#hobi bts

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[minsyoongi]

hobi ♡ iamurhope: Paris Started ~ Paris Ended ~

[greenxgloss]

In honor of Mona Lisa can we get a jhope fic please Mona Lisa inspired ofc😔👉🏾👈🏾

A/n: so sorry for how long this took but ohhhh my god I loved writing this lmao this was good. it was also lowkey intimidating to write this bc I kinda had to write "mona lisa" as closely as hobi describes her in the song but I think I did a pretty good job lol I hope you loved this!!

Mona Lisa, Yeah I Need Ya (Jhope)

Summary: After a painful breakup, Y/N cautiously reenters the nightlife scene, where an unexpected encounter with the charming Hoseok awakens new desires and challenges her emotional boundaries. Themes: softdom!Hobi, PleasureDom!Hobi, Independent!Reader, Self-Possessed!Reader, Fem recieving oral and fingering, protected sex, alcohol consumption Word Count: 5.2k

It had been a few months since the breakup, and by the second month, you had started to feel like yourself again—steady, clear-headed, no longer unravelling at the sight of old photos or mutual playlists. Still, you decided to lay low a little longer. There was no rush to be social again, no pressure to be seen. You gave yourself the space to rebuild in peace, focusing on self-care, solitude, and the small comforts that often go neglected in the wake of a relationship’s slow erosion.

The breakup itself hadn’t been dramatic—no screaming, no infidelity, no grand exit. If anything, the ending mirrored the relationship itself: quiet, slow-burning, and far too polite. You’d both simply drifted apart, pulled in different directions by work schedules, emotional needs, and that inevitable, unspoken disinterest. He had been distant for months, and though you'd noticed, you had never demanded answers. You didn’t issue ultimatums or stage a last-ditch confession. You were composed. Stoic, even. So when he ended things on a mild spring evening while the sunset painted your apartment in gold and coral, you simply nodded and offered him a drink before he left.

He had been neglectful, true—but mature enough to do the leaving himself. You didn’t mention that part to anyone. Too considerate. Too loyal, even after the fact. It’s a quiet tragedy: how often women swallow the discomfort in favor of appearing unbothered, offering their partner a gentle exit in the name of dignity. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say so.” But that wasn’t the line you fed him. You simply let go.

By the fourth month, the fog had lifted entirely. And when your best friend Gissele texted you an invite to a party at one of the city’s most talked-about clubs, something in you stirred. Not apprehension—readiness. Excitement, even.

There was a dress hanging in your closet you hadn’t worn yet—bought during an impulsive shopping trip when you’d told yourself you would have something to dress up for eventually. It was sleek and unapologetically bold, black silk and structured seams, still crisp with tags. Tonight was the night.

You and Gissele entered the club hand-in-hand, laughter already dancing on your lips as blue and violet lights swept over the crowd. The bassline of the music thrummed in your chest. A kaleidoscope of bodies moved across the floor, sweat-slicked and electric. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—the ritual of getting dressed up, the chaos of the night, the sense of belonging to your own body again.

“I am so ready,” you said with a grin, glancing at Gissele.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she teased, dragging you toward the bar. The two of you settled on stools, giggling as you sipped pink Whitney from dewy glasses.

“I’m glad you came,” she added, more serious now, swirling her drink. Her honey-brown eyes shimmered under the strobe lights, and her hot pink lacefront framed her face like a crown. Gissele never did subtle. That’s what made her so magnetic—every movement was intentional, every outfit a declaration.

“I just needed time,” you replied softly, shrugging. “To recalibrate.”

“I get it,” she said. And you believed her.

One of the many reasons you adored her was that she always made you feel safe. She had an eye for detail, a sixth sense for shady behavior, and could destroy a creep’s ego in seconds flat—all without smudging her lipstick. She was your shield, your chaos twin, your anchor.

Tonight, her look was a statement of its own. She wore towering white platform boots that wrapped just under her knees, layered shredded tights in blush and fuchsia, a silky white slip dress, and a structured harness that gave her an edge of danger. She looked like she’d stepped out of a cyberpunk magazine. In contrast, your style was more refined: a black dress with asymmetrical ruffles and heeled boots. Romantic. Reserved. A perfect foil to her explosive palette.

“I swear to god, the men here are insane,” she whispered, eyes scanning the crowd. “Wait—yup. That one’s staring at you.”

You blinked. “Which one?”

But she was already gone, abandoning her stool with a laugh and a wink. “Have fun,” she called over her shoulder, leaving you alone with your drink—and, apparently, under observation.

You didn’t have to wait long.

A few moments later, a hand gently brushed your elbow. You turned, startled, only to meet a pair of warm, expressive eyes and a mouth curved into a smile that was as soft as it was knowing.

“May I buy you a drink?” the man asked, voice velvet-smooth. He slid into the seat beside you—the one Gissele had left vacant—as though it had always been his.

You looked at him—really looked. The subtle shine of sweat on his brow, the warm bronze undertone of his skin, and the twinkle of his grill as he smiled, catching the light like a constellation. Elegant, refined—and yet there was a hint of mischief beneath his charm.

“I’m still working on this,” you said, lifting your half-full pink Whitney and licking the corner of your lip, as if to test his reaction.

A rejection, technically. But not a closed door.

His smirk widened just slightly, like he understood the game. “Fair enough,” he replied, his eyes not leaving yours. The air between you shifted, magnetic. He didn’t press—but he didn’t leave either.

You crossed one leg over the other, sitting up straighter, aware of the way his eyes briefly flicked down and back up. “Your friend seemed eager to disappear.”

“She saw you coming,” you replied, letting a slow smile curl your lips. “Thought she’d give us a moment.”

“Smart woman,” he said, clearly amused.

“I’m Y/N.”

You extended your hand, and instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—light, gentlemanly, deliberate.

“Hoseok,” he said. “Pleasure.”

You felt your stomach flutter—ridiculous, you told yourself. It’s just the alcohol. But you knew better.

“Is this your usual scene?” you asked, easing into conversation, trying to keep your tone casual despite the way his presence kept pulling your attention like a gravitational force.

“I show up when I feel like dressing up and flirting shamelessly with beautiful women,” he replied without a trace of irony. His gaze locked with yours. “So tonight, yes.”

You laughed. “That a line you use often?”

“No,” he said, “I save it for when it’s true.”

The banter had an easy rhythm, but it was laced with a sincerity you weren’t prepared for. He wasn’t just trying to charm you—he meant what he said. Every compliment had weight, every glance held intention.

And still, there was no pressure. Just presence. Just a man leaning in slightly, his fingers ghosting the rim of his glass as he listened to you speak. You told him about your job, your last girls’ trip, your recent obsession with 90s R&B. He told you about his travels, his work in dance and music, his deep affection for old vinyl records and lavender-scented candles.

The two of you slipped into a corner booth after the second drink. The crowd pulsed on around you, a blur of motion and noise. But the space you occupied felt insulated—separate, private, like a soft secret between the two of you.

He leaned closer.

“You have a way of being still in chaos,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s... rare. That calm.”

You raised a brow, caught off guard by the poetry in his tone. “You talk like that to all the girls?”

“No,” he said again. “Only when I mean it.”

This time, the blush crept to your ears. Hoseok watched the shift in your expression with barely concealed satisfaction, like a man who knew the power of words and wielded them carefully. He didn’t reach for your thigh. He didn’t try to kiss you. But every movement, every word, made it clear: he was interested. And he was in no hurry. This wasn’t conquest—it was intrigue. And the longer you sat with him, the harder it became to look away.

“Come dance with me,” he said, standing and offering you his hand.

You hesitated only for a second before slipping your fingers into his, letting him guide you onto the floor. The music shifted to something sultry and slow, the kind of rhythm that curled around your limbs and made the space between bodies feel charged.

And when he placed his hands—gentle, respectful—on your hips, guiding you to move with him, you felt the heat settle into your skin.

Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol after all.

The music thrummed low and seductive, a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with the beat of your heart as Hoseok guided you into the tangle of swaying bodies. His grip was light at your waist—two fingers resting just enough to suggest control without taking it. You settled into the tempo, allowing yourself to relax into the motion. He moved close, not too close, but close enough to feel the heat of his body through the thin black silk of your dress.

“You dance like someone who doesn’t come out often,” he murmured, leaning just enough that his breath stirred the strands near your ear.

Your lips curved. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he said smoothly. “It means I get to watch you rediscover it.”

You turned your head to glance at him, amused and a little intrigued. “And what exactly am I rediscovering?”

His eyes flicked down, just once, before settling back on your face. “What it feels like to be wanted.”

That one hit deeper than you expected. But you didn’t falter. You just tilted your head with a coy, polished smile, like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach twist with heat.

“Is that what this is?” you asked, voice even. “You wanting me?”

“Undeniably,” he said.

A beat passed. You looked away first, the corners of your mouth twitching upward in unspoken amusement.

He didn’t press. Instead, he shifted closer—so slowly it was imperceptible at first. His chest barely grazed yours now, and his hand had migrated, palm resting against the dip of your spine. He kept the movement subtle, his other hand lifting to brush a stray hair from your cheek, fingertips skimming along the line of your jaw. Polite, still. But loaded.

“So,” he said, voice smooth as honey, “what brings you out tonight? You don’t strike me as someone who comes here for the drinks.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, your brow lifting. “I could say the same to you.”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the push and pull. “Touché. But I asked first.”

You paused, just for effect, before answering. “I needed the reminder that I still exist outside my apartment. Outside my routines.”

“A reawakening,” he said, the word drawn out thoughtfully, like he was tasting it.

“Something like that.”

He nodded, hand pressing a little more firmly against your back now. You stepped forward slightly to keep your balance, and he didn’t move back. Your bodies were close enough now that you could feel the bass of the music reverberating between you.

“And the dress?” he asked, eyes sweeping over you again—but not lewdly. Thoughtfully. “Bought for tonight?”

“No,” you replied, tone playful. “It’s been waiting in my closet for months.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Then I feel incredibly lucky.”

You raised a brow. “To see it?”

“To be the reason it came out.”

Your laugh was soft, reluctant. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected. “And observant.”

His hand drifted just slightly lower, the heat of his palm lingering now at the curve where your spine met your hips. You felt the warmth climb your neck, but your expression remained neutral—poised.

“You move like someone who doesn’t just dance,” he said. “You move like you know exactly what kind of attention you command.”

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard by the comment, but you recovered quickly, tipping your head in mock consideration. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a fact,” he said, voice dipping lower, lips brushing dangerously close to your ear now. “And a turn-on.”

This time, the flush threatened to betray you. Your stomach coiled with something sharp and satisfying, and though you didn’t respond immediately, your eyes met his again with that same unreadable smile.

He searched your expression, but you gave him nothing—just subtle amusement and polished restraint. That only seemed to intrigue him more.

“You’re good at this,” you said at last.

“At what?”

“This slow burn thing. Drawing people in.”

“I could say the same to you.”

A silence settled between you—thick, charged. His hand still rested against your lower back, and your arms had looped, almost instinctively, behind his neck. There was no distance left between your bodies. You were moving in sync, slow, deliberate, the music now secondary to the tension blooming between you.

You leaned in slightly, voice low. “I should probably check on my friend.”

Hoseok glanced across the floor, spotting Gissele leaning against a far wall, already deep in conversation with two girls and laughing over something shared on a phone screen.

“She looks... occupied,” he said, then turned back to you. “But if you want to leave, I’ll walk you both out.”

You studied him for a moment. His posture, his ease, the way he never once made you feel boxed in despite the magnetism between you. He didn’t ask for anything—but the possibility hung heavy in the air.

You took a breath. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

There was a pause—brief, electric.

“My hotel’s nearby,” he said, simply. No edge, no pressure. Just suggestion. “If you’d like to keep talking somewhere quieter.”

“Talking,” you echoed with a knowing smile.

His own smile widened. “I did say I was honest.”

You didn’t answer right away. You turned toward the crowd, eyes finding Gissele again. She caught your gaze immediately and raised a brow, already knowing. You mouthed something across the distance—going to head out—and she responded with a wink and a thumbs up before returning to her new entourage.

You turned back to Hoseok.

“Well,” you said, brushing invisible lint from your dress and adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Lead the way.”

He offered you his hand again—this time not for the dance floor, but for the descent into something far more intimate. You took it without hesitation.

As the two of you exited the club, the air outside wrapped cool around your legs, balancing the heat that still lingered across your skin. Hoseok pressed the hotel’s location into his phone with one hand, the other still cradling yours like it was second nature.

And all the while, you walked beside him, steady, unreadable—but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in places he hadn’t even touched.

Not yet. Not quite yet.

The elevator ride was quiet at first. Not awkward—just charged. A kind of silence that hung heavy between you both, weighted by everything unsaid but fully understood.

Hoseok leaned back against the elevator wall, one hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other running through his dark hair as his eyes traveled over you again, unapologetically this time. The overhead lighting softened his features, casting delicate shadows across the sharp lines of his face. His bottom lip caught slightly between his teeth before he spoke.

“You know,” he began, voice lower now in the confined space, “I wasn’t expecting much tonight. A few drinks, some polite conversation. Maybe a dance.”

You arched a brow, arms folded loosely, your smile just barely present—soft, knowing.

“But then I saw you,” he continued. “And you were… still.”

Still?

“Everyone else was moving, talking, laughing. But you were just there. Still and deliberate. Like you didn’t have to do anything to be seen.”

He pushed off the wall just slightly, not closing the distance between you, but enough to shift the tension in the air.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “But it’s something else. Something about you makes me want more than just tonight.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips pressing into a faint line of amusement, not revealing much. Your posture hadn’t changed—you remained poised, calm, with that same unshakable grace—but the warmth that bloomed in your chest betrayed your exterior.

“I’m not saying I’m expecting anything,” he added, quickly but not nervously. “I mean that. I just want to talk to you. Maybe get to know what it is that makes someone like you walk into a place like that and look like you already own it.”

You glanced sideways at him. “Smooth,” you said, your voice light but your eyes sharp. “Again.”

His grin deepened, dimple flashing. “Told you—I’m honest.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors parted.

Hoseok stepped out first and held the door without needing to look back, like it was muscle memory. You walked past him with that same unbothered elegance, and he fell into step beside you as the two of you moved down the hall toward his room.

Once inside, he didn’t rush. The suite was wide and open, the lights dimmed low and the view of the city glittering through the glass balcony doors. You made your way there without needing an invitation, pushing them open and stepping outside into the night air.

The wind was soft, almost warm, carrying the sounds of distant traffic and nightlife up to the high floor. Hoseok joined you moments later, two glasses of something amber in hand—he offered one to you silently, and you took it without comment.

The silence returned, this time more companionable. The city stretched out before you in every direction, glittering like it existed just for the two of you.

“So,” you said, finally. “What brings you here?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, sipping from his glass before replying. “Work. Mostly.”

You nodded. “What kind of work?”

He turned to you, leaning one elbow on the railing. “Creative consulting. For artists. A little bit of choreography. A little bit of producing.”

Your brow lifted slightly. “That’s vague.”

He laughed, the sound quiet and unforced. “It is. That’s on purpose. I’m not really supposed to name names.”

You hummed. “Discretion. That’s attractive.”

“And rare,” he said, eyes flicking to yours again. “But I don’t just come here for work. Sometimes it’s a reset. Different city, different pace. New people.”

You sipped. “New distractions.”

“Maybe.” He glanced sideways at you again. “You don’t seem like one.”

You smirked. “No?”

“No. You feel more like a disruption.”

That word hung in the air between you.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the railing, letting the wind lift the ends of your hair. The glass in your hand caught a glimmer of moonlight, casting tiny golden flecks onto the concrete floor beneath you.

He watched you. Carefully. And when you looked back at him—slow, deliberate—his gaze didn’t shift away.

You held it.

That’s when the space between you shortened.

He didn’t move all at once. Just a step, and then another. His hand rested lightly on the curve of the railing beside yours, knuckles brushing your wrist.

“I’ve been trying not to stare,” he said, almost under his breath. “But you make it hard.”

Still, your smile didn’t waver. You simply turned your face toward his, eyes locked, unreadable.

The kiss was inevitable.

It didn’t happen in a rush—it happened in the quiet pause between glances. His hand rose to touch your cheek, thumb trailing just beneath your bottom lip, eyes watching the way your mouth parted the slightest bit at the contact. He didn’t ask, didn’t need to. When he leaned in, your lips met in a soft, exploratory kiss—slow at first, like the two of you were testing gravity itself.

When you didn’t pull away, when your fingers found the lapel of his jacket and held him there, he deepened it.

The glass in your hand tilted dangerously. You broke apart just long enough to set it down on the balcony table, then turned back to him with a heat now undeniable in your eyes.

He took your hand, no words this time, and led you back inside.

The room was cool, draped in shadows and city light. He paused at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face once more.

“You’re sure?” he asked, quiet now.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his neck. “If I wasn’t, you’d know.”

That was all the permission he needed.

“I want to take my time with you,” he whispered, voice velvet. “Is that alright?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you let your hands slide beneath his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders in one smooth motion. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Hoseok’s hands were reverent, moving to the hem of your dress but not lifting it—yet. First, his fingertips traced along the fabric, following the curve of your hips, the line of your thigh. His palms flattened over your sides as he leaned in again, lips brushing just below your ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been holding back,” he said, exhaling slowly. “How much I’ve wanted to touch you like this… see how far I can push you before you ask for it.”

You inhaled slowly, your lips parted in the half-light, but your expression stayed controlled—poised, as ever. “I don’t ask.”

And that thrilled him.

He knelt then, lowering himself with grace until he was eye-level with your thighs. Your breath caught—not from nerves, but from the gravity of the gesture. The way he looked up at you, hands now sliding under the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric slowly to your waist, was enough to make your knees threaten betrayal.

He pressed a kiss to your knee. Then higher. Then higher still.

“Sit back,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “and let me make you feel good.”

You obeyed without speaking. Still wordless, still elegant—but when you leaned back onto the bed and rested on your elbows, your eyes stayed locked on his.

The pleasure was slow at first.

His mouth on you was deliberate, exploratory, taking his time with every flick, every suck, every drawn-out breath against your most sensitive skin. His hands pressed down on your thighs—not to hold you still, but to anchor you. To remind you where you were. With him.

You bit your bottom lip, hard. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.

But Hoseok could read the tremble in your thighs, the subtle curve of your back arching slightly more with every languid sweep of his tongue. He didn’t need the moans—you were giving him everything already.

He pulled back just briefly, lips slick, eyes hooded with restrained desire.

“You're doing so well,” he praised, voice rougher now. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

Your lashes fluttered, mouth finally parting with a soft gasp as he moved back in and kept going—more confident now, more focused. One of his hands slid up to hold your waist, feeling the way your stomach tensed and relaxed with every wave of pressure he delivered.

And when you finally let your head fall back and exhaled a soft, trembling moan—he smiled against your skin.

It wasn’t about power, not really. Not domination in the way most understood it.

It was about control—his of himself, and yours of how far you’d let go.

You came undone in his mouth, tension bursting like light behind your eyes. Still elegant, still quiet—but shaken in a way that made your hands reach for his shoulders, grounding yourself as you rode the high out in stunned silence.

Hoseok rose slowly, reverently, kissing the inside of your thigh one last time before pulling you gently up to meet him.

He kissed you again—slow and soft—like he wasn’t trying to erase what just happened, but let it linger.

“Not done with you,” he whispered into your mouth.

Then he stood, reaching back to unbutton his shirt, eyes never leaving yours. “But only if you let me keep going.”

You smiled.

A real one this time. No teasing, no mask.

“Go ahead,” you said, voice soft but steady. 

He stepped back just enough to pull the shirt from his shoulders, the faint light catching on the hard lines of his chest and the soft sheen of sweat that had started to gather at his collarbones. Every movement he made was fluid, unhurried, as though undressing in front of you was its own performance—one he wanted you to watch.

And you did. Reclined now against the plush pillows, one leg slightly bent and the other stretched long across the bed, you watched him like art. Quiet, composed, with only the slight tug of your bottom lip between your teeth giving you away.

Hoseok crawled back onto the bed, his hands brushing the sides of your thighs as he moved over you. He leaned in to kiss you again—slower this time, deeper. Like he was memorizing your mouth.

“You taste like my name,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “And now I want to hear it.”

Your lips curled in a small, knowing smirk. “Then earn it.”

He laughed softly—low, rich, aroused. “Oh, sweetheart…” he exhaled, trailing his mouth along your jaw, “I already am.”

This time, he didn’t rush. He took his time laying you bare—unzipping your dress with care, helping you shift out of it like he was unwrapping silk. His hands explored in unhurried strokes, tracing the dips and curves of your body with open admiration. Every glance he gave you was appreciative, worshipful, but not the least bit cloying. It was honest. Hungry, but controlled.

He kissed your sternum. The curve of your breast. The space just below your navel. His hands pushed your thighs apart gently, and when you let him, you saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

He spent the next while reacquainting himself with you—like a second act to the performance before, only this time slower, deeper. His fingers were skilled, precise, coaxing out reactions you tried to smother, and his mouth followed wherever your body arched.

"That's it..." he whispered against your skin, lips brushing your inner thigh. "Just like that. Let go." His fingers gently reach deeper.

You were close again—faster this time. You could feel your composure slip, inch by inch, but not in a way that embarrassed you. It felt safe, wrapped in the cocoon of his body, his words, the sheer focus he gave to your pleasure. “Hoseok.” You nearly whined, surprising yourself.

And when you did come, he didn’t rush you through it. He kissed your trembling thighs as they shook, gently massaging your hips with open palms. His voice stayed low and sweet.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Every sound, every breath—you’re fucking perfect.”

You were still catching your breath when he hovered above you again. The weight of him between your legs felt like gravity—solid, anchoring. He was hard, thick against your thigh, and you could feel the tension in him, the restraint.

He kissed you again—deep, open-mouthed, and a little desperate this time.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Your turn.”

That same smirk from earlier flickered on his lips. “Only if you still want more.”

You nodded slowly, letting your hand trail down between your bodies, fingers brushing over the outline of him through his pants. “I want it.”

Those three words flipped a switch.

In seconds, he was out of the rest of his clothes, and you were guiding him back between your legs. He ripped open a metallic packet and rolled on a condom. He pressed against you gently, pausing at your entrance, watching your eyes.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and your breath caught in your throat. His hands gripped your hips, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered a near-silent curse.

“Fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You smiled, eyes half-lidded. “That’s a line.”

“It’s a truth.” He pulled out almost entirely, then pushed back in, deeper. “And I’ll prove it.”

What followed was nothing rushed. No frenzied thrusts, no hurried movements. Hoseok fucked you like he meant it. Like every slow grind of his hips was a conversation. Like every breathless moan from your lips was a secret he wanted to keep in his mouth forever.

He kept one hand at your waist, another tangled with your fingers, grounding you together. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, and he groaned into your neck.

“I could lose myself in this,” he breathed. “In you.”

The rhythm built—still slow, still controlled, but more desperate now. Like he was trying not to come too soon, and you were trying not to fall apart again. You kissed, gasped, touched, pressed—until the tension coiled tighter than either of you could stand.

When you came again, this time it was together.

Bodies trembling, breaths mingling, hands gripping tightly like you didn’t want to let go. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, his mouth parted in bliss.

The silence afterward was comfortable—thick with heat and something else you didn’t dare name yet. He slowly pulled out, then settled beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as you turned into his chest.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Just breathing.

Just being.

Then he kissed the top of your head, his voice softer than you’d heard it all night.

“Stay the night?”

You let out a quiet laugh against his chest.

“Didn’t realize I had a choice.”

-

The sun was barely up when you stumbled through Giselle’s front door, barefoot heels in hand, hair tousled and lips still tingling but still as put together as you could be. She was exactly where you expected her to be—sprawled on the couch in last night’s chaos of pink and white, a satin eye mask crooked on her forehead and a slice of cold pizza hanging limply from her fingers.

She peeled the mask off and blinked at you. “Oh my god,” she groaned, sitting up. “You look like sin.”

You grinned, tossing your shoes down and flopping onto the couch beside her. “You have no idea.”

She gasped. “Y/N—tell me everything. Who was that man? Where did you go? Did he ruin your life or just rearrange it a little?”

You laughed, burying your face into the throw pillow for a moment before lifting your head. “His name’s Hoseok. And...he’s dangerously charming.”

“Dangerous how?”

“Like—he kissed my hand when he introduced himself. Like, who does that?” You paused, smiling to yourself. “He made me feel like the only girl in the room without even trying. And he didn’t rush anything. He...listened. A lot.”

Giselle squinted suspiciously. “Was he hot?”

You let out a short breath. “He was beautiful. Like warm smile, honey voice, perfectly tailored pants beautiful.”

Giselle clutched her chest dramatically. “I’m gonna scream. Did you kiss him?”

“Giselle.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

You gave her a look.

Her mouth dropped open. “YOU DID.”

You laughed again, hands covering your face. “It was… good. Like, really, really good.”

“I’m so proud,” she said, hugging you from the side like she was sending you off to war. “Godspeed, you emotionally available goddess.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, still a little dazed. “It was just one night.”

She grinned. “Yeah. But sometimes, one night’s enough to shake you a little, right?”

You paused, thinking of Hoseok's hands, his words, the way he looked at you like there was no one else worth looking at.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It really is.”

“You should have given him your number.” she sat up. 

“Who says I didn't?” 

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[kpopreplays]

[ourcean]

ᜊ hoseok ꒰ bangtan ꒱ lockscreens !

like or reblog if u save and use please / curta ou reblogue se você salvar ou usar, por favor 𖹭

[asiandreamscape]

J-Hope ~ Jin ~ Jungkook 💜

~ Like or reblog | please don't repost

[goldenhickeyss]

🐿️: Sweet Dreams is Love song but lyrics is BEST HOT SEX

[yoonberrys]

HOSEOK 𝜗𝜚 BTS

Todos os VERSOS de dor, se torna uma rosa com espinhos

Eu protejo os espinhos vulnerável até machucar minhas mãos e palavras doces faço se tornar uma rosa forte por suas LÁGRIMAS.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Adage 💜

SX Seoul Series | Hoseok's Entry

PAIRING: Hoseok x (f) Reader (you can also read it on AO3 or Wattpad)

SUMMARY: You have an exclusive interview with the event coordinator of SX Seoul, who happens to be your teenage crush.

WORD COUNT: 5.2 k

GENRE: old crush, pwp, smut

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: bratty reader, soft Dom!Hoseok, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, pulling out, handjob, nipple play, dry humping, leg humping, hair pulling

A.N.: Whoa, those Hobi concerts were just what I needed to finish this series. Plus, now that the series' visuals have been fully revamped (thank you, @eerieedits!!), I had even more reasons to! Thank you to @moonleeai for being incredible and catching all my mistakes! Hope you have fun with the last SX Seoul series entry! 💜

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You walked down the busiest street of Itaewon, your black boots tapping on the ground as you hurried and tugged your handbag’s straps further onto your shoulder. The sun was barely visible between the clouds, but it helped you avoid the puddles just as much as the passerby as you muttered to yourself.

“Hello, I’m— Good afternoon, my name is—” You swallowed and brushed your hair behind your ear as you went down the street, the cold winter wind chilling your legs under your long beige skirt. “I’m a Vice contributor, and I’m here to brief you on a piece on—”

You staggered as the buildings on your right suddenly gave way to a large and tall staircase leading to a parallel street. It was deserted, but you imagined that at night, it filled up with clubgoers waiting in line, chatting with a drink in hand, or waiting for a cab.

Right now, though, it had only the casual shoppers and folks going out for coffee on a Saturday afternoon, so the lively lights that marked the club’s presence were off.

Still, you straightened your cream coat, smoothed your hair, and climbed the few steps needed to enter the closed club. You raised your hand to press the doorbell, then figured they’d want some type of identification for—

The heavy metal door suddenly opened, and you bowed instantly, your heart nearly escaping out of your mouth as it raced so quickly. An older guy held the door open for you and jutted his chin, “He’s inside, you can go in.”

You swallowed your heart back down and bowed your head again, making your way in.

Once inside, the door closed behind you as you marveled at the place. Perhaps because it was always crowded in pictures, you never imagined it was so… wide. The coatroom looked nice and big, as did the couches around the hall before stairs could be taken up or down to reach the club rooms. The faint smell of smoke and liquor lingered in the air, but it wasn’t so pungent you were bothered. In fact, you expected things to look greasy and sticky; after all, those places typically had no magic without the lights, the drinks, and the people. But it was actually pretty nice.

You turned back and realized the man who had let you in was gone. Looking around, there was no one who could help you find your way. How were you supposed to know where to go?

“Hey!” Someone called from upstairs, and you stepped forward to peek up. “You can come on up!”

He shouted and disappeared, so you couldn’t take a good look, but your heart still somersaulted.

Before you moved, you smoothed your coat again and swallowed your emotions. It was the same name; it did not mean it was the same person. You were there to do your job, not to act like a fool. You started climbing up the stairs as you convinced yourself to keep your cool and go over what you would say.

“It’s my pleasure to interview the event coordinator of SX Seoul,” you muttered under your rushed breath as you went up the stairs. “Someone regarded as a pioneer in multiple genres, fostering a comfortable home for multiple underground events—”

You sucked in a breath when you got to the last step. The doors were open in front of you, showing a long room flanked by windows that were exceptionally letting the daylight in. All tall tables had been pushed against them, creating the illusion the space was even more prominent.

As you walked in, your steps echoed. On your left, the opposite wall, covered with mirrors and an extensive bar, revealed itself along with him. He was putting down the phone after ending a call, but you hadn’t even noticed because recognition froze your steps.

He looked taller and more buff than you remembered. His white top and zip-up hoodie perfectly framed his shoulders, contrasting with his dark, wavy hair falling just below his ears. The tight black military pants and military boots he had on offered a stronger look that had you averting your eyes quickly. Recognition looked good on him because he instantly brightened up and smiled so brightly that your heart trembled.

“Whoa! I can’t believe it,” he beamed, circling the bar counter to get to you. You noticed then the big silver buckle of his belt, the way his hips moved— And forced your eyes to meet his. His smile was as dazzling as you remembered. He said your name, yet you simply blinked, making him stop in his tracks. “Right? I mean… Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” you blurted, then felt sweat thread down your spine. You cleared your throat, trying to save face. “Jung Hoseok… How could I forget our hope?”

His smile widened as he laughed with delight at hearing the nickname he had back in high school. “It’s embarrassing if you say that…”

You shook your head, still befuddled. “Not if it’s true.”

He laughed freely then, showing no embarrassment or regrets as he neared you. “Well, what about you? Don’t tell me… You’re the journalist I’m supposed to meet?”

You nodded, and the reason you were there suddenly rushed to the forefront of your mind. You bowed deeply in a greeting. “I’m here to brief you on tomorrow’s interview. I thought it would be easier than a phone call, and your team said I could drop by today…”

He was nodding before you even finished talking. “Of course, gladly. Woah, this is— I’m a bit shocked, honestly.”

“I apologize,” you bowed earnestly, and he stepped forward so close to you that the buckle was right within reach.

“No, it’s good! I’m shocked but stoked, trust me.”

You raised your head, straightened your back, and saw nothing but ease and joy in his expression. If anything, it soothed your nerves, too.

He raised his hands. “So let’s get comfortable. I can take your coat.”

“Oh, I know you’re very busy.”

He shook his head with an incredulous smile. “Always putting others before you. I see some things never change.” Heat rose to your cheeks, but he reacted before you did after gently nipping his bottom lip. “What if I tell you it will be an excuse to take a long-awaited break? Won't you chat a bit with me?”

You almost shook your head in disbelief; instead, you chuckled and obliged. Hoseok was also exactly as you remembered as he reached to readily take your coat and lead you back to the bar. His charisma always mesmerized you, yet his attentiveness and perfectionism always drew you in. He didn’t have to be the coolest or most popular kid at school; many of your former high school friends would have said he wasn’t. Yet, the way you remembered him, there was no one cooler. Especially when he always helped you and rooted for you.

He placed your coat on the bar counter and pushed a bar stool for you before circling the bar. “Is it okay if I offer a drink?”

You sat down, put your handbag on the stool behind you, and brushed your hair behind your ear. “As long as I’m not abusing your goodwill…”

He laughed as he started grabbing what he needed. “You’d never.”

You couldn’t really see his reaction until he sat next to you, holding a few bottles of strawberry soju and two glasses.

“Still your favorite, I hope?”

You chuckled and nodded, waiting for him to pour you the first glass. “How do you even remember that?”

His smile became mischievous as he made sure to pour both glasses quickly. “You’d be surprised.”

You grabbed your glass. “By your elephant’s memory?”

He chuckled. “Something like that.”

You clinked glasses and drank your first shot together, neatly putting the glass back on the counter while he looked at it and let the taste and alcohol burn him.

Then he also put it down, looking at you. “Didn’t remember it so sweet.” You had to chuckle at his grimace, and he continued, “What happened to you?” Your easiness faded a little, and he tried explaining, “I mean, one day, you were there; the next, you weren’t.”

“You noticed it?” you asked, the slightest hint of skepticism passing through your expression as you reached to play with your empty glass.

“Of course I did,” he retorted, eyes dropping to your hand. He stayed motionless and only looked at you. “A precious classmate disappeared.”

You smiled and let go of the glass. “Nothing bad happened; I just changed high schools. My parents didn’t think I had a future in anything art-related, and I dropped out of every trainee program I entered.”

“That’s awful,” he nearly gasped, seemingly more outraged than you were.

So you chuckled. “Not really.”

“How can you say that? You’re such a good dancer!”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “What?! No, I’m not!”

“You are!”

“I think you might have mistaken me with somebody else.”

“I have not!” He was already leaning toward you with his arm on the counter and looked almost about to jump off his seat, but you simply gave him a look, asking him to be reasonable. “You might not have excelled at other things, but you danced very well. I remember,” he underlined, yet you didn’t change your posture or expression. It seemed nonsensical to think someone like Hoseok would remember you, so you assumed he was just trying to be nice. He jumped from his stool. “I’ll prove it.”

You bit your lip as he moved to the DJ mixing station and fumbled with whatever was on there. You weren’t being coy; you honestly didn’t think you were better than the average person, so you couldn’t figure out why he’d be so set on proving you wrong.

“Maybe you don’t remember it…” he voiced quietly before a familiar beat started from the speakers and gave you goosebumps. “Do you remember our Junior year dance project? We had to dance to this song.”

You nodded, remembering it all too well. “The Mannequin song… Everyone was so excited because SNSD did a special on KBS…”

He chuckled as he neared you again. “We all wanted to go viral on YouTube. But do you remember what the test was?”

In all your years, you thought the view of Jung Hoseok walking toward you with those eyes would make you melt into a puddle on the floor. Yet, instead, you were calm, letting your heart leap slightly as you thought back to all those years ago.

“Hmm… We all had to know the choreography and then would be paired randomly for the test. One boy and one girl.”

“Right,” he confirmed, biting his lip to hide a smile as he reached out his hand. “Come on.”

“Oh no no no no,” you instantly flinched. He insisted with a firm gaze, and you just felt your palms sweat. “I— I don’t remember it anymore!”

“You don’t?” he asked, sadness spreading across his features. “Really?”

You opened your mouth and hesitated, mutely going back and forth with him with glances and grimaces while your heart squeezed inside your chest. At least until you sighed and relented, “I might remember a little bit—”

“Perfect!” He grabbed your hand and pulled you along to the center of the room, where you could face the mirrors since the high tables were all pushed to the windows. He left you there to play the song from the start, then joined you with a smile. “Let’s do it!”

You smoothed your white shirt and gave him a look as he looked at you, posed in the posture you both were supposed to start once Trish started singing. You puffed briefly as he smirked, just waiting for you to be ready on time, and you were.

You didn’t know you’d remember it well, but as you moved, every sharp movement came back. Every snap of your fingers, every sway of your hips, and especially every time you looked back at him because you two were supposed to mirror each other perfectly.

One second, the song was starting; the next, it was ending. You had to wave your hand in front of your face to catch your breath and cool down, but Hoseok was already rushing to the DJ mixing station to put on another song. You tried to refuse, but it looked like Hoseok was having the time of his life reliving every song and every choreography with you. The most surprising wasn’t even that you remembered them all, but that you had fun dancing with him again. Suddenly, it felt like you were a teenager again, having the time of your life, dancing with your crush.

After at least a dozen songs, if not more, you had already unbuttoned your shirt a little, revealing the beige top underneath. He had removed his hoodie, and instead of reaching for water from the bar or sitting down to catch his breath, he chose to throw his arms around your neck.

For a second, his full weight crashed on you, and you grabbed him to prevent the both of you from going down. You did it on instinct, the type of play you would have had when you were seventeen. But you weren’t teens anymore.

You didn’t pay any attention to whatever music started playing after the one you just danced to. Instead, your breath deepened as you realized that he was purposefully not only keeping you close but also keeping your personal bubbles perfectly merged.

“You see…” he breathed, wiping the sweat off his brow. “How could I have forgotten? When I’ve beaten myself up over this so many times.”

“What? Over what?”

He smiled at your confusion. “I never got to ask you… For senior year, we had to dance with one partner for the final project. All styles, a year-long project. I was going to ask you, but you left.”

You felt the heat burn your cheeks. “You— You were?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“But… I mean.” You swallowed, trying to be rational. “You never really said anything about it to me.”

“They call it being an awkward teenager.”

He laughed, and you frowned. “You were not awkward.”

“But I never told you I wanted you as my partner.” 

You swallowed dryly, having trouble hearing those words from his lips so close to you that his breath was fanning your face. “Well, I… would have said yes.”

His eyes locked with yours as though trying to see if you meant it, and he must have been pleased because he smiled. “You would have likely found out I had a big fat crush on you.”

His voice was secretive, and you swallowed dryly, instantly letting your truth out of your lips. “Well, you would have found out for sure that I had the hugest crush on you, too.”

His eyes connected with yours for a second, staying on your lips for the remainder of your words so he could read them. You were left breathless, deaf by the racing sound of your heart above the music. Now what?

You could swear he was leaning closer to you, but he straightened back when the music shifted to something slow-paced. His arms lowered to your waist as he paced in place with you in his arms, still absolutely breathless.

“I hope there’s no competition about whose crush was bigger,” he teased, pulling you just a little closer to him. You let him, almost falling into him and shortening any lingering distance between you.

You blinked up at him, dazed by how dashing he was. “Of course not.”

“We should be partners,” he declared cheekily, smiling as you slow danced with him.

“I agree.”

You might have whispered, but he heard you. He smiled. “Happy you accepted to dance with me after all?”

You hummed. “Very.”

It was easy to slip into his embrace and sway according to his direction. No matter the sweat, the heat, or the media badge lost in the bottom of your handbag, it all seemed meaningless when you were living your teenage dream.

But your body seemed keen on reminding you that you were no longer a clueless teenager. You both had aged well and if you could have thought your attraction to him was innocent, now you knew it was anything but. If anything, Hoseok had become even more charming and confident, and you were already weak for him. 

The heat and the sweat only intensified as you kept your bodies close and tangled. Holding your breath wasn’t enough when his breath down your neck made you shudder. Your fingers gripped his hair involuntarily to keep him closer, and he groaned quietly, nuzzling down the collar of your unbuttoned shirt.

His hands were respectfully on your waist, but what your bodies were doing was sinful. He guided your hips to move with his, and you complied, going above and beyond to leave no molecule of air between you. So much so that your movements could have been seen as lewd, but at that moment, you couldn’t care less. He could guide you in any other direction, and he chose to keep you close.

He nuzzled up your neck to whisper into your ear, “I want to kiss you.”

You moved your face to meet his but didn’t close the distance. Instead, you looked into his eyes, seeing his want as you hoped he saw yours. His eyes hooded, shortening the distance enough to ghost your lips, and you closed your eyes.

His mouth pressed to yours softly, and before you could fully grasp how this would go, his kiss was taking over you. His lips pressed and brushed, exploring, eager to discover everything about you while you tangled your fingers with his hair, mirroring him. His hands felt your curves unapologetically, and so yours swam under the hem of his tanktop, not holding back either. His firm and taut abs under your touch made you groan softly, and he pulled away, letting you breathe.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about this moment,” he whispered, pecking your lips once more as though he couldn’t help himself.

You opened your eyes, barely able to say your own name, let alone put on any brakes. Still, you tried speaking, “About kissing me?”

He smiled. “About meeting you again and telling you how I felt. I regret never having the guts to do it. To take you out, to confess, to face your rejection if it came to it. I shouldn’t have taken your presence for granted. Don’t want to do it again.”

His lips traced your cheek far more gently than you were craving. You gripped him close. “You don’t have to worry about the past. I heard you, loud and clear. I wanted you then, and I want you now.” Your hips moved as though with a mind of their own, and you realized your skirt had raised past your hip, revealing not only your legs but how you were shamelessly grinding on his thigh. You finally had a mind to hold back. “But if you don’t want to continue, I fully understand—”

His mouth was on yours in a split second, moving so quickly that you couldn’t keep up. You could feel the goosebumps rake up your arms and legs and knew it would only get worse from there. He held you closer as his lips ravished you, finally pushing past the seam of your lips to find out that much more about you. Yet, as you were busy with his untamable kiss, you barely noticed how you were stumbling back while wholly caught up in him. You realized it only when your back hit the bar counter, making you gasp.

He relented his onslaught on your mouth to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, and you were able to breathe. He was pressed to you, grinding a hard-on on you just as shamelessly, making you grin. Your hand moved to tangle with his hair as his mouth lowered to your cleavage, and you simply closed your eyes. It was funny to think you dreamed of this so many years ago and were finally getting to experience it — your teenage self would have kicked her feet and squealed. Perhaps you weren’t as naive or in love as back then, but you wanted him much more now if that was possible. When his hands lowered to grip your ass and spread your legs to accommodate him, you moaned and were reminded exactly why.

He was cute and gentle growing up, but now there was confidence in every gesture and look that made you soft. He held you against the bar counter, parting his mouth from your cleavage to kiss your mouth and own it so easily that your legs were mush, even though he was holding them. Your hips swayed with his, blatantly telling him exactly what you wanted. Yet despite the way you were burning and gushing between your legs in anticipation of the real deal, he only kept kissing you. He moved with you and released little moans into your mouth when you jerked your hips in a way he didn’t expect, but he wasn’t going further. At least not yet, and you didn’t have it in you to wait.

You leaned back on the counter with one arm, taking support with your bent elbow before reaching your other hand between your bodies. His hips stammered as your kiss became uneven and your hips became erratic, but he soon understood what was going on. His eyes followed your hand unbuckling his belt before looking up at you.

“Keep going,” you whispered, lust fueling your every breath. “Don’t stop now…”

If there was any hesitation on his part, it vanished right there. He gripped you better in his hold, giving you time and space to undo his pants and stick your hand inside his boxers. He wasn’t shy about it, pecking your cheek as you grabbed him and pumped. His breathy moan against your cheek made you even hotter to the point that you needed to hear more of it. Yet stroking him wasn’t enough, even when he looked into your eyes like that as you did it. His skin was soft and warm, contrasting with the thickness and hardness in your palm, and you were greedy. His hips started swaying you again, his eyes barely able to stay open and locked with yours as his arms lost strength. And still, you didn’t miss one step of that rhythm, knowing that if you played your cards well, you’d have him on his knees in three, two, one…

You were jolted up suddenly, and everything happened faster than you could process. In a second, he picked you up, dragging a nearby stool with his foot to slip under you. Your hand didn’t lose contact but lost its rhythm, and even though you were now comfortably sitting down, things didn’t become easier for you.

Because now he had his hands free to grab your head and overpower you with his kiss. You were so dizzy that you could barely do anything but try to match his fiery tongue as you gripped his length in your hand, and unbeknownst to you, it drove him wild. He was so lost and equally consumed in everything you that by the time he caught on, he was already dragging harsh fingertips up your hips, marking you as your skirt raked to give him access to what he wanted.

He broke your kiss apart in time to let you both breathe and paused despite the eagerness making both of you tremble.

“Are you sure?” he asked, pressing your foreheads together to keep himself from seeking your taste again. 

You had goosebumps from the way his fingers pressed down on your flesh, and just the anticipation was making you dizzy. Your eyes snapped open to meet his, and the certainty that Hoseok was exactly the type of man you wanted made the fire inside you barely containable.

Still, you were able to breathe out, “Please.”

It was enough to have him all over you, pressing his mouth to yours and holding you with a hand at the nape of your neck while his hand dove under your skirt. You kept holding onto his excitement firmly, feeling the wet traces reach your fingers, yet what made you whimper while his tongue battled yours was his deft fingers skimming your core. You suddenly wished you had skipped the underwear this morning, but fortunately, it proved no obstacle for him. He was agile in brushing the fabric aside, groaning into your mouth as soon as he picked up on how wet you were.

From there on out, it was as though all barriers had been lifted, and there was no more use for words. You pulled on his hard cock to align with you as his hips pushed forward, helping you do it as quickly as humanly possible. With a thrust, he pushed inside you, opening you so bluntly that it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Yet all you did was let your chin drop and sink your nails into his bare shoulders. He cursed under his breath, thrusting again to accommodate himself inside your walls, and you let your head fall back. The stool you were on wiggled under you, but you wouldn’t fall, not while he had you. His foot pushed the stool to hit the bar, and his hands gripped your hips to keep you in place as he started a sweet dance.

Your toes curled inside your boots with every snap of his hips, spreading liquid heat through your whole body. You were unashamed to admit that you were covering him in slick, letting him slide inside you only to tighten up around him as you clenched and gritted your teeth. It was overwhelming, so torrid and intense you had no control over your hips rolling to match him. All you knew was that the way he fucked into you was divine, bringing you closer and closer to losing yourself, and that was all you ever wanted.

You thought you’d reach your limit soon but could swear he wouldn’t let you. His hand pulled your head back to reveal your neck, and the way he nibbled, sucking until it bruised, and making you gush around him even harder, convinced you he was possessive. That he would direct your fuck as he did your dancing, and it was the hottest shit in your fucked-out daze. You wanted him to fuck you there and leave you a heap on the floor, absolutely ruined for anyone else. You craved it; you almost begged for it, but your pleasure was rolling in fast.

Perhaps he noticed it because he relented with a quiet growl, and you chuckled under his lips. You could feel him twitching inside you, edging himself, making himself last, but you were proud to be a vice and would throw his control easily if he let down his guard.

You bit your lip as you squeezed around him, making it just a little harder for him, and he saw it. It was hard to hide the glint in your eyes; it wasn’t just pure lust or the pleasure flowing in your veins. There was Hoseok, of all the men on earth, fucking you so wet and right your skirt was likely ruined. Maybe even the bar stool. You chuckled at the thought.

His eyes darkened as he unglued his chest from yours. You raised an eyebrow, too fucked out to react quickly, when he pulled your shirt down, forcing it until your bra was under your chest. You moaned, both surprised and delighted with the way he handled you, and even more when he nibbled your skin down until he could slip a nipple inside his mouth.

“What the fuck—” you moaned in a long whimper, squirming under him. 

You liked having his tongue teasing your nipple, but you didn’t expect the angle to open the way for his palm to spread over your lower stomach and his thumb to reach your clit. The stool moaned and hit the bar counter behind you as he slammed into you so much harder, purposefully keeping a steady pace while fucking the daylights out of you.

So much so that you were moaning without control, leaving red marks on his shoulders and squeezing around him so much that he had to let go and curse, even though this time, it wasn’t on purpose.

His hand wrapped around your hair at the back of your nape, and you kept your back arched, aligning perfectly so he’d hit you deep with every pound, all while his thumb made you see stars.

“Fuck—” he didn’t stop cursing. “Cum— Cum now, fuck—”

Your mind lit up with the permission. Your legs wrapped around him so he’d fuck you deeper, and you didn’t even have to count the number of times he fucked into you until you were cumming so intensely that you stopped breathing.

The way your pleasure was unleashed, making you clench and suck his cock further inside you, was only topped by the way he kept rutting into you, now a bit more desperately. This man really wanted to get his cock milked and slicked perfectly, and you were happy to have the pleasure. The thought alone made you feel powerful, but the way he moaned and fell apart once you looked at him hit the bullseye. 

The stool slammed against the bar counter a few times as he gripped your hair so much that the sting could only make you clench harder. You were eager to feel him coming undone inside you, but he was able to pull out and cum on your leg, offering you a sinful view of his pink cock spurting cum over you. It shouldn’t have looked this hot or made you feel this wronged, but you understood your thoughts were only the aftermath of your still throbbing and now empty pussy. 

Looking at him soothed you, though. He was panting, looking like a million bucks while sweating sexiness with every heave of his chest. You chuckled at your thoughts, wondering if that shouldn’t have been enough to fuck the silly and horny out of you when he relented the grip on your hair but didn’t let you go.

It was enough for you to finally look at him properly and notice his eyes were still dark.

“I’m just getting started,” he noted quietly, looking down. 

You clenched at the view — he was still hard. Damn hard, even though you had just seen him cum without a shadow of a doubt. His cum was dripping down your thigh and getting soaked into your skirt.

He must have noticed it, too, because he reached behind you and grabbed a few napkins, using them to clean you as much as he could before crumpling them in balls and tossing them back.

“If that’s okay with you,” he added more relaxedly, and you stared up at him in wonder. Where had he been all your life?

He gave you a look that demanded a response, and you just chuckled again, wrapping your legs around him.

[rkiveingcf]

Hoseok layout ~~~☆★

Like/Reblog if you save or use 💗

[gguk-n]

Therapy Hybrid (Golden Retriever!Jung Hoseok x Reader)

Warning- Contains themes of depression, anxiety and suicide. Avoid it if you must. I have other fun stuff on my account for you.

Summary- Hybrids have existed along with humans for a long time. So, long that sometimes they can help you when you're at your lowest.

Hybrids have been a part of human society for as long as anyone could remember. They were made to help humans, as a commodity. And right now, they were a part of catering to human needs, as carnal or as basic as possible. Hence, why they didn't have autonomy and had to be owned by humans as a personal luxury or a public commodity.

Y/N was the few people who didn't see the appeal of hybrid, that's why she just stared at her Psychiatrist. She had been seeing Dr Kim for a long time. It had started out when she had finished college; things were going great until they weren't. She had realised that she had always been depressed, ever since she was a teen and decided to finally get the help she needed.

But this didn't help much. As time passed, neither the therapy nor the medications helped and she decided that maybe ending it would be the best option. She had made sure to leave no traces, made sure no one would find her for at least two days. But she forgot to factor in her best friend who had decided to pay a surprise visit since she seemed down. That's when Jen walked into the house. She had always had the code to the house, so unlocking it wasn't the issue. The real issue was the whole house was blacked out and silent. Jen felt her heart beat out of her chest. She threaded the house slowly, calling out to her best friend. Her voice cracking in the middle. Jen slowly opened the door to her bedroom to find Y/N on the bed with froth coming out of her mouth and a couple bottles of pills next to her.

The ambulance arrived promptly and Jen even showed the paramedics and the doctors the bottle, who were able to quickly pump her stomach and get her the antidote as soon as possible. Jen cried as she waited and cried again when they told her that Y/N would be okay. She didn't scold her or get angry at her; she just hugged her as she cried into her best friend, clinging onto her for dear life.

After that incident, Y/N was kept in the hospital for a while. Jen couldn't stay long and left when the doctors gave her the green light. She hugged her best friend good bye and promised to see her in a few days. Jen now lived with the constant worry and guilt, the big what if that loomed on her. She made sure to get updates from Y/N's doctor regarding how she was; still not at ease.

"I think it would be best that you get a therapy hybrid" Dr Kim suggested. She had wanted to discharge her but Y/N still looked unstable. Y/N stared at her a whole minute before opening her mouth, "What's that?" "Well, hybrids have been trained for many things and one of the key being, therapy. I think, it would benefit you. In the long run" she stated. "I'll think about it" Y/N replied half heartedly.

The next day Dr Kim showed up with a man; a hybrid to be exact. He had dark hair, sharp features but two golden ears and a golden tail that wouldn't stop swaying as he stood there. "This is Hobi" she introduced the man to Y/N. "You can spend time with him while you're here and if you feel like it's helping maybe he can be there for you, even at home" Dr Kim insisted as she exited the room. "Actually my name's Jung Hoseok but everyone calls be Hobi for short. It's like hope" he smiled politely. He had a background on Y/N's case and would thread carefully.

The next few days in the hospital, Y/N and Hobi got closer and even started chatting together which Hoseok saw as a good thing. So, when she was being discharged, the hospital lent her Hoseok, as her therapy hybrid.

When they reached home, the place still held remnants of her past attempt. But Hoseok said nothing and offered to help clean the place. Y/N had no energy to even dispute the claim and just let him do whatever.

Hoseok left the home spotless. He made food three times a day and even went grocery shopping to stock up. But he didn't leave her alone. Making sure to involve her in some way or another. Y/N was starting to come around. She had started to help him with minor tasks and enjoyed his company. Hoseok even helped her find freelance work so that she could take things at her pace.

As time went on, Y/N started to get better. Everyone around her had noticed; Jen could now breath a sigh of relief that her best friend was doing better. She was extremely grateful to Hoseok.

As time went on, Hoseok and Y/N weren't just patient and therapy hybrid but something more. They knew there were many ethical boundaries that would break; not being the fact that they were human and hybrid but because of their professional relationship. So, when Dr Kim wanted to take Hoseok back; Y/N wanted to keep him, not because she wasn't better but because she couldn't imagine a life without him.

It wasn't easy; but they made it happen. Hoseok was able to transfer his ownership from the hospital to Y/N. They found it a bit icky that she would own him but this was better than never being able to live together.

Y/N moved into a bigger place, a house with a backyard and beautiful scenery over looking it. She just wanted to give him everything. And it made her very happy to see his tail wag as he looked around when they moved in.

The pair was sat in the backyard on a picnic blanket with a picnic spread in front of them. Hobi laying on her lap as she threaded her fingers through his hair, scratching the area near his ear. They enjoyed the peace, as the birds chirped in the distance. They didn't know what they were; but they knew that they needed each other and were grateful to have found each other when they did.

[hoseoksluna]

A MILLION YEARS AGO | jhs

pairing: idol!boyfriend!hobi x f. reader 

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 4.6k

summary: when your faith in your healing wavers, hobi is there to go the extra mile for you.

taglist: join | playlist: million | cp: wattpad, ao3 | discord: join

warnings: near car accident, confusion in the body, iffy feelings towards an ex, seeing an ex for the first time in million years, being mistreated, religion, praying, oc smokes, hobi is the perfect boyfriend that i wish i had, oral sex (f. receiving), raw sexual intercourse.

note: i'm crying as i'm writing this because i'm so sad, but i promise this healed me more than i expected. as you know, i write little fics whenever something happens to me—and this is based off what happened yesterday. me and my cousin sat down at our smaller family event (not the one we had on friday, if you follow me on twitter), and she asked me if i were healed. and she told me about what she saw. i think it's meant to move me somewhere forward, otherwise i would've never got to see his face. i don't know. i hope you like this little fic, you know i had to write it out like i smoke out my feelings. i'm proud of this work in terms of the way it's written. think i kinda killed that. i love you guys. and i miss you, terribly. i love you.

side note: sorry for my vulnerability. a smaller side note: this is also for my baby @hoseokkie-caeks. i promised i would write a hobi one shot after berries, and here i am. <3 i love you, baby. miss you.

The night was dark. Too, too dark. 

I sensed it swathing my bones long before I glimpsed at something I should and shouldn’t have—or rather someone, to be proper. 

The trees remained unmoving, despite the summer breeze drifting through the macrocosm that unfolded with each and every footfall I shared with my beloved beside me. Hand in hand, we walked leisurely through streets that were prosaic until our energy imbued them with our intimate poetry. White swallowing, little by little, the dark. There was no one and everyone around us, but we didn’t see them; we merely saw each other, for we were in love and we deserved to be so. Hoseok after his hard, agonizing work regime and unfair treatment from his management and… the whole world essentially. Me after the way I had been treated, handled, tossed aside by the person I found inside the screen of a phone—inside a world that once used to be mine, but now is nothing but foreign. 

Million, million years ago. 

The stars were aligned just right, stringing together a shape of the wholeness and the throb of my heart, and we sat down to eat dinner with one of my closest friends that came to town—one me and Hoseok have settled in within the precious, year-long break that burst open in his work life. Hobi didn’t want to see people, at least not those who didn’t bear familiar faces, and I didn’t want to see the city, so it was the most fateful of compromises, most perfect of the kind that was naturally threaded between us; a conjoined idea that blinked within our brains at the same time. And the laughter that followed after we voiced it out at the same time, the long kiss that spread roots inside the pillows of our lips—to this day, it is a fond memory, or perhaps something beyond that, that embraces me at night before I enter the realm of dreamland, tugging me closer into the snug heat of Hoseok’s safe place that I regard his body to be. 

Though before we arrived, I gazed up at that constellation of me through the windscreen as Hoseok’s car began to make a strange noise that unnerved him. I prayed for its rightness to be true and I prayed for our safe travel, as short as it was. According to our previous plan, we were supposed to wait for my friend, Hyun-Ae, and her boyfriend, Do-hyun, outside of the restaurant because she had a strong yearning to jump into my arms upon seeing me. My excitement for that to happen ripped my eyes away from the nightly heavens, searching for her in the dimmed lights of the mutely lively building, in the shadowed greenery surrounding it, near the trees that didn’t move, yet my hair did. 

Strange, that dark energy. 

I hoped she was peeing somewhere, where the light doesn’t reach. She invariably had a tendency to chug everything she drank and her bladder paid for it each time—but this time, she wasn’t squatting by a bush. 

She almost didn’t get to me at all. 

A driver, merely minutes away from entering our town, nearly swerved wrongly into the traffic lane that Do-hyun was driving through, yanking away the stars from the canvas of the heavens. He had to pull over and take deep breaths in order to stabilize his mental state as the thought of almost getting in a car accident with her being in the passenger seat triggered his long-fought panic attack. And because the woods at the beginning of our secluded town doesn’t have any service, we waited for them for half an hour without any knowledge of their whereabouts. 

I bit my cuticles until they bled. Until Do-hyun’s lungs were lifted of its heaviness with Hyun-Ae’s help, his breathing evened out, and he was able to get behind the wheel and cross the distance. 

Upon hearing what obstacles stood before us, I didn’t understand it at first. Hyun-Ae’s yearning was gratified, we hugged until our necks ached and our arms quivered in our stifling, long-coming hug with her legs wrapped around me, ate the food we always ordered when we were together and not apart while she filled me in—but I didn’t perceive the darkness for what it was until that very last detail. 

One she wouldn’t provide until I promised her, a million times, that I was fully healed and ready to hear it. I didn’t know what she was about to uncoil, sitting beside me as she was, with her hands in her lap. But I should’ve known that those obstacles were put in our path for my preparation. 

Hyun-Ae hinted, before she began articulating her discovery, that it was about my ex-love. I stiffened a little, taken aback. I downed a shot of the spirits that we had left. And I was being tugged in two different directions, thrown to and fro, asked by the lawlessness of life to choose. 

Stay back and not go further—not let her tell me because Hobi doesn’t know the specifics about my last situationship. 

Ask her to hold my hand and give her the consent to proceed as my curiosity was piqued and my wound was healed, a million years ago. 

And in the short dwelling of the manhandling, my spirit of inquiry crowned, my fatal flaw. I chose the latter—because why would I not? I carry my heart in my chest for my beloved beside me proudly, for his waters mine with the fulfilling streams of his laughter and sound effects, gentleness and devotion. He has grown and nurtured monsteras within its past mutilated chambers—and the longer he cradled my life and made it his own, made it his endeared responsibility, the more healing flowers of wild, undomesticated origin bloomed against the verdure. The pair of us—Hobi, the elegant leaves with its perforation symbolizing the dimples above his mouth when he smiles; I, the chamomile that has the gift to make better, but everyone mistakes it for a daisy, tossing it aside. 

Everyone but Hobi, the worker who cultivated it in me. 

And caught in the snare of my pride, I wanted to know if my ex-love still remained in the exile of his emotional unavailability, fucking everything that walks on his solitary Pluto planet while I made love to the Sun three times a day, minimally. 

Hyun-Ae gripped my hand with her lukewarm, refreshing touch as she told me that he was dating someone, fundamentally poisoning the girl with his ways like he did to me. That she didn’t understand what I had seen in him as he looked worse than ever before, a characteristic of the unhallowed set deep within his eyes. My lungs refused to inhale any particles of air; they must’ve taken a break from their work in order to process, at their own time, the information that was given to them. The male who pretended to date me while I edged his planet for years, laboring myself in order to heal him with my prayers and words because I believed him after he said he loved me, but he needed to get right first. Needed to unload his baggage and bandage up the slashes across his heart from his previous relationship. 

All sweet nothing without an ounce of genuineness. He took pleasure from the way I stayed around while he hurt me again and again by entertaining other girls, my feet indented in the soft soil of the planet. It was a form of compensation for him. A some sort of merriment—and madness, unmitigated madness for me. 

I lost my mind, standing upon that edge. And I had to get off in order to find it again, my hands outstretched beyond me—held by the invisible fingers of God while he taught me how to walk again, how to walk in a gravity-filled space of greenery, the rainbows of colors, the rain and the sunlight like a baby. 

And I did. 

I walked until my feet stopped in front of Hobi’s.

At first, I felt a sheer wisp of happiness for the guy that he managed to make such an immense step in that direction, however it flickered in me for mere seconds, replaced by a doom of nothingness that began to swim in me. Heavy, heavy nothingness that felt cosmically peculiar—and my body urged me to go outside and smoke it away.  

But my mouth spoke first. 

Who is she? Show me. 

Hyun-Ae narrowed her chocolate pools at me, her brows furrowing until they darkened. Then, they flicked towards Hobi beside me and I followed her gaze—he was preoccupied with a heated conversation with Do-hyun and he didn’t hear a word shared between us. Hyun-Ae lowered her voice, nonetheless. 

So you could compare yourself to her? No fucking way. 

But I pushed. Driven by that nothingness in me, I desired to feel something. Hurt, pride—anything that would stir my body and give it what it asked. It was used to feeling great clouds of negative emotions in terms of the male, and now it was searching for it, in spite of the million years that have flown by since. And to shut me up and distract my mind from wanting the wrong things, she showed me a picture of him. 

And upon seeing that dark characteristic of his eyes, gone, hollow and dead from the laws and the ghosts of the Pluto planet, my stomach clenched and I averted my gaze. My body rejected him—I couldn’t look at him for more than two seconds. 

My good, smart body. 

I fell into quietness, more gravely than the one this town was weaved with. Hyun-Ae’s eyes returned to their original round size, softening on me, and I held her hand tighter. I needed, vehemently, to smoke the descending nothingness away, and when I asked her to go outside with me, Hobi reached the conclusion of his conversation. Wrapped his slender fingers around my arm, tender sound effects, only for my ear to hear, slinking inside as he rubbed his nose against the place right beside it. 

You wanna go smokie smokie? Hobi asked, gliding his fingers down my arm until he reached my wrist, the belly of his index tracing the blue and violet ‘V’ shape of my veins upon my left arm. 

He grounded me. 

I nodded, my smile natural, my love for him abounding, and Hyun-Ae encouraged me to go, gently slapping the side of my bum. And so I went, hand in hand, with him.

Our inherent, pristine characteristic. 

Hobi stole my lighter once I fished it out of my purse. He didn’t smoke, but whenever he joined me, he thought it gentlemanly and proper to light up my cigarette for me. It’s the least I can do, he had explained and I had kissed him so hard for it that he blushed. 

It’s what he does now, flicking his thumb upon the spark wheel until the small flame erupts and bathes us in a delicate, orange tint. I hold the cigarette steady between my lips with my two fingers and Hobi draws closer, appeasing my inner need. Waits for me to take that first drag before he prepares me for the rush of his enormous affection by heating the small of my back with his palm, rubbing the sensitive place. It’s something that I’ve learned he likes to do; take things slow so I open for him like a bud of flower. It gives him pleasure, the laboriousness of the process and the following harvesting, the dampness of my dew the evidence of his success.  

It’s extremely attractive because he does it more for my sake than for his own. 

He lets me take another drag, our visual connection a string stouter than the constellation up above, and I feel myself, nonvocally, giving over that heaviness of the nothingness with each exhale. I decompress and Hobi can see it, joining his other hand to my loins and dipping his head to my neck. He scatters tiny, weightless kisses upon that tenderness of me and I am lulled by his enticement, soothed and sleep-drunk, his pheromones and the cedarwood of his fragrance unfettering me. 

I want to take him to bed. 

And I tell him, innocently, with my hands that clenched the muscles of his arms rounding towards his pecs and lowering to his abdomen, the ivory smoke following my movement, but never touching him. Hobi knows this is my language of sensuality and his mouth parts as he feels the words. 

“We should go.” 

He lifts an arm and brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek, his fingers lingering upon the shell of my ear—his private obsession. His endeared eyes study my features for a fraction of time before he leans in and peppers a singular kiss to the button of my nose. “Why are you sad, muffin?” 

The trees towering behind him move in a daze at last, but it’s a blurred swaying motion that merely divulges to me that the obstacles, the preparation and the dark energy have been conquered. And it helps me to speak a little. 

“Hyun-Ae told me something I didn’t really expect to hear. Can I tell you on our way home?” 

Hobi nods, cradling my cheek, and I melt. 

“I can leave the car here and we can walk home. And in the morning, we can go grocery shopping in the city.” 

I liquefy in his hold and I finish the last of my cigarette, kissing him feverishly and reciprocating the kisses he left upon my neck, sinking our domesticity into the column of his throat while he holds me and I drip into the fullness of him. 

When we return to the restaurant, Do-hyun is by himself, informing us that Hyun-ae has gone to pee. The familiarity solidifies me and I sense upon me a moonlit energy of joy that cleanses me of the past. Hyun-ae perceives it long before I open my mouth and she jumps into my arms, telling me how she’s proud of me. We say our goodbyes, promise that we’ll see each other soon, and Hobi pays for the whole table, calming every inch of me. 

I pray as we watch them drive off. I pray for their safe travel into the city and I pray over our car. 

We walk through our miniature, unlit version of the city, breathing in the purity of the air, listening to the rustling of the leaves being fondled by the breeze. Hobi mimics the act of love, rubbing his thumb over my hand, and I feel at ease when I tell him about my first love, chain-smoking just to help me infuse poetry into my words. 

With each detail, I forget it has happened to me as I unattach myself from it, consider it an element of the past that no longer has anything to do with me. Hobi lets me speak, doesn’t interrupt me, though I notice that as I venture into the brutality of the pain I waded through, his teeth grit and his jaw clenched, the preceding flush of his cheeks withering and falling beneath his skin, pallidness blanketing it in ashen gray. And it pushes me further into my process of letting go and forgetting for another million years to come. 

He stops in the middle of the road once I finish the story. Gives me a mournful look that penetrates me so deeply that I mourn, too. His hands find my forearms, my shoulders and my clavicles. Prepare me for the treasure of the most sympathetic of hugs I have ever received in my life and I loosen up in his strong hold, bury my face in his black-clothed chest as his palm holds my head to him. And he kisses my crown, kisses my temple; strengthens me when he squeezes me until I can’t breathe and I grasp that he is cleansing the pollution of the monstera leaves and the chamomile petals. 

And then he begins to speak, dampening me with a fresh layer of hydration. 

“You had to walk through hell in order to find me and I shall spend my lifetime bringing heaven to you. I swear on my life, muffin,” he says, for the entirety of the peripheral corn fields and the trees to hear, as he cradles my face and makes me look at him. My vision blears as I regard him more as my savior than I ever have before, nodding my head in agreement as my eyelashes flutter, the finality of calmness settling down in me like we did in this town. “You’re mine. You were mine when you were with him, which is why fate didn’t allow him near you. Mine to find, mine to take care of, mine to love, kiss and dance with. Mine. You’re gonna keep blooming in my hands and you’re no longer gonna pray for him, you’d done enough of that already. You’re only gonna pray for yourself.” 

This, I disagree with, dissolving sugar personified. 

“No, I’m only gonna pray for you.” 

Hobi pouts, his mouth rounding downwards, and his thumbs rub my cheeks, smearing my makeup—and I don’t mind. It’s always been his to ruin. He presses his nose and forehead to mine, breathing with me as the breeze swishes past. I slip my hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, needing to feel his skin, and Hobi sighs against me. Withdraws a tiny bit and steals the breath he gave me. 

“Teach me how to pray for you.” 

I’m so struck with awe, wonder and my genuine love for him that I cannot speak, my lung failing, though differently this time. They swell up with the essence of my feelings for him, my devotion and my besottedness that my eyes well up before I can halt their rivulets. No one has ever prayed for me, certainly not a male I loved and looked up to. I spent years having my empty prayers echoed back to me and now the love of my life, my eternal beloved one, asks me to teach him how to pray for me. 

Only the omnipotent Listener of my prayers could make this possible for me, and before I know it—my mouth gives my beloved the instructions, the contents of my knowledge that I learned along the trajectory of my somber, otherworldly life and then he’s whispering the voice of his heart into my ear. 

“Dear God, please give my muffin the strength not to be pulled back into the life she had before me. Make sure she’s not influenced by it either. Take her burdens and give them to me because I can bear them. Relieve her heart and make her happy. Use me to do it.” He withdraws and drags his thumbs across my eyelashes, asking me to open them and I do. Once he has my attention, he seeks my guidance. “What do I say now?” 

I huff a soft laugh, endeared. Kiss the edge of his hand. “Say thank you and amen.” 

Hobi grins and the Sun peeks through the night. “Thank you and amen.” 

My laughter gains volume and he wraps his lips around it, shushing me, kissing me madly, and I bury my fingertips into his short hair, reciprocating the different, different madness and expanding it. Weightlessness seizes me and I don’t feel my limbs, stupefaction firing me with enthusiasm and then tongues clash and the kiss gains a verve that forces me to collide my body with his and— 

And then we’re dancing. 

To a slow song he begins to hum with the deep raspiness of his voice. Our bodies are one, singular, intertwined as we move to the rhythm of our unified heart and I weep. 

I weep in my joy. I weep in my contentment—and I weep in my love for him. 

He touches my back all over, cupping my hair as if it was water, leading our bodies in the dance, and there’s no one around us, no cars coming, no animals to watch us—only the trees, the fields, the buzzing of cicadas and the breeze and the moon up above. And then he’s twirling me until I’m dizzy and my soft laughter reverberates through the spaciousness of the road that is ours at this very moment. And the Sun beams at me, my Sun, as he pulls me close and continues to dance with me. I feel the jealous shafts of the light of the moon digging into my back that I soon forget about because his lips pursue mine and I dwindle away into his magnetism. 

His hands, his pheromones and his cedarwood fragrance take me to his bed. 

And he’s feasting on me like the dessert he didn’t get to have at the restaurant, bent over as I am over the foot of the bed, my dress bunched in his fist over my loins and my panties pushed to the side. My hungry beloved, my parched Sun, nuzzling his face in my femininity while I drip my dew and moan his name for him. Sucking my clit, he keeps me hovering on the cusp of my orgasm and I tremble in my vulnerable position—face planted on the bedding while the lower half of my body is raised in the air for him. And once my throat begins to let out whimpers and incoherent pleas, he draws back, closes his body over mine until his lips explore my ear and there, there he teases me. 

“What was that, my little muffin?” 

I whine, grinding my ass into his groin, and he hums. It takes me back to his song and I apperceive that it is the only thing I ever want to be pulled back to. Reminiscent of it, his song is blackened by eroticism, by his enormous arousal, drenched by my dew and I need him. While I feel God, the Listener of my prayers, to be a glaring light in me, I need my beloved Hobi to be interwoven with it. 

“I want you inside me. Please, I need it,” I beg, twirling my hips against his hardness like he twirled me in the middle of the road and Hobi sucks in a breath, exhaling it in the form of a whimper and I stoop in my heady longing. 

Abruptly, he plops me onto my back and yanks my panties away. “I’m gonna marry you, you know that?” 

I can only whisper my overwhelming agreement, my bones and my muscles too overcome with elation to do anything else. I would marry him tomorrow if I could. Go grocery shopping with him in the morning, unload it at home, put on my white silky dress and go to church with him by midday. Spend the rest of the day celebrating our union in bed, round after round until we get so exhausted that we submit to slumber, dreaming of our wedding, reliving it. 

He takes off my dress, kisses my forehead, ruffles my hair around me, his thumb dragging across the skin beneath my lower lip as if he was fixing my smeared lipstick for the special day, getting me ready, and I change my mind. I would marry him right now if I could.  

And I tell him. 

“I would marry you right now.” 

His eyes wet, casting a glimmering light upon my naked form, and a paroxysm of his joy gushes out of him and onto me. Hobi tickles my tummy with butterfly kisses, holding me down with his strong hands that he soon pins above my head, leveling with me, my dew drying on his face—yet he still glistens. Glistens with a gleam of bliss that washes over me. 

“Then, let’s get married,” he murmurs, and seizes my lips with his own, kissing me so roughly that I instinctively open my legs for him, the heated pressure in between unbearable. And then he holds my wrists in one hand while the other unbuckles his pants, fisting his length and tugging on it. My favorite sight. He guides it to my sopping hollowness and with one hard thrust, that he knows I am wholly enraptured by each time, he sheathes himself inside me all the way, completing me. Rests at the delicate touch of our mounds. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve and then I’m gonna take you to church.” 

And he gives it to me. Doesn’t pull out fully, but pounds me into the mattress. One hand gripping my wrists together, the other my jaw—ascertaining that my attention doesn’t fluctuate but remain fixed on him, on the twists of his features, on the guttural moans, his pheromones and his fragrance that trickle out of him and dunk into me while I struggle to take it all. 

“Am I hurting you?” he whispers, kissing my cheek and breathing against it, slowing down his strokes that scramble my brain. The tip of his cock grazes my cervix and I lose, I lose my identity. 

My eyes flutter and he pries my mouth open with his thumb, providing me something to focus on as I intuitively suck on it, keeping my head afloat enough to answer. 

“No, it’s just too big.” 

Hobi hums, rewarding me with a peck on the mouth and the gradual speed of his thrusts. “You can take it, muffin. I know you can. You’ve shown me before.” 

The praise, the belief in me—it all crests in lowest part of my sexuality and again, I edge around the cusp of my orgasm. Beads of perspiration line his forehead, soaking his hairline and he’s a sight to die for, the final piece to the fulfillment of my release. Blush reddens his cheeks, his irises enlarged and digging into mine. He doesn’t falter, continuing with his fast rhythm and I moan out poetry lines that make him squeeze his eyes shut. 

“I’m gonna come for you.” 

He groans. “Uh-huh, come for me, muffin. Give it to me. Show me again how well you can come on my cock. Yes, yes—”

Pluto bursts and ceases to exist. I come so vehemently that my spine arches off the mattress, colliding into Hobi’s chest. I shun out all constellations, all planets, the entire universe collapsing under the weight and gravity of my orgasm and our own marble, green, yellow and white with no one around but us, is called to creation with the bloom of Hobi’s own climax. 

He stuffs me full, my hollowness and my mouth, kissing me so hard that I become dizzy all over again. Moans my pet name as he shoots out his ivory love for me, fucking into me sluggishly while the twitching of his cock enamors me even more. I swallow his voice, swallow his grunts and little curses. My iridescent, entranced spasms caused by his exuberance prolong until I don’t know where my head stands, where my legs are wrapped around or what body part of his my hands clench. 

My savior, my beloved, linked to me for all eternity. 

This must have been our wedding because I shall never be the same again, my mind and my heart swept clean and filled with brand new oxygen. I no longer remember what happened prior to our love-making and when I share that with him, Hobi is possessed with the need to do it all over again. 

And he does, a million times over, until he marries me in the church of our town, with Hyun-Ae and Do-hyun present, mine and his parents and his sister with Mickey. 

A wedding most perfectly extraterrestrial, on our own Hope planet, with nothing hurting, with no thoughts resurfacing. 

Me and my beloved, me and my savior, me and my Sun. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild ,  @jjk7k ,  @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah , @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[vamp1reheart]

Wonderland 01

Hoseok x f!reader

Notices: Explicit sex! Mentions of abuse! Murder! Mental problems! Schizophrenia! Obsessive themes! I tried to have a big focus on psychological horror! Distorted reality! Use of drugs, strong medicines and other doping agents!

Synopsis: You always thought that Wonderland was just a childish delusion, the consequences of a terrible accident. But things change, and maybe Wonderland is more real than you'd like to admit. Especially when an old friend goes out of his way to convince you to stay in the wizarding world.

There is no better feeling in the world than the feeling of being at peace. Of finally letting go of the problems of reality, and just feeling relief and calm.

Opening your eyes, you find yourself in a vast field of flowers. The tall flowers touch your knees and legs like a gentle caress. When you looked ahead, the field seemed endless, but right next to it was a giant wall surrounded by red roses. Above your head, in the gray sky, was a giant clock, the clouds did little to mask it.

The clock, despite being large, its hands made a muffled "tik-tak" noise. But if you concentrated you could hear a muffled voice imitating the sound of the clock hands.

"tick-tock"

The voice said.

The voice was definitely male. You look around the large field, searching for the owner of the voice. But you find no one, you are the only person there.

But the voice is louder. What was once just an imitation of the sound of the clock hands now becomes a kind of plea.

"Tick-tock honey...Tick-tock...time is running out! You need to decide!"

The voice now seemed to be right next to your ear. But even as you turned to find the owner of the voice, you saw nothing. The voice became more constant and louder as you turned.

When suddenly the Clock above your head strikes a full hour. The deep, loud sound of its chimes completely silences the place, making you completely forget about the voice.

But when you look down, you meet the gaze of a man. He was right in front of you, very close to you, but you never heard him coming. As the man comes closer to you, with slow, light steps, you feel your heart beat as if it were going to come out of your chest.

The man slowly reaches out his hand towards your face, and although he doesn't seem to want to hurt you, you close your eyes tightly. And then the last chime of the clock is heard, and absolute silence sets in, where all you can hear is your racing heart. And the feeling of the man's hand on her face never happened.

When you open your eyes again, you are in a room, now looking at a dark wooden ceiling. Moving your fingers, you can see that you are lying on something soft. As you move your head, your eyes land on the figure of someone. That's right, you were in the middle of therapy.

The man has his back to you, fiddling quickly with a black box. But at the slightest noise you make, he turns around, now realizing you were awake.

"Ha, Miss Y/N, I'm glad you're awake. I'm sorry, it seems like I gave you too strong a dose of the tranquilizer."

You don't say anything, just sit down slowly. Looking around the room, you close your eyes, feeling the information return to your brain.

Fortunately, your psychologist Seokjin doesn't say anything, he just waits for you to get your bearings with a sweet smile on his lips.

Seokjin is one of the best psychologists in the region. Everyone says that besides being very handsome, he is also very sweet. But even though he hasn't done anything to make you think otherwise, you still feel like there's something wrong with him.

"I think we're going to end our therapy session for today, Miss Y/N. You need a break."

Nodding to him, you get up from the large red couch in your office, walking slowly to the door as your brain begins to remember its basic functions. Oh my, did you sleep that much?

Seokjin walks you to the classroom door. He says you're doing really well, and you're doing much better than you were before.

But you doubt it. Since you started therapy, you have noticed little difference. You wouldn't say it was Seokjin's fault, no, it was your fault. Fortunately, the medicine you're taking is slowly making you forget about Wonderland.

Wonderland, you liked to call it. It's silly, but at the time you created it, you were going through a vulnerable time.

The comforting place. But even though you liked it there, you knew it wasn't healthy.

Without even realizing it, you are already outside the apartment where Seokjin's office is.

With all these therapies and strong medications, you started to realize how gray the world was becoming. You don't know if it's a consequence of the medications, or if the world has always been like this.

The streets were dark, the houses were mostly gray, and the houses that had colors were dull, the sky was almost always cloudy. But as time went by, you learned to live with cloudy days, starting to like them more than sunny days.

Despite constantly complaining that the houses in his town were gray and dull, his own is not much different.

Now standing in front of your apartment door, you unlock the various locks on your door. Complaining to herself why her subconscious felt the need to put more than one or two.

Entering your apartment and taking off your shoes, you emotionlessly observed the darkness of your apartment.

Deciding then to take a cold shower to remove the rest of Seokjin's drugs from your body, you find yourself naked under the freezing water, allowing her to lift a weight off your shoulders that you didn't even know you were carrying.

Closing your eyes, you revel in the sight of the water running down your body, but when you open your eyes again, you are no longer in your home. But the feeling of water on your body remains.

It doesn't take much to realize that you are standing on a rock in a large lake, the sensation of the liquid running down your body was like a large waterfall. Even though night had taken over, and the tall trees were dark enough to barely be seen, the lake still shone with the light of the full moon, the blue glow of the water was abnormal, but very beautiful.

Slowly, you climb down from the rock and enter the dark lake. For some reason you were not afraid, it was as if all your thoughts and worries had disappeared.

Now the dark water was just above his chest. Even with the blue glow that the water made with your movements, it was not possible to see the bottom of it, your body disappeared into the water as if you were missing. But as said before, you were not afraid.

Not even when a figure resurfaced from the water at the edge of the lake. Due to the darkness you couldn't see who it could be, but you didn't worry about it. The only thing you could think about was whether any traces of the drug remained in your body.

You don't know why, but you stand still as the figure slowly moves towards you. The water was up to your waist and the water left a trail of blue glow as he approached.

Now, with the figure in front of you, you can see it better.

He was an extremely familiar man. It was undeniable that he was very handsome. His physique was thin with some prominent muscles, his jaw was defined, and his handsome face looked at you seriously.

You don't know if you should say anything. Maybe ask who it is? But it's clear that this is a dream. Isn't it?

The man comes closer to you and grabs your waist underwater, pressing your bodies together with a loud noise.

He brings his face closer to yours, now you could see the blue glow in his black eyes.

"Stay!"

He whispers close to your face, and with a satisfied sigh he brings your lips together in a needy kiss.

You don't know whether to kiss this stranger back, but the feeling of his lips is too good to deny. But it doesn't matter, you don't care now, not anymore.

The stranger interrupts the kiss to lower his face to her neck. Starting with small licks, he begins to suck and bite the thin skin of your neck as you tilt your head further to the side, giving him more access.

Your mind turns to jelly as something presses against your clit. You shiver at the sensation and the stranger lets out a muffled chuckle down your neck.

"Don't worry darling, I'll have plenty of time to make you mine."

He says close to your ear, and with one last pressure applied to your sex, you close your eyes, feeling the man slowly move away from you, feeling helpless for not being able to pull it back like your body so desires.

When you open your eyes, you're back in your bathroom. Under a simple shower. No magical water, no handsome man, no moonlight.

Just you and your fingers.

You feel stupid for giving in to a likely hallucination caused by your disorders. You swore that the medicine Seokjin gave you would help, that it would make you forget about Wonderland.

But it seems the temptation of that place is stronger than you thought.

Dreams about Wonderland became frequent. You knew you couldn't deny the sensations you felt in your dreams. It was all very real, and the proof of that was the mark on his neck. Dreams don't leave physical marks.

Standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, you press an ice cube to the purple mark on your neck, a hickey. After the incident with the water and her intimate moment with that stranger, the hallucinations began to have physical consequences.

You had been in therapy with Seokjin for a while now.

But even with constant therapy sessions, you still lived around Wonderland.

Every night you dreamed of that place. Every day you found yourself inside Wonderland at inappropriate and random moments.

Like the time you had an important test, and you were so nervous that you found yourself in Wonderland again. And your old friend, the one you considered your best friend, was hugging you gently as he told you that everything was okay.

At the time you didn't see a problem, it helped you calm your anxiety, but what seemed like minutes to you was actually hours, and you weren't able to finish the test.

These moments only lessened when Seokjin gave you some pills, saying that it would help you keep your head on reality.

And it actually worked for a while. But he never liked the idea of you leaving him, of you slowly forgetting about him. Until he took action.

Ever since you started moving to Wonderland, you've made a habit of writing down what happened there, knowing that you could forget at any moment.

But with the use of medication, you no longer saw the need to write, thinking that you would soon leave this crazy world behind.

But after a day of therapy, when you arrived home, you didn't expect to find these writings on your desk. You swore you had saved them so you would never find them again.

But when you touch them, you realize they are different. The previously white pages, with letters meticulously thought out and organized, were now stained red.

"you can't forget me darling!"

"stop trying to get rid of what's real!"

"Stay! You must stay!"

"Come home! Come back to me!"

All of this was on every page.

You took them to Seokjin the next day. He told you that you probably did this when you were in a moment of hallucination, where a part of your brain didn't want to leave the comfort that Wonderland brought you.

That makes perfect sense, but a big part of you was saying that wasn't it, that he was wrong, that you didn't do it, and that you were in danger.

But what could you do to change the situation? Seokjin wouldn't believe that you weren't the one who did this, and you and him should be the only people who know about Wonderland.

In a way, the least painful path you found was to ignore the red notes on the white pages, and perhaps a higher dose of the meds could help.

Or so you thought.

Ever since you started going to Wonderland, a part of you knew you were fucked. And ever since then, you knew there was nothing you could do to change it.

The only thing left for you to do is keep this madness under control.

[rozartzzzz]

Jack in the Box? GOAT album.

☆Open Commissions here!☆

[ourcean]

ᜊ hoseok ꒰ bangtan ꒱ lockscreens

like or reblog if u save and use please / curta ou reblogue se você salvar ou usar, por favor 𖹭

[kpopreplays]

This body roll is about 3 hours long, and every second of it is flawless diamond levels of excellent. 🔥