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magicshopaholic · 2 years

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Double Take (Hoseok x OC)

Summary: Years after telling the neighbourhood brat to get a life, Hoseok does a double take when he realises she’s no longer the skinny kid who worshipped him once upon a time.

Pairing: Hoseok x OC

Genre: Angst, unrequited love

Word count: 11.7 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Parental death, heartbreak, allusions to sex, mentions of alcohol

A/N: It's finally here! I've been waiting so long to finally put this on paper and to get Hobi's storyline up and running. Hope you enjoy one of my favourite OCs and her story. Since this is more of a prologue than anything else, it can be read standalone.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @meirkive, @dreaming-with-happiness, @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “you can't hurry love” by phil collins

hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

When Chaeyoung was a girl, the best person she knew was her older brother. Chanyeol was everything; he was smart, he was kind, he was fun and popular, he was one of the best tennis players in the school and didn’t so much as have a spat with anybody his entire life. He was perfect; in fact, if there was one weakness he had, it was his little sister.

Chaeyoung worshipped him. He was her protector, her best friend, her role model. Every time her parents told her to be more like Chanyeol, it annoyed her only to an extent because why wouldn’t all parents want their kids to be like Chanyeol? He was perfect. From birth to present day, Kang Chanyeol was perfect.

The shift was subtle but crept up on her quickly. Sometime around the time when Chaeyoung was in her last years of elementary school, her mind began to expand. She observed more, listened more, and even started to question herself, but it wasn’t until the middle school sports day that year that it hit her: if there was one person in the world who was cooler than her older brother, it was his best friend, Hoseok.

She would never forget that day. She’d been dragged along by her father and the Jungs to watch the middle-schoolers partake in various sports. She hadn’t been in a good mood; Chanyeol hadn’t been forced to come to her sports day because he had school, and enforcing the reverse had felt grossly unfair. Still, she’d huffed and silently watched the taller kids run around, begrudgingly cheered for her brother when he’d won his tennis trophy, and even taken pictures of various combinations of their family and friends.

By the afternoon, Chaeyoung was becoming tired and cranky. At six years old, she felt ridiculous sitting among adults all day while the other kids hung around with their friends. The day couldn’t end fast enough and when it was finally only the two hundred metre race that was left, she’d breathed a sigh of relief. All her irritation went out the window once the race began, however, and she’d found herself unexpectedly engaged in how close it was. When it ended with Jung Hoseok running through the ribbon, sweaty and victorious, it was like she was seeing a whole different person.

Chaeyoung had known Hoseok for what felt like her entire life. His family had moved to their street when she’d been five, a little over a year after her mother had died. There was the older sister; she looked like an angel the first time Chaeyoung saw her, descending the porch staircase to jog down to catch the school bus. There were the parents who were welcomed to the neighbourhood by her own father who was gardening while a loading truck was parked by their house.

“Chaeyoung! Come and say hello!”

She’d been startled, for she’d been waiting for her own school bus when her father called, but she’d walked over with the confidence of a five year old anyway - when she’d noticed him. A young boy, no older than her brother, was standing silently by his mother’s leg, but with a bright smile on his face. He was scrawny, and slighter than Chanyeol, but seemed taller. Chaeyoung was still staring at him when her brother joined them and when both boys ran into the back of the loading truck at Hoseok’s father’s request, Chaeyoung followed without a second thought.

“Is this yours?” Chanyeol had been asking Hoseok, a gameboy in his hand. Hoseok nodded, the same smile appearing on his face again.

“I got it for my birthday this year,” he’d volunteered almost apologetically, as though needing to provide an explanation for why he had it.

“Cool,” said Chanyeol, sounding impressed. “I just got one, too. For doing well on my exams.” He’d turned the video game in his hands. “Is this the X400? It’s supposed to have Level 12 of the Alien Invasion version…”

Chaeyoung had been watching Hoseok, how his eyes shone as he talked about his video game, how easily her brother had made a new friend. Most importantly, she’d recalled the moment Chanyeol had received the aforementioned gameboy - and how she’d received nothing, because her report card hadn’t been as good as his. She’d gone to bed angry and in tears that night, until her brother had sneaked into her room with his brand new present after everyone had gone to sleep and let her play with it until she’d had her fill.

But this was not the time to dwell on that. There was not a chance in hell that she would be left out of the group because of a gameboy, or lack thereof, and she’d needed to cement the first impression before that happened. So, without thinking about it, Chaeyoung had skipped forward and snatched the gameboy right out of her brother’s hands.

“I’m really good at Alien Invasion, too,” she’d begun to say, interrupting the conversation and starting Chanyeol. Hoseok had broken off mid-word and was staring at her, which made her lose focus for a moment, and somewhere in the commotion, the gameboy fell to the ground and broke in two.

“No!” Hoseok’s face had dropped and he’d rushed to her feet to pick it up, frantically picking up both pieces and turning them around in his hands. “What - what did you do?”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” she’d murmured, suddenly feeling very small and short between the boys as her brother stepped closer to Hoseok, calmly taking the smaller piece and looking for where to fix it. Chaeyoung had stood there, motionless, while Chanyeol calmly figured out how to slide the loose piece back on the game.

“There,” he said after a moment, shaking it gently to see if it was fixed. “I think it’s okay.”

Hoseok’s face had been white as a sheet as he confirmed it, pressing one of the buttons and swallowing thickly as she screen lit up. “Yeah,” he said finally. He’d looked up at Chanyeol, eyes wide and grateful. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Her brother had then looked down at her and tilted his head. “Chae, you want to say sorry?”

She already had, but at that moment, Chaeyoung had obeyed him. “Oh - um, sorry.”

Hoseok had glared at her suspiciously. “It’s really expensive,” he’d blurted, his voice a little wobbly.

“I - I know. It was an accident.”

He’d looked like he wanted to say more, but her father’s voice had floated over to them then, informing them that their school bus had arrived. Both boys, as though they’d been doing it every day of their lives, walked out together like the cool, older nine year olds they were and Chaeyoung was left to trail behind them, boarding the bus just as the door closed behind her.

She’d been peering at the different seats, knowing that no matter what, she and Chanyeol would sit together. He always let her sit with him, even if his friends were there. “Oppa, where do you want to -” But she trailed off when she looked up, her chest feeling funny as she watched her brother introduce the new boy to his group of friends at the back of the bus. As the group mumbled their names and started chattering about mundane things, Hoseok took the seat next to Chanyeol.

It had taken a few seconds for Chaeyoung to realise that she’d have to find a seat of her own, for the first time in her life. Her eyes fell to the gameboy in Hoseok’s hands; he was still fiddling with it as he listened to the others talk to each other. His gaze had met Chaeyoung’s then, and his wide, friendly eyes immediately narrowed, letting her know he wasn’t about to forget what she’d almost done anytime soon. With a jerk, the bus began to move.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok to become an inevitable part of her life; he and her brother quickly became inseparable, and Chanyeol clearly thought highly of him. He fit in seamlessly at school, he was fun and loud and cheerful, and no one she’d met so far had a single bad thing to say about him.

The only person Hoseok seemed to get annoyed by, apart from his own sister sometimes, was his best friend’s sister. Chaeyoung had noticed how he rolled his eyes every time she tried to hang out with them, how she wanted to be included while they were playing video games or when they wanted to ride their bikes to school. At school, Chaeyoung watched her brother and Hoseok grow further and further away from her, both of them in different buildings of the school, in separate cafeterias and with completely separate groups of friends.

But it was a point of pride for her that despite Chanyeol’s growing popularity, she was still his sister. His friends knew it, her friends knew it - and the only person she allowed to be as close to him was Hoseok, only because he was Hoseok.

At the sports meet, almost a year after the Jungs moved in next door, she felt like she knew what that meant. When she’d seen the waves of cheering for Hoseok when he won the final race, when she watched how his friends gathered around him, how her brother was the first one to hug him, it occurred to her how badly she wanted to be one of them. So, naturally, since no one stopped her, Chaeyoung ran down to the field with the other kids, ready to congratulate him.

She fought her way through, feeling just as proud of him as everyone else seemed to be. She’d known him for as long as she could remember, after all - he was family. With his damp hair, white jersey and infectious smile, it was like she was seeing the sun. He hadn’t seen her yet, though, but once she made it to the front of the crowd, he finally did.

Chaeyoung didn’t think she’d ever forget the moment their eyes met. How, for a split second, the euphoria seemed directed at her and she felt stirrings in her heart she’d never felt before. Her legs moved automatically and she rushed to hug him, noticing only just before she reached him how his face went slack and his eyes went wide with horror.

He stepped back the same moment she reached him, causing her to trip and fall onto him as they both crashed to the ground. It was sudden and unexpected, but Chaeyoung hugged him anyway.

“You were amazing!” she started to squeal, only to be roughly pushed away. She fell on her backside with a soft “oof!”, completely confused for a second until she looked up to see Hoseok scrambling to his feet. His expression was one of immense irritation, a direct contrast to what it was a minute prior, as he dusted his hands on his shorts.

“What are you doing, you weirdo?” he snapped, and it was only then that she realised the noise around her hadn’t died down - they just weren’t cheering anymore. They were laughing.

Chaeyoung sat there on the ground, motionless, too stunned to even cry. It wasn’t at all the reaction she was expecting, until she noticed how Hoseok, his face red, was backing away from the crowd as though trying to make himself invisible. It occurred to her only then what was happening; Jung Hoseok, the coolest boy she knew, was shy.

It made her stomach flutter, that she’d made him shy. Even though Hoseok only glared at her after that and wouldn’t even look at her when their families went out to dinner that night, Chaeyoung knew. She knew she’d seen something on Hoseok’s face she’d never seen before, and she was the only one who’d made him look that way. At six years old, Chaeyoung knew she was in love with Jung Hoseok.

—

Chaeyoung couldn’t remember her mother very well. She hadn’t been barely five when the aneurysm had suddenly been detected. There were some quick hospital visits, the walls white and the sheets crisp, before one evening, her father had come to both her and Chanyeol at the house of the neighbour who’d been babysitting them to tell them that their mother had died.

At the time, Chaeyoung hadn’t quite been able to comprehend it. All she knew was that her father was crying - her father - and Chanyeol was trying his absolute hardest not to. She’d sneaked over to her brother’s room that night to comfort him - after all, he did every time she cried - but when she’d reached the doorway and heard his muffled sobs, she’d broken down as well. It was that, even more than her mother’s sudden death, that had made her succumb to tears that night: the fact that for the first time in her memory, her brother - her tall, perfect nine year old brother - was crying.

As the years went by and Chaeyoung began growing up, she’d realised that losing her mother meant more than just the fact that she would have to dress herself for school. There were conversations with friends, playdates at others’ houses, even casual words between Jiwoo and her mother every time the Jungs came over for dinner, that would give Chaeyoung pause and make her wonder what exactly it was that was lacking in her life without a mother.

Of course, given that she hadn’t really known much about her mother, and remembered even less, there was only so much she could speculate about. Then, about four years after her mother’s death, their father had told them about Seoyoon. He’d been very nervous, she’d been able to tell, but everything he’d said after that made no sense to her at all. Next to her, Chanyeol hadn’t reacted much at all until the end, when he’d simply shrugged when their father asked them if they were okay.

“But what about mom?” Chaeyoung had blurted out, not even realising that from the moment the new lady’s name had left her father’s mouth, these had been the only words in her mind, going round and round on a loop.

Her father had tilted his head and looked at her sadly. “Mom…” He’d trailed off for a moment. “Mom will always be your mom. Nobody else will ever be able to take her place. Even in my life,” he’d continued, and he’d reached out and held Chanyeol’s hand, “no one will ever be able to replace her. But Seoyoon is…” He’d blinked rapidly for a few seconds. “At a certain age, sweetheart… it gets too hard to be alone.”

At the time, Chaeyoung had taken this to mean that this new woman, this Seoyoon, was something of a playmate, someone for her father to chat with on the phone and watch movies with once in a while. It still wasn’t the best feeling but she didn’t know how to put it into words, the feeling of seeing something slip through her fingers and being powerless to catch it. She’d looked up at Chanyeol, who was staring at the ground and finally nodded. A moment later, Chaeyoung nodded, too, for if her brother was okay with it, so was she.

When she went up to her room, she suddenly felt terribly lonely. It was too dark and she felt that if she were to cry as loudly as she could, no one would hear her, and no one would care. She thought of her mother, a face she only knew from pictures, a voice she scarcely remembered, and whose touch she could only imagine. She pictured her mother right beside her, understanding everything she was feeling and murmuring quietly, as quiet as the wind, that everything would be alright.

Call me if you need me.

It was one of the only things Chaeyoung had any memory of her mother saying, a vivid picture of her scribbling her cell phone number next to her husband’s on a piece of white card and tucking it safely inside Chaeyoung’s pocket. It was what she said now, sweetly, silently.

I will, Ma.

It was the first night she dreamed Ma into existence.

Ma stayed after that. She felt like a mother whenever Chaeyoung thought about her, but better than all her friends’ mothers. She never told Chaeyoung to finish her vegetables, she always realised it was unfair when her father would compare her marks to Chanyeol’s, and she always, always took Chaeyoung’s side. When Chaeyoung was annoyed or angry, Ma would be there. Sometimes, even when she was happy, like when she made it onto the football team, Ma was there - not with the other parents in the stands, but right there next to Chaeyoung on the field.

She didn’t know whether to tell Chanyeol. On the one hand, she trusted him more than anybody else in the world - and wasn’t she his Ma, too? But when she tried to broach the topic of their mother once, when he’d been studying and she’d been bursting to tell someone, Chanyeol had been uncharacteristically abrupt with her.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Chae.”

He’d interrupted her when she’d been mid-sentence, and she’d fallen silent. He seemed to realise this, for a moment later he looked up at her and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I just… I really need to study for this test.” When she only nodded and said nothing, he continued. “Also, now that dad has… now that Seoyoon is here, I just don’t think it’s right to talk about mom.”

If Chaeyoung had been older, if she’d realised that her brother, too, was a child who was doing the best he could, she would have seen this statement as evidence that he was coping with the loss of their mother, just like she was. But in her nine year old wisdom, she took this to mean that Seoyoon was the reason no one could talk about her mother anymore.

Seoyoon was invited for dinner later that week, and again the week after that. After that it became more and more frequent, to the point that she was there when Chaeyoung and her brother returned home from school, and Chanyeol at least stopped seeming surprised.

A couple of months later, her father sat them down and told them his plan. He’d looked nervous yet hopeful, until relief washed over his face when Chanyeol gave him a small smile and nodded in assent.

He’s lying! Chaeyoung wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work, not when her father turned to her and his expression changed from relief to anticipation, as though he was expecting a fight. Chaeyoung didn’t disappoint, and even though she knew he’d do what he wanted anyway, she bit the inside of her cheek and exhaled sharply.

“You promised you wouldn’t forget about mom,” was all she said and at nineyears old, it seemed like the crux of the issue. No matter how much her father tried to convince her he hadn’t, Chaeyoung knew that she, at least, would do everything possible to keep her mother with her.

Later that week her father finally pulled the plug and proposed to Seoyoon. The following weekend, he threw an announcement dinner with the Jungs from next door, where Chaeyoung watched this woman throughout. Her stepmother; this new woman who was sitting in her mother’s kitchen, laughing with her father and giving presents to her and her brother like she’d known them forever.

Chaeyoung was too startled to do anything but quietly accept it and echo a thank you along with her brother. No one will ever be able to replace your mom, her father had promised. Chaeyoung didn’t know what that meant anymore; all she knew was that there were eight people in the room, four in each family, and that her mother was not one of them.

Sometime during dessert, when there was music playing and the adults were chatting with drinks in their hands, Chaeyoung slipped out of the front door and sat on her porch. Chanyeol was busy with something inside and, anyway, she had no interest in hanging around with him right now. It was rare but it happened, and right now she simply wanted away from all the music and energy.

It was a reasonably chilly night, and she involuntarily shivered when she sat down on the porch. It was quiet as she waited for Ma, and she closed her eyes in wait. A sudden rustling made her eyes snap open, followed by a groan.

“Chaeyoung?”

Her heart instantly zoomed, which seemed to be the default reaction for her body every time Hoseok entered her mind space. She looked up to see him come into view, standing at the edge of the front yard.

“Yeah,” she said immediately, hearing the forced upward lilt in her own voice.

He sighed loudly. “Seriously? Are you following me again?”

Chaeyoung felt herself deflate. This, too, seemed to be a default reaction every time she entered his mind space.

“No,” she mumbled. “What are you doing out here?” she asked after a moment.

“I lost my keychain this morning. I think I dropped it here.” He sighed, glancing at her begrudgingly. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it? It’s a Manchester United one.”

Chaeyoung bit her lip. She knew which keychain he was talking about, for not only had she seen it, she had it. She’d seen it fall out of the side pocket of Hoseok’s backpack this morning when all three of them walked to the school bus. As usual, she’d been walking behind both boys, trying to keep up with their conversation as they chattered about something hilarious that had happened during their class field trip yesterday.

Every time she’d tried to interject, they either continued their conversation like they hadn’t heard her, or they would tell her to stop interrupting. When Hoseok finally snapped at her (“Can you please shut up for a second?”), she’d sulked but obliged, feeling rather annoyed again. The final nail in the coffin had been just before they’d been about to board, and a girl in the window - a beautiful, popular thirteen year old girl with pretty curls and blue ribbon - smiled out the window. Chaeyoung had followed her gaze and swallowed as she realised she was smiling at Hoseok - and he was smiling back.

Chaeyoung had felt her heart drop and her teeth grit. As she followed the boys into the bus, she’d spotted something shiny on the ground. Bending down to pick it up, she’d realised what it was and who it belonged to. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pocketed it, knowing that no matter who he smiled at, Hoseok’s favourite keychain with his favourite football team on it belonged to her.

“Nope. Haven’t seen it.”

Hoseok sighed loudly and dramatically, climbing the porch stairs and about to sit down, before apparently thinking better of it. He remained standing, as though afraid of being too close to her and while that would usually break Chaeyoung’s heart enough for her to cry herself to sleep, tonight she simply felt a dull throb and a whole lot of impatience for his snark.

“Why aren’t you inside?” he asked.

“I want to be outside,” she answered defiantly.

“Okayyy.”

“Chan’s talking to Cruella in there,” she muttered after a moment. The image of her brother, smiling and graciously welcoming Seoyoon into the family, made her sick. If she’d spent another moment in there, she swore she would’ve thrown up.

Hoseok scoffed. “Chan? Didn’t you get in trouble for calling him by his name?”

She flushed. “Not trouble. Just… it doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever.” There was a pause. “Did you just call her Cruella?” When Chaeyoung didn’t answer, he shrugged. “Chanyeol says she’s nice.”

“Well, bully for Chanyeol.”

“God, must you whine?”

“I hate this sweater,” she said, tugging at the brand new gift her father had made her put on. “And I have to wear it because she gave it to me.”

“So? I hate these pants but my mom made me wear them.” He shrugged. “That’s life.”

Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. This was Hoseok’s new thing lately: that’s life. She didn’t know where he’d learnt it, but his eventual response to everything was “that’s life”, which irritated her beyond belief. He especially said it to her all the time, as though she was a child that needed reminding about the facts of the world, and it made her blood boil.

“She’s not my mom.”

“All moms are the same. Your mom would’ve told you to wear it, too.”

“You didn’t even know her,” she snapped.

There was a few seconds of silence as Hoseok presumably processed this, including her unusual tone. “You’re right,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically sober. “Sorry.”

Chaeyoung grit her teeth and hoped she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She would look weak and any hopes of getting him to notice her would go straight out the window. Also, Ma wasn’t here yet and she would only cry to Ma.

“Chanyeol didn’t like her at first either.”

She didn’t know if she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

“Your… Seoyoon. Cruella,” he added, an awkward sort of smile appearing for a second. “Chan didn’t like her when she first got here.”

This was news to hear. “Really? He - he told you?”

“Yeah. Said she talked weird.”

It wasn’t on the list of things that annoyed Chaeyoung, but she took it. It didn’t escape her notice that Chanyeol had failed to mention this to her while confiding in Hoseok about it, but for now, it made her feel just slightly less alone. She turned around to look in through the window again.

“He seems to like her now,” she mumbled.

“Maybe you will, too. Or he’s faking it.”

Chaeyoung snorted. It felt good to laugh for a moment, even if the situation sucked. “I hope he’s faking it.”

“Really? Why?”

She frowned. “Because… I don’t…” She didn’t know how to put it into words that she didn’t want to be the only one missing her mother. “I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t like her.”

“Then maybe you should try to like her.”

Chaeyoung bristled. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. “I don’t want to like her.”

“But why? I mean, aren’t you glad your dad is happy?”

The way he said it, it sounded like the most obvious thing in the world. But when Chaeyoung turned around to look inside again, for the first time all night, her gaze shifted from her brother to her father. There was something heartbreaking about how happy he looked, but Chaeyoung didn’t know just how to express that while it was a nice sight, it only made her miss her mother even more.

She said nothing, though, resolving only to keep Ma her secret forever. Her dad and brother didn’t need nor want Ma, and Chaeyoung was fine not sharing.

Next to her, Hoseok sighed. “It’s cold. I’m going inside.”

All thoughts of her soon to be stepmother vanished. “Wait!” When he halted and turned around, eyebrows raised, her heart thumped against her ribcage. “Why - why are you being nice to me?”

Even in the darkness, she could see the hint of a blush on his face. But his next words wiped away any scenarios her imagination may have created. “You’re Chan’s sister,” he said, shrugging, his hands in his pockets. “I have to be nice to you.”

—

The day Hoseok left for Seoul, Chaeyoung thought she would die.

Everyone was thrilled for him, it looked like. He was going to follow his dreams, they said. His parents seemed nervous but proud, his sister called from Australia, telling him to take care of himself. Even Chanyeol, who she’d thought would be distraught since he’d be losing his best friend, was irritatingly supportive.

“He’s going to be an idol,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing. They were at the dining table in their house, a week before Hoseok was meant to leave. “He’s meant for it. Haven’t you seen him dance?”

Chaeyoung stared at him, incredulous. Seen him? She lived and breathed him - of course she knew how he could dance, that he was meant to be an idol and whatnot.

“That - that’s not my point,” she stuttered, her chopsticks feeling like water between her fingers. “How is he - his life is here. His school, his friends, his… everyone.”

Chanyeol, now sixteen, squinted at her. “He’ll make new friends. He’s good at that.”

“Yes, but he’s your best friend. Won’t you - won’t you miss him?”

He chewed his food thoughtfully. “I mean… sure. I guess. We’ll text and stuff.” He shrugged.

Chaeyoung blinked. “Text,” she repeated.

“Yeah. What’s the big deal? You’re acting like he’s dying.”

“Chaeyoung,” said Seoyoon, her voice soft and melodic, “it’s okay to miss him, too. He’s like family.”

She met her stepmother’s eyes. “Yeah. Not really what I was getting at.”

Next to her, Chanyeol rolled his eyes, while her father said her name sternly. Seoyoon simply placed a hand on his arm and muttered “it’s okay”, while Chaeyoung was left to silently resent how, out of everyone at the table, including Ma, Seoyoon was the one who had the nerve to say it out loud.

It felt like the worst thing that could happen, and it felt directly targeted at her. His parents would always be his parents, his sister had already left for Australia a year ago, and Chanyeol was his best friend in the world. Chaeyoung was none of these things, however, and it felt like if he left now, he’d be gone from her life forever.

The first night, she cried for hours. It was as though she could feel his absence next door. She fell asleep gazing at a picture of she, Chanyeol and Hoseok on her nightstand, taken during a family trip to Jeju Island. The next day at school, she walked around like a war widow, with puffy eyes and her books clutched to her chest. At lunch, she sat surrounded by her friends, feeling like they would never understand, never know true heartbreak and true pain.

A week later, things were easier. Chaeyoung made the middle school football team, just like her brother had, and after-school practice meant less time to miss the love of her life. Then exams happened, and birthday parties, and before she knew it, it was next year.

Hoseok was forgotten by no one; the Jungs came over for dinner just as often as they did before, but only two kids out of four meant that the dinner was more for the adults to stay in touch than anything else. Chanyeol got busy with applying to colleges, while Chaeyoung, for the first time, had her life laid bare in front of her. With no Chanyeol and Hoseok to follow around, her own friends, her own studies and her own life were suddenly at the forefront.

Hoseok was still on her mind, though. She looked at the picture on her bedside table every night, kept his Manchester United keychain in her backpack, and told all her friends about the day she would date an idol. “He’ll become an idol and then he’ll come back,” she said, for it seemed incredibly obvious. Her friends, no strangers to her lifelong crush, were part supportive and part envious, which only thrilled thirteen year old Chaeyoung even more.

Chanyeol was right about one thing, though. He and Hoseok texted - and only texted. She hadn’t a clue if and when they actually spoke, and she spent hours daydreaming about the day he’d call her, because as much as he pretended like he couldn’t stand her, one day he would surely wake up and realise how much he missed her. They were family, after all.

He finally did call one day - or rather, he was called. It was his seventeenth birthday, and they were at the Jungs’ house for lunch when Hoseok’s father decided to call his son, putting it on video as everyone said hello and wished him. The first thing that Chaeyoung noticed was how narrow his face was; it was unexpected, but he still looked as handsome as ever and she only hoped that he’d notice her new haircut, too.

It was chaotic; Hoseok was speaking hurriedly, saying he didn’t have much time. The phone was passed down from adult to adult, everyone wishing him and making typical grown-up comments about what a big man he was, living by himself in Seoul. The phone was then swiftly passed to Chanyeol, who simply stood up and began walking away into another room, going “Dude, you won’t believe what happened at Eunwoo’s party last week…”

Chaeyoung knew she had to wait before it was her turn - but it was just so hard. She was almost giddy with happiness; she’d missed him so much. There was so much she had to tell him and so much she wanted to know, including when he was planning to come back. But when five minutes passed and Chanyeol didn’t return, and the adults had moved to some boring topic of conversation, Chaeyoung decided to take matters into her own hands.

Hopping off her chair, she retraced her brother’s steps and found him in the pantry of the house, sitting atop a stool and laughing into the phone as he held it up in front of him. He caught her eyes above the phone and she tried to signal to him to give her the phone.

“- and it was… what?” He frowned before apparently catching on. “Oh, uh… do you, uh, want to talk to Chae? She -”

But Hoseok’s voice interrupted him, shrill through the speaker. “Oh, God, no.”

Chanyeol’s eyes flickered to his sister. “Hey, man -”

“Dude, no, not today. I’ve had a bad enough day so far,” he said, sounding more weary than ever. “Don’t make me talk to your sister right now. Let that be my birthday gift,” he quipped, clearly oblivious to how Chaeyoung stood behind the phone, frozen to the ground.

“Oh, um…” Chanyeol sighed, tilting his head sympathetically at his sister as Hoseok said a hurried goodbye. “Yeah, yeah… have a good day.” There was a beep and the call ended. Chanyeol took a few moments before meeting Chaeyoung’s eyes again.

“I don’t - I don’t understand,” she said, feeling like her voice wasn’t even hers, like it was coming from somewhere else. “Why - why doesn’t he want to talk to me?”

Chanyeol opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it, standing up and moving to walk past her. “Just ignore it. Come on, let’s go back -”

“No, wait.” She stopped him. “Tell me. I - I thought… I thought he missed home. You said he missed being home,” she repeated, hearing her voice tremble. “Why didn’t he want to talk to me?” And why did it look like you understood?

“Chae, just - just let it go, alright?”

“No! I’m his family! Why doesn’t he want to -”

“Because you’re telling everyone that you’re his family!” Chanyeol blurted, looking fed up. “Jesus, Chae! Everyone knows you have a crush on him, but you don’t have to make it so damn public!”

Her face reddened. “I don’t have a crush on -”

“Oh, please. It was okay when you were younger but then you started following him around school and stuff… come on, can you blame him for being embarrassed?”

Chaeyoung shook her head. Nothing he was saying was making sense. “What are you talking about? He wasn’t embarrassed, he was - he was shy. He didn’t -”

“Seriously?” This time, even Chanyeol looked incredulous. “Chae, you told your friends that you were going to marry him when his crew won that inter-school competition in ninth grade. One of them told her older sister and suddenly everyone knew. You really thought that would make him shy?”

It took everything Chaeyoung had in her to not cry. “But - but he never said anything. He - he always…” But that wasn’t true. He said a lot of things. He was perpetually annoyed with her, and every time that she ever wondered why he was so sweet and sunny with everyone but her… it seemed she finally had an answer. “Why didn’t he ever tell me to stop?” she asked in a small voice.

“Because you’re my sister,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What was he going to say?”

You’re Chan’s sister. I have to be nice to you. At the time, it was proof to her of how close their families were, of how they were family. But now she realised it was none of those things, just Hoseok admitting what he and everyone else apparently knew: were it not for his best friend, Jung Hoseok would have absolutely nothing to do with Kang Chaeyoung.

She found it hard to meet her brother’s gaze. There was a stinging on her lower lip where she tasted blood, and then a stinging in her eyes. It was a time in her life when she and Chanyeol weren’t as close as they once were, and she was faced with a sudden and irrational fear that if she cried right now, he would tell Hoseok about it.

Chanyeol took a step towards her. “Chae -”

She started to shake her head when they were interrupted, and she turned to see Hoseok’s father approaching the pantry.

“There you two are,” he said cheerfully, sounding far too much like his son for Chaeyoung to handle. “I need my phone. Oh, Chanyeol, help me bring down the barbecue for tonight, come on…” He brushed past her and patted Chanyeol on the back, who nodded respectfully and made way for him. “Oh, Chaeyoung, your mother was asking where you were - there’s strawberry cream for dessert and she says it’s your favourite…”

Chaeyoung nodded in a daze, turning away from Chanyeol and walking out of the room. The dining area felt miles away and every step made her feel like she was on a treadmill. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she reached the dining table and took her seat. She ignored Seoyoon when she offered her dessert, her eyes on her empty plate the whole time. Even when Chanyeol returned and tried to get her to look at him, muttering “Chae? Are you okay?”, she simply nodded once but didn’t dare look at him.

That night, the first thing Chaeyoung did when she went to her room was take out the picture from the frame on her bedside table and slip it into one of her books. She hunted through every photo album she had and finally chose a picture of her with the rest of her football team, a group of thirteen year old girls holding up small gold trophies and grinning into the camera.

It felt like a step in the right direction, for if she needed to stop embarrassing Hoseok, it needed to begin right here in her bedroom. As she stared at the picture, trying to talk herself into liking it, into realising that these girls, her friends, were more important than a guy who wouldn’t even let her wish him a happy birthday, she felt the first sob wrack through her body.

She imagined what Ma would say. Ma didn’t appear to her like she did before; it was just her voice now, saying things that Chaeyoung wanted to hear. Right now, she imagined Ma would tell her that Hoseok hated her, that there was no point loving someone who hated her. He’s only nice to you because of Chanyeol, she said, her voice soothing and familiar. So why are you nice to him?

“Because he’s perfect,” she cried softly, feeling like her heart would break. She’d never felt this horrible, she knew. Even Chanyeol couldn’t make this better; in fact, he’d only made it worse. How long had he known? How could he have gone all this time, knowing what he did, and continue letting her make a fool of herself? Did he laugh about her with Hoseok? Did she embarrass him, too?

She thought of her father, how he’d sigh at her every time she got into trouble at school. How he and Chanyeol would both give her a look when she didn’t fake it with the stepmother. Hoseok’s face as he rolled his eyes floated through her mind. It was a kick in the gut as she thought it: How many people was she disappointing at once?

—

Bangtan Sonyeondan was a cool name. It was a fact, and even though Chaeyoung was very careful to not let it show on her face, their debut single was really cool.

Chanyeol’s class had long graduated by now. Chaeyoung, at fifteen, was at the peak of her school career so far. While she’d been initially wary of Chanyeol graduating, leaving her completely alone for the first time, it turned out to be just what she’d needed to step out of his shadow once and for all. No one had forgotten him, but they remembered just enough to know she was.

Everyone in the school knew when Hoseok debuted. It was a huge point of pride for the school that one of their former students was now an idol and for a good few weeks, every single person in the school was humming No More Dream. It was catchy as hell, and Hoseok was amazing in it - not that Chaeyoung was noticing.

Ever since the phone call that was not meant to be, Chaeyoung had attempted to distance herself from everything Jung Hoseok. It was the hardest thing in the world at first, but eventually real life took precedence over daydreams, studies took importance over doodling his name, and her real friends ended up being more fun to hang out with than a fictionalised version of him in her mind.

Once she’d managed to let him go, she’d been pleasantly surprised to find how much of a life she was able to have outside of him. It turned out that, for the most part, people seemed to like her. In one of her birthday cards, the most frequent words used by people was “fun” - she was fun, apparently. She wasn’t sure what exactly that meant, until one day in ninth grade when she’d convinced a few friends to skip a class. They’d gotten away with it, and she’d been hailed as “so fun”.

Life continued, fun and everything. Chanyeol left Gwangju for Seoul when he went to college and, she imagined, got back in touch with Hoseok. She still texted her brother reasonably often, whenever they had the time. Now that they’d reached a certain age and stage of their own lives, their initial relationship had started to become slightly more distant.

It wasn’t something that even occurred to Chaeyoung except for in certain moments, like their mother’s birthday. On those days, she missed Chanyeol more than anything. To his credit, he was mostly there for her when she needed him, but to her credit, she tried not to need him too much.

A few months before her sixteenth birthday, Hoseok returned to Gwangju for three days. It was a huge deal, for he’d apparently had to negotiate a lot for even those days off. Chanyeol was back then, too, and naturally both families wanted to make the best of it.

Despite the fact that Chaeyoung, for all intents and purposes, was over her crush on Hoseok by now, it still evoked a sense of quiet excitement in her stomach. She didn’t seek him out, but she made sure not to leave her room until she was perfectly dressed and her hair was impeccable, ready to breeze past him without a care in the world, determined to show him how much she’d grown without him.

As it turned out, she didn’t see him that morning. She didn’t see him that evening after school, or that night. In fact, she didn’t see him all weekend; Hoseok seemed to have a ton of friends to visit, and he and Chanyeol were gone for practically the entire time.

Chaeyoung wished she’d just catch a glimpse of him - not because she missed him or anything, but because the longer it took to see him, the higher the anticipation got. She’d managed to put their last humiliating not-interaction to the back of her mind eventually, but the longer she waited to see him, the more she ended up reliving it.

On Hoseok’s last night, there was a dinner at the Jungs. Unlike the last time he left for Seoul, when no one knew what his future would hold, this time he was leaving as a successful debuted idol. The dinner, therefore, was more of a farewell party, with a few more of his friends invited, all of whom Chaeyoung remembered from school.

Chaeyoung tried her hardest to stay out of everyone’s way. She didn’t trust herself around Hoseok, particularly because now that he was here, actually in the flesh, she was begrudgingly being reminded of everything that she’d once loved about him.

Don’t go down that rabbit hole, Chae, Ma said, as Chaeyoung hovered near the kitchen, nibbling at her nails. Hoseok had brushed past her once or twice, giving her a perfunctory “hi” which only served to make her feel ridiculous, because it was clear that he wasn’t devoting even a fraction of the mind space to her that she was to him.

Towards the end of the night, given that it was a Sunday, Chaeyoung knew that she would be sent home soon. It was a school night and the older kids were chattering about going out for a while longer, so she knew that if she didn’t speak to Hoseok now, there would be no telling if she’d ever be able to get this out.

Finally, around ten pm, when she saw him go upstairs to his room, she followed him. She tried hard to ensure that no one saw her but when she finally reached his doorway, she realised that none of it mattered because she had no idea what to say.

Chaeyoung cleared her throat. “Hoseok oppa?” she said gingerly.

He whipped around, turning away from the bag he seemed to be packing. She didn’t fail to notice how his face fell when he realised who it was; she tried not to let that get to her.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” he asked, sounding almost wary. His eyes darted around the room as though expecting to get caught by someone.

“I just wanted to say hi,” she managed, her heart racing. He looked… incredible. Nineteen became him. He looked thin but fit, and his hair was cut stylishly so it fell across his forehead. Swallowing, she continued. “And… I wanted to apologise.”

“Uh, okay - look. You’re in my room. Anyone can see you,” he informed her. “So you should probably -“ He gave her a knowing nod and gestured towards the door.

It stung, but she held her ground, stepping inside his room and shutting the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she exhaled. “Is that better?”

Hoseok’s look of pure horror was enough to tell her that it was, in fact, not better, but she’d had enough distractions now.

“Look, I don’t need too much of your time. I just…” She looked at her feet, trying to find the courage to continue. “I wanted to… apologise,” she said finally.

Hoseok frowned. “For what?” he asked suspiciously.

“For… everything? I guess.” She swallowed, forcing herself to continue looking up at him. “It was brought to my attention a while back that I may have… embarrassed you.” She paused as the words settled around them, having said it out loud for the first time ever. “I know I was probably a bit annoying and I didn’t - I wasn’t very… cool.”

Hoseok looked more confused than anything now and she couldn’t blame him, for she didn’t think she was making any sense either. But he hadn’t asked her to leave yet, which was more encouragement than she could hope for.

“Honestly, when I think back to some of the things I did…” She trailed off for a moment, shaking her head. “I cringe a little bit. Okay, that’s a lie. I cringe a lot.”

He nodded slowly, and she didn’t know if she’d imagined the fleeting look of amusement on his face.

“So, anyway. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

Huh. Chaeyoung didn’t know what else she was expecting, but his tone made it pretty clear that their heart to heart was over. “Okay, then. I’ll just… go.” She turned to open the door, only to see about four of his friends standing right outside. Chanyeol wasn’t one of them. They were clearly waiting for Hoseok, possibly giving him privacy because of the closed door, but the moment one of them spotted her, his eyes went wide.

“Oh, my -”

“Oh, God,” muttered Hoseok from behind her.

“Dude.” A second guy, Hyungmin, seemed to smile in slow motion, as though he was suddenly uncovering some huge joke. He nudged the first guy and snorted. “The happy couple is back!”

Chaeyoung wrinkled her nose. “What?”

But her voice was drowned out among the hoots, all loud and obnoxious. She turned back to Hoseok, possibly for an explanation, only to see him rolling his eyes before he suddenly glared at her.

“I don’t even know what she’s doing here,” he said stonily, and her heart skipped a confused beat.

“What? I -”

“Hey, Chan, get up here!” One of the other guys interrupted her, leaning over the railing and shouting into the house. “You’ll never guess who was in Hobi’s room - with the door closed!”

“Dude, he’s gonna kill him,” snickered Hyungmin, giving Hoseok a mock-sympathetic look.

“Alright, isn’t this joke, like, a million years old?” he asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

“It was, but now she’s getting hot and all,” said the third guy, whom Chaeyoung only remembered as the one who was invited because he had a car. He gave her a side glance and raised an eyebrow. “Now it means all kinds of -

“Dude, what the fuck?” Hoseok groaned, while Hyungmin slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand and hissed, “She’s a kid.”

“Well, she doesn’t look like -”

“Chan is going to kill you if you don’t -”

“Hey, what’s going on up there?” Chanyeol’s voice floated up, interrupting everyone. “Are we leaving or what?”

There was a momentary pause when it seemed as though no one knew how to respond. Then Hoseok rolled his eyes and strode out of the room. “Come on, let’s go,” he muttered, and fortunately, his friends followed his lead. As he passed Chaeyoung, he glared at her.

“How do you manage to ruin everything?” he hissed. “I told you to get out of my room.”

“I - I know.” Chaeyoung heard her voice tremble. “I didn’t think they would -”

“Really? Because it’s so different from what they’ve been doing the last ten years?” He gave her another exasperated look, like she wasn’t worth his time. “Why can’t you just disappear?” he muttered, knocking into her shoulder as he left the room.

Chaeyoung stayed there for a minute, humiliated, her feet rooted to the floor. She didn’t know whether it was his friend’s comments about her, the way they were talking about her like she wasn’t right there in front of them, or whether, after all these years, Hoseok had finally told her the truth.

Why can’t you just disappear?

She glanced into his room again, her eyes running over the taped posters on the wall, the folded bed sheets, a set of clothes draped neatly over the chair. She’d come here in hopes of maybe moving past everything that had caused him to avoid her all these years. Now, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

Chaeyoung rushed home after that, not wanting to wait for Seoyoon to croon over at her to do so. She didn’t think anyone even noticed; she ran out the front door, glad for the empty hallway from where she could hear everyone else in the dining room. The night was dark and chilly, and she hopped over the short fence to her front yard, slamming her door behind her before hurrying upstairs.

She wouldn’t cry this time, she vowed, even as she wiped angry tears forming of their own accord. She was sick of it, sick of everything. She was sick of those stupid friends Chanyeol still hung out with, she was sick of how Hoseok instantly became a different person when it came to her, she was sick of her stepmother, her family - but most of all, she completely sick of how, even after all these years, the things Hoseok said still had the ability to hurt her.

She hadn’t grown up at all, clearly. Nothing had changed. She would forever hold a candle for her brother’s best friend, even if, until two days ago, she’d been somewhat preoccupied by the fact that Nam Sehun from the other section had a rumoured crush on her.

She looked up from where she was sitting at the corner of her bed when she heard a faint sound of laughter and a shout. Dragging her feet to the window, she saw a car pull out from the Jungs’ driveway, music emanating from it until it screeched to a sudden stop.

“Hurry up, man!” One of the guys shouted as another leapt out of the car, scurrying back to the house. The party must be over. Before she knew it, everyone else would be back home.

Chaeyoung rolled her eyes and stepped away from the window, too tired to care. As she stripped and retrieved an old t-shirt and pajamas from the closet, she found herself feeling more and more stupid by the second. She’d made more of an effort than she’d realised apparently; even the bra she was wearing was something she’d purposely picked out, possibly in an effort to show Hoseok that she’d grown up - except it hadn��t worked, and the only person who seemed to notice it was Chanyeol’s creepy friend.

Pulling on her clothes, she trudged to the bed, ready to nurse another broken heart and fall asleep forever, when she heard a knock.

“Fuck,” she whispered, not in the mood to face her stepmother and her fake concern right now. The knock sounded again and she swore under her breath. “No one’s home,” she called, hoping she’d take the hint.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true,” said the voice outside, and Chaeyoung felt a jolt in her stomach. She walked over and opened the door gingerly to see Hoseok, quite possibly the last person she’d ever expected to see outside her room. It suddenly occurred to her how much taller he was; it vaguely intimidated her, until he bit his lip and sighed, looking at the floor.

Chaeyoung was about to ask what he was doing here, but something in his posture made her want to wait him out. So she continued standing there, one hand on her hip and the other on her door.

Hoseok’s eyes flickered up to her and he opened his mouth before he seemingly noticed something behind her. “A colour-changing lava lamp?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a high school girl thing?”

She stared. “You’re wearing a snapback at night. Is that a Seoul thing?”

He paused before sighing and taking it off. “I knew it looked stupid,” he muttered, ruffling his messy black hair.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said automatically, wincing slightly at how desperate she sounded. It was too hard to think straight around him. “I - what are you doing here?” she asked, slightly nervous. “Aren’t you afraid your friends will see you in my room?”

“Uh, no. They’re downstairs.”

She nodded. “That’s… good thinking.”

There was an awkward silence where neither of them looked at each other and for the first time in her life, she wished Hoseok would leave her alone.

“Look, um…” Hoseok began slowly, as though every word was taking a great effort. “About before… I know you were just trying to apologise. I shouldn’t have…” He looked up, as though hoping for a prompt. When he received none, he sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Chaeyoung nodded.

“Right.” After a moment, he spoke again. “Also… Joonho’s an ass.”

She bit her lip and folded her arms across her chest, a little protectively. “Yeah.”

“Anyway… I just came to say that.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “I should head.”

“Sure.”

He turned around halfway before pausing again, squinting slightly at her. “You do understand why I got mad, right? I mean, this wasn’t just about tonight. But it’s like every time that you’re around -”

“Yeah, I understand,” she said quickly, gritting her teeth. The more she looked at him, the less it looked like he cared at all. He didn’t care. He had no idea how much she’d loved him when she was younger, he had no idea how much she regretted her behaviour now, and he had no idea how humiliating it was to stand here and realise that she had no idea who he was at all.

Hoseok looked a little taken aback at her interruption. “Oh? Okay. Uh, good, then.”

“M-hm.”

“I’m gonna go.”

“You do that.”

This time when he turned to leave, Chaeyoung stopped him. “Oppa, wait.” She went to her desk and rifled through a drawer, feeling the cool metal against her fingers before bringing out the object. “I think this is yours,” she said, handing it to him.

He extended his hand automatically, frowning as she dropped it into his palm. “Is this -” He squinted at it. “Oh, my God. This is my keychain.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat, feeling distinctly lighter all of a sudden.

“I lost it years ago.” He looked up at her. “How - how did you find it?”

“Oh, I - I found it in a box of stuff, in the attic.” She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest again. “You must have dropped it here, I guess.”

“Wow.” He nodded, looking slightly more chipper as he shoved the keychain into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” A sudden honk sounded outside and it felt like it was reverberating through her chest. “You should go.”

“Yeah.” He raised a hand halfway, like he was saying goodbye to someone he met in line at a bookstore. “See you around, Chae.”

“See you.” She stepped forward to shut the door, watching him walk out of her room and out of her house. Before she could lose her nerve, she spoke again. “The new single is… really cool.”

He was almost at the foot of the stairs when he stopped and looked up at her. For the first time in her memory, Hoseok smiled at her, a real, genuine smile. It was like the sun had come out, and as he thanked her and continued on his way, it occurred to Chaeyoung that it was quite possibly the only time she’d ever see it.

—

That night was the last time Chaeyoung saw Hoseok for several years. She heard from his parents that he barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone come back to visit his family. He did return for a weekend once, but she’d been away on a school trip with her football team at the time. Apart from that, Hoseok was as far out of her life as was possible.

When she was seventeen, Chaeyoung entered her first relationship. He asked her out by the water cooler after a week of rumours, and their tryst lasted a whole month until she broke up with him in the biology lab, feeling rather smothered by how he insisted on showing up at all her football practices. He didn’t take it well and responded with rumours of his own, following which Chaeyoung’s reputation began preceding her.

Her seventeenth birthday party took place a month before she graduated high school and since she was leaving Gwangju, an unexpected nostalgia caused her to invite every single person she knew. A month later she graduated along with her friends, partied for a week straight until she spent the rest of the summer waiting until she could leave for college in Busan. She did the same a year later for her eighteenth birthday, and since it occurred in the summer, all her friends were back in Gwangju and able to attend.

As it turned out, the only thing remaining that could ensure that Chaeyoung lived her own life with no ties to her brother was leaving Gwangju. In college, she had the opportunity to be who she was. Everyone was figuring it out, and she joined them. She paid attention to the classes she liked, spent nights in the library and in dorms as people quizzed each other, went on weekend trips, had boyfriends, joined college clubs - everything that gave her the satisfaction that she’d made the best out of her college years.

The most stressful time of those years came right at the end, when everyone was applying for jobs. After months of gruelling essays, internships and interviews, Chaeyoung managed to get what she considered her dream job. Her father wasn’t too certain about it; he said it didn’t “sound like a real job” but after her stepmother pitched in during their video call and persuaded him to give it a chance, he gave in.

Chaeyoung didn’t care; it gave her the same vibes as her favourite English movie, The Devil Wears Prada. Condé Nast wasn’t a magazine per se but her job wasn’t exactly that of a secretary either; the role simply said research and while she would’ve liked it to be a bit more specific - maybe columnist - she was willing to pay her dues, especially if it meant getting to live in Seoul, not wearing boring formal clothes to work and possibly working with some truly fancy brands like GQ or Vogue someday.

Moving to Seoul was less romantic than she’d expected; it was a busy, expensive city and no one had time to stop and take a breath, let alone help out a twenty-one year old who’d just moved to the city.

It’s all part of the experience, her inner voice said to her, the one she’d dubbed Ma when she was little. It was less of a coping mechanism and more of a conscience now, and it was what convinced her to move into an apartment in Hongdae with a senior she’d known back in college.

Sungmi was nice and all, but she intimated Chaeyoung a little bit. Her many piercings, her abrupt way of talking and her strange sense of humour always had Chaeyoung on edge. She also had this boyfriend who smelled perpetually of weed and had a cousin he frequently invited over, making it not the ideal living arrangement. Still, even Chaeyoung had to admit that despite the aesthetics, Sungmi had been living in Seoul by herself for nearly a year and was holding onto a good job at a catering company. Most importantly, she was offering her spare room at really low rent, something Chaeyoung was currently giving top priority to.

Plus, the best thing about Sungmi’s apartment was the parties.

“Get, um…” Sungmi moves away from the speaker and asks someone something. “Everything,” she says finally. “Just make sure there’s Absinthe and Bacardi in it and we’ll be good. I’m trusting you, Chaeyoung,” she adds knowingly, abruptly hanging up.

Faced with a plethora of bottles before her in the liquor store, Chaeyoung sighs. She isn’t even fully sure what this party is for, except that vodka and rum are required in large quantities.

“Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, I guess,” she mutters, holding the plastic basket up as she scans the shelves, feeling a strange sense of responsibility towards her older roommate’s expectations.

Meanwhile, Jung Hoseok is near the fridges, rattling off the different beer brands to Jimin on the phone.

“I feel like wheat beer,” says Jimin thoughtfully, “but think about the calories.” He pauses as someone says something at his end. “And Taehyung wants that fruity soju.” He whines as Taehyung says something else loudly. “Okay, specifically green apple.”

Hoseok stands there, motionless, as Jimin goes through a minor Friday evening crisis. “Got it. Now, Jimin, you have about thirty seconds to make your decision before I leave this place. Beer-less.”

The younger member sighs heavily. “Alright, just get me a six pack of Corona,” he says finally, as though with a huge effort. “It’s always safe.”

Hoseok closes his eyes and counts to five in his mind, hoping he won’t snap at Jimin for wasting his time debating some random Swedish beer before ultimately deciding on Corona. “Will do.” He hangs up.

Once he has everything, he goes through the list on his phone again, hurriedly making sure he has everything for everyone. As he reaches the end of the list, he realises there’s only one thing remaining.

He spots a clerk at the end of the aisle and looks away. He’s managed so far without being recognised; he’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible. He shuffles towards the spirits, peering at the names and hoping the bottle appears all of a sudden when finally - finally - he spots the green label, the only one of its kind.

“Thank god,” he whispers and reaches for it, the same time as another hand wraps around the bottle. He flinches and withdraws his hand immediately before turning to see the only other person in the entire liquor who could possibly need Absinthe.

Something clicks in Hoseok’s brain, like a track being slowed down in post-production. “Wait…”

She raises her eyebrows. “You really don’t recognise me?”

Hoseok chuckles. It’s too unbelievable. “Dude, I think I saw you at more family dinners than my sister. Wow, Chaeyoung,” he says, taking a step back to look at her. Is she taller? “You look… older.”

“I am. Significantly. And you look…” Chaeyoung frowns and bites her lip, as though searching for something. “… blonder.” She nods as he reaches for his cap and pulls it down further over his head, tucking the few loose strands under the cloth.

“Yeah, that’s… work.” There’s a few seconds of awkward silence that makes Hoseok uncomfortable. They were never friends, but he can’t remember ever being this… unsettled around her. It’s almost like she’s a work acquaintance he’s run into, not the kid he grew up next door to.

He realises he hasn’t said anything and immediately scrambles. “Uh, so… what are you doing here? Wait, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a liquor store. I mean, you’re - you drink?”

“Yeah… I’m twenty-one. Almost twenty-two.” She bites her lips and shakes her head. “I don’t know why I said that. I just turned twenty-one.”

It takes Hoseok a moment to process this. She certainly looks older…

“Wow. Twenty-one.”

“I know.” Chaeyoung looks around before her gaze lands on the bottle still in her hand. “Oh, you can have this.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t need it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “No? You don’t need it for, like… a famous person party?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, no. A friend of ours, Nari, is coming over tonight and she was the only one who wanted Absinthe.”

“Oh, then you can take it for Nari.”

“Nah, she just wants to get hammered,” he replies, shaking his head. “That can be done with anything. She doesn’t get time off from her job so when she does, she likes to go all out and that includes, unfortunately, a lot of vodka, but I’m sure whiskey would do the trick just as -“ He breaks off when he notices Chaeyoung’s tilted head and slight frown.

“I’ll take it,” she says after a moment. “My roommate’s having a party tonight. Many people need to get hammered with this.”

“Roommate, nice. Wait, are you living in Seoul?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just moved here.”

Too much is happening for Hoseok to process in one trip to the liquor store. “You -“ He pauses. “Does Chanyeol know?” he asks in a low voice.

Chaeyoung chuckles. “Yeah, he knows. My dad knows, too.”

It’s the first glimpse he’s seen so far of the old Chaeyoung, the deliberate omission of her stepmother. But he knows better than to acknowledge it. “Wow, you - you really grew up.”

She gives him an odd look and opens her mouth to say something but then closes it, as though changing her mind. “I did,” she agrees.

Hoseok knows he should be saying something more, maybe offering something - for Chanyeol’s sake. But what is he meant to say to someone he can barely recognise? She’s actually taller, from what he can remember. Her hair isn’t in ponytails anymore and she’s standing differently, too, somehow…

But before he can wrack his brain for the right words, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath.

“I should go.” She holds up the bottle of Absinthe. “Thanks for this.”

“Oh, of course,” he says, nodding and stepping aside. As she brushes past him, he frowns again: is she wearing perfume? Chaotic, skinned-knee, football-playing Chaeyoung?

But the moment passes him and so does Chaeyoung. Before leaving, she raises a hand halfway. “It was nice running into you, Hoseok.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, watching her for a moment as he tries to put his finger on why everything seems so strange. His phone pings then, though, and he remembers the errand he was running. He needs to find an alternative to Absinthe now and move on from one of the more surreal experiences of his life.

He takes a couple of steps forward before something else clicks, and he can finally put his finger on at least one thing.

“Wait,” he says slowly, turning around but not even really trying to spot her near the check-out line. “What did you call me?”

—

Thank you for reading. Don’t forget to drop a review :)

#hoseok x oc #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hobi x reader #hobi fanfic #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #bangtanwhq #houseofddaeng #btscarnivalnet #kvanity #bangtanoasis #wkcnet #j-hope fanfic #hyunglinenetwork

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seokjinsonlyone · 26 days

Text

even more niche boyfriend things i think bts would do

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

namjoon:

not a newborn baby but is a big proponent of the kangaroo care concept; like loves to cuddle you while he’s shirtless; him on his back you laid on top of him, skin touching skin at every possible contact point; it does it for him every time

sends you pictures of animals he finds wandering around when he’s out and about

takes soooo many pictures of you; don't get me wrong there's a fair share of couples photos like you're definitely taking selfies together whenever y'all go out but he takes twice as many off guard pictures of you as posed ones; definitely has a pic of you during golden hour forlornly looking out a window as his lockscreen

asks you to make him a playlist and listens to it whenever he misses you even if it's really disjointed and doesn't fit his mood simply bc you made it and he's always in the mood for you <333

learns to be more gentle around you so he becomes 5-7% less clumsy when you’re around

if you went to a party together i think there’d only be like one hour max where you’re separated from each other any more than that and y’all both start getting fidgety from missing each other bc if you’re in the same space you absolutely have to be together; when you do meet back up he tucks you up underneath his arm and kisses your temple and y’all are sickly cute for the rest of the night; like enough lovey dovey pda to make someone nauseous

always amazed at the amount of stuff you manage to bring out the house; like you'll come out after him and he sees you walking towards the car, arms stuffed to the brim with water bottles and lotions and umbrellas and whatever else you deemed necessary for the day's outings, so he has to rush to help you before you drop everything; eventually gets hip to the fact that you're a a girl and you're always gonna have bunch of things and starts pre-loading your belongings so you won't have to struggle

Oblivious Boyfriend™; as smart and emotionally intelligent and mindful as he is, he's not a mindreader; like he be so focused on his feelings for you, his passions, and his work that he lowkey don't know wtf going on outside of that; so if there's something going on around you or something wrong with you or you have a problem with him you're gonna have to spell it out lest he be none the wiser

doesn't like when you watch him work out because you're more of a distraction than anything but he does like going to you straight after working out; he gets a real kick out of the way you ogle him and feel up on his biceps while he's all pumped up

he really likes when you call him cute nicknames; joon, joonie, joonie boonie, namu like it lowkey make his heart soar; his personal favorite is joon bug you call him that and he would literally steal the moon if you asked

seokjin:

tests out all his new recipes on you; feeds you bites to taste along the way so you're not too hungry because he's a perfectionist and it takes him extra time for him to plate it; "the presentation is just as important as the taste!"

likes when you’re in the same room as him while he plays his games; not necessarily watching him but just your company is enough; switches between focusing on the game and engaging you in conversation so you won’t get bored; would actually love it if you did take an interest in whatever game he was playing; would take his time explaining the back story of each character and their strengths and weaknesses; would start a separate game so that you could play and have you sit between his legs while he helped you with the controls

has to kiss you at least 3 times before leaving the house; once when you wake up, once while you’re going through your morning routine, and once before you leave; more kisses may be shared but any less than three and he swears his whole day is thrown off

he’s going to pick at you; there’s just no way around it it’s in his nature; he won’t do it enough to make you actually annoyed but enough that you wanna smack him around a little; which… he likes things like that

has no problem singing and dancing whenever y'all are casually listening to music but if you actually wanted him to sing for you he'd get all shy, red in the ears and neck and would have to take a couple days to practice before following through

begs you to join him for tennis practice bc he wants you two to become the next venus and serena

y’all will do that one couples trend on tiktok where they paint each other and then reveal the pictures at the end and it’s not like yours is fantastic or anything but you can tell that you at least tried; meanwhile when you see seokjin’s painting you can’t tell if you’re looking at a distorted walrus or a possessed squirrel either way it is NOT you no matter how much he insists it looks like you

stays sending you thirst traps; like whenever he looks good whether it's bc he's all dolled up for some event or he's fresh out the shower with his hair slicked back or he just sees himself in a mirror and remembers he's worldwide handsome, his phone is out, he's putting a sultry look on his face, snapping a pic, and sending it straight to you

you binge watch animes together; no one will see or hear from either of y’all for like 5 days straight, complete radio silence; and when someone finally knocks on the door they see that y’all been camped out in the living room no phone in sight on season 6 of whatever anime y’all started last friday night

must feed you every time you meet up; like if he has not seen you eat something in the time you spend together he has not completed his boyfriend duties; even if he comes to your place he has to make sure you have at least eaten a snack; doesn't matter how much you weigh he absolutely can not have you wasting away on his watch

yoongi:

gently tucks your hair behind your ear

always offers you his arm to link when it’s cold out so y’all can share each other’s warmth; he absolutely will still be wearing slides with no socks tho and you fuss at him about it every time

lets you play in his hair; just sits there nonchalantly while you give him the most ridiculous hair styles; pig tails, corn rows, mohawks; as long as you don’t cut nothing he doesn’t care fr; takes a picture when you’re done with that big gummy smile on full display bc of how silly he looks

says he's not a big social media person but one of his favorite past times is sitting down with you scrolling down your fyp for hours; makes you send the funniest videos to him so he can watch later

you’re one of the few people that he gains energy from being around so he likes your presence even when you’re not particularly doing anything; like you just be sitting next to each other or like be hand in hand on a walk around the neighborhood not even saying anything but in his head he’s thinking about what a great time he’s having

if you're up late at night and start feeling peckish he'll make you some snacks even if he doesn't plan on eating; still scolds you about how eating late at night is bad as he's enabling you; ends up eating with you too

he doesn't like watching dramas with you; he'll claim it's bc of the plot but really he just doesn't like how you be kicking your feet and giggling at the male leads

not the best with verbal affirmations so whenever he does go out of his way to compliment you he ends up just as flustered as you are; “you look pretty today” and his cheeks are flushed more than yours

always preps you to bargain and gathers together all coupons before y’all go grocery shopping; “just bc i’m rich doesn’t mean i like to be ripped off”

he's always listening to you even when it seems like he's not; you could be rambling on about something and you think he's not paying attention so you stop midsentence and be like "are you even listening to what i'm saying?" and he looks up from whatever he was doing and then repeats back to you everything you said; has a great memory in general so he remembers everything you say and do even the small things that you forget about

hoseok:

sends ‘thinking of you’ texts just to let you know when you’re on his mind

if you start dancing to a song he gets all hyped up and he’s joining you immediately; hands on your hips moving you as he pleases; it’s a club wherever you and the music are

makes you one of his little beaded bracelets that says “ur my hope”

if you fell asleep in a position that looks uncomfortable he’d gently rearrange you until he got you in a more normal position; 100% the type to carry you bridal style to bed if you fell asleep for the night on the couch

the type to pop up at your crib with an insane amount of the most exquisite, top tier take out and you gotta try to figure out who he think eating all this; doesn't even try to fight the boujee allegations when you tease him for bringing out caviar and truffles

always takes pics of you when he thinks you look good; like you could be running late and you’re rushing trying to get out the door but hoseok is just gonna spend a good 30 seconds checking you out while you’re fussing at him and then be like wait a minute and starts posing you; has several organized folders of you because of this labeled by genre of your look; it’s easier that way so when he’s showing people pictures of you they won’t accidentally get a peek of something meant for his eyes only

loves the idea of you becoming his family so he really likes bringing you home; warms his heart to see you getting along with his parents and his sister; sets up a group chat with you him and his sister to help y'all talk more but lowkey gets pouty when y'all do get closer and be chatting and hanging out without him 💀

if you're not already together he'll facetime you in the morning; he won't have much to say at first other than a groggy good morning; but after he comes to terms with the fact that he has to be awake and takes a couple sips of his iced americano he's his usual ball of energy sunshiny self; will have you up doing morning stretches and light calisthenics at 6:30am

every couple weeks y'all go to the nail salon together and get mani-pedis; he leaves the acrylics and jewels and glitter to you but the overall color scheme and design aesthetic for your nails match; takes like 17 pictures of your hands together to show off

loves cuddling up to you on the couch so you can play in his hair; like each time his head is resting on your chest and your hand is running through his hair lightly scratching at his scalp he swears he’s reached nirvana

jimin:

will drag you out the house in the middle of winter to drive down to the beach and watch the sunset together; you’d be huddled up together you sat in between his legs leaning against him his arms draped around your neck pulling you into him; you’d stay there sitting in the sand even after the night settled in just talking until you were shivering and sniffling then he’d take you to a cafe to get some hot cocoa to warm up

randomly calls you in the middle of the night bc he misses your voice; smiles the entire he’s getting scolded for scaring you bc you thought something was wrong bc he called you at 2am

kisses your forehead, nose, and lips in that order every time you part ways

hates knowing there's other people staring at you so like if you're out together and wearing like a hoodie or something and he notices you're garnering attention he zips it all the way up and pulls your hood over your head and tightens the strings so no one can see you; in turn knows you hate the thought that other people even think of him so he pretends they don't even exist; like you can literally point somebody out and be like "omg aren't they so pretty" and he's gonna avert his eyes in the opposite direction won't even look and just be like "you're so pretty. there's only you"

number one advocate for a lazy morning; snuggles into you, his head on your chest trapping you in; looks up at you with a goofy smile and preens when you press a kiss to his forehead

squishes your cheeks in both his hands when you're being too cute for him to handle

like the true feminist he is, he supports your rights and wrongs!!; like you get into it with somebody and then tell him the story afterwards he's hyping you up the entire time telling you that you were right and what you should've done and what he would've done if he were you; he's just always gonna be on your side

riles you up just bc he likes the reactions you make when you’re irritated

it’s tea city when it comes to you two; like whatever you know he knows and whatever he knows you know; gossiping is actually one of your favorite bonding activities; he likes to play it up and drag it out whenever he finds something out; like he’s gonna text you and be like UR NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!!!!! and you’ll be like WHAT and he’ll be like I HAVE TO TELL YOU IN PERSON OMG!!!! 😱 when it’s like noon knowing darn well he not getting off work until 10pm at the earliest 😭

likes to go with you when you have to “run errands” bc it’s usually just you doing girl things like getting coffee and then going to the store to buy snacks and skincare and he thinks it’s really adorable how you light up when you see small things in cute packages

taehyung:

has a series of like 12 hour logs in his phone recents list bc he stay falling asleep on facetime

makes it a point to hang out with your male friends just to assert dominance; doesn't matter if they have partners of their own or are completely uninterested in you he still wants to look them in their eye, shake their hand, and then put his arm around you to tie up any loose ends that may be dangling around

helps you pick the eyelashes out of your eye whenever one gets stuck

asks you to come over with the sole purpose of convincing you to take a nap with him; will straight up lie on the phone and tell you he wanna hang out and do this and that and then when you get over there he like let’s nap first; your cuddles just gon do it for him every time

uses kisses as bargaining chips; like if you need him to do something like idk take out the trash he's only gonna do it if you give him 3 kisses so you give him one as a down payment and the other 2 after he completes the task; (he was always gonna do what you asked but kisses make everything better)

likes to keep his hands free when he's out and about so he's always adding extra stuff to your purse; because he's always in your bag, he knows its exact content; you'll be frantically searching for your lip gloss and he'll ask what you're looking for and when you tell him he'll pull it out of some random side pocket he moved it to so he could make room for his stuff

will randomly wake up out of his sleep and call you just bc you crossed his mind; takes like 30 seconds to respond to anything you say bc he only half awake; the call lasts for like three minutes before he hangs up to go back to sleep

as a big fan of roleplay at least once in your relationship he's gonna make y'all get all dressed up and go to a bar separately and act like strangers and he's gonna pretend to pick you up

if you sent him out to pick up period products last minute he’s the type that ask if you wanted lemon or lime flavor bc one package is yellow and the other is green 😭; alternatively would ask what’s your coochie size when he noticed the numbers on it

he’s not gonna let you win at any game you play; doesn’t matter how much you whine and pout he likes winning too much; god forbid you’re actually good at something he’s gonna try his very hardest and will even practice so that he eventually beats you; will give you all the prizes tho

jungkook:

if he gets bored while you’re asleep he’s gonna start messing with you; his favorite go to games are flicking your bottom lip until you tuck it in or start to gain consciousness and stacking cheerios on your forehead; his personal best is 9 of em

hooks his chin over your shoulder to be nosy when you’re watching something on your phone that catches his attention

he understands that you’re not as nocturnal as he is but sometimes when you stay over at his place and he feels restless he can’t help but crave your attention; will wake you up at 4am gently with kisses so you can try some of the food he made; you’ll be half asleep with him kneeling in front of you feeding you some spicy noodles; he’ll patiently wait for you to finish chewing before he asks you if it’s good; makes you take at least one more bite before kissing your forehead and letting you go back to sleep; tucks himself up next to you about an hour later after he finishes cleaning up after himself

you make funny tiktoks together; they never leave the drafts of course except for when he finds it particularly hilarious and sends it in the group chat

threatens to beat up anyone who upsets you; like you tell him a story about someone who was upsetting you at work and his first response is "bring them to me. i'll take care of it"; and lord don't let someone get carried away at a club or something like if a guy starts hitting on you and won't take no for an answer before you can even tell them off he's already at the scene one shove away from being breaking news on every media outlet in the world

gets pouty when you have a night out without him but he understands the need for balance so doesn’t put up too much of a fight; his only stipulation is that if you can’t make it home on your own or your friends can’t drop you off that you always always call him; the thought of you getting into some randos car late at night when you’re not even mentally there all the way sends chills up his spine; he can’t sleep unless he knows you’re at home safe and sound anyway

doesn't consciously have a preference for how you dress like he thinks you look good in whatever but you in a dress or a skirt itches a particular part of his id that would have carl jung doing backflips; like whenever you pop out in a dress or a skirt he's coming up to you and giving you a kiss on the lips while his arms wrap around your waist and 10-30 seconds later they're dropping down and his hands are toying with the ends of your garment and grazing your thighs underneath it; it just does it for him every time

you're his safe place <333; he goes through periods where you're the only person he wants to see; he will scare you half to death like you'll get off work and go home and you hear all this noise and whole time it's him in your kitchen making sandwiches for lunch; will make up for scaring you by tucking your face into his neck while his arms are wrapped tightly around you so he can breathe you in and then cupping your face and giving you kisses; you're his baby

you have matching hyperfixations; like one of you will get into something and won’t shut up about it and then being the supportive partner you are whenever you’re on social media you send the posts you stumble across to them; but then the algorithm picks up on it and the content keeps popping so often that you actually start being entertained by it too; then y’all won’t shut up about it and have inside jokes and no one ever knows what y’all are talking about bc it’s so deep down into the referential millennial dadaism

gets offended if you’re walking side by side and not touching in some way; like if you start walking ahead of him or something he’s gonna clear his throat very pointedly and when you look at him like ???? he’s gonna look at you like you’re stupid and pull you into him where you belong

a/n: as promised she is back 🫡 thank you to everyone who encouraged me to repost 💕 pls continue to be kind my mental state is probably worse than it was before LOL

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 1 year

Text

Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water (coming out soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕: Bunny in the kitchen (coming soon)

THREE - Muscle Bunny to the rescue (coming soon)

FOUR - Bunny Fever (coming soon)

THE LAST BUN (Coming soon)

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

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namfinessed · 18 days

Text

go around - j.hs.

genre: angst, fluff (childhoodcrush! brother'sbestfriend!) (8.2k)

summary: to everyone else, he was the sun but to you, he was always the moon, the light you grabbed onto when you could see nothing.

note: grief is something very close to my heart, i've always struggled with it but i'm slowly starting to learn to live with it, i hope everyone who's experienced loss feels like some kind of relief through this, thank you for reading <3

masterlist

hoseok was sixteen years old when it happened.

you were thirteen.

and he had thought he was too cool for you then.

you were sitting on the other side of the mary-go-round to him, it was the last but one day of the summer camp you were part of, and you looked at him as if he hung the moon in the sky.

and hoseok felt as high as the moon that night.

but he was also sick to his stomach.

"i like you," you didn't look at him as you said it but hoseok could feel that you meant it, that it took a lot for you to get on that mary-go-round with him, spin with him, build the moon in his eyes and then say the words that he believed were stuck in your throat since when you first saw him.

he knew that your brother wouldn't like that you were saying this.

but he knew, even as a kid, that this was the most honest thing anyone's ever told him.

but he was so cool and so close to your brother, who would kill him if hoseok said anything back.

so, he didn't say anything back.

hoseok pursed his lips and looked away. he swears that, to this day, the tears shining in his eyes were nerves and not the frustration that came with not being able to hold you to the moon too.

the silent rejection didn't yet hit your soft eyes and bare heart.

you kept looking at him, hands gripping the handles so tight that your knuckles changed shades between white and pink and your cheeks puffed, excited and nervous breaths still left your lips.

and hoseok didn't want to be cool for a second there, he didn't want to care about your brother at all, maybe he would just let you take him for a bit, just a bit.

but in your thin eyebrows, he saw your brother.

in your veiny hands, he saw your brother.

in your coily, curly hair, he saw your brother.

so, he got off the mary-go-round, he walked away quickly, not pausing to look at you and he sniffed his tears away, he hugged his jacket closer to his body.

tomorrow, he would be fine.

tomorrow, no one would look at him like he was the moon and he would be okay with it.

but hoseok turned around.

the biggest mistake of his life.

the moon you thought him to be, cast a glow on the tears gathering on your chin and his heart wrenched.

he would fix this, he told himself, he would fix all of this.

but the next day, your brother, his best friend, died.

and you never spoke a word to hoseok again.

everything was vibrant when hoseok stepped into your home.

the unkept gardens were now blooming with flowers.

the closed windows were now open and giving a glimpse into the light inside the house.

the home was back to being a home.

he’s seen the transformation take place with his own two eyes over the years and he could confidently conclude that the ten years that cloaked your family and home in darkness were finally nowhere to be found.

and hoseok felt both delight and unease at the development.

“oh honey, you came,” there were few people hoseok could recognize with how they breathed, and your mom, his second mom basically, was one of them.

he didn’t even get to greet her before he was wrapped in a hug that surrounded him with the scent of cinnamon, musky perfume, and somehow, still his best friend.

“of course i did, ma” he kissed the top of her head, his arms not letting her go even if he knew the time for an appropriate hug was up, and she knew it too but she stayed as long as hoseok held her.

and when he let her go, he had to look away from the tears touching her eyelashes.

he probably brought back memories of his friend, maybe he still smelt like his friend too, he doesn’t know but he’s glad if he does.

his best friend’s family was unlike hoseok’s, his own family was distant and cold, and when he became an adult, he cut off all ties with them, he simply couldn’t accept them as family and your mom never let him feel as if he didn’t have one.

“the place is really packed,” hoseok whistled, looking at all the new faces and your mom nodded, “she invited a lot of her friends, i don’t know them but it’s okay, they’re having a good time, you’re here, so it’s all good,” hoseok stiffened at your mention.

you didn’t see him once in the last ten years.

slammed the door on his face.

ignored him even when your mom screamed after you.

locked yourself in your room and never got out if it meant seeing him.

and hoseok learned to accept it, he wouldn’t hang out with him either, especially after what happened.

but it was your birthday and he was invited, by your mom or you, he has no idea but hoseok steels himself to see you at some point in the night.

then, he walks around, introduces himself, ignores the pity that people eye’s throw at him, ignores the sympathetic touches on his arm, ignores the pats on the back and the ‘he must’ve been wonderful to have as a friend’ and he nods because he can’t say that yes, his best friend was an incredible friend until he fucking died.

and suddenly, hoseok wants to punch his best friend, for leaving him with this room of people who didn’t know him but somehow had all the sympathy in the world to shove in his face, for leaving him with no option but to mourn and miss him.

but hoseok was never a good mourner, he was good at going about life normally, good at laughing, good at ignoring his feelings, hoseok wasn’t good at gathering tears in his eyes when he thought of his dead best friend.

after a while, hoseok excuses himself to the bathroom and finds himself in his friend’s room, which remains frozen in time. every poster he hung up, though peeling at the edges on the wall, still stayed, every photo he stuck on top of his bedpost was yellow and faded but again, they stayed.

he doesn’t know how long he stares at their photo, the one they took in the summer camp where hoseok’s head is too small and his arms too thin and wrapped around his friend.

when he ran his fingers over the photo, he didn’t feel anything, he was grazing over hazy memories that he was desperately trying to remember as he got older but they were all slipping away or holding on too tightly at times.

“what the fuck are you doing in jay’s room?”

and he snatches his fingers away from the photo.

as he turns around, he swears he feels his heartbeat in his feet, and no amount of time could ever prepare him to face you.

you’re standing at the door with your arms crossed so defensively over your chest that he’s scared to take a single step forward but something about you, as a sixteen-year-old back then and now, a twenty-six-year-old, always takes his breath away.

and you look so much like jay, from the eyes to the hair to the hands, that he has to look away to breathe again.

“hey,” is all that comes out of hoseok’s mouth and he knows he deserves it when you roll your eyes at him.

“you’re not going to slam the door on me?” he asks and to his surprise, you shake your head, “not this time, my mom might just kill me,” you say while entering through the door and hoseok awkwardly steps around the room to reach where you sit on the bed.

he’s not sure how to feel about your mom having to force you to meet him.

and he’s not sure if he will ever be ready to see you again.

maybe you should’ve slammed the door one last time.

“happy birthday, big numbers now,” hoseok sits five feet away from you on the same bed and he watches your face soften the slightest, “thank you, and yeah, twenty-four doesn’t feel real,” you weakly laugh, falling on the bed and letting your feet dangle off the edge.

“your friends seem fun,” he stayed alert on the edge of the bed, and you nodded half-heartedly, “i guess so, did you meet them?”

“yeah, i said hi and stuff,” hoseok played with his fingers as you sat up again, “they brought up jay?”

“um yeah, they seemed to be very...empathetic about it,” he said, he didn’t know how else to say that your friends' reactions almost made him want to leave the party.

“yeah, they don’t know how to react to dead brothers or best friends, they’re not too bad though,” you laugh again and hoseok just nods, looking away.

for a moment, there’s only silence.

there’s only your breath and his.

there’s only your heartbeat and his.

and hoseok had missed this, he had missed you.

“can you believe it’s been ten years?” he asks because he can’t, he still feels as if it was yesterday that he got the phone call from you.

“i can,” you whisper, “time has been slow for me, so i can,” you’re the one looking away this time and hoseok catches your eyes roaming on the photos stuck above jay’s bed.

“do you want to go downstairs?” you get up from the bed and meet his eyes properly for the first time since you entered the room and he can do nothing but nod.

just before you step out the door, hoseok grabs your hand, immediately dropping it as you stop, “a-are you okay?” he didn’t want to ask you the question that he knows everyone else did but he also wouldn’t sleep that night without asking.

but when you laugh and disappear downstairs, hoseok ends up not sleeping anyway.

“thank you so much for coming by,” hoseok shook his head at your mother with the broadest smile and sweat coating his forehead, “of course ma, you can call me whenever you need help,” he pressed a kiss on the top of her head as he passed her and she pushed her face into his arm.

your mom owned a local restaurant and usually, handled everything from deliveries to cooking to serving and hoseok had chastised her multiple times about it.

even now, looking at the full restaurant, hoseok knew he couldn’t leave her to it.

so, after pushing her into the kitchen, he manned the counter for a while and made light conversation with whoever came by.

it felt strange, after so many years, being back around jay’s family, being back in this restaurant where he spent many days and nights.

he shook his head, refusing to let the memories creep back in.

he was used to this, this was just a routine to him, he always helped out, and he knew jay would do it if he was here.

“she loves you a lot already, you don’t have to do all this,” your voice isn’t something he’s used to though, not here, and hoseok’s palms start sweating immediately.

fuck.

he didn’t even put on a good outfit today.

or even perfume, now that he thinks of it.

and he curses himself when you come into view.

“i do this because i love her a lot,” he says with a smile and you roll your eyes, “yeah i know, it’s annoying,” and he frowns, “why?”

but you just wave a hand at him and go into the kitchen.

and hoseok’s left with ten people waving their bills and money at him, so he plasters a smile on his face and continues working.

after some time passes, you come back out from the kitchen with a scowl on your face and hoseok knows this because he hasn’t stopped his eyes from flickering between the kitchen door and the counter in front of him.

“i’ve got it from here, move,” you bark at him as you reach him and hoseok’s frown deepens at you, “it’s only a couple of people, i’ll finish it, don’t worry,” he reassures you but it only seems to irritate you.

“this isn’t your job, hoseok, just move over,” the glare on your face makes hoseok throw his hands up in the air and step away from the counter.

and he goes to the kitchen, he hugs your mom goodbye and he doesn’t bother with saying anything to you while he leaves because he’s sure you will only curse at him. he’s too exhausted today.

but imagine his surprise when the clock strikes midnight, you are at his door with a few soju bottles, snacks, and a sheepish smile on your face.

what the fuck were you doing at his home?

“um, hi?” he adjusts his t-shirt as he greets you, suddenly too aware of his messy hair and pajama pants as his heart once again beats away from his body.

“can i come in?” you ask sheepishly, and he immediately moves away. as you look around his apartment, hoseok still finds it hard to believe that you’re here.

even as you set up the table with soju glasses and food, he can only follow you in a daze.

“come, sit,” you say as if it wasn’t his home, his table, and his chairs but hoseok obliges and sits down.

a few minutes pass with both of you just fidgeting, looking at and away from each other, scratching your necks, and rubbing your fingers together.

until you finally grab the soju bottle and inch toward him.

you take a deep breath in and hoseok lets one out, “i shouldn’t have been so rude at the store, it’s just,” you speak as you pour soju into a shot glass for him and he sits up in his seat, “jay used to be there all the time.” you swallow, moving the bottle away from him and pouring one for yourself too.

“i was there all the time too, you know that,” hoseok says gently, as if to a child and you nod, “yeah, but it was always you and him, not just you.”

always you and him.

not just you.

and the memories that hoseok tried so hard to keep in his head, started creeping their way onto his sneakers and jeans and slipping away like sand.

the nights they snuck in to steal the leftovers.

the days he spent munching down on snacks that your mom generously gave him and jay.

the evenings where they both fanned each other with rolled-up magazines.

the days he spent admiring you at the counter.

but he couldn’t remember the dates, he couldn’t remember the details like what he was wearing that evening when jay hit him with a wooden fan, what was jay wearing when he got dumped by his girlfriend and cried to hoseok, what would jay think of this moment right now, you in front of him with a couple of soju bottles that were bound to be empty soon?

he shifted in his seat, “i won’t come over anymore, i didn’t know you felt like this,” and you purse your lips, “don’t do that, hoseok.”

“do what?” his eyebrows draw closer and you put down your glass to stare at him straight, “be so understanding and nice, just tell me to fuck off and deal with my shit instead of taking it out on you, hate me a little bit because this isn’t fair to you and you know that too.”

hoseok is stunned to silence for a second.

and he has a feeling that these words weren’t just some sudden outburst, you never spoke without letting your thoughts settle so he knows you’ve felt this for a while.

when he catches your wobbling lip and the way you shove food into your mouth to stop the movement, he knows he’s right and his heart softens even more.

“i’m not going to hate you for missing your brother, y/n.” is all he says before he slides your glass towards him and pours you a shot too.

and for a second, you just eye the glass and then look at him with tears so heavy in your eyes that hoseok is surprised they haven’t rolled down your cheeks.

“i think you’re the only one who doesn’t,” you suck in a breath and take the shot, you barely feel the liquid burn down your throat or the tears that finally release from your eyes.

when he raises his eyebrows at you, you shrug with a sniff and look away.

for the rest of the night, hoseok tries to forget that this was exactly how you looked on the mary-go-around ten years ago.

tears on your jaw.

flushed cheeks.

the same coily hair.

for the rest of the night, hoseok stops himself from falling in love again.

“again!” your mom threw her hands up in delight after winning one more game of ludo that hoseok had brought over.

you groaned and complained loudly to her, face held up by your elbow and hoseok watched with warm eyes as you and your mom argued about the win.

but he also felt acutely, the empty cushion next to him.

“you’re just a sore loser, learn a thing or two from hoseok,” your mom brought him back to the world, unscathed from his best friend’s haunting.

and hoseok nods proudly, dissolving into giggles when you scoff at him and your mom high-fives him.

“you’re letting her win,” you stare pointedly at him as your mom leaves to bring more snacks and hoseok shrugs happily, “guilty as charged,” and ducks with a laugh when a shower of peanut shells gets thrown in his direction.

“i knew it!” you screeched and he fell onto the floor with a belly full of joy, “mom, i told you, he was letting you win,” you stomped into the kitchen and hoseok heard more sounds of an argument from the kitchen, he rolled his eyes in endearment.

that night, you drop him in your car, and the entire ride, you’re laughing, he’s laughing, you’re speaking nonsense, he’s speaking nonsense, you’re falling on the seat to cover your face and he’s pulling his hands over his eyes to cover his face.

and at his door, you look at him with a face so free of everything.

no lines of worry on your forehead.

no frown between your eyebrows.

no hesitance to smile.

just a hint of moonlight falling over the right side of your face and some of your hair.

and hoseok wonders if he looks the same, if he looks just as beautiful and calm.

but when you keep staring at him with those curious, those tender eyes that he feels you reserve just for him, as if he has the answer to everything, as if he was the answer to everything, hoseok’s heart races in panic and buried love.

both of you realize at the same time, that ten minutes had passed and you were about two inches closer than you were at the beginning of the ride.

he stumbles out of the car, you stutter a goodbye to him and he nods hastily, urging you to leave.

that night, once again, hoseok begs himself to stop falling in love.

you only called him once in the many years that he’s known you and it was to tell him that jay had died, it was a freak accident, no one could’ve done anything and hoseok had thought that it was all a dream but your voice, as always, rang true in his ears and he knew that his life, as it was, would change forever.

“hoseok, i-it’s jay, someone hit him with a bike, i don’t know what’s going on, they’re saying they can’t read his pulse, please just come here, p-please.”

your sobs had shaken him so badly that he stumbled out of his camp cabin in his pajamas and he held your mom’s hand the entire time they tried to resurrect jay in the emergency room but once jay flatlined, your mom crumbled in his arms and you ran out of the hospital, you refused to look at him after that night.

and he understands why, he should’ve been there for jay, he should’ve made sure that his best friend didn’t go out for a walk that night or he should’ve gone with jay and been the one to get hit instead.

but it was all over now, and all hoseok was left with was a heavy heart filled with enough guilt for all the years he would live.

so when hoseok’s phone rang in the middle of the night with your name flashing on his screen, his brain unearthed the entire tragedy, the entire night with its roots pulled out of him and he was gasping for breath as he answered.

could it be that something happened to your mom?

did something happen to you?

did something happen to him and everyone else knew but him?

“she’s not letting us call her mom but she said your name, can you come to pick her up?” and twenty minutes later, hoseok pulled up to the only nightclub in the neighborhood to pick you up.

he struggled to hold back a laugh as he saw you draped over your friend’s arms, blissfully drunk, giggling, and utterly exhausted. when he started walking over to you, all of your friends began groaning and complaining to him about you which only made it harder for him not to laugh until your entire weight was shifted onto him and hoseok closed his eyes when you buried your face in his neck, savoring the tender moment.

just like every other minute that he’s alone with you, hoseok can’t believe this minute either.

“i’ve got her from here,” he says, carefully shifting your body to make you more comfortable and you hum in your drunken state, pushing your cheeks further into his collarbones and hoseok tries not to freeze.

“you should join us next time!” your friends all chime in together, their enthusiasm and kind intentions bleed around them and touch hoseok’s heart, maybe he had been too quick to judge them and hoseok gives in, nodding unsurely and they all erupt in cheers which makes him smile.

you had good people around you.

and that made him the happiest person in the world.

as he waves goodbye to them, his hands hold your body closer to him when you start to slide off and all of them exchange looks which hoseok ignores.

he carefully puts you in the passenger seat and pulls off the sidewalk.

he turned up the air conditioner, feeling his body get warmer and warmer as the seconds passed and he forces himself to look at the road and not you.

“hoseok?” the red light glowed on your face when he looked towards you, “yeah, it’s me, just taking you back home,” he doesn’t stop his hands from moving your hair away from your face and caressing your temples with his fingers.

how many years have passed with him missing you?

how many years of loving you has he missed out on?

he doesn’t know how jay would feel about this, maybe he would gag at hoseok’s tender eyes at this moment, perhaps he would tease him but he knows jay wouldn’t hate it.

hoseok pulls back almost immediately as you start to shift, only to relax when your face melts into his fingers.

if it didn’t feel so wrong, hoseok would’ve sat the rest of the night just looking at you and letting the rest of the world pass by.

“don’t take me to mom’s,” you whine and he laughs at your scrunched-up face, “okay, where do you want to go?”

“your’s,” you mumble, and hoseok’s face goes red, it takes him a few minutes and several cars honking at him to come back to earth.

when hoseok carefully lays you on the side of his body and takes you to his bedroom, he bears the torture of your arms tightening around his neck and the torture of your lips accidentally brushing on his skin.

“you like me, right?” you whisper into hoseok’s ear as he covers you with blankets on his bed and he freezes.

when he doesn’t respond, your eyes flutter open, still soft and fuzzy from the alcohol and you ask again, “hoseok, you like me, yes?”

and he’s taken back to the you that asked him out on a mary-go-around, the you that gave him the most honest confession of love in his life, the you that looked at him as if he ripped your heart out.

he nods, “of course i do, we’re family.” and you frown at him.

then, you sit up on the bed and lean forward to hold his face in your hands, hoseok starts sweating under the thin t-shirt he wore, and your fingers touch his face in places that he’s sure didn’t exist before, and every nerve of his melts and burns.

“i’ve always wanted to ask you something,” he says, now that there was no distinction between his breaths and yours and you nod, urging him to go on, “i thought i was always the one who had something to say,” you giggle, falling on his shoulder and hoseok laughs with you.

“why did you start talking to me again? after all this time? it can’t just be because of your mother,” and your laughter vanishes from the air around him, your touch too lifts from his shoulder, and hoseok’s confusion and curiosity grow.

he knows he’s asked the wrong thing, and said the wrong thing, he always does, but why would this question make you so upset?

he just wanted to know why after so many years of ignoring his entire existence, you suddenly chose to come to his home, and suddenly back into his life.

but he also loves that you’re back in his life.

“you don’t have to tell me, go to s-“ he gets up from the bed but is stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist tightly and he sinks back down beside you.

“my reasons are selfish, hoseok,” your tears come back and hoseok is rushing to wipe them away before they ever leave your eyes which only makes them gather faster.

“i don’t care,” he shakes his head and he really doesn’t.

“you should.”

“but i don’t.”

use him, don’t use him, throw him away, or keep him, he’s okay with it all.

your eyes search in his face, any trace of a lie, any trace of dishonesty and you find none that urges you to say, “i need you.”

a strange rush of warmth and bashfulness washes over hoseok as your words run him over.

“it hurts so much and i can’t do this alone, i need you, i just want it to stop hurting,” and hoseok’s heart stops at your broken voice because he knows what’s hurting you and nothing in the world can fix that kind of pain, “i don’t know how to live anymore, every time i come home, i miss him in the space next to my mom, i miss him in the counter that you stand at now, i miss him everywhere and i can’t say this to anyone.”

hoseok barely feels your hands grabbing his as your sobs climb up your throat, “except you, hoseok. no one knows what i feel, it’s pathetic that i miss him still but so do you, i know you feel this too, right?”

and he knows, he knows exactly what it feels like and he also knows that this was building in you since over the past ten years, the same way it’s been building in him.

that sense of loss that never goes away.

that sense of waiting for the relief that comes with moving on, that never came.

that sense of having nowhere to go and cry it out because the rest of the world doesn’t see what it’s lost, only he can and only you can.

“i do,” he finally choked out and your cries grew louder, hoseok winced at the volume and tapped your arms to calm you down but he was barely calm himself.

years and years of his grief catch up to him, run him over, trample over him and his mind ignites with every single second he spent with jay, every single he spent missing jay and then ignoring his memory.

all of it grabs him by the throat and chokes him but he lets your head fall onto his shoulder, and keeps his own tears away from his eyes as your body breaks on him.

when you were kids, hoseok had held you when you were laughing, he had felt your joy go through him, spread onto him, he could feel your happiness as if it was his own.

when you laughed in the car with him, the sound jogged his memory on how to laugh, on how to feel happiness again, he felt it go in and out of him in waves that he couldn’t control.

it was a miracle to him that just by touching someone, you can feel what they feel.

but now, holding you when you were crying, feeling every tear on his own skin, the burden of it all sunk him deeper than he could pull out of but he held you, he wrapped a singular arm around you and buried his head in your hair.

if anyone was going to know that he cried about jay, it was you and if anyone was going to miss jay with you, it was him.

and that night, he let himself fall in love.

the next morning, hoseok woke up with swollen eyes but a happy heart, a less lonely heart, he got up from the couch and entered his bedroom where he spent several minutes just staring at your face and stopped himself from kissing your cheek.

he stepped out of the bedroom quietly, padding his feet as gently as he could on the floor, and started preparing pancakes, hot chocolate, and everything else he could remember as something you liked as a kid.

hoseok couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he whisked the batter, stirred the hot chocolate, and put out the plates. every moment that passed reminded him of you in his bedroom, it made him feel fuzzy and warm and ticklish, as if the sun had come to sit on his shoulder.

finally, his life was falling into place.

he almost jumped in excitement when the sound of his bedroom door creaking echoed throughout his apartment. he peeked around the corner to see you dragging your feet with even more swollen eyes than his and he stifled a laugh.

“good morning, pretty,” hoseok sang and giggled when your groan came as a reply.

“what’s all this?” your eyes barely opened to see the spread of food in front of you and he shrugged, “just some breakfast for you, did you take the aspirin beside the bed?”

you nodded and stood unsurely until hoseok got up and pushed you to sit down gently, “sit down, it’s all still hot, have it soon,” he kissed the top of your head and you stiffened under him.

hoseok quickly stepped away, laughing uncomfortably, and sat down as well.

for the next few minutes, he waited as you took in everything in front of you and his heart raced the entire time.

did he do too much?

was he moving too fast?

but he had already wasted so much time over the years, he wasn’t going to make the same mistak-

“why?”

hoseok frowns at your question, leaning forward to see if he heard it right but when he looks up, he sees your tear-filled eyes and he knows he’s fucked up somehow.

“w-what happened?”

“why are you doing all this?” he doesn’t know if you’re asking him or accusing him of something.

“what do you mean?”

“why.are.you.doing.this?” you punctuate every word with quick breaths and hoseok knows he’s pissed you off.

why or how he’s done that, he has no idea.

“i thought some food would be nice in the morning, especially with your hangover,” he stumbles over his words because he didn’t think he would ever have to explain why he made breakfast for someone.

you stay quiet.

he says your name.

once.

twice.

thrice.

then, you get up from the chair and look at him with both the most anger he’s felt in someone and also, the most pain, “i can’t do this,” you mumble and in the next minute, hoseok’s door is left wide open and your seat is empty.

he watches the food go cold and tries to hold himself together as he clears everything up, all the warmth he felt in the morning disappeared down the same drain that his food went.

and all he could was watch and let it happen.

weeks passed and hoseok dipped in and out of the restaurant, trying to see you, catch a word with you, and try to fix things, but whenever you saw him, you ran away.

whenever he waved to you, you would hesitantly lift your hand and then look away, engaging yourself with someone else.

whenever he called you, you wouldn’t pick up.

his messages remained on delivered.

and hoseok’s heart broke little by little as he saw you intentionally pull away from him.

he couldn’t understand why, you had such a beautiful night together, you had poured your heart out to him and he had done the same to you but somehow, it was as if that night didn’t exist to you.

maybe he read it all wrong?

maybe you just needed him as someone who felt the same as you, who experienced the same grief and here he was, his heart growing wings and the love he buried blooming again.

but you had loved him ten years ago.

and that confession was still fresh in his mind, still the most honest thing he’s heard in his life.

maybe he was stupid for ever thinking that you still felt the same love from ten years ago?

but as his mind replayed your words, ‘i need you’, it didn’t make sense to him that suddenly, you wanted to push him away.

“take these when you go home,” your mom packed him multiple boxes of side dishes and rice and everything else she could cook throughout the day and he nodded, thanking her with a kiss on her head, and headed for the door.

until he heard your voice.

his entire body froze at your presence.

but he’s had enough.

hoseok turned around and started walking with loud steps towards the kitchen, and when you came into his vision, he didn’t feel the warmth or the love or any of the good stuff.

he only felt the hurt that blinded him that morning, he only felt the pain spearing his heart as he threw everything away, he only felt the loneliness that played with him until the late hours of the night.

hoseok knows he’s not the best person but he also knows that he didn’t deserve that.

“you asked me that day, why i was doing all that. let me ask you now, why are you doing this?” he glared right at you, and in the corner of his eyes, he saw your mom glance between the two of you and then duck out of the kitchen.

he will apologize to her later.

in front of him, you tilted your head at him and tried to appear tough by crossing your arms across your chest and staring back at him.

but hoseok is past this, he’s tired of being lonely but he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to feel lonely when he’s in love.

“look, i don’t know what’s going through your mind and i never will until you tell me, but you can’t do this to me, you can’t push and pull whenever you like, i know you’re hurting somehow but i am too, so figure yourself out and then come to me because i know that i’m not alone in this feeling, i know you feel it too.”

with that, hoseok marched out of the kitchen, hugged your mom on the way out and went back to his empty home, where he might’ve felt lonely but he at least didn’t feel miserable.

you will hopefully find your way back to him.

but if you don’t, hoseok’s just going to have to find a way to be okay with that too.

days passed again and hoseok tried to move on.

you didn’t call or message or try to reach him and he took it as a rejection, which was still okay, he would still be okay.

he busied himself with his work, with your mom’s restaurant, and tried to learn how to cook, tried to liven up his apartment with knick-knacks, he took up arts and crafts.

hoseok did everything he could think of and for the most part, he really was okay.

but he also really wasn’t that okay.

he drifted through the days, pushed you out of his mind, and drank a bit from time to time to forget you only to hover his finger over your contact every night, he still kept the blanket you slept on in the corner of his room and not in the laundry basket where it should’ve been.

but still.

he was okay, he told himself, he would go back to some version of himself which was okay.

hoseok walked to the restaurant with his head down, earphones in and counted his steps because he had nothing else to do.

when he reached, he still didn’t look up, he continued to his counter where he removed his hoodie and put on an apron, humming to himself and cleaning the counter up.

until your mom’s shoes came into his view and by the time he looked up, she had grabbed his arm and started shaking him which made him frown.

he looked up to see her tear-streaked face and echoes of her sobs that traveled from her hands to him and the desperate shouts he could only see with his earphones in.

his hands shakily reached up to remove his earphones and then he heard it.

the heart-stopping cries and yells.

hoseok’s eyes went round with panic and he immediately grabbed her body as she fell onto him, he tried his best to soothe her but seeing her tears, was already choking him up.

he tried to keep his panic at bay as he patted her back and tried to make sense of her babbling.

what if something happened to you?

he couldn’t deal with that kind of grief; he wouldn’t survive it.

“she hasn’t picked up a single call,” something did happen to you, and hoseok bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his sobs.

“ma,” he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes, “please breathe with me,” she nodded, timing her inhalation and exhalation with him and when her sniffles subsided, she told him, “she ran away this morning, i’ve looked everywhere and i’ve called everyone, no one has seen her, i don’t know what to do and the police aren’t doing anything until she’s gone for a day but you know her, she never does this.”

she rambled endlessly to him and hoseok held onto her the entire time, feeling only a bit hurt that she never called him but that wasn’t a concern right now.

at the end of it, he offered her a glass of water, removed his apron, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before heading straight for the door.

“hoseok,” he stopped at her voice, “i only didn’t call you because i know you two aren’t doing well right now, otherwise you know you’re like my son.” and hoseok melted, he smiled and took her hands as he said, “don’t worry about that ma, we’re family, you keep calling people and i’ll try to find her.”

he didn’t know what to feel once he stepped out of the restaurant.

in the restaurant, he could focus on reassuring and comforting your mom, he could place all his energy into caring for her but now, he was alone and he didn’t know what to feel.

hoseok got into his car only to realize he didn’t know where to fucking begin, you could be anywhere by this time, even a different city but he has a feeling that you were not too far.

but he didn’t know that with certainty either.

every thought he had only put him in a chokehold as his mind reeled with every worst-case scenario.

nevertheless, he put his fears aside and started the car.

the next few hours, he drove in every street, looked in every club and café, kept checking his phone some one million times, and stopped at the entrance of his summer camp where his life seemed to begin and end.

jay would’ve had a panic attack if he was here with hoseok right now, hoseok smiled as he thought of how worried jay would’ve been and how he probably would’ve cursed you out after finding you, how he would’ve hugged you and hoseok in relief, how he would never let it happen again.

jay would’ve been so many things if he was still there with hoseok and that killed hoseok every day.

he kept staring at the entrance where he ran out of the day jay died, where he held back his tears and shook his head and told himself that it was all a lie, that his best friend was still alive.

hoseok threw his head back on his car seat.

grief was so unfair; it took away so much and left him with so little.

if it was so hard for him, he couldn’t imagine how much more angry or sad grief would’ve made you over the years.

and just as he blinks back tears, his phone rings and he runs his hand over his face to answer it, “ma, i’m still out, don’t worry, we’ll find her,” he starts reassuring only to hear nothing on the other end.

“hello?” he frowns.

“hoseok?”

and he almost drops his phone in relief.

“god, are you okay?” he immediately sits up, starting the car again, “where are you? i’m coming to get you right now, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“why aren’t you home?”

“huh?”

“why aren’t you home right now?”

“are you at my place?” hoseok frown becomes even deeper and he knows your silence only means one thing, he sighs out, “stay there.”

and he’s turning the car, calling your mom to tell her the news, and feeling a hundred different emotions as he reaches the lane of his apartment.

right by his door, he finds you, sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest and the rocks slid off his shoulders, he feels air enter his chest at the sight of you, unharmed and safe and breathing and…alive.

he doesn’t know why he’d even thought as far as you being dead but he couldn’t help it.

it was midnight but the moonlight, as always, found you and your tears, and hoseok sat right next to you and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“why didn’t you say anything back?” he hears you mumble and he frowns, “when?”

“that day in summer camp, when i told you i liked you, why didn’t you say anything back?”

and hoseok sighs, the secret he’s held in his heart for as long as he remembers, starts crawling up his throat, “i like you too,” and his lack of using the past tense has you sitting up straight, tears now reduced to sniffles.

“you do?” and the way you ask it almost has him hitting his own head, how did he ever let you think otherwise?

“i would be crazy if i didn’t,” he smiles weakly at you, his heart suddenly exposed and raw and beating louder than it ever has before, and you fall back on the wall, “but you just walked away then.”

and hoseok knows he can’t hide it anymore.

“i didn’t say anything because i went to jay,” hoseok recalls how cold the night was, how quick his steps were to reach his best friend and he watches your face light up and fall, all in just seconds.

“i needed to ask him if it was okay, i needed to tell him that i liked his sister and that i wanted to take care of her, and he didn’t like it,” hoseok shakes his head, a strained laugh leaving his lips, “we fought all night, but i guess he saw how much i meant it, so he gave me his blessing,” he looks up at you and you’re closing your eyes, letting your head fall back.

“he gave us his blessing, y/n, he did and that’s why i’ve never given up on you, he was so dramatic about it, you would’ve hit him if you saw him say it,” he laughs, the memory still so fresh of jay hugging hoseok and whispering to him that he would be dead the next second if he ever hurt you, how jay stopped himself from smiling as he thought of you with him.

he kept that close to his heart and never told anyone about it, it was for him and jay until today but now, it was for you too.

every time he felt bitter over the years that you avoided him, hoseok reminded himself that he loved you and he always will, and jay would love that hoseok loved you.

and you’re holding back sobs that still escape and tear into the world.

“i’m sorry,” he hears you say and he hums before placing your head on his shoulder, he tries not to cry when he feels your sobs, he sniffles and looks at his feet.

“i was so scared that morning, i told you everything i’ve never told anyone the night before and you still treated me with love, i thought you would tell me to leave, that you would finally have had enough but you didn’t and it still scared me. you shouldn’t be in my life hoseok, i will ruin you,” his heart sinks and hoseok moves closer to you because he doesn’t know where he belongs if it’s not beside you.

“i don’t want to be anywhere else,” he says and presses his hand to the side of your head.

“i can’t stop missing him, hoseok, i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you shake your head and he sighs, feeling his throat close up.

“i miss him too.”

“but it’s been so long and i feel like i should move on by now, i don’t know,” you mumble, your tears falling into his shirt and skin.

“jay’s not some ancient history but i think he would hate both of us for being stuck like this.”

“i don’t know another way to live.”

“neither do i,” he shrugs, he knows how lonely he’s felt, how solitary his life was but, “but it will always hurt, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, you lost a brother, a companion for life, i lost a best friend, my soulmate and it’s always going to hurt. but i don’t want either of us to be alone in that pain, we don’t deserve that.”

life can take everything away from him but if we had a few good people and he could love those people, that was enough for him.

“it’s about time we start living for jay, do everything he would’ve done, feel everything he would’ve felt, and keep him alive, don’t you think so?”

and when you nod, fall on his shoulder, and whisper your love to him, it’s just like the first time, the most honest words he’s heard in his life.

hoseok knows his life can sometimes feel empty but sometimes, like right now, it can feel so full that he wouldn’t know what to do with all the love he gave and received.

he whispers his love back to you.

until dawn, you cried on his shoulder, and in the morning, hoseok made breakfast for you, you kissed him and whispered your thanks, he kissed you and whispered his love again, and you smiled and ate the food he made.

and it was calm, normal, another day but everything had changed once again for hoseok.

because this time, he had you and you had him, and in both your hearts and minds, you had jay.

and you learned to live life again, with love, and not just regret, with happiness, and not just guilt.

you lived, not just to grieve and mourn, but to actually live and build a life, with hoseok right by your side. he lived, without

taglist: @blissingtaehyung @cuteipat @hobicorewhore @yoongleskitten @mrjeonghan @greenie-frog @avawants2havefun @an-ever-angry-bi @alyenorgondorwarrior thank you all so much for liking the preview, i hope you enjoy the full fic <3]

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spiceofvy · 2 months

Note

hoseok w a fem!reader who gets teary eyed when his strokes are too good/overwhelmed w pleasure

Hoseok - Reader cries during sex

cws: nsfw, fem!reader, crying during sex (duh), dirty talk, little bit of mean/dom hobi, not properly proofread

No, because why do I think he would be so into it?

I don't actually think that he is in his super mean dom headspace (which he definitely has, don't lie to me) everytime you two have sex but he is really really into watching you unravel in front of him and seeing what effect he has on you.

But to be honest, the first time it happens he totally freaks out. He hates seeing you cry. And making you cry? Especially in a situation like this, when you are so vulnerable and soft for him? He could not forgive himself if he accidentally hurt you or crossed your boundaries. He does pride himself in being a very respectful lover after all, even when he sometimes tends to be a bit mean. It's always within your rules and for your enjoyment.

So when he sees you cry he stops immediately with everything he does. Slowing down, pulling you tightly to his chest, caressing your hair whispering sweet words of comfort into your ear. Just for you to whine and tell him to keep going. Softly scolding him for edging you. He meant well, but in reality, he just pulled a really intense orgasm away from under your fingers. For a few seconds, he just looks at you in shock, before coming to the realization that maybe, your crying wasn't something bad at all. And then he is back at it. "Yeah, is that it? Does my little sweetheart cry because she is feeling too good? Enjoying so much that you couldn't hold in your pretty tears?"

You just awoke a monster.

He does make sure to treat you really well during aftercare, cuddling you close as you explain to him that you crying during sex isn't something bad. Just your body's way of trying to cope with all the sensations. And he is so relieved that he didn't overdo anything. But also really into it. And he just says it like that. "After I was done being shocked, I thought it was really hot."

Now it's something he aims for almost every time you two have sex. He just loves seeing how your red cheeks get wet when you cry for him. To go faster, slower, more, less. Everything. As you cry for everything he could give you. Sometimes he gets almost mean about it, teasing you. "Silly little doll, can't help crying when I fuck you so well can't you? Am I making you feel so good? C'mon stop crying and answer me like a good girl." Or he feels very soft about it, seeing it as another way you show him your trust, "Look at that. My sweet little girl. Crying so pretty for me. You are doing great."

Though he adds more steps to your aftercare routine. Making sure you drink a big glass of water, in addition to the sweet juice you usually get, to make sure you don't dehydrate. He also always moisturizes your face before you get to sleep, so your skin doesn't dry out and hurt.

Because no matter what happens during sex, you being happy and comfortable is always his biggest priority.

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peenisblog · 11 hours

Text

Favorite Cuddle Positions

GN!Reader

WC:300+

Included: BTS 7

Genre: Headcanons Pure Fluff

JIN

Face to face. He likes to watch your face as you slowly fall asleep. Jin tries to commit it to memory, every freckle crease pore. He'll trace his thumb over your cheek bone before he too succumbs to sleep

He loves to snuggle up in a classic honeymoon hug. Fronts pressed together, your face snuggled up against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you legs laced together. It's Namjoons top position he always wants to fall asleep that way. But the poor thing is just too hot. (Yes in both ways) In the summer he's a heater working in overdrive. More often than not you end up pushing him away from you all sweaty.

JHOPE

I don't think he's all that into cuddling. You got thirty minutes max before he's pulling away and complaining about cramping. But if he had to pick one he'd go with spooning. It doesn't matter who's the big spoon or little spoon.

SUGA

Secretly loves to be a little spoon. But he would never admit it. Cuddling always starts off in a different position and throughout it he would slowly start positioning the two of you into spooning. Please please play with his hair?

JIMIN

You on your back with his head on your chest and a leg thrown over your hips. That is a top tier position for him. Jimin just wants to be held. And in this position you can easily trace shapes on his back which he loves.

Tae moves wayyyyyy too much to cuddle. Especially if the two of you are trying to go to sleep. But he always wants to. He whines and demands until you give in. It always ends up with him accidentally kicking you in the ribs and hogging all the blankets.

JUNGKOOK

He just flops himself down right on top of you. With out a care in the world all of his weight comes crushing down on you and knocking all the arm out of your body. He must not be aware of how much he weighs because he does it quite often. He'll only roll off of you when you start kicking out your feet and wriggling around.

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chimcess · 2 months

Text

Time After Time || jhs (Teaser)

Pairing: Time Traveler!Hoseok x Time Traveler!ReaderOther Tags: Scientist!Hoseok, Author!Reader, British!Hoseok, Older!Hoseok, Age Gap!AU Genre: Time Travel!AU, Early 2000s AU, Strangers to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut Word Count: TBD Summary: You're a young time traveler, drifting seamlessly between the past and present, living a fragmented life, never staying long enough in one time to form lasting connections. Everything changes upon encountering Hoseok, a brilliant scientist you had met in one of your adventures. Your journey takes a darker turn when you uncover the truth behind your mother's death, revealing a chilling connection to your abilities and the grim reality that your days are numbered. Determined to defy fate, Hoseok tirelessly searches for a solution to save you. As time becomes both an ally and an enemy, you face immense challenges, testing the resolve and strength of your bond. A/N: We have a new mini-series coming! Diving back into the fantasy genre has been really exciting, and I'm so happy to have this for you all. After spending the last year writing this off and on in between my other projects, it's finally finished and ready to start the final editing phase! I hope you love these characters as much as I do and enjoy the little world I crafted!

I had never given much thought to how I’d die. Two months, two years, two decades- it did not matter. Never could I have guessed this would be my final moments, body shaking and unable to stop myself from sizing as I watched my life flashing before my eyes. Every memory whip past me, body going in and out of the past and present in rapid succession until I could no longer breathe. Still, as afraid as I was, I never allowed my eyes to shut. If I was going to die, I wanted- needed- to see him first. My eyes rolled back, another powerful seizure overtaking my body.

“Y/N!”

I could not muster the strength to come back into my own body yet. On the inside I smiled. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry things had to end like this. That I would miss him. That I loved him. All the words that I was never able to say no matter the thousands of times they were on my lips. I felt hands grabbing hold of me. It was no use, I could feel my body bursting into another ray of light.

“What’s happening to you?” He sobbed.

Finally able to speak, I looked at him. I cemented him into memory. His thin-wired glasses, the color of his eyes, the curve of his cheek, the shape of his lips, and how wet his face was from his tears. If this was the last moment I had with him, I wanted it to matter. Reaching out, I could only hope I had enough time to say something- anything.

“I think I’m dying,” I croaked, head splitting open and body about to be taken somewhere else. Somewhere he wasn’t. “I love you.”

“I-”

But I never got to hear what he wanted to say. For my body was already getting sent back through time. Where? I was not certain, but I knew I was going to die at the end of this. There was no way my body could handle such violent changes. I closed my eyes.

At least I got to say it.

Coming September 2024...

Message/Ask/Comment to be added to the taglist.

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hoseoksluna · 3 months

Text

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.

“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.

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margotw10bis · 7 months

Text

Crashing On Crush.JJK 6 [m]

crush!Jungkook x reader / Hoseok x reader

Genre: smut; series; romance; angst

Words: 5.1k

Synopsis: What happens when your first encounter with your crush is Jungkook seeing your ass?

Warnings: angst; broken heart; mention of death; protected sex; oral sex (f. receiving)

previous ← 6 → next

Graduation Day. Today, you finally graduate from college. It's officially the end of your long academic journey and the beginning of the 'real adult life'. You have dreamt about this day for years: being finally able to introduce yourself as a Master's Degreed Cultural Business professional. You've planned this day a hundred of times with Suzi. You should be happy, party with your friends, have fun. But your mood is miles away from that. The poor seven days after Jungkook's broken your heart weren't enough for you to heal.

Jongseob is by your side though, the exact same way you were for his high school graduation. He looks so happy for you that you don't want him to worry about you. So you put a fake smile on your face and act like everything's fine. His innocent eyes are shining with pride and affection and that puts some ointment on your ripped heart some what.

"How is it to be free from school?" He asks you with his imperfect yet so cute smile

"I guess you'll have to finish college to know" You answer while he winces.

Jongseob hasn't decide yet if he wants to go to college next year. You wish he would so he can have more choices in the future but you don't want him to be unhappy and force him to do something he doesn't like.

"You're no fun, Noona"

You stick out your tongue at him to tease. He hugs you tight and you feel good for the first time in days in his arms. You realize that the little boy you met years ago is becoming a strong man. His embrace is getting more and more powerful, just like he is turning into an adult. You're proud but also a little bit worried that maybe he won't need you anymore. But it's far from the truth: you will always have a special place in Jongseob's heart because you had been and will always be his family, even when he was alone.

"I love so much, Jongseob" You whisper emotionally, so thankful to him to lighten your mood while he has no clue of it

"I love you too, Noona"

————

"Please, Kookie!"

"No, it's not a good idea" Jungkook sighs

She has been yapping in his ears for fifteen minutes now and Jungkook's starting to have a headache.

"Come on! We haven't hung out for years! It's gonna be fun!" She is pouting, trying to coax him while he sighs for the thousandth time.

Jungkook sits on his couch, trying to not remember how it felt like when he has hold you in his arms at the very same spot a few days ago. It seems like years ago to him now. A harsh pinch in the heart makes him wince at the thought. He misses you so much.

The past week, he has tried everything to forget you: he has worked overtime to keep his mind busy, spent hours in malls with her talking about new fashion trends - as if he gives a fuck about it - and he has been working out a lot. Right now, he doesn't want to do anything. He just wants to stay home, alone, and try to fix his damaged heart. He has given up everything, given up you, for her and she was asking for more. How much could he handle until the breaking point?

"I swear, we gonna have fun, Kookie. We don't even have to drink so you could take your lovely fancy car"

Jungkook stares at her with narrow eyes, trying to figure out if it's a good idea. It's definitely not. Yet, he says:

"Okay, but no drinking" He is not sure he'll have the patience to deal with a drunk person tonight while he surely wants to get wasted to forget you a few seconds.

"Yes! Thanks, Kookie!" She brightly yells, throwing herself at Jungkook's neck and giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

————

"Can you tell me once again why we are here?"

You are grumpy. Even when Suzi has tried by all means to cheer you up, it didn't work. Tired from trying, your best friend ended up dragging you - against your consent - in a club.

"Because we have talked about it a thousand times and we agreed on celebrating our graduation months ago. Come on, it will be fun, I promise" Suzi softly says to you, kissing your cheek

You can't blame her, it's true. You, indeed, were supposed to party after the graduation ceremony and go to the club since Suzi loves it. You promised her. But when you did, you didn't know that a tattooed man with piercing would break your heart. However, you enter the club and the loud music is already hurting your ears. This is going to be a long night.

Everyone is so happy. Suzi, your friends from college and Taehyung are all dressed up and in the mood of partying. Not you. You didn't even put any efforts on your outfit: just a simple pair of jeans with a - oh, fancy! - lilac bardot top. You try, you really try to be in the mood, smile and joke with everyone but you can't. Every time your eyes close, you see him. His long, black and smooth hair. His beautiful dark doe eyes. His perfect lips. Those same lips that kissed you and then opened to say 'I love you' to another girl.

You give up hope on having a good night and walk straight to the bar. Alcohol will be your friend tonight. You directly order two shots of vodka, wishing that after that you won't have this handsome man in your mind.

Next to you, a woman appears.

"A diet Coke, please!"

You tense immediately. This voice. No. No, no, no. This can't be. Fate can't be this cruel to you. You don't hear well because of the shitty and loud music. But you can't help turning your head at her. It's her. The girl you saw in Jungkook's arms. She is gorgeous. Long dark, almost black, straight hair. Beautiful brown almond eyes. And a perfect smile with full lips. The smile you should have on your face tonight.

You just stare at her, speechless.

"Celebration night?" She asks you cheerfully while your heart squeezes in pain

"Yeah" You answer with a white voice

You just pray she is alone and he is not here. But who are you kidding? The odds have never been on your side. You are just unlucky. So, of course, he walks right at her, not even noticing you. And that fucking hurts.

"You said no alcohol" He talks in her ear

Seeing him this close to her, her back leaning on his buff chest is painful. This is everything you wanted and Jungkook has it, with another woman. Your heart burns and its beats echo in your ears. You feel your throat drying and your eyes watering.

"Relax, Kookie, it's just a Coke"

Then, Jungkook's eyes meet yours. The surprise is more than visible on his perfect face - the face you wish you didn't miss this much. You still remember how his lips felt on yours, how his long almost touching shoulders hair felt under your fingertips. It felt so good so why does it hurt so bad now? Why does he have to look so good in his black t-shirt and same color jeans when you look like trash? Didn't he feel any pain last week while you were crying every night in your bed? It looks like it...

"Y/N?" His deep voice becomes suddenly raspy and is almost a whisper

"Oh, you know each other?" The girl says and then smiles at you, even that hurts you "I'm Mina, Jungkook's girlfriend. Nice to meet you"

You feel like throwing up. Jungkook has a girlfriend and he cheated on her with you. And now you are facing her! How are you supposed to face her? You feel so guilty. You don't even look her in the eyes. It takes everything from you to give her a weak 'Nice to meet you too'.

You notice your two shots that the bartender has just put on the desk and drink them one shot. The vodka burns your throat and your stomach, which makes you wince, but it's nothing compared to your fucking torn apart heart.

You walk away, putting as much distance as you can with Jungkook and his girlfriend. Your vision is blurred by burning tears and you are struggling to breath. You bump into so many people on the crowd dance floor on your way to the exit. At some point, you run into Suzi. Her smile immediately fades away when she sees the panicked and hurt expression on your features.

"What's going on?"

"I-I can't stay here. I'm sorry. Jungkook, he-I'm sorry" You can't speak properly with your erratic breathe and messed up brain

You push Suzi's hands off of your body and run to the door, begging for air.

————

It was a bad idea. Jungkook knew it. He should have said no to Mina. The way you looked at him and then, the sorrow that twisted your pretty face... He couldn't take it. He swears he heard his heart break again when you left.

"Why would you do that?" He speaks harshly to Mina

"Do what?"

"Say you're my girlfriend"

"Because I always do that. I say I'm your girlfriend, you say you're my boyfriend. We always do that" Mina frowns

"We did. Don't do it anymore"

Jungkook clenches his jaw so tight that his teeth hurt. But he knows that it's not over when a furious Suzi walks straight to him. He has never seen his best friend's girlfriend like that. If eyes could kill, he would be dead for sure.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Suzi shouts, pushing harshly Jungkook's chest with her two palms.

He winces more from the pain caused by her words than her gesture.

"Wooh, calm down. Who the hell are you?" Mina intervenes and it's a fucking bad idea

Suzi glances at the girl. Your best friend gets even angrier when she understands everything: the real reason why you were so heartbroken is this girl. Jungkook lied to you! He made a fool out of you! He played with your heart so easily and now he is having a good time with a girl? Suzi can't bare with it.

Suzi has known you for four years and you are one of the most important people in her life. You shared your room at the beginning of college, you were there when her stupid ex-boyfriend cheated on her the first year, you helped her moving with Taehyung. You love her and she loves you. During all the years you have been friends, Suzi has never seen you being mean to someone. You are always kind, you always try to please everyone even when that means you being uncomfortable. You are the best person she knows and fuck! you don't deserve any of this twisted situation. You deserve the kindest man and he would be the luckiest person on Earth to be loved by you.

"You piece of shit" Suzi hisses with disgust "How could you do that to her? Y/N is such a nice girl. Do you have any idea how much she's cried the past few days?"

Jungkook's heart tighten, feeling your pain just like his. He swears he didn't want to hurt you but he didn't have a choice. Not when Mina was here and he had to take care of her. He wants to tell Suzi to stop talking because knowing how much you have suffered because of him is too much to handle. However, if your best friend thinks he is an asshole and tells you to stay away from him, then he would know there is no chance for him and he wouldn't be tempted to run after you and beg you for forgiveness.

"Stay away from her! Don't ever talk to her again! You don't deserve anything from her, not even a glance, not even a thought. And I don't want to ever see you again so don't step in my apartment again"

With that, Suzi leaves, her heart pounding with adrenaline, anger and sadness for you.

"Is everyone crazy in Seoul?" Mina jokes

Jungkook doesn't even talk back and walks through the crowd. He needs air. Everything around him is too heavy: the air in the club, the heat from sweaty people, and the huge pain of his heart. It's all crushing him.

The second he pushes the heavy exit door, the air slaps his face. He steps aside the small crowd near the entrance wanting to enter the club or smoking a cigaret. Everything is so fucked up in his life. He needs to think and to convince himself he can't be with you. But that's so hard when he sees you panting and crying in the middle of the street, just a few meters away from him. He doesn't want you to cry for him, he is not worth it. He wants you to be happy and that's the only reason why he's pushed you away. However, when he sees you like this, he wishes he could travel back time.

His body is moving instinctively and he doesn't notice he is hugging you until he feels your body tightly pressed against his.

Your eyes widen. For a moment, just a second, all the pain is gone. Jungkook's warm and strong arms around you make everything bad disappear. It's so easy for him to make you happy - or sad. A small part of you forgives him everything immediately and is willing to not ask any question as long as he keeps you in his arms. But the other part is too hurt and overwhelmed by how right it feels to be in his embrace.

You try to push him away but he is way stronger than you.

"Get off of me!" You exclaim, sounding more hurt than angry

He does distance himself from you but not too much. He still has his big palms on your bare shoulders, making you look at him in his pretty eyes. You swear you can see as much pain as you feel but it can't be true: he has a girlfriend, he doesn't love you and he lied to you. It's just your imagination because it's what you wish so much: him to love you.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry"

His voice is broken, his eyes get watery and you close yours in disbelief.

"I don't want to listen to you. You lied to me! You lied to her!"

Your eyes are red and big round tears are rolling on your cheeks. This is pathetic, crying in front of him. You try once again to get rid of his hands.

"Listen to me, Mina is not-"

"Don't touch her" A strong man's voice cuts Jungkook off while he is pushed by the stranger

You look up at your savior and you gasp. Hoseok, the sunshine in the darkness. How ironic is it to meet your first ever crush when your current one has broken your heart?

You are equally surprised to see him than to see how his features are tensed while he is sweetest guy in the world. You haven't seen him in years. Strangely enough, he was the reason why you wanted to move to South Korea for your studies.

Hoseok, while he is almost seven years older than you, was your neighbor abroad. He was born in Korea but his parents moved in the house next to yours when you were six. Your parents are friends and you can't count how many evenings you've spent together. As a teenager, you began to have your very first crush on your handsome neighbor. He was sweet, nice and always smiling. When you think about him, your heart is full of happy memories. Of course, due to the age gap, you never said anything about your feelings towards him and you know he saw you like a little sister. However, few time after his studies, Hoseok went back to Korea and that's when you decided you would go too and maybe, if it's fate, you would meet Hoseok again.

Your crush on Hoseok was the innocent one. The one you have when you're young and you're willing to love more than to be loved. Now, you have no romantic feelings for him but a huge affection. He has changed your life in so many ways, especially when it's thanks to him you started get interested in the Korean culture.

"Are you okay?" Hoseok asks you with a softer tone

"Hobi?" Is all you manage to say with a small and shaky voice and you are quite surprised how his surname came so naturally on your tongue. More than that, it feels sweet and safe.

On the other hand, Jungkook's knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists. He wonders who the fuck is that guy. Also, he is angry that this guy has stopped him while he was trying to explain himself to you. If he has to, Jungkook won't hesitate to punch him, especially when he sees his hand grabbing yours.

"Y/N, please, let me talk to you" Jungkook tries to soften his voice when he talks to you but it's a hard thing to do when his whole body is so tensed

"Please, Hobi, let's leave"

Jungkook's heart squeezes and it's even more painful that you don't look at him at all.

Hoseok simply nods and leads you to his car.

It's an understatement to say he was surprised to see you. He wasn't even sure it was you: the last time he saw you, you were fifteen - that's to say just a kid for him. Now, you are a woman. A beautiful woman. He knew you were in Korea because his parents'd told him but he just didn't expect at all to meet you like this. However, when he heard this all-in-black guy calls your name, he didn't hesitate and pushed him away from you. Seeing you cry rekindled his protective instinct towards you.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Hoseok asks when you get in his car

"I don't want to talk about it" You answer honestly

Hoseok firmly grips the wheel, a hundred of scenarios in his head wondering how much this asshole hurt you. He swears to god, if he has touched you, he will kill him. Lost in his thoughts, he startles when you put a delicate hand on his taut one. His eyes soften forthwith and he manages to give you a weak smile.

"Thank you for helping me" You say

"You don't have to thank me, Y/N. Do you want me to bring you home?"

"Actually..." You blush hard "Can we go at yours instead? I don't want to be home alone"

Hoseok takes a moment to think, wondering if it's truly appropriate. But when he looks at you, he sees two things: how sad you are and that you are not the kid he knew in the past. You're a grown up woman and you are able to make your own decision. If you need his help, anyway is it, Hoseok will help you. However, he can't say he is not caught short of how beautiful you are. He has to shake his head to not think about you in another way than his sweet young neighbor.

"Sure" He eventually says with a dry throat, especially abashed when you give him a gorgeous smile.

Hoseok's apartment is way bigger than yours but it's homy. It feels just as warm and welcoming as Hobi's smile. You notice some pictures with his parents and family, and with his friends too. You are smiling while you are browsing the paper memories. But you suddenly gasp. One photo, way bigger than the other ones is a wedding. Hoseok's wedding! He is smiling like crazy in his beautiful white suit and he is holding the hand of the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. Her hair is delicately style in a fluffy bun and her wedding dress makes her look like a princess.

"You're married?!" You scream more than you ask, in a high pitch

"I, uhm, yes, kinda"

Hoseok's smile is so sad when he gets close to you to look at his wedding photo. He knows it by heart but he is always amazed by how gorgeous Sojung is.

"Where is she? I hope she doesn't bother me being here"

"She passed away two years ago"

There is so much pain in Hoseok's voice. You feel your heart breaks with his.

"Oh my god, Hobi, I'm so sorry, I didn't know" You squeeze gently his shoulder to confort him and he gives you a thanking smile

"She was sick even before the wedding. But we wanted to get married. You know, it's funny because there was no point of that, we knew she would die few weeks after the ceremony. But we did it anyway: getting married knowing it was useless... It was worth it though. Sojung was so happy, she laughed the whole day"

You can't hold your tears when you listen to him. You feel so bad for him. Hoseok is always so happy, so cheerful. He is a true sunshine. Knowing he's been through so much pain is heartbreaking. You would give everything for him to be with his wife right now.

"I'm so sorry, Hobi"

You hug him tightly while you are both crying. You don't know how long you stay like that but something changes in you. And you are sure that Hoseok feels the same thing. Sharing your pain with someone you've known for years but have no idea of your biggest pain is someway liberating and comforting. You share your pain and you heal each other's sore. You don't need to talk because yours and Hoseok's hearts are directly connected and understand each other's.

He cups your face in his big hands, looking straight in your watery eyes with his own. He is so beautiful: his perfect brows, his brown and soft eyes, his perfect nose and his heart-form lips. You are drowning in his eyes.

"Can you love me just for tonight?" Hoseok asks you in a whisper

"Only if you love me for tonight too" You murmur

It's exactly what you felt when you hugged: you both need to feel loved. Just for a night. Your two hearts are full of love but have no one to love. You both know that, as your lips meet, you are secretly willing to be with somebody else. But it doesn't matter, all you need now is each other.

Hoseok's lips are soft and warm. It's like a big hug around your entire body and you feel safe. The kiss is nothing like sultry but passionately sad. Yet, your heart beats faster as Hoseok presses his lips harder against your mouth. Your hands find their way to his hair while his hands are holding your waist tighter. Soft moans escape your lips glued to Hobi's. The kiss feels good. It exactly feels like what you need.

Without pulling your mouths apart, Hoseok guides you towards his bedroom. You don't have time to look around but it's like a safe place. You pull on his shirt to help him get rid of it. You are surprised to see how defined are his muscles. Hoseok has always been fit but it's the first time you see him shirtless. And it's quite a pleasant view. You can't deny the arousal slowly building up in your stomach, especially when Hobi's mouth starts working on your neck. The wetness of his lips and tongue against the burning, thin and sensitive skin of your throat feels so fucking good. Your head is completely in the clouds of horniness.

Hoseok leaves your skin just the time to take off your top and his eyes meet your perfect breast cloaked in your strapless skin color bra. He gently kisses the bare skin and smoothly undoes your bra. It's on the floor in no time. Your fingers run up and down against his strong and soft back, pulling him closer to you. Hoseok's mouth makes its way down until he kneels in front of you. He looks up at your face to silently ask you permission to slide down your last pieces of clothing, and you are all up for it. His delicate fingers unbuttons your jeans and drag them down your legs.

Your moan fills the air when Hoseok gently kisses you through your panties' fabric. You feel it soaked from your arousal. The last clothing barrier is getting rid off and two big palms are holding on your hips. The grip is firm and fucking good. However, not as good as Hoseok's lips on your clit. The position is so sinful when you're standing up, completely naked, a man's face in front of your wet pussy kissing your sensitive bud. His tongue is warm and powerful while it rolls around your clit at a delightful pace. Your hands grab Hoseok's hair to not fall down under the pleasure he is providing you. He takes your left leg and makes it rest on his large shoulder to have a better access to your dripping cunt.

"Oh fuck!" You moan

His tongue is devilishly expert. It licks the right place over and over again until you feel your body tense and lightly shake. You roll your head back, your groans getting louder and deeper. His hands squeeze your perfect ass and the fire in you explodes. You shout his name when you reach your high.

Hoseok gets up and you fall against his chest because of your post-orgasm shaky legs. You feel good in his arms, especially when he pats your hair. You catch your breathe and starting unbuckling his belt before undressing him. You gasp and blush hard when you see Hoseok's cock. You've never thought you would see it one day, and he has nothing to be ashamed of. Hoseok's member is not particularly thick but it's definitely long. The sight of his hard cock makes your mouth water at the same time it makes your pussy even wetter.

You press your lips on his, feeling his dick pressed on your belly, hard and warm. You gently push Hobi on the bed, his back resting on his headboard. You get on top of him, still kissing. You bite his lower lip when his hands firmly grab your ass. He places delicate pecks on your collarbone to your tits. You press his head deeper on your skin.

"Grab a condom in the night stand" He asks you with a raspy voice

It's at that moment that you realize he hasn't spoke until now. You stretch your body to open the drawer and pull off a metallic square packet. You open it and give the condom to Hoseok for him to cover his length. When he is done, he grabs your hips and push you down. Right before entering you, he looks you in the eyes. You nod, saying that you're okay and he slowly stretches your pussy. It feels so good and a long moan escapes your parted and swollen lips.

"You feel so good" Hoseok whispers against your neck with his eyes closed

You stay on his cock a few seconds to adapt. He is so long, you can feel him very deep inside you. You rest your forehead against his and start bouncing on him. Sinful sounds of skins slapping fill the air and make you more horny. You even have the feeling that Hoseok's cock is getting harder. Quickly, your skins are covered with a thin layer of sweat. You hold him close to you, your arms around his shoulders. Hoseok's fingers grab your boob and play with your nipple while the other is wrapped around your waist helping you to ride him.

"Oh my god, Hobi!" You scream when his cock hits your g-spot

"Keep going, it's so fucking good, Y/N" Hoseok cheers you before storming on your pretty lips "You are so gorgeous, do you know that?"

His compliment makes you clench around his long dick. Each slide against your walls is a pleasure that makes your tighter. You are beginning to feel tired, especially when your second orgasm is not far but Hoseok helps you by lifting his hips to meet yours harder and deeper. The slapping sounds made by your thighs is louder and it drives you and Hoseok crazy.

"I'm close" You groan, closing your eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his big cock buried in your cunt

You feel good in his arms, you feel so close to him. He is taking you like he loved you and you are taking him like you loved him. This is exactly what you both needed. The whole bedroom is filled with your moans and slapping skins. You feel your pussy getting tighter and tighter around him, warning Hoseok that you're going to cum soon. He pounds you a little faster to make you reach your climax right before him, moaning each other's names.

You are both panting, foreheads against each other's. Hobi's hands gently caress your arms and your back while you free his pretty face from his sticky hair.

"Thank you, Y/N, for loving me tonight" He says, softly kissing your lips

"Thank you for loving me tonight, Hobi" You whisper back

He invites you to take a shower, which you gladly accept. Someway, your heart feels less heavy. Not only you didn't think about Jungkook while you were with Hobi, but you also could release a little bit of your love to give it to someone who needed it. Hoseok feels the exact same. He didn't think he would ever, ever have sex with you and yet, it was a beautiful moment. You were so delicate in his arms and he has held you so sweetly, giving up a little bit of his sorrow. He just hopes you don't think he was using you, and he hopes that you could spend time together and try to be the old friends that you are.

————

Your day is a perfect example of the Ying Yang symbol. Everything started good, great even: Namjoon has just told you that the gallery wanted to keep working with you and offered you a permanent contract. You were so, so happy and you gave him a little demonstration of your 'happy dance' and he laughed a little bit too much to not upset you - not that you resent him because you ended up laughing harder when he started dancing too.

But then, everything went beyond wrong when Aecha, your colleague in charge of the communication, asked you to welcome the new graphic designer for a future exhibition in few months. In fact, in a city as big as Seoul, the odds of this graphic designer being the only person you don't want to see are low. But you are not lucky. Because while waiting for this new partner to arrive, your heart skips a beat when none other than Jeon Jungkook walks towards you.

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sailoryooons · 8 months

Text

Spider Web | JHS | (m)

☾ Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x human!reader (afab)

☾ Summary: Playing games with vampires is a bad idea. Playing with Spiders is worse.

☾ Word Count: 1,976

☾ Genre: Supernatural, Predator/Prey, Established Relationship, Smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Predator/prey dynamics, intense feelings of fear, reader is navigating a maze while unable to see at all, Hoseok taunting reader, minor injuries, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, biting, dom/sub dynamics, subspace, feeling fear during sex, reader being both afraid and aroused and just going with it, implied relationship of some manner.

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This might not be for everyone, but this is for me. This is not only self-indulgent but it was so fun to write. The third roll for the 100 Drabble Challenge was number 46 - Predator/Prey and I had the opportunity to do something that surprised me - write a piece of a universe that I’ve wanted to write since I was in middle school. You heard that right - I have an entire outline/idea of a dystopian vampire novel where vampires rule and humans live under them with a complex political structure and rebel human groups and class war etc. that I have wanted to write since middle school and when I rolled this tonight… I was like what if I just use that world. In that world there are vampire guards call The Web that are broken up into three categories: Spiders, Widows and Venoms and they all have different purposes. In this case, Hobi is a Spider :) I’ve considered turning it into a fic so… let me know if you’re interested odigjdoigjdofgij

A/N 2: This is unedited and I wrote it in roughly an hour pls excuse the errors etc. I will look back over it in the morning and fix them okay soifjsoigj

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾

“The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout,” a voice echoes. Your heart slams in your chest as you press your fingers against the sides of the wall, trying to feel your way through the maze. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out.”

You should be used to the dark. Your life has revolved around the dark from the moment you took your first breath. Born in the dead of night during the hour of the predator. As a kid, you didn’t quite understand the hour of the predator. All you knew was that it meant to stay inside and not leave the building no matter what.

When you were older, you learned that walls and locks do not keep out predators. The notion that they keep their hunt to a single hour of the night is ridiculous. Now you know that vampires only let people think that they’re safe outside of that single hour of every night.

Like everything in the city, it is an illusion.

Inhaling shakily, you try to calm your breathing. The thud of your pulse in your neck and the rattling of your heart in your ribcage is a dead giveaway to this predator. Fear puts you on a razor's edge. A tingling sensation skitters along your skin like static as you keep one hand against the wall and the other in front of you, each step careful.

You can’t see in the darkness of the maze. He can.

The disadvantage isn’t far. He’s better than you at most things: sight, smell, speed, strength - sadism, to be sure. But still, you’ve managed to evade him for far longer than he would like, and despite his taunting, you know it’s irritating him.

You smile. For vampires, most things are prey. For Spiders, all things are.

“Perhaps we should change the lyrics of the song,” Hoseok calls. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. He sounds only a few rows over, making you quicken your steps. You’re barefoot and the ground is cold, making you shiver as you go. “The Spider doesn’t get washed out, but the little human does.”

The hand reaching in front of you hits the wall. You inhale and turn left, letting your right hand skim the corner and press against the new wall. You’ve hit a dead end twice and lost your sense of direction, but Hoseok hasn’t caught up yet.

The thought makes you grin. You’re better at these games than you used to be, and you’re able to make faster decisions now. You also have managed to learn a thing or two about vampires. Somewhere, your socks and shoes are sitting in other corners. You’ve also dropped a jacket, making the entire maze smell like you.

“Ah, the mouse has left a shoe for me.”

Your heart beats faster. You only dropped that shoe moments ago, which means Hoseok is close. Too close. You’re not even sure what will happen if he wins - it’s always different.

“I hear your heart, Mouse.”

The momentary panic makes you walk into a wall, banging loudly. Hoseok laugh is carried down a maze hall, chilling your spine. You throat caution to the wind, breaking into a run though you cannot see anything around you.

In the dark, colors and shapes taunt you, your imagination filling in the gaps for the things you cannot see. Running wild totally unable to see is a terrible idea, you could run into-

You slam into a wall and let out a pained sound. Pain shoots up your wrist and you whimper, cradling it to your hand. A hiss echoes behind you and you run again, bad hand tucked to your chest as Hoseok closes in.

“Yes!” he growls, glee in his dark voice. “Run, Mouse! I love it when you run!”

You hardly recognize his voice through the growl, bloodlust taking over. Your instincts perceive a wall and you jerk to the left, skidding as you go. A speck of light beckons you and you gasp, realizing you can see the way out of the maze. You never make it that far.

Without hesitation, you take off at a full sprint, the soles of your feet slapping against concrete, your heart pumping in your chest. Just a little further, almost there.

Hoseok snarls behind you and you scream, a primal fear exploding inside of you as your instincts sense the danger behind you, all other thoughts and feelings blotted out by the sheer force of terror.

A force crashes into you, taking you down. You squeeze your eyes shut, jarred and waiting for the harsh impact of the concrete. It doesn’t come, instead softened by the blow of falling into Hoseok as he twists, taking the brunt of the impact.

You’re dizzy, world spinning as the adrenaline tingles in your veins, your entire body feeling like it’s on pins and needles. In the dim light of the concrete building, you make out the shape of Hoseok under you. It doesn’t last long, the vampire rolling and pinning you with an ironclad grip to the floor.

A cry slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. It riles him up, Hoseok pressing in on you. He smells like rosewood and lavender, making your eyes flutter as Hoseok pulls your head backward against the old concrete, your skull digging in painfully as he noses your pulse.

“You lose, Mouse.”

Hoseok’s voice rasps against your throat. Fear-laced pleasure blooms in your stomach. Where his mouth ghosts against your sweaty skin feels good, his words buzzing through you as his lips skim your neck toward your jaw.

You don’t dare move - can’t move. This is the part that you don’t understand, but don’t have to. Your body thrums with the innate terror of death. Adrenaline pumps through your system, parts of your brain screaming and alerting your organs that you’re in danger.

But there’s another part of your brain that goes fuzzy when you feel Hoseok’s fangs drag against your jaw. You can’t make out his features in the barely-there light of the building, but you catch the silver flash of predator's eyes when he glances up at you.

Once upon a time that gaze made you nearly soil yourself in horror. Now the wetness between your legs is entirely different, caused by the hell your nervous system goes through as it straddles fear and desire.

“I smell you,” Hoseok breathes. His tongue snakes out to taste your salty skin and you can’t help the sound that comes out of your throat. It is equal parts a whimper as it is a moan. His lips are pressed against your cheekbone as one of his hands skims down your body. “You almost made it out this time.”

The ability to verbalize anything is lost on you. You can only squirm underneath his touch, sparking to life like cut livewires. A violent shiver wracks through your body as Hoseok presses his hands between your legs, causing a pulse of want to unfurl.

You want more. You want none of it. You want both.

“Next time try dropping your panties,” he whispers, pressing hard, painful kisses toward your ear. He bites your earlobe sharply at the same time he presses your clothed cunt, plain and pleasure dancing together. “That would certainly do it.”

“Never thought of that.”

Hoseok’s hand ventures up and grabs the waistband of your pants, pulling on them with a loud rip. It’s almost drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

Your limbs start to shake in excitement as Hoseok catches your mouth with his. The kiss is sudden and demanding, completely inescapable. You kiss him back, drowning in the flurry of sensations hammering down on you, scrambling your thoughts, destroying your feelings.

It’s always like this. He’s always able to do this. Hoseok has made an art of building you up and cutting you open, scattering every thought to the wind as he hunts you and beds you. Here with him you might not be safe, but at least you don’t think about being out there and being unsafe.

This spider web you weave with Hoseok is high stakes, high reward. At least here if he kills you, you’ll be smiling. Out there when you die, no one will care.

Hoseok’s fingers hook your underwear to the side and pull. Cold air hits your hot, weeping hunt and you wiggle under him, trapped under his oppressive weight. He half growls, half purs as his fingers swipe up your sticky folds, avoiding your clit where all the pressure feels trapped.

You kick your feet under him, pressing up. You want more. Need more. The more he gives you, the more you feel the high of whatever this is between you. Hoseok knows this and gives in, playing nice as his fingers dip into your clenching hole to collect wetness before drifting back up, circling your clit.

A sound that is barely human escapes you. Hoseok has you pinned firmly underneath him as he starts to play. He carefully drags his fingers up and down, tracing your tightening entrance before drifting back up to apply pressure on your bundle of nerves.

“Little mouse is desperate tonight,” Hoseok pants. When he speaks, you can feel the sharp drag of his fangs on your cheek. “I bet you wanted to be caught.”

You shake your head no and he laughs, sinking a finger into your waiting heat. A strangled moan escapes you. Everything is on fire and you feel your cunt clench around his fingers. The concrete beneath you is too hot, Hoseok is too firm, his fangs on your skin are too sharp, you’re half afraid and half aroused - it all turns you into a mess, your mind tiptoeing on the edge of a blade between two nameless abysses.

Hoseok thrusts his fingers up into you at an angle, pushing against that spot that makes you teeter dangerously. Your nails dig into your palms, leaving bloody crescents as Hoseok fucks you expertly with his fingers, drawing you to the edge of madness as he does it.

Just as you think you’re about to tip one way or the other and plunge into darkness, Hoseok presses his mouth against yours, words slurred as he mumbles, “Ask.”

“Please.” Your words are slurred against his mouth, your breath hot and sticky. “Please let me. I need it. I - Hoseok - please.”

His pace quickens. His thumb presses on your clit, wiggling. You feel it coming like a spool spinning thread, going and going and going until the spindle snaps and the thread comes unwound, spilling into his hand with a scream.

Your ears ring. Your mind blanks. Your body goes so taught that it's only option is to go limp. You are vaguely aware that you’re gasping for air - you feel it more than you see it. You melt into the ground, unaware of anything but the static in your veins and the rush of air through your lungs.

In out. In out. In out. In out.

You drift in the abyss. You’re unsure which one you fell into. Here, you are weightless and calm.

In out. In out. In out.

Nothing can hurt you here. There is no such thing as pain. There is only absolutely nothing but your breath and the buzzing on your skin.

In out. In out. In out.

Eventually it wears off. Hoseok is still a firm weight against you, an anchor pulling you back. Your thoughts are syrup-slow and dizzy when you lift your too-heavy head to look at him. You cannot make out his features, but you get the sense he’s smiling.

“Did you think we were done?” he rasps, a laugh in his voice. “You’ve only just fallen into the spiderweb, Mouse.”

#hobi smut #hoseok smut #j hope smut #bts smut #hobi fic #hobi fanfic #hoseok fic #hobi x reader #hoseok x reader #vampire hobi #bts fanfic #hoseok x you #100 drabble challenge #okay but like trying to do j hope hobi hoseok tags is wild please why must i name him thrice

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seokjinsonlyone · 10 months

Text

this how i think bts would be if they was your husband

namjoon:

you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves

evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything

you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it

sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something

loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom

consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line

the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it

uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes

would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it

you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out

seokjin:

draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub

loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk

every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined

not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced

insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often

if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together

tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea

official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)

even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives

the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you

yoongi:

after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included

warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield

every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it

sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention

untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free

likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do

sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him

if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on

never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on

is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified

hoseok:

all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.

sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so

some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!

y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together

at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes

you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.

you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself

wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said

y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought

never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always

jimin:

intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other

would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep

sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries

loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same

he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call

doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”

still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation

you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there

knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case

the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible

taehyung:

the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway

would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles

sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him

knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him

if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his

you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go

you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together

there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you

a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being

loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were

jungkook:

every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you

you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway

has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to

watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair

follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week

comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off

traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep

if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you

an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down

whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping

a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏

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