You take a moment to regain your composure, willing smoothness into your voice. Hobi rubs your thigh with his hand, thumb tracing patterns, a help in need. “He glowed / At his crucible, on its tripod. / How many sessions? / Yaddo fall. Woodstoves. Rain, / Rain, rain in the conifers.” The rain that fell upon Hobi when you exited the museum after you talked to Jungkook. The rain that brought you closer to him as he shrouded you and himself in your trenchcoat. The memory is sweet, another help in need. 

“Tribal / conflict / Of crows and their echoes. You deepened. / Molten, luminous, looking at us / From that window of Howard’s vision of you.” 

Your scream in the middle of the night after that morning at the museum; the physical violence that followed after. The painting that was created in the same hours. 

“Yourself lifted out of yourself / in a flaming of oils, your lips exact.” 

The flaming of your reddened bum within Jungkook’s made-up world of the painting; the punishment that you broke out of his clutches and became your own person. 

You suddenly understand it, the painting. 

You feel sick. 

The poem is a maze, but Hobi looks as though he has the sixth sense that enables him to navigate through it. You’re burdened by your emotions, dragging your feet as you follow him, looking at him. He burns his sight into the scattered words, not breathing, not blinking, his thumb stuck in his mouth. He’s connecting the dots, the wheels turning in his brain. 

Luna crawls onto the other side of his lap, the third help in need. 

You take a deep breath. 

“Suddenly — ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ / out of the gloomy neglected chamber behind you / Somebody had emerged, hunched, gloating at you, / Just behind your shoulder — a cowled / Humanoid of raggy shadows. Who?” 

The squeaks of breaks behind you, Jungkook stepping out of his car and joining the demon of shame looming at you, waiting for you to end your phone call with Hobi. 

“Howard was surprised. He smiled at it. / “If I see it there, I paint it. I like it / When things like that happen. He just came.’ / Came from where? Mystery smudge extra, / Stalking the glaze wetness / Of your new-fired idol brilliance. / I saw it with horrible premonition. / You were alone there, pregnant, and unprotected.” 

You snap the book shut, the lump in your throat so enormous in size that it alone begs you not to read on. Your chin quivers, but no tears come out, mind barren as the words alone, pregnant and unprotected echo within there. On an ungodly, immoral loop. 

Hobi takes the book from you and flings it into a corner of his room, hitting a lonesome gray figurine that topples over. Your eyes witness the movement, but you don’t grasp it. Numbness seizes you, the paralyzation of bizarreness that causes bile to push through the lump in your throat. 

You gag. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

Hobi is quick on his feet, but you don’t make it. The vomit spills through the cup of your palm over your mouth, staining your white top. Hobi carries you to his toilet, stained just the same. Holds your hair as you retch your guts out—the letters of the poem, the realization of its meaning, the symbolism, the raspberry pastries. Presses his lips against the nape of your neck, holding you together. 

Wipes your chin with toilet paper. Puts his plastic cup with cold water to your mouth to wash it clean with. 

Rips the three pages of the poem out of the spine of the book in taciturn fury, its ending never to be known.  

You watch him do it, with the same speechlessness, and you’re not sorry for the prosaic lawlessness—it strengthens you and it relieves you. Watch the tremor of his hands, after, as he constringes the poisonous papers in his fists. The book abandoned back in the corner with the figurine, vanquished. 

He paces the room, fleetingly, stopping in front of you. Gets on both of his knees. Grips your hands, with the crumpled papers. Kisses them. Over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers onto them. The noise of the papers is like the shaking of leaves and you want to leave. You want this wretched thing settled. The smell of your puke hits your nostrils and it’s what prevents you from folding into him in the way he did this morning. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s fate,” you reassure, tearing the papers from his hold and throwing them away from his sight. Yours, too. It’s not his fault that the curse sneaked into something intimate he desired to share with you. But your heart aches that it did it before he knew you all those years ago, planted in its mind false beauty, only to cause ruination. You need it gone. “Help me take this off. Let’s go.” 

He sighs and the sadness of the sound deepens your ache, though all you can do is accept it and fight. The will is enough—if the conscious will is there, things will change, things will move forward and all will settle into place. 

Tomorrow will look different. 

Hobi dressed you in his clothing. A white linen shirt, to match your skirt. One would say it’s oversized, the way the fabric puffs and slides off your shoulder, not an item of masculine affection. You left your bra hanging by its strap on the handle of his closet. Left the buttons undone. Left the bruise between your breasts unconcealed, proudly, for every eye to see. He tied it in the middle, a tiny sliver of your midriff exposing tanned skin, because the hem would only bunch up the waistband of your skirt as it reached way down below. It could’ve been a dress alone, meant for loungewear, but you weren’t going to do much lounging. 

Hobi dressed you for war. 

He himself matched you. A white polo, beige pants, a vivid green beanie to hide the sweat coating his tousled hair. A king, ready to march. 

The king is dead, long live the king. 

You know the ending. You trust Hobi, you believe in him. So did Luna when he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet. She meowed so much encouragement that it curled a smile on yours and Hobi’s face. You nuzzled her, considering saying goodbye to her harder than facing Jungkook, the dead king, but her purring made it better. It was a promise that she would be here with another set of fluff balls of encouragement once you come back from the war. 

You thought the ride to Jungkook’s apartment would be silent, but no. Hobi put on his The Weeknd playlist, the dark, ambient songs from The Trilogy album saturating the shifting atmosphere. Placed his hand on your thigh while he drove. Things seemed normal as they did before shit hit the fan. Your body submitted to that impression and so you pretended it was so. Relived, quietly, in your mind the way you rubbed your clothed pussy on that very seat, steering him into insanity, which he controlled so well. 

A coping mechanism, that lustfulness. As you know it. But oddly, it didn’t turn you on. No, it composed you—tranquilized your emotions, so they wouldn’t be burdensome in the battle. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hobi asked, knowing he was five minutes away from Jungkook’s apartment. He didn’t live far away from him. 

Bizarreness.

He probably noticed your lack of visible reaction to your favorite singer. 

“I’m having flashbacks.” 

A beat of pause. “About?”

“About the way I drove you insane when I stuck my hand in my panties.” 

He hummed, softly, the noise barely audible. “You got so wet just from me praising you.” 

You sighed, delighted. “I did.” 

“I’ll never forget the fact that I ate you out first before I kissed you.” 

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “It comforts me,” you admitted, baring your private soul. “Sex. Lust. It’s not always dirty to me and it doesn’t always make me horny. It makes me feel safe.” 

He thought about your words, thumb searching for yours, waggling. You closed your palm over the back of his hand on the shift stick, hooking your thumb over his. 

“How did that painting make you feel?” 

You didn’t feel much. Just one singular emotion. “Furious.” 

“Why?” 

“It makes me angry that he thinks he still has a right to control my life. That he took what I consider to be safe and made it unsafe.”

He ruined the act of spanking for Hobi, which ultimately ruined it for you. It scarred him enough that he wasn’t able to do it to you when you asked him. And for that, you’ll never be able to forgive Jungkook.  

Hobi clenched his jaw. “When we get inside, I want you to think twice before you look at that painting. You’ve gone through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Put your well-being first, okay?” 

Your veins pump warmth into your heavy heart due to his care and you kiss his knuckles, leaning your cheek into them. “Okay.” 

“Good. I’ll break it anyways.”

The deal rings in the hallway as you walk towards his door, Hobi two steps behind you, obfuscating his presence. You rack your knuckles on the wood, your stomach rolling, your blood curdling into bits of frozen cranberries, and your lungs lack air. You don’t know if you can do this, if you can be posturing stoicness when the threat is right in front of you. You wish Luna were here with you, her fluffy wisps a reminder of her encouragement. You can’t even find her on the material of your skirt, for she’s as much clothed in white as you. 

The door opens, revealing a distressed, wrinkly Jungkook with the stars in his eyes tear-stained. The lines of his sleep shoot across his bare chest, down to his abdomen that he sucks in at the sight of you. And you don’t hate him for the way his eyes skip to the bruise in the middle of your breasts—because it were your eyes first that skimmed that low on him first. 

Shame stops your blood flow, which restores your forgotten memory of how further aroused your body became when you saw his excited manhood in the picture he sent you. It floods back at full speed, in tandem with the bile in your throat. 

“I didn’t expect you to come over so soon,” he says, confusion rasping his tone, and his wide eyes narrow once they whisk to a taller head behind you. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, despite the fact you expected that much from him. A rude remark, the closing of doors. Anything but him opening the door wider and turning around, wordlessly inviting you in. 

And Hobi. 

The bile lowers. You exchange a worried look with him, but he runs a hand down the length of your hair upon your back. 

Bloodthirst flashes in his eyes. 

And you’re no longer sure if his plan is the right one to unravel. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four

CRANBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and... hyeonwol)

genre: heavy smut, angst

word count: 18.4k

summary: the final breaking of the curse hurts, but pain brings fruit.

pinterest board: cranberries / taglist: join

warnings: physical violence, fight, daddy issues, alcohol consumption, smoking, thigh humping, female masturbation, use of a vibrator, squirting, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), raw sex, conception, fears of infertility, finger sucking

note: THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE BERRIES SERIES WHAT. i can't breathe, i can't speak. i wrote the moment i woke up and it's now 4pm. ran out of cigs. :( i was so emotional as i was in this world with them and i love them. so much. i'm so excited for you to read this. i had iffy feelings about this series in the beginning, but that has changed. i love every chapter, every detail, every moment. and i think i did a good job. so, enjoy this. i poured my entire heart into this. my issues, personal experiences, everything. it means a lot to me. i love you, guys. i'm happy to give this to you after two long weeks! HAPPY READING.

side note: please, do check out the pinterest board. i'll add pics of every place oc and hobi have been. <3 SPAM MY INBOX. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

The sleep lines are paused shooting stars across his back. The dips and definition pools of refreshment for those dimmed lights and when you cross over the threshold with Hobi right behind you, with his finger hooked over the waistband of your ivory mini skirt, your own fingers gain feeling. Much to your dismay, they remember the sharpness of those lines, the stickiness of his sweat as his body boiled during any weather he slept through. 

He must have been on the brink of awakening, for you didn’t wait long before he answered the door. His gray curtains are pulled in and Jungkook walks over them, invites in the light of the early afternoon. In your peripheral vision, you recognize that the easel, which holds the painting in all its glory, is right there on your left side, and you strain your eyes to remain fixed on his bare back, even as wrong as that is. Hobi’s word of advice regarding thinking twice before you look at the artwork are pink blossoms that begin to grow in your ribs, spreading down to your stomach—because whether you like it or not, the place you find yourself to be in used to be one of absolute safety. 

It used to be your home, once upon a time. 

Cold, cold home that only ever reached tepidity at best. It’s all you ever knew—as the home you grew up in with your parents invariably had the same temperature. The same energy, too, charged with silence, ignorance and very little care that seldom carried love. 

Which brings a certain thought to the front of your head, just as Jungkook is bathed in light, arms extended as if he bore wings. 

He never loved you. 

Because if he did, then his home and the memories that are rushing in would feel the way Hobi feels. 

And like Hobi carried the false beauty in his heart, in his life—in the form of the poetry book—you carried the false perception of safety. If Hobi wasn’t here, if the stability of his antique stature wasn’t a wall doused in rain-kissed humidity that you now feel your body gravitating towards, and even if his finger wasn’t hooked behind your skirt, you wouldn’t feel safe. 

But on the other hand, softness coats Jungkook. Strange, strange softness that you haven’t seen in ages. Since the first days of your relationship, the first dates, the first kisses and touches, for everything you did with Jungkook was different each time, never the same until his life story shared with his childhood best friend ended on bad terms and the guy moved across the sea. It’s what triggered his mental issues that in the long run ended your story with him. 

As it seems, Jungkook has been trying to write a sequel that was never meant to exist. 

He bends over his coffee table and it is only now that you notice the clutter of crumpled tissues that he now picks up. Bile scratches your throat as needles prick it because it dawns on you fairly quickly what those issues served him for. A blanket is strewn over the backrest of his leather couch and a singular, flat pillow is propped against the armrest. He slept on it during the night; had a perfect view of the painting right across from him. And if your mind serves you well, he sent that picture in the middle of the night, in which he deliberately showed you that creating the message sexually thrilled him. 

It’s not hard to pinpoint that he fist-fucked himself while looking at the painting. And by the number of tissues that he hides in his palms and throws away in the bin in the kitchen, it’s evident his gratification process took a long, long time. 

You anticipate the bile pouring out of your throat again, but… it never comes. Oddly, it’s second-hand embarrassment that you sense swirling in the cranberry lumps of your bloodstream, its fumes drooping your pink blossoms, your veins thick and ghastly on your wrists. And while you should feel disgusted, for some reason you don’t. 

The discovery added magnitude to the star of his softness, weightiness and substance. It made it more real, bigger. It envelops him, confusing your mind because the only way it allows you to remember him is through the pain he caused you, using the expression of his fury. He broke your heart. Degraded you. Handled you harshly. Threw away your vape. Made you lose the respect you had for him, the worship you carried in the back of your heart. This can’t be the same person, kissed by a good night’s sleep. 

You don’t recognize him and you feel so out of place, standing in the middle of an obscure, amorphous dream that you’re trying to remember. A bizarre, uncanny feeling. You wish to run—as it lessens your form into that milky blue aura of smallness, but not in the way you like. Your body pleads to stand behind Hobi and clutch the back of his shirt in your fists while he steps in and makes order. But the energy around is too light, too gentle for a fight. 

Which is why you’re not sure if it’s a good idea that Hobi should unfurl his plan here. 

Hobi looks down at you as Jungkook answers his phone in the kitchen. You didn’t hear a thing due to the way you were lost in your thoughts and your confusion deepens as you regard the crooked furrow of his brow and the pinpricks of his pupils. Hobi wraps his arm low on your waist, tugging you flush to his side, kissing the plane of your head, lingering there for a second more as he inhales the natural scent of your hair. One you didn’t wash today, for he kept you busy. You fear he can smell your puke on you from earlier, despite the fact you almost sprayed the entirety of your vanilla perfume on yourself that you carry in your purse before you and him left together. You grow insecure, lessening furthermore. 

“Do I stink?” you ask, hushedly, gazing up at him with intention, willing him to answer you truthfully. Hobi smiles down at you, tenderly, pleased with the hint of familiarity and normalcy in the middle of the battlefield. Inhaling your scent and touching you diminished the intensity of the bloodthirst in his eyes and you’re glad for it. You hope that he perceives the elephant in the room and doesn’t strike first, but knowing how smart he is, you trust that he will, if he hasn’t already. 

Hobi doesn’t answer you. His smile falls as briskly as it appeared and his head swivels in the direction of the kitchen, features tight and startling. Your heart ceases its beat for a second before it speeds up, thumping painfully against your ribcage. What did Jungkook say over the phone? You weren’t paying attention. 

He lets go of you and stomps over to the kitchen. His back faces you, bringing your consciousness into present time, shudders with long staccatos of breaths. He’s fuming. Concern crawls up your back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“So, that’s what you do? You traumatize my girlfriend while you have someone else on the side?” Hobi says, brusquely, placing his fists on his hips. “Does she know you paint degrading pictures of your ex in your spare time?” 

A beat of silence. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Your blood freezes over and you don’t know how your legs take you over to Hobi, weak and tingling as they are. You can’t feel anything. Can’t feel your fingers as they hook over his back pocket, your inner child’s deepest wish infiltrating through reality. 

Jungkook worries his bottom lip, his phone still held over his ear, and he exhales, shortly through his nose, dropping his gaze. “I’ll call you back.” 

He throws the phone over the kitchen island, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he so often does, staring Hobi down. 

There’s no doubt she heard it. Hobi said it loud enough. 

Good. 

Good of Hobi to take the ruination by its legs and launch it back at its creator. You change your mind by the shift of the energy, having foolishly forgotten the girl personification of the storm that you saw by Jungkook’s side in the museum. She has no idea how preoccupied he’s been with you, chasing you down ever since he laid his eyes on you after nearly a month. And you pity her. She doesn’t deserve this kind of unfair treatment, no matter the hostility she showed you and the fraction of the same emotion you felt towards her in return. 

Jungkook had it coming, that’s what you’re sure of now—sowing the seeds of his downfall in your orchard. What he didn’t know was that by staying around, hurting not just you, but another vulnerable person at the same time, he would also reap its poisonous growth. You hope his hands are red and burning, pulling out the weeds and poison ivy. 

He leans against the kitchen counter, the muscle of his pierced brow quivering with the onrush of anger. You find it so pathetic that you almost dryly snicker, backed by the continuous, fatherly act of Hobi standing up for you—your antique wall, the architecture of the old, Mediterranean times. 

Strong and unwilling to break under pressure. 

“My personal life is none of your business—”

“And mine is?” Hobi interrupts him, leaning forward due to the influence of his own anger and the sight is horrifying. If you were in Jungkook’s place, you’d be trembling like a sissy. Hobi laughs, scornfully, doing it for you and your heart rejoices. “You stalked my wife, touched her, painted that shitty—”

Wife.

“I didn’t stalk her,” Jungkook says, awfully calmly, as if he were bored, despite the tremor of his pierced brow that divulges the true face of his feelings. “Wife?” He laughs, humorlessly, and you bunch your fists, letting go of your private, personal link to Hobi. Even though you swore you wouldn’t raise them again when facing him, it’s all you want to do now for the way he mocked something so meaningful to you. Raise them and use them until they bruise. 

The concern that hung over your back fades into a discomposure that slices over your skin with a blunt knife. Over and over, maddened by the incessant rampage to cause you pain, incited by his mockery. Won’t let up until blood pours out.  

“Don’t talk over me, I wasn’t finished,” Hobi scolds and your second-hand embarrassment for the opponent doubles, abating your discomposure just like that. 

The knife is lifted in the air, paused. 

Jungkook’s jaw begins to tremble, disliking the easiness to Hobi’s overpowering tendencies, the way his stern words force him to become that aforementioned sissy that you’d be in his place. You think it suits him right. 

“You shamed my—” Hobi points to his heart, like Jungkook did last night when he bared his feelings for you and your throat dries, unbelief peculiarly setting your discomposure free at the rightful turning of tables. “Wife for moving on with her life, for becoming the person she needed to become without you controlling her. Sent her a picture of your dick while you were at it, belittling her, using sex to lure her back to you as if she wasn’t smart, as if she wasn’t mine. You did all that and you think you’re gonna come out of this unscathed? Let your girlfriend see what you’ve done. What, you were going to hide that painting under your bed like a little bitch?” 

It’s Hobi who laughs now, the sound full of that same mockery Jungkook used to inflict pain. You wrap a hand around his arm, coming over to stand side by side with him, sliding your hand down to his, needing it and not being afraid of it. Not to his palm, but over the back of his hand, slipping your fingers through his. And together you clench that singular fist, stronger. 

You thought all your life that you were stupid. Your own Father bashed you for it every chance he had; you, yourself, hated your being for it with all your might. Thought it was the root of the curse over your life, made strong by your bad decisions, bad actions, bad footfalls. Learning that Hobi doesn’t regard you as such cuts that majority of your life away from you. He binds up your wounds, cleaning them. And the fact he put two and two together apropos the meaning of the painting, the reason behind the punishment, using your recitation of the bizarre poem is a kiss to make the boo-boo better. 

You weep, silently. Your love for Hobi trickles out of your tear ducts, doesn’t touch your makeup, doesn’t steal the attention of the two males away from each other. It dips into your ribcage through your chest, sprucing them until they can breathe again and fill your lungs with sweetened, poetic air, with a will to live on, reminding you that you have a future ahead of you that is beautiful and bereft of the curse and all you’ve ever known. 

And you wash that breath, purposefully, over the bare skin of Hobi’s warmth. Remind him, too, as you press your lips over it. He squeezes yours and his united fist, hearing you. 

Lifting your gaze, Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, devoid of those sleep lines. His biceps bulge, but it does nothing to you. Hobi’s fixing of your dignity, heart and life has taken care of that, all via that sonnet of his that he spat in Jungkook’s face, one that contorts in envy upon seeing your intertwined hand with Hobi’s. He nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes wetting, but the following words he says sting as if his face never wore those softened emotions. And the discomposure returns in the form of a colossal spider on your back. A slimy, heavy, breathing spider. 

You cringe, tensing your muscles, nuzzling your body deeper into Hobi’s arm. It only menaces your vivaciousness, but the fluff on your body stands on end, nonetheless. 

“She came here to look at the painting. I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he mutters, crossing his leg. Double protection. He’s stuck in a peril—feels vulnerable and threatened, just like Hobi said. “She likes being spanked, being punished. That’s why she’s here.” 

It takes two seconds for Hobi to release your hand and slap him like the little bitch he is. A fatherly discipline, that hard swoop of the back of his hand, a new line indenting his carmine face, one belonging to the ring on Hobi’s middle finger. Absolutely humiliating, that act you are a witness to—but you don’t feel a slither of pity for him. The joy from your heart springs to your eyes and you feel yourself blinking unorthodoxly—more briskly, serenely, femininely. 

The spider jumps off your back, afraid of Hobi. You sigh in relief, willing strength into your knees as they signify their giving out on you, boneless as they are. 

And Jungkook is afraid, too, once he recuperates from the hit, straightening, but not facing the king. His mouth rounds as if he were on the verge of crying, and maybe he is. He focuses on stalling the natural flow of his emotions, his pride forbidding him from being weak, even as he’s getting hit like a teenage boy. 

But Hobi makes him look at him. He grabs his face, repeating the motion of last night; squeezing his cheeks until his knuckles turn white, although this time Jungkook doesn’t moan in pain. He scrambles the last of that pride of his, threading it into the stiflement of his reaction. 

“Are you that dumb that you forgot about what I told you that would happen if I heard those words come out of your mouth again?” he seethes in his face. Jungkook sucks in quick breaths, a caged animal, furious. “You degraded her again. You’re asking for it at this point.” He slaps him again, harder this time, still with the back of his hand. Doesn’t give him time to shake it off. Grabs him in the same way. “I’ll let you know that those words you read in that little message? That probably made your dick hard? Those were my words, boy. I came here to break that painting, but I changed my mind. I want your girlfriend to see the work of your hands.” 

Hobi told him the true story while he omitted the detail he could’ve used to inflict further pain on him. He could’ve said that he told you to write that message after he was done fucking your trauma out of you. He could’ve rubbed that in his face and you wouldn’t mind. 

But he didn’t. 

He respects you. Protects your dignity. Doesn’t need to flaunt his private life with you; isn’t insecure to do something like that. And along with joy, he installs something within you that you lacked all your life. 

A respect, a high regard and an expensive love for yourself. 

You stand straighter, all of a sudden. 

Jungkook looks at you. A rawness of pain daubs his even softer eyes, but you recognize that it’s all pretense, a manipulation technique that you see right through. You lift your chin higher, interlocking your hands behind your back. A powerful, feminine stance. His eyes descend to your pride in the middle of your breasts, drench as he mumbles something your way that you can’t comprehend due to the way Hobi squeezes his cheeks harder, that moan of pain slipping through, at last. 

You smile, sensing the end of this chapter. You can see the door to it, wide open, Hobi standing by it, gripping the doorknob. And he shuts it with his following words. 

“Don’t even look at her. It’s over. The little game you’re playing? You lost,” Hobi says and lets him go. Jungkook grumbles, baring his teeth, his hand shaking as he lifts it to his jaw as if to rub away the pain, but he changes his mind at the last minute. Doesn’t want to show his weakness. His hand falls, flaccidly, to the side. Throws Hobi’s way a dirty look that makes you laugh. 

“It’s over,” you intone along, lips stretched in a glinting grin, the crown of your victory. You’re the queen to your king. Jungkook gazes at you with a puppy’s sadness, for a mere second before Hobi pushes his head away from your direction with a poke of his fingers. His inhales are sharp and thunderous and you think he’d be a perfect match to his companion, that is if he were a good guy, deserving of her. 

“Did you even see the painting?” he hushes out, head still turned towards the windows, and the redness on his face inflames in vibrancy, darkening. Why he thinks he needs to keep fighting, in spite of the way Hobi overthrew him, is beyond you. His head slowly swivels back to face you and tears cloud his eyes. It inspires no pity in you, no curiosity to look behind you at the painting. “I made the background an imitation of Monet’s waterlilies. The green ones, the ones you’ve always liked. Does that mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that I still care—” 

“No,” you interrupt him and you bask in it, inhale the power. Your pink blossoms grow in abundance, becoming a collection of beauty and strength that will live on forever, never to wither. “I didn’t look at the painting and I refuse to because I don’t care.” 

You open your mouth to continue, but he outruns you. 

“So, you lied to me? Why are you here, then?” 

The wheels seem to whirr in his brain, at last. 

“My husband and I came here to make one thing clear,” you explain and you flick your eyes to Hobi just in time to catch him smiling at you, fondly, his loving pride bursting through his own pools. “It’s over. You’re not gonna bother me anymore; you’re not gonna text me, call me. In fact—” You pull out your phone out of your front pocket and unlock it, tapping on Jungkook’s contact and blocking him, deleting the number right away. “You can’t anymore.” You smile, satisfied with your decision. “I live a happy life without you and it’s going to stay that way.”

Jungkook’s posture slouches and he wrinkles his brows, mouth agape, downturned. “Husband? What the fuck is this?” 

You only lift your hand in the air, for Hobi to take, dismissing him once and for all. “Let’s go.” 

You take a step back as Hobi rushes to you in a comical, endearing way, a huge smile engraving crinkles by his glimmering, pearlescent eyes. He takes your hand and when you look at Jungkook one last time to say goodbye to him, he whimpers like a wounded animal. 

Your heart constricts, not touched by pity, but by discomfort. It’s time to leave; you don’t want to be here anymore.  

Hobi leads you towards the door and you follow him, but Jungkook’s final words halt your footsteps. Hobi’s too. 

“I can be like him and better when he drops you. Don’t forget that.” 

You frown at him, your mouth pressed in a tight line. “There’s no when to me and you. I never want to see you again. Goodbye, Jungkook.” 

He mewls, the final kick to his bruised body and you leave. 

You leave his life for good. 

The air of the afternoon’s breath is floral. You thought the clouds would’ve smothered the last remains of the summer, but it is still, most strangely, in full bloom. You feel hot in Hobi’s linen shirt and the sun is scorching hot, balmy and paradisiacal on your bare thighs, though you wish you hadn’t worn your Nike’s. Your toes are asking for some sand, for the pecks of sea waves and the entanglement of seaweed around them like tropical adornment of toe rings. 

You met the girl, the personification of storm, behind the door to his apartment. She was about to rack her knuckles on the wood like you did, but Hobi opened the door for her. Her breath hitched in her throat, hard and heavy like the wind during that storm she resembles so much, and you felt bad for her. So much that you told her to leave him, unabashedly and plainly, and didn’t stick around to hear her response. 

But you did hear muffled sounds of vocal violence and you prayed, for the first time in your life, to someone in the sky, who has always been a witness to your curse and never did a thing about it, to guide her to break that painting in two. 

Not for your healing, not at all. But for the curse to be unleashed on him, turned to him and fixed on him.

You’re not ashamed to carry such evil in your heart. You know, full well, that it will dull overtime. Your mother would’ve rebuked you, told you to forgive your enemies and wish them well, but bricking up your heart for him to feel safe is something she would never understand. Because if she did, she wouldn’t share the same home with your Father. And if she did, you would’ve never ended up with a guy like Jungkook that was the raw epitome of him. 

It’s a good thing she’ll never learn of your secret. She never met Jungkook but she looks at his face every day, and you’re not so sure if the idea of introducing Hobi to her is pleasant. You sense the time you find yourself to be in is meant to be a solitary one, spent in a bubble with your husband, and there’s nothing you want more. 

You and Hobi, alone. 

For a little while before a little creature comes along. 

The mountain peak is awaiting—you feel it profoundly in your bones. 

Hobi opens the door to his car for you, places a hand on the edge of his vehicle so you don’t hurt your head as you sit down—like he did on your first date. But he doesn’t close the door and walk over to the driver’s seat. No, he straddles you. Pushes your seat back a little in order for you to have a perfect and comfortable view of him. You sputter out your giggles, felicitously confused by his actions, and when he props his hands by your head, his smile quivering in effort to not laugh along with you, your giggles rise in volume. 

And then his gaze deepens on you, lessening the pitch. Seriousness shrouds the energy, your little giggles ringing, faintly, and you press your thighs together between his legs. 

“I’m not fucking you here,” you whisper, the sound full of humor, your eyes feignedly widened, but Hobi is deep in thought, his imaginary wings furling and unfurling in the spaciousness of his car. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, steeped in that earnest, warm and lightweight solemnity. It feels like home. That question, too. 

You relax, your expression of joy fading into a comfortable silence and you take a moment to focus on what you’re feeling right now. 

A graze of the pink blossoms on the inside of your ribs. Relief, a wave sloshing over them. Freedom, the sunlight that heats up that body of water. Joy—a full rainbow of joy after a century-long rainfall. 

And you tell him. 

“I feel free. Happy. I feel happy, Hobi.” 

He smiles, fondly, that blush rolling over his cheeks like it always does. And you love him, irrevocably. You love him, you love him, you love him. 

He did this, your God. It’s the creation of his clean hands. 

And as he kisses the tip of your nose, you thank him with the same earnestness he brought in. 

And you mean it. You would’ve died, had he not found you. You would’ve died, had you not taken him to that museum. You think about what your life would’ve looked like if you never suggested that place, but your mind stumbles upon a dead end. You can’t—there’s nothingness up ahead. 

It was meant to happen this way. Along with the pain, the tears, the scars. If it never ached this much, it wouldn’t matter; it wouldn’t have the gravity, the substance, the meaning. It would’ve been plain and it wouldn’t change your life so devastatingly, so beautifully. 

You wouldn’t have wings and neither would he. 

You kiss him right back on that slender nose of his and much to your surprise, he gives his voice over to your heart. 

“I love you,” he confesses, the pearls in his eyes wetting, and he cradles your face. Your heart stops and then beats differently—in a way you never heard it sing before. “Is it too soon to say that?” 

Another surprise comes. A tear trickles down your cheek, a happy, elated, small rivulet that cleanses the last, difficult events that just ended. Down your cheek that stretches and aches, blissfully, as you smile up at him. 

“Is it too soon to say that I love you, too?” 

The song melts into another poetic stanza and Hobi kisses you. But he smiles as well, so the kiss is full of clashing of teeth and sudden hunger to express the fulfillment of that love. You and him try and try again until your lips mold into his and the hard kiss, filled with passion, respect and devotion, splits the curse in two. 

Now the residue, the smithereens only need to be fucked out of you.  

Hobi will do a good job, no doubt. 

“Let’s celebrate.” 

Hobi was eyeing a bottle of soju in a market nearby his house, but settled eventually for a bottle of spirits that he’s now popping open and drinking right from the lip of the tall, glass container. He’s sat on the ground of your bedroom, back propped against your bed, the bottle between his outstretched legs as he watches you strip out of the combination of yours and his clothes. A blackberry vape might be in your hand, the fume curling around the curds of cranberries that your blood still consists of, but a pack of cigarettes lies crooked on your bedding.

You told Hobi you needed something stronger after that happened. And he brushed a wisp of your hair away from your face and said he’d willingly have a cigarette with you as he still felt adrenaline coursing through his smooth bloodstream. Bought a pack of gold Davidoff’s for you, the ones you shared with him that you used to smoke until…

You haven’t voiced your panic, though. Not in the market, not in the car, not right now as you’re standing in front of your closet, searching for a lounging outfit to wear, similarly like Hobi did back at his house a few hours ago. Jungkook forbade you from smoking. Hated the sight of it. Hated it even more when you switched to vapes. And as you recollect his anger whenever he saw you with it, you can’t believe you let him do it. Can’t believe you stopped smoking just to please him. 

And you can’t believe Hobi bought you a pack. With his own money, by his own will. To please you. 

You should be feeling happy right now, but the panic… it stands behind you, the silhouette of Jungkook’s form, waiting for you to take that cigarette between your fingers and place it between your lips, daring you, taunting you, waiting for the right moment to strike, to rebuke, to untether its anger. It’s what keeps you planted on your feet, whisking your eyes up and down along the corner of your closet, where your comfortable clothes are neatly folded. 

You’re afraid to turn around. Afraid to see Jungkook there—

“Come here.” 

Hobi’s voice. Not Jungkook’s. 

“I need to get dressed,” you say, softly, staring down a pink wisp of your sleep shorts. 

You hear the sloshing of alcohol in the bottle. Hobi must be taking another sip. 

“You don’t, really.” 

You laugh through your nose. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here.” 

Hobi lets out the same sound, making a smile curl on your mouth. “Come here, pup.” 

It’s the gentleness sunk within his intonation that is a force of the same nature that turns your body around. Hobi is staring at you as if he were looking up at an angel—those pearlescent eyes of his bright and swimming, but not prematurely under the influence of the alcohol. They’re swimming with love. 

You used to be an angel. Now you’re you. 

And Jungkook isn’t standing there; Jungkook is gone. 

You walk over to him with ease, the panic dispersing and flying out your wide open window, your rosy curtains guiding it out. You sit on his outstretched thighs and as your bum plops down, you take off his green beanie. Run your fingers through his hair, fluffing them. Cradle his face to your naked bosom as you inhale him, tracing patterns on his scalp. 

Hobi begins to purr and you melt, becoming a liquid form of you, making his hands shine in the ever undying stark sunlight as he wraps his arms around your torso, tightly. 

You’re not going anywhere, the act says. 

This is what deserves to be painted, you muse. 

Listening to him emit that sound, your heart notices the absence of Luna and it craves her, awfully missing her. And the more you receive it through your ears and it settles within the chambers of your softened muscle, you realize that you’re holding her in the form of a human. 

He’s so much like her. You recollect the way he tilted his head into your touch, join it to the memory of how she did it when you petted her head for the first time. And you test him—withdraw to pat his cheek and he does it. Leans into your touch, lingering there as you cup him. 

He’s a God and a kitty. And you love him. 

Hobi reaches for the bottle of vodka. Takes a sip as he locks his gaze with yours. Your hand slackens at the sight, dropping to the crook between his neck and his firm shoulder, and you can’t hold it. Like your limb, your eyes descend to the way his mouth is wrapped around the rim of the bottle, to the bottle of his throat as he swallows and doesn’t make a face. Lift back up to catch a glint bouncing off his wet lips and abruptly, you want a taste of that heady sting of your own. 

He can read you, and fairly well—because he drinks again, but this time he doesn’t swallow. No, he pushes your head to his in one swift, brazen motion. Parts your lips by tugging your chin down with only his thumb while he cups your cheek and, sitting up so he can once again take advantage of the size difference, he pours the pungent liquid beyond the arc of your mouth. Remains there, a breath away. It seems as though he wants to feel you swallow, wants to inhale that sharp scent of the alcohol; wants to sense in his bones that principle of him giving it to you in a profound, private way. 

And you swallow it, fixing your attention on the burn coursing down your throat, softened by his saliva. This—this was your first drink, a safe occurrence, watched over by your Father. The ones you had before in your past life didn’t have a sliver of the magnitude that you feel suffusing your lungs. This is your first life with him. 

“That was so hot.” 

You agree with him, liquid heat pooling low in your core, and you need that cigarette. And his dick impaling you as you take that deep, heavy drag that you haven’t inhaled in months. 

And most peculiarly, there’s no panic, nor fear, as you snatch that pack of cigarettes from your bedding behind his head and look for the little flap that will help you open it. Hobi lifts his hand from your cheek, though, and steals it from you—finding the flap with ease and opening it as if he spent the last decade faithfully smoking. 

Your panties are ruined, just like that. 

Drenched when he pops the butt of the cigarette between his wet lips, rummaging in his pocket for the pink lighter that he got you along with the pack. 

Soaking when he lights it up for you, blows the first smoke into your mouth, pecks you softly, and places the butt between your lips. 

But he doesn’t place his hand back on your face—he keeps his thumb and forefinger on the body of the cigarette, the burning tip facing him, holding it for you as you take a drag. The thick smoke billows around his palm, milky blue in the golden light, and as soon as its heaviness caresses your lungs and you exhale it into the air, he returns the cigarette back to its original place. Puffs it one more time before he lets you have it, coughing a little, blowing the fume onto your bare breasts, lips opened halfway in a tiny circle. The warmth tickles and your body naturally curls forward in reaction, your arms pushing your breasts together. Hobi makes a sound that is a godly synthesis of a coo and a moan, uttered from his weakening grin, eyes gliding over your squished breasts. 

Eyes that never darken when regarding your nakedness; eyes that remain full of that celestial, sea-kissed light. 

Do they have the ocean in heaven? He must know, for he’d been formed by it. 

And you want to be stuffed full in it. 

Hobi must like the sight he sees because he takes a finger and drives it down the right side of your body. From your clavicle, down to your breast, your stiffened nipple that he stops at, pinching it, heightening the pressure until you squeak, the pool bursting in your core. At that sound, he continues on his path down your stomach and you let him feel the contraction of your muscles there as your body reacts to his touch. He ends his venture at the waistband of your panties and he tugs it towards himself, peeking inside. 

“Someone’s wet,” he comments and you cough, embarrassingly, caught off guard, as you take a drag of your cigarette, not expecting him to say that. Hobi smirks and the growing moistness on that fabric becomes uncomfortable. He rubs your back, helping your lungs to quiet down, the waistband snapping back making you jump—and incredibly horny. 

He steals the lung burner and you love it, your obsession with it construed by his apparent need to smoke in this heavily sexually-charged situation. You wonder if he’s holding himself back from breeding you right here and there. 

He could, if you wanted him to do it here—all things are settled, after all. But you don’t. You don’t want to reach the peak in your bedroom, where Jungkook has been so many times. 

You want it to happen at a place, where his footfalls never ventured. 

“Someone’s wet from watching their man smoke,” you flirt, looking at him through your lashes, hips instinctually drawing closer to his crotch and beginning their dance. Back and forth, the rhythm of the sea. 

“Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you,” he threatens, flicking his eyes to the rising peak of the cigarette ash and he bores them into yours with a challenge. “Be a good pup and get me an ashtray, please.” 

Please? 

Yes, Daddy. 

Ashtray? No. 

That would mean going to the kitchen and flipping it upside down in search of it. You stand up to your feet, your wetness flowing down your inner thighs with the movement, and you fetch the empty glass from your bedside table, lonesome and dust-scattered. You can’t really remember the last time you put it there. 

Sitting back down, you straddle his thigh as you hold the glass for him to flick the ash there. And once he does, you start to move back to your original position, but he stops you. 

“Stay here,” he says, enveloping an arm around your waist. “Ride it. Make a mess for me.” 

You don’t hesitate to do so, your body begs you for a release, weakened yet enlivened by his command. But the question of why he doesn’t want to fuck you bothers you and you decide to voice it out, willfully. Unafraid, safe, comfortable. 

You roll your hips forward on his thigh, which he flexes for you. The curves of his toned muscles hit the right spot and you throw your head back, using his throat for support, mewling little sounds that make him bite his lip, abandon his cigarette, let it fall into the cup that he forces away from your grip and sets it down. The smoke still billows out, twirling around your form, magnificently. 

“Why don’t you wanna fuck me?” 

Hobi sucks in a breath, leaning his head back against the mattress, hands following the movement of your hips. Drunk not on the alcohol, but on you. 

“Because I’ve been nonstop fucking you and I don’t want your little pussy to be sore,” he says, truthfully, adding vigor to your dance with his words, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Which is why I want you to use me like this when you need me.” He breathes, raggedly, and you’re dazed. “And because—” He fists the front of your panties, squeezing the fabric between your folds, stimulating your clit with the pressure. “The next time I fuck you, we’re making a baby.” You cry out, your pleasure heightened, and, meeting your thrust, he slides the knuckles of his fingers down to your clit, letting you ride them, letting himself feel the swollenness, softness and wetness of your flesh. He moans along with you—the feeling divine. “You said you didn’t want it here. Tell me where.” 

You can’t. Your orgasm quickens as do your grinding motions and you can’t see, you can’t speak, you squeeze your eyes shut—

“No, pup.” He stretches the fabric towards himself, essentially moving his hand away, and pushing your stomach back, your hips rolled forward, pussy throbbing and dripping in the air. You pant, gripping his hair at the crown of his head, eyes flung open, yet lidded. Terribly, terribly lidded. Sultry, dreamy, mesmeric. Despite the fact he ripped your orgasm away. “You don’t come unless you tell me where.” 

He holds you in place, immobilizing you. You try to grind on him again, but to no avail. You expect him to click his tongue at your brattiness, but he doesn’t. 

He does something else entirely. 

“Take your time. I know. That was really intense.”

It’s a stark contrast to the restraint he has you in—your slowly sobering brain makes a note of that, only to dip back into the stupefying pool of your arousal. 

And you whine, electrified by the pleasure that comes from all directions, that pushes forcibly against your neediness, heightening it. 

You can’t take your time. You can’t tell him right now. You need to come. 

“I can’t, Hobi.” Your breath shudders. “I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he rasps and you can see the way your neediness affects him, his chest heaving with almost identical staccatos, as though he was zapped with the delight he gets from it. His pupils are so dilated as his eyes melt into yours, a black pearl, but still enveloped by light. Cheeks flushed, mouth wet. The scent of patchouli, cigarettes and vodka, the remote corner of heaven. 

You try to breathe, fluidly, as you take it in and Hobi helps you. Breathes with you, steadies the cadence of your recuperation. Doesn’t stop until he’s assured that your lungs are calm. And as a reward, he lets your panties slap back against your pussy, coaxing a moan out of you. 

Doesn’t remove his hand from your hip, though. 

A quid pro quo. 

All right. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here. Not in Seoul, not in Korea,” you start, your lungs in a perfect rhythm. Hobi’s eyes enlarge as he listens, fingers spreading over your bum, just holding you there, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. The gesture soothes you, blesses you with tenderness that helps you continue with your words. “I want you to take me overseas, where I’ve never been.” 

He hums, nodding, thinking for a mere moment, his eyes distracted on your belly button. And when he lifts them, he smiles. “Any particular place in mind?” 

The country slips off your tongue, naturally, on its own, and you think that’s the one. Your heart spoke it, so it must be the place. You haven’t given much thought prior to it, just knew you didn’t want to conceive a child on this soil that remembers nothing but your pain and anguish. You held this within the chambers of your heart before you met Hobi—and way before you met Jungkook. And you figure that in the process it acknowledged itself with Hobi, studied his face, learned the ins and outs of his heart in such a short time, it riddled out the place, where the curse is meant to be broken in. 

Once and for all. 

“Turkey.” 

You’ve seen the videos. Seen the dramas. The pictures. It met you and kept meeting you throughout your life, but you never gave much meaning to it. And now you perceive why. 

You reckon that’s how life works. And it feels nice—to get to know life, to get to know its mercifulness. 

“That’s a beautiful place, pup,” he whispers, taking his hands off of your body and cradling your face, pulling you closer and kissing you, lingering there for two, three, four seconds more. Your heart jumps, delighted to be validated, and you feel like weeping happily. 

“You’ve been there before?” you ask, the wetness of your eyes gracing it with a glint that very seldom finds your usually saddened pools. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

“I’ve had business meetings with Turkish companies that do their job well. Good people, good atmosphere.” Hobi smiles, reminiscing on something private and his cheeks warm. 

You wish, intimately, that he would tell you everything. 

“Will you tell me about them when we get there?” 

Hobi nods, pecking your chin. “Yes, and then I’ll fill you up.” 

You grin as he lingers there beneath you, eyes so bright and big, becoming crinkly at the corners once he reciprocates the grin. He kisses the front column of your next, tasting the layer of sweat that has enveloped it during your oh so evident neediness and you dip your head in your pool of arousal all over again—as soon as he withdraws and slaps your thigh, signaling you to hump his thigh. 

You can’t wait to get knocked up. Hope time passes quickly, transforms into a substance that lifts you up and carries you all the way to Turkey, mercifully, kindly. 

It’s this notion that you focus on as your hips begin to roll forwards and backwards on his thigh, but this time, as Hobi watches you with intention, he pulls your drenched panties to your side, his hand coming over to your bum and doing the same thing there, so the fabric doesn’t get in the way. 

You kiss him for it, hungrily, licking over his tongue, and he moans into your mouth, the sound traveling down your body until it roots in your clit, where it spreads and drums a hymn for your feminine titillation. 

And the feeling is divine—the sparks of pleasure that shoot up your core while your bare pussy rubs against the fabric of his pants, darkening it ever so quickly with your wetness. The feeling that he enjoys it, even more so when he voices it out. 

“This is what it does to me,” he murmurs so terribly close to your puffed lips, grasping your hand and leading it to the place between his outstretched legs that he speaks of. He presses it against his painfully hard imprint and your fingers automatically wrap around it as much as they can, as if they recognize it’s their own toy. “To see you get turned on like this. To watch you use me because of it. I’m crazy for you—”

His phone rings in his pocket and your heart stops—as do your motions. 

And you fear, rottenly, that it’s Jungkook who’s calling him. That he somehow found his number and is back at it again, clutching the curse like a sword in his hand. Ready to ruin, ready to devastate. 

The feeling paralyzes you enough that it dries up your pool of arousal and you can’t blink, you can’t breathe, you can’t move. Your mouth parts, but no breaths come out. 

At the sliver of freedom and joy—

“Jung Hoseok speaking,” Hobi answers the phone, the device slender and way bigger than his monumental hand, gazing into your eyes. Unblinking, too. 

He listens to the other side spilling information in and once you catch his mouth flattening, those dimples gouging something unpleasant onto the smooth surface above his top lip and the brightness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly, the cranberries of your blood crumble, uncomfortably, beneath the skin of your forearms. 

You pull your hand away from his crotch, slipping out of his grasp. He stops you before you get up on your feet, holding your strayed hand as he listens some more. 

It can’t be Jungkook. 

Hobi wouldn’t listen to a word he said and that phone would’ve long been flung across the room, if it were him. 

You sigh a breath of relief, your body relaxing and slouching. You run a hand through your hair, gripping it at the back of your head to will some feeling into your muscles—as there’s nothing to fear. 

It’s over. 

It’s fucking over. 

No ruination. No devastation. No impending curse about to absorb your life. 

Nothing. 

“I understand what you’re saying and I appreciate your work and thought, but allow me to remind you that it’s Sunday and I don’t work on Sundays, neither do my employees—”

Oh, the big bad boss. 

The person on the other side interrupts him and Hobi scrunches his brows, mouth parting at the disrespect. Then, a smirk crawls over his mouth and he rolls his eyes, directing that smile towards you as the brightness in his eyes blossoms back. Playfully, he rolls his eyes again now that he knows he’s got your attention—and silently, he mimics the words the other person is saying, mocking them. 

You laugh, softly, your relief expanding in you and shifting you back into your comfort zone. Hobi’s eyes widen and, using his intertwined hand with yours, he presses his index finger to his lips to signal to you to be quiet. 

And he shouldn’t have done that. 

He refreshes your pool. 

And he seems to be aware of it by the way his countenance grows serious. It does something to you—the way he’s listening, working essentially, while being attentive to your feelings and state of mind. It’s attractive, the splitting of his attention. And you don’t have to rock your hips first—he encourages you to do it by curtly nodding his head at your hips, untwining from your hand and guiding your pelvis to dance again. 

Not for him. 

For you. 

And the pleasure is much bigger this time around. 

You can’t stifle your noises. 

“That sounds absolutely great,” he says, quickly, in order to camouflage the volume of your delight as you hump his thigh faster, more vigorously, your breasts bouncing and slapping against each other. Hobi watches them with a deep furrow of his brows and his bottom lip caged between his teeth. Tortured, absolutely tortured. 

It only urges you on—and you find yourself in a vapor of horniness. 

“Yes, Da—”

He clamps your mouth shut with his hand, your moan caught in his palm. That act alone drives you prematurely to the peak of your orgasm and you know, you know, that if your clit rubs against his toned, clothed thigh just once, you’ll be coming all over him. 

But Hobi manhandles you, pushes you down, gently, onto the floor. 

You’d think he was angry with you, hadn’t he smiled at you—and your vapor thickens, your hormones fucking with your brain. Hovering above you, he grips your throat, merely holds you there without any pressure, and he kisses the tip of your nose. 

He fucking kisses the tip of your nose. 

Your pool leaks onto the floor. 

“Be quiet,” he mouths and does it again, more prominently, to make sure you understand what he’s voicelessly saying to you. “Yes, I have about five employees in that department who would be willing to work on that. Very diligent and dedicated. One of the best people I’ve ever had under me.” 

He cringes, realizing the wrong string of words he used in that silence, and you burst out into laughter—one he has to silence by clamping your mouth shut again, looking away to focus on a fixed point somewhere in your bedroom while smiling himself. 

And you get his attention right back at you when you lick his palm. You expected him to be repulsed by it, but his eyes enlarge and his mouth falls agape as strange feelings wash over him. Then, he ruts against nothing and plunges two of his fingers, index and middle, into your mouth. 

Your slick is warm as it trickles down your flesh and onto the floor; your body hot all over from the situation, the secrecy, his dominance and his fingers alone. His eyes deepen when they slide over your full mouth and you can see, even through your thick vapor, the way he’s swallowing down his growls. He strokes your tongue, barely, softly, plunging them further until he hits the spot that makes you gag. It sobers him quite rapidly, the sound. Swearing—still voicelessly—he starts to pull out his fingers, but you wrap your hands around his wrist, keeping him there as you suck on those long, slender digits, focusing on not making a sound. 

His eyes lid, heavily, at your diligence. 

“Three months, you said?” He tugs his fingers out, that anger evident, but not towards you—towards the other person. And he lets it out by ripping your panties away from your body in a blink of an eye. “Can we make that two?” He caresses the silky skin of your mound with his knuckles, without venturing downwards, and you shudder, needing him there. “Rub your clit,” he mouths and you gasp, even though you don’t know why. You’re so overwhelmed by the respect he emanates, horny and sensitive that any word he’d throw your way would make you react this way. You feel like a schoolgirl; small, submissive, breedable. And you want to please him, make him proud, do as he says. But you don’t share the same hastiness as him—because before you can get to the end of your thought process, he takes your hand and places it on your pussy. 

He must be getting the same thrill out of it. 

You rub your clit, obeying him, and watching him watch the work of your fingers as you twirl them on that swollen, little flesh—it’s nothing you ever experienced before. Your pleasure quickens, as hasty as Hobi to get you to your peak, and you have to lift your fingers in order to not come quick, your lungs heaving, your mouth letting out short breaths that make him absolutely feral. 

“Oh, pup,” he mouths, the wrinkles on his forehead divulging the depth of his torment and pleasure from the sight. “Good job. So good. Yes.” He nods, encouraging you—and you almost come right then and there, but you lift your fingers just in time. Fists clenched, you throw your head back, frustrated but pleasured just the same. And you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. 

He runs his hand down the middle of your body, stopping at your thigh, wrapping your leg around his torso. 

“If you can’t make that work in two months, then we have nothing to talk about,” he bites, panting, but he hides it well, his voice untouched by it. Firmness and respect coats it, strengthens it, gives a new instrument to the hymn of your clit. “I have things to do and places to be outside of Korea and I can’t afford to be held back by three months. I’m sure I can find business partners who’d be able to make everything work in just one—”

Seething, he leans over, grabbing your vibrator. He turns up the intensity, the sound growing louder and louder and you shriek, soundlessly. 

You’re going to explode if he uses that on your tortured clit—

“Apologizes for the noise.” Hobi spits on your clit, the long string of his saliva plopping onto your flesh, making you quiver and moan, quietly. “There’s construction work outside. I guess you’re not the only one working on a Sunday.” 

The bitterness, the snide comment—you feel like screaming, in the most delicious, exhilarating way. And you do, when Hobi places the vibrator down on your needy clit. 

He moves it, rapidly, from side to side while he’s still talking on the phone, but his words are a blur that you fail to understand, your whole being fixed and concentrated on the adrenaline blended with fireworks of intense pleasure that create an orchestra of passion. His imaginary wings unfurl and beat in the air, opulent and dusky black. His eyes never falter their hypnosis as they bore into yours, coaxing your orgasm out of you, while his mouth keeps silently telling you to be quiet, praising you to motivate you. 

And you do explode. 

In his face when he explains something you can’t comprehend. 

And you come again when he takes a deep breath, stopping short in the middle of his sentence, shocked, zestful, wet and ecstatic. You sprinkle his chin and his neck, ruin, most beautifully, his polo shirt and devastate, even more so, his pants. 

And he’s grinning, so awfully pleased. 

Lifts the vibrator. Doesn’t turn it off. 

“I’m sorry. I’m getting an important call from a family member, who comes first on days such as these. Please, don’t hesitate to contact my secretary and make an appointment with me. We will discuss further on the matter. Have a nice day.” 

And he’s smart. 

Ending the call, he turns off the vibrator and tosses both things sideways. Props both arms beside each of your shoulders. And the flush that was stifled during the entirety of the work phone call now peeks through the surface, the petals of roses licking across his skin. Your own flush promenades hand in hand with him in this close proximity, your golden aura, gained from your exquisite orgasm, bathing you in holiness. 

And you still can’t speak, tongue-tied. 

He sweeps away your flyaways matted to your glistening forehead, brushing his knuckles down your face. And when he reaches your jaw, he cups your chin and kisses you, tenderly. Gives you a hundred more. Little, hungry, yet pure kisses. 

“What did we just do?” He laughs, softly, in disbelief, shaking his head. You laugh along with him, your still lingering and heightened vapor causing you to nearly levitate underneath him. 

He kisses you again, deeper this time, more slowly. Your nectar gets smeared on your cheek from his with each voracious movement of his mouth, his head. And it’s an element that makes this become real for you. That helps you fathom that you just experienced an adventurous event that wasn’t a part of the curse—that was good, through and through. 

And it’s yours. 

No one else’s. 

And he makes it even better when he shares the details of his phone call with you. Lifting you up and carrying you into the shower, he tells you of the way the “motherfucker” tried to keep him from breeding you for three months. Was cocky enough to promise him he won’t find a better business partner to work on a project that Hobi’s been passionate about for weeks—a way to get older children better education in schools in terms of things that aren’t normally taught: surviving skills, basic medical skills, cooking skills and life skills regarding various of things that they will need during and after high school. His organization also offers a form of preschool and elementary babysitting, therapy, library, game activities, singing, dancing, language learning—anything to keep those kids busy and away from their phones. It’s a place of rest, a place of safety and comfort and Hobi works hard to maintain that. 

The guy offered his premises and means of educational materials, even though Hobi makes do just fine—but it wouldn’t be available for at least three months. He explained that he needed them for the semester, wanted to elevate his ways, which is why he sent out a word. 

He told you all this while washing you clean in the steamy, hot shower. And it wasn’t until a week later that you found out the guy truly wasn’t able to make it happen sooner, but upon talking with him in person, Hobi was so satisfied with him and his work ethic, that he was willing to risk it. What he didn’t tell him over the phone was that he specializes in a group of orphaned children, homeless, and those who live in children’s homes. And Hobi’s mind was blown, his heart moved and softened, enough to shake his hand and start working on this renewed, expanded project. He put the kids that weren’t his first—and you fell in love with him deeper than you ever had before. 

And it wasn’t until spring came about and the first heat waves of the sun caressed your skin that he booked the flight, paid for a luxurious hotel resort in Antalya, paid for your mani, pedi, your Shein order and shopping sprees in malls, where he found you the simple dress he was apparently going to marry you in, and held your hand the entire way there. It took half a year to fulfill his longing and his biggest dream—and half a year to break your curse. You spent it visiting him in the office to bring him snacks, eye patches and face masks, distracted him with quick fucks, strip-teases, blow jobs underneath the table while he kept his suit on, smeared makeup and lipstick on his face and collar whenever you were in the mood to make out with him. 

It took such a long time, but you didn’t mind at all—because at night, you and him would pretend. Hobi didn’t want you to get on birth control; cared enough for your well-being by not wanting to confuse your body for a few months. Settled for the play of pretending—for condoms and nutting inside, going through the motion that there’s no latex preventing his longing from erupting. And during the day, you got to know him on a more meaningful, profound level. 

He loves to dance. Has danced with you in the living room on multiple occasions. Slow dancing, bachata, lambada. He wasn’t shy; enjoyed every minute of it and you watched him shine like the heart-shaped sunlight he is. You found the core of him, like a seed within a cherry, when you had your arms locked behind the nape of his neck and he led your hips into the rhythm of the sensual song. 

He loves children because he was loved right as a child himself. Wants to pass that on. Wants the kids to know that love exists, no matter what they’ve done. You broke down when he shared that with you and wished a place, like his organization provides, existed in your forlorn girlhood. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have been so broken. So prone to bad decisions, imbecility. So liable to the poisonous kisses of curses, to their tempting touches and their manipulative sounds of sweet nothing. 

Hobi had given you a promise ring right after he told you that there was to be a long waiting period for the baby. And when the time came and spring opened their buds of flowers, Hobi proposed to you. A grandiose diamond ring on your finger; plane tickets and more wons that you ever held in your hand, safely tucked in a white envelope. That’s how he announced it to you. And he didn’t get on his knee on the beach, where you glued your heart together. 

Not in Seoul, not on the island of Jeju. 

He proved his devotion to you and his irrevocable love for you amidst the surrounding mountains in Juwangsan national park by the Yongchu waterfall, five hours away from Seoul. Scraped his leisure pants because for a while you were paralyzed before you burst into tears and started running around, your first reaction of shock dispersing and turning into a holy euphoria you never experienced before. He laughed as did many people who were witness to the engagement, his hands that still held the ring box shaking as the audience clapped and cried along with you. Your white, linen dress billowed in the warm, spring-breathed wind, but you didn’t care much for it—because when you gained feeling in your muscles and your hunger to kiss him overpowered you, you stole and drew all of his patchouli-filled breath. 

You made it yours as he became yours, too, eternally. 

And when you gave him your yes, the mountains glorified yours and his love, exalted your unified souls, worshiped your hearts that beat for one another. Sang the praises of your unborn child.

You inhaled it, with gratitude and great importance, and it swirled within you even as you continued on your hike. Even as you visited the Daejeonsa Temple, where you spent the most time, dwelling in that thankfulness. You took in the beauty of the greenery, fresh air and mountains differently, more thoroughly and tremendously because you sensed they were there for you. Flaunted their earnest opulence and fervency for your happiness, for they knew you were looking back. 

Life gained feeling, too.

And Hobi wouldn’t stop fondling your ring while he held your hand. 

It’s what he does now as he presses the hotel room card against the device by the doorknob, a half month later. And it’s not lightness that is intertwined in his shoulders, but immense heaviness. Your flight was delayed by two hours and you waited another two hours for your luggage. Hobi didn't have to say a thing—it was written all over his countenance and figure, the weight of his perturbation. From his solemn look, tense features, lack of speech to his slouched shoulders, slightly shaking hands and deep breaths. 

You don’t want to poke the beast, but you do want to pet it—make it feel better. Because despite the misfortunes, you don’t consider them setbacks or ruination. You are here, with him, engaged and about to get filled with his baby. No troubles can take that away from you and they can try as hard as they want. 

You are about to carry his berry baby, conceived from the orchard he built in you, in the middle of Antalya, Turkey. 

Nothing could be better than this. 

Thinking about it, it paints a smile on your face. Hobi plants your suitcases on your king-sized bed, paying very little attention to the swan, made out of towels, sitting prettily in the middle of it, surrounded by rose petals, the ones that live beneath his skin so joyously and most comfortably. Feeling pity for him, because you know why he feels the way he does, you take his arms and slink through them, hugging his torso from behind, nuzzling your face in his oversized shirt-clad back that he wore for the first time in your presence. 

Hobi? Oversized clothes? Strangely, it works, even though you’re so used to his suits, his well-fitted classic clothes that accentuate his buff figure. 

He sighs, running his hands down your sides like he always does. You kiss his spine, without fear as you chose to wear zero makeup for the flight, but then he clasps your hands in his—right there in the center of his chest—and you swoon, tender and in love, appreciating the gesture, even though he’s done it many times before. 

It’ll never get old. 

“I can’t breathe in this room,” he murmurs, sighing a little louder this time around, and you furrow your brows, a wisp of worry curling in your gut. 

You’re about to let go and open the balcony doors to let some fresh air in, but Hobi acts faster. He swivels halfway, takes one step back with you, and turns on the air conditioning. Waits a little bit, stares at a fixed point on the ceiling—only to discover that it’s not working. 

Hobi punches the wall, startling you. 

“Hobi?” you call out his name, the wisp fading into a strong wind that moves your organs to and fro. 

He pinches his forehead, seething, and your instinct is to put a stop to it. You take his hands, notice they’re trembling, and the wind is knocked out of you. 

Trembling hands… What are they portraying? Anger? Anxiety? 

You sit him down on the bed, coming to stand in between his legs, and you cradle his face. Even the muscles in it quiver. Feebly, but they’re there. Pity constricts your heart. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, searching for his eyes, and when he meets you halfway, there’s unbelief that paints a murky landscape across his darkened pools. The brightness is dimmed. Your heart laments it. 

“Everything is going to shit. I wanted this to be perfect for you, but the air conditioning isn’t working. We waited for hours at the airport—”

You kiss his forehead, silencing him, and you linger there, even as you reassure him. “I’m so happy to be here with you that I couldn’t even give two shits about that.” 

The unbelief deepens and you figure he expected you to be as disappointed and as cranky as him. He doesn’t understand that the time you’d been graced with, the absence of your ex and the opportunity to be in a place your heart had quietly dreamed of conquers any obstacles that have tried to get in your way. 

You can’t be shaken. 

Not anymore. 

“We’re not at the airport anymore, we’re here. You can make a call to the reception and they will send a guy to fix it. It’s already perfect because I’m about to hear your English, first of all. And second of all, you’re gonna—” Your tone lowers to a whisper, “—breed me. Do unspeakable things to me here. Are we gonna fuck in the ocean? Oh, my god. I want that so bad. We can go to the beach at sunset with very few people around and you can nut in me. We’ll have a sea baby.”

This time, his sigh is dusted with relief and he slides your thighs over his, making you sit on his lap. The brightness in his eyes begins to flicker, shining through the murkiness, making its way back, and you’re happy to see it—relieved just the same. Though, you note something else, something new appearing in those pools. 

The moon. Night-caressed pearls. The waves of the turbulent, passionate sea at midnight as they wash out that terrible landscape. 

The same moon he carved into your thigh on your first date. The same moon that you hope will be lining your skin once he smothers you in his longing. 

“I’m so grateful to have you. I’m so grateful to have you as my wife. No one compares to you,” Hobi says, the moonlit pearls in his eyes wet as he’s overcome with emotion. He rests his head on your bosom, hugging you tight. “I love you, pup.” 

You bury your face in his silkily soft hair, reveling in the fresh undercut he got for this baby-making vacation. He purrs, happily, like a kitten, when you gently scrape your long acrylics upon that gritty surface. 

“I love you, too.” 

It’s time for dinner by the time you both come out of the shower, sharing one humongous towel. You push him down onto the bed and massage his back, helping him unwind on a deeper level—until his body is light and soaring, his eyes drowsy and lidded. Arm shading the lower half of his face, he studies the way you make love to your body by lathering it in shea butter lotion, then dressing it in a skin-tight, pale green, sleeveless dress with a slit in the back, its hem almost reaching your ankles. You put on some Aretha Franklin and open your clear makeup bag, reciprocating the eye contact in the mirror in front of the bed as you squirt foundation on your flushed cheeks. 

You didn’t realize he was watching you. 

“No panties, no bra?” he asks, his tongue dry as he licks his lips, still naked, glistening in the sundown from your lotion. Your eyes wander to his lower regions and find him hard. 

You smile, tapping in your foundation with your beauty blender. 

“I made the mistake of accidentally ordering extra small instead of small, so it’s tight on my body,” you explain your lack of underwear, your mouth ends quivering as he just keeps looking at you with bottomless devotion. “So I don’t want any panty lines or straps.” 

“I think that’s no mistake,” he says, his hand gripping his shaft for a moment before it relaxes, concealing his weakness for you. “I’m gonna rip it off of you with ease once your belly’s full. And I’m gonna make it fuller.” 

You bite your lip, blending your concealer, feral. “Careful, or no dinner for you.” 

Hobi chuckles, his body twitching, and you sink your teeth deeper into the pillow of your bottom lip. “Why?” 

Cream bronzer—you suck in your cheeks, making him suck in a breath. “If you keep talking, we’re skipping dinner and I’ll force you to make good on that promise.” 

He scoffs, the sound full of humor. “There’s no forcing when it comes to you.” 

You put on cream blush for nothing as your own natural blush resurfaces under that layer of makeup. “Your game will never not get to me, Hobi.” 

He hums in response, a tinge of embarrassment coloring that sound, and you coo, finishing your make-up with a thin eyeliner, mascara, brows and a brown lipstick. You brush out your hair, letting it cascade down your back. Put on some gold hoop earrings. Spray on your perfume. Crawl over Hobi’s lap to show yourself to him. 

“What do you think?” 

He fails to cup himself now that he’s turned on his back, with how long he is, and you pry his hand away, kissing his palm, marking it with that brown shade. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes out and your smile aches. “I’m gonna fight anyone who looks at you tonight.” 

You laugh, softly, leaning over to plant that same mark in the middle of his chest—just like he marked you all those months ago. “No need to fight for me. Are you gonna get dressed?” 

His shyness comes through, his flush reaching his neck and collarbones, and you salivate. 

“I’m hard,” he says, nearly pathetically, and you coo, endeared by him. Grasp him with your left hand, purposefully, and his eyes flick to your ring, moaning. “Oh, pup.” 

“What are we gonna do with you? I just put on my lipstick,” you whine, pouting feignedly, and Hobi whimpers, enveloping your hand with his fist, leading you to fuck him in a fast rhythm, the left over lotion on your palm making it slick and easy. 

“Just lick my tip and stroke me like that,” he croaks out and you feel your folds soak with your nectar. You were fine with him marinating your makeup, but this is better. “You don’t have to suck it. Just lick it with that tongue of yours, pup.” 

You swear, moaning, darting out your tongue and kitten licking the ridge of his head like he asked, twisting your wrist as much as he lets you in the deathly grasp he has over your hand. 

“That’s it, baby. You know how to do it. You’re my smart girl. My smart wife,” he praises, throwing his head back as he takes the pleasure you give him, going as far as hollowing out your cheeks on that sensitive part of him, despite the fact he told you that you didn’t have to. He groans, deeply, lifting his shoulders from the bed and gripping your hair, his hand trembling all over again. “Fuck, you make it so hard for me not to fuck your mouth.” 

You moan around him and he pulls you away from his cock and smashes his mouth against yours, kissing you so devastatingly ravagedly that you can’t breathe and you grow slack in his hold, sinking onto your knees on the floor. 

He holds your face as he lets you go, your foundation and lipstick smeared all over his chin, lips and cupid’s bow. You gasp at the sight, gulping. 

“I’m sorry, pup. You’re gonna have to redo your makeup. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so good,” he apologizes and you can see it on his face, how serious he is about it. “You deserve to be kissed like that. Hm, you’re such a good pup for me.”

You mewl, missing his lips already, and you quicken your pace around him. He lets you, matching you, and his sounds rise in volume. 

“I’m gonna come so quick for you, just because you look so good like this.” 

You hiccup, squeezing him. “Like what?” 

He hums, licking his lips, tasting your girlishness, and he grins, lopsidedly. “So pretty on your knees for your husband with your makeup ruined, knowing he did it because you sucked him so well.” 

The third person. You die—you die a beautiful death. 

“Oh, fuck, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, baby. I know. So good. Like always with you.” 

And you come back to life. 

You moan, giving him your all through your motions, sucking him, licking him, going even as far as taking his balls into your mouth, spreading your noises all over them, divulging how much you love that part of him. And he warns you before he comes. Doesn’t want to ruin your dress. And you watch as he spurts his cum all over his stomach while you milk it out of him—bedazzled, in love, fucked out and absolutely mesmerized.

And you rub his cum into his skin in the way you’ve noticed he likes to do on yours. Dig a grave for all the negative things he had to go through because of you and for you. You didn’t do that all those months ago, focused as you were on forgetting. But now that you’re healed from it and so is he, you dig that grave deep. Throw in his rightful anger, your ex, the painting. Sweep the soil back over it. And never look at it again. 

He thanks you for taking care of him. Tells you that it was all because of how beautiful you are. Cleans the little you left behind of his own nectar while you fix your makeup. Dresses himself in black pants and a shirt that makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. 

A black and white shirt with a pattern of condoms. 

“What?” he asks, but laughs along with you. “We’re saying goodbye to condoms once and for all, pup.” 

You blush, terribly. He leaves the top buttons undone, letting all eyes see the way you marked him with your brown lipstick. 

And he gets stared down at dinner. Cares very little, as smitten as he is with you—can’t lay his eyes off you as you walk, even as you eat and drink your Turkish tea, as you sway your body to the live, foreign music while your cigarette smoke dances along with you. Can’t stop touching you either—has to have his hand on you under all circumstances. On your forearm, the back of your hand, your knee or your thigh under the table. 

Your belly, after all that food. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” he says after a long moment of balmy silence. The spring wind, drifting from the palm trees, chilly ever so faintly, brushes your hair away from your face, caressing so coolly your freshly washed body, and you’re obsessed with the feeling. With his reminder that he’s gonna marry you. With him. With the fact you’re here with him.

There’s no other place you’d rather be. 

“I know,” you intone, shyly, grinning, so terribly happy that its sparks detonate on your face, your thumb mindlessly playing with your ring. “I feel at home here.” 

He seems to be touched by that. But you didn’t understand the gravity of his words. 

Not until later. 

Two strong cocktails in, the night falls. The musicians gather their instruments to leave, but Hobi, with a mind of his own, pulls you up to your feet to dance with you to the song of that balmy, restful silence. And the ardent dance, filled with twirls and sways, catches the eye of one of the musicians. An elderly man, with ebony hair, mustache and tender wetness in his eyes, picks up his decades-loved violin from its case and starts playing a song unheard by the night. A song made, intimately and privately, from his own gentle, but kindled heart for you and Hobi. The fervid song, tied with the fire of a passion shared between a husband and wife, moves you to tears and once the man sees them, he weeps along with you. 

With your face pressed against Hobi’s, he barely leads you in the dance as you still ever so slightly to listen to that expression of love and marriage, paying your full attention to it. And if there ever were any forgotten crumbs of cranberries in your blood, the man’s mastery and Hobi’s touch smooth it out, completely. Order it, wordlessly, to swim out of your tear ducts. 

The man ends the song and you and Hobi clap for him, bowing in all respect and sincerity. He sends you a heartfelt kiss and a thumbs up Hobi’s way, pointing at his shirt and you wave him goodbye, laughing. 

No need for words. 

All was said. 

And Hobi senses it, a changed man. Because when you walk up to your hotel room and he sets you down on the bed—he doesn’t rip your dress away from you like he promised he would. No, he takes his time, revealing your skin little by little, kissing and licking every inch that opens for him. He’s that embodied passion and he unravels himself on your body, sucking on your perked nipple as he holds the rim of your dress beneath your breasts. Sighing, humming. Circling the tip of his tongue around that sensitive trigger. Your moans echo around the spaciousness of the room and he answers each and every one of them with his own. 

“Do you want it now? On your first night here?” he asks, pools whisked to yours, grazing your nub with his teeth. You cry out, spreading your legs as far as the tightness of your dress lets you while Hobi’s body compresses them down with his weight. 

You want it every night, every day until you have to return back to Korea. Want to be so full of his nectar that you’ll still feel it, even at home. 

“I want us to try every day,” you say, stroking his hair, shuddering as he rolls his tongue up and down on that nipple of yours, nuzzling his face in your breast as he sucks it. Makes your brain malfunction a little bit. “Do you think they sell pregnancy tests in that little shop? I should’ve brought some from home.”

Hobi grows serious, popping your nub free. His puffy lips search for yours, enveloping them in a deep kiss. And he spreads tiny kisses on your cheek and jaw as he responds. “We can say fuck it and take that test when we get home.” 

The same seriousness closes down upon you. “What if we fail? What if there’s something wrong with me that I don’t know about?” 

He cradles your face, his thumb fondling your skin, your black eyelashes, sturdier than they usually are due to your mascara. “You’re young, you’re healthy. You have nothing to worry about. I’m older. What if my swimmers are blind, hm?” 

Your eyes wet at the thought, but a sweet reminder seizes you—the softness you saw wrapping around him when he told you about the renewal of his work project, the amount of poor children without parents or homes that have won over his heart. And your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue. 

“There’s always the children from your work. We can adopt. As many as we want.” 

Hobi looks into your eyes, deeply, for a long time. And you don’t catch the drenching of his pools, nor the tender glint, the wetness of the pearls. No, you catch a single rivulet trickling down on each of his cheeks, plopping down onto your chest. The hard sucking in of his breath due to that softness swathing him all over again. The tremble of his lip. The petting of his hand over your hair as he exudes gratefulness. 

“I love you, you know that?” he whimpers and you burst, your own tears dripping down the sides of your face as you take him in. The raw, compassionate and humane version of him that only few, selected people are allowed to see. You, his mom, his dad, his sister and… little Luna. And you sob, your whole body warm from the amount of love that boils in you for him. “You’re my good little pup. I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice broken owing to the intensity of your feelings. Hobi kisses your neck and your hand brushes down his back, scattered with myriads of condoms. Try to feel for his wings. Want them as sensitive as his heart. “Your swimmers aren’t blind. They have 20/20 vision.” 

Your little joke causes him to chuckle, adorably, and he makes that sound travel down your throat as soon as he kisses you again. Slowly, carefully—as if engraving the shape and the feel of your lips deeply into his brain, into his system that he will give to you. You want more of him, the intangible things as well as the tangible ones. All of him, all that put his being together; all that helps him get up in the morning and lay his head down at night. 

And it invigorates you, the knowledge that you will get just that—once he fills you up with his nectar and his swimmers find you, perfectly. Yours and his berry baby will grow amidst the orchard he will continue to take care of; and you will have him. 

Eternally. 

Beyond death. Beyond the end of time. 

You will have him—and you will have a little him as well. 

“I want you,” you whisper onto his lips, perking up your breasts for him by squishing them together and he sees you, sees what you’re doing and he licks your nipple again, both of them at the same time in fact, torturously slowly, humming. “And I want a little you.” 

Lifting his head to kiss you, nastily, he groans. The smack of yours and his mouth, the ridding of your dress—still slow, still sensual. He studies your body for a moment, shuddering, full of longing for him and his nectar, ready for him with the way it’s glistening in sweat and arousal. And he sighs, differently this time. 

The sound is coated with as much longing as your body is. 

You love being looked at by him; love the knowledge that he’s looking at something that’s his. Always been his to transform, make new, clean and heal. Always been his to love. 

And he kisses his pathway down your tummy as if he thought about the same thing, his hands following every inch of your skin, fondling the places he kissed, licked and sucked. Not hard enough to create a mark, but lovingly enough to moisten you even more, to make your heart swell—and something else, too. 

He stops at your navel. Squishes the lower belly fat, biting it as he coos—and you can feel how much he loves that part of you; always has. Because of that, there’s no insecurity tightening your lungs or worrying your brain. Only balminess, the sound of cicadas, the dance of the palm trees as the wind blows through it, the faraway sea sloshing upon shore and his noises caked with yearning—for you, for the baby. 

“Our baby is going to live right here,” he says, as if he was coming to terms with it, now that he’s about to make it happen, and you soften, running your hand through the tufts of his windswept hair. “It’s going to grow and feel our love. Feel how much I love him or her. How much you do.” 

You nod, a liquified softness. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” 

He gazes at you through his lashes and butterflies zap your stomach. “I want a baby that looks like you.” 

Your heart, too. 

“So, a girl?” 

He rubs his face in your tummy, breathing evenly against it. “Even a boy can have your features. Your hair. Your hands.” He takes it, the one closest to him, and drifts his fingers through yours. “I want to hold their hand and know I’m holding yours. And I want to give them the love I have for you.” 

A film flashes through your mind. A little boy, sitting on a sofa next to resting Hobi, watching TV while his Daddy absentmindedly plays with his small fingers, kissing them, biting them playfully to make him growl in that adorable way. The same little boy growing into a young man, having been watered by the love Hobi has for you and the new, fatherly love he gained for him. One that does not cease even as he’s older. 

A boy, a man loved by his Father—ceaselessly. 

Something you never had, but your child will. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Hobi wipes your tears away. Your heart thumps so rapidly against your chest that you believe it could poke through the flesh. 

And you fall for him, all over again. 

“That’s the most beautiful thing you ever said to me,” you whisper, high on your heightened feelings for him, high on him. “Besides, ‘will you marry me?’”

Hobi smiles. Moves you so your head reclines on the pillows, knocking towel swan off the bed, making you giggle. And he sits on his legs, clutching your waist, thumb rubbing circles on your tummy, squished and overspilling in your position as you wrap your own legs around him. 

Comfortable, safe, elated. 

“Two days from now, I want you to wear that dress I bought you,” he says, his smile blossoming wider and your lips mimic the same movement for some reason, despite the fact your brows furrow in confusion. 

“What dress?” 

He slides his hands up your highs. “The white one. The one I told you I was gonna marry you in.” 

A soft gasp leaves your lips and a mist of tears thicken in your waterline, understanding what he’s saying. “Are we—?” 

“Yes, pup.” A stream, not a rivulet, cascades down his cheeks and you break, you break beautifully and happily. “We’re getting married in two days. I prepared everything. Your parents and mine are flying in. I paid for their plane tickets. A small wedding with the closest. My sister slapped me when I offered to pay for hers—”

An alarm rings loudly in your sternum and you don’t think before you voice it out. Hasty in a way you don’t like, but it’s due to a certain fear that you feel expanding throughout your body. 

“What did my Dad say?” 

Hobi’s smile doesn’t fade and it spurs a fragment of ease to shoot down your form. 

“Your Dad gave me his blessing.” 

A brand new shrub begins to grow in your orchard. The final one. A shrub of goji berries, healing, beneficial to your Father complex, the very means that will treat your scar caused from it, rejuvenate the skin that bears his ignorance, lack of love, care and attention. 

And you can’t breathe.

Hobi lays the front of his body against yours, propping his chin against your chest, holding the side of your face in his hand, tracing your shock and unbelief with his thumb. 

“He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me, but once he heard that I mean well with you and that I make good money at my job—actually, once he heard that I work with children, his whole demeanor changed—”

“He loves children,” you blurt out, your vision unfocusing. “He just doesn’t love me because I grew up. It’s some kind of block in his body, I don’t know.” 

Hobi pauses for a moment, thinking about your words, his thumb now tracing your lost eyes—your eyelids, your eyelashes. 

Your Father played with you when you were a little girl. Took you on walks around the city. Bought you McDonalds. Taught you how to count money when you were struggling, unsure if you had enough from the paper Wons he gave you. But once the sadness of your girlhood absorbed your life, his presence in it shifted and moved away. 

And never returned. 

“He does love you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. That’s what I sensed,” he whispers, his hand descending to your neck, and you wonder if he feels the twigs of those goji berries underneath that skin—that quickly they grow. “If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. He wouldn’t have asked me if there’s anything I needed from him in terms of the wedding. And he wasn’t mad about the fact that it would be non-traditional and in Turkey, though your mom insisted she’d wear a hanbok anyways.” 

You’re so overwhelmed that you can’t speak, the notion that your Father always knew you strayed away from your heritage and preferred the West sneaking into your heart. He accepted it; and he accepted Hobi. 

You reach within yourself, pluck a goji berry and feed it to the emptiness that lived within you for too long. And you do it again and again—until there’s no hollowness that eats at your insides. 

You’re whole.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles down his cheek and Hobi leans into your touch like he always does. “That healed me. I can’t wait to marry you.” 

Hobi mirrors your softness and kisses you with it. And it’s now that the dip of the scar in your skin replenishes—through each and every moment of his mouth against yours and through his shifting to the place between your legs once you coyly ask for him there. He eats you as if he were starving, and it has great meaning to you—the fact it’s someone you love that is consuming you and not your emptiness anymore. Your feet slide across the pattern of the condoms on his back and it quickens your orgasm in the middle of his sucking and finger-fucking, all owing to the fact that Hobi made order in your life; healed your Father’s complex and now is preparing you to impregnate you, only to marry you two days later. 

You come so hard that you don’t sprinkle him, but drench him whole, your nectar painting him in glimmering light that becomes holy in the moonlight that streaks through the balcony. 

He heaves, ferally, kissing your clit over and over again—so hard that he’s essentially sucking it and you cry out in overstimulation. 

“Taught you how to squirt, didn’t I?” he growls, hovering above you as the drops of your nectar pitter-patter on your chest and within your shyness due to his words, you’re ready for him. 

He did teach you that. Since the fateful day of his work phone call, before and during which you edged yourself so painfully that when he pleasured you with your vibrator, you exploded just the same, you aren’t able to have dry orgasms. He has triggered something within you, using his businessman voice and respect, that rains for him and it has changed your sexuality once and for all.

“You did,” you try because of your shyness, your hands instinctively popping the button of his pants open, and Hobi hums, wiping his face clean and pushing his soaked fingers inside your mouth. 

You didn’t expect it and the loud moan that slips out of your throat comes as a surprise to you. Hobi’s length twitches beneath your hands and twitches again when you suck on his fingers, just as loudly. 

“I love it when you squirt for me, but pray to God, pup, that you don’t squirt around my dick because I’m not pulling out, you hear me?” he rasps, his voice deep and solemn, causing your walls to clench tightly and your heat to reach a boiling temperature. Your hand, mindlessly, slinks to your pussy to rub your clit and he tips his head, noticing it. “Move your hand.” You do, your heart bouncing in your ribcage. Hobi begins to thumb your clit and you writhe your body against the mattress, following each circle with your hips, the pleasure faint but so good. “Do you think you can hold your orgasms for me once I fuck you, hm?” 

You whimper, regarding the idea impossible, knowing how well he does it. Impossible and rapturous. “No.” 

He chuckles. Stops his circles. Lets you use his thumb. “I’ll make you, then. I can stop anytime.” 

You roll your eyes back, his dominance-tinged words better than the stimulation of your clit. “Can you?” you bite back, playfully, your shyness vanishing. 

Hobi bites his lip, intoxicated by your new confidence. Pins your hands above your head, leaning his weight on them. Brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t go bratty on me now. Don’t do it to the baby.” 

You choke out a curse and Hobi digs his half-moons into your forearms. The moonlight anoints them, purifying the atmosphere. 

“I’ll be good for the baby,” you whisper, curling your hips to feel more of his manhood, eager for it. “And good for you.”

Hobi growls, kissing the skin beneath your jawline just once. “A good what?” 

You know what he wants you to say and your eagerness lengthens. “A good pup.” 

Shifting so he can hold both of your wrists in his singular fist, he glides the tip of his cock along your feminine flesh—up and down, up and down. 

“That’s it. A good Mommy for the baby and a good pup for me.” 

He buries himself in your heat and it’s the breaking of the curse upon your life, for the intention is there. The final installment to your healing of your Father’s complex because you’re not a little girl anymore, walking in the withering forest of your saddened girlhood. 

You’re a tender woman and you’re being made love to. 

There’s respect to the languid and dionysian movements of his love, no matter the hardness he uses. A breath is choked out of you and he inhales it, letting your hands free to cradle your neck, pressing his forehead against yours as he moans. Your mouth is parted and Hobi plays with your tongue without closing down his lips on yours, which causes you to mark your nails down his lats. Goosebumps decorate his skin at the feeling and he speeds up, beckoning out your whiny noises as you take it. 

His cock, the healing, the respect, the love. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, consuming your noises as soon as he kisses you. Doesn’t stop ramming into you. “I love you, my pup. You’re my life.” 

You cry out and he rips the coil of your orgasm by filling you to the hilt and lingering there, stimulating your clit by giving you fast, little strokes that makes his mound rub against it. And the orgasm overtakes you, your whole body limp and delighted as the heavenly pressure courses down every nerve ending, spreading that healing, respect and love, sealing it there. 

“God, that was beautiful,” Hobi comments, stunned by the explosion of your pleasure, and he begins to give you long, hard strokes that empty out your brain and try to push out your sudden guilt for coming when he wanted you to hold back your orgasm. 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, pup,” he groans, the muscles around his eyes tightening as he pants. “You’re good. Just keep coming for me. I was only kidding, pup.” 

He takes your nipple in his mouth, his back strong and monumental and you sink your nails into it, marking him with the same half-moons, blushing, joyful. Hobi returns to your neck, your jaw and lips and you whine at the principle of him returning. 

The feeling of it is so enormous that you come again. 

“Yes, pup, that’s it. Come for your Daddy. So pretty, yes. I’m so close. I’m right there with you. Gonna make you a Mommy.” 

The words that are true, at last. Not a pretense. 

And then he’s fast, fucking you into the bed. Changing his mind at the last minute and lifting your hips into the air, slamming into you so hard that you have to hold onto his forearms, scattering your half-moons there and you take it all, ravenous, yet tender as you are. The squelching noises, his growls melting into soft mewls as you squeeze around him and it’s him who can’t take it. 

Who can’t take the distance. 

Who places your hips back down and eats your mouth, plunging his tongue inside while keeping up his rhythm. Never once faltering, nor wavering. He kneads your breast, sucks on your lip, bites it. Holds you by your throat, pushing his thumb inside your parted mouth and you have a feeling, amidst the haziness of your mind, that’s your trigger. One of them, at least. 

“Suck on it.” 

You clamp down on his length, obeying. Your orgasm inches closer, your fourth one of the night. 

“Good pup,” he husks, closing his eyes for a split second, slowing down, rolling motions. “Are you ready to become a Mommy for our baby? Daddy’s so close.” 

The sound that leaves you is of such a desperate kind that he grunts, delighting in it. Buries himself inside you to the hilt, stopping there, giving you tiny strokes that scramble your brain, plays with the haziness. Your arousal and your yearning is so raging and feverish that the pain of his tip osculating your cervix feels divine. And all you can think about is how it’s going to widen over time for yours and his baby. 

“Yes, yes, please. I want it. Give it to me, please, please, please,” you beg, your lungs and your pulse quickening, muscles taut and Hobi moans in a way you’ve never heard him before. 

The longing at its peak, sensitive, delicate and frail—yet he still remains as strong and monumental as he is. His Achilles’ heel has been struck and he begins to twitch inside you. 

“Oh my God, pup, I’m coming so hard for you.” Long strokes, whimpers. “Are you gonna take it like the good little wife you are?” The ultimate hard thrust—the blooming of his longing, your agreement, and it’s happening. He comes. “Fuck, fuck, yes. It’s all yours. It’s all yours, pup.”

He paints you anew with the warmth of his nectar, fucking it deeply into you. And the title you utter is not one construed out of your lack, but it’s a crowning of his new role. 

“Daddy.”

The final breaking of the curse. 

The conclusion. 

He continues to ram into you, softly, his thumb finding your clit—and it’s over. 

Everything. 

You step into a new life with him while you’re still connected and he keeps coming for you, his swimmers antsy and desirous to find your egg. And crossing the threshold, you come—devastatingly intensely, your body trembling and his mirroring the same shakes while he gives you the last of his all and a kiss that lasts a lifetime. 

A clean slate, a clean heart, a clean body. 

A clean life.

An orchard, brimming with fullness and ripeness. 

Ready for your berry baby. 

He looks at you for a long time, then, grinning so widely that you can sense the entirety of his joyful heart in it. His eyes wet and his smile softens as the gravity of what just happened washes over him. You feel the same process collapsing over you, splendidly, and you think that you and him must have become one. 

“We did it,” he whispers, a tear pouring down his cheek and another one following. 

You nod, your cheeks stained with the same tears. “We did it.” 

And the newness of your life and being feels natural—just as though it has been there the whole time. 

On the day of your wedding, bright early in the morning—after Hobi woke you up with his sensual The Weeknd playlist and ate you out so calamitously that you had to give it back to him by riding him into oblivion—you sit down for breakfast and discover something about him that almost makes you call it off. 

Hobi put strawberry jam on his butter toast with scrambled eggs. 

The Turkish sun envelops him bewitchingly, makes his tanned skin glow in its light as he enjoys, provocatively, every bite of his strange breakfast, focusing all of his attention on it. His eyes never leave it and his mouth smacks so loudly that it as irks you as it makes you laugh. 

Your unbelief towards that combination is so strong that it took you some time before you could speak up. 

“What the fuck, Hobi?” 

His eyes flick in your direction, innocently, cheeks full and squirrel-like, layered in sweat. His hands hold a half of the toast, despite the fact you and him just sat down. Does he really enjoy it that much? He inhaled it. 

“What?” he asks, mouth full, and you chuckle. 

“Jam and eggs?” 

He swallows, making a sound that divulges just how much he loved that bite. “Pup, it’s so good.” 

You widen your eyes. “I’m not marrying you today,” you say, but you don’t mean it. You’d marry him even if he forced that abnormal toast down your throat. 

He’s not one bit perplexed by your sentence. Stares you down as he runs his tongue over his teeth, mouth closed. “Be quiet.” 

Heat comes apart in your body and you blush, squeezing your thighs together under the table.

“How could a combination of eggs and jam be good?” you ask, standing your ground, despite your feelings. 

Hobi smiles. “One time I accidentally put sugar instead of salt on my scrambled eggs and it changed my life forever.” 

Your eyes might pop out of your sockets. “What?” 

He laughs, extends his hand towards your face. The sweetened, yet buttery smell of the toast hits your nostrils and your repulsion towards it dissolves. “Try it.” 

You don’t trust it, though. “I’d rather die.” 

He tightens his lips. “Be quiet and take a bite.” 

Taken aback, your instincts win and you don’t realize your head is leaning towards the toast until your teeth sink into the crunchy tastiness. You take a small bite and thoroughly chew, the mixture of sweetness and a little bit of saltiness, wrapped around the crispiness of the toast and the slight mushiness of the eggs creating something metaphysical in your mouth. 

Hobi watches you with a proud, lopsided grin. Knows you like it before you say it. 

“What the fuck?” 

He bursts into laughter and lets you have it, places it on your plate before devouring his second one, your liking for it elevating his. 

And you devour it just the same. 

“Life changing, isn’t it?” he intones, smacking his mouth in all the pleasure of the world. “Expect this kind of breakfast every morning when we get home. After I eat out your little pussy.” 

You choke on it and hide your feverish face in your hands, your stomach doing somersaults. “Oh my God, Hobi.” 

He laughs again, tenderly, and the sound travels all the way to Cappadocia, where he marries you at sundown. 

On the rooftop of a cave hotel, overlooking an immeasurable amount of kaleidoscopic hot air balloons that magnetically travel to the heat of the orange sun, the mountains and volcanic peaks darkened by its overpowering magnificence. It encourages the sleepy walk of camels and tightens the hearts of the witnesses below and the hearts of your parents, parents in law and Hobi’s sister. 

The simple dress Hobi bought you ripples in the compassionate late afternoon wind. Silky, pearlescent like his eyes in a certain light, caressing your tanned skin. So very akin to the one you wore on your first date with him, but longer, sleek, homeric in its significance.

And he matches you, all white, in his tuxedo, a stark contrast against his bronze skin and black hair, a wispy strand softly being blown sideways from his forehead by the wind. He holds his tears back in the same way he holds your hand—with all his might. And you do the same. 

You share your vows. 

He shares his, intertwined with the first poem you recited for him. 

“I’ll carry your heart with me ‘til my last day on this Earth and I will fear no fate because you are my fate.” 

Through your tears, you can see the way he’s stifling his habit of saying your pet name. And when he catches your quivering smile, he breaks into more tears. 

And when you proclaim that you do take him as your husband and when he proclaims that he takes you as his wife, your tears conjoin as do your souls in a kiss that makes the mountains quake. The heat of the Turkish sun perpetuates the act of love. 

The audience cheers. 

Your Father weeps.

And you believe no sadness, no ruination will ever come close to you again. 

You and Hobi celebrate. Dance throughout the night to foreign, passionate music that your heart seems to know. Fly in a hot air balloon, where he gets drunk and kisses you until your lips get numb. 

Almost throws up all the dark liquor he drank once he sees how high from the ground he is. 

And you can’t stop laughing. 

Not as he takes you to the Valley of Love the next day to look at penis-shaped rock formations that nature apparently formed out of the blue. 

Not as you give birth nine months later and he makes his sound effects as you push out his child. 

A baby boy that has your hair, your hands, your mouth and your chin—and a whole lot of Hobi’s pearlescent eyes and slender nose. A delectable, heavenly concoction. 

And certainly not as you take the five-year old boy to the Yongchu waterfall, where his Father proposed to you, and he starts sputtering out uncontrollable giggles when Hobi tells him that you ran around when he popped the question and precisely, with utmost detail, shows him how. 

On your way back, when little Hyeonwol’s legs hurt and drowsiness weighs him down, he surveys the mountain peak, transfixed by it. You and Hobi notice it at the same time and share a look that could never be described through any poetry, through any beauty of words, not even the ordinary kind. 

And it’s automatic, a silent, collective and simultaneous decision to break Hyeonwol’s spell by kissing each of his cheek. 

The dream came true. 

All dreams have, even those undreamed. 

And you believe that even as you grow old with Hobi, you’ll never stop laughing. 

You’ll never stop eating strawberry jam toasts with scrambled eggs with him. 

With Hyeonwol, too. 

And you'll never stop feeding the berry boy the fruits from the orchard that Hobi continues to take care of within you.

HYEONWOL — HYE-ON-WOL 

賢월

Meaning: worthy moon 

This name is given to a worthy person who is as precious as the moon. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four | READ part five

A MILLION YEARS AGO | jhs

pairing: idol!boyfriend!hobi x f. reader 

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 4.6k

summary: when your faith in your healing wavers, hobi is there to go the extra mile for you.

taglist: join | playlist: million | cp: wattpad, ao3 | discord: join

warnings: near car accident, confusion in the body, iffy feelings towards an ex, seeing an ex for the first time in million years, being mistreated, religion, praying, oc smokes, hobi is the perfect boyfriend that i wish i had, oral sex (f. receiving), raw sexual intercourse.

note: i'm crying as i'm writing this because i'm so sad, but i promise this healed me more than i expected. as you know, i write little fics whenever something happens to me—and this is based off what happened yesterday. me and my cousin sat down at our smaller family event (not the one we had on friday, if you follow me on twitter), and she asked me if i were healed. and she told me about what she saw. i think it's meant to move me somewhere forward, otherwise i would've never got to see his face. i don't know. i hope you like this little fic, you know i had to write it out like i smoke out my feelings. i'm proud of this work in terms of the way it's written. think i kinda killed that. i love you guys. and i miss you, terribly. i love you.

side note: sorry for my vulnerability. a smaller side note: this is also for my baby @hoseokkie-caeks. i promised i would write a hobi one shot after berries, and here i am. <3 i love you, baby. miss you.

The night was dark. Too, too dark. 

I sensed it swathing my bones long before I glimpsed at something I should and shouldn’t have—or rather someone, to be proper. 

The trees remained unmoving, despite the summer breeze drifting through the macrocosm that unfolded with each and every footfall I shared with my beloved beside me. Hand in hand, we walked leisurely through streets that were prosaic until our energy imbued them with our intimate poetry. White swallowing, little by little, the dark. There was no one and everyone around us, but we didn’t see them; we merely saw each other, for we were in love and we deserved to be so. Hoseok after his hard, agonizing work regime and unfair treatment from his management and… the whole world essentially. Me after the way I had been treated, handled, tossed aside by the person I found inside the screen of a phone—inside a world that once used to be mine, but now is nothing but foreign. 

Million, million years ago. 

The stars were aligned just right, stringing together a shape of the wholeness and the throb of my heart, and we sat down to eat dinner with one of my closest friends that came to town—one me and Hoseok have settled in within the precious, year-long break that burst open in his work life. Hobi didn’t want to see people, at least not those who didn’t bear familiar faces, and I didn’t want to see the city, so it was the most fateful of compromises, most perfect of the kind that was naturally threaded between us; a conjoined idea that blinked within our brains at the same time. And the laughter that followed after we voiced it out at the same time, the long kiss that spread roots inside the pillows of our lips—to this day, it is a fond memory, or perhaps something beyond that, that embraces me at night before I enter the realm of dreamland, tugging me closer into the snug heat of Hoseok’s safe place that I regard his body to be. 

Though before we arrived, I gazed up at that constellation of me through the windscreen as Hoseok’s car began to make a strange noise that unnerved him. I prayed for its rightness to be true and I prayed for our safe travel, as short as it was. According to our previous plan, we were supposed to wait for my friend, Hyun-Ae, and her boyfriend, Do-hyun, outside of the restaurant because she had a strong yearning to jump into my arms upon seeing me. My excitement for that to happen ripped my eyes away from the nightly heavens, searching for her in the dimmed lights of the mutely lively building, in the shadowed greenery surrounding it, near the trees that didn’t move, yet my hair did. 

Strange, that dark energy. 

I hoped she was peeing somewhere, where the light doesn’t reach. She invariably had a tendency to chug everything she drank and her bladder paid for it each time—but this time, she wasn’t squatting by a bush. 

She almost didn’t get to me at all. 

A driver, merely minutes away from entering our town, nearly swerved wrongly into the traffic lane that Do-hyun was driving through, yanking away the stars from the canvas of the heavens. He had to pull over and take deep breaths in order to stabilize his mental state as the thought of almost getting in a car accident with her being in the passenger seat triggered his long-fought panic attack. And because the woods at the beginning of our secluded town doesn’t have any service, we waited for them for half an hour without any knowledge of their whereabouts. 

I bit my cuticles until they bled. Until Do-hyun’s lungs were lifted of its heaviness with Hyun-Ae’s help, his breathing evened out, and he was able to get behind the wheel and cross the distance. 

Upon hearing what obstacles stood before us, I didn’t understand it at first. Hyun-Ae’s yearning was gratified, we hugged until our necks ached and our arms quivered in our stifling, long-coming hug with her legs wrapped around me, ate the food we always ordered when we were together and not apart while she filled me in—but I didn’t perceive the darkness for what it was until that very last detail. 

One she wouldn’t provide until I promised her, a million times, that I was fully healed and ready to hear it. I didn’t know what she was about to uncoil, sitting beside me as she was, with her hands in her lap. But I should’ve known that those obstacles were put in our path for my preparation. 

Hyun-Ae hinted, before she began articulating her discovery, that it was about my ex-love. I stiffened a little, taken aback. I downed a shot of the spirits that we had left. And I was being tugged in two different directions, thrown to and fro, asked by the lawlessness of life to choose. 

Stay back and not go further—not let her tell me because Hobi doesn’t know the specifics about my last situationship. 

Ask her to hold my hand and give her the consent to proceed as my curiosity was piqued and my wound was healed, a million years ago. 

And in the short dwelling of the manhandling, my spirit of inquiry crowned, my fatal flaw. I chose the latter—because why would I not? I carry my heart in my chest for my beloved beside me proudly, for his waters mine with the fulfilling streams of his laughter and sound effects, gentleness and devotion. He has grown and nurtured monsteras within its past mutilated chambers—and the longer he cradled my life and made it his own, made it his endeared responsibility, the more healing flowers of wild, undomesticated origin bloomed against the verdure. The pair of us—Hobi, the elegant leaves with its perforation symbolizing the dimples above his mouth when he smiles; I, the chamomile that has the gift to make better, but everyone mistakes it for a daisy, tossing it aside. 

Everyone but Hobi, the worker who cultivated it in me. 

And caught in the snare of my pride, I wanted to know if my ex-love still remained in the exile of his emotional unavailability, fucking everything that walks on his solitary Pluto planet while I made love to the Sun three times a day, minimally. 

Hyun-Ae gripped my hand with her lukewarm, refreshing touch as she told me that he was dating someone, fundamentally poisoning the girl with his ways like he did to me. That she didn’t understand what I had seen in him as he looked worse than ever before, a characteristic of the unhallowed set deep within his eyes. My lungs refused to inhale any particles of air; they must’ve taken a break from their work in order to process, at their own time, the information that was given to them. The male who pretended to date me while I edged his planet for years, laboring myself in order to heal him with my prayers and words because I believed him after he said he loved me, but he needed to get right first. Needed to unload his baggage and bandage up the slashes across his heart from his previous relationship. 

All sweet nothing without an ounce of genuineness. He took pleasure from the way I stayed around while he hurt me again and again by entertaining other girls, my feet indented in the soft soil of the planet. It was a form of compensation for him. A some sort of merriment—and madness, unmitigated madness for me. 

I lost my mind, standing upon that edge. And I had to get off in order to find it again, my hands outstretched beyond me—held by the invisible fingers of God while he taught me how to walk again, how to walk in a gravity-filled space of greenery, the rainbows of colors, the rain and the sunlight like a baby. 

And I did. 

I walked until my feet stopped in front of Hobi’s.

At first, I felt a sheer wisp of happiness for the guy that he managed to make such an immense step in that direction, however it flickered in me for mere seconds, replaced by a doom of nothingness that began to swim in me. Heavy, heavy nothingness that felt cosmically peculiar—and my body urged me to go outside and smoke it away.  

But my mouth spoke first. 

Who is she? Show me. 

Hyun-Ae narrowed her chocolate pools at me, her brows furrowing until they darkened. Then, they flicked towards Hobi beside me and I followed her gaze—he was preoccupied with a heated conversation with Do-hyun and he didn’t hear a word shared between us. Hyun-Ae lowered her voice, nonetheless. 

So you could compare yourself to her? No fucking way. 

But I pushed. Driven by that nothingness in me, I desired to feel something. Hurt, pride—anything that would stir my body and give it what it asked. It was used to feeling great clouds of negative emotions in terms of the male, and now it was searching for it, in spite of the million years that have flown by since. And to shut me up and distract my mind from wanting the wrong things, she showed me a picture of him. 

And upon seeing that dark characteristic of his eyes, gone, hollow and dead from the laws and the ghosts of the Pluto planet, my stomach clenched and I averted my gaze. My body rejected him—I couldn’t look at him for more than two seconds. 

My good, smart body. 

I fell into quietness, more gravely than the one this town was weaved with. Hyun-Ae’s eyes returned to their original round size, softening on me, and I held her hand tighter. I needed, vehemently, to smoke the descending nothingness away, and when I asked her to go outside with me, Hobi reached the conclusion of his conversation. Wrapped his slender fingers around my arm, tender sound effects, only for my ear to hear, slinking inside as he rubbed his nose against the place right beside it. 

You wanna go smokie smokie? Hobi asked, gliding his fingers down my arm until he reached my wrist, the belly of his index tracing the blue and violet ‘V’ shape of my veins upon my left arm. 

He grounded me. 

I nodded, my smile natural, my love for him abounding, and Hyun-Ae encouraged me to go, gently slapping the side of my bum. And so I went, hand in hand, with him.

Our inherent, pristine characteristic. 

Hobi stole my lighter once I fished it out of my purse. He didn’t smoke, but whenever he joined me, he thought it gentlemanly and proper to light up my cigarette for me. It’s the least I can do, he had explained and I had kissed him so hard for it that he blushed. 

It’s what he does now, flicking his thumb upon the spark wheel until the small flame erupts and bathes us in a delicate, orange tint. I hold the cigarette steady between my lips with my two fingers and Hobi draws closer, appeasing my inner need. Waits for me to take that first drag before he prepares me for the rush of his enormous affection by heating the small of my back with his palm, rubbing the sensitive place. It’s something that I’ve learned he likes to do; take things slow so I open for him like a bud of flower. It gives him pleasure, the laboriousness of the process and the following harvesting, the dampness of my dew the evidence of his success.  

It’s extremely attractive because he does it more for my sake than for his own. 

He lets me take another drag, our visual connection a string stouter than the constellation up above, and I feel myself, nonvocally, giving over that heaviness of the nothingness with each exhale. I decompress and Hobi can see it, joining his other hand to my loins and dipping his head to my neck. He scatters tiny, weightless kisses upon that tenderness of me and I am lulled by his enticement, soothed and sleep-drunk, his pheromones and the cedarwood of his fragrance unfettering me. 

I want to take him to bed. 

And I tell him, innocently, with my hands that clenched the muscles of his arms rounding towards his pecs and lowering to his abdomen, the ivory smoke following my movement, but never touching him. Hobi knows this is my language of sensuality and his mouth parts as he feels the words. 

“We should go.” 

He lifts an arm and brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek, his fingers lingering upon the shell of my ear—his private obsession. His endeared eyes study my features for a fraction of time before he leans in and peppers a singular kiss to the button of my nose. “Why are you sad, muffin?” 

The trees towering behind him move in a daze at last, but it’s a blurred swaying motion that merely divulges to me that the obstacles, the preparation and the dark energy have been conquered. And it helps me to speak a little. 

“Hyun-Ae told me something I didn’t really expect to hear. Can I tell you on our way home?” 

Hobi nods, cradling my cheek, and I melt. 

“I can leave the car here and we can walk home. And in the morning, we can go grocery shopping in the city.” 

I liquefy in his hold and I finish the last of my cigarette, kissing him feverishly and reciprocating the kisses he left upon my neck, sinking our domesticity into the column of his throat while he holds me and I drip into the fullness of him. 

When we return to the restaurant, Do-hyun is by himself, informing us that Hyun-ae has gone to pee. The familiarity solidifies me and I sense upon me a moonlit energy of joy that cleanses me of the past. Hyun-ae perceives it long before I open my mouth and she jumps into my arms, telling me how she’s proud of me. We say our goodbyes, promise that we’ll see each other soon, and Hobi pays for the whole table, calming every inch of me. 

I pray as we watch them drive off. I pray for their safe travel into the city and I pray over our car. 

We walk through our miniature, unlit version of the city, breathing in the purity of the air, listening to the rustling of the leaves being fondled by the breeze. Hobi mimics the act of love, rubbing his thumb over my hand, and I feel at ease when I tell him about my first love, chain-smoking just to help me infuse poetry into my words. 

With each detail, I forget it has happened to me as I unattach myself from it, consider it an element of the past that no longer has anything to do with me. Hobi lets me speak, doesn’t interrupt me, though I notice that as I venture into the brutality of the pain I waded through, his teeth grit and his jaw clenched, the preceding flush of his cheeks withering and falling beneath his skin, pallidness blanketing it in ashen gray. And it pushes me further into my process of letting go and forgetting for another million years to come. 

He stops in the middle of the road once I finish the story. Gives me a mournful look that penetrates me so deeply that I mourn, too. His hands find my forearms, my shoulders and my clavicles. Prepare me for the treasure of the most sympathetic of hugs I have ever received in my life and I loosen up in his strong hold, bury my face in his black-clothed chest as his palm holds my head to him. And he kisses my crown, kisses my temple; strengthens me when he squeezes me until I can’t breathe and I grasp that he is cleansing the pollution of the monstera leaves and the chamomile petals. 

And then he begins to speak, dampening me with a fresh layer of hydration. 

“You had to walk through hell in order to find me and I shall spend my lifetime bringing heaven to you. I swear on my life, muffin,” he says, for the entirety of the peripheral corn fields and the trees to hear, as he cradles my face and makes me look at him. My vision blears as I regard him more as my savior than I ever have before, nodding my head in agreement as my eyelashes flutter, the finality of calmness settling down in me like we did in this town. “You’re mine. You were mine when you were with him, which is why fate didn’t allow him near you. Mine to find, mine to take care of, mine to love, kiss and dance with. Mine. You’re gonna keep blooming in my hands and you’re no longer gonna pray for him, you’d done enough of that already. You’re only gonna pray for yourself.” 

This, I disagree with, dissolving sugar personified. 

“No, I’m only gonna pray for you.” 

Hobi pouts, his mouth rounding downwards, and his thumbs rub my cheeks, smearing my makeup—and I don’t mind. It’s always been his to ruin. He presses his nose and forehead to mine, breathing with me as the breeze swishes past. I slip my hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, needing to feel his skin, and Hobi sighs against me. Withdraws a tiny bit and steals the breath he gave me. 

“Teach me how to pray for you.” 

I’m so struck with awe, wonder and my genuine love for him that I cannot speak, my lung failing, though differently this time. They swell up with the essence of my feelings for him, my devotion and my besottedness that my eyes well up before I can halt their rivulets. No one has ever prayed for me, certainly not a male I loved and looked up to. I spent years having my empty prayers echoed back to me and now the love of my life, my eternal beloved one, asks me to teach him how to pray for me. 

Only the omnipotent Listener of my prayers could make this possible for me, and before I know it—my mouth gives my beloved the instructions, the contents of my knowledge that I learned along the trajectory of my somber, otherworldly life and then he’s whispering the voice of his heart into my ear. 

“Dear God, please give my muffin the strength not to be pulled back into the life she had before me. Make sure she’s not influenced by it either. Take her burdens and give them to me because I can bear them. Relieve her heart and make her happy. Use me to do it.” He withdraws and drags his thumbs across my eyelashes, asking me to open them and I do. Once he has my attention, he seeks my guidance. “What do I say now?” 

I huff a soft laugh, endeared. Kiss the edge of his hand. “Say thank you and amen.” 

Hobi grins and the Sun peeks through the night. “Thank you and amen.” 

My laughter gains volume and he wraps his lips around it, shushing me, kissing me madly, and I bury my fingertips into his short hair, reciprocating the different, different madness and expanding it. Weightlessness seizes me and I don’t feel my limbs, stupefaction firing me with enthusiasm and then tongues clash and the kiss gains a verve that forces me to collide my body with his and— 

And then we’re dancing. 

To a slow song he begins to hum with the deep raspiness of his voice. Our bodies are one, singular, intertwined as we move to the rhythm of our unified heart and I weep. 

I weep in my joy. I weep in my contentment—and I weep in my love for him. 

He touches my back all over, cupping my hair as if it was water, leading our bodies in the dance, and there’s no one around us, no cars coming, no animals to watch us—only the trees, the fields, the buzzing of cicadas and the breeze and the moon up above. And then he’s twirling me until I’m dizzy and my soft laughter reverberates through the spaciousness of the road that is ours at this very moment. And the Sun beams at me, my Sun, as he pulls me close and continues to dance with me. I feel the jealous shafts of the light of the moon digging into my back that I soon forget about because his lips pursue mine and I dwindle away into his magnetism. 

His hands, his pheromones and his cedarwood fragrance take me to his bed. 

And he’s feasting on me like the dessert he didn’t get to have at the restaurant, bent over as I am over the foot of the bed, my dress bunched in his fist over my loins and my panties pushed to the side. My hungry beloved, my parched Sun, nuzzling his face in my femininity while I drip my dew and moan his name for him. Sucking my clit, he keeps me hovering on the cusp of my orgasm and I tremble in my vulnerable position—face planted on the bedding while the lower half of my body is raised in the air for him. And once my throat begins to let out whimpers and incoherent pleas, he draws back, closes his body over mine until his lips explore my ear and there, there he teases me. 

“What was that, my little muffin?” 

I whine, grinding my ass into his groin, and he hums. It takes me back to his song and I apperceive that it is the only thing I ever want to be pulled back to. Reminiscent of it, his song is blackened by eroticism, by his enormous arousal, drenched by my dew and I need him. While I feel God, the Listener of my prayers, to be a glaring light in me, I need my beloved Hobi to be interwoven with it. 

“I want you inside me. Please, I need it,” I beg, twirling my hips against his hardness like he twirled me in the middle of the road and Hobi sucks in a breath, exhaling it in the form of a whimper and I stoop in my heady longing. 

Abruptly, he plops me onto my back and yanks my panties away. “I’m gonna marry you, you know that?” 

I can only whisper my overwhelming agreement, my bones and my muscles too overcome with elation to do anything else. I would marry him tomorrow if I could. Go grocery shopping with him in the morning, unload it at home, put on my white silky dress and go to church with him by midday. Spend the rest of the day celebrating our union in bed, round after round until we get so exhausted that we submit to slumber, dreaming of our wedding, reliving it. 

He takes off my dress, kisses my forehead, ruffles my hair around me, his thumb dragging across the skin beneath my lower lip as if he was fixing my smeared lipstick for the special day, getting me ready, and I change my mind. I would marry him right now if I could.  

And I tell him. 

“I would marry you right now.” 

His eyes wet, casting a glimmering light upon my naked form, and a paroxysm of his joy gushes out of him and onto me. Hobi tickles my tummy with butterfly kisses, holding me down with his strong hands that he soon pins above my head, leveling with me, my dew drying on his face—yet he still glistens. Glistens with a gleam of bliss that washes over me. 

“Then, let’s get married,” he murmurs, and seizes my lips with his own, kissing me so roughly that I instinctively open my legs for him, the heated pressure in between unbearable. And then he holds my wrists in one hand while the other unbuckles his pants, fisting his length and tugging on it. My favorite sight. He guides it to my sopping hollowness and with one hard thrust, that he knows I am wholly enraptured by each time, he sheathes himself inside me all the way, completing me. Rests at the delicate touch of our mounds. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve and then I’m gonna take you to church.” 

And he gives it to me. Doesn’t pull out fully, but pounds me into the mattress. One hand gripping my wrists together, the other my jaw—ascertaining that my attention doesn’t fluctuate but remain fixed on him, on the twists of his features, on the guttural moans, his pheromones and his fragrance that trickle out of him and dunk into me while I struggle to take it all. 

“Am I hurting you?” he whispers, kissing my cheek and breathing against it, slowing down his strokes that scramble my brain. The tip of his cock grazes my cervix and I lose, I lose my identity. 

My eyes flutter and he pries my mouth open with his thumb, providing me something to focus on as I intuitively suck on it, keeping my head afloat enough to answer. 

“No, it’s just too big.” 

Hobi hums, rewarding me with a peck on the mouth and the gradual speed of his thrusts. “You can take it, muffin. I know you can. You’ve shown me before.” 

The praise, the belief in me—it all crests in lowest part of my sexuality and again, I edge around the cusp of my orgasm. Beads of perspiration line his forehead, soaking his hairline and he’s a sight to die for, the final piece to the fulfillment of my release. Blush reddens his cheeks, his irises enlarged and digging into mine. He doesn’t falter, continuing with his fast rhythm and I moan out poetry lines that make him squeeze his eyes shut. 

“I’m gonna come for you.” 

He groans. “Uh-huh, come for me, muffin. Give it to me. Show me again how well you can come on my cock. Yes, yes—”

Pluto bursts and ceases to exist. I come so vehemently that my spine arches off the mattress, colliding into Hobi’s chest. I shun out all constellations, all planets, the entire universe collapsing under the weight and gravity of my orgasm and our own marble, green, yellow and white with no one around but us, is called to creation with the bloom of Hobi’s own climax. 

He stuffs me full, my hollowness and my mouth, kissing me so hard that I become dizzy all over again. Moans my pet name as he shoots out his ivory love for me, fucking into me sluggishly while the twitching of his cock enamors me even more. I swallow his voice, swallow his grunts and little curses. My iridescent, entranced spasms caused by his exuberance prolong until I don’t know where my head stands, where my legs are wrapped around or what body part of his my hands clench. 

My savior, my beloved, linked to me for all eternity. 

This must have been our wedding because I shall never be the same again, my mind and my heart swept clean and filled with brand new oxygen. I no longer remember what happened prior to our love-making and when I share that with him, Hobi is possessed with the need to do it all over again. 

And he does, a million times over, until he marries me in the church of our town, with Hyun-Ae and Do-hyun present, mine and his parents and his sister with Mickey. 

A wedding most perfectly extraterrestrial, on our own Hope planet, with nothing hurting, with no thoughts resurfacing. 

Me and my beloved, me and my savior, me and my Sun. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild ,  @jjk7k ,  @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah , @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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The Moment I Knew

-Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Hobi x reader

-Premise: It's your birthday, but what happens when the most important person doesn't even show up?

-Genre: angst, fluff if you squint

-Word Count: 1.3k

-Warnings/tags: SFW, angsty goodness with a ray of hope at the end

-Author's Note: Based off the song 'The Moment I Knew' by Taylor Swift. When she announced the rerecording of Red, I had to.

You lean closer to the mirror, checking your red lipstick. Just as you decide you are satisfied with the way you look, you hear the doorbell ring. You smile to yourself, adjust your sparkly dress, and quickly cross your apartment to open the door.

“Happy Birthday!!” Hobi grins ecstatically as you open the door. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss your cheek, careful to not mess up your hair or makeup.

“Thanks Hobi,” you answer with a grin wide enough to match his.

“Move, cake coming through!” Jin yells from down the hallway. You can see your other friends traipsing behind him in their party garb.

You laugh as you step aside to let them in behind Hobi. As the last person walks through, you peer around looking for the person you’re hoping most to see, only to be met with an empty hallway. You’re a little disappointed, but maybe he got caught up at work and would be there later.

Not only did your friends bring cake, they also brought booze and video games. It’s not long before you’re caught up on the couch playing Jimin and Taehyung in an intense game of Mario Kart.

“Yah, you’re cheating!!” Jimin yells a little too loudly at you, the buzz of the alcohol taking its effect.

“You’re just a sore loser,” you respond with a laugh, while Taehyung sticks his tongue out at him from beside you.

“Wanna play another round?” Taehyung asks, but you shake your head and hand him your controller as you get up.

Wasn’t he here yet? You wobble a little in your heels as you head to the kitchen for another drink, scanning the room in case he’d walked in without you noticing. He’s nowhere to be found. You pull out your phone to check for any missed calls or texts...nothing. Your eyes start to prick with tears, but you quickly blink them away.

“...are you okay?” You turn to see your friend Namjoon looking worriedly over at you.

“Hmm?” You respond, confused.

“I asked you how you’ve been lately?” He gently lays a hand on your arm.

“Oh, um...fine. I’m fine. You?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not believing you. He chooses not to push the issue.

“I’ve been okay. I’m glad I could make it to celebrate you tonight. Happy birthday, Y/N.”

You smile halfheartedly at your friend, but even as you do so, you can feel your chest constricting. He was supposed to be here. He said he’d be here...so why is he not?

You excuse yourself and head down the hallway to the bathroom. Hobi notices as you leave, your strides too quick and too purposeful to just be a trip to the bathroom.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and brace yourself against the sink. As you look up, you can tell you look off to everyone else at the party. Your eyes are slightly red from holding back tears, and you just look...disappointed. You let out a slow breath.

Okay...get yourself together. This is your party, your friends came to see you. You’ve got this. Just because he didn’t show up, doesn’t mean…

There’s suddenly a knock at the door.

“...can you let me in? I know you’re not okay.” You can hear Hobi’s soft voice through the door. Shit. Why is he always so good at figuring out when you’re not okay? You reach over and unlock the door, and he takes that as his cue to come in.

“What’s wrong?” Hobi asks, leaning against the countertop looking at you. You slide your gaze over to him.

“He said he’d be here,” you whisper helplessly, barely able to hold eye contact.

“...oh.” Hobi breathes out. He moves forward, gently wrapping you in his arms as he gives you a hug, trying to make you feel how sorry he is through the gesture.

You pull away with a halfhearted smile. “I should get back out there, right? I’m sure everyone is wondering where I’ve gone.”

Hobi smiles back at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He opens the door for the two of you to head back into the hallway. You can hear laughter echoing from the living room. As you enter, Jin stands up excitedly.

“The birthday girl is back-cake time! I made it myself!” He goes to the kitchen to get the cake off the counter.

“Hey, where’s Yoongi hyung? He’s missed all the fun!” Jungkook innocently leans over to ask you. You plaster a tightlipped smile on your face as you answer.

“He said he’d be here, but he must have gotten caught up at work.” Jungkook shrugs at your statement and goes back to his conversation with Namjoon.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” You hear Jin’s tenor before you see him reenter the living room, candlelight bouncing off his face as he brings the cake in and sets it before you on the coffee table.

As the rest of your friends join in, you can’t help the tears that escape over your waterline and make their way down your face. The boys immediately express concern, but you brush it off as happy tears...happy that they’re here, happy they’re all celebrating with you.

They all seem satisfied with your answer. All except Hobi. He doesn’t say anything but instead, after everyone is done eating their cake, takes it upon himself to wrap up the party for you, assuring them that you have an early morning the next day and need your rest. You smile gratefully at him as he shoos the last straggler, Jimin, out through the front door.

“Go get ready for bed, I’ll clean up in here.” He motions at the empty beer bottles and cake plates that litter your living room and kitchen.

“Thanks, Hobi. I owe you one.”

He shoos you toward your bedroom in response. You take your heels off and pad towards your room. You take a quick shower and change into pjs, wanting to thank Hobi again before you part ways and go to sleep.

As you head down the hallway, you peek into the kitchen and the living room. Nothing. Everything is spotless, so he must have just left when he was done cleaning. You’ll thank him properly the next time you see him.

You lock the front door and head back to your bedroom, climbing into bed and turning off the light. Try as you might, you can’t get to sleep. You keep staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in your mind. Yoongi not showing. Hobi comforting you in the bathroom. Jungkook asking where Yoongi even was. Crying over birthday cake. You sigh and pick up your phone to see what time it is.

1:26 AM.

As you stare at your phone, it lights up with an incoming call.

Yoongi.

“...hello?” You say cautiously, wondering why he’s bothering to call.

“Hey. I’m sorry I didn’t make it.” His voice sounds almost nonchalant, the words coming out as if he’s asking how the weather is.

Your heart sinks through your body, landing in your stomach as you realize what you’ve known all night. This isn’t right. It isn’t going to work. You know what you have to do.

“I’m sorry, too.”

And before he has a chance to respond, you end the call. You make sure your phone is on silent before turning it over on your nightstand and flipping to your other side to try and fall asleep.

It takes about an hour, but after tossing, turning, and a few tears, you’re able to finally drift off.

When you wake up in the morning, amongst numerous missed calls and texts from Yoongi, there’s a singular text that makes you smile.

Hobi

3:43AM: Happy birthday again-I’m sorry he didn’t show. I’m right here whenever you need me…I just need you to know that.

--------------------------------------------

Taglist: @derinxfam @alpacaparkaseok @hyungieyoongi

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! Feedback and song requests also accepted. :)

Ghost Town

Fandom: BTS Pairing: Hoseok x Female Reader

“I’m not taking any of your shit. Come down at once.”

Hobi could be really stubborn at times. I wondered what he wanted from me now. Didn’t I tell him how upset I was today?

“Ta da!” Hobi exclaimed with joy showing off the new bicycle he had bought.

“You want me to go with you at this hour?” I asked in the most annoyed voice possible.

Hobi didn’t seem to mind at all. He nodded his head with utmost energy and with the brightest of smiles on his lip.

“It’s 3 o’clock!” I shook my watch on the wrist in front of him.

“So, what? It’s not everyday I make a request. Now, c’mon!”

I had to take out my own bicycle and took off with him. It felt like as if I was running away from my home. Running away with my lover to a strange place. No! I actually felt like the opposite. I was running away from the strange world to my home.

“Let’s speed up, shall we?” Hobi called from ahead of me.

“Yeah!” I shouted back, now enjoying every minute of it.

Then we were peddling faster and faster. Around the familiar city with the familiar houses and street lights. But with no people around it, it felt like a complete new place to me. It felt like we were roaming around a thousand years old town, home to only the dead spirits.

“Hobi!” I shouted through the strong wind, as I felt my mood lifting, “Thank you very much!”

In reply he just said, “Oh, shut up!” and sped up even faster ahead of me.

My Masterlist

Coffee and Violets (SUGA) CH1 - Hoseok

    You glance up after hearing the bell ring, signaling someone came into the cafe. A boy with dark hair and a bright smile walks in.

    "Hello! What can I get for you today?" you greet.

    "Could I get a caramel macchiato?" He asks.

    "Yep! Will that be for here or to go?"

    "To go, please." He responds.

    You begin to make his drink as he leans against the counter. Soon enough his drink is ready and you package it up, sliding it across the counter to him.

    "Thanks!" He takes a sip of it, "Hey, this is really good! I'll have to come here more often."

    "Thank you!" you respond, proud of your skills.

    "Actually, I've been meaning to bring this up the whole time, but I run the flower shop right next door."

    "No way!" You respond, genuinely surprised. You guess you had a blind spot for that shop, you never bothered to check it out.

    "I'm sorry I never came by! I guess I should introduce myself then. My name is Y/N"

    "Nice to meet you Y/N! I'm Hoseok."

    You two talked about running businesses, funny exchanges with customers, and the struggles of living on your own. Since it was a slower afternoon in the cafe, you welcomed the conversation.

    "So, do you run this place all by yourself?" He asked, tilting his head.

    "Yeah. I tried getting someone else working here once, but it didn't work out too well." you answer. He nods in response.

    "Do you run your shop by yourself?" You ask him.

    "Actually no!" He responds, "I run it with my friend Yoongi. We've known each other for years now, so we work pretty well together."

    "That's awesome!" You say, "It must be nice having a friend you've known for so long"

    There's a pause in the conversation while he seems stuck on what to say. You notice and add, "I'm just kind of introverted, is all. I had a best friend I was really close with in elementary school!"

    "What happened to them?"

    "We drifted apart in middle school. Once we went into high school, she moved away."

    "I'm sorry to hear that..," He says.

    "We weren't really into the same things anymore. I was busy with my writing, she was caught up with other things. We'd only call every few months and when we did, we'd have nothing to talk about."

    "I see" He said before taking a sip of his drink.

    "I'm sorry for rambling on so much! We don't need to have a pity party, that was years ago. I'd be glad to have new friends though. Maybe you can be one?" You trail off, a little embarrassed at your directness.

    "Of course! Let me give you my number."

    You pull out your phone and he types in his number. He sends a quick text to himself before grabbing his own phone to save the contact.

    "You said you were a writer?" He asks.

    You nod in response. "I have been since I was young, but as I got older I became consumed in my fictional worlds. I'd always be drafting new plots or naming new characters. Sometimes I'd even draw my own characters, though I'm not much of an artist" You laugh.

    "That's so cool! I'd love to read your work sometime!"

    "Yeah! That'd be nice" You respond.

    "Alright. I better get back to the shop, but I'll talk to you again soon, 'kay? Maybe next time I can bring Yoongi along."

    "Sure! Enjoy your drink" You smile.

    He leaves the shop and you sigh to yourself, delving into your thoughts. That was so much fun, I haven't had a conversation like that in forever. Maybe it'll be nice having a new friend to talk to.

You pull out your phone and check your recent messages. His name had been saved as 'Hoseok :)'. You laugh to yourself. "His positive vibe sure is contagious."

Falling for You (JHOPE)

Hoseok stands idle in the locker bay, watching her from afar. She grabs her notebooks and slams the door shut, promptly walking away to class.

"What are you- oh" Jimin says as he tracks Hoseok's gaze.

"What?!" He jumps in surprise. Awkwardly, he fixes his hair and adjusts the straps of his backpack.

"Dude, if you like her, why not just ask her out?"

"I don't like her! N-not like that. We're just... friends"

"When was the last time you talked to her"

Hoseok pouts, "I... haven't"

"Well then," Jimin straightens his back, "you wouldn't mind if I asked her out?"

He jumps, "y-You're not... not really her type. I wouldn't" the bell for class suddenly rings out. Hoseok begins racing to his class, yelling out a quick, "I gotta go! I'll talk to her today!"

He then proceeds to drop his notebook, and then trip directly after picking it up. Flashing a thumbs up to Jimin, he stands and continues the race.

Jimin smiles softly, "you got this, Hobi"

-----

Hoseok shuffles into class late.

"Jung Hoseok, you're late again," the teacher scolds, "one more and you'll have after school detention"

"Sorry.." he stumbles to his seat in the back. Glancing to where you sit by the window, he sighs. You're busy highlighting your notes, and didn't even notice him. Do you ever notice him?

Class seems to go by quickly, but maybe that's just because he fell asleep. Suddenly, that wretched bell is screeching through the small classroom.

Hoseok is sleepily walking to the door to exit, when a book falls flat at his feet. He goes to pick it up. Unfortunately, he drops his books as well, making a mess.

"Ah, I guess I just made it worse" he laughs, "maybe I'm not the one to be..."

He looks up to see who he's talking to, finding your eyes staring back at him.

"...helping"

"Two peas in a pod, aren't we?" You laugh.

You sit down next to him and sort the books.

"I'm Y/N" you said.

"I kno- I mean, I am.." He stutters out, mesmerized by your smile, "I'm Hobi"

He doesn't even realize he offered you his nickname until the syllables spill out sweetly from your lips.

"It's lovely to meet you, Hobi"

With a smile, you stand and walk out of the classroom, leaving Hoseok lovestruck on the ground with his pile of books.

----

"Ugh, why does math always have to assign so much homework?" He mutters to himself as he opens his math book.

As he works his way through the assigned problems, he finds a slip of notebook paper folded between the pages. He curiously opens it, finding a drawing of his side profile. You must have sketched it while he was asleep in class today.

The drawing is paired with a short note: I can't seem to tell you how I feel in person, so this is the best I can do. I like you, Jung Hoseok.

His smile grows into a big grin, eyes shimmering, "she's liked me all this time?"

He lovingly holds the drawing to his chest, pacing around his room.

"Wait," He stops, "did she... drop her books on purpose?"

-----

"So she beat you to it?" Jimin laughs.

"Don't make fun of me! I still talked to her, didn't I?"

"Sure.." he laughs. Something catches Jimin's eye in the distance, "it looks like you'll get another chance"

"What? When?" Hoseok asks.

On cue, Jimin walks away. Hoseok's eyes focus, and he gasps as soon as he sees you walking towards him. It must have really shocked him, because he steps on his shoelace and falls face-flat on the ground. His math textbook falls from his hands. The carefully-folded drawing he cherished also flies out right as Y/N got to him.

Her eyes widen. He makes a grab for the drawing, but she scoops it up quicker and hides it in her pocket.

"Wait! Give it back, I-"

"N-no.. it's stupid. It was a dumb idea" she looks away.

"Hey!" Hoseok defends, "it was not dumb! I loved it, and it was a perfect way to confess! It was unique, it was you"

She looks at him a bit confused, probably thinking something along the lines of, so do you like me back? Or do you just like my drawing?

He brushes off his knees and stands. Trying to muster up as much confidence as he can, he says, "I like you, and I know that I haven't had many proper conversations with you, but I've been watching you for a while and... no! That sounds weird. What I mean is- I notice when you talk in class, I love your smile, especially when you laugh, I always check to see if you notice me, and I wish I didn't fall so much in front of you"

You stand there shocked. Hesitantly, you pull the drawing out of your pocket and hold it out to him with both hands. He takes it gracefully. You two stand there for a moment, just two kids in love.

Then the bell rings. "We're going to be late!" You say.

"That's okay. I don't wanna miss this moment"

You walk together through the empty hallways.

"So, I didn't know you were an artist!"

"I dabble. Now, I have to know, do you fall so much in front of every girl?"

"No, I save that just for you"

Sunlight peers in from the windows as two pairs of shoes tap through the halls. Notes of their laughter can be heard, soft echoes on the hazy afternoon. In this moment of bliss, Hoseok thought, falling really isn't so bad when it's into love.

Seeds of Hope (JHOPE) CH5 - Your Numbers

(Stacy POV) Dinner was awkward, to say the least. My moms seated me next to Hoseok at the small table. Every now and then when one of us would reach for something, our arms would brush against each other. Leading to my mom and eomma giggling at us.

They asked him questions, mostly about where he's from and why he started dancing. I wasn't listening to most of it. I was distracted with fretting about my midterm tomorrow.

Eventually we finished dinner, and as the final plates are picked up, I lead him to the door.

"I hope you do well on your test tomorrow!" He leans against the doorframe, "It was fun tonight; having other people to talk to and eat with. Felt kinda like home"

I smile, "Yeah. Thank you for helping me with my dancing, by the way! I never would've been able to do this without you. You're a life saver"

"Maybe next ti-" He's interrupted by my Eomma, yelling to us from the kitchen.

"You should get his phone number, Stacy! In case you need help again"

I start to blush, hiding my face in my hands.

He laughs, "here. Give me your hand"

I pull my shaky hands away from my face. Immediately they're engulfed by his warm hands, gently writing out his phone number on my palm.

"Call me if you need help again. Or if you just wanna chat" He pulls his hands away. Without another word, he is gone. Back to his apartment.

In reality, he's only next door. The thumping of my heart pulls me towards him, but my brain forces me back a million miles away.

"He was cute, Stacy. Do you know if he's single?"

"Eomma!" I shout, "Stop being so blunt with everything! Gosh, this is so embarrassing.."

✿

Things were going well. I finished my midterm for dance and surprisingly got an 87%. I began talking to others in my dance class. I made friends with two of them, Taehyung and Jimin, who apparently were in the same group as Hoseok.

They told me funny memories about the band and I told them about America. We got along really nicely. It was pleasant to have someone to sit with at lunch.

It had been around a week since I'd spoken to him. Getting home, my mind wandered back to our conversations. Eyes lingering a little too long on Hoseok's door, I miss the part where it opens.

"Oh, hey Stacy" He greets.

I don't miss the sorrowful glint in his eyes. He seems sad, or nervous, or maybe just tired. I pretend to not see it, "I got an 87% on my dance test a few days back! My teacher even complimented me, saying I did well. Thank you again for helping me!"

For the first time, I see him smile.

"That's great! I knew you'd do well. I know you don't love dancing, but you do have good rhythm"

"Thank you, but really it's all thanks to you" I said.

"Um, so I asked some of my friends in my group and they are actually in one of your classes! Do you know Jimin and Taehyung?" He asks.

"Yeah! We're good friends now, surprisingly" I laugh.

"Oh" He responded, "That's great."

Again I see that darker look in his eyes. I finally remember.

"I'm sorry I didn't text you, Hoseok" I mumble.

"Hm? Oh.... It's fine. I didn't notice"

He didn't notice? I fumble with the keys on my lanyard. He is pretty friendly, he most likely has a ton of friends. He probably isn't waiting on my calls. Still, he seems unwell. I try one last time:

"I did save it on my phone though! I just forgot to actually send the text." I fake a laugh, "You're always welcome to dinner, though. My moms definitely love you."

I continued, "I know, I know it sucks to be alone all the time. This is actually the first time in a while that I've had friends"

He glances up, dark eyes meeting mine. For a second, it feels like we've known each other for years and this is just a moment like any other. It feels like for the first time, I see a layer of him past the happy smile. I see him.

"Yeah, sorry..." He brings his hand to rest on the back of his neck, "I just, it's hard living on my own all the time. I kinda feel like I don't know anyone. Like maybe.... No one really knows me"

"That makes two of us" I said.

"Really?"

"It's not like I had many friends back home, and moving to South Korea?" I snicker, "Sure, I know some Korean, but I haven't made any friends at that school. Everyone there is so.. So artsy and cool and I just-, I'm just kinda basic I guess"

"You aren't basic" He smiled. I smiled back.

"Let's be each other's friends?" He suggested.

"Only if you'll have dinner with us tonight"

Seeds of Hope (JHOPE) CH6 - A Traced Reflection

As I wake up, I reach for my phone to text Hoseok. Except I don't find it on my nightstand where I left it last night.

Opening my eyes as I sit up in bed, I find myself in a completely different room. This isn't my bedroom...

I find a phone on a desk. Walking to the far side of the room, I pick it up and open the recent texts:

April 8, 4:35 pm Namjoon: Hey this is Namjoon from the cafe! Now you have my number too!

Me: Ah! Thank you :) were you able to finish the song you were writing?

Namjoon: Well, there's still quite a bit of work to be done on it, but I showed it to some higher-ups and they loved it!

Me: That's great! I'm happy for you :>

Namjoon: yeah... hey, are you open to meeting again? Maybe at the same cafe?

Me: Without spilling my latte on you? That'd be lovely.

Namjoon: Great! Does this Saturday sound good?

Me: Yep! See you then!

-

Namjoon? Cafe? Yesterday I was having dinner with Hoseok and my mom... what happened? Where am I now?

Frantically I run out into the hall, a studio apartment awaiting me. It was nice, but it wasn't mine. I walk towards the calendar.

April 4 - meeting with board directors April 7 - Final Project Due!!! April 9 - Dinner w/ mom April 12 - Date with Namjoon!!!

Hearts were drawn all around April 12. Was today Friday? Was today the day of the date? Or another day?

I run back into the room to grab the phone. Unlocking it, I notice the date. April 12, Saturday. I run my hands through my hair in panic, trying to form a game plan as a new message pops up:

Today, 8:53 am Namjoon: We're still on for later, right?

Shoot. That's today. Cleary I was very excited to meet this man, and he seems kind, but how do I tell him I have no idea who he is? Much less who I am!

I scramble into the bathroom. In the mirror I find the same face I've always had. At least some things stayed the same. Bringing my hand to my face, I notice faint markings on it. Looking closer, I discover that it's the same number Hoseok had previously written there. As it was in permanent ink, it was going to take a while to wash off.

I start cleaning up the lines with a new pen to ensure I have it in case I wake up in another new universe. After that, I go back to the phone.

To Hoseok's phone, I send a quick message:

Me: Hello! Is this Hoseok?

Going back to Namjoon's chat I face a harder situation:

Today, 8:53 am Namjoon: We're still on for later, right?

Me: The date later?

Within seconds, he responds:

Namjoon: Yeah, it's Saturday? Did you forget ㅠㅠ

Me: Well.., I did forget, but would you believe me if I said I forgot everything else too?

Namjoon: What do you mean? You forgot you're identity haha

Me: Kinda...

Namjoon: Don't tell me you're serious?

Me: I woke up this morning and didn't know anything about this world! Who I am, where I was, who you are!

Namjoon: ..this world? Namjoon: what was the last thing you remember?

Me: being at my house with my parents last night and my friend...

Namjoon: okay, do you have anything to prove it? Maybe any of their phone numbers so you can ask? Maybe you just got a small concussion and they can tell you what happened..

Me: I have one of their phone numbers, I already reached out to him. But it was real! My memories, my life, I'm sure this girl is nice but she is not me!

Namjoon: okay... relax. We'll figure this out together. Can you meet up a little earlier? I can give you directions

Me: yes!

-

Looking around the bustling cafe, I tried to find the face of the man I'd never seen.

"Stacy! Over here!" A voice called.

I looked over to find him. He was tall, very handsome. He seemed way too good for me. Somewhere I felt like I'd seen him before, but maybe it's just a head injury. Clearly I'm not thinking clearly.

He walks up to me, "Ah, I guess you wouldn't know. I'm Namjoon, nice to meet you"

I shake his hand, "did she look like me? How did you know?"

"I've been thinking of your face since we last spoke" he smiled.

I just stared up at him.

"Er-,.. I guess that's a weird thing to say, considering...."

"It's okay, Namjoon. I'm sorry, you do seem really nice. I think I must've really liked you"

He spoke, "well, maybe you still can"

He noticed you bite your bottom lip, looking down.

"I know, it's just," I gulped, "I don't want to lose everyone I've ever known"

-

The two of us sat down at a table after ordering our drinks. We discussed simple things. He was easy to converse with.

"So, you said you had a friend that you'd messaged?" He asked.

I flipped my hand to show him the writing on my palm, "yeah, he had written his number down a week or so ago. Luckily I could copy it while it was still visible"

"What was his name?"

"Hoseok"

"Oh... his name wasn't Jung Hoseok, was it?"

"Yeah, it was! Yeah, he was a trainee for a K-POP group? Also with two other guys, Jimin and Taehyung"

He stares at me, his mouth wide open.

"What?"

"Was their group's name BTS?"

I think back to when I saw them practicing, back when I first met them, "hmm, I'm not sure. I don't think I ever got the name of his group"

He pulls out his phone and starts typing, "I'm telling Hoseok to come over right now, this is crazy"

"What? You have Hoseok's number too?"

"Yeah? I'm in his band? Of course I have his number."

Namjoon quickly texts back the friend. And yet, Hoseok still hasn't responded to me. He sets down his phone.

"So, Stacy, how do you feel about going on a little trip?"

JUNG HOSEOK

all my works for J-Hope!!

Seeds of Hope:

When Y/N's mom needs to move to Korea for work, she finds herself in a completely new environment. As the boy next door tutors her in dance, what will he teach her about herself?

CH1 - The First Seed

CH2 - Sunlight

CH3 - What?!

CH4 - An Unexpected Morning

CH5 - Your Number

CH6 - A Traced Reflection

Oneshots:

Falling for You

Where there's Sunshine, there's Midnight Rain

Pairing: Idol!Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of struggle, fluff, established relationship, no mentions of reader's gender.

Summary: J-hope is sunshine in human form, but that makes him the midnight rain too. A short imagine of the reader helping Hoseok understand this.

masterlist

Another night, tossing and turning alone in a big bed. Waiting.. hoping, for the one who is the hope for a million people around the world. Another night spent reaching the cold side of the empty bed, staring at the sky counting down the minutes till daylight, sighing endlessly. Another night hoping hobi would return to you.

He's been home for a week since the tour but he hasn't been home since then. Even the bags were dropped off by his manager, who has visited three times since to collect the things he needed. As far as you knew there was no comeback anytime soon. There was effectively no requirement for him to stay over at the dorms at least for the next two weeks. Especially when he has a home studio set up in the house you both had bought together and decorated.

His not being home has become a routine, a habit even- albeit an excruciating one. What hurts more is the silence, even when on tour he texts or calls at least once a day. Sighing you open the same old chat to see the latest message from a week ago, the same text you have seen a million times till now.

Boarding the plan home. See you soon.

You scroll up the familiar chat screen and see that the messages become less expressive as the tour progresses. You also remember how the news articles and fan tweets raved more about J-hope the idol’s brilliance on stage at the exact same time. Another pattern you are used to, for every emoji his messages as j-hope had, Hoseok's messages became curt and to the point.

Once again, this isn’t new to you or him. In fact, you both met at the peak of j-hope and the absolute low of Hoseok. You might not have been a die-hard fan of the group but you knew enough to know j-hope was not the same shy, anxious and silent Hosoek you’d met by chance in that café. The contrast between who he has on stage and the person you grew to love were stark opposites. Not that you never saw the sunshine hobi, but he was present almost in equal parts as the Hoseok who walks around with a cloud on his head.

But Hoseok never went silent on you in this way. He might be verbally silent for days or weeks together but expressed his feelings in other ways. This time he was completely absent and that simply wouldn’t do. You gave him a week to himself and he still hasn’t returned home. This will simply not do.

And that’s how you find yourself at the door of his studio, at 2 AM, covered in layers of jackets and holding a bag of the dinner you’d made him today- just like you have done every day the past week.

You hesitate outside the studio, looking intently at the door as you contemplate knocking. You know he’s there, instinctively and also because you asked his manager. Huffing out another deep breath you knock on the door.

Silence.

That’s all there is for a minute before you try to open the door yourself, surprised to find it unlocked. You enter the room which reeks of the familiar scent that screams everything hobi- sunshine, flowers and carefree happiness, only to find your boyfriend curled up on the couch hugging his knees with his head down. You close the door slowly and go near him, he's shivering. The sight of him shatters your heavy heart and you reach out to caress him.

"hobi...", your voice comes out as a meek plea.

He shudders for a second and lifts his head up to look at you. His eyes are bloodshot, his usually plump cheeks stained with tears and his heart-shaped mouth in a frown. You drop to your knees and hold his face in your hands, helping him look at you eye to eye. His eyes immediately dart down and he lowers his knees. Just as he can try to push you away you sit next to him on the couch and turn him towards you. You hold his hand with a grip that tells him that he cannot run anymore.

"Please leave me alone." He begs, more tears streaming down his exhausted and ashamed face. You offer him a smile, not one of pity or empathy, just a smile of love.

"You had enough time. I won't let you hurt on your own."

Your voice comes out harsher than you intended but it works as he looks up, eyes now curious. In that second of pure vulnerability, he looks like a child. You reach out and wipe those damned tears away from his face and he leans into your touch.

When he talks again his voice cracks, "I knew I would end up hurting you eventually."

"You didn't hurt me hoba." He looks at me pointedly, "Of course, I did... look at us. I spent a week in the studio because I am too fucked in the head to be with you. All the other guys went home and are happily resting with their partners and I left you alone after months of being away... all because I feel like a fraud. Because I can't figure out why I am this way and why I never have any of me to give you. When I should be giving all of me to the one I love with my whole heart."

By this time he is on your lap, your fingers running through his hair, his hands holding your other hand for dear life.

"Everyone is a little messed up in the head. But it is even harder for someone like you who spends all his time giving every bit of happiness and kindness to everyone around you." You hear him sigh and he starts drawing patterns on your palm as you do the same with his scalp. "I don't really do all that you know..", he sounds unsure and you sense the venom of self-hate dripping in his tone.

"They call you human sunshine for a reason hobi."

He freezes in place for a second and nods slightly. You pause for a minute to look at him, really look at this exhausted, loving human who does so much for everyone around him and so little for himself. He notices the long pause and starts with his patterns again on your palm and settles on your lap. You realise that he needs to see himself for all he is and accept all that as it comes. And you hope he will let you stand with him the whole way.

"Hobi, you are human sunshine. I know it makes you happy to make everyone smile, to take care of your brothers and friends. I know you love being the reason to light up someone's day and being their hope. I also know that you do that because it's what gives you hope for yourself. But...". You pause to gauge his reactions but he shows none and taking that as a good sign you continue.

"But the thing is you are not sunshine... you are human. To be human is to understand that where there is sunshine there is also midnight rain. The more you give, the more you need to. To be sunshine is to burn yourself for others and that is not good for you. So it is okay for you to take your time. To soak in your rain, to be silent and just receive. It's okay for you to rest and pause... Hobi, it's okay for you to receive my love and happiness so that you can give it back tenfolds. You are human and you need your own dose of sunshine too."

He looks up at me with wet big eyes, this time the heart-shaped mouth turned upwards. He slowly gets up, never letting your hand go and moves closer and pulls you in a hug. He holds on to you until there is no space between both of you and rests his head on your shoulder. You reach out one hand to caress the back of his head and hold him by the waist in the other hand.

Time ceases to move as you both sit there, him slightly whimpering into your shoulders and you trying to ease all the pain from him. Hoping that the personification of hope himself will learn to accept himself- one deep breath and a tear at a time. Hoping that he can learn to embrace the rain that follows Hoseok by being the sunshine that j-hope is.

Jung Hoseok x Reader: Love Deception

(Celebrity Choreographer au)

🎂HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOBI!🎉

Summary: Hoseok and you have been rivals since a very early age of street dancing, starting from being in rival groups to ultimately being scouted by the same company. Now, what if you find yourself in a situation where only you can help each other.

A/n: Inspired by Elena Armas' A Spanish Love Deception. Warning for smut, minors dont read the italicized part or DNI, loads of typos, I didn't have time to proof-read. Gosh I am finally able to post this! 🥹

W/C: 13k

----------------------------------------------------

Some things are very important to you like dance, friends, family, work and winning from Jung Hoseok. Ever since the first day when your group had competed and was tied against his street dance group. You would never forget those days nor the egotistical man who is your mortal rival and unfortunately colleague. Starting from being scouted by the same dance academy to joining Hybe. Your rivalry was quite famous since your academy days, as there were loads of contents made out of it for the academy youtube channel. Petty challenges, exchanged glances were common back then, not now of course not, the company was smarter than that, what they did was never let you interact and your managers made sure of that. Well unless it was very necessary, somehow age has taught the two of you to stay civil in the face of people but snarky remarks were always sent two and fro. 

“For a dancer some people do have two left feet '' he had once said when you had a face planted on a wet  floor. “For a human you do have the brain of a pigeon” you replied. “Excuse you” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “If I wanted to kill myself I would climb your ego and jump to your IQ” you said and walked away.

Another time, “He could simply do a flip over Sung Hoon as he slid back,” Hoseok suggested. “Why can't Sunghoon just lie down and get up when the flip is done? '' you said. “I’m asking Sunghoon to do it, not you,” he teased. “And what if he hurts his back in the process, what then?” you asked and he fell silent, it was clear he was thinking but you took the opportunity and said “Are you always this stupid, or are you making a special effort today Jung?” only to be squashed by your manager. 

And another time when you had accidentally dropped a cake and he didn’t let you see the end of it. Calling out “carefull” everytime you tried to catch or hold something until one day you said “One of these days i’ll give a high five to your face with a fucking chair” 

This has always been your dynamic. You hated his egoistic ass and he hated your guts. 

----------------------------------------------------

“I can’t do this Jimin” you said as you sipped your coffee. 

“No! What I don’t understand is how your brother still kept that rascal around” He said

“He thinks I misunderstood Kai, and that he didn’t actually cheat on me” You reminded Jimin.

“He is just plain dumb. And on top of that he’s dating Ashley, the bitch” He said

You sat at the Hybe cafe with your best friend Park Jimin who was an Dancer/Model under Hybe. Yes, your brother was getting married and his Best man Kai was your ex, who had cheated on you with your archnemesis Ashley. Yes, it was 5 years ago during the last year of highschool. Doesn’t mean you were ready to face him. Going to your hometown alone, without a date would mean giving the guy a complete ego boost and letting the others pity you. You would never want that.

“Tell you what, let me or Jungkook come with you as your date, neither of us will mind” he said

“Dude, my whole family, even my brother knows you’re religiously gay!” You said, making him laugh “I’ll hire someone if need be. But, I would never, NEVER, go alone! I can’t!” you said, and Jimin chuckled at your determination. Unknown to the two of you someone was listening to this conversation of yours very intently from two tables away. 

Finally, you’re done for the day, now you can go back home and gloat in your misery. You were sure that Jimin could tell one of his friends to go with you as they knew and adored you but things don't always go as planned; most of his friends are either out of the city/country or engaged, even married. You had to think- your train of thought was broken by the sound of your name being called, damn you were almost inside your car. 

“Y/n” the voice called again and then you focused on the voice. Why the hell was he calling you? You turned sharply and turn eyes turned into slit

“What do you want?” you asked

“I will go to your brother’s wedding,” he said, taking you back. Did he even know your brother?

“Did you get an invite?” you asked. “What? I will go as your date” he said.

“Gosh, your ass must be jealous of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth” You said and turned around.

“Seriously Y/n. Can you not be such a defensive bitch all the time!” He said to your remark.

“No, Hoseok. I won’t cause you literally have nothing to do with this. So just step off anybody else's business” You rushed off to find your car and immediately drove off leaving the guy in a cloud of smoke. 

----------------------------------------------------

“He said what?”Jimin and Jungkook said in union

“Can you guys not! It's already icky!” You said

“But isn’t that good! Who will you find in Seoul to act as your boyfriend?” Jimin asked. “Please I am not THAT desperate, okay!” You tried to make them believe, you tried to make yourself believe that, that you weren’t THAT desperate. But, you were, you have to take someone as you might have told your brother Jinyoung that you won’t be attending alone and knowing him he has by now told the whole town. You just can’t face Kai alone now. Not when she’s with Ashley.

“Earth to Y/n. Hey!” Jungkook waved his palm in front of you as you had completely zoned out

“Sorry. What were you saying?” you asked

“We’re saying that you should perhaps consider his proposal,” Jimin said. “Yeah, why do you hate the guy anyway! He’s literally sunshine!” Jungkook added

“Yeah cause you didn't see him like I did, the darkness beyond the lies. The convictions that he hides. How he pretends to be oh so happy all the time. Trying to prove to the world that he is perfect when he is far from it. He is like that now, but that's not completely who he is” You said

“For someone you dislike you do know an awful lot much about Hobi hyung” Jungkook said as you tried to smack him with the book you had in front of you.

“HEY! HEY! Not my book!” Jimin said stop you. “Your book?! What about your man?!” Jungkook asked, almost offended. “You’ll live.” Jimin said “But really Y/n give it a thought before dismissing it. Hobi hyung is really your best and kinda only chance” He added before getting up to attend to his next schedule

He is wrong, Jung hoseok is not my anything, forget best and only. You thought before moving to meet your next appointment. 

“Noona’s dance looks fiercer than usual today? What’s up?” The boys you were currently training asked

“Nothing, Noona is just stressed” you said as you continued with the work with the thoughts in your mind. 

"Well, Noona didn’t need to stress so much did she?” you saw the person everybody calls Sunshine on the door way, seeing him approach you tried to take your leave, only to be pulled and taken to the opposite side as soon as you stepped out of the room.

“What the hell HOSEOK!” you said

“Did you think?” he asked, you knew you were wrong but you felt like you saw a sparkle in his eyes. 

“Think what?” You asked, “About my offer? And I swear to god if you say what offer!” He said

“No I didn’t cause that is not even an option, it’s still in a month I will surely figure something out” You said and snatched your hand away from him and tried to walk away.

“So you have other options?” he asked, “Looking at your face I think not” he added

“Shut up” you said

“Why can’t you just accept, and let me help you just this once” he said

“Cause it's YOU!” you said pointing at all of him, for a second you felt like a wave of hurt was seen in your eyes but that was gone as soon as it appeared and made you wonder if you were seeing things. And with this you turned away and walked off. 

----------------------------------------------------

“Impossible!” you shut your laptop in frustration, yes, you tried to contact 2 escort services and the prices they stated for 3 whole days was beyond your paycheck, you left out the part where you had to fly to a different place. “Fuck!” you cursed and ruffled your hair. 

“How about this, the next time he asks just agree” Jungkook said

“I can’t stand him for a minute! How can I even pretend to be in love with him?” you pointed it out

“Sometimes you gotta do what you dislike to get something out of it. I am not saying that you can’t face them alone. But, I am saying that you shouldn’t. Especially not after what you told your brother” Jimin said. You nodded “I’ll see” you said. When your phone buzzed it was a text from your family group, your brother texted a video, when you opened it your mind went numb and tear stung your eyes, there he was Kai at a distance from the camera on one knee, in front of Ashley who was smiling so wide that you thought she might slit her jaws, you saw her nodding violently and tackling Kai into a hug you immediately locked the phone and stood up and started walking, not paying heed to your best friend or his boyfriend. 

You knew you were being stubborn but you couldn’t help it. Tolerating Jung Hoseok was difficult for you. Besides who knew what trick he had up his sleeve, all these time he was busy competing with you in every way possible so why sudden change of heart and wanting to help you with an event like this. All this just seemed fishy to you, he has to have some motive. So you decided to do it. Find him. Ask him. Because you had to know even if there’s a 1% chance of him being serious you would take it, cause you needed it. Yes, you were that desperate. 

You can’t think of going alone, pitiful Y/n could never move on from her ex, couldn’t even get a date. That's NOT TRUE, you did move on from that scumbag, you just could not trust someone like that again, it takes time, that nobody is willing to give. You can’t let him have an upper hand, or even seem to have one. 

You checked the studios startling various groups when ultimately a girl group rookie idol from your company informed you that Choreographer Jung went to a venue with Enhypen, for some rehearsals and formations check. You quickly texted the group’s manager to know how far the rehearsals were going using some lame excuse to which he said that they would need time as the stage was smaller than they thought and some formations were needed to a;tered. You knew that meant you could as well complete your work here and head out and that was what you decided to do but, you received a call from your manager “Y/n PLEASE do me a favor just this once” he said. “What?” you enquired, “PLEASE GO to the xxx venue and help Hoseok out” he pleaded “The stage is smaller and the comeback would be a disaster if they cant alter it and practice it a few times'' he added,

You smirked but said “Why me?!” faking annoyance. “You and Hoseok are the best in formations in the company,” he said. “Fine!” you said. “Thank you! I’ll treat you to lunch tomorrow I swear” he said and you received the address and location. 

As you entered the venue to hear counts and scolding from a voice you knew too well. The boy group into a cheers and greets of “Noona!” the moment they saw you and Hoseok turned around. 

“Please be civil, '' you heard Enhypen’s manager say, but you knew otherwise. This work and serious business, even if you did not have that deal in the back of your mind, you would have done the same way. You walked up, shrugging off your jacket and tying your hair. Everyone knew this meant you were serious business. 

“Damn the stage IS too small” you said

“I can’t fit them all any way” Hoseok said

“Then we will have to reduce the number of dancers” you said quickly. 

“But they have been assigned to this project, we can't change that” Hoseok lowered his voice and said

“So let's not remove but make them walk in and out in turns. Appoint people for every formation, keep the first line intact, get the rest distributed” and hence you held a list of dancer and then both got to work and it was almost like rearranging the whole thing,thank god only the intro and tittle track had back up dancers so it took 3 hours to rearrange, the whole formations. 

“One, two, one, two, thre, tam, boom, boom, bam” Hoseok counted (a/n: the way he uses sounds instead of numbers) both your eyes studying every move of every dancer like hawks and pointing out if anyone made a wrong move. Everyone was at awe how the two of you spotted any wrong instantly together. You can’t say you weren’t a bit impressed. When done, you finally looked at Hoseok who walked up to your form sitting on the floor. That was when you remembered the agenda at the back of your mind. But now when you had the man in front of you, you didn’t know how to bring it up. It seemed like hours he just stood there looking at you as you looked at him, your mind running miles in minutes when you averted your gaze. 

“Here” he said and you found him handing you a (your favorite drink). “So?” he said.

Your heart almost lit up. “So what?” you said at the realization that may be he was hinting at what you were hoping he was

“Did you think? Or are you still stubborn?” He said

“What’s in it for you Hoseok?” you finally asked. “The same,” he said. “You want me to be your girlfriend at your brother’s wedding?” 

“NO. But I want you to be my girlfriend” he paused and you almost felt your heart slow down “To a very important event” he said.

“When is it? What is it about?” You asked. “It’s sunday. It’s a charity fundraising event, a talent show” he said

“Hoseok SUnday is in two days!” you said “What talent show? What are we 11?” You said I was almost frustrated. Trying your best to calm yourself down. “Y/n you make and learn choreographies in literally minutes, What are you even worried about?” he asked. “It’s an event I’ll have to find something to wear and dance and it's been ages since I last danced in public” you said. “You danced in the mnet show last year and you rocked it. You will rock this one too” he said “I have it all planned and I as a matter of fact know what you should wear” 

“That dress you wore to Zico’s last album party, you still have that right?” He asked. “The black one with zipped flair?” you asked as he nodded “Yes” you said. “Wear that then” he said. “Wow, it’s surprising you remember something like that when I don’t even remember seeing you in the party” Your tongue slipped. “Damn Y/n. Harsh much?” he asked “But Hoseok, Why me?” you asked. “Cause only you would be crazy enough to agree to something like this as you needed the same kind of help” he said

“Okay, so you know that for this you will have to fly to Jeju for 4 days and face my family and my now engaged ex as my boyfriend” you said. He nodded with determination. “Fine” you said “Deal” you extended your hand and Hoseok gladly shook it. 

“I’ll text Mr. Kim to tell him that we’ll need a studio,” he said, as you nodded. The two of you made your way to your car as he was still in the company parking place.

The two of you entered the building and walked into the studio that Mr. Kim had appointed you.

“So what song did you want to try?” You asked. "Do you have any songs in your mind?” he said. “We could do Sean Pauls’s Temperature, or we could go for BEAST’s Shock or Rainism no not Rainism '' you paused to look at his face and said “WHat? What’s with that face?”

“Y/n you are joining me as my dance partner plus girlfriend in a charity event not a street dance competition we used to fight for! We’re doing Senorita by Shawn and Camilla” he said “We need to make it believable enough”. “But Why?” you finally asked, you’ve never tried to understand Hoseok, you were to busy hating him, which even according to Jimin was baseless so you wanted to know this guy you dislike for a change, then you realized what he meant by believable “I AM NOT FEELING YOU UP OR LETTING ME FEEL ME UP!”.

“C’mon, we’ll make it decent and not do anything that makes you uncomfortable I promise. Okay, let's make the choreo and I will tell you more about all this” he said with a smile, which you hated, but something right now, made you feel warm in your gut. Seemed like a fair trade so you nodded and the two of you started brainstorming.

You listened to the song, closed your eyes and let it flow through you. This was the way that you always made choreographies, let the music follow through you and let the rhythm and beats carry you. Hoseok was glad that your eyes were closed, because if they weren’t you’d see the way his eyes were following every move you made.  His eyes traveled to the way you swerve your hips and the way you rolled your head that seemed oh so sexy to him. 

“I’ve got it” you said to your surprise you found Hoseok standing much more closer to you than he was from the last time your eyes were open. As if understanding your signal, he restarted the song and you started to do your moves. You stopped and said “Your turn” and he did, he did a few moves he had come up with in the back of his head while he was busy staring at you, which you of course did not know. And finally he stepped close to you, as if asking for permission and with a slight nod of your head you told him it was okay. You thought you would cringe or feel uncomfortable but as you moved his arms on your waist, you didn’t feel one bit of irritation. You’d never accept but you felt comfortable and more confident. The two of you finally fixed the choreography and filmed it, for practicing the next day. 

 The two of you walked away in your own cars fixed to meet the next day during lunch. 

“You both will what?” Jimin repeated and Jungkook choked on his latte. “Don’t make me repeat it, '' you warned him. “That’s epic, enemies to lovers Au '' he said, joining his hands and clapping lightly. “Shut up before I kill you with my fork, '' you said. “Then you should not have any problem if I watch you both practice” he said. “Huh” you scoffed “I was gonna call you anyway” You said and hunted him to follow you. “Can I join?” Jungkook asked. “Sure” you said and went to studio 3 where Hoseok had texted you he would be. 

You watched the video once before you started. You were done practicing a good 2 times when Jimin finally stopped you both. “Something looks strange,” Jimin said. “Sorry but you both look very stiff, as if you are both on guards” Jungkook said “Right Jaman si?” he said and Jimin nodded very used to Jk’s nicknames. 

“Lemme try” He said and he replaced Hoseok’s position. You have danced with Jimin on various occasions before you didn’t even flinch when he put his arms on your waist. The two of you did the same choreo again and you could feel it inside you what Jimin had meant. It was the way you fulfilled every step and melted in his arms that made the chemistry look so real. It was the trust and familiarity that you had with Jimin, you lacked it with Hoseok. Even Hoseok noticed that, but Jungkook noticed how Hoseok’s jaw war tight and his palms were in fists, not he wasn’t jealous of Jimin, but he was jealous of the chemistry that you had with him, even though Jimin was GAY. “It's the years that they’ve spent together,” he heard Jungkook say. Yeah you knew Jimin since day one that you started in the company, but Hoseok knew even before that, but you disliked him, hated him. When you and Jimin were done Jimin said “I know exactly what you two need” Jimin said smirking and he asked Hobi to stand behind you. “Y/n. Fall” he said

“Sorry?!” You asked. “Team building exercise” He said “It was your idea during first practices of TxT remember?” He said. “I- '' you started but Hoseok interrupted you. “What are you afraid of? I won't let you fall, I promise” He said. You looked at him and knew he meant it, so you turned and let your body loose and soon found the contact of Hoseok’s arms. “Again” Jimin said again and again. By the 3rd time your body was loose in his arms and his hands held you securely. 

“Now, go through the routine again, I’ll film it” he said.

“Where is Jk?” you suddenly realized the absence of the bunny boy and Jimin said “He left like 10 minutes ago”. “Really” Hoseok asked, “You didn’t notice either?” you asked and he shook his head, not making you chuckle. 

The next time that you practiced you saw a smirk on Jimin’s face that told you that it looked far better. You wont lie, your body pushed to him you felt a heat that radiates all throughout your body, when he looks you in the eye directly and pulls you to him you don’t just melt externally, you could also feel your insides melt in a puddle. And you knew that meant trouble but you couldn’t help it, you’ll just have to push the feeling away and deal with them later. 

----------------------------------------------------

“Stop pacing around like a mad woman” Jimin said through the screen, “How can I not?! Do I look okay?” You asked. “You look like a bomb?” he said. 

The problem is that you just looked up the event that Hoseok was about to take you to, from which it led you to the members of the club that were about to attend the event and Jung Hoseo’s name was there and this event is for elites. But, that is not the part that got you on the roll, on looking up Hoseok you realized he is actually the son of a chaebol family and you were supposedly ‘his girlfriend’. You looked around at your studio apartment, and your posters and figurines, nothing in it seemed to be fitting for the 'girlfriend’ of the son of a chaebol family. 

“Y/n! Earth to Y/n” Jimin’s sound was heard “You can do this okay. Remember you’re the boss bitch! Give these elites a piece of you” He added and as if on queue you saw a text come in from Hoseok saying that he has reached your apartment. Jimin wished you luck and you checked your reflection one last time and 3 deep breaths and walked out of the door. There's no turning back now, you have to do this. 

You expected Hoseok to be in his regular Chevrolet but standing in front of you was a BMW and a costly one at that. “Take a picture and stare at it on your way” Hoseok Said from the driver’s seat breaking your trance. 

“This is not your daily car? You drive a Chev” you said

“Yeah because that is all I can afford” he said with a warm smile, wait did you just call him warm “This is a gift from my father, for my birthday, we’re going to an elite event so he asked me to take this” Hoseok said

“Will you give me any pointers?” You asked

“Nothing much, it’s an event to raise money for rescued animals, we the participants of the talent show entertain them and the attenders put money, in the end the act with the most money wins a certificate and some vouchers” he said

“Will anybody from your family be there?” you asked

“My noona is out on a business trip so no, just old friends and dad’s business associates and some other people. Nothing you can’t handle with that pretty smile of yours'' he said side glancing towards you, it was the first time you looked at him, he was in all black, almost as if matching you, and you couldn’t move your eyes away from him, his slightly overgrown hair giving a different vibe to his whole get up. And you felt your cheeks heat up and a strange smirk adorned his lips as if he could feel his eyes on you. Which he could and you needed to stop gawking, but it was like your brain was malfunctioning. 

“We’re almost there” he announced, breaking your trance. And you looked away infront as you nodded.

He walked out of the car opening the gate on your side and that's when you took in his whole outfit that left you in more awe. He wore his goggles and offered you his hand that you took cause otherwise you would have certainly fainted. But, being in the showbiz you know perfectly well how to put the confident game face on even if you were turning into a puddle inside. You were used to walking down red-carpets and facing reporters but this was new, having someone beside you, someone who is supposedly “your boyfriend”. 

As soon as you enter the venue you see adults of various ages, glasses in  hand walking around chatting and mingling. Hoseok tightened his grip on your hand and whispered in your ear “Don’t worry thee events make me nervous as well” he said, which brought a smile to your face “By the way you look gorgeous tonight” he added, brining an instant blush on your cheeks he seemed pretty satisfied with your reaction. 

“Hobi!” a voice was heard as you saw a tall man with sharp features walking towards you and Hoseok.

“Namjoon-ah my man, long time no see!!” Hoseok left your hand to hug the man. The two men seem to be so glad to have met each other, “Y/n this is Kim Namjoon my best friend, and Namjoon-ah this is Y/n, my girlfriend” Hoseok said, you shook Namjoon’s hand, you couldn’t help it, a strange warmth spread inside you the moment the words girlfriend left his mouth, but you knew, this is all fake a facade. 

“So this is the mysterious girlfriend you wouldn’t even tell me about since the last three months” Namjoon said

“Mysterious?” You repeated. “He told his father to stop sending him to blind dates as he had a girlfriend but never even slipped up so much as your name to anybody, not even to me, his best friend. At one point his father thought he was just making excuses to not go to blind dates, but now I see” Namjoon said and Hoseok just kept laughing. So this is why he brought me, you thought to yourself. 

“Actually, I wasn;t yet comfortable to declare things out in the open, you know how it is right?” you said taking the blame to seem genuine. “Oh I can understand” he said with a wink “So I presume you must be performing too?” Namjoon asked, suddenly you found Hoseok beside you, his hand on his hip, what’s gotten into the man suddenly?

“Yes, we both will” you answered with the same smile. “I look forward to it, I can’t help but say that I am actually a big fan of yours” he said. “Oh really?” You asked, you didn’t know if it was your imagination but you felt Hoseok’s hand tighten around your waist. “I watched the whole show you were in last year,” Namjoon said. Before you could say something Hoseok cut you off and said “Of course you did, you flirt, I see my cousins there, I’ll see you later”. “Sure” Namjoon said, but not like Hoseok waited to listen to the reply, he was already dragging you in a different direction. What’s going on?

“If this isn’t my favorite cousin!” Hoseok said and a boy a few years younger than you guys turned around his face instantly lighting up. “Hyung!” he said and came up and hugged Hoseok.

“You’re Yunho, right?” you said, recognising the boy. “Yes, It’s so nice to see you here ma’am are you-? Wait, hyung you-” he stopped looking at the two of you. “This is my girlfriend, but how do you know each other?” Hoseok asked looking at you, “I did a choreography for their group, a year ago” you said, and hoseok seemed to remember and he nodded. “That time I wasn’t aware he is from the chaebol circle” you added, “I wouldn’t have if not for Hobi hyung” Yunho said “He was the first in the family to deflect from the business career without being disowned” he added laughing, making you laugh too. “Hoseok is pretty brave isn’t he?” you said. “All thanks to my Noona who managed Dad” hoseok said, his cheeks were dusted pink, you found it cute. Soon it was time for the performances to start and you and Hoseok moved to the back stage “We’re doing well so far” Hoseok said. “You’re good at faking it” the comment left your mouth unchecked, the moment the words left your mouth you turned around falling your back at him. You missed the hurt that passed his face and the determination that took over. “Let's go, it’s almost our turn,” he said. 

So, here you were, standing face to face with Hoseok as the lights were off, the spotlights switched on, you looked at the different shadows that formed on Hoseok’s face. The man almost looked alluring, the cheers brought you back as he nodded and you nodded back and the music started and you started moving to it. 

(The Choreo, ignore the back up dancers, I had the first couple dance in mind)

You were initially a bit nervous, but the moment you walked off and Hoseok started moving to his solo part, you felt a warmth inside a strange confidence that you could not explain. Once in his arms you forgot the audience, even the claps and occasional “Wooohooo!” by friends and cousins, didn’t reach your ear. All that mattered was you and him. The whole lot of people broke into cheers the moment you and Hoseok hit the ending pose. The two of you broke into an instant smile, you just looked at him and knew this was the realest thing you saw today. The moment went off the stage he pulled you in a hug, breaths mangled, adrenaline still pumping, you wrapped your arms around his torso as you breathed in his scent, he smelt of a manly musk and costly perfume, but it was almost euphoric to you. The two of you in your own world, lost in each other, until you heard a throat clearing. And the two of you were ripped back to reality and you almost snatched yourself from his arms. You saw Yunho standing “I was sure I'd win this and treat my members, but hyung and Ma’am seem to beat me to it”. “You haven’t even performed yet, don’t say that. And there were so many more beautiful performances' ' You said and “You’ll at least get 2nd place though” Hoseok said. “Hoseok '' you scolded, but he just winked at you, making your heart run miles in a second. As Yunho walked off, a thought lingered at the back of your mind, Hoseok walked off to get his coat and your flair, this is all fake. 

If Hoseok noticed the ups and downs of your mood, he didn’t say anything, or maybe he didn’t know if he should. This was the closest you two have been,  this is the longest the two of you have passed without fighting. Hoseok stared at you as you chatted away with Mrs. Yang, one of the major shareholder’s wives of his father's company, smiled to himself. He saw how easily you mixed up with them, smiled and spoke to everyone, and he felt a pang in his chest. Then why did you never smile at him? Did you really hate him that bad you didn’t even give him the time of a daylight towards him. His attention was drawn away from his mind when he heard you call him. “The voting has started” you say as you slip your arm in his. “Where do these funds go?” you asked. “You know the rescued dog and cat shelter in Gangnam-Do?” he told you as you nodded “That one, I like that place, that is where I adopted Mickey from” he said smiling. “You have a cat?” You asked, “No, Mickey is my dog” he said and swept out his phone and showed you the picture of an adorable fur baby and you cooed, Hoseok’s face broke into a huge smile seeing your reaction. Soon the voting was over and it was time to announce the top 3 earning performances. 

“So tonight the 3rd most earning act was… Jung Yunho, who showed us an out-standing Hiphop dance performance”  the hostess said and the rest of you cheered as the boy went up on stage bowing to everyone. You all cheered, he was handed his trophy and certificate. “Don’t worry the 1st place is ours” you heard Hoseok say and you stared in awe at his prudence as he passed you a wink, sending your stomach into a whirl. 

“The performance that won the 2nd most earning is…. Yang Jeongin and his beautiful voice” The hostess said.

“Is that Mrs. Yang’s son?” you asked. “I guess so, looking at her expression. I had no idea really” He said “It’s our turn” he said and took your hand in his. 

“So now the winners. The performance that won first place with the maximum earnings is……they were really good….. It's Jung Hoseok and Y/n L/n” she said and you hid your face in Hoseok’s coat sleeve for a moment. As he pulled you with him towards the stage, “be careful” he said as he held your hand in his, as you walked on stage. He signaled you to accept the trophy and you took it and bowed to the hostess and the audience and walked to Hoseok and he did the most unexpected thing. You felt something soft on your cheeks and the warmth went away as soon as it came but it left your cheeks ablaze. He kissed your cheek. 

----------------------------------------------------

“He what?” Jimin said, almost dropping his tteot from his mouth. 

“Did the situation call for it?” Jungkook asks, yes he is attached to his boy friend and is a package deal at this point. Besides who denies tea, those two when you are serving it hot the very next day. “What?” you asked in frustration as you stuffed another handful of fries in your mouth. 

“What happened then?” Jimin asked and you shrugged and said “we had dinner there and left. Neither of us spoke in the car ride back. When he reached here he just asked me to take the bag” 

“The bag?”Jungkook asked, “Yeah it had the trophy and the gifts and stuff.” You told him to signal towards the paper bag that is still on your dresser “Should I give it to him?” you asked. “Y/n! No!” Jimin scolded “he gave it to you, don’t return it. But-” he stopped mid-sentence as the two of you looked at him with questioning eyes and he said “If things were going good, why did he go silent? Did he text you later?” 

“Yes, this morning he thanked me for last night” You informed him by making air quotes on ‘Last Night’. “What did you say?” he asked, “Thank you, I had fun” you shrugged and saw him nodding. 

“Let’s see how he is tomorrow,” Jimin declared. Suddenly, Jungkook choked on his food and said “Y/n, Jimin-ssi!” he said and your eyes went wide in shock. Shit you didn’t think of this part. 

“Hoseok!” you said through the phone the moment he picked up. “Y/n? Is everything okay?” He asked audible concerned. “Did you check the links I sent you?” You asked. “Yeah. I saw them in the morning already. My sister sent me” he said. “And?” You ask, “What Else? Nothing, she believes and is happy for the most part, just sad that she missed the chance to meet you. WHy are you panicked?” He asked. To this even Jimin raised a brow “How come you're not?” You asked him. “They are just photos Y/n, besides isn’t it better, you won’t even have to explain much, it’ll look much more believable” He said. “I think he has a point” Jungkook said, “Is that Jungkookie?” Hoseok asked and you said “Yes, Okay bye!” you hung up on the poor boy. 

Jimin burst out laughing, “What’s so funny?” you asked,”For starters that Kookie can’t shut up for shit and also because Hyung still likes you” Jimin said “But yes, Imagine the expression on Kai’s face when he sees this” he says. “What do you mean still likes me? Are you crazy?” you say lying down with a pillow to your face. 

The next few days were a blur,work was simply too busy, You had to prepare for a comeback and do evaluation for a whole trainee group and even before you realized it was friday. You had way too much workload and barely met up with Jimin or Jungkook, you avoided any question about the articles at any cost. When you were leaving, then you realized that you barely had 6 days and needed to talk to Hoseok, you didn’t even see much of him this week, the pressure was just too much. As if on cue you found Hoseok walking out to the parking lot. “Y/n ssi” he said. “Hoseok” You acknowledged. “Lets meet up for coffee tomorrow, to discuss everything” he suggested. You nodded and said “I send you the address and time, cool?”. “Cool” he said.

Thus, you entered the cafe you had told him, and found him waiting for you already. “Took you long enough, so much for not liking to wait” he said and you squint your eyes at him but said nothing and sat down. “So, First things first, I got you tickets to the same flight as me, i’ll send you the details” you said. “That’s smart of you” he said. “So tell me about your family, it’s so strange we’ve work together for ages and I didn’t even know you had a brother” he said. A waitress came to the two of you and placed an Iced Americano and a Caramel Macchiato.

“I ordered already, '' he said. “How did you know I drink Americano?” You asked making an offended face “Do you?” He teased me. “I could,” You say. And grabbed the caramel macchiato and took a sip, only to find Hoseok smiled at your antics. You didn’t know but he felt so good to be sitting here with you. This is probably the best he’s felt this whole week. 

“Tell me about your family, stuff that I need to know, people I need to stay away from?” He said and you started trying to give him a crash course of your family and parents, friends and cousins.

You remember receiving a call from your brother Jinyoung and mother both very excited, “He seems quite well of Y/n, I hope he treats you well” Jinyoung said. “Mn, he does” you said. “Why didn’t you tell us before though?” You mom nagged. “Mom! This news has a huge impact on our cases, I can’t go around blabbering stuff” you said as she hummed in understanding, well she didn’t need to know that only idols have dating bans and the staff including the choreographers have no such thing. 

Before you knew it, it was already Wednesday, thank god the work pressure had died down as the main comeback preparations were over and you could go for vacation at peace.

“Won’t they find it strange for us to go for a vacation at the same time?” You told Jimin, as he said “The company doesn’t give a fuck why do you care so much for others?” he asked as he looked through your closet, telling you which dress to wear for which occasion. 

“One for the bachelorette, one for the Pre-wedding brunch, and one for the reception. The marriage?” he asked looking at you, the guy literally shifted an appointment to help you sort your fashion needs. “The wedding will be done in hanboks, but, I got mine customized” You said “the fabric had to be same so I got that here and asked Clara to do it for me” you added and got up to retrieve the package you picked up yesterday from her boutique, “So that is why you asked me for her number?” He said. And you showed him the dress, “You do know this is a hanfu and not a hanbok right?” Jimis said and you looked at him sternly, “Of course” you said “As long as the fabric is the same they are fine with it” you shrugged.

----------------------------------------------------

OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING! You cursed yourself, it's still 15 minutes until your meeting time so, Hoseok is not here yet and your mind is panicking. WHAT IF THEY FIND OUT, WHAT IF HE MESSED SOMETHING UP?! WHAT IF YOUR GRANDMA FINDS OUT? HOW COULD YOU THINK OF THIS? FOOLING YOUR FAMILY?! WHAT IF- “What are you blabbering about like a crazy lady?” a voice interrupted your thoughts. “Was I thinking out loud?” you asked. You noticed Hook wasn’t in his hip hop attire, it was so different from the tux you had previously seen him in, in a simple jeans and t-shirt, he looked good. Even that ridiculous fanny pack looked good with the outfit.

“If you’re done staring, then can we go” he said with a smirk and you simply stood up and walked away with your suitcase.

“Umm.. Y/n?” He called you and you hummed in response “I thought we were going for 4 days. Why is your bag THAT big?” He asked. “I have dresses, matching shoes and back ups. The woman’s gotta be ready” you said. 

----------------------------------------------------

Inside the Flight

“So you remember all the cautions right?” You said. “Yes, beware of Helmoni, she is sharper than she seems. Do not indulge too much with your cousins, especially Seokjin, and if I see Kai approaching me without you around I must find you. But why?” He asked. “Just Because.” you said, gaining a look of disapproval from his face and you contemplated before you opened your mouth again “he cheated on me” you said fumbling with your fingers ``He cheated on me with Ashley a person who hurt me alot since I was a child and he was aware of that. What’s worse is. Nobody knows” you said and took a breath and before he could question you restarted “Nobody knows he cheated, they just know that he broke up with me and later started dating Ashley, after i left for Seoul. But, he was already seeing her in secret” Heseok held your hand in his. “Why?” He asked. “Cause he is my brother’s best friend, and I didn’t want to ruin that, no matter what he is a great friend to Jinyoung.” You said and gave a sad smile, You see Hoseok open his mouth and close it. You took the lead to change the topic “What should we call each other though?” You wondered and an Idea sparked in Hoseok’s mind as he said “Jagiya '' and smile “Basic” you mumbled. “What do I call you? Oppa?” you said tilting your head and instantly cringed “Can I-'' you hesitated, “Do your friends call you Hobi from your rapper name J-hope?” surprise struck over his face as he realized that you knew. “I saw you recording once when I went for a screening of a group’s song 2 years back, I guess. The song I heard was later released in J-hope’s sound cloud” you said, outing how you knew he was the famous anonymous soundcloud rapper J-Hope. “Wah Y/n Holmes'' he teased, “So can I call you Hobi too?” you asked and he nodded. You sigh when it was decided, “I’m not forgetting something, am I?” You ask. “Why are you so tense, is it the first time Y/nie is taking a boyfriend home, to her family?” He asked. “No, it is the first time I’m doing this whole fake thing” you said, you missed the flow of pain that passed Hoseok’s face as he took back your hand in his and said “You. Are. Not. Alone. It’s you and me. Us. We’re in this together, and nothing will go wrong as wrong as you’re happy”  

Soon the flight was about to land and as soon as you left the flight the salty sea breeze hit you nose, refreshing your whole body. You felt a hand slip into yours and the words echoed in your mind, “You are not alone”.

You saw your brother waiting as you exited the gate, with Hoseok behind you pushing the trolley, you ran up to him shouting “Oppa!!”. “Little one!” he exclaimed hugging you, the two of you parted as he said “You must be the boyfriend?” Hoseok extended his hand and the two shook it. “Oppa this is Jung Hoseok, and Hobi this is Park Jinyoung, my brother, '' you said. Hoseok’s mind went into a short circuit for a few moments before he pushed it away and tried to focus. The thing is the way his nickname rolled off your tongue made him feel, well, warm. The three of you set off in Jinyoung’s hired convertible. “Did you get your dress ready?” he asked. “Of course! I did, I don’t wanna be beheaded by your bridezilla!” you joked. “Is she scary?” Hoseok asked. 

“Yes quite” Jinyoung said without hesitation and you smacked his arm from your passenger’s seat. “She’s good, just hype about the wedding” you said. “Oh I know, my sister was a monster in her pre-marital moments, '' he said from the back seat, making all of you laugh. Upon reaching the hotel your brother walked off as you waited for Hoseok to get off. You take a deep breath in and out “This is it '' you said. He took your hand in his which strangely helped in calming down your nerves and you two entered, you were immediately engulfed by your mother followed by your Grandmother. “Aigo! You naughty girl, couldn’t come a day earlier for your own brother’s wedding” you Grandma chided. “It was so difficult to get so many days off, we almost didn’t get allowed. '' You said as the rest remembered you weren’t alone and you went and stood beside Hoseok who deeply introduced himself. You could already see stars in your mother’s and auntys’ eyes, even though your Helmoni (Grandma) looked a bit skeptical. “Great to meet you son” Your father said, engulfing his hand and shaking it. “Better to know you exist, the way Y/n Noona was hiding you” you heard Jisung say and instantly go “Aaaaaaaaaah” you turn to see Seokjin holding his ear and scolding him. “Jinnie Oppa!” you said and rushed to hug him. 

“Okay! Now that all are here, Hoseok can room with Seokjin, let's go” Y/n’s father said. 

Alarms went wild, in Y/n’s head, “Dad why?” she said, “You know the rules, sweety” he said. “Aww it’s okay Y/nie our rooms are just beside each other, he can just sneak in and out” Seokjin said with a straight face and a wink. 

“Don’t worry Y/n, I can handle myself. I’m smarter than you give me credit for” He said with a cute smile. And you shook your head praying that Seokjin won’t catch on. You lay alone on your bed and thought, you never saw either of them, maybe they had arrived earlier, you were glad you didn’t have to share the room, or you would have gone crazy from stress. You hope Hoseok was fine and didn’t blow off your cover, that Seokjin didn’t discover your truth. Your mind slipped back to you the occurrences, you lost count of the times you have used the words like cute and sweet and Hoseok in the same line, who would have thought? But, what are these acts of his, an act? Because you saved him from his Father’s blind dates, could be. Must be, what else? Stupid Y/n you thought that Jung Hoseok could possibly have feelings for you? Dumb girl. You closed your eyes and his smile and eyes were all you could see. You cursed under your breath and tried to catch some sleep.  

The next morning you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rushed up to get ready for wor- Oh, you’re on a holiday. But, you’re up, so you decided to freshen up and get ready anyway, you were about to dry your hair when you heard a knock, you opened the door to reveal Hoseok in a super loose Shirt and shorts. You looked him up and down, his toned legs looked so strong, have they always been this muscular? Or- “Ahem? Missed me that much?” he asked in a cocky tone as you moved aside to close the door. “So?” you asked, “What?” He asked. “Seokjin Oppa, did he suspect?” You asked. “NO Y/n! He is actually pretty chill, I like him and I think he's funny” He said and you shook your head at the thought of those two vibing over dad jokes. You went on to dry your hair and fix your bag. You were too busy to notice Hoseok’s eyes actually being on you instead of his phone, following your every move and reverting back to the screen the moment you so much as decided to look his way. When you were done with your shorts and t-shirt, you would be spending a day at the beach followed by going to the hotel pub that the couple had booked for the cousins and friends, yes their idea of “Enjoying a bachelorette” was to have it together. The two of you left the room and found Seokjin leaving his room, smiling at the two of you, “ready for some action today lover boy? I mean on the beach” he said and started laughing his signature laugh that was more funny than whatever the joke was. “Oh I am if you are bro” Hoseok said, in a tone that made you laugh more. The three of you entered the lift that already contained a few of your friends from your hometown as you greeted and introduced them. Then the lift stopped at a floor and you suddenly felt like the air was pulled away from you. You knew sooner or later this moment would come but you didn’t expect it to happen right in the morning. Thanks to your friend Taehyung who greeted and said “Hey! Kai hyung, Ashley Noona'' That Hoseok understood why you went so stiff, he slid his palm into yours and gave a squeeze, you knew the moment they entered the lift that everyone was walking on eggshells around you and you hated it. You hated that people thought you’d still be weak even after all these years, whenHoseok’s hand slipped into yours and he squeezed it it oddly gave you strength, a strength to face all of them at once and so you did it “Hey Kai, Ashley, Long time” you said with the pleasantest smile you can muster. Their faces though were priceless as neither were expecting it, Hoseok felt proud as Kai came up with a pitiful “Hi Y/n”. While Ashley was still silent. 

All of you walked out to the beach, it was now that Hoseok realized that almost the whale hotel was booked by your family and their guests. “Have you guys booked the whole Hotel?” he asked in surprise. “It has guests from both families, but not the whole, the guests only have very close friends and relatives” you said, the part of the beach that the hotel had set had umbrellas and blankets placed in clusters and had net set up. “Okay Folks, we have 2 games setup, Dodgeball and foot volleyball. We will start after breakfast " the maid of Honour Yuna said, as all of you cheered, you felt Hoseok’s hand on your back as he said “Wanna get a seat there babe?” you couldn;t help but feel warm blood on your cheeks as you nodded and the two of you sat down, it had a nice picnic vibe to it, gazing at the sea with sandwiches. “So sis-in-law won't you introduce us” Suyeon the bridezilla and Yuna came and took a seat under the same umbrella as Seokjin joined too, you looked around to find Jinyoung under a close by umbrella with Kai and Ashley as, Taehyung came to join you guys too, their were in total of about 20 people so it wasn’t really a crowd anyway. “This is Suyeon unnnie, Yuna and my childhood friend Taehyung, Ad guys this is my boyfriend Jung Hoseok'' you said, Hoseok fell a wave of warmth run all over his body as the words flowed through him ‘my boyfriend’ the words rung in his mind. Soon everyone got engrossed into various topics as Taehyung, Yuna and Y/n teased Suyeon calling her “Bridezilla” . It was fun to watch Y/n being so free, as he has only ever seen her with Jimin.  

Soon it was sports time and it was decided to be played in a Girls vs boys, however there were 19 people, 9 girls and 10 boys so Seokjin being the man he opted to be the referee due to his ‘age’. 

The dodgeball was intense, the net was opened for this one, each team throwing the ball in a way to take out as many opponent players. As expected Ashley was the first to hit a ball that was surprisingly thrown by Hoseok, who discreetly winked at you, almost dedicating the throw to you. You heard Ashley grumbling to which Kai said something along the lines ‘it’s just a game Jagi’. As soon as the ball was in your hand you looked around finding one of Suyeon’s cousin closest to the other side and you took a throw hitting him in the gut. Jinyoung and Suyeon themselves followed not long after, who are now watching the game while almost snuggling. You sometimes look at them and wonder if that is what love is, everlasting, they’ve been together since highschool and are about to get married, you hoped you could find someone who would hold you as strong as your brother and his soon to be wife held each other and sent up a prayer for their forever well being. 

45 mins more and the only ones left inside were Kai, Taehyung and Hoseok and You and Yuna. A quick ball from Yuna and Taehyung was out. A few throws back and forth and Yuna was out by Kai, shit. You could see him looking at you with predatory eyes but you would never let that happen, your dancing skills have come in handy so far so as soon as he threw the ball you flipped to the other way. The ball now in your hand you slit it on Kai, he knew you’d target him so he was ready, but you were smarter than his cheating ass, you took a double take, you acted to throw the ball for him to run at a different direction only to throw the ball the next time directly where the sun doesn’t shine. Your team minus Ashley cheered as he sat on the ground in pain. Now its you vs Hoseok as the other wooed, the two of you never leaving eye contact, for a moment Hoseok stood straight with the ball and broke eye contact to look at the ground, but then he again looked into your eyes and shot for you foot, you jumped an dodged and caught the ball as you hit him on his knee taking a win for your team. As the girls rushed to hug you as if you had just won an olympic gold for the country. THe maid on honor announced a break as you and Hoseok sat down under the previous umbrella with Yuna and Seokjin, laughing at how certain players fell or screeched and how Seokjin had the good parts recorded. “I won’t lie, for a minute I thought Loverboy was about to drop the ball at Y/n’s feet” Seokjin laughed “I would never, I know she’d be angry if I did that” Hoseok said. “Yeah cause we wont square, you said jabbing him. 

You felt nice, “I’ll go click some pictures you said as you grabbed your phone and walked towards the water leaving you slippers, Hoseok following behind you. You’ve always known that Hoseok is clingy to the people he loved so you assumed that in order to show people that she loved you he was being clingy to you too not that you were minding, but the fact that this was all pretense was just stuck like a thorn in your throat, but you decided not to think of that, to just be in the moment and thus, undid an a few of the top buttons on the loose [color of your choice] button up that you were wearing, and stood steady and before your finger could press the capture button you felt Hoseok’s arms around your waist “Keep going” He said and sniffed your hair, ‘Keep going’ you felt like your legs were jelly. But you managed to take a few good shots, you decided to take a few later before sun set and were about to tell Hoseok to go back when you heard footsteps approaching you both. You looked to see none other than the Kai himself. “Hey Y/n” he said and you straightened up, but Hoseok’s arms were still firmly held around your waist, “Hi Kai” you said. “This is-” you were interrupted by HOseok who slid off one hand to offer Kai and said “Jung Hoseok, the boyfriend” Kai shook it and the hand came back on your waist. “It’s been such a long time,” he said, “How are you doing?”. “Work is busy but I am doing well”. “I heard you two became public recently, how's that coming around” he asked, “That is great actually, now I can do this without being afraid that our company would take care of it” Hoseok said and all you could do was nod and blush. “How are things with you and Ashley?” You asked, breaking the silence, Kai was a bit taken aback, did he still think you would avoid this question, “We’re.. Engaged now, so good I hope” he said and before anyone could say something else you heard Jin say “Children it's time for Foot volleyball” and everyone cheered. 

This game was more intense than the previous one and nobody wanted to lose. Jin being the point keeper shouted the point at every point gains and services. The game point was decided to be 30, which was soon increased to 40 as the girls had reached 20 when the boys were at 17. It was a game of hustle as many of the players fell face first on the sand and Jin had a Gala time recording the whole thing on his film camera, that was standing on a tripod at a distance that filmed the both sides. The best was when a ball thrown by Yuna face planted on Kai’s and half of you doubled in laughter as Suyeon shouted “On your face, literally”. You found Hoseok eyeing you from across the net and you stuck out a tongue at him making him chuckle that he almost didn't notice the ball coming right at him but he caught it at the last moment thank god for his reflexes. It was ultimately declared a tie when all the players dropped on the floor out of fatigue and hotel workers came out with the lunches. You haven’t had this much fun in ages, you told hHoseok to go get a place as you went off to use the rest room near by. 

“You know I was so glad that Y/n finally found someone you’ve been so lonely” Yuna said to someone whom Hoseok assumed to be her and Suyeon’s cousin. On hearing this “Does not being in a relationship make one lonely?” Hoseok asked with a firm smile. “No, but she surely wasn’t happy, this is the happiest I have seen her in ages” Yuna said smiling fondly at your retreating form. He planned on keeping that smile right there anyhow. Once you came back the they started eating, it was fun to laugh at the various incidents that just happened and just be at ease, this time even Jinyoung squeezed into the net something about missing his sweet sister, but you knew why he was there and it happened. 

“He face planted?” Hoseok said in shock. “Yes directly from the swing as Taehyung he remembers he was there too, thank god those were her milk teeth” Jinyoung said and Hoseok said “I think Y/n would look good even with a chipped tooth” Hoseok said. “You say that now, but it you’d have seen her bawl back then” Taehyung said as You cut him off saying “I swear I will murder you!” as hoseok hugged and held you back. All of you doubling up in laughter. “Y/n? Won’t you sing for the reception?” Taehyung suddenly asked. “What? Tae no. You know I don’t sing anymore” you said. “But, it’s my wedding, at least this time you should” Jinyoung requested, “I’ll see” you said and stood up to walk to the shore “I’ll get some nice pictures” you said and walked off, again Hoseok behind you. 

Strangely, this time he doesn’t speak may be cause he understood that you did not want to either. So he just let you silently click photos, and the two of you sat down in the soothing sunlight. As if testing the waters Hoseok put a comforting hand on your shoulder and then layed your head on his shoulder. “You don’t need to tell me shit until you feel comforfortable with it, but just know that I am here and I mean it” you inched a bit closer to him at that. Unknown to the two of you, a few pair of eyes awed at the cuteness of the two of you. It was fixed that everyone would meet at the Hotel pub at 9 so you all went to your rooms. You found the dress Jimin had packed for THIS exact purpose, it was a bit short for your liking, and you did have a back up dress for it, but you left a bit risky, so you slipped on the dress and did some light make up and tied your hair in a ponytail. 

You left the room and went and knocked on Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s door, Seokjin openned and wolf called only for Hoseok to glace and stay stunned for a few minutes, well you wouldn’t lie you did the same. He looked ravishing in that dress shirt that he left unbuttoned a bit. “If you two are done oggling each other can we go? Or should I leave the room?”Jin said pulling you two back to real life. As you left for the lift to be soon joined by Jin and Hoseok. “I really wanna get drunk on some good booze” Jin said, “We all love a good booze” you agreed only to see Hoseok nodding his head too, you hope he didn’t drink too much this man is very light in sense for alcohol tolerence. WHen you reached the area it was a small and cozy one and seemed nice, you and Hoseok made ways to the bar and ordered some shots, which were mostly consumed my you. Yuna and some other friends occasionally came up to talk to you two, but the two of you in general stood and judged the others, you felt light, like you didn’t need to put up a front and you were getting comfortable. Well, you were also getting tipsy or may be were a bit past that who cared and may be that is why when one of your favourie songs came up you rushed to the dance step, Hoseok in tow. The two of you moved to the beat, you can’t deny you didn’t feel a bit sensual and hance when you turned around and grinded you ass on Hoseoks core, you liked the groan that came out of his mouth. The two of you were lost in your own world and nothing mattered. All that you knew was this man attached to you, with his hands on your hips, who is moving his body as it in response to yours. The two of you were suddenly broken apart when you heard H.O.T’s Candy play and Jinyoung called you out “Sister!!! THIS IS OUR JAM!!” the man was clearly drunk and hence his enthuasism was over the ceiling. The people made a way in the middle as you ran to join Jinyoung. Hitting step by step, this was one song that you and you brother agreed on being the best. Having seen it over 50,000 times and danced to it at some point it became a ritual to dance to it together no matter where it played. 

On the side lines, Kai smiled looking at his best friend so happy, and you too, a fond memory came to his mind of the time when you all were around 15 and this song started playing in a mall and you two had started dancing then and there. However Ashley didn’t like this attention you were getting. As the song came to and end you and Jinyoung came to the ending position even drunk the either of you never missed a single beat and somehow that turned Hoseok more on and made him more attracted to you. You returned to him with a big smile in face. You, Yuna and Suyeon soon disappeared only to return an hour later drunker than ever, all gigly, Hoseok was swaying too he wouldn’t lie. It was way past midnight and people had started going, only a few cousins and friends were left so Hoseok thought it was best to take you to your room. He supported you and took you too your room his plan was to get you to bed then go back to get Jin hyung as he had the key card. But, you shut the door behind you two and grabbed his collar and shook it hard and said “YOU! What do you think you’re doing?! Don’t!” You said pouting. Hoseok went into instant panic to think he might have done something wrong and so he asked “What Y/n? What did I do?” 

“You’re giving me false hope. What are we? Are we all, ALL PRETEND?” You asked. Is that what you thought? Is that why there always was a hesitance in your eyes? Because the moment Hoseok landed on Jeju he had decided he won’t pretend or hold back, he would show you how you feel. “I wish you knew how much I really want you, Y/n” he said holding your waist and pulling you closer. “Do you? Then why don’t you kiss me? Show me you want me?” you said. “Because you are drunk” Hoseok said simply “But, I am sober enough to make clear decisions Hobi” you said, again with that nickname. One on his hands left the warmth of your waist and landed on your neck and pulledyou painfully close to him, your both alcoholic breath mingling, you couldn’t bare it you tightened your hold on his collar and pulled him closer crashin your lips to his, and at that moment every romance novel you’ve ever read came alive. You knew what the writers meant when they said ‘Fire works’. You salivas mixing up as you tried to pull him closer and so did he, his hands travel down lower and lower and land on your butt and he used to bring you closer and grind into you, the alcohol was taking over and he knew he’d lose control and you had already dropped any control you had, and neither of you could help that thought. Too busy to taste each other, try to memorise this feeling, suddenly a knocked forced the two of you apart. You found Taehyung and Kai some how holding up Jin. “Oh it’s Y/n’s door? SOrry then the next one must be Jin hyung’s” Taehyung said. “I-I should go help them” Hoseok said before he left and like that you somehow locked the door and went to sleep, too tired to realise what had happened. 

You woke up the next morning to a knock, “one minute” you called out, you woke up to being a complete mess. “I’ll need a mkinute” you said not waiting to listen for the reply you quickly take of yesterday’s dress and wear a random t-shirt and shorts you found lying and picked up a make up wipe to wipe of the make up that was now smudged. You opened the door to see Hoseok with a plate of soup and medicine. You let him in and went inside the bathroom again, when yesterday’s occurrences rushed to your mind. You wanted to slap yourself, Shit! You kissed him and he rushed out. “Y/n? Are you okay in there?” Hoseok finally asked. “Um.. Yes. No” you said. “I hope you remember we have lunch with your family in like a few hours” he said. Plan change you wanted to hit you head on the fucking sink. “Come out Y/n” he said again. And you did, “Come here and sit” he motion to the chair in front of him and said “Drink this and take this medicine so that the headache won’t be there by lunch time.” He said. “What about you?” you asde. “I wasn’t that drunk just the meds were enough,” he said with a dimpled smiled. And you did, you did a bit of small talk, neither of you bringing up yesterday’s night. Soon, Hoseok left to let you change and you decided on a loose t-shirt and some jeans, Hoseok was in some Jeans shorts and buttoned-down hawaiian shirt, somehow looking gorgeous in even that. “Lets go babe” he said, you looked around to see that the whole corridor was empty, gosh your mind is a mess, you wish you had Jimin with you to help to sort it out. With 100 thoughts running through your mind, you never realised when you reached the dining space. Hey, Hoseok said squeezing your interlaced hand, “I’m here okay. Just for you” he told, making you smile. You both took seats beside your grandma, this was a huge table, which was soon joined by Seokjin, his mum, your parents, your brother, an uncle, Taehyung and Kai and Ashley. It was all merry chatter until one of your aunts threw a question “So Y/n, how did you and Hoseok meet?” 

“Us? Long time. Like when I went to Seoul I joined this dance group, Hoseok and his group were our rivals” You said, saying the truth. “Oh, so was it love at first sight or fight, something like that?” Ashley asked cocking her head. “No, not for for her” Hoseok said “huh?” Taehyung seemed confused. “She hated me since day one, while I just wanted to make a friend but she somehow hated my guts” he said “That was because you were a showoff” you retorted. “I was trying to impress you, I’ve told you that” Hoseok said “Anyways” he continued “We got scouted by the same studio and then got promoted to the entertainment, and we were fullon rivals” he said dramatically. “Insults, jabs and went in daily, until one day I’ve ad enough, so I went up to here and told her, how I wanted us to stop fighting and how much I needed her” he said changing his glance to you, “She did make me work for it, but we did get there. I made her believe that I would never let her be lonely or face challenges alone. That I wanted us to do that together” He said as you family were all awing and cooing. 

You brain told you it was just a fabricated story but something about the look on Hoseok’s eye told your heart otherwise, and so did the warm hand that wrapped yours from under the table. Soon the food was served and you all got engrossed in chatter. Helmoni was telling Hoseok how Jinyoung and I used to fight for chocolates and she always had to bring extra and everyone laughed. She also said that next time onwards when she sends her Kimchi she’ll send some extra for Hoseok, for Helmoni’s books that meant welcome to the family. Before the desserts were served you excused yourself to go to the washroom, amidst all the chatter nobody watched Ashley of her seat as well. You were on your way back when you heard “Oh little Y/n lookat you having a perfect love story after being thrown away by Taehyungie” she said caressing the engagement ring on her finger. “Congratulations Ashley” you said straight. “Really? Thanks. Must hurt a bit, this could have been you, oops.” she said “But I don’t care, you can have Taehyung, its better for you” you said. “Oh really look at you being high acting ass strong when you can’t even sing after what I, no, WE did to you” she said. “Y/nie! Y/nie, here you are” you saw you Helmoni come your way. “What are you doing here, leaving your man alone, the poor guy looks like a lost puppy” She said. The thought of Hoseok looking like a lost puppy really lifted your mood leaving Ashley’s words at the back of your mind. Your parents and brother were all so happy to finally see you with happy, and specially with how much Hoseok cared about you. 

The two of you returned to your room and sat down. “What happened” Hoseok asked, instantly. “What?” you asked. “You and Helmoni came back, followed by Ashley. What did she say?” He asked, taking your hand in his. That look on his face he literally looked like a lost puppy almost begging you to open up, to trust him. “She.” you started and took a huge breath “She used to be my best friend since kindergarten, sang and danced together. Kai was my brother’s best friend and when in around middle school he started to hang out with me more she got jealous and started  bullying me to the point of humiliating me in school in subtle ways that nobody could point it to her. When Kai and I got together she stopped so much as to lurk around me and I thought she gave up. Me and Kai were together for almost 3 years, until, I heard Taehyung one day that he saw Kai with some other girl. At that I was preparing for auditions and different entertainment companies, Making dance and singing clips” you pause taking a breath and Hoseok pulled you closer encasing you with his arm protectively. “I found out then that Taehyung was helping Ashley use my voice to make her clips and also various texts that made it clear that they were sleeping together. I wanted to tell my brother, but I know he’d blame himself for letting Kai get close to me when it wasn’t his fault, so I never told him. I moved to Seoul and he told people we broke up, I couldn’t take it. Then he and ashley started dating openly after a few months. I decided to never sing again, that is what she actually jabbed me about today” You completed, Hoseok wanted to just go and puch that smug face of Kai but he held it in. You laid your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. 

“I am sorry you had to go through that, all alone” he said

“It’s okay, but you tell me now that I told you, Why did you take me to that party?” you asked. “Other than the fact that I wanted it to be you, it was for my dad, he says we should either marry for love or business. Like marriage is very important, he actually has cancer and seeing me single makes him feel afraid that I’ll stay alone, so he forced me on blind dates. But I could never realy like that, not when all I could think of was how I wanted each of them to be you. So I had to get you, but seemes like fate had a different idea” He said and you laughed. “Y/n, you need to know that nothing I said so far was fake, to your family or to you. I what I told to your parents, I meant every word, we, us, this is real” He said. “We are as real as the moons, the sun and the freaking stars. ANd Y/n I love you so much” he said looking straight into your eyes, your brain had stopped functioning, its true, all true, “kiss me” 

(Smut alert.. You can skip the italics part if you want)

Fisting your t-shirt he said “Are you sure? Cause I swear this time I wouldn’t be able to stop”. “Then don’t” you said and with that he claimed your lips to be his, his hands snaked around you waist and with a swift move you were strandling him, lips never parting, Soon you felt you t-shit get untucked and you felt his hands on you bare skin sending shiver down you spine and warmth in your core. Your tongues fought for dominance and you let himtake control as his tongue traveled every nook of your mouth. When you parted a string pf saliva was left between the two, and Hoseok didn’t waste a single moment and attached his lips to your neck leaving open mouth kisses until you take in a deep breath leading him to break into a smirk as he decorated your shoulder with a hickey, you urged him to take you yoor top and he compiled and your hands instantly went to unbutton his shirt that was soon discharged somewhere in the room. You moved you hips on his thighs to gain some friction earning a groa from his throat. You interlaced your finger with her hair at the back of his head and pulled it making him faceyou as you licked along his jawline leaving butterfly kisses and occasional bites. You could feel yourself get wetter and wetter as the two of you attacket each nother now naked in bed as he sucked on one of your boob and assaulted the other with his hand. “Fuck” you cursed. “Say it baby” he said, “Fuck Hobi, I need you” you said. “Do you know how much more I’ve always needed you” he said, you knew his member was already hard, you saw it over the boxers. “Off” you finally managed to say and like an obedient man he did, he took them offf as his member sprang free, you immediate took off yours and pulled him closer to kiss his mouth “Please Hoseok fucking make me your” you said na dthat sparked something in Hoseok as he pushed up and in one swift motion put his whole length inside you making you gasp for air. “Look at you gasping now, who was whining like a needy bitch” he said. “More” you managed to say as Hoseok’s thrust grew faster and faster. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head and he rammed into you mercilessly, resulting to you turning into a moaning mess. “Ho-Hobi” you said as Hobi graned feeling you clench around him, he knew you were close, he was too, “lets get it together” he said. “I- cant hold it” you said as you felt the knot get undone and you came, feeling the warmth was all it took for Hoseok to follow suit, he rode through both of your climaxes.

(End of smut)

He dropped beside you, instantly cuddling to you, The two of you caught your breath when he suddenly said “May be you should sing for your brother’s wedding” he said. “It’s tomorrow” you said. “We have time, come one” he said and pulled you to the bathroom. 

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Hence, you were, sitting on stage at the reception of you brother and Suyeon, singing to Sunflower by Post Malone as Taehyung strumed a guitar. You looked to the table where Hoseok wa sitting looking at you still in awe, to hear your voice. But this look was nothing compared to the one he gave you when he saw you walk down the ilse to pass the ring to you brother and sister-in-law. He then made it to stone, he will never let you go, and somehow the look on his face now, conveyed the same message to you, as you winked at him on the line 

“You’re a sunflower, I think your love would be too much”

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You later looked through your phone to find a million texts from Jimin and Jungkook with pictures and posts from dispatch, to know whats going on. Hoseok laughed as he saw that from over your shoulder. “I think we should call him later” he said, to agreed imagining a very excited Jimin eating Jungkook’s head to know the Tea.

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Other Works

Taglist: @jung-nika-hoseok

Love Deception: Jung Hoseok x Reader (Celebrity Choreographer au)

🎂HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOBI!🎉

Summary: Hoseok and you have been rivals since a very early age of street dancing, starting from being in rival groups to ultimately being scouted by the same company. Now, what if you find yourself in a situation where only you can help each other.

A/n: Inspired by Elena Armas' A Spanish Love Deception. Warning for smut, minors dont read the italicized part or DNI, loads of typos, I didn't have time to proof-read. Gosh I am finally able to post this! 🥹

W/C: 13k

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Some things are very important to you like dance, friends, family, work and winning from Jung Hoseok. Ever since the first day when your group had competed and was tied against his street dance group. You would never forget those days nor the egotistical man who is your mortal rival and unfortunately colleague. Starting from being scouted by the same dance academy to joining Hybe. Your rivalry was quite famous since your academy days, as there were loads of contents made out of it for the academy youtube channel. Petty challenges, exchanged glances were common back then, not now of course not, the company was smarter than that, what they did was never let you interact and your managers made sure of that. Well unless it was very necessary, somehow age has taught the two of you to stay civil in the face of people but snarky remarks were always sent two and fro. 

“For a dancer some people do have two left feet '' he had once said when you had a face planted on a wet  floor. “For a human you do have the brain of a pigeon” you replied. “Excuse you” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “If I wanted to kill myself I would climb your ego and jump to your IQ” you said and walked away.

Another time, “He could simply do a flip over Sung Hoon as he slid back,” Hoseok suggested. “Why can't Sunghoon just lie down and get up when the flip is done? '' you said. “I’m asking Sunghoon to do it, not you,” he teased. “And what if he hurts his back in the process, what then?” you asked and he fell silent, it was clear he was thinking but you took the opportunity and said “Are you always this stupid, or are you making a special effort today Jung?” only to be squashed by your manager. 

And another time when you had accidentally dropped a cake and he didn’t let you see the end of it. Calling out “carefull” everytime you tried to catch or hold something until one day you said “One of these days i’ll give a high five to your face with a fucking chair” 

This has always been your dynamic. You hated his egoistic ass and he hated your guts. 

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“I can’t do this Jimin” you said as you sipped your coffee. 

“No! What I don’t understand is how your brother still kept that rascal around” He said

“He thinks I misunderstood Kai, and that he didn’t actually cheat on me” You reminded Jimin.

“He is just plain dumb. And on top of that he’s dating Ashley, the bitch” He said

You sat at the Hybe cafe with your best friend Park Jimin who was an Dancer/Model under Hybe. Yes, your brother was getting married and his Best man Kai was your ex, who had cheated on you with your archnemesis Ashley. Yes, it was 5 years ago during the last year of highschool. Doesn’t mean you were ready to face him. Going to your hometown alone, without a date would mean giving the guy a complete ego boost and letting the others pity you. You would never want that.

“Tell you what, let me or Jungkook come with you as your date, neither of us will mind” he said

“Dude, my whole family, even my brother knows you’re religiously gay!” You said, making him laugh “I’ll hire someone if need be. But, I would never, NEVER, go alone! I can’t!” you said, and Jimin chuckled at your determination. Unknown to the two of you someone was listening to this conversation of yours very intently from two tables away. 

Finally, you’re done for the day, now you can go back home and gloat in your misery. You were sure that Jimin could tell one of his friends to go with you as they knew and adored you but things don't always go as planned; most of his friends are either out of the city/country or engaged, even married. You had to think- your train of thought was broken by the sound of your name being called, damn you were almost inside your car. 

“Y/n” the voice called again and then you focused on the voice. Why the hell was he calling you? You turned sharply and turn eyes turned into slit

“What do you want?” you asked

“I will go to your brother’s wedding,” he said, taking you back. Did he even know your brother?

“Did you get an invite?” you asked. “What? I will go as your date” he said.

“Gosh, your ass must be jealous of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth” You said and turned around.

“Seriously Y/n. Can you not be such a defensive bitch all the time!” He said to your remark.

“No, Hoseok. I won’t cause you literally have nothing to do with this. So just step off anybody else's business” You rushed off to find your car and immediately drove off leaving the guy in a cloud of smoke. 

----------------------------------------------------

“He said what?”Jimin and Jungkook said in union

“Can you guys not! It's already icky!” You said

“But isn’t that good! Who will you find in Seoul to act as your boyfriend?” Jimin asked. “Please I am not THAT desperate, okay!” You tried to make them believe, you tried to make yourself believe that, that you weren’t THAT desperate. But, you were, you have to take someone as you might have told your brother Jinyoung that you won’t be attending alone and knowing him he has by now told the whole town. You just can’t face Kai alone now. Not when she’s with Ashley.

“Earth to Y/n. Hey!” Jungkook waved his palm in front of you as you had completely zoned out

“Sorry. What were you saying?” you asked

“We’re saying that you should perhaps consider his proposal,” Jimin said. “Yeah, why do you hate the guy anyway! He’s literally sunshine!” Jungkook added

“Yeah cause you didn't see him like I did, the darkness beyond the lies. The convictions that he hides. How he pretends to be oh so happy all the time. Trying to prove to the world that he is perfect when he is far from it. He is like that now, but that's not completely who he is” You said

“For someone you dislike you do know an awful lot much about Hobi hyung” Jungkook said as you tried to smack him with the book you had in front of you.

“HEY! HEY! Not my book!” Jimin said stop you. “Your book?! What about your man?!” Jungkook asked, almost offended. “You’ll live.” Jimin said “But really Y/n give it a thought before dismissing it. Hobi hyung is really your best and kinda only chance” He added before getting up to attend to his next schedule

He is wrong, Jung hoseok is not my anything, forget best and only. You thought before moving to meet your next appointment. 

“Noona’s dance looks fiercer than usual today? What’s up?” The boys you were currently training asked

“Nothing, Noona is just stressed” you said as you continued with the work with the thoughts in your mind. 

"Well, Noona didn’t need to stress so much did she?” you saw the person everybody calls Sunshine on the door way, seeing him approach you tried to take your leave, only to be pulled and taken to the opposite side as soon as you stepped out of the room.

“What the hell HOSEOK!” you said

“Did you think?” he asked, you knew you were wrong but you felt like you saw a sparkle in his eyes. 

“Think what?” You asked, “About my offer? And I swear to god if you say what offer!” He said

“No I didn’t cause that is not even an option, it’s still in a month I will surely figure something out” You said and snatched your hand away from him and tried to walk away.

“So you have other options?” he asked, “Looking at your face I think not” he added

“Shut up” you said

“Why can’t you just accept, and let me help you just this once” he said

“Cause it's YOU!” you said pointing at all of him, for a second you felt like a wave of hurt was seen in your eyes but that was gone as soon as it appeared and made you wonder if you were seeing things. And with this you turned away and walked off. 

----------------------------------------------------

“Impossible!” you shut your laptop in frustration, yes, you tried to contact 2 escort services and the prices they stated for 3 whole days was beyond your paycheck, you left out the part where you had to fly to a different place. “Fuck!” you cursed and ruffled your hair. 

“How about this, the next time he asks just agree” Jungkook said

“I can’t stand him for a minute! How can I even pretend to be in love with him?” you pointed it out

“Sometimes you gotta do what you dislike to get something out of it. I am not saying that you can’t face them alone. But, I am saying that you shouldn’t. Especially not after what you told your brother” Jimin said. You nodded “I’ll see” you said. When your phone buzzed it was a text from your family group, your brother texted a video, when you opened it your mind went numb and tear stung your eyes, there he was Kai at a distance from the camera on one knee, in front of Ashley who was smiling so wide that you thought she might slit her jaws, you saw her nodding violently and tackling Kai into a hug you immediately locked the phone and stood up and started walking, not paying heed to your best friend or his boyfriend. 

You knew you were being stubborn but you couldn’t help it. Tolerating Jung Hoseok was difficult for you. Besides who knew what trick he had up his sleeve, all these time he was busy competing with you in every way possible so why sudden change of heart and wanting to help you with an event like this. All this just seemed fishy to you, he has to have some motive. So you decided to do it. Find him. Ask him. Because you had to know even if there’s a 1% chance of him being serious you would take it, cause you needed it. Yes, you were that desperate. 

You can’t think of going alone, pitiful Y/n could never move on from her ex, couldn’t even get a date. That's NOT TRUE, you did move on from that scumbag, you just could not trust someone like that again, it takes time, that nobody is willing to give. You can’t let him have an upper hand, or even seem to have one. 

You checked the studios startling various groups when ultimately a girl group rookie idol from your company informed you that Choreographer Jung went to a venue with Enhypen, for some rehearsals and formations check. You quickly texted the group’s manager to know how far the rehearsals were going using some lame excuse to which he said that they would need time as the stage was smaller than they thought and some formations were needed to a;tered. You knew that meant you could as well complete your work here and head out and that was what you decided to do but, you received a call from your manager “Y/n PLEASE do me a favor just this once” he said. “What?” you enquired, “PLEASE GO to the xxx venue and help Hoseok out” he pleaded “The stage is smaller and the comeback would be a disaster if they cant alter it and practice it a few times'' he added,

You smirked but said “Why me?!” faking annoyance. “You and Hoseok are the best in formations in the company,” he said. “Fine!” you said. “Thank you! I’ll treat you to lunch tomorrow I swear” he said and you received the address and location. 

As you entered the venue to hear counts and scolding from a voice you knew too well. The boy group into a cheers and greets of “Noona!” the moment they saw you and Hoseok turned around. 

“Please be civil, '' you heard Enhypen’s manager say, but you knew otherwise. This work and serious business, even if you did not have that deal in the back of your mind, you would have done the same way. You walked up, shrugging off your jacket and tying your hair. Everyone knew this meant you were serious business. 

“Damn the stage IS too small” you said

“I can’t fit them all any way” Hoseok said

“Then we will have to reduce the number of dancers” you said quickly. 

“But they have been assigned to this project, we can't change that” Hoseok lowered his voice and said

“So let's not remove but make them walk in and out in turns. Appoint people for every formation, keep the first line intact, get the rest distributed” and hence you held a list of dancer and then both got to work and it was almost like rearranging the whole thing,thank god only the intro and tittle track had back up dancers so it took 3 hours to rearrange, the whole formations. 

“One, two, one, two, thre, tam, boom, boom, bam” Hoseok counted (a/n: the way he uses sounds instead of numbers) both your eyes studying every move of every dancer like hawks and pointing out if anyone made a wrong move. Everyone was at awe how the two of you spotted any wrong instantly together. You can’t say you weren’t a bit impressed. When done, you finally looked at Hoseok who walked up to your form sitting on the floor. That was when you remembered the agenda at the back of your mind. But now when you had the man in front of you, you didn’t know how to bring it up. It seemed like hours he just stood there looking at you as you looked at him, your mind running miles in minutes when you averted your gaze. 

“Here” he said and you found him handing you a (your favorite drink). “So?” he said.

Your heart almost lit up. “So what?” you said at the realization that may be he was hinting at what you were hoping he was

“Did you think? Or are you still stubborn?” He said

“What’s in it for you Hoseok?” you finally asked. “The same,” he said. “You want me to be your girlfriend at your brother’s wedding?” 

“NO. But I want you to be my girlfriend” he paused and you almost felt your heart slow down “To a very important event” he said.

“When is it? What is it about?” You asked. “It’s sunday. It’s a charity fundraising event, a talent show” he said

“Hoseok SUnday is in two days!” you said “What talent show? What are we 11?” You said I was almost frustrated. Trying your best to calm yourself down. “Y/n you make and learn choreographies in literally minutes, What are you even worried about?” he asked. “It’s an event I’ll have to find something to wear and dance and it's been ages since I last danced in public” you said. “You danced in the mnet show last year and you rocked it. You will rock this one too” he said “I have it all planned and I as a matter of fact know what you should wear” 

“That dress you wore to Zico’s last album party, you still have that right?” He asked. “The black one with zipped flair?” you asked as he nodded “Yes” you said. “Wear that then” he said. “Wow, it’s surprising you remember something like that when I don’t even remember seeing you in the party” Your tongue slipped. “Damn Y/n. Harsh much?” he asked “But Hoseok, Why me?” you asked. “Cause only you would be crazy enough to agree to something like this as you needed the same kind of help” he said

“Okay, so you know that for this you will have to fly to Jeju for 4 days and face my family and my now engaged ex as my boyfriend” you said. He nodded with determination. “Fine” you said “Deal” you extended your hand and Hoseok gladly shook it. 

“I’ll text Mr. Kim to tell him that we’ll need a studio,” he said, as you nodded. The two of you made your way to your car as he was still in the company parking place.

The two of you entered the building and walked into the studio that Mr. Kim had appointed you.

“So what song did you want to try?” You asked. "Do you have any songs in your mind?” he said. “We could do Sean Pauls’s Temperature, or we could go for BEAST’s Shock or Rainism no not Rainism '' you paused to look at his face and said “WHat? What’s with that face?”

“Y/n you are joining me as my dance partner plus girlfriend in a charity event not a street dance competition we used to fight for! We’re doing Senorita by Shawn and Camilla” he said “We need to make it believable enough”. “But Why?” you finally asked, you’ve never tried to understand Hoseok, you were to busy hating him, which even according to Jimin was baseless so you wanted to know this guy you dislike for a change, then you realized what he meant by believable “I AM NOT FEELING YOU UP OR LETTING ME FEEL ME UP!”.

“C’mon, we’ll make it decent and not do anything that makes you uncomfortable I promise. Okay, let's make the choreo and I will tell you more about all this” he said with a smile, which you hated, but something right now, made you feel warm in your gut. Seemed like a fair trade so you nodded and the two of you started brainstorming.

You listened to the song, closed your eyes and let it flow through you. This was the way that you always made choreographies, let the music follow through you and let the rhythm and beats carry you. Hoseok was glad that your eyes were closed, because if they weren’t you’d see the way his eyes were following every move you made.  His eyes traveled to the way you swerve your hips and the way you rolled your head that seemed oh so sexy to him. 

“I’ve got it” you said to your surprise you found Hoseok standing much more closer to you than he was from the last time your eyes were open. As if understanding your signal, he restarted the song and you started to do your moves. You stopped and said “Your turn” and he did, he did a few moves he had come up with in the back of his head while he was busy staring at you, which you of course did not know. And finally he stepped close to you, as if asking for permission and with a slight nod of your head you told him it was okay. You thought you would cringe or feel uncomfortable but as you moved his arms on your waist, you didn’t feel one bit of irritation. You’d never accept but you felt comfortable and more confident. The two of you finally fixed the choreography and filmed it, for practicing the next day. 

 The two of you walked away in your own cars fixed to meet the next day during lunch. 

“You both will what?” Jimin repeated and Jungkook choked on his latte. “Don’t make me repeat it, '' you warned him. “That’s epic, enemies to lovers Au '' he said, joining his hands and clapping lightly. “Shut up before I kill you with my fork, '' you said. “Then you should not have any problem if I watch you both practice” he said. “Huh” you scoffed “I was gonna call you anyway” You said and hunted him to follow you. “Can I join?” Jungkook asked. “Sure” you said and went to studio 3 where Hoseok had texted you he would be. 

You watched the video once before you started. You were done practicing a good 2 times when Jimin finally stopped you both. “Something looks strange,” Jimin said. “Sorry but you both look very stiff, as if you are both on guards” Jungkook said “Right Jaman si?” he said and Jimin nodded very used to Jk’s nicknames. 

“Lemme try” He said and he replaced Hoseok’s position. You have danced with Jimin on various occasions before you didn’t even flinch when he put his arms on your waist. The two of you did the same choreo again and you could feel it inside you what Jimin had meant. It was the way you fulfilled every step and melted in his arms that made the chemistry look so real. It was the trust and familiarity that you had with Jimin, you lacked it with Hoseok. Even Hoseok noticed that, but Jungkook noticed how Hoseok’s jaw war tight and his palms were in fists, not he wasn’t jealous of Jimin, but he was jealous of the chemistry that you had with him, even though Jimin was GAY. “It's the years that they’ve spent together,” he heard Jungkook say. Yeah you knew Jimin since day one that you started in the company, but Hoseok knew even before that, but you disliked him, hated him. When you and Jimin were done Jimin said “I know exactly what you two need” Jimin said smirking and he asked Hobi to stand behind you. “Y/n. Fall” he said

“Sorry?!” You asked. “Team building exercise” He said “It was your idea during first practices of TxT remember?” He said. “I- '' you started but Hoseok interrupted you. “What are you afraid of? I won't let you fall, I promise” He said. You looked at him and knew he meant it, so you turned and let your body loose and soon found the contact of Hoseok’s arms. “Again” Jimin said again and again. By the 3rd time your body was loose in his arms and his hands held you securely. 

“Now, go through the routine again, I’ll film it” he said.

“Where is Jk?” you suddenly realized the absence of the bunny boy and Jimin said “He left like 10 minutes ago”. “Really” Hoseok asked, “You didn’t notice either?” you asked and he shook his head, not making you chuckle. 

The next time that you practiced you saw a smirk on Jimin’s face that told you that it looked far better. You wont lie, your body pushed to him you felt a heat that radiates all throughout your body, when he looks you in the eye directly and pulls you to him you don’t just melt externally, you could also feel your insides melt in a puddle. And you knew that meant trouble but you couldn’t help it, you’ll just have to push the feeling away and deal with them later. 

----------------------------------------------------

“Stop pacing around like a mad woman” Jimin said through the screen, “How can I not?! Do I look okay?” You asked. “You look like a bomb?” he said. 

The problem is that you just looked up the event that Hoseok was about to take you to, from which it led you to the members of the club that were about to attend the event and Jung Hoseo’s name was there and this event is for elites. But, that is not the part that got you on the roll, on looking up Hoseok you realized he is actually the son of a chaebol family and you were supposedly ‘his girlfriend’. You looked around at your studio apartment, and your posters and figurines, nothing in it seemed to be fitting for the 'girlfriend’ of the son of a chaebol family. 

“Y/n! Earth to Y/n” Jimin’s sound was heard “You can do this okay. Remember you’re the boss bitch! Give these elites a piece of you” He added and as if on queue you saw a text come in from Hoseok saying that he has reached your apartment. Jimin wished you luck and you checked your reflection one last time and 3 deep breaths and walked out of the door. There's no turning back now, you have to do this. 

You expected Hoseok to be in his regular Chevrolet but standing in front of you was a BMW and a costly one at that. “Take a picture and stare at it on your way” Hoseok Said from the driver’s seat breaking your trance. 

“This is not your daily car? You drive a Chev” you said

“Yeah because that is all I can afford” he said with a warm smile, wait did you just call him warm “This is a gift from my father, for my birthday, we’re going to an elite event so he asked me to take this” Hoseok said

“Will you give me any pointers?” You asked

“Nothing much, it’s an event to raise money for rescued animals, we the participants of the talent show entertain them and the attenders put money, in the end the act with the most money wins a certificate and some vouchers” he said

“Will anybody from your family be there?” you asked

“My noona is out on a business trip so no, just old friends and dad’s business associates and some other people. Nothing you can’t handle with that pretty smile of yours'' he said side glancing towards you, it was the first time you looked at him, he was in all black, almost as if matching you, and you couldn’t move your eyes away from him, his slightly overgrown hair giving a different vibe to his whole get up. And you felt your cheeks heat up and a strange smirk adorned his lips as if he could feel his eyes on you. Which he could and you needed to stop gawking, but it was like your brain was malfunctioning. 

“We’re almost there” he announced, breaking your trance. And you looked away infront as you nodded.

He walked out of the car opening the gate on your side and that's when you took in his whole outfit that left you in more awe. He wore his goggles and offered you his hand that you took cause otherwise you would have certainly fainted. But, being in the showbiz you know perfectly well how to put the confident game face on even if you were turning into a puddle inside. You were used to walking down red-carpets and facing reporters but this was new, having someone beside you, someone who is supposedly “your boyfriend”. 

As soon as you enter the venue you see adults of various ages, glasses in  hand walking around chatting and mingling. Hoseok tightened his grip on your hand and whispered in your ear “Don’t worry thee events make me nervous as well” he said, which brought a smile to your face “By the way you look gorgeous tonight” he added, brining an instant blush on your cheeks he seemed pretty satisfied with your reaction. 

“Hobi!” a voice was heard as you saw a tall man with sharp features walking towards you and Hoseok.

“Namjoon-ah my man, long time no see!!” Hoseok left your hand to hug the man. The two men seem to be so glad to have met each other, “Y/n this is Kim Namjoon my best friend, and Namjoon-ah this is Y/n, my girlfriend” Hoseok said, you shook Namjoon’s hand, you couldn’t help it, a strange warmth spread inside you the moment the words girlfriend left his mouth, but you knew, this is all fake a facade. 

“So this is the mysterious girlfriend you wouldn’t even tell me about since the last three months” Namjoon said

“Mysterious?” You repeated. “He told his father to stop sending him to blind dates as he had a girlfriend but never even slipped up so much as your name to anybody, not even to me, his best friend. At one point his father thought he was just making excuses to not go to blind dates, but now I see” Namjoon said and Hoseok just kept laughing. So this is why he brought me, you thought to yourself. 

“Actually, I wasn;t yet comfortable to declare things out in the open, you know how it is right?” you said taking the blame to seem genuine. “Oh I can understand” he said with a wink “So I presume you must be performing too?” Namjoon asked, suddenly you found Hoseok beside you, his hand on his hip, what’s gotten into the man suddenly?

“Yes, we both will” you answered with the same smile. “I look forward to it, I can’t help but say that I am actually a big fan of yours” he said. “Oh really?” You asked, you didn’t know if it was your imagination but you felt Hoseok’s hand tighten around your waist. “I watched the whole show you were in last year,” Namjoon said. Before you could say something Hoseok cut you off and said “Of course you did, you flirt, I see my cousins there, I’ll see you later”. “Sure” Namjoon said, but not like Hoseok waited to listen to the reply, he was already dragging you in a different direction. What’s going on?

“If this isn’t my favorite cousin!” Hoseok said and a boy a few years younger than you guys turned around his face instantly lighting up. “Hyung!” he said and came up and hugged Hoseok.

“You’re Yunho, right?” you said, recognising the boy. “Yes, It’s so nice to see you here ma’am are you-? Wait, hyung you-” he stopped looking at the two of you. “This is my girlfriend, but how do you know each other?” Hoseok asked looking at you, “I did a choreography for their group, a year ago” you said, and hoseok seemed to remember and he nodded. “That time I wasn’t aware he is from the chaebol circle” you added, “I wouldn’t have if not for Hobi hyung” Yunho said “He was the first in the family to deflect from the business career without being disowned” he added laughing, making you laugh too. “Hoseok is pretty brave isn’t he?” you said. “All thanks to my Noona who managed Dad” hoseok said, his cheeks were dusted pink, you found it cute. Soon it was time for the performances to start and you and Hoseok moved to the back stage “We’re doing well so far” Hoseok said. “You’re good at faking it” the comment left your mouth unchecked, the moment the words left your mouth you turned around falling your back at him. You missed the hurt that passed his face and the determination that took over. “Let's go, it’s almost our turn,” he said. 

So, here you were, standing face to face with Hoseok as the lights were off, the spotlights switched on, you looked at the different shadows that formed on Hoseok’s face. The man almost looked alluring, the cheers brought you back as he nodded and you nodded back and the music started and you started moving to it. 

(The Choreo, ignore the back up dancers, I had the first couple dance in mind)

You were initially a bit nervous, but the moment you walked off and Hoseok started moving to his solo part, you felt a warmth inside a strange confidence that you could not explain. Once in his arms you forgot the audience, even the claps and occasional “Wooohooo!” by friends and cousins, didn’t reach your ear. All that mattered was you and him. The whole lot of people broke into cheers the moment you and Hoseok hit the ending pose. The two of you broke into an instant smile, you just looked at him and knew this was the realest thing you saw today. The moment went off the stage he pulled you in a hug, breaths mangled, adrenaline still pumping, you wrapped your arms around his torso as you breathed in his scent, he smelt of a manly musk and costly perfume, but it was almost euphoric to you. The two of you in your own world, lost in each other, until you heard a throat clearing. And the two of you were ripped back to reality and you almost snatched yourself from his arms. You saw Yunho standing “I was sure I'd win this and treat my members, but hyung and Ma’am seem to beat me to it”. “You haven’t even performed yet, don’t say that. And there were so many more beautiful performances' ' You said and “You’ll at least get 2nd place though” Hoseok said. “Hoseok '' you scolded, but he just winked at you, making your heart run miles in a second. As Yunho walked off, a thought lingered at the back of your mind, Hoseok walked off to get his coat and your flair, this is all fake. 

If Hoseok noticed the ups and downs of your mood, he didn’t say anything, or maybe he didn’t know if he should. This was the closest you two have been,  this is the longest the two of you have passed without fighting. Hoseok stared at you as you chatted away with Mrs. Yang, one of the major shareholder’s wives of his father's company, smiled to himself. He saw how easily you mixed up with them, smiled and spoke to everyone, and he felt a pang in his chest. Then why did you never smile at him? Did you really hate him that bad you didn’t even give him the time of a daylight towards him. His attention was drawn away from his mind when he heard you call him. “The voting has started” you say as you slip your arm in his. “Where do these funds go?” you asked. “You know the rescued dog and cat shelter in Gangnam-Do?” he told you as you nodded “That one, I like that place, that is where I adopted Mickey from” he said smiling. “You have a cat?” You asked, “No, Mickey is my dog” he said and swept out his phone and showed you the picture of an adorable fur baby and you cooed, Hoseok’s face broke into a huge smile seeing your reaction. Soon the voting was over and it was time to announce the top 3 earning performances. 

“So tonight the 3rd most earning act was… Jung Yunho, who showed us an out-standing Hiphop dance performance”  the hostess said and the rest of you cheered as the boy went up on stage bowing to everyone. You all cheered, he was handed his trophy and certificate. “Don’t worry the 1st place is ours” you heard Hoseok say and you stared in awe at his prudence as he passed you a wink, sending your stomach into a whirl. 

“The performance that won the 2nd most earning is…. Yang Jeongin and his beautiful voice” The hostess said.

“Is that Mrs. Yang’s son?” you asked. “I guess so, looking at her expression. I had no idea really” He said “It’s our turn” he said and took your hand in his. 

“So now the winners. The performance that won first place with the maximum earnings is……they were really good….. It's Jung Hoseok and Y/n L/n” she said and you hid your face in Hoseok’s coat sleeve for a moment. As he pulled you with him towards the stage, “be careful” he said as he held your hand in his, as you walked on stage. He signaled you to accept the trophy and you took it and bowed to the hostess and the audience and walked to Hoseok and he did the most unexpected thing. You felt something soft on your cheeks and the warmth went away as soon as it came but it left your cheeks ablaze. He kissed your cheek. 

----------------------------------------------------

“He what?” Jimin said, almost dropping his tteot from his mouth. 

“Did the situation call for it?” Jungkook asks, yes he is attached to his boy friend and is a package deal at this point. Besides who denies tea, those two when you are serving it hot the very next day. “What?” you asked in frustration as you stuffed another handful of fries in your mouth. 

“What happened then?” Jimin asked and you shrugged and said “we had dinner there and left. Neither of us spoke in the car ride back. When he reached here he just asked me to take the bag” 

“The bag?”Jungkook asked, “Yeah it had the trophy and the gifts and stuff.” You told him to signal towards the paper bag that is still on your dresser “Should I give it to him?” you asked. “Y/n! No!” Jimin scolded “he gave it to you, don’t return it. But-” he stopped mid-sentence as the two of you looked at him with questioning eyes and he said “If things were going good, why did he go silent? Did he text you later?” 

“Yes, this morning he thanked me for last night” You informed him by making air quotes on ‘Last Night’. “What did you say?” he asked, “Thank you, I had fun” you shrugged and saw him nodding. 

“Let’s see how he is tomorrow,” Jimin declared. Suddenly, Jungkook choked on his food and said “Y/n, Jimin-ssi!” he said and your eyes went wide in shock. Shit you didn’t think of this part. 

“Hoseok!” you said through the phone the moment he picked up. “Y/n? Is everything okay?” He asked audible concerned. “Did you check the links I sent you?” You asked. “Yeah. I saw them in the morning already. My sister sent me” he said. “And?” You ask, “What Else? Nothing, she believes and is happy for the most part, just sad that she missed the chance to meet you. WHy are you panicked?” He asked. To this even Jimin raised a brow “How come you're not?” You asked him. “They are just photos Y/n, besides isn’t it better, you won’t even have to explain much, it’ll look much more believable” He said. “I think he has a point” Jungkook said, “Is that Jungkookie?” Hoseok asked and you said “Yes, Okay bye!” you hung up on the poor boy. 

Jimin burst out laughing, “What’s so funny?” you asked,”For starters that Kookie can’t shut up for shit and also because Hyung still likes you” Jimin said “But yes, Imagine the expression on Kai’s face when he sees this” he says. “What do you mean still likes me? Are you crazy?” you say lying down with a pillow to your face. 

The next few days were a blur,work was simply too busy, You had to prepare for a comeback and do evaluation for a whole trainee group and even before you realized it was friday. You had way too much workload and barely met up with Jimin or Jungkook, you avoided any question about the articles at any cost. When you were leaving, then you realized that you barely had 6 days and needed to talk to Hoseok, you didn’t even see much of him this week, the pressure was just too much. As if on cue you found Hoseok walking out to the parking lot. “Y/n ssi” he said. “Hoseok” You acknowledged. “Lets meet up for coffee tomorrow, to discuss everything” he suggested. You nodded and said “I send you the address and time, cool?”. “Cool” he said.

Thus, you entered the cafe you had told him, and found him waiting for you already. “Took you long enough, so much for not liking to wait” he said and you squint your eyes at him but said nothing and sat down. “So, First things first, I got you tickets to the same flight as me, i’ll send you the details” you said. “That’s smart of you” he said. “So tell me about your family, it’s so strange we’ve work together for ages and I didn’t even know you had a brother” he said. A waitress came to the two of you and placed an Iced Americano and a Caramel Macchiato.

“I ordered already, '' he said. “How did you know I drink Americano?” You asked making an offended face “Do you?” He teased me. “I could,” You say. And grabbed the caramel macchiato and took a sip, only to find Hoseok smiled at your antics. You didn’t know but he felt so good to be sitting here with you. This is probably the best he’s felt this whole week. 

“Tell me about your family, stuff that I need to know, people I need to stay away from?” He said and you started trying to give him a crash course of your family and parents, friends and cousins.

You remember receiving a call from your brother Jinyoung and mother both very excited, “He seems quite well of Y/n, I hope he treats you well” Jinyoung said. “Mn, he does” you said. “Why didn’t you tell us before though?” You mom nagged. “Mom! This news has a huge impact on our cases, I can’t go around blabbering stuff” you said as she hummed in understanding, well she didn’t need to know that only idols have dating bans and the staff including the choreographers have no such thing. 

Before you knew it, it was already Wednesday, thank god the work pressure had died down as the main comeback preparations were over and you could go for vacation at peace.

“Won’t they find it strange for us to go for a vacation at the same time?” You told Jimin, as he said “The company doesn’t give a fuck why do you care so much for others?” he asked as he looked through your closet, telling you which dress to wear for which occasion. 

“One for the bachelorette, one for the Pre-wedding brunch, and one for the reception. The marriage?” he asked looking at you, the guy literally shifted an appointment to help you sort your fashion needs. “The wedding will be done in hanboks, but, I got mine customized” You said “the fabric had to be same so I got that here and asked Clara to do it for me” you added and got up to retrieve the package you picked up yesterday from her boutique, “So that is why you asked me for her number?” He said. And you showed him the dress, “You do know this is a hanfu and not a hanbok right?” Jimis said and you looked at him sternly, “Of course” you said “As long as the fabric is the same they are fine with it” you shrugged.

----------------------------------------------------

OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING! You cursed yourself, it's still 15 minutes until your meeting time so, Hoseok is not here yet and your mind is panicking. WHAT IF THEY FIND OUT, WHAT IF HE MESSED SOMETHING UP?! WHAT IF YOUR GRANDMA FINDS OUT? HOW COULD YOU THINK OF THIS? FOOLING YOUR FAMILY?! WHAT IF- “What are you blabbering about like a crazy lady?” a voice interrupted your thoughts. “Was I thinking out loud?” you asked. You noticed Hook wasn’t in his hip hop attire, it was so different from the tux you had previously seen him in, in a simple jeans and t-shirt, he looked good. Even that ridiculous fanny pack looked good with the outfit.

“If you’re done staring, then can we go” he said with a smirk and you simply stood up and walked away with your suitcase.

“Umm.. Y/n?” He called you and you hummed in response “I thought we were going for 4 days. Why is your bag THAT big?” He asked. “I have dresses, matching shoes and back ups. The woman’s gotta be ready” you said. 

----------------------------------------------------

Inside the Flight

“So you remember all the cautions right?” You said. “Yes, beware of Helmoni, she is sharper than she seems. Do not indulge too much with your cousins, especially Seokjin, and if I see Kai approaching me without you around I must find you. But why?” He asked. “Just Because.” you said, gaining a look of disapproval from his face and you contemplated before you opened your mouth again “he cheated on me” you said fumbling with your fingers ``He cheated on me with Ashley a person who hurt me alot since I was a child and he was aware of that. What’s worse is. Nobody knows” you said and took a breath and before he could question you restarted “Nobody knows he cheated, they just know that he broke up with me and later started dating Ashley, after i left for Seoul. But, he was already seeing her in secret” Heseok held your hand in his. “Why?” He asked. “Cause he is my brother’s best friend, and I didn’t want to ruin that, no matter what he is a great friend to Jinyoung.” You said and gave a sad smile, You see Hoseok open his mouth and close it. You took the lead to change the topic “What should we call each other though?” You wondered and an Idea sparked in Hoseok’s mind as he said “Jagiya '' and smile “Basic” you mumbled. “What do I call you? Oppa?” you said tilting your head and instantly cringed “Can I-'' you hesitated, “Do your friends call you Hobi from your rapper name J-hope?” surprise struck over his face as he realized that you knew. “I saw you recording once when I went for a screening of a group’s song 2 years back, I guess. The song I heard was later released in J-hope’s sound cloud” you said, outing how you knew he was the famous anonymous soundcloud rapper J-Hope. “Wah Y/n Holmes'' he teased, “So can I call you Hobi too?” you asked and he nodded. You sigh when it was decided, “I’m not forgetting something, am I?” You ask. “Why are you so tense, is it the first time Y/nie is taking a boyfriend home, to her family?” He asked. “No, it is the first time I’m doing this whole fake thing” you said, you missed the flow of pain that passed Hoseok’s face as he took back your hand in his and said “You. Are. Not. Alone. It’s you and me. Us. We’re in this together, and nothing will go wrong as wrong as you’re happy”  

Soon the flight was about to land and as soon as you left the flight the salty sea breeze hit you nose, refreshing your whole body. You felt a hand slip into yours and the words echoed in your mind, “You are not alone”.

You saw your brother waiting as you exited the gate, with Hoseok behind you pushing the trolley, you ran up to him shouting “Oppa!!”. “Little one!” he exclaimed hugging you, the two of you parted as he said “You must be the boyfriend?” Hoseok extended his hand and the two shook it. “Oppa this is Jung Hoseok, and Hobi this is Park Jinyoung, my brother, '' you said. Hoseok’s mind went into a short circuit for a few moments before he pushed it away and tried to focus. The thing is the way his nickname rolled off your tongue made him feel, well, warm. The three of you set off in Jinyoung’s hired convertible. “Did you get your dress ready?” he asked. “Of course! I did, I don’t wanna be beheaded by your bridezilla!” you joked. “Is she scary?” Hoseok asked. 

“Yes quite” Jinyoung said without hesitation and you smacked his arm from your passenger’s seat. “She’s good, just hype about the wedding” you said. “Oh I know, my sister was a monster in her pre-marital moments, '' he said from the back seat, making all of you laugh. Upon reaching the hotel your brother walked off as you waited for Hoseok to get off. You take a deep breath in and out “This is it '' you said. He took your hand in his which strangely helped in calming down your nerves and you two entered, you were immediately engulfed by your mother followed by your Grandmother. “Aigo! You naughty girl, couldn’t come a day earlier for your own brother’s wedding” you Grandma chided. “It was so difficult to get so many days off, we almost didn’t get allowed. '' You said as the rest remembered you weren’t alone and you went and stood beside Hoseok who deeply introduced himself. You could already see stars in your mother’s and auntys’ eyes, even though your Helmoni (Grandma) looked a bit skeptical. “Great to meet you son” Your father said, engulfing his hand and shaking it. “Better to know you exist, the way Y/n Noona was hiding you” you heard Jisung say and instantly go “Aaaaaaaaaah” you turn to see Seokjin holding his ear and scolding him. “Jinnie Oppa!” you said and rushed to hug him. 

“Okay! Now that all are here, Hoseok can room with Seokjin, let's go” Y/n’s father said. 

Alarms went wild, in Y/n’s head, “Dad why?” she said, “You know the rules, sweety” he said. “Aww it’s okay Y/nie our rooms are just beside each other, he can just sneak in and out” Seokjin said with a straight face and a wink. 

“Don’t worry Y/n, I can handle myself. I’m smarter than you give me credit for” He said with a cute smile. And you shook your head praying that Seokjin won’t catch on. You lay alone on your bed and thought, you never saw either of them, maybe they had arrived earlier, you were glad you didn’t have to share the room, or you would have gone crazy from stress. You hope Hoseok was fine and didn’t blow off your cover, that Seokjin didn’t discover your truth. Your mind slipped back to you the occurrences, you lost count of the times you have used the words like cute and sweet and Hoseok in the same line, who would have thought? But, what are these acts of his, an act? Because you saved him from his Father’s blind dates, could be. Must be, what else? Stupid Y/n you thought that Jung Hoseok could possibly have feelings for you? Dumb girl. You closed your eyes and his smile and eyes were all you could see. You cursed under your breath and tried to catch some sleep.  

The next morning you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rushed up to get ready for wor- Oh, you’re on a holiday. But, you’re up, so you decided to freshen up and get ready anyway, you were about to dry your hair when you heard a knock, you opened the door to reveal Hoseok in a super loose Shirt and shorts. You looked him up and down, his toned legs looked so strong, have they always been this muscular? Or- “Ahem? Missed me that much?” he asked in a cocky tone as you moved aside to close the door. “So?” you asked, “What?” He asked. “Seokjin Oppa, did he suspect?” You asked. “NO Y/n! He is actually pretty chill, I like him and I think he's funny” He said and you shook your head at the thought of those two vibing over dad jokes. You went on to dry your hair and fix your bag. You were too busy to notice Hoseok’s eyes actually being on you instead of his phone, following your every move and reverting back to the screen the moment you so much as decided to look his way. When you were done with your shorts and t-shirt, you would be spending a day at the beach followed by going to the hotel pub that the couple had booked for the cousins and friends, yes their idea of “Enjoying a bachelorette” was to have it together. The two of you left the room and found Seokjin leaving his room, smiling at the two of you, “ready for some action today lover boy? I mean on the beach” he said and started laughing his signature laugh that was more funny than whatever the joke was. “Oh I am if you are bro” Hoseok said, in a tone that made you laugh more. The three of you entered the lift that already contained a few of your friends from your hometown as you greeted and introduced them. Then the lift stopped at a floor and you suddenly felt like the air was pulled away from you. You knew sooner or later this moment would come but you didn’t expect it to happen right in the morning. Thanks to your friend Taehyung who greeted and said “Hey! Kai hyung, Ashley Noona'' That Hoseok understood why you went so stiff, he slid his palm into yours and gave a squeeze, you knew the moment they entered the lift that everyone was walking on eggshells around you and you hated it. You hated that people thought you’d still be weak even after all these years, whenHoseok’s hand slipped into yours and he squeezed it it oddly gave you strength, a strength to face all of them at once and so you did it “Hey Kai, Ashley, Long time” you said with the pleasantest smile you can muster. Their faces though were priceless as neither were expecting it, Hoseok felt proud as Kai came up with a pitiful “Hi Y/n”. While Ashley was still silent. 

All of you walked out to the beach, it was now that Hoseok realized that almost the whale hotel was booked by your family and their guests. “Have you guys booked the whole Hotel?” he asked in surprise. “It has guests from both families, but not the whole, the guests only have very close friends and relatives” you said, the part of the beach that the hotel had set had umbrellas and blankets placed in clusters and had net set up. “Okay Folks, we have 2 games setup, Dodgeball and foot volleyball. We will start after breakfast " the maid of Honour Yuna said, as all of you cheered, you felt Hoseok’s hand on your back as he said “Wanna get a seat there babe?” you couldn;t help but feel warm blood on your cheeks as you nodded and the two of you sat down, it had a nice picnic vibe to it, gazing at the sea with sandwiches. “So sis-in-law won't you introduce us” Suyeon the bridezilla and Yuna came and took a seat under the same umbrella as Seokjin joined too, you looked around to find Jinyoung under a close by umbrella with Kai and Ashley as, Taehyung came to join you guys too, their were in total of about 20 people so it wasn’t really a crowd anyway. “This is Suyeon unnnie, Yuna and my childhood friend Taehyung, Ad guys this is my boyfriend Jung Hoseok'' you said, Hoseok fell a wave of warmth run all over his body as the words flowed through him ‘my boyfriend’ the words rung in his mind. Soon everyone got engrossed into various topics as Taehyung, Yuna and Y/n teased Suyeon calling her “Bridezilla” . It was fun to watch Y/n being so free, as he has only ever seen her with Jimin.  

Soon it was sports time and it was decided to be played in a Girls vs boys, however there were 19 people, 9 girls and 10 boys so Seokjin being the man he opted to be the referee due to his ‘age’. 

The dodgeball was intense, the net was opened for this one, each team throwing the ball in a way to take out as many opponent players. As expected Ashley was the first to hit a ball that was surprisingly thrown by Hoseok, who discreetly winked at you, almost dedicating the throw to you. You heard Ashley grumbling to which Kai said something along the lines ‘it’s just a game Jagi’. As soon as the ball was in your hand you looked around finding one of Suyeon’s cousin closest to the other side and you took a throw hitting him in the gut. Jinyoung and Suyeon themselves followed not long after, who are now watching the game while almost snuggling. You sometimes look at them and wonder if that is what love is, everlasting, they’ve been together since highschool and are about to get married, you hoped you could find someone who would hold you as strong as your brother and his soon to be wife held each other and sent up a prayer for their forever well being. 

45 mins more and the only ones left inside were Kai, Taehyung and Hoseok and You and Yuna. A quick ball from Yuna and Taehyung was out. A few throws back and forth and Yuna was out by Kai, shit. You could see him looking at you with predatory eyes but you would never let that happen, your dancing skills have come in handy so far so as soon as he threw the ball you flipped to the other way. The ball now in your hand you slit it on Kai, he knew you’d target him so he was ready, but you were smarter than his cheating ass, you took a double take, you acted to throw the ball for him to run at a different direction only to throw the ball the next time directly where the sun doesn’t shine. Your team minus Ashley cheered as he sat on the ground in pain. Now its you vs Hoseok as the other wooed, the two of you never leaving eye contact, for a moment Hoseok stood straight with the ball and broke eye contact to look at the ground, but then he again looked into your eyes and shot for you foot, you jumped an dodged and caught the ball as you hit him on his knee taking a win for your team. As the girls rushed to hug you as if you had just won an olympic gold for the country. THe maid on honor announced a break as you and Hoseok sat down under the previous umbrella with Yuna and Seokjin, laughing at how certain players fell or screeched and how Seokjin had the good parts recorded. “I won’t lie, for a minute I thought Loverboy was about to drop the ball at Y/n’s feet” Seokjin laughed “I would never, I know she’d be angry if I did that” Hoseok said. “Yeah cause we wont square, you said jabbing him. 

You felt nice, “I’ll go click some pictures you said as you grabbed your phone and walked towards the water leaving you slippers, Hoseok following behind you. You’ve always known that Hoseok is clingy to the people he loved so you assumed that in order to show people that she loved you he was being clingy to you too not that you were minding, but the fact that this was all pretense was just stuck like a thorn in your throat, but you decided not to think of that, to just be in the moment and thus, undid an a few of the top buttons on the loose [color of your choice] button up that you were wearing, and stood steady and before your finger could press the capture button you felt Hoseok’s arms around your waist “Keep going” He said and sniffed your hair, ‘Keep going’ you felt like your legs were jelly. But you managed to take a few good shots, you decided to take a few later before sun set and were about to tell Hoseok to go back when you heard footsteps approaching you both. You looked to see none other than the Kai himself. “Hey Y/n” he said and you straightened up, but Hoseok’s arms were still firmly held around your waist, “Hi Kai” you said. “This is-” you were interrupted by HOseok who slid off one hand to offer Kai and said “Jung Hoseok, the boyfriend” Kai shook it and the hand came back on your waist. “It’s been such a long time,” he said, “How are you doing?”. “Work is busy but I am doing well”. “I heard you two became public recently, how's that coming around” he asked, “That is great actually, now I can do this without being afraid that our company would take care of it” Hoseok said and all you could do was nod and blush. “How are things with you and Ashley?” You asked, breaking the silence, Kai was a bit taken aback, did he still think you would avoid this question, “We’re.. Engaged now, so good I hope” he said and before anyone could say something else you heard Jin say “Children it's time for Foot volleyball” and everyone cheered. 

This game was more intense than the previous one and nobody wanted to lose. Jin being the point keeper shouted the point at every point gains and services. The game point was decided to be 30, which was soon increased to 40 as the girls had reached 20 when the boys were at 17. It was a game of hustle as many of the players fell face first on the sand and Jin had a Gala time recording the whole thing on his film camera, that was standing on a tripod at a distance that filmed the both sides. The best was when a ball thrown by Yuna face planted on Kai’s and half of you doubled in laughter as Suyeon shouted “On your face, literally”. You found Hoseok eyeing you from across the net and you stuck out a tongue at him making him chuckle that he almost didn't notice the ball coming right at him but he caught it at the last moment thank god for his reflexes. It was ultimately declared a tie when all the players dropped on the floor out of fatigue and hotel workers came out with the lunches. You haven’t had this much fun in ages, you told hHoseok to go get a place as you went off to use the rest room near by. 

“You know I was so glad that Y/n finally found someone you’ve been so lonely” Yuna said to someone whom Hoseok assumed to be her and Suyeon’s cousin. On hearing this “Does not being in a relationship make one lonely?” Hoseok asked with a firm smile. “No, but she surely wasn’t happy, this is the happiest I have seen her in ages” Yuna said smiling fondly at your retreating form. He planned on keeping that smile right there anyhow. Once you came back the they started eating, it was fun to laugh at the various incidents that just happened and just be at ease, this time even Jinyoung squeezed into the net something about missing his sweet sister, but you knew why he was there and it happened. 

“He face planted?” Hoseok said in shock. “Yes directly from the swing as Taehyung he remembers he was there too, thank god those were her milk teeth” Jinyoung said and Hoseok said “I think Y/n would look good even with a chipped tooth” Hoseok said. “You say that now, but it you’d have seen her bawl back then” Taehyung said as You cut him off saying “I swear I will murder you!” as hoseok hugged and held you back. All of you doubling up in laughter. “Y/n? Won’t you sing for the reception?” Taehyung suddenly asked. “What? Tae no. You know I don’t sing anymore” you said. “But, it’s my wedding, at least this time you should” Jinyoung requested, “I’ll see” you said and stood up to walk to the shore “I’ll get some nice pictures” you said and walked off, again Hoseok behind you. 

Strangely, this time he doesn’t speak may be cause he understood that you did not want to either. So he just let you silently click photos, and the two of you sat down in the soothing sunlight. As if testing the waters Hoseok put a comforting hand on your shoulder and then layed your head on his shoulder. “You don’t need to tell me shit until you feel comforfortable with it, but just know that I am here and I mean it” you inched a bit closer to him at that. Unknown to the two of you, a few pair of eyes awed at the cuteness of the two of you. It was fixed that everyone would meet at the Hotel pub at 9 so you all went to your rooms. You found the dress Jimin had packed for THIS exact purpose, it was a bit short for your liking, and you did have a back up dress for it, but you left a bit risky, so you slipped on the dress and did some light make up and tied your hair in a ponytail. 

You left the room and went and knocked on Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s door, Seokjin openned and wolf called only for Hoseok to glace and stay stunned for a few minutes, well you wouldn’t lie you did the same. He looked ravishing in that dress shirt that he left unbuttoned a bit. “If you two are done oggling each other can we go? Or should I leave the room?”Jin said pulling you two back to real life. As you left for the lift to be soon joined by Jin and Hoseok. “I really wanna get drunk on some good booze” Jin said, “We all love a good booze” you agreed only to see Hoseok nodding his head too, you hope he didn’t drink too much this man is very light in sense for alcohol tolerence. WHen you reached the area it was a small and cozy one and seemed nice, you and Hoseok made ways to the bar and ordered some shots, which were mostly consumed my you. Yuna and some other friends occasionally came up to talk to you two, but the two of you in general stood and judged the others, you felt light, like you didn’t need to put up a front and you were getting comfortable. Well, you were also getting tipsy or may be were a bit past that who cared and may be that is why when one of your favourie songs came up you rushed to the dance step, Hoseok in tow. The two of you moved to the beat, you can’t deny you didn’t feel a bit sensual and hance when you turned around and grinded you ass on Hoseoks core, you liked the groan that came out of his mouth. The two of you were lost in your own world and nothing mattered. All that you knew was this man attached to you, with his hands on your hips, who is moving his body as it in response to yours. The two of you were suddenly broken apart when you heard H.O.T’s Candy play and Jinyoung called you out “Sister!!! THIS IS OUR JAM!!” the man was clearly drunk and hence his enthuasism was over the ceiling. The people made a way in the middle as you ran to join Jinyoung. Hitting step by step, this was one song that you and you brother agreed on being the best. Having seen it over 50,000 times and danced to it at some point it became a ritual to dance to it together no matter where it played. 

On the side lines, Kai smiled looking at his best friend so happy, and you too, a fond memory came to his mind of the time when you all were around 15 and this song started playing in a mall and you two had started dancing then and there. However Ashley didn’t like this attention you were getting. As the song came to and end you and Jinyoung came to the ending position even drunk the either of you never missed a single beat and somehow that turned Hoseok more on and made him more attracted to you. You returned to him with a big smile in face. You, Yuna and Suyeon soon disappeared only to return an hour later drunker than ever, all gigly, Hoseok was swaying too he wouldn’t lie. It was way past midnight and people had started going, only a few cousins and friends were left so Hoseok thought it was best to take you to your room. He supported you and took you too your room his plan was to get you to bed then go back to get Jin hyung as he had the key card. But, you shut the door behind you two and grabbed his collar and shook it hard and said “YOU! What do you think you’re doing?! Don’t!” You said pouting. Hoseok went into instant panic to think he might have done something wrong and so he asked “What Y/n? What did I do?” 

“You’re giving me false hope. What are we? Are we all, ALL PRETEND?” You asked. Is that what you thought? Is that why there always was a hesitance in your eyes? Because the moment Hoseok landed on Jeju he had decided he won’t pretend or hold back, he would show you how you feel. “I wish you knew how much I really want you, Y/n” he said holding your waist and pulling you closer. “Do you? Then why don’t you kiss me? Show me you want me?” you said. “Because you are drunk” Hoseok said simply “But, I am sober enough to make clear decisions Hobi” you said, again with that nickname. One on his hands left the warmth of your waist and landed on your neck and pulledyou painfully close to him, your both alcoholic breath mingling, you couldn’t bare it you tightened your hold on his collar and pulled him closer crashin your lips to his, and at that moment every romance novel you’ve ever read came alive. You knew what the writers meant when they said ‘Fire works’. You salivas mixing up as you tried to pull him closer and so did he, his hands travel down lower and lower and land on your butt and he used to bring you closer and grind into you, the alcohol was taking over and he knew he’d lose control and you had already dropped any control you had, and neither of you could help that thought. Too busy to taste each other, try to memorise this feeling, suddenly a knocked forced the two of you apart. You found Taehyung and Kai some how holding up Jin. “Oh it’s Y/n’s door? SOrry then the next one must be Jin hyung’s” Taehyung said. “I-I should go help them” Hoseok said before he left and like that you somehow locked the door and went to sleep, too tired to realise what had happened. 

You woke up the next morning to a knock, “one minute” you called out, you woke up to being a complete mess. “I’ll need a mkinute” you said not waiting to listen for the reply you quickly take of yesterday’s dress and wear a random t-shirt and shorts you found lying and picked up a make up wipe to wipe of the make up that was now smudged. You opened the door to see Hoseok with a plate of soup and medicine. You let him in and went inside the bathroom again, when yesterday’s occurrences rushed to your mind. You wanted to slap yourself, Shit! You kissed him and he rushed out. “Y/n? Are you okay in there?” Hoseok finally asked. “Um.. Yes. No” you said. “I hope you remember we have lunch with your family in like a few hours” he said. Plan change you wanted to hit you head on the fucking sink. “Come out Y/n” he said again. And you did, “Come here and sit” he motion to the chair in front of him and said “Drink this and take this medicine so that the headache won’t be there by lunch time.” He said. “What about you?” you asde. “I wasn’t that drunk just the meds were enough,” he said with a dimpled smiled. And you did, you did a bit of small talk, neither of you bringing up yesterday’s night. Soon, Hoseok left to let you change and you decided on a loose t-shirt and some jeans, Hoseok was in some Jeans shorts and buttoned-down hawaiian shirt, somehow looking gorgeous in even that. “Lets go babe” he said, you looked around to see that the whole corridor was empty, gosh your mind is a mess, you wish you had Jimin with you to help to sort it out. With 100 thoughts running through your mind, you never realised when you reached the dining space. Hey, Hoseok said squeezing your interlaced hand, “I’m here okay. Just for you” he told, making you smile. You both took seats beside your grandma, this was a huge table, which was soon joined by Seokjin, his mum, your parents, your brother, an uncle, Taehyung and Kai and Ashley. It was all merry chatter until one of your aunts threw a question “So Y/n, how did you and Hoseok meet?” 

“Us? Long time. Like when I went to Seoul I joined this dance group, Hoseok and his group were our rivals” You said, saying the truth. “Oh, so was it love at first sight or fight, something like that?” Ashley asked cocking her head. “No, not for for her” Hoseok said “huh?” Taehyung seemed confused. “She hated me since day one, while I just wanted to make a friend but she somehow hated my guts” he said “That was because you were a showoff” you retorted. “I was trying to impress you, I’ve told you that” Hoseok said “Anyways” he continued “We got scouted by the same studio and then got promoted to the entertainment, and we were fullon rivals” he said dramatically. “Insults, jabs and went in daily, until one day I’ve ad enough, so I went up to here and told her, how I wanted us to stop fighting and how much I needed her” he said changing his glance to you, “She did make me work for it, but we did get there. I made her believe that I would never let her be lonely or face challenges alone. That I wanted us to do that together” He said as you family were all awing and cooing. 

You brain told you it was just a fabricated story but something about the look on Hoseok’s eye told your heart otherwise, and so did the warm hand that wrapped yours from under the table. Soon the food was served and you all got engrossed in chatter. Helmoni was telling Hoseok how Jinyoung and I used to fight for chocolates and she always had to bring extra and everyone laughed. She also said that next time onwards when she sends her Kimchi she’ll send some extra for Hoseok, for Helmoni’s books that meant welcome to the family. Before the desserts were served you excused yourself to go to the washroom, amidst all the chatter nobody watched Ashley of her seat as well. You were on your way back when you heard “Oh little Y/n lookat you having a perfect love story after being thrown away by Taehyungie” she said caressing the engagement ring on her finger. “Congratulations Ashley” you said straight. “Really? Thanks. Must hurt a bit, this could have been you, oops.” she said “But I don’t care, you can have Taehyung, its better for you” you said. “Oh really look at you being high acting ass strong when you can’t even sing after what I, no, WE did to you” she said. “Y/nie! Y/nie, here you are” you saw you Helmoni come your way. “What are you doing here, leaving your man alone, the poor guy looks like a lost puppy” She said. The thought of Hoseok looking like a lost puppy really lifted your mood leaving Ashley’s words at the back of your mind. Your parents and brother were all so happy to finally see you with happy, and specially with how much Hoseok cared about you. 

The two of you returned to your room and sat down. “What happened” Hoseok asked, instantly. “What?” you asked. “You and Helmoni came back, followed by Ashley. What did she say?” He asked, taking your hand in his. That look on his face he literally looked like a lost puppy almost begging you to open up, to trust him. “She.” you started and took a huge breath “She used to be my best friend since kindergarten, sang and danced together. Kai was my brother’s best friend and when in around middle school he started to hang out with me more she got jealous and started  bullying me to the point of humiliating me in school in subtle ways that nobody could point it to her. When Kai and I got together she stopped so much as to lurk around me and I thought she gave up. Me and Kai were together for almost 3 years, until, I heard Taehyung one day that he saw Kai with some other girl. At that I was preparing for auditions and different entertainment companies, Making dance and singing clips” you pause taking a breath and Hoseok pulled you closer encasing you with his arm protectively. “I found out then that Taehyung was helping Ashley use my voice to make her clips and also various texts that made it clear that they were sleeping together. I wanted to tell my brother, but I know he’d blame himself for letting Kai get close to me when it wasn’t his fault, so I never told him. I moved to Seoul and he told people we broke up, I couldn’t take it. Then he and ashley started dating openly after a few months. I decided to never sing again, that is what she actually jabbed me about today” You completed, Hoseok wanted to just go and puch that smug face of Kai but he held it in. You laid your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. 

“I am sorry you had to go through that, all alone” he said

“It’s okay, but you tell me now that I told you, Why did you take me to that party?” you asked. “Other than the fact that I wanted it to be you, it was for my dad, he says we should either marry for love or business. Like marriage is very important, he actually has cancer and seeing me single makes him feel afraid that I’ll stay alone, so he forced me on blind dates. But I could never realy like that, not when all I could think of was how I wanted each of them to be you. So I had to get you, but seemes like fate had a different idea” He said and you laughed. “Y/n, you need to know that nothing I said so far was fake, to your family or to you. I what I told to your parents, I meant every word, we, us, this is real” He said. “We are as real as the moons, the sun and the freaking stars. ANd Y/n I love you so much” he said looking straight into your eyes, your brain had stopped functioning, its true, all true, “kiss me” 

(Smut alert.. You can skip the italics part if you want)

Fisting your t-shirt he said “Are you sure? Cause I swear this time I wouldn’t be able to stop”. “Then don’t” you said and with that he claimed your lips to be his, his hands snaked around you waist and with a swift move you were strandling him, lips never parting, Soon you felt you t-shit get untucked and you felt his hands on you bare skin sending shiver down you spine and warmth in your core. Your tongues fought for dominance and you let himtake control as his tongue traveled every nook of your mouth. When you parted a string pf saliva was left between the two, and Hoseok didn’t waste a single moment and attached his lips to your neck leaving open mouth kisses until you take in a deep breath leading him to break into a smirk as he decorated your shoulder with a hickey, you urged him to take you yoor top and he compiled and your hands instantly went to unbutton his shirt that was soon discharged somewhere in the room. You moved you hips on his thighs to gain some friction earning a groa from his throat. You interlaced your finger with her hair at the back of his head and pulled it making him faceyou as you licked along his jawline leaving butterfly kisses and occasional bites. You could feel yourself get wetter and wetter as the two of you attacket each nother now naked in bed as he sucked on one of your boob and assaulted the other with his hand. “Fuck” you cursed. “Say it baby” he said, “Fuck Hobi, I need you” you said. “Do you know how much more I’ve always needed you” he said, you knew his member was already hard, you saw it over the boxers. “Off” you finally managed to say and like an obedient man he did, he took them offf as his member sprang free, you immediate took off yours and pulled him closer to kiss his mouth “Please Hoseok fucking make me your” you said na dthat sparked something in Hoseok as he pushed up and in one swift motion put his whole length inside you making you gasp for air. “Look at you gasping now, who was whining like a needy bitch” he said. “More” you managed to say as Hoseok’s thrust grew faster and faster. He grabbed your hands and held them above your head and he rammed into you mercilessly, resulting to you turning into a moaning mess. “Ho-Hobi” you said as Hobi graned feeling you clench around him, he knew you were close, he was too, “lets get it together” he said. “I- cant hold it” you said as you felt the knot get undone and you came, feeling the warmth was all it took for Hoseok to follow suit, he rode through both of your climaxes.

(End of smut)

He dropped beside you, instantly cuddling to you, The two of you caught your breath when he suddenly said “May be you should sing for your brother’s wedding” he said. “It’s tomorrow” you said. “We have time, come one” he said and pulled you to the bathroom. 

----------------------------------------------------

Hence, you were, sitting on stage at the reception of you brother and Suyeon, singing to Sunflower by Post Malone as Taehyung strumed a guitar. You looked to the table where Hoseok wa sitting looking at you still in awe, to hear your voice. But this look was nothing compared to the one he gave you when he saw you walk down the ilse to pass the ring to you brother and sister-in-law. He then made it to stone, he will never let you go, and somehow the look on his face now, conveyed the same message to you, as you winked at him on the line 

“You’re a sunflower, I think your love would be too much”

----------------------------------------------------

You later looked through your phone to find a million texts from Jimin and Jungkook with pictures and posts from dispatch, to know whats going on. Hoseok laughed as he saw that from over your shoulder. “I think we should call him later” he said, to agreed imagining a very excited Jimin eating Jungkook’s head to know the Tea.

----------------------------------------------------

Other Works

Taglist: @jung-nika-hoseok

Pillow Talk (Jung Hoseok, One-Shot, Smut)

Disclaimers: I don’t own the image I used for my header 😁 I do own the edit of the header.

A Note from Kutemouse: Basically I need to drink some Hobi water and take a freezing cold shower after writing this. This is an idea that’s been living rent-free in my head for a while. Welp, time for it to pay up 😂

(Basically Unedited)

Rating: R (18+ only)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Holy shiz, okay, here we go… Mutual masturbation, awkward conversations in the nude, oral (female receiving), hickies, biting, Y/n is the softest dom and Hoseok is her sweet baby boy, making out described in exquisite detail, I use sexual words and swears.

Word Count: There are words

Master List

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Pillow Talk (Jung Hoseok, One-Shot, Smut)

You unlocked the door, bobbing to the beat resonating in your headphones, before heading inside your apartment. You tossed your bag on a chair and opened the fridge. Empty. Fuck. Oh well. You grabbed a bottle of water and took a few gulps, sashaying your hips as your favorite song played.

“Smooth like butter,” you sang under your breath, opening a few cupboards. Also empty. Damn. Take-out for dinner tonight for sure.

It was then you heard it. A noise so strange you whipped off your headphones just to make sure it was real. You froze, still on your tiptoes, listening hard. There it was again. It sounded like… like some type of mewling.

“Hobi?” you asked the empty room tentatively. Jung Hoseok was your roommate that you had lived with for the past two years, but you’d never heard that kind of sound from him.

You quietly grabbed a steak knife from a drawer and crept down the hall, intent on catching the intruder. You followed the sound, which seemed to be coming from your room. The door was barely cracked, but you could see someone moving around. When you finally got close enough to peer inside, you gasped, slapped your hand over your mouth, and dropped the knife. Luckily, it fell on the thick carpet, muffling any sound it would have made otherwise.

None other than your roommate and best friend, Jung Hoseok, was straddling one of your expensive, memory-foam pillows, stark naked from head to toe. His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth hanging open in ecstasy as he slid his hard length along the fabric of your purple pillowcase over and over, moaning loudly. The longer side of your bed faced the doorway, so you had a full view of the show. You raked your gaze down Hoseok’s beautiful body, his golden skin dewy with sweat, his abs contracting as his hips rutted against your pillow. Your eyes finally wandered down to his cock, and you felt your core clench. It was the most gorgeous cock you had ever seen. Long, thick, and slightly curved, just the sight of it made your mouth water.

“Oh god, Y/n,” Hoseok murmured. “That feels so good.”

You had to stifle another gasp. He was thinking of you while he did this? You sidled up to the door as close as you dared, glad he hadn’t heard you. Then again, he was moaning pretty loud. Is this what he did when you were out and about? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t supposed to be home for another hour. You were covering for a coworker, and your boss had offered to let you go home early as a thank-you for volunteering to help out.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hoseok’s moans getting higher in pitch as he neared his climax. Oh god. He was so gorgeous, with those pretty noises spilling from his cherry-red lips, matching his flushed cheeks. And that cock… With a weeping tip and prominent veins, you didn’t know how you were going to stop thinking about it. You bit your lip, tugging at the edge of your skirt as you rubbed your thighs together. You never imagined you could get so turned on at the sight of your best friend humping your pillow.

Hoseok sped up his pace, rubbing his beautiful cock over every inch of that pillow, his moans getting louder and louder. “Yes, Y/n, just like that, don’t stop,” he whined.

Fuck. Without any more hesitation, you slid your fingers down the waistband of your skirt, moving the fabric of your panties aside to rub the pad of your middle finger along your moist folds. Hoseok’s hips stuttered as he got closer and closer to orgasm, his moans coming out more like gasps. You rubbed your clit in time with his hips, faster and faster until you were sure you were going to orgasm right there in the hallway.

“Y/n, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Hoseok groaned lowly just before white spurted all over your pillowcase, spreading like creamy icing over a hot cinnamon roll. If you were wet before, you were positively soaked now. Hoseok fell back onto your bed, panting. You quickly stepped away from the door, afraid he would see you peeping at him, or worse, see the hand you still had down your panties. You pressed your back against the wall, trying to control your breathing as your impending orgasm slipped away.

You heard rustling noises then footsteps heading toward you, and before you could move, Hoseok opened the door, still completely naked, holding your cum-stained pillow over his crotch. His eyes were on the ground, so you had a second to compose yourself before stepping in front of him. “Hi Hobi.”

You had never seen him jump so hard. “Y/n!” he yelped. “Wh-What are you doing here?!”

“I live here.”

You glanced down Hoseok’s body, his hand clutching the pillow so tight you could see the white of his knuckles. “Whatcha doing, roomie?”

“I was just… just…”

You crossed your arms. “Arranging my pillows for me?”

Hoseok’s eyes darted from side to side. “Uh… yes?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “In the nude?”

“I-I-I was j-just-”

“Save it.”

You reached over and tugged the pillow away from him, clicking your tongue at the wet stains littering the fabric. “Hobi, do you know how much these pillows cost? Not to mention my 800 thread count Egyptian cotton pillowcases!”

Hoseok stared at you in shock, covering his cock with his hands. “I-I’m so sorry Y/n, I was just on my way to washing it-”

“Wash it? Oh baby, you’ll clean more than just my pillowcase,” you said, your voice dangerously low.

You stepped toward him, smirking when he blushed deeply at your close proximity to his naked body. You gently removed his hands and began to stroke his softening length, standing on your tiptoes and putting your lips to his ear. “You’re going to also clean up the mess you made in my panties,” you whispered, relishing in the way he shivered as your breath fanned over his skin. “With your tongue.”

Hoseok gulped before nodding. “O-Okay.”

You crashed your lips into his, shoving your tongue down his cavern, completely dominating his mouth with yours. You hungrily devoured his soft, red lips, enjoying the way he moaned when you bit down on his bottom lip and gently sucked on it. Hoseok slid his palms towards your ass, massaging it roughly before you slapped his hands away. “No, no, no,” you teased, beckoning him into your room with a finger. “No touching until you’ve made me cum with that tongue of yours. You already got to cum, so it’s only fair.”

Hoseok grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his dark, mussed hair. “Yeah, about that…”

You clicked your tongue. “Later. I need you to eat me out, now.”

You lay back on the bed, giving Hoseok plenty to look at as you slid your panties down your thighs, using your foot to toss them elsewhere. “Holy fucking shit,” he murmured, kneeling on the ground in front of you. He didn’t dare touch, just stared at your pussy like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hands behind your back,” you commanded, glee zipping through you when he obeyed without question.

Hoseok leaned in, leaving wet kisses along the insides of your thighs, working his way up to your core. Your muscles were already trembling from the anticipation, but nevertheless, you stayed propped up on your elbows so you could see every bit of the action. Finally, he licked a long strip up your center, causing you to let out a loud groan.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” you hissed.

He did it over and over again, his tongue dragging from your perineum to your clit, like he was trying to memorize your taste. Without warning, he shoved his tongue inside of you then withdrew it, flicking it back in and out of your pussy, fucking you in a way you’d never been fucked before. “Oh god, Hobi,” you moaned, grabbing a fistful of his silky hair. “More, more, please more.”

You felt him smirk against your folds before he put that tongue back to work, dragging it over your clit before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked, hard. “Fuck!” you cried out. “Hoseok, I’m gonna… I’m gonna, fuck!”

He finished his assault on your clit and went back to tongue-fucking you, lapping up the gush from your orgasm, not letting a drop go to waste.

You tugged on his hair, dragging him up to face you before you rewarded him with kisses, tasting yourself as you sucked on his gorgeous tongue.

You felt Hoseok’s hard length against your thighs, but he didn’t dare try anything without your permission. “Hobi,” you murmured, staring deeply into his dark eyes. “Fuck me.”

He wasted no time in unbuttoning your blouse, leaving deep purple hickies along your cleavage as he fumbled with the clasp on your bra. “Awww, baby having trouble?” you giggled, undoing it for him.

Hoseok blushed, shyly turning away from your exposed chest. “It’s okay,” you murmured as you unzipped your skirt and slid it off your body. “You can look at me.”

He took a deep breath before turning toward you, his mouth falling open at the sight of your naked form. You smirked, straddling him. “Your cock is so pretty,” you moaned as you felt his tip prod your entrance.

Hoseok held back a groan, biting down on his bottom lip. You slowly took him inside of you, relishing in the stretch, the curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly. “Oh my god, Hobi,” you whimpered. “If I’d known what you had hidden down here, I would’ve tried to get in your pants forever ago.”

You began to move, slowly sliding up his cock until it was almost out before sliding back down it again. Hoseok moved with you, fucking up into you, making you gasp. Oh yeah. You were gonna be sore tomorrow. You increased your pace, slapping sounds filling the air. You could tell Hoseok was holding back, trying not to get too turned on, biting back his moans as best he could.

“C’mon baby, I wanna hear you,” you said, trying to encourage him to let go.

“Can’t,” he grunted. “I’ll cum.”

At that, you increased your pace even more. “You better not,” you teased, panting. “You’ve gotta satisfy me first.”

You took him as deep as you possibly could before circling your hips, savoring the way his cock felt inside of you. Hoseok kneaded the flesh of your ass, biting down on your shoulder. “Fuck Y/n,” he murmured, soothing the bites with wet kisses. “You’re better than I imagined.”

Motivated by his praise, you kissed him, hard, before bouncing up and down on his cock once more. Hoseok gripped your ass, helping you move as your muscles began to tremble. His dick was hitting all the right spots, the curve of his shaft rubbing perfectly against your g-spot. “Hobi, I think I’m going to-” you moaned, but you couldn’t even finish your sentence before your orgasm washed over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.

You moaned loudly, one hand wound in his soft, dark hair, the other pulling his torso flush against yours as you rode out your orgasm. But you weren’t done yet. Determined to make Hosoek feel as good as you did, you began to move your hips once more, your ass jiggling as you rode him.

“Fuck, Y/n!” he cried out. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep this up.”

You tugged on his earlobe with your teeth. “That’s the point,” you panted. “Cum for me, baby.”

His moans got higher in pitch and louder, and you knew it was time. Just before he came, you hopped off him and shoved his beautiful cock down your throat, swallowing down every bit of his orgasm. Glee zipped through you, giving you goosebumps, at the sight of his shaking thighs. “Holy shit, that was amazing,” he panted, flopping back on your bed.

“Holy shit, indeed,” you agreed, laying down and snuggling up to him.

He wrapped an arm around you and drew you close. The two of you stayed like that for a long while, almost falling asleep, before you asked the question that had been nagging at the back of your mind. “So… how long have you been befouling my poor pillows?”

Hoseok chuckled nervously. “Bout a month now.”

You sat up. “A whole month?!”

“Uh… yes. Since the party at Namjoon’s.”

You pursed your lips. “What changed? You’ve never shown any signs of wanting me before.”

“You did,” Hoseok said, sitting up as well and touching his nose to yours. “Remember when we played ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven?’”

You rubbed your forehead. “Not really. I had a lot to drink that night.”

“Oh, well… you got paired up with me, and when we got inside the bedroom, w-we made out.”

“I vaguely remember this,” you said, frowning. “But was it really so good, it made you want me?”

“I already kind of wanted you,” Hoseok admitted. “We’ve lived together for two years now, so I’ve caught glimpses into your sex life. A thong here, a flash of your ass there. But it wasn’t until then that I realized just how much I wanted to fuck you.”

Hoseok rolled over you, nudging your legs apart with a thigh. “And then some.”

“So… you wanted to fuck me so badly, you came in here and defiled my pillows instead?”

A smile tugged one side of his mouth upward. “Something like that. At first, it was just me jerking off to the thought of you, but then I began to want more. And your pillows? They smell like you. They were the next best thing to having the real you.”

Warmth coursed through your veins at his words. You rolled over, taking him with you, until you were straddling him once more. “That’s hot,” you murmured, kissing him sensually.

You pulled away from him abruptly, making his eyes flutter open. “But Hobi?” you said. “If you feel the need to hump something that smells like me again, just come find me. I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Hoseok smirked. “I look forward to it.”

I Missed You

Disclaimers: I don’t own the gift I used for my header 😁 Creator is credited.

Original Request: “Hi there! A request. Maybe you will do or maybe you wont' but still, can you do a imagine where hobi is a sugar daddy, and he spoils the reader annd you know what happens next😅”

A Note from Kutemouse: Well hello there kutie pie! You’re the first requester I’ve had in so long, thank you so much for sending this in! When I read your request, my first thought was, “Oh hell yes.” I’ve been feeling Hobi lately (hence “Pillow Talk” 😂), but I haven’t written a dom Hoseok fic yet. Thank you, dear kutie, for allowing me to write this. It was honestly such a pleasure.

Btw, doesn’t this amazing gif SCREAM daddy Hoseok? 🥵

(Like half of this is unedited)

Rating: R (18+ only)

Genre: Smutty Smut

Warnings: Sugar daddy Hoseok, sugar baby Y/n, a shit ton of making out described in detail, sexual descriptions and words, oral (m receiving), Daddy/Baby Girl relationship and kink, Hobi softly collars Y/n, dom Hoseok (f*ck yes), swears to the max, bit o’ fluff.

Word Count: There are words.

Master List

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I Missed You (Jung Hoseok, One-Shot, Smut)

Jung Hoseok sighed as he unlocked the door to your apartment. It had been a long few weeks, full of non-stop travel, interviews, photoshoots, and of course, live performances. Now that the pandemic seemed to be ebbing, BTS’ schedule was busier than ever. But this weekend? This weekend would be dedicated to you.

He hadn’t seen you in nearly a month, and except for the occasional text and video chat, you seemed to be keeping busy as well. You joined a pilates class and threw yourself into doing well at university. Your last paper had received resounding praise from your professor, thanks to the hours of research you had poured into it. The truth was, you were keeping yourself occupied so you wouldn’t have time to miss, or even think about, Hobi.

The arrangement the two of you had was unique, that was for sure. Hoseok knew he barely had any time to date, along with the fact that he was constantly in the public eye, and the last thing he wanted was to have to sneak around and subject his partner to possible hate and humiliation. With that mindset, Hoseok kept his eye out for a girl who he could share a few days here and there with, who wouldn’t mind hardly ever seeing him, and who wouldn’t need the type of commitment he knew he could never give.

The pandemic allowed Hoseok to easily go out without being recognized, and one morning he donned a mask and baseball cap to pick up coffee at the cafe down the block. You were nearly at the end of your first shift on the job, thank god. A number of wealthy snobs lived around the area and were extremely particular about their order and service, plus you still had your second job to get to.

You caught Hoseok’s eye the second he walked in. “Hi there, welcome,” you greeted, turning from a table you were wiping down. “What can I get you?”

For Hoseok, there was no going back after that. He visited the cafe as often as he could, always in disguise and always hoping for a brief conversation with you. He enjoyed the way your soft, pink lips would turn up in a small smile whenever you saw him and the way your cheeks flushed whenever he flirted with you. If only he could get you alone.

He finally got his chance. You were taking the trash out to the dumpster behind the building when he approached you. You felt like a mess, what with coffee stains littering the front of your apron and your hair falling out of its bun, but he would’ve taken you right then and there if he could. “Hi Y/n,” he said, lowering his mask to reveal himself at last. You started. “O-Oh! Hey there! Um, this is actually the back entrance, but if you come in through the front, I’ll start on your order right-”

“I wanted to speak to you, actually,” he said.

You stood there, holding onto the garbage bags like they were your lifeline, a flush already creeping up your cheeks. “A-About what?” you stammered, nervous in the presence of such a handsome guy.

“I know this may seem strange, but I’d like to take you on a date. It can’t be anywhere public, though. Would you be willing to meet me at this address?” He lifted the strap of your apron and slid a business card underneath it, staring deeply into your eyes as he bit down on his bottom lip.

Your face was so red it might as well have been on fire. “A d-date? With me?”

Hoseok nodded. “My phone number is also on that card. Text me if you can’t make it. Wear something nice. See you at eight.”

Without giving you any time to protest, he spun on his heel and left. Later that day, the latest BTS song, “Life Goes On,” played over your cafe’s radio. As Hoseok’s heart-warming, mellow voice came through the speakers, you dropped the mug you were holding, ceramic shards flying everywhere. Your coworker asked if you were okay but you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t tell her you’d been asked out on a private date with Jung Hoseok, and you hadn’t even recognized who he was until that moment.

You showed up for your date much too early, wearing a halter-neckline peach-colored dress underneath a black coat. It turned out the address was in a large, ornate apartment building. You had to get through a gate where a security officer checked your ID to make sure it matched a name on a list, as well as be issued a visitor’s keycard that would allow you access to the elevator for one night only. You knocked softly on the door, pulling down your mask so you could be recognized through the peephole. Hoseok opened the door, wearing a custom-tailored suit jacket over a white shirt, the top few buttons undone to show off his caramel-toned skin.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as he slipped off your coat, admiring the soft skin of your shoulders. He couldn’t wait to taste it.

The date went well. Hoseok had ordered the most exquisite food and a few bottles of wine. After a glass, you loosened up a bit. You had questions, of course. Hoseok answered them all before presenting the idea that had been filling his head since he first laid eyes on you. He said that he wanted the two of you to keep seeing each other but with conditions. You would move to this apartment, only mere minutes away from the apartment complex BTS lived in, and Hoseok would pay all your living expenses. He knew the reason you worked two jobs was to try and save up to go to university, but if you agreed to the arrangement, he’d pay your tuition and fees in full. The only thing he asked in return is that you would essentially be his girlfriend whenever he was in town, providing him a respite from being one of the world’s biggest pop stars. You’d have to sign an NDA contract, of course, but other than that, you were free to come and go as you pleased, free to pursue whatever course of study you wanted at university, and free to live your life without worrying about money.

You could hardly speak after all that, let alone provide him with an answer. He’d pay for everything? Everything? And all you had to do is act the devoted girlfriend whenever he happened to have time off? But Hoseok was clear. This wouldn’t be a typical relationship. He’d be gone for weeks, if not months, at a time, and he’d only have a few days a year to spend with you. You couldn’t get clingy or demand more from him, otherwise, he’d cut ties and let you go. He didn’t have time for arguments or drama.

After a couple days went by with nothing else on your mind, you texted him to tell him you concurred with the arrangement. After all, you really wanted to go to university and study medicine. A medical student’s schedule was extremely busy, so you wouldn’t have time for love anyway. The two of you seemed meant to be.

A year went by without incident, but you found with each visit, you began to miss Hoseok more and more. You missed talking to him, missed his contagious laughter, his bright smile, his jokes. You missed the nights spent tangled up in the sheets, his heated kisses, and the marks he left all over your body. And he, in return, began to miss you as well. He chose to show his affection with gifts, however, trying to hide how he really felt behind showering you with designer clothing and accessories.

This time, he showed up with a bouquet of purple tulips, your favorite, and a scarlet velvet box. “Y/n?” Hoseok called out.

“In here!”

He stepped into the kitchen, where you were stirring a pot over the stove. You wore a white apron over your blouse and skirt, your hair held up in a clip as you cooked. It was enough to ramp up the needy desire for you Hoseok had been feeling into overdrive. He wrapped his arms around you, hands sliding up to grope your breasts, grinding his hips against your backside. “Baby girl,” he murmured against your skin as he nuzzled your neck, taking the clip out of your hair and letting it fall down your back. He began to leave hungry, wet kisses along your jaw.

You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed. “H-Hobi, wait, I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

Even as the sentence came out of your mouth, you knew your protest was only half-hearted. Truth was, you couldn’t wait to get him in bed.

“Let it simmer,” Hoseok growled, reaching over the stove to turn down the heat. “And give me what I’m really hungry for.”

You turned, eyes wide. “Wh-What are you hungry for?”

He smirked. “You.”

Hoseok lifted you on the counter, his palms sliding up your skirt and teasing the edge of your thigh-high stockings as he eagerly devoured your lips. You allowed him to dominate your mouth, moaning as his tongue twirled around yours.

He separated from you, leaving you with eyes closed and breathless, before slowly peeling off each of your stockings, trailing kisses along your inner thighs as he did so. With a sly grin, he sat in one of the kitchen chairs, spreading his legs apart to show off how hard you made him. “Daddy’s had a long week, baby girl,” he murmured. “Why don’t you come over here and make me feel better?”

His words had you slipping off the counter to your knees, crawling eagerly towards him until you got close enough to undo his belt buckle and lower his zipper. Eyes locked on his, you took out his rock-hard length, your mouth watering at the sight. It was, to this day, the most gorgeous cock you had ever seen. Long, thick, with a perfect curve that served to hit all the right spots inside of you, it was safe to say you were addicted.

You licked a long strip up to the soft skin of the head, which you sucked gently like it was the most delectable lollipop. Hoseok hissed in appreciation, his fingertips scraping along your scalp until he gathered your hair in a fist and shoved his cock fully in your mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned, holding himself deep down your throat as you swallowed around him.

Hoseok didn’t let you breathe until you tapped his thigh, causing him to slide his cock out of your mouth all at once before shoving it in again. You let him fuck your mouth, grunting as he set a brutal pace. Occasionally, he let out a moan that sent heat straight down to your core, finding pleasure in his gratification.

He withdrew his cock from your mouth for the last time, panting as you coughed and sputtered. He took a napkin and bent down, gently wiping your mouth and cheeks until the only evidence of your debauchery left was the flush of your skin. “I have a gift for you,” he said, helping you stand.

“You do?”

“Mmhmm.”

Hoseok took your hand and led you down the hall until you both stood in front of the full-length mirror in your bathroom. He drew the velvet box from his pocket, smiling as you gasped. “Oh, Hobi, you didn’t have to.”

“Hush,” he said, stepping behind you.

This gift, unlike his others, was simple yet expensive. It was a gold necklace with a thin chain and a small, emerald-encrusted pendant that read, “Hoseok” in gold lettering.

He put it around your neck, smoothing your hair out of the way. “Do you like it?”

“I actually love it,” you said, touching the pendant in disbelief. “But you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Hoseok met your eyes in the mirror. “This will remind you of me when I’m gone. It even has my favorite color gemstone. Green, the color of hope.”

You smiled. “I noticed.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I’ll wait in the bedroom. I want you wearing nothing but the necklace.”

You nodded, shivers running down your spine. He left you to undress as he also undressed, tossing his clothes in a corner and stroking himself as he sat on the bed to wait. You came in shortly, completely naked except for the necklace as told. Hoseok grasped your hips and yanked you close, twirling his tongue around each of your nipples as you gasped, running your fingers through his dark, silky hair. He nipped at the flesh of your breasts, occasionally sucking and leaving deep purple marks. “Turn around,” he ordered softly.

You obeyed, presenting your ass to him. He sat you on his lap and spread your thighs apart before taking his middle finger and stroking your clit. You shuddered, gasping as he continued his ministrations, relishing in how wet you were for him. “You’re always so ready for Daddy, aren’t you baby girl?”

You nodded, leaning back into Hoseok’s chest as he sped up his pace. He dipped his finger inside of you and circled it around, the pad of his palm pressing against your clit. “Oh god,” you gasped, knowing you weren’t going to last much longer.

Without warning, Hoseok began to rub your clit again with the tips of his fingers, circling your sweet spot faster and faster until you were squirming in his hold. “D-Daddy, I’m going to-”

“Cum baby girl, c’mon, soak these fingers,” he growled.

You cried out as your orgasm washed over you and drowned you in pleasure, cum squirting out all over Hoseok’s fingers and his lap. He didn’t let up, continuing to rub your clit until you grabbed his hand, begging him to stop due to the overstimulation.

You whined when he took his fingers away, the open air flowing over your wet pussy making you shiver. Hoseok turned you around and licked his fingers, the sight of his lips wrapped around each digit driving you crazy. He kissed you then, letting you taste the sweetness of your pussy.

He maneuvered you onto the bed and grasped your hips once more, lifting them until they were level with his cock. “Ready, baby girl?” he asked, pressing a palm in the middle of your back.

You nodded. “Please Daddy, please fuck me.”

Hoseok growled. “I fucking love it when you beg.”

He shoved his cock into your dripping pussy, stretching you out until you didn’t think you could take any more. A whole year of getting fucked by Hoseok and you still could barely take the full length of his dick. He slid almost all the way out of you before shoving himself back in and repeating the action, causing your entire body to tremble with the force of his thrusts. Your legs buckled and began to slide down the sheets until you were practically lying on your stomach, which was just fine with Hoseok as he leaned over you and rammed himself into you even deeper than before.

You moaned into the mattress, grabbing at the sheets until your knuckles turned white, trying to keep yourself grounded as Hoseok fucked you so hard you saw white spots at the edges of your vision. His grunts got louder and higher in pitch, and you knew he was getting close. Just the thought of him painting your insides with his cum had you on the edge, crying out as he hit your g-spot.

“Cum for me baby, squeeze that pussy around my cock,” Hoseok panted, feeling you beginning to contract.

You moaned loudly. “Right there, Daddy, right there, oh my god, I’m gonna-” Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, causing your eyes to roll back in your head, your mouth parted open as your breath stopped, every muscle in your pussy constricting around Hoseok’s beautiful cock.

He couldn’t take it anymore and thrust into you one last time, shooting load after load into your tight hole with a loud groan. He lifted you up as his cock softened inside of you, pulling your sweaty back against his torso, rubbing your stomach affectionately. You rolled your head to the side to capture his lips in a kiss, pushing and pulling at lips with yours. “God, I missed you,” you murmured.

Hoseok tensed. Shit. You weren’t supposed to let him know you felt attached to him and missed him when he was gone. That was the type of commitment he swore he didn’t want in this relationship.

“I mean, I missed this,” you said, backtracking. The way his eyebrows were furrowed worried you.

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling out of you and going inside the bathroom.

Damn it. You lay down, rubbing a hand over your forehead. Why the hell did you say that?

Hoseok came back with a washcloth and wiped down your body, erasing the mess he made from your body. He caught sight of the necklace bearing his name and smirked before laying down beside you, cuddling your body close.

“Hey,” he murmured, causing you to look up at him into those dark, sparkling eyes. One corner of his mouth turned up. “I missed you too.”

Warmth flooded your chest and you snuggled into his side. You didn’t know if he had feelings for you, and you didn’t know if you had feelings for him, but you did know that he cared about you enough to miss you, and that, for now, was enough.