#Jung Hoseok x reader

[dear-mono]

EHE I LOVE THIS. I HOPE YOU FINISHED YOUR THESIS AUTHOR 😭

might just blow it

— pairing: jung hoseok x f!reader

— playlist: danger - txt, smoke sprite - rm, fuxxin' love - OoOo, 24 hours - jimmy brown, steel - 365 feat dana kim

— summary: Revenge is a dish best served hot, and Hoseok might have pushed your buttons, but he’ll soon learn just what happens when the tables turn. Spoiler: You might be the one getting a lesson but it's fun to play with fire.

— word count: 8.1k (like 5k of this is probably filth y’all)

— warnings: pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, hobi is kinda a possesive man, f! masturbation, degradation, bratty reader, little breath play, hoseok has a filthy mouth and idk what else, they were possesed by a sex demon in this piece

— note: this is entirely inspired by the craze of what the hope on the stage tour has been giving us for the past months and more specifically THIS whatever the hell was going on with this man that night i have been thinking about it for over a month and this piece of extremely self indulgent horny craze was born. this is my first ever post here, hope you enjoy it! english isn't my first language! please let me know what you think

The second he steps on stage, he wrecks you.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen him perform—he always leaves you breathless. Ruthless. A storm in human form. The second the lights hit him, the crowd erupts, and suddenly, you're nothing but need in a sea of screams.

You’re not backstage tonight. You’re in the VIP section—closer to him, somehow further from him. The Hope on Tour shirt clings to your body, damp with sweat, your ARMY bomb held in a death grip. No one around you knows the truth. No one knows that the man they’re screaming for—aching for—is yours. You think of those TikToks, smug and stupid: They don’t know I’m his girlfriend. But you do. You know it in the way your body thrums just watching him. You know it in the ache pooling low in your belly. You know it in the fact that you’ve kept him a secret, selfishly, fiercely. Because he’s not a fantasy. He’s real. And he’s yours.

And tonight, he’s out for blood.

You can’t take your eyes off him. Every move is designed to destroy. He dances like he’s fucking the beat into the floor. He raps like he wants to bite. And every time he gets near your section, it’s like he’s looking straight through the noise—straight at you.

Then he smiles.

Not just any smile. That one. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. The one that makes your knees buckle.

And then—forty minutes in—it happens.

Hangsang.

Your pulse spikes. You love this song. At least, you did. Right up until he decides to ruin your life with it.

He makes his way to your section. Slow. Measured. A predator in perfect control.

And then?

He fucking does it.

A casual gesture, at first. One he could get away with. Until he doesn’t. Until his gaze locks on yours like a sniper scope, until he bites his lip and drags his fingers across it like he's testing your patience on purpose.

And then—God help you—he slips those fingers into his mouth. Slow. Deep. Tongue flicking against the tips like he’s tasting you instead.

Your stomach drops. Your thighs clench. You swear you see a thread of spit glisten in the lights.

And then—

Oh, no.

His hand lifts. Fingers curl into the air, sin made physical. A motion you know intimately, one he’s used on you in the dark, against the wall, under the sheets. One that never fails to make you unravel.

Two seconds. That’s all it takes.

The crowd loses its mind—screams, gasps, cries of disbelief. You can already see the fancams being clipped, slowed down, dissected frame by frame.

And he’s still watching you.

Smirking.

Like he knows you’re already soaked through your panties. Like he knows exactly how you’ll fall apart the second he gets you alone. And fuck—he does.

Because Hoseok isn’t just a performer. He’s a menace. A devil in glitter and sweat.

And you know—know—what’s coming later. The teasing. The cocky little tilt of his head. The filthy whisper, hot against your skin:

Couldn’t handle that, baby? You looked so pretty about to cry.

You hate him for it.

But not nearly as much as you love him for it.

When the show ends, and he gives his closing speech, the switch flips. Suddenly he’s not the sin-dripping demon who just mimed fucking the air with his fingers.

He’s just Hoseok.

Hair damp with sweat, eyes glassy with emotion. His voice cracks as he thanks the crowd, thanks the fans, thanks you—without saying it. You see it in the way he clutches his chest, the way he breathes like every second is a gift.

You look at him and feel your heart stretch to bursting.

Your boyfriend is a paradox. Pure chaos. Pure light. He destroys and he heals. And somehow, impossibly, he’s yours.

Backstage is a blur of movement and sound, but your senses are locked on him. Jung Hoseok, still glistening with sweat, flushed from the high of performing, is leaning against a table, chugging water like he didn't just ruin lives for two hours straight. The towel draped around his shoulders does little to distract from the sharp cut of his jaw, the soaked-through shirt clinging to his chest, the glint in his eyes when he spots you.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just watches you approach with that look—the one he saves for private moments. The one that says he knows. Knows exactly what he did out there.

You stop in front of him, arms crossed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Hoseok raises a brow. “Me? What did I do?”

You scoff. “Don’t play innocent. That thing during ‘Hangsang’? You really went with that move?”

He shrugs, a smug tilt to his mouth. “Felt right in the moment.”

“In the moment?” You glare. “You looked me dead in the eye while doing it.”

“Ah,” he says, tapping his fingers against the bottle, voice lowering, “so you admit you were watching me.”

You roll your eyes. “You were practically fucking the air.”

His smile sharpens. “Was I?”

He pushes off the table, stepping in close. Too close. Heat radiates from him like a furnace, and his voice drops to a murmur just for you. “You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it too much, and you know it.”

He hums. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” you hiss, pulse spiking, “is that now I can’t think straight and you’re standing here like you didn’t just mouthfuck your own fingers and ruin my entire nervous system.”

He lets out a soft laugh, biting down on his lip like he’s trying not to lose it. His eyes flick down, catching the way your chest rises with each breath. When they return to yours, they’re darker. Hungrier.

“I was just giving a little performance,” he says. “You looked like you needed the reminder.”

You narrow your eyes. “Of what?”

He leans in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “What happens when I actually put my mouth on you.”

Your breath catches—right as a voice cuts through the hallway.

“Hyung! You’ve got five minutes ‘til the send-off!”

You both freeze. Hoseok pulls back with a tight breath, jaw clenching as he throws a nod over his shoulder. “Got it!”

Then his eyes settle back on you. “We’re not done.”

“Oh, I know.”

The energy between you crackles. Neither of you moves as a stylist swoops in to blot the sweat on his forehead, mumbling something about lighting. You barely hear it. Hoseok’s hand brushes your waist as he steps around you, not-so-accidentally dragging fingertips along your side before pulling away completely.

The send-off is a blur, fan signs and waves and cameras flashing. You follow at a distance, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s impossible. Every time he glances back, every time he smiles too wide or bites down on that lip, you feel it unraveling again.

And then you’re in the car.

The doors shut.

Silence.

He’s beside you, legs spread wide, chest still rising and falling too fast. The windows are tinted, the divider up. Just the two of you now.

You glance at him. He’s staring out the window like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just press you to the edge of combustion and walk away.

But his knee bumps yours.

Once.

Twice.

Then stays there.

He turns slowly, lips twitching. “I’m going live in ten.”

You nod, voice tight. “Mm. You better hurry. You look like someone who needs a little help calming down.”

He chuckles, deep and wrecked. “Baby, you’re the reason I’m like this.”

And you sit there, burning, limbs aching, the space between you electric and unbearable.

Neither of you touches.

Not yet.

But god—you both want to.

The hotel room is quiet when you walk in. Clean, modern, luxurious—but it barely registers.

Hoseok heads straight for the desk setup by the window, pulling out his phone and propping it up on a mini tripod. His makeup is barely touched up, hair still messy in that post-show, too-good-to-be-legal way. He mutters something about checking the Wi-Fi, tapping through settings with a frown.

You trail in slower, pretending to be unaffected, but you’re boiling.

And you want payback.

“You starting the live now?” you ask, voice light.

He glances back at you. “In a minute. Why?”

You shrug, toeing off your shoes. “Just wondering how long I have to behave.”

That gets his attention. His head tilts, a knowing smile twitching at his lips. “Don't start something you can't finish, baby.”

“Who says I won’t?”

He shakes his head, amused, and turns back to his phone, hitting the “go live” button before you can say more. The app lights up, comments immediately flooding in as the view count climbs.

“Hey guys,” he says, voice warm, tired but happy. “Just got back from the show. You guys were crazy tonight…”

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him talk. He’s glowing—soaked in adrenaline and affection, eyes scanning the screen like he’s genuinely soaking up every word. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You stand, slow and quiet, padding over to where he sits.

He notices. Barely. A flick of his eyes toward you, then back to the camera.

And then you straddle his lap.

He freezes.

It’s subtle—no one on the live can see—but you feel it. The sharp inhale. The tension in his thighs. The way his hands hover, unsure whether to push you off or pull you closer.

You drape your arms loosely around his shoulders, mouth close, almost right beside his ear. “Smile for the fans, Hobi.”

He shifts in the chair, clearly trying to look casual, but you’re sitting right on him—weight pressing into his hips. He clears his throat, waves at the screen.

“Yeah, so I’ll talk about the setlist in a sec,” he says, voice a pitch higher than before. “I just, uh…”

You roll your hips.

Slow. Torturous.

His breath catches audibly.

You suppress a grin.

His eyes dart to the screen, then to you. “Baby,” he warns, lips barely moving.

“Hmm?” You bat your lashes, kissing the shell of his ear.

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

His jaw clenches. The comments keep flying—fans asking why he’s blushing, if the room’s too warm, why he’s suddenly looking down every few seconds.

He tries to power through. Tries to focus. He starts talking about his favorite moment during “Just Dance,” but his voice keeps stuttering. His hands grip the edge of the chair so hard his knuckles go white.

You grind down again. Barely.

He mutters something in Korean under his breath.

Then he’s done.

“I—I’ll talk to you guys later,” he says, too fast. “I need to—rest. Yeah.”

He ends the live with a stiff wave, slamming his phone down the second the stream cuts.

Silence.

You lean in, innocent. “Everything okay, Hobi?”

He looks at you. And he snaps.

In one motion, he lifts you, flips you onto the bed, and crawls on top of you with a growl in his throat and murder in his eyes—sweet, delicious murder.

“You think that was funny?”

You grin, breathless already. “A little.”

He leans in, mouth brushing yours. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I don't think so.”

He hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head, breathing hard.

His eyes are wild—half disbelief, half dark amusement—and all of it aimed directly at you.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, low and dangerous.

You blink up at him, face the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you start it, Mr. ‘Let Me Finger the Air Like a Pornstar in Front of Thousands’?”

His nostrils flare. “That was performance. This—” he gestures between your bodies, hips brushing yours with almost-zero restraint, “—this is personal.”

“And?” you whisper, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, threading into his hair. “You gonna punish me or talk me to death?”

That does it.

He jerks back like your touch burns. Stands. Paces.

You watch from the bed, smug, legs still slightly spread from where he left you.

He’s trying to get it together. Chest rising and falling, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, jaw flexing like he’s biting back a thousand curses. He drags both hands down his face, then breathes out a laugh that sounds half-wrecked.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sit up slowly. Swing your legs over the side of the bed, take your sweet time walking up behind him. You press your chest against his back, let your fingers drift just under the waistband of his pants. Just a taste.

“Tell me to stop,” you murmur.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me you didn’t love every second of it.”

Still nothing.

You pull back just enough to tease, but he catches your wrist before you can fully retreat. Spins around, pulling you against him in a hard, unyielding grip.

“You want to play games?” he growls. “Fine. We’ll play.”

His hands drop to your hips, fingers digging in. He leans down, lips brushing yours—so close, but not touching.

“But you don’t get to win.”

Then—again—he lets go.

Backs away. Grabs a water bottle from the table and drinks like it’ll douse the fire in him. It won’t.

“You’re not gonna touch me?” you ask, head tilted just enough to be a challenge. Your pulse is thrumming in your neck, fast and furious, and he can see it—feels it.

Hoseok takes a slow sip from his water bottle, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, licking the last drop from his bottom lip, he smirks. “You’re not ready.”

Your brows lift, mocking. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he murmurs, voice low, cocky. “You’re not ready for what I’d do to you if I actually started touching you.”

You scoff, but the heat that coils in your belly betrays you instantly. Your thighs press together on instinct. God, you hate how right he might be.

But now—it’s about pride. About holding your ground. About not letting him win just because he knows exactly what buttons to press.

You cross your arms, eyes gleaming. “Coward.”

He tilts his head, tongue poking into his cheek as he smiles. Dangerous. Ferocious. “Keep talking, baby,” he warns, rising from the edge of the bed. “You’ll be flat on your back before you can blink.”

You raise a brow. “Big words for someone who rage-quit a livestream because he got hard on camera.”

He lunges.

You shriek, laughing, twisting, but he’s too quick. In a second, he’s got you pinned under him again, his hands bracketing your shoulders, his knee sliding between your legs like he owns the space there.

The smile on his face is feral—unchained. “You think you're funny, huh?” he growls, breath ghosting over your lips. “You think I won’t wreck you right now for that little stunt?”

You grin, wicked and bright. “Mmm, you like it nasty, babe?” you purr, fingers dancing up the line of his jaw. “Should’ve thought better before acting up on stage. That little finger trick?” You click your tongue. “You started it.”

He growls again—deep, from his chest, like you’ve touched something raw.

You lean up, give him a light kiss on the cheek. A tease. Nothing more. Then you start to wriggle out from under him. “I’m gonna go clean up. Make myself comfortable.”

You say it like a threat. And it is.

But the second you try to move, his arms tighten, locking you in place.

“Oh, hell no,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and walk away all smug, acting like you didn’t just hijack my entire f—” he swallows hard, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to rein it all back in. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

You laugh again, but it’s breathless this time—your own composure slipping. His body is hot, solid, and there, and every move he makes only pushes you deeper into the mattress.

Still, you raise your chin. “You can’t keep me here forever, Hobi.”

He dips down, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, that spot behind your ear that makes your knees go weak—even when you’re lying down.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice like velvet over a razor’s edge. “You think I’m the one losing control right now?”

Your stomach flips.

“Go on,” he adds, letting up just enough for you to slide out from under him. “Run off. Get comfortable. But when I’m done being nice—” his gaze drops, slow and hot—“you’ll be the one begging to stay in bed.”

And he flops back on the mattress, watching you walk away with hooded eyes and a smirk that promises vengeance.

You shut the bathroom door behind you, but not all the way.

Just enough for him to hear everything. Just enough for him to wonder if you left it ajar on purpose.

You flick on the light and catch your reflection in the mirror—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, pupils blown wide. You look wrecked already and he hasn’t even touched you properly. It’s power. It’s delicious.

And you’re going to make him feel every second of it.

You peel off your shirt with slow, deliberate movements, knowing he can hear the whisper of fabric, the creak of the floorboards, the soft clink of your necklace hitting the counter. You don’t say a word. Let his mind fill in the gaps.

You hear him shift in the bed. Restless.

Then the tap runs. You rinse your face, run your hands through your hair. Still quiet. Still calculated.

Then, when the silence gets too loud, you hum.

Soft and lazy. Just loud enough for it to carry.

“Hmmm,” you sigh to yourself, like you're very pleased with how things are going. Then: “This lingerie might be too much.”

You hear him curse.

You smile. God, you’re having so much fun.

And you keep going. “Or not enough.”

“Baby,” his voice comes through the door, already strained. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“Who’s fucking with you?” you chirp sweetly. “I’m just getting comfortable”

You pause. Let it sit. Let him stew in it.

Then, in a voice soaked in sugar: “You good out there?”

The bed creaks again. Louder this time. You imagine him pacing, or palming himself over those sweatpants he threw on in a rush, maybe thinking about how it felt when you sat in his lap before, shifting just so, how your scent’s probably still on his fingers. Still on his skin.

You press your thighs together and try to stay composed.

This is revenge. Sweet, slow-burning revenge. And you’re winning.

“If you want,” you murmur, voice light and laced with mischief, “I could show you what I picked out…”

Silence.

Then—bang.

A sharp thud against the wall. You can’t tell if it’s his fist or the dresser or his skull, but whatever it is, it sounds violent.

You bite back a smile, high on the power. Teasing him like this is too easy.

“Get out here,” he snarls. “Now.”

You scoff, amused. “You didn’t even say please.”

There’s no pause this time.

“I don’t fucking care. I’m tired.” His voice is raw—loud, dark, and fraying at the edges. You open the door fully and find him in the doorway already, like he couldn’t wait. His pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, one arm extended just far enough to touch the inside of your wrist.

His fingers curl around it.

Not rough, but firm. Insistent.

“You are coming with me,” he says, like it’s law. Like it’s a fact already written.

You stand there in his shirt and the smallest pair of shorts you packed—fabric clinging to your skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. He sees everything. The curve of your ass, the hint of lace at your hips, the smooth slope of your thighs still flushed from the game you started.

He swallows, jaw ticking.

“I was just making myself comfortable,” you say sweetly, and his grip tightens, thumb brushing the pulse at your wrist like it drives him mad.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he says, voice low and shaking. “Before I stop playing nice.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think this is nice?”

He steps closer.

You don’t move.

Now he’s right there—barely an inch between you. The heat off his skin is blistering. His other hand rises to cup your jaw, not quite touching, just hovering, like even that would be giving in too soon.

His eyes flick to your lips, your legs, the way your shirt rides up when you breathe.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he mutters. “A dream that’s trying to kill me.”

You smile, saccharine and smug. “Then maybe you should’ve thought twice before acting up on stage.”

You lean in—just a whisper of your lips against his cheek—and give him a kiss. Barely there. Just enough to ignite.

Then you turn like you’re about to leave again, heading back toward the bed or the bathroom or anywhere that isn’t him.

But his grip doesn’t let go.

He tugs. Not hard—but with purpose.

You stumble right into him, chest against his, thigh brushing the outline of his cock straining against the sweats he rushed to put on after the livestream.

He breathes hard through his nose, like he’s fighting for control.

You whisper against his neck, “You don’t look that tired to me.”

That’s it.

That’s the spark.

He doesn’t lunge, not yet—but his whole body tightens, like a predator held back by a thread. You can feel his fingers flexing against your waist, twitching like they’re seconds from dragging you down onto the floor.

But he won’t. Not until you beg.

God, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love this. What you had. What you were.

He was always all over you, and so were you—two magnets locked in a pull too strong to fight, too wild to tame. Every breath, every look, every fucking brush of skin felt like it was dipped in gasoline. And now?

Now it’s fire.

He walks you backward with slow, deliberate steps until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fall onto it with a soft gasp, and he’s right there, standing between your legs, looking down at you like he’s starving and you’re the feast he’s been denied for way too long.

“Still wanna play?” he asks, voice like gravel, hands clenched at his sides like it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to touch you.

You drag your gaze down his body—his flexing forearms, the twitch in his jaw, the tent in his sweats that looks painful. You smirk. “Are you gonna make me beg, Hoseok?”

His name on your lips does something to him. His eyes darken, and this time when he leans in, it’s not careful. It’s reckless.

He grabs your thighs and yanks you to the edge of the bed so fast you yelp, hands catching on his shoulders. Then his mouth is on your neck—hot and open and claiming—and your whole body arches off the mattress.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growls against your skin. “With that mouth. With that attitude. With those fucking shorts—”

“You like the shorts?” you pant, tugging on his hair until he groans.

“I hate the shorts,” he snarls, licking down to your collarbone, tongue filthy. “I hate that you wore them when you knew I’d see. I hate that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You gasp as he nips at your chest through the fabric of your shirt, his hands sliding up under it, rough and eager, palms mapping your ribs like he’s trying to remember what you feel like under pressure.

“I always know what I’m doing,” you whisper.

“Then you knew I wouldn’t last.” He pulls back just long enough to strip the shirt off your body, fast and clumsy, like it offended him just by existing. His eyes rake over you—half-naked, flushed, breathing heavy, legs spread for him—and he snaps.

In a heartbeat, he’s crawling over you, hips grinding into yours, his mouth everywhere—your jaw, your throat, your chest—until you’re gasping his name, your hands clawing at his back, your thighs locking around his waist like he’s the only thing tethering you to earth.

“You wanna beg now, baby?” he huffs against your lips, breathless.

You roll your hips against him and watch his whole body jolt.

“You’re gonna beg first,” you whisper. “For making me wait.”

And just like that, you flip him—straddle him. His back hits the mattress with a thud, and he looks up at you like he’s already ruined.

You settle your weight on his lap and smile down at him, wicked and wild.

“Let’s see who really breaks first.”

He doesn’t answer with words.

His hands shoot up to grip your waist, knuckles white, muscles flexing like restraint is no longer an option—and maybe it never was. Not when it comes to you. Not when you’re sitting on top of him like this, all flushed and smug and soaked in sweat and attitude.

You grind down once—slow and hard—and he chokes.

“Oh, fuck—” His hips buck up into yours, involuntary, brutal, and you ride it, gasping as your core drags against the thick length straining beneath those damn sweatpants.

That’s it. That’s the snap.

One second, the air between you is strung tight with tension, and the next, he’s moving—sitting up fast, eyes wild, grabbing you like he’s been holding back for hours and just broke. One arm hooks around your back, the other fists in your hair, yanking you into him, crashing his mouth against yours again like he’s starving for it.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision.

Tongues clash, teeth graze, breaths tangle. It's messy and urgent, raw with need. He groans deep in his chest like the taste of you is dragging him under, like he's unraveling at the seams just from this, just from you, and you moan right back, clutching at him like he’s your last tether to the world.

“You feel what you do to me?” he growls, voice thick with hunger, biting down on your bottom lip before dragging it into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “You’ve been fucking dripping all night.”

“So touch me,” you pant, grinding against him without shame, chasing friction, chasing anything. “Make me feel it.”

And he does. God, does he.

You’re flipped without warning again, like you weigh nothing in his hands. The room blurs for a heartbeat and then your back hits the bed, his weight caging you in, devouring every inch of you with his eyes. He rips your shorts down like they personally offended him, tossing them aside without a glance.

Then he sees the soaked spot on your panties and something snaps behind his eyes.

A low, guttural growl vibrates through his chest. “Fuck.”

He runs a finger right over it—barely there, just a tease—and you gasp, hips bucking up into the touch. He smirks, dark and dangerous, before shoving the fabric aside and diving in like a man possessed.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Two fingers slam into you, deep and fast, and your back arches off the bed as a cry tears from your throat.

“Already so fucking tight,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his eyes fixed on the way your body clenches around him. He curls his fingers just right and thrusts again, harder this time, deeper, and your legs start to shake.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

You can’t speak. You can barely breathe. All you can do is nod helplessly, whimpering, your nails digging into his arm as your other hand twists in the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

Each thrust is punishing, each curl devastating, each drag of his fingers designed to destroy you. Your whole body is shaking, every muscle drawn tight, the edge so close it feels like you could fall over it with a single breath.

“Hoseok—fuck, I—”

“Not yet.”

He rips his fingers away, and you scream in frustration, hips bucking into nothing, walls fluttering around the absence like you’ve been ripped open and left begging.

“I said—”

But the words vanish from your mouth because suddenly—God—his mouth is right there.

No warning. No buildup. Just heat and tongue and wicked, wicked lips wrapping around your clit like a death sentence.

He moans into you, arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place while he ruins you with his mouth.

“You—fuck, I—”

He glances up, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with sin. He smirks like he knows. Like he planned this.

And then he says, low and lethal, “Don’t come until I say so.”

Like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to see you fall apart trying not to.

And oh, you will.

Oh, you unleash.

It’s not graceful. It’s not sweet. It’s carnal.

You shatter—loud, writhing, wrecked. A cry bursts from your throat, raw and ragged, echoing off the walls like a confession. Your voice breaks into a hoarse moan, half his name, half a curse, and entirely surrender.

And he watches—fuck, he watches like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

That wicked smile curves across his lips, dark and triumphant. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. His mouth is right there, relentless, greedy, like he’s trying to consume every last tremor from your body. His tongue flicks, circles, presses, and it’s too much—too much heat, too much pleasure, too much him.

Then his hand slides up—slow, smooth, terrifying in how in control he still is—and wraps lightly around your throat.

Not tight. Just enough.

Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make you feel it—that loss of air, that vulnerability, that heady spike of something deeper.

His lips drag down, kissing the inside of your thigh with reverence, then right back up, mouth sealing over your clit like he’s praying with his tongue.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, reverent. “So fucking perfect when you come.”

Your body jerks beneath him, aftershocks ripping through you, legs trembling like you’ve run miles. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you see the way he’s looking at you—like you’re something holy and ruined all at once.

“Could watch you fall apart like that forever,” he growls, licking a long, slow stripe through your slick. “Could live between your thighs and never need another damn thing.”

You whimper, mind fogged and limbs useless, but he’s not done.

He shifts up, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, while his hand keeps its gentle pressure at your throat. Not to hurt. Just to hold. Just to remind you: he’s the one doing this.

“You think that was it?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours as he grinds his hips down, the hard line of him pressing against you. “I haven’t even started.”

Even in the haze—numb, trembling, boneless from the high—you move.

You fight for it.

Still shaking, still gasping, you claw your way onto him like instinct, like something primal and desperate has taken hold. There's no grace, no finesse—just raw need, coursing through you like lightning. You straddle him, hips grinding down, rutting shamelessly against the thick heat straining beneath his clothes.

You’re a mess. A beautiful, wrecked mess.

Mouth parted, chest heaving, hair clinging to your sweat-slicked skin. You can barely breathe, barely think, but all your body knows is him.

“Please…” you gasp, voice breaking on a moan as you roll your hips again. “Please, baby… fuck… want ya—want ya so bad.”

The words come out slurred with lust, almost incomprehensible, like you're drunk on him. And maybe you are.

He watches you like he’s in a trance, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark—burning. Like he’s holding on to every last shred of control and losing.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice wrecked with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you whimper, grinding down harder, chasing friction, chasing everything. “Want your cock, baby—need it. Need you in me.”

That’s what shatters him.

He flips you again—ruthless, fast. Your back hits the bed and he’s already there, caging you in with his body, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself.

You both moan when he ruts against your core, right there, the heat of him dragging over the slick fabric.

“God, you’re filthy,” he groans “You’re gonna take every inch. Gonna feel me for days.”

You spread your legs wider, shameless and soaked, begging with your body.

“So take me,” you cry, voice breaking as your nails drag down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. “Fuck me.”

God, you love this man.

Love how filthy you both are—how raw, how real. How there’s nothing between you but heat and skin and the kind of need that burns straight through the bones.

He groans at your words, at the way your body arches into his, shameless and pleading. His cock is right there, so close, the head dragging through your slick, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness.

You whine, desperate, hips lifting to chase him, to take him, but he holds steady—just to watch you fall apart a little more. Just to feel your hunger for him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low, reverent, dangerous. “Can’t even wait a second, can you?”

You shake your head, lips parted, breath catching. “I need you,” you gasp. “Please, just—just fuck me already.”

And then—blissful mercy—he gives in.

He pushes in slow, the thick head of his cock breaching you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, a broken moan spilling out as your eyes flutter shut.

Then he bottoms out in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

Your world ends.

Your eyes roll back, your entire body going limp beneath him, mouth slack, breath stolen. You feel everything—the stretch, the pressure, the way he fits like he was made for you.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours, barely holding himself back. “You feel unreal. So tight, so fucking wet for me.”

You can’t even respond. Just whimper, legs wrapping around his waist like instinct, like you never want him to leave.

He pulls out slow, just enough to feel the drag, then thrusts back in with a snap of his hips that knocks the air from your lungs.

You gasp, moan, claw at his back again. “Yes, yes—just like that—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

He pounds into you with a rhythm that’s all hunger and devotion, head buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

And all you can think—through the pleasure, the gasps, the sting of nails and the slap of skin—is how much you fucking love this.

How much you fucking love him.

The thing about Hoseok is… he’s an artist, yeah. But first? He’s a dancer.

And those goddamn hips know exactly what they’re doing.

You know better than anyone.

You’ve felt it—in the way he moves against you, inside you, like his body was choreographed to yours. Every roll of his hips is a masterstroke, every thrust precise, powerful, devastating. He hits that spot again and again, like he mapped it out, like he studied it, like he's spent hours—years—perfecting the rhythm that makes you scream his name.

And you do.

You chant it, breathless and wrecked, nails digging into his back like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth.

“Hoseok—fuck, right there, baby, right there—”

He groans into your neck, hips grinding deeper, slower for a second, just to make you feel the drag of him inside you. Just to show you who’s in control.

“You feel me?” he growls, teeth dragging over the curve of your throat, his voice a rasp in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of me.”

And you do.

You take everything. Every inch, every thrust, every filthy word he feeds into your skin like sin-soaked poetry. Your body matches his like instinct, like choreography written in lust and obsession. This is more than sex—it’s a rhythm, a performance, a fucking ritual.

“You’re my filthy princess,” he pants, hips snapping against yours, the sound obscene, slick, perfect. “You know why I did that shit on stage, babe?”

You blink through the haze, barely able to speak, to breathe.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear, thrusts never faltering, never softening. “I did it ‘cause I was thinking of you.”

Your heart stutters. Your pussy clenches around him.

His voice darkens, sweet with venom. “Thought about you the night before that concert… pressed up against the wall, legs shaking, those pretty little moans spilling out while I had my fingers inside you. Remember that?”

You nod frantically, mind flashing with the memory—his hand, your helplessness, the way you came with your mouth against his shoulder to muffle the scream.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you begged,” he grins, feral, breath hitching as your walls flutter around him. “‘Oh baby,’” he mocks you in a breathy whimper, falsetto, sinful. “‘I’m your filthy fucking bitch…’”

Your whole body seizes. Shame and heat twist together like a fuse sparking to life.

He laughs—low and wicked, full of pride. “And all I could think was: that’s mine. That girl up front, lookin’ all sweet, all put-together?”

His hips drive harder, deeper—he’s pounding into you now, chasing the sound of your cries, the clench of your cunt.

“She’s the same one who gets on her knees like a whore for me.”

You whimper, head thrown back, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s you, baby,” he says, voice all gravel and affection, eyes blazing. “My pretty girl, my nasty little thing. The one who smiles for the cameras, then bends over the second I lock the door.”

Your entire body is trembling. You don’t know if it’s the pace or the filth or the way he’s looking at you like he’s obsessed—but you're close, again, helpless to stop it.

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, cocky and tender all at once. “Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the fuck out of me?”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, Hoseok—”

“Come,” he growls, voice raw, deep, commanding. “Come for me, my beautiful princess—my filthy fucking whore.”

That’s it. That’s the snap.

You shatter.

Your entire body goes taut, every muscle pulling tight before releasing in one violent, uncontrollable wave. Your legs shake around him, trembling so hard it’s like your bones have melted. Your mouth opens on a scream, but it barely makes it out—just a broken, choked moan that dies in your throat as your vision whites out.

You cling to him, hands clawing at his back like you need something—anything—to anchor you. But he’s not slowing down. If anything, he’s driving it deeper, dragging your orgasm out until it borders on unbearable.

And then—your body gives.

A gush of wetness spills between you, soaking his cock, the sheets, your thighs. You gasp, humiliated and feral all at once, trying to pull away—but he growls low, hands gripping your hips, holding you there.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, staring down where your bodies are joined. “That’s it, baby. Look at that. Look at the mess you just made for me.”

You’re still twitching, body jerking with aftershocks, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. But Hoseok—he looks like a man possessed.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” he breathes, dragging his cock out just enough to watch more of your release drip out, then sliding right back in with a groan. “So wet, so ruined, so fucking mine.”

You whimper beneath him, wrecked and pliant, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t… I—I already…”

“You can,” he growls, eyes blazing as he locks gazes with you. “And you will. I’m not done with you yet.”

He kisses you then—deep and claiming, like he’s sealing something between you with tongue and teeth and breath.

And all you can do is moan into it, broken and breathless, because despite everything— You want it. You want him.

You’re still trembling, your body a live wire of oversensitivity and bliss, when he starts moving again—slow at first, but no less intense. Like he’s savoring the afterglow, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of him, every pulse and push and stretch.

“You’re unreal,” Hoseok mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and hunger. “You came so hard for me. Fuck, baby… you squirted for me.”

Your cheeks burn, your lips part to apologize, but he cuts you off with another deep thrust that makes your back arch, a whimper catching in your throat.

“Don’t even try,” he growls, pinning your hips down. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

He’s drunk on you now—high on the mess, the heat, the way your body is still fluttering around him. He dips his head to kiss down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging his tongue along your skin as if trying to taste the orgasm still clinging to you.

And you… you’re floating.

You can’t even form words. Just sounds. Moans and gasps and breathy little pleas as he rocks into you, deeper now, slower, rolling his hips with maddening precision.

“Still so tight,” he whispers, voice ragged. “You feel that? The way your pussy’s still trying to milk me?”

You nod weakly, eyes glassy, mouth open on a silent gasp when he hits that spot again, perfectly, like he knows.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “All soft. Fucked-out. Shaking. You’re so fucking pretty when you come.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your clit, and your whole body jolts.

“N-No—too much—”

“I know, baby,” he coos, still fucking you through it. “I know. Just one more. One more for me, yeah?”

You sob his name, overwhelmed, but you don’t tell him no. Because you don’t want it to stop. Not yet. Not when it feels like this. Not when his body is still moving against yours like a symphony only you get to hear.

You lock your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, holding him there. And he groans—low, guttural, broken.

“Oh fuck—fuck, baby—”

He’s close. You can feel it.

The rhythm starts to slip, his thrusts getting rougher, faster. The weight of him, the sound of your soaked skin meeting his, the filthy praise falling from his lips—it’s all building again, dizzying, consuming.

And right before the fall, right when everything goes blinding and hot—he looks at you. Really looks at you.

And he says it.

“Come with me.”

And you do.

Together.

Hard, loud, beautiful.

The high fades like smoke—slow, warm, lingering—but the after? The after is where it all settles. Where the heat gives way to something softer, deeper, realer.

You’re both breathless, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and slick, bodies still twitching from the aftershocks. Hoseok collapses gently onto you, careful not to crush you, just enough to feel your heartbeat slam against his.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the sound of your breathing, still uneven and shaky. The way his hand finds yours, fingers lacing like it’s instinct.

Then, a laugh. Small, hoarse. Yours.

He lifts his head slightly, his forehead still resting on yours, brows furrowed in amused concern. “What?”

You grin, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughs too, deep and wrecked, kissing your forehead like he’s proud of that. “You weren’t supposed to. That was kinda the point.”

You try to nudge him with your knee, but it twitches uselessly and flops against the mattress. That just makes him laugh harder.

“I broke you,” he teases, clearly delighted with himself. “My poor baby.”

He kisses you again, this time slower, sweeter. Like a thank-you. Like a promise. Like he means it.

Then he starts pulling away to grab something—a towel, maybe—but you clutch at him with a tiny, panicked sound. “No—don’t go.”

He freezes. Looks down at you. And something in his face melts.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says gently, crawling right back over you, arms wrapping around your waist to roll you both onto your sides. “Not now. Not ever.”

You bury your face in his neck, letting your body relax completely into him. His scent, his warmth, the thrum of his pulse under your fingertips—it’s all enough to lull you into the sweetest kind of daze.

His thumb strokes your hip lazily. “You really are my filthy little princess, huh?”

You mumble something incoherent against his throat.

He chuckles. “What was that?”

“I said,” you sigh, half-asleep already, “your filthy queen, actually.”

He grins like you’ve just given him the world. “Damn right.”

Then he kisses your shoulder, one hand trailing up your spine, the other pulling the sheets around both of you.

"I love you, babe"

And just like that—you’re safe. Wrecked. Loved. Held.

The morning comes slow, gentle, a hazy stretch of sunlight spilling through half-closed blinds, casting soft lines across tangled sheets and bare limbs.

You wake first—barely. Just enough to feel the stiffness in your muscles, the warm ache between your thighs, and the delicious weight of an arm slung over your waist. Hoseok’s chest is pressed to your back, his breath soft and warm against your shoulder, one leg tucked between yours like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away, even in sleep.

You hum quietly, nuzzling into the pillow with a sleepy smile. Everything smells like him—sweat, skin, sex, and that faint hint of his cologne that somehow survived the chaos of last night.

You don't want to move. Ever.

But a groggy groan rumbles behind you.

“Fuck.”

You shift slightly. “What time is it?”

There’s a pause. Then another groan, this one full of regret. “Eight-thirty.”

You blink. “…AM?”

He flops onto his back dramatically, arm flung over his eyes like he’s auditioning for a tragedy. “I have to be at soundcheck in three hours. My body feels like it got run over by a truck.”

You snort, rolling onto your side to face him. His hair’s a mess, lips puffy, eyes still half-closed and pouting like a grumpy cat.

“Wonder why that is,” you tease, trailing your fingers over the fresh nail marks on his chest.

He squints at you from under his arm. “You did this. You and your pretty little ‘Please, baby, fuck me so good’ voice.”

You fake a gasp. “I never—”

He mimics you, pitch high and breathy, “‘Oh Hobi, I’m your filthy fuckin’ bitch—’”

You throw a pillow at his face. He catches it with one hand and groans again, flopping back down.

“…I deserve that,” he mumbles. Then, with sudden, dramatic anguish: “God, I’m so tired. My legs are jello. I have choreo in nine hours.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway. “You broke me last night. This is just karma.”

“I’m never going that hard the night before a show again,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

You kiss his cheek gently. “Liar.”

He sighs, lips curling into a crooked little smile. “Yeah. I’m totally gonna do it again.”

You both lie there for another few moments, the calm creeping back in, the kind that only comes with mornings like this. The silence is soft. Easy. Safe.

Then he cracks one eye open again, already plotting. “Okay. Hear me out. If I nap in the car and stretch in the dressing room, I might survive tonight.”

You grin. “I’ll be in the front row. Screaming my head off. Still limping.”

He smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Bet.”

note: girl, i wrote this in like 3 hours instead of my actual thesis hshshs hope you guys liked it <3

[starbandit]

Sticky (J.H.S)

Preview: You gulped, swallowing down all the thoughts that flooded your brain. You wanted to pounce on him, something animalistic was growing inside of you. 

contains- teasing, slight degradation, small amount of ass slapping/spanking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, dom!hoseok, dirty talk, begging, established relationship 18+ MDI!

word count - 2.8k/unedited

You held your breath as you typed in the code to the studio. Hoseok had left early in the morning, while the sun was still working its way into the sky and the morning dew was still hugging the grass. He didn’t leave before giving you a soft kiss on the forehead, and a gentle tuck of the blankets though. He loved the way you curled up closer to his side, stealing any of the left over body heat. 

You wanted to surprise him with a late night snack,you had a little craving for ice cream and wanted to share the sweet treat with him.You had picked up some ice cream on your way over and snuck into the Hybe building. The door unlocked with a click and you silently pushed the door open, hoping you wouldn't give up the surprise too soon. 

Only, the room is empty when you open the door all the way. Hobi’s computer is powered off, the chair is neatly pushed in, everything is perfectly in its place and shut down. Did he leave while you were on your way over? No, you would have crossed paths at some point, right? Maybe he had stepped out for a minute and would be back. You took a deep breath before your brain started to feed you extreme thoughts. Kidnapping, him cheating, all of it rushed in at once before you shut the door and made your way down the hall. There was one more place he could be. 

As you approached the practice room, you could hear the loud and heavy beats of music. You weren’t sure how he hadn’t damaged his hearing yet with how loud the music was, but you creeped in, trying not to be spotted and sat on the couch in the corner of the practice room and admired your boyfriend. 

He was staring himself down in the mirror, examining every small step he made. Each one was done with practiced confidence, perfect execution. You would never not be amazed at how his body went from moving in a wave, like he had absolutely no bones, to these extreme sharp movements in an instant. 

Soon enough, Hoseok stopped dancing and instead crouched down to check his phone. It wasn’t until he looked into the mirror that he spotted you. His face instantly lit up, a large smile growing as he stood back up. “Baby!” He squealed out as he rushed towards you. “When did you get here?” 

You giggled as he cupped your face and planted tiny kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. He caught you in a warm kiss, soft and innocent. You smiled against his lips before he pulled away. 

“I brought ice cream.” You smiled as he made a surprised expression, mouth forming a cute ‘O’ shape. 

Hoseok smiled and pulled you into a hug. He was sweaty, his shirt damp from the hours he spent dancing. He gave you a tight squeeze, rocking from side to side. “Thank you.” He planted yet another kiss on the top of your head before releasing you to dig into the ice cream. 

The two of you enjoyed the ice cream, both giggling as you stole bites of the other's flavor. Conversation flowed naturally as Hoseok talked about his day, all the hard work he had put into his set, and how he was so excited for you to see how it turned out. He listened as you rambled on about your day as well, nodding along with the conversation as you talked about annoying co-workers and wanting to stay in bed all day. 

“I’m going to run through one more time and then I’ll head home with you,” Hoseok moved to clean up the empty ice cream cups. “Does that sound okay, baby?” 

Your heart fluttered at the pet name. No matter how long you had been together, it still made you feel like the day you started dating. You hummed in confirmation and nodded your head. “I’ll be cheering you on, like always.” 

He smiled and finished cleaning up, before running back over to the mirrors and tapping play on his playlist. You watched him carefully as he ran through, making it about halfway before his actions made your heart race. You watched as the mirror began to fog up, you could see the sweat beading on his face. 

Hoseok reached down and tugged his shirt off, throwing it off to the side as he continued to dance. His soft abs flexed with every movement. The blood rushed to your face and you felt your cheeks growing hot. Sweat glistened on his skin, dripping down and highlighting every section of his abs, all the way down to the thin layer of hair that dipped below his waistband. 

You gulped, swallowing down all the thoughts that flooded your brain. You wanted to pounce on him, something animalistic was growing inside of you. 

Suddenly, the music stopped and Hoseok was stood in front of you. He crouched down next to you and silently captured you in a kiss. It was soft and warm, a stark contrast to the dance you had just watched him perform. It was always warm with Hoseok, something you could melt into in an instant. You did so, easily falling into his touch and the softness of his lips. 

His hands held you gently, a small hum sounding from him as you moved closer to dig your hands into his hair. Your hands made their way to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in the sweaty strands. You gave them a gentle tug, something you knew Hoseok enjoyed. 

He let out a small whimper at the movement and you quickly captured his bottom lip in a light nibble. You whined quietly as he pulled away from the kiss, not yet untangling your fingers from his locks. “Come on, let's go home.” Hoseok said quietly, moving to help pull you up. 

You shook your head, fighting the movement. You wanted, no, needed him now. You weren’t going to wait for however long it took you to walk home. You pulled him down into another kiss, this time growing much hotter. Your hands gripped his hair, tugging at the locks a little harsher this time, and deepened the kiss. Your tongue peaked into his mouth, tasting the remaining sweetness of the ice cream on his tongue. 

Hoseok smirked against your lips as he pulled away. “That impatient?” He questioned in a teasing tone. He shook his head. “Such a needy baby.” He gently tugged you closer, tugging you into his lap after he sat on the ground. You could feel his growing erection against your heat, the thin shorts he had on covered absolutely nothing. You sighed at the feeling, rocking your hips forward in a slow grind as you leaned in for another kiss. 

Hoseok gently cupped your face, taking control of the kiss this time. He kissed you a little too soft, a little too slow, just enough to keep you wanting more. Each time you tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled back slightly. He was teasing you, like a bird taunts a cat through the window. He did it for long enough to draw a needy whine out of your throat before he fully kissed you, capturing you in a red hot, messy kiss. 

You moaned at the feeling, your hands reaching up to find purchase on his bare chest. You melted into the kiss, allowing Hoseok to paint your mouth with his tongue. His kisses were intoxicating, your brain buzzing with the feeling and taste of him. The subtle sweetness mixed with his natural taste was enough to soak your underwear. 

“Couldn’t even let me finish my work,” Hoseok snaked his hand between the two of you, fingers dancing over your clothed center. “You were that desperate for my cock, hm?” He teased as he pushed your hair to the side with his other hand. His head dipped down to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. “Such a needy little baby.” 

“Hoseok,” You whimpered as he rubbed small circles over your clothed clit. Your hips twitched forward, searching for more friction. “Hobiii,” Your eyebrows furrowed together. 

He hummed against your skin, trailing his tongue from the base of your neck up to your ear. “What is it, baby? What do you want?” He nibbled on the outside of your ear, a shiver snuck its way now your back at the sensation. 

“You, I want you.” 

Hoseok chuckled. “Be specific.” 

Your ears grew hot. You could be specific. Tell him about how you want him to strip you naked and eat your pussy like it was his last meal, wanted him to sink his fingers deep into you and massage the spot that made you see stars. You could tell him how you wanted to ride him, bounce on his cock until you were shaking and out of breath. 

But that isn’t what came out of your mouth. “I want you to fuck me, please, fuck me until I can’t walk.” 

“Come on,” Hoseok withdrew his hand and bounced his leg to get you to stand. You stood up and followed Hoseok. He led you to the front of the room, straight in front of the large mirror that sprawled across most of the wall. He quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and folded it, placing it in front of the mirror. “On your hands and knees.” 

You froze for a second before a smack on your ass made you jump. “I said, on your hands and knees, or do I need to force you?” Hoseok questioned. You quickly dropped to your knees, falling onto the shirt. You watched as Hoseok pulled his shorts and boxers off at once, kicking them across the floor. Saliva built up in your mouth as you stared at his cock, tip pretty pink and shiny with precum. 

It wasn’t long before Hoseok dropped to his knees as well and pulled your pants down, the waistband settling in the crevices of your knees. “I want you to watch.” He gently tugged on your hair to make you pick up your head. You locked eyes in the mirror, your stomach fluttering with nerves as you watched him. Your arms shook as he placed a hand on your ass and used the other one to drag his cock up and down your pussy. You watched as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, admiring you. “Hobi, please,” You whimpered as you pushed back slightly, trying to get him to do something. 

His hand pulled away before coming down again, a sharp smack sounding through the room. You winced as he rubbed his hand over the area, soothing the hot skin. “So needy,” He muttered under his breath as he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock before plunging in. 

A moan ripped its way through your body as he settled into place. Your arms shook before crumpling under you, your cheek making contact with the cold floor. Hoseok gave you a few thrusts, hips moving with practiced ease, hitting every spot that made your eyes roll back. You whimpered with every movement.

Hoseok's grip tightened on your hip, pulling you back with each movement to meet him. His other hand trailed up your back, fingertips tickling the skin and making you wiggle with every touch. His hand landed under your shirt, skin hot and burning your back the longer it sat there. He stayed for a few moments before his hand retreated from under your shirt and moved over the fabric, finding its way up the back of your neck and into your hair. His fingers tangled into the locks, twisting them over his hand and tugging hard. A whimper flew out of your mouth as he tugged again, this time enough to get you to push back up to your hands and stay there.

“Good girl,” He growled out a small praise. “Look in the mirror, watch yourself.” 

You were a mess. You caught a fuzzy glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the glass was fogging back up, moisture beading and dripping. Your lips were bitten red and glossy, the color matched the deep blush of your cheeks. Drool glistened and stained your chin, sweat dripped down your neck and painted the hickeys Hoseok had so graciously left on your neck. Your eyes were glassy and pupils blown, eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure. 

Your eyes flickered to Hoseok, who was intensely watching your every move. An animalistic glint glossed over his eyes and a smirk painted his face as he delivered a particularly deep thrust. You tightened around him, watching as his jaw clenched and a groan pushed its way out of his body. 

Every roll of his hips brought you closer and closer to your orgasm. The drag of his cock over your walls made your thighs shake. You pressed back in desperation, trying to get him impossibly closer, deeper. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gasped, chasing the high that was just out of reach. 

“Poor baby, do you want to cum?” Hoseok wiggled his hips before stopping his movements, cock nestled deep in your pussy. “Pretty girl, are you close?” He released your hair, gently combing through the sweaty strands. 

You whimpered and nodded. “Please, wanna cum.” You pushed back against him. The heat was dissipating with every second. “Please, Hoseok, I can’t.” You let out a broken moan. 

“I wanna watch you do it, fuck yourself on my cock, baby.” He planted another smack on your ass. 

Tears welled up in your eyes again as you tried to find a messy rhythm. You rocked yourself back on Hoseok’s cock, moving your hips in an attempt to hit the same spots he was. A frustrated whine left your lips as you desperately tried to chase your high back, the heat slowly building up once more in your abdomen. 

You continued until you were out of breath and collapsed forward with a pathetic moan. “Too tired, baby?” Hoseok reached forward to gently stroke your hair. You gave a small nod. His features softened before his grip on your hips tightened. “You were so close, huh?” He rolled his hips forward once more. He clicked his tongue and let out a breath. “Do you want me to make you cum?” 

You had never agreed to anything faster. Hoseok immediately picked up where he had left off, moving his hips in ways you could only dream of and hitting spots that made you see stars. His hands danced from your hips, snaking around until his fingers found your clit. 

“Fuck, fuck,” A guttural moan ripped through your body. The heat in your abdomen grew as Hoseok rubbed the bundle of nerves. “I-i’m gonna cum, please don’t stop.” 

“Cum for me, baby.” Hoseok grunted. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass grew louder. “Cum on my cock, I know you want to.”

“S-shit.” Your whole body shook as your orgasm washed over you, your pussy spasming around Hoseok's cock. Your vision went white and your ears began ringing as you let out a loud, pornographic moan. 

You heard Hoseok let out a string of curse words, his hips stuttering forward in a messy rhythm. “Gonna fucking,” He let out a strangled moan, “Fill you up so good.” You gasped as he released, hot cum painting your insides. That alone was almost enough to push you into another orgasm, almost. 

Hoseok stayed where he was for a few moments and drew small circles over the exposed skin on your lower back. “You ready?” He questioned softly. He waited for a hum of confirmation before slowly pulling out of you. The cum dripped down your thigh as you collapsed to the ground, groaning at the soreness in your muscles. You were thankful of the shirt Hoseok had placed below you, it had both saved your knees from more pain and was going to make for easier clean up. 

Hoseok hushed you as he wiped you clean with the discarded shirt before wiggling your pants back up over your hips. He gave your ass a soft pat before moving to get redressed himself, digging through his bag to find a fresh t-shirt.

He wasn’t about to let you sleep on the floor, instead coaxing you up with promises of a nice bath and a head massage at home. He giggled and cooed over your tired expression as you stood up, dodging a playful slap from you at the teasing. Hoseok admired your features for a few moments longer before you two set off back home. He couldn’t believe you were his, his pretty baby.  

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 12

BTS x Reader

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Word Count Approx: 25k

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A/n: She's long, she's here, she's A LOT. Love you all, and I can't wait to hear how you feel.

The rest of the Pinterest boards will go up tonight as well! So for all my sleuthing readers-look forward to those!!

Edit: I forgot the recap-Okay now for real

Most lovingly, ~Delyn

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Recap

“Oh my god.” Y/n gasped,  her mug slipping from her fingers, and her other hand coming up to save both the mug and her floors from an unfortunate demise.

“What? Did I break them?” Namjoon spun in his chair, hands frantically coming up to look over her shoulder. 

Y/n didn’t need to answer. The answer was written clear as day on a torn napkin resting where the eaten strawberries used to be in swirling neat penmanship. 

“They’re listening to me. I’m sorry.” 

--

January 4th, 1901

Today–simply put–is one of the worst days of my life. 

First and foremost, it is cold, bleak like what is to come. The hills that surround us are blanketed just the same, in colorless waves of white that do nothing to combat the nothingness I feel on this morning. I should be proud, mother says, to behold such an honor–such a historical moment in our history, but I feel nothing of the sort; I feel something more akin to hatred. There is no honor found in being stuck as a perpetual witness, though she seems to disagree with me vehemently on that belief.

Does that make me wretched? To feel hatred for my own blood? Mother says as much. He is my brother after all and I must keep reminding myself of that despicable fact each morning when I see his annoyingly broad face at breakfast, and I hold back the urge to crack the shell of my eggs upon his forehead. I hate witnessing them enjoy in merriment that should be mine: the wines and imported cheeses; the frivolous outfits and unappealing hats (certainly they must see that adding height to the top of one's head does not make up for a lack of substance beneath it); the music and the dancing women parading the halls and theater; oh how it should all be mine!

I really should not be saying things of this kind about my brother, for some good has come from him–and by that I mean the two lovely little girls that bounce upon my knee each morning, devouring the alphabet letters I teach them in the study with as much passion as one would enjoy ice creams from town or fresh baked cakes from the kitchen staff. I look to their shining faces and I see something worth haunting these halls for, which spurs my mother to lament on when I plan on having a few of my own–though I have little interest in that process. I would rather run naked through the lobby on a bustling Saturday evening and face the consequences of such actions than to become swollen and burdened with birth and babies and men. 

My mother still insists, though she is fully aware of my distaste for it, and I can not possibly fathom for why she chooses to throw herself so forcefully at my choices, when they had never been interested in my potential in other regards–if they love showering my darling brother so much, shower him with the same iron hot poker you incessantly prod me with each month–for he is already building a crib for his third baby. 

Poor Phil, six years barely seems like enough time to recover from what I can only assume is the worst part of womanhood–If it were me I would have taken a trip out of the country and found myself lost at sea when the proposition for another biting mouth was offered up to me–though I am aware that her choice in the matter is mute; neither of their two existing children are boys. My younger brother, on the contrary, has already bestowed upon our nerves a babbling boy that he loves to throw into all of our arms like it’s a talisman from god and not just another drooling baby; all the while shouting praises to his similarly pregnant wife, (only a year in between births–goodness me I am starting to sweat at the thought). 

Ernst has yet to be sworn in only hours from now, and the race between brothers has already begun. 

Must I have a child to enter the race? A son, to be more precise? If I go to the theater and find myself a pretty girl to wear on my arm like a bracelet glittering as a show to my affluence in both money and prowess and have her bear a child in my name–will I be of more importance? What a silly thought.  

Unfortunately I must go, I am being called to dress for the celebration. I contemplate whether a funeral would be a more apt name…

Until tomorrow then, the first day of the end. 

Adelaide

Bear laughed, the breathy chuckle puffing out of his mouth swallowed up by the crackle of flame from the blazing hearth and the distant trill of horns and pulse of drums. His hand reached over the end table, distractedly lifting his glass of spirits to his mouth and letting the liquid pool about his lips, immediately taken in by the next entry. 

The wooden doors to the study burst open in a clamorous hurry, his older brother Duane, Youngho Jung, and Seonggi Kim barreling in through the gaps they left. The bang unsettled the dust from the tall bookshelves and Bear’s nerves, jolting the glass from his lips and barely making it back to the table next to him in time for Duane’s broad-shouldered arms to grab his own in a rough shake. 

“Spending the last day of 1953 locked up in the study? How unlike you.” Duane was clearly intoxicated, his button down coming loose from the waistband of his high waisted tweed trousers and his meticulously slicked back hair had a few sprigs loose. He bent his towering height down to Bear’s ear, a mischievous smile curling his features into something devilish. “There are dolls in all directions that I think might be something worth looking at–a wife in your own near future perhaps?” A chorus of drunken laughter waved through their small group at such a preposterous proposition. 

“You should know better than to say the ‘W’ word around him, Squirrel–that word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.” Youngho pried Duane’s sweaty hands from Bear’s shoulders, ignoring Duane’s obvious disgust for his childhood nickname. Youngho clapped one of his own in their place and offered him a smile significantly less saturated with alcohol than Duane’s. “I’m sure he will join in on the party when he’s ready.” 

Bear’s grateful smile was drowned out by Seonggi’s own chaffing comments “I never thought we’d have to find him in the effort to get him to join us, I figured we’d be finding ourselves fishing him out of the lake by morning in nothing but his smalls.” Seonggi’s lanky arms were enveloped with a tan plaid long coat, a green sweater barely peeking out from where he still had it buttoned from their trek from the hotel ballroom to the estate, the sleeve riding up as he used one to swipe Bear’s glass off the end table and finish it of in one gulp. 

“Well, what else would I be friends with you all for if not to do just that?” Bear shot back recovering from their less than coordinated entrance in stride, jumping to his feet and straightening out his own dress shirt. “I was catching up on some reading–saving up my energy for the rest of the evening, the night is young!” 

“Now you are finally making some sense.” Duane guided him by his shoulders towards the entrance of the study, pushing him out of the warm embrace of the fire towards the chilled entrance way that brought the hairs of his arms up to stand. “To the party! I will not have my brother being a square during my last few nights as an apprentice–Come tomorrow everything changes.” 

“For the better, I hope.” Youngho snickers, loosening the brown tie around his neck. 

“You say that as though you doubt me!” Duane pushed open the front wooden door of the estate, leading their group down the steps to the gravel path. 

Seonggi rolled his eyes, pressing down the back of Duane’s collar where it had popped up in the back. “Did you not hear my earlier comment about fishing your brother out of a lake?” 

“That was about Bear, not me.” Duane shrugged, his breath plumed into the cold night air, mixing with the wispy snow flurries.

“The thing about that is that you two are one in the same–I’d be dragging you by the belt up the bank after he was pulled in from the water.” Seonggi retorted, his almond shaped eyes glaring into the side of his friend's face. 

“And what a great friend you are for that.” Duane tipped his head, and belted out a few laughs, leading the rest of the men to follow. 

“Boys!” 

The four heads swiveled in the direction of the front door behind them, ceasing all sounds of merriment. The sound of Adelaide’s crackly voice still manages to fill them each with fear despite them being grown, most with children of their own. They need not ask what she wanted, she would tell them accordingly. 

“Duane, is it not your wife I passed upstairs, wrestling with your son to get his night clothes on while lugging about your baby on her arm?” Her hair was gray, and her face aged with skin as thin as paper. A miracle it was that she was still walking about the halls at all, let alone speaking to them with such clarity. 

“Yes ma’am, I suppose it was.” Duane gulped nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt, unintentionally popping out the back that Seonggi had just fixed. 

“And Jungho, was it not your son I saw streaking through the halls and making a mess of the carpets with his soap sodden feet?” She turned her icy eyes onto her next target.  

“Yes Ma’am.” Youngho paled under her scornful glare. 

“Then shall I reprimand the fully grown men in front of me to fulfil their fatherly duties so their wives may enjoy just a crumb of a beautiful night, or will you relieve her and the new pianist's wife of the job that is only yours on your own accord?” Adelaide phrased her words as a question, but the men knew it as anything but. They moved sluggishly to comply, and it gave Bear enough time to think up a new response. 

“I can handle it–let me attend to my uncle duties after being away for so long this past year.” Bear skipped back up the steps, grateful for an excuse to avoid the lavish party–something he’d never thought he’d find himself thinking. 

“But you haven’t even had the chance to join in the fun yet! Let us handle our little ankle biters and you go get a few more drinks in your system while you wait.” Duane argued, landing on the step next to him with ease, but Bear held up a hand to silence his protests, looking up at his brother with mirth.

“I insist. I haven’t had much to drink yet so I’m the more coordinated one of the bunch here anyways–you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up!” Bear gave Duane a gentle shove down the stairs, and a reassuring thumbs up. “Enjoy your last New Year’s as a son, and not the owner, yeah?” 

Duane grinned, and clapped Bear on his shoulder roughly before skipping down to rejoin the gaggle of men.

“What about you Seonggi? Why didn’t you get your ass handed to you?” Bear could hear Duane’s accusatory jest from the door as he watched them leave, their voices diminishing in volume. 

“I already helped put him to bed before we left. It helps to plan ahead sometimes, you know.” The man in question scoffed, offended he would even ask such a question. 

“Duane? Plan ahead? It’s the New Year–not the second coming of Christ.” Youngho chortled back at them, their shared laughter an echo of what their boyhood had once been as the three ambled back down the cobblestone path. 

“Du solltest seine Verantwortung nicht übernehmen, Bär.” Adelaide gave Bear a reproachful once over, though she still held open the door for him to follow after her.

He chuckled, and shut the door behind him to keep out to cold winter air. “Ich bin sein Bruder. Was ihn beunruhigt, ist auch meine Sorge.” 

Adelaide led him up the stairs, taking her time with each step, her hand gripping the railing tightly with bony fingers. “Und es hat nichts mit Patti zu tun?” 

Bear froze a few steps behind her hunched form, his mouth suddenly dry and he found himself wishing he still had a drink in his hands to help ease his tension–but found enough wherewithal within himself to quickly deny the hidden accusations of such a question. “Of course not.” 

Adelaide hummed, clearly not convinced by his rebuttal. “Then what is the real excuse?  It is not like you to be kept in on a night such as this.” 

Bear thought to himself for a moment, wondering if confiding in Adelaide would be of any use to his current predicament, or if it would make him feel even more so unsettled. He thought against lying, for she had a keen eye to pinpoint trickery from a mile away, much to his and his brother’s chagrin. 

“I’m not interested in fireworks anymore. I find them…” Bear searched for the proper words, watching carefully as Adelaide made the final step up to the landing. “I find them unsettling now.” 

If Adelaide believed his answer was enough, she did not share; just led him along a soapy path down the right side of the hall, the carpet still wet and squishing beneath his shoes from where much smaller feet had run along it previously. 

“Jeonghun is giving the newcomer a hard time–but I think she has it handled for the most part. It’s Johan and Dorothea that are causing most of the trouble.” Adelaide pushed open the second door down from the playroom, not bothering to knock, the only barrier between them and an infant’s cries removed so it could pierce their ears as intended. 

Patti looked drained, the kind of tired that no amount of her cigarettes would mend. The bags under her eyes more prominent than ever, mostly caused by the barely four month old baby draped over her shoulder that she bounced from side to side to try and sooth their high pitched cries; while her other arm was tangled in a blue patchwork quilt she was attempting to straighten out to her son’s liking. Though each time she lowered it down to the mattress he protested by jumping to his feet, and running in swift circles around his mother’s legs in a one sided game of chase. 

Still, in her exhaustion Bear couldn’t help but find her more beautiful than all of the stars in the sky combined.

“I brought you some help.” Adelaide’s firm tone cut through the noise of the children, bringing Patti’s deep brown eyes up to regard Bear with nothing short of relief. 

“And where’s Duane? Will he be joining us?” Patti inquired breathlessly, her eyes squeezing shut in a moment of covert irritation, for her son had just started another round about her legs for what must’ve been–according to her reaction–the hundredth time that evening.

“No. Your husband returned to the hotel to revel in the festivities. Thankfully Bear offered up his help in his stead.” Adelaide turned to exit the room, stopping within the open door to fix them both with an unreadable expression before making her exit. “I will be in my room at the end of the hall if you need me. I am far too old to be up this late anymore–party be damned.” 

A beat of awkward tension clouded the room, both of them unsure of what to say first.

“If you wouldn’t mind–” Patti started, cut off by Bear’s words spoken over her own. 

“I’ll handle that rascal. You sit with Dottie.”  Bear didn’t wait for instruction, relieving her now trembling arm from the weight of the quilt so she could escape from Johan’s room over to Dorothea’s nursery, and turned his attention to Johan’s giggling face. 

“Now you–” He lunged forward, grabbing the boy in his arms and flinging him into the air over his shoulders with an exaggerated groan of protest. “You are getting too big to play like this–take it easy on your poor mother.” Bear threw him down onto the mattress, letting him bounce a few times on the surface while more giggles erupted from the child’s mouth, already preparing to squirm away from Bear to start his next race. 

“I don’t think so.” Bear cut him off, blocking his path and pushing him back onto the bed. 

The two of them continued their little game of chase, until Bear was able to settle him down with a few bedtime stories from his own adventures on the promise that they were of both himself and Duane to appease his young and curious mind. Johan’s eyes were cemented closed, Bear only just having gotten a few sentences into his second tale when he had noticed his evened out breathing and still feet. 

Bear leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to the sleeping boy’s forehead and whispered a soft “Sleep well Johan, 88, Bear over and out.” He rose to his less than impressive height, soaking in the quiet tranquility of the room as opposed to the roaring party outside the estate's doors, giving himself one moment to believe that this could be his life and his son sleeping peacefully in front of him. 

“What’s that?” 

Patti whispered to him over the threshold startling him from his thoughts. Dorothea had been soothed and coddled over the opposite shoulder, Patti’s left hand rubbing tender circles on her back, the glinting ring on her finger a reminder to Bear that none of this belonged to him. 

“What?” Bear asked, stepping out of the room to join her out in the hall, but Patti didn’t linger, leading them back to Dorothea’s nursery–the nursery Bear had helped her paint a shade of bubblegum pink when his brother had failed to get around to it. 

“What you said to him in there, at the end of your story.” Patti clarified, settling herself down onto the brand new wooden rocking chair that Duane had delivered as one of his gifts to Patti for the nursery (even if she had whispered to Bear in guilt ridden shame that she had wanted one with more cushion, like she had seen in one of the furniture magazines in the study). 

“88?” He lowered himself onto the vibrantly pink nursery ottoman, his eyes catching one of the printed and plastered strangely proportioned lambs leaping around the walls.

Patti hummed in affirmation, keeping her voice low as she rocked the infant, her heels pressing into the equally bright rug beneath her feet. 

“It’s something my father and I said to each other when I was younger. It’s shorthand for ‘love and kisses’ when using amateur radio transmission.” Bear took in a hesitant breath, and offered more detail that she hadn’t asked for–something he excelled at in conversation. “Though I do my best to only use it with people that I’m familiar with. Unfortunately, followers of the madman now use it to spread hate. Funny isn’t it–something meant to spread affection being used as a weapon to hurt.” Bear trailed off, his eyes unable to remove themselves from Dorothea’s sleeping wrinkle of a face.

“That’s how it always goes, doesn’t it?” Patti sighed, her hand stilling on Dorothea’s tiny back. “Hopefully they grow up in a different world, where it can just mean love and kisses again.” 

“Unfortunately,” Bear began softly, “We can’t erase that side of it–for what is done can not be undone. All we can do is hope that the people who use it for good can overpower those that use it for bad.” He took one finger and tenderly traced it over Dorothea’s small button nose, pausing to watch small puffs of breath leave lungs much too small for Bear to fathom. 

Patti watched the exchange, her eyes syrupy and tired, a thankful smile tilted her cheeks up while her lids blinked slowly. “Thank you for your help tonight. You never have to, yet you always do.” 

“Because I want to.” Bear flickered his eyes from the baby up to Patti’s rich tawny eyes even though he knew he shouldn’t look at them the way he was. “It’s what family does for each other.” 

“Family?” Patti muttered the question with each syllable as blurred as the line she crossed by sliding the hand off of Dorothea to brush against Bear’s. “I wish Duane thought we were as important as you seem to.” 

Bear’s face colored with passion, quickly coming to her aid with words of intended comfort. “Patti don’t say such nonsense–you guys are Duane’s entire world. He would do anything for you.” Bear tried to give his words the power they needed to be convincing, but even he could not deny the scenes he had seen play out before his eyes; Duane consistently leaving Patti to her own devices in the name of focusing on his apprenticeship and studies, only  for Bear to sweep along behind each poorly thought step to clean up after him. A common theme it seemed, Bear cleaning up after his brother’s messes and missteps only for Duane to take the credit. He would never tell anyone though–he loved his brother too much to face the reality. 

Bear wore the label of mischief maker like a badge of honor, or a shield that is so broad it protects his brother without even trying. Each accusation or pointed finger tends to lead to Bear as if pulled by an invisible magnet–what an easy target one is when they are self assured and loud; unafraid to take up space.  

“I think we both know who has actually done the most for our little family.” Patti murmured, her delicate finger caressing the side of his palm, bringing him out of the thoughts of his brother and back to her overwhelming presence. 

Her phrase should not have affected him the way it did, spurring his heart forward into a gallop under her intense gaze, leaden with many words they had only shared in private secrecy that he had sworn he would never speak of again. He cleared his throat, and pulled his hand away from where it had fallen to rest with them. He can’t let her touch him that way.  

“If you no longer need my help, I should be going.” Bear stood, straightening his brown trousers and checking his watch. “Fireworks will begin soon–if Johan gives you trouble I’ll just be downstairs.” 

“Goodnight, Bear. 88.” Patti called after him, rushing through a tacked on “Not the fascist way of course!”

He paused, looked at where she sat so ethereal in the warm lamplight on a cold night, her eyes begging him to stay even though they both knew he shouldn’t. “Goodnight Patti, 88. Also not in the fascist way.” Bear nodded in her direction and slipped from the nursery with every muscle in his body screaming at him to turn around and sit back down next to her until the sun rose, or Duane stumbled back in from his night out celebrating. Yet he refrained. 

Bear took slow steps down the stairs and back towards the study, the same hair-raising sensation prickling his skin as he passed through the foyer and into the kitchen in search of another drink to wash away his horrid thoughts. He decided on a glass of champagne, humoring even just a small amount of celebration for himself to take with him back to the study. 

He was too distracted in his journey to see the hulking, hunched, shadow standing at the end of the hall just out of view; and far too disinterested in caring when the shadows invisible dragging steps following him into the foyer, covered by the loud booming sound of flame and gunpowder in the sky outside that signaled the arrival of the New Year. Bear settled into the couch of the study once more, oblivious to the watchful stalking eyes of the creature that laid waiting in a plane invisible to the naked eye. He was too focused on keeping his own cool through the torrential downpour of flame from outside.

Waiting. 

Be that as it may, Bear was never good at being oblivious; especially not for long.

Bear shuddered, spitting out the last of his champagne onto the red rug beneath his feet. Through the stained glass panes of the study doors edges, he could’ve sworn he had seen something–inhumane in nature and grotesque by design–lit up by the red and golden flourishes from outside and reflecting back at him like some imprint of death pressed against the glass.

Bear fell to the floor, each blast rang louder than the last in his ears, reminiscent of too many memories he wished not to think of anymore. All control broken by the unsuspecting image. His chest heaved, and he risked a glance back to the glass, only to find the face gone–vanished with the the raining light of a dissipated firework. 

Nothing but a memory, Bear poured himself a glass of water and brought the rim shakily to his lips, forcing each sip down his throat. Nothing but something to forget. 

Bear could not remember such a face from all of his duties served–no friend or foe had looked as such. He did not linger on thoughts of what could be, or couldn’t be explained; those kinds of thoughts serve one who has lost many a friend no good. 

Bear remained on his knees on the study floor against the center table, pouring glass after glass of water until the pitcher was empty, but nothing seemed to quell the sweat building on his brow or the pounding of his heart nor the dryness of his mouth. 

Not when that creature's face haunted the edges of his vision, and the thunderous roar of fireworks above ripped into his subconscious and forced him back into memories he wished not to see. 

“Bär.” Adelaide’s voice cut through the white noise of fireworks and his own heartbeat. She stood wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair tucked away and out of sight for the night. 

Bear couldn’t catch his breath, not even for a moment. Adelaide held a small bell in her hand, and frantically waved the orb around the study door like she was trying to swat at an invisible fly. The scene itself managed to grip its hold onto him: an old frail woman flailing her limbs about with a look so serious he couldn’t help but let out a few wheezing chuckles at the blasphemy of it. 

Once she seemed satisfied with whatever it was she had set her mind to, she slid the pocket doors of the study closed, locking it for good measure.  Adelaide spun on her heels and took long purposeful strides over to Bear, one of her tremoring hands reaching out to pinch his chin into place, holding him still and repeating the same swinging of the bell around his head and face as if trying to banish his anxieties with the soundwaves. For what it was worth–whether it be the absurdity of it or the power behind her waving–he began to regain control of himself, both mind and body. 

Adelaide dropped his chin and took to running about the corners of the room, ringing its gentle tinkling sound in each one before moving onto the next.  Her age left her at odds with the motions, her own breath growing labored as she returned with a slow tread to the couch Bear had settled himself on during her ministrations. She sunk down next to him, and fixed him with an admonitory stare that pierced straight through him. 

“You must be careful, do not let yourself become vulnerable to that which walks these halls.” 

Bear couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head out in a way that made a few curls of his own fall from their gel coated cage. “Adelaide, the spooks of the house people whisper of are not what I’m worried about.” 

“You should be.” Adelaide shook her head, and grabbed his hand tightly in her own. “Keep it, I have plenty. They feed off of your troubles.” She dropped the bell into his palm and curled his fingers around the metal that was now warm from her touch. 

Bear didn’t have it in him to argue with her old and wispy mind, complying enough just to tuck it away into his pocket for safe keeping. “Alright.” 

Her dark eyes flickered to the journal he had discarded on the center table, her facade of stone falling just enough for him to catch a real glimpse of her–eyes wide and glowing from the firelight, a youthful air about her face as she ran her fingers across the leather cover wistfully. As quickly as he had seen it, it was gone. 

“Where did you find this?” Adelaide snipped, though her tone was nothing but an empty threat; he had angered her enough growing up to know when she was truly a threat.

“Squirrel and I had gone digging through some of the old boxes and archives in the cellar and historical office. He had procrastinated on his preparatory reading for his ceremony tomorrow and needed to skim a bit.” Bear knew he was throwing his brother to the wolves with such a comment, but after having seen how much he had left to Patti that night–he couldn’t help but let something that wasn’t a compliment slip from his lips. 

“How interesting.” She examined him with passive curiosity. “All of the other reading materials at your disposal–and this is what you’d decided was worthy of your time?” 

Bear leaned forward, snatching the journal off the table and flipping to where he had left off. He read an excerpt aloud, doing his best to do so with animated expression. “He is my brother after all and I must keep reminding myself of that despicable fact each morning when I see his annoyingly broad face at breakfast, and I hold back the urge to crack the shell of my eggs upon his forehead.” He snapped it closed, sandwiching one of his fingers between the pages to keep the spot. “I think that is some very profound writing if I do say so myself.” 

Adelaide did the unexpected–a short bark of withering laughter sprouting from her chest. “Brother’s are a fickle thing aren’t they?”

“Very.” Bear agreed, a smirk finding its way to his lips. 

The firework display was coming to an end, though with Adelaide’s company he had barely registered the finale–something he would have to thank her for. The cheering and music from the distant courtyard and hotel ballroom could still be heard, for the party had no intentions of stopping at midnight.

“It should be you up there tomorrow, If I do say so myself.” 

If hearing her laugh had surprised Bear, her sudden shift into modest honesty had knocked him into another realm entirely; the closest thing to a compliment she had given him in ages. He adamantly shook his head, and returned the journal to the center table. 

“My brother is the only real choice. I am off on other lands or on the other side of the country, sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong far too often.” He pressed the curl back into place. “He worked hard for this. We always knew it would be him.” 

“And how much of his work was done by your hands?” Adelaide prodded, giving him a knowing look. 

Bear’s heavy sigh was enough of an answer, and Adelaide took to looking into the flames. 

“You deserve it–I think you would’ve been the obvious choice if it were me.” She finished, hoisting herself to stand and start a wobbly path to the study doors. “Remember, use the bell if they return.” 

Bear took the bell from his pocket, and turned it this way and that in the low light, inspecting what seemed like just an ordinary bell for something extraordinary that she insisted it had. He shook it once, the twinkling sound catching Adelaide's attention enough for her steps to hold pause. 

“I think you deserved it. You were the obvious choice to me.” Bear commented, boring his eyes into the back of her head where she stood frozen in the doorway. It was her turn to be caught off guard, something Adelaide almost never was. 

She didn’t react otherwise, pulling herself together and sliding one of the doors open for her exit. She hesitated, her hand holding onto the door frame to support her old rickety bones. She spared him one quick glance, her eyes glassy and wet. 

“I see you’ll find yourself making good use of that bell. Goodnight, Bärchen.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n sat on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, holding the napkin held out for everyone to see. Jimin’s scrawl was easily legible–impeccably neat even under the given circumstances of the less than ideal materials he had on hand. It was quiet. Each of them in a state of confusion or disbelief–or both. But as always, Yoongi spoke his mind first in the way he knew best: Eloquent and efficient.  

“What the fuck?” Yoongi gaped at the torn corner with disdain, his eyes squinting to get a better look. “‘They’re listening’? Why hasn’t he reached out about this before?” 

“Maybe he can’t. With the way he’s been talking to me lately, you’d think he’s under constant surveillance.” Y/n fiddled with the patterned paper between her fingers for a few moments before dropping the note into Yoongi’s hand to inspect it further. “Even at a park a few miles away he acted like he still had more to say but couldn’t.” 

“The shadow figure?” Jungkook offered, his dark eyes looking at the note from over Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“That’s our best guess.” Y/n shrugged, unable to look him in the eye after her discussion with Namjoon. That and she was exhausted beyond belief–she could blame the conversation with Namjoon and her previous experience with Jimin for making her head throb and her eyes heavy with fatigue. Her mind couldn’t pinpoint if she was still frustrated with Jimin, or if her irritation was trying to throw itself around at the first thing it could sink its teeth into in a blind search of whoever was causing him to act this way, for she was getting so easily riled up with each sound or thought that wormed its way through her skull. She took two fingers and rubbed at her temples to ebb away at the aggravating pulse behind her eyes. 

Namjoon stood from Yoongi’s desk chair and rested one of his large hands over one of her own, stopping her from boring holes through the side of her head with much too forceful presses of her fingers. “You shouldn’t be getting this upset right now–you’re still healing from your fall.” 

“I can’t exactly not feel worried when one of my best friends just left me a cryptic note about being listened to–by some ghost or my mother who knows.” Y/n groaned, letting her hands fall from her face under Namjoon’s guidance. “I don’t know what to do with this right now.” 

“We can do one of two things.” Yoongi started, looking up from the paper napkin and wetting his lips. “We can either pivot our goals for this weekend into figuring out what’s going on with him, or we can continue with our original plans and then we can try and get him to crack.”

“Let’s not make any plans tonight. Like I said, she should be resting.” Namjoon enunciated the last word with a pointed look at Yoongi. 

Y/n wanted to argue with him, and tell him that he was wrong–that she could handle the discussion just fine. But in all honesty she didn’t have it in her to push back against his stubborn commands, she did truly need rest if she wanted to be of use for the upcoming weekend in any capacity. All she had left in her was a meak nod, and let him guide her out of Yoongi’s room and back to her own, the box of strawberries still strewn about her desk where they had left them to scurry over to Yoongi’s room to share in her discovery.

“I’ll go over your wards and then leave you be. Don’t stay up too late tonight.” Namjoon directed her to sit on the edge of her bed while he gave all of her windows and doors a once over, even going as far as to check the corners of her bedroom and bathroom to make sure nothing had been bumped or pushed aside. 

Y/n sat, staring unfocused at her knees. The fire that had been ignited before of irritation and confusion had burned through all of the energy she had left, leaving her a drained shell on the edge of her bed. This was a cycle she continued to struggle with, getting worked up to the point where she felt she couldn’t contain herself before it suddenly fizzled out and left her empty and void.

 She wanted to call Jimin and beg him to tell her everything–to demand further answers from him in the excuse of lending him a helping hand. They had Namjoon and his knowledge of plant witchery, Yoongi’s extensive knowledge of the occult, and Jungkook the Psychopomp on their side: Whatever Jimin was dealing with they’d be able to handle–at least better than he could on his own. 

Though in response to these thoughts of rushed rash decisions, came the echo of something he had said to her earlier that day; a pretty voice sounding out a sentence laced with a warning beneath the sweet tone. 

“You know–there’s things a lot of us hide from each other. Maybe for good reason, but maybe out of fear. Perhaps some people aren’t able to say them outright in fear of what may happen to others as a consequence of speaking up.” Jimin’s plush lips moved to release the words in swift tandem. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that there are people that are here that will listen.” 

“It looks good. I might have Yoongi give you some incense to burn in here though, just to refresh the space. You can never be too safe.” Namjoon stopped in front of where she sat, peering down his nose at her with his hands tucked into his pockets. 

Y/n nodded, pushing Jimin from her mind and shifting to stand. “Thanks Joon. For everything today, not just for checking the wards.” she leaned forwards and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder, the warmth feeling nice against the ache behind it. 

Their hug was brief, as was their goodbyes. The disappointment of being alone didn’t fester for too long–it didn’t have the time to. Her dress had barely hit the floor by the time she crawled herself into bed fully intending to stew on their discussion like she had promised, only to last merely five minutes into her thoughts before she was drifting off into a restless slumber. 

Her dreams were riddled with images of the demonic creature she had encountered in the kitchen the weekend before, still dripping with tea and ectoplasm. His mouth open and waiting for her to fall right into it with molten hungry eyes trained on where she lay paralyzed below him, unable to stop her inevitable demise. No matter how many times she tried to reign in her dreams and steer them somewhere else, she couldn’t. All roads led back to him. 

The images didn’t leave, even when her eyes opened to find her own bedroom dark and empty. Faint outlines of his figure were visible from all angles, burned into her retinas to torture herself with whenever it was much too dark for her brain to fully recognize that it wasn’t real. A constant state of wondering whether or not what she was seeing was reality or just the haunting etches of his memory. 

If it was dark, the risk of traveling over to one of her friends' rooms or vise versa was high–it was still Thursday after all–so her father would be expected to sing his sickening lullabies tonight for the last time before the weekend. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to keep feeding her twisted mind with mirages of the demon, and fumbled for wherever her phone had landed on her bed. 

The shuffling of light feet outside her door had her muscles locking in place. She could hear the soft steps (much too soft to be her fathers) hesitating outside along the carpet running over the wooden floors of the halls. Rustling overtook the feet, and she heard three objects drop to the floor outside her door, each one barely audible and signifying how lightweight whatever the gift was must be. Once whoever it was seemed satisfied with what they had done, Y/n followed the sound of their footsteps a few feet down the hall but no further. They were too quiet to hear past then. 

Y/n cautiously touched her feet down to the chilled floor, her heart pounding against her ears as she reached from the flashlight on her end table and clicked it on. Her phone read that it was minutes to midnight, so still much too early for her father to be the culprit. Y/n took the risk, shining the light out from the gap of the door prior to unlocking it and giving it a gentle shove. Something in front of the door stopped it from opening entirely, the sound of leaves crunching making her pull the door closed ever so slightly. 

She poked her head around the edge, finding three more perfectly cut and trimmed peonies laid gently in front of her door. She swiped them up without hesitation, and quickly shut her door–even if she still had some time in regards to her father, she couldn’t say the same about every spirit. 

It was as if the flowers themselves were enchanted with more so than just their stunning looks and perfect blooms: for as she rubbed a few velvety petals beneath her finger tips, an overwhelming sense of calm seeped into her mind and body, uncoiling all of her tension and leaving her a tranquil cloud that floated back to her beds previously stifling embrace that now felt like anything but. The sweet floral scent stuck to her fingertips that were tucked near her face, lulling her back into an easy sleep no longer invaded by creatures from the basement or looming dark figures: but of the first half of her date with Jimin. Or was it Jimin she saw? Her mind slurred images together in slow, languid waves, mixing up images and trading them out for others however it saw fit. 

Y/n realized she had been wrong entirely about the scene–it was not her date with Jimin. She wasn’t even at the park anymore. She must’ve just been misunderstanding what she had seen–because now she was walking along one of the property trails, hand in hand with Jungkook. His eyes reflecting the glint of the sun and his hand warm and comforting within her own. 

She would have to be sure to ask him to go for a walk with her soon, Y/n thought, her breath leaving her mouth in puffs, barely conscious of what she was thinking any longer. She really liked how it felt to hold his hand.

_________________________________________

Y/n slept much longer than she had intended to that night, the sun blazing through her curtains at an angle letting her know as such without even having to check the time. She moved sluggishly about her room, in no similar rush as to yesterday to get dressed–just settling for comfortable clothes, dangling the new stems from the string above her bed, and falling back into her comforter. 

Their group chat had blown up her phone, heightening her anxiety through the roof before she managed to click on the first private message from Namjoon. 

[Joon 🌱]: Don’t freak out…nothing that bad has happened. You just need to check your work email. 

Y/n did as she was told, thankful for Namjoon’s stable mind. No matter his reassuring words, she still found herself rushing to tap the icon to check on the mostly barren inbox–except for one from her parents with the subject line enough to send her through the roof. 

Send him well wishes on his journey! 

It is our greatest honor to escort our very own Jimin Park to Baltimore Maryland for his graduation where he will be awarded his Masters of Museum Studies. We will be sure to send photos and a live stream link for anyone that would like to attend and share in the festivities virtually. 

Expect our return on Monday, and be sure to give him your congratulations! 

Sincerely, Anselm and Mariah Wörner

Attached to the short email was a picture of Jimin, Jin’s parents-Hana and Yeongjin Kim, and both of her parents posed in front of the hotel, looking as though it had been taken early this morning. Two sleek black cars were being stuffed with luggage on the edge of the screen, but that wasn’t what was holding Y/n's attention the most.

Her father’s arm was thrown over Jimin’s shoulder, a bright smile taking over his features that was compensating for the lack of light in his eyes–soulless and empty. His hand was clamped onto Jimin’s opposite arm, digging into the fabric of his shirt and holding it clenched within his fist. An almost imperceivable display power, a barely noticeable warning. 

Jimin was going to be alone with her parents for an entire weekend (well, alone with Jin’s parents and her parents), and that filled her with trepidation. There would be no way to text or call him about his message while he was with them–he would be almost completely out of reach. 

There was no way this wasn’t deliberate. No–not the day after he had left her an ominous note–not when her mother had said nothing about indicating them joining them, nor had Jimin. Which could only mean one thing: Whatever Jimin knew, or whatever he was involved in and trying to tell her must threaten whatever her mother had been up to. 

Y/n spiraled, mentally and physically for the rest of the morning in a pacing circle until Namjoon stole her away from her mental cages in a brisk walk to meet Jungkook in the dining room for lunch. Jungkook wasn’t the only one present–Jin and Hoseok were draped over opposite chairs, busying themselves with their small lunch menus with an air that held a suspicious amount of nonchalance. 

Jin’s attire stole her wandering eyes and fixating mind, the absence of his cap, gloves or hotel coat more apparent to her than ever. It’s Friday. He should be working, Y/n noted to herself, then swept her eyes to Hoseok. The same tired taciturn nature oozed from his frame as when he had insisted he was sick–only this time he was trying harder to conceal it from her by the way he plastered a bright smile on his face and waved with too much enthusiasm at her entrance. And if that wasn’t odd enough, he appeared to sag with relief when she ended up choosing a seat further away from him; something that under normal circumstances would have him pouting at her for the first half of their meal. 

“How are you feeling today, Y/n?” Jin’s silver tone voice was saturated with gentleness, laying his menu down to look at her with undivided attention. 

“Fine…how about you?” Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off Hoseok, and how plastic and fake he looked sitting at the head of the table. His grin akin to a barbie doll in the way his eyes shone little interest in reflecting the same sentiment of joy. 

“Great. I was actually going to come up and see if you would want to play a game or two. I took today off since my parents were in town so I could see them off.” Jin answered, oblivious to how Hoseok didn’t even seem real at the moment. 

“Yeah that’s…That’s fine.” Y/n finally turned to fully address Hoseok, surveying him carefully for any kind of response. “And you?” 

“Peachy!” Hoseok chirped, putting more force into his upbeat mask. “Nothin’ too crazy has been happening on my end. Just driving–the usual.” 

Y/n pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, her voice coming out more accusatory than she intended. “I thought you were working extra shifts at the convenience center this week?” 

Hoseok’s head tilted sharply to the side, his smile faltering. “Oh yeah–right.” He nodded, his meticulously curated smile returning. “That’s right. Sorry, thought that was implied.” 

Y/n briefly met Namjoon’s eyes from across the table over the edge of his menu, and they shared a dubious look as she fumbled through her response. “It’s fine…just checking in.” 

She reached to the center of the table to grab a menu from the pile, clipping the moment Jin sent Hoseok a warning glower from below his brow–startling Y/n’s hand to retract from the menu at such a strange display of emotion from him. He must’ve not noticed she had glimpsed the passing shadow of it across his face, because he just returned to reading his menu with an impassive expression like it hadn’t happened. 

Next to him, Jungkook leant back in his chair with calculating eyes on constant surveillance of the dining room having caught the strange interaction. The muscles of his cheek twitched when his teeth clenched down on his cheek but he too chose not to call them out on it, settling for observation over confrontation. Though it was only seconds before he sensed Y/n’s stare, his head turning to meet it. A microscopic quirk of his brow was the silent ‘You okay?’ she had grown accustomed to when in group settings, and for some reason–she found her face heating up at their eye contact, and averted her attention to her menu with the tiniest of nods. 

Lunch was quiet, Hoseok distracting himself with his phone and Jin focusing on his meal. Namjoon’s accusations from the evening prior taunted Y/n each and every time she snuck a look in Jungkook’s direction, and they delved even further into her skin when she would find him already looking at her. The only thing that managed to stop her from glancing at him was when Seokjin looked up at the same time, wordlessly intercepting their game of tag with an unreadable flick of his brow. 

On their walk back to Y/n’s room, she and Namjoon were discussing all of the progress (and lack thereof) he had been able to make during her week of absence, plucking at her guilt that bloomed at his words–frustrated with herself for missing only her second week of work. Y/n knew he wasn’t upset with her, and that was the only comforting string that kept those feelings from stacking on top of the thoughts she was already sorting through that day. She fought to keep herself present in the tale he was currently recounting of his run in with their new greenhouse roommate–a black widow spider they lovingly named Julia Caesar. 

“...I put the pot down then and could see all of her scary little eyes–no thanks–she claimed it as hers now I’m not going to risk evicting her and getting bitten. Consider this a warning when you come back next week: she has taken over the empty terracotta pot on the second floor. I might even get a tag to put on it so everyone knows.” 

“Joon, we can just take her outside.” Y/n snorted, resting her head on the shoulder of the arm she was holding onto. “Just take the pot outback for a day and I promise she won't be there by sundown.” 

Namjoon looked affronted, curling his mouth in disgust and bringing his chin inwards at the suggestion. “Absolutely not. I’m not touching it–like I said she owns it now.” 

“Then I’ll do it.” A new thought clicked in Y/n’s mind, a teasing smile warming up her lips. “Unless you are actually starting to like her now…” 

He sputtered, leaning in front to open her door for her. “No. Never.” 

“Are you sure? Because last I checked a bet was made, and it smells like I might be winning.” Y/n reluctantly untangled herself from his arm and stepped into her room. 

“Positive.” Namjoon’s neck was turning red, and his eyes refused to stay locked in one place. 

Liar, Y/n giggled to herself. 

“Uh huh. Sure.” Y/n gave an exaggerated nod, dragging out the last word longer than necessary and leaning up against her door with her hand already tapping it closed. “You owe me a trip to Longwood.” 

The close of her door stifled any of his protests, and Y/n couldn’t stop the loud laughter she knew he could hear from the otherside, his defeated footsteps trailing down the hall towards the landing to escape his loss.

Y/n found her thoughts slower than they had been that morning. They no longer raced around her brain like they were trying to put a seasoned Mario Kart player to shame, instead, they ferried about the currents of her mind, coming and going at a pace much easier to control now that she had food in her stomach and Namjoon on her mind. Thus, she was able to tuck her nose into a book, flipping through a dozen pages or so when someone made their presence known on the other side of her door. 

Seokjin stood on the other side of the threshold, a leather guitar case perched over one shoulder and his cream colored tote bag on the other. Y/n beamed up at him, though his eyes were stuck inspecting something on the floor in front of the door. Y/n followed his line of sight, trailing down his figure to a handful of peonies trimmed in perfect matching length and laid in a pile at the foot of her door. 

“You have a few gifts.” He commented timidly, and bent down to pick them up for her. “I was going to text you but I decided to just change and come get you myself.”

“Oh-No worries!” Y/n gingerly took the flowers from his hand with her confusion evident on her face, she definitely had heard anyone else knock since Namjoon had taken his leave. “You can come in if you want, just give me a second to set these aside” Y/n eyed the guitar case over his shoulder quizzically. “Did you still want to play some games or have you decided to change the plans? Not that I’m complaining–I loved listening to you play.” She left the door open for him to follow in after her and dropped the new peony additions on her desk. She was going to run out of room for them soon…Y/n thought as she watched a few stray petals fall loose from one of the stems and scurry to the floor. 

Jin shifted uncomfortably in the center of her room, his gaze following her movements as she leapt to stand on her bed and clip the bundle of stems to a string Jungkook had helped her hang up. ”I was going to suggest we dust off the old Wii and have some fun with it, but it’s so nice out today that I couldn’t excuse staying cooped up.”

Y/n hummed in response, mesmerized by the petals and the fresh scent they emitted. The flowers were cut at the exact length as the first she had received–but this time it was four perfect blooms staring back at her with full blushing faces. Y/n tore her eyes from them and turned back to Jin, hopping down from the bed to join him in the middle of the room. 

“Where are we going? I’m not exactly dressed for anything fancy.” She examined his casual attire, simple black pants hemmed above the ankle and nice white t-shirt hidden beneath a thin blue jacket. Y/n caught the glint of a small silver pendant hidden beneath the collar of his shirt but couldn’t make out its shape. 

“Me neither.” He chuckled, giving her a sweet smile. “Guest house?” 

Y/n felt her eye twitch slightly, but chose to ignore it and push down any thoughts of getting roped into being there late into the evening–she would just be sure to tell him she had plans with Namjoon after dinner as an excuse if need be. “Sounds good.” She glanced down at her own lounge set with a wrinkle of her nose. “I probably will change actually–much too hot for fleece.” 

Jin gave her an affirming nod, and gestured to her door. “I’ll wait out here.” 

Y/n quickly shuffled out of her clothes and into a pair of green embroidered shorts and a white long-sleeved cropped shirt, tugging on some taller socks when she remembered how Namjoon had chided her last week for not wearing any during tick season–god forbid she get one during their walk through the woods and she would have to admit it to him (not that the rest of her outfit was necessarily tick friendly, but she had to compromise somewhere). Y/n stood tall, regarding the mysteriously appearing flowers where they dangled over her bed apprehensively, then slipping out into the hall after Jin. 

Thankfully, Jin didn’t linger around the estate for very long, urging them out and onto the dirt trail to the guest house and lake to enjoy the afternoon sun. Jin was awfully chatty this time, distracting her with antidotes of his work week and about how he had gone out for lunch with his parents the day prior–filling her in on their most recent trip to Portugal. The house came into view before Y/n had even realized it, and the unknown passage of time reminded her of how much Jin seemed to calm her mind, unwinding her tensions and putting her at ease; the kind of friend that had you forgetting that time itself even existed when you were with them. 

Once in the house, Jin took a moment to prop open the sunroom door that led directly onto the turf and the fire pit, and moved back to drop the leather case onto the glass table top in the center. Y/n made herself comfortable, finding the same rhythm they had a few days prior: her seated comfortably near him and him fiddling with his guitar.

He unlatched the case and lifted the instrument out from within, situating himself down next to her and beginning the task of tuning the strings according to his liking. Y/n closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh early evening air and letting it furl in her lungs and release through her mouth at a lazy pace. The chorus of chirping woodland animals and the sound of rustling trees comforting her in the best way possible. She couldn’t even remember any of the things that had worried her that morning. Something about Jimin? It didn’t matter. She was comfortable here now with Jin. 

The scent of freshly cut grass and the thick beams of sunlight that enlightened clouds of floating dust, cut through by the shadow of a bird flying overhead in front of its source made her feel truly at home. While she loved the ease of travel and particular beauty of D.C while in college, nothing beats a nice day in Pennsylvania trees. The smell of fresh earth and clean air made her muscles relax into a tranquil state that only grew in strength when Jin started absentmindedly strumming a few chords, simple progressions designed to warm up his fingers.  

Y/n curled brought her legs up onto the couch with her, and rested her elbow on the back of the couch to prop her head on it, captivated by how easily his fingers slid on the fretboard to find their next chord. The rhythm promptly switched, moving into a climbing introductory flourish of a song she could immediately recognize as one of Hozier’s. She didn’t interrupt him (nor did she feel pressured to find a distracting hobby) and let him start through the opening verse, his time kept by his foot rising and following on beat against the wooden floor beneath them. His confidence had already multiplied since Wednesday, for the lyrics were already spilling from his lips in lilting shapes of romance and yearning, flowing into her ears and muddying her senses. 

He didn’t take much breaks in between songs, just letting them flow from his hands and mouth with practiced ease and filling any empty space between them that would have been. Y/n didn’t mind, enjoying the silvery tone of his voice and the nostalgic plucking of the strings. Y/n felt her mind growing loose, having found a moment of refuge from whatever was going on back at the hotel and estate drifting completely from her brain and leaving her floating, light as a feather through the soundscapes that enveloped her in their welcoming arms. 

There was a small pause in the music as he leaned forwards to fish through his bag that she had recognized from before to thumb through sheet music and chord charts for the next song he was looking for. 

Y/n took that moment to take in his soft skin in the golden cast of the sun from the windows, and the way it glowed. She saw him now for how she knew him best beneath the carefully built exterior to match the role of the eldest: kind and carefree. Y/n nibbled at her lip, taking in how relaxed he seemed in that moment. His back wasn’t straight as a pencil and his face wasn’t forced into a pleasant smile. Y/n felt honored, thinking about how this must be the place he felt the most comfortable–and she could clearly see why. Out here almost felt like a completely different property, like they could walk through the door and pretend this was their house, a normal house with normal activities. No pressure of any preexisting legacy or long family history to pull them this way and that. Y/n watched him closer now, her brow furrowing in thought as she started to see him in a new light. Relaxed in the normal. Is this what he wanted? Normal? Did he even want to be at the hotel?

She had always just assumed he would–because that’s what everyone else concluded as far as she could remember–especially with him being the first and only biological child of the Kim’s. Her trail of thought continued even further, unraveling new strings from what she had always thought was a completed tapestry, a picture perfect image of Seokjin Kim. But there were loose threads at the bottom, and Y/n kicked herself for never even bothering to check. 

She had yet to hear anything about his intentions to take over after his father as the Hotel and Estate’s finance manager, and wondered just what he was doing still working at the front desk if his parents were in the process of finalizing their retirement. This encouraged her previous line of thinking, why had she never asked him what he wanted? She decided the only way to build a better read into what he was comfortable talking about or not talking about, would just be to shoot her shot and see how it landed. 

“Jin?” 

“Hmm?” He paused his rummaging, and looked at her from over his shoulder. 

“Your parents are retiring, right?” She approached the subject gently, not yet wanting to scare him away.

He looked back at the splayed open folder, a small twitch of his nose the only sign he gave her for how he felt about the question. “Yes. Why do you ask?” 

“Well I was just wondering…You know…” Y/n tried, hoping he would catch on to her question so the topic would be in his hands to choose whether or not to elaborate further.  

“Oh.” His hands lowered the folder down to rest against the glass, and he sat back against the couch to look at her, his mouth quirked to one side. “I’ll be taking over sometime next year if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jin was good at guarding himself, Y/n concluded. But she was also good at picking apart his body language: No jokes and a fidgeting mouth. He was either extremely uncomfortable or extremely serious. Both of those options were odd to see on someone who constantly chooses to put forth the face of an easy going friend, or an excellent host. Jin was truly a chameleon. 

“How are you feeling about that?” Y/n tested the waters even further. “You don’t seem very excited.” 

Jin’s eyes moved swiftly from one part of her face to the next and chewing on the inside of his lip while he thought up his next response. Y/n rushed to apologize, not wanting to ruin the peaceful environment he had curated. 

“You don’t have to answer that–I’m sorry that was–”

“I don’t know.” 

Y/n froze, her eyes flicking up to look at his face. She watched part of his guard crumble enough for him to sigh and give a rueful smile. 

“I want to keep the tradition going, and I don’t mind the work. A family of number crunchers breeds a great mathematician so it’s not that I’m worried about.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I just feel like…” He looked out towards the grass, his eyes cloudy, “Nevermind. I don’t want to trouble you with this.” 

“No, I want to listen,” Y/n tucked a leg beneath her and shifted her body to face him completely. “You feel like?” Y/n urged him onwards, her eyes shining earnestly. 

He moved his guitar to rest on the case, and mimicked her position, turning towards her and propping leg on the couch, bent at the knee and brushing against her own. “ I just feel like I wasn’t ever really asked. It was just expected of me. I like the job and I love being here, but I just wish it would’ve felt more like my own choice and less like an obligation.” He flicked a piece of hair from his eyes only for it to fall right back into place. “I know that sounds a bit contradictory–if I like it why should I care right?” 

“I get it.” Y/n shook her head, and laid it back on her palm to regard him with reassuring eyes. “Even if you want it, it feels nice to have autonomy over the decision.” 

“Which is something I don’t really feel like I have.” He shrugged. “It’s such a first world problem-” He held his hands up, his eyes rolling to take in the ceiling and his voice squawking out two octaves higher in a mocking tone. “ –‘Oh no! I have a well paying job and rich parents! I never have to make a decision ever again! Woe is me!’” 

Y/n giggled at the display, and he seemed pleased at being able to make her laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I always felt like such an ass complaining to classmates about why I left.” Y/n copied the same silly tone he had used moments prior. “‘Yeah my family is rich–and I threw that away because I got mad. Woe is me, I made my own bed and now I have to lay in it.’” She dropped her tone back to its normal octave. “So don’t worry, we are of the same ridiculous kind. I won’t judge you.”  

A tiny melancholy smile graced his features, took her in with warm and inviting eyes. “I’m sure you did great in school though.  You’ve always been hard-working.”

“Right back at you.” Y/n shot back, a playful smile working its way through her calm demeanor. “Although, I do admit–I do work pretty hard.” Y/n gave a feigned modest expression and puffed up her chest. “One of us has to make sure there’s trouble around here. It may be tiring but it’s honest work.” 

Jin rolled his eyes. “Every time I try to be kind to you, you just insist on instigating.” He took one long finger and pointed it at her. “There’s enough trouble around here already, no need to overdo it. I’m getting too old to chase all of you around.” 

Y/n let out a short burst of laughter, making a few of the distant animals scatter at the sound. “Old? You’re not even thirty yet!” 

“I’m close enough.” He rubbed a hand against his brow in exasperation. 

“You have like three years left until then, take a breath.” Y/n scoffed with a shake of her head. 

Jin mumbled out a quiet ‘my knees say otherwise’ and moved to grab for his guitar again. “Would you like to hear anything else?” 

“Hmmm…” Y/n brought a finger to her chin, and shrugged, “Have you been working on anything new since Wednesday?” 

Jin thought for a moment, and grabbed for a few sheets of paper from the folder and lined them on the table in a neat row. “If you don’t like it just let me know. It’s just a song that was recommended to me recently.” 

Y/n motioned with her hands for him to continue, and made herself more comfortable (if there was even any more comfortable she could even get at the moment). Y/n let her eyes close, leaning her head against her hold to focus on the melody with no intention of giving him anything other than her full attention. She barely noticed the song growing distant–the chorus feeling more like a distant memory than a song played no more than a few feet from her ears; and the sound of the trees and bugs faded into a mindless blur, more white noise than anything decipherable. Her head fell from its perch on her hand and onto the back of the couch as her breathing evened out.  

_________________________________________

“Wake up!” 

The harsh whispering voice pulled Y/n out of her impromptu nap, her eyes blinking to adjust to the the once bright room being coated in shades of black and blue, only a ring of yellow light around the sunroom’s now closed door from the outdoor porchlight having been turned on. 

Y/n searched for Jin, but he was no longer next to her–a discovery that had her swallowing roughly against her scratchy dry throat. Her unfocused eyes scanned anything it could make out in the dim lighting, finding his guitar case latched shut and propped in the corner of the room, the chairs and couches, but still no Jin. 

She felt incredibly disoriented. Her body felt distant, like her head was no longer connected to it, and her hands trembled slightly with muscular fatigue. She tried to clench them into fists but her grip strength was weaker than usual, and the act of sending command signals to her own body felt foreign. Y/n started to panic, trying to move each limb on its own but was met with great difficulty–how long had she been out? 

Whoever had woken her up was also nowhere to be seen. Their voice, urgent and familiar, had the hair rising on her arms and her breath quickening. She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, but it definitely hadn’t been Jin’s. If she hadn’t known any better she would’ve said it almost sounded like it had come from outside, as if called through the screened windows or the storm door. But no one was present, no footsteps and no human figure stood outside the door; just a symphony of crickets and the bump of a gentle breeze against the window panes. 

Y/n stuck her hands in her pockets in her first instinct to find purchase in the comfort of her flashlight ‘lightsaber’, yet found only the folds of the soft fabric–it was empty. Her stomach sank in on itself, the realization that she had forgotten to grab one from her nightstand before she had left had shame crawling up her throat and clenching her heart down in its unrelenting fist. So much for any trust she had built with Jungkook, she mourned. 

She was alone, with no weapon, and Jin was missing. Nausea, an unforgiving enemy as always, made its appearance–climbing up the back of shame like a ladder to join in on its torment. Her hands began to slick with sweat, and she couldn’t seem to swallow enough times, the motion her only weapon of choice against hurling her lunch on the outdoor rug. She may not have found her flashlight, but she had been smart enough to at least grab her phone–which she found snug in the deepest part of her other pocket much to her relief. 

Y/n yanked it up into her shaky hands and just about keeled over when she registered the time glaring back up at her. It was coming up on 10pm–she had missed their scheduled meet up time and dinner.  And to top it off, she was going to have to walk back to the estate in the dark. Alone.  Her heart thumping painfully in her chest with dread at the idea of walking the trail by herself with no light but her phone. At night in a city, there’s streetlamps or houselights–hell even in suburbs you can usually still see the residual wingspan of human life stretching over the sky from the surrounding areas. 

Not in the woods of Pennsylvania. You will find no sign of light here. 

Not when there are acres upon acres of trees and mountains surrounding you on all sides, and the nearest city is a 20 minute drive out–any and all remnants of it swallowed up by the hungry shadows of the natural world. 

Y/n unlocked her phone, and her breath hitched. There were over a dozen missed calls from her three accomplices, and almost double the missed texts. And most of them were from Jungkook. 

[Jungkook] 7:03pm : Where are you?

[Jungkook] 7:09pm: I’ll have them put food away for you.

[Jungkook] 7:55pm: Are you alright? 

[Jungkook] 7:58pm: It’s me outside your door, are you asleep? 

[Jungkook] 8:02pm: You’re not in your room. Please respond. 

[Jungkook] 8:27pm: I’m going to come look for you if you don’t answer any of our calls.

[Jungkook] 8:29pm: Y/n. Answer please. 

[Jungkook] 8:32pm: Please.

[Jungkook] 8:40pm: I’m coming to find you. 

Y/n quickly moved onto the next notification, trying to rush through them all so she could get her bearings and respond. 

[Joon 🌱] 7:08pm: Are you feeling okay? Or did you fall asleep again…

[Joon 🌱] 7:22pm: Do you want me to bring you up something to eat? 

[Joon 🌱] 7:46 Okay seriously Y/n, I’m starting to get a bit nervous. If you could just give me something to let me know you are safe. 

[Joon 🌱] 8:06pm: We went into your room without your permission–sorry. Where are you??? 

[Joon 🌱] 8:08pm: Jin isn’t answering either. Are you still with him?

[Joon 🌱] 8:30pm: Kook is freaking out. Please just call one of us if you can. 

Jin wasn’t answering either? Y/n’s head began to pound and her eyesight threatened to give out, pulsing the light of her phone screen in and out of focus like some sick joke. She groaned quietly–for that was about all she could muster, and willed her pupils to focus back in on the messages. 

[Zoltar]: 8:00 pm: You ded sleepy head? Lol

[Zoltar]: 8:10 pm: Okay this isn’t funny. Where are you 

[Zoltar]: 8:16 pm: I’m trying to hold down the fort but the kid is getting antsy 

[Zoltar]: 8:22 pm: Answer your damn phone Y/n. 

[Zoltar]: 9:01 pm: Where the fuck are you?

Y/n wasted no time in sending a message to their group chat to let them know she was alive, her fingers being as remorseless as her vision, each digit moving as if weighed down at the tip; the only solution to typing was to drag her finger across the screen and hope for the best. 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I’m ok I thinkk. I’m at theguethouse. I don’tknow how I slept this long–I wasneven tired before. I don’t feelllright. 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I was wt Jin 

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: Idkk wher he is

[Morning Glory 🌼 ]: I rreallyy dontfeel rright. 

It hadn’t even been a full ten seconds before her phone screen was blocked by an incoming call from Yoongi, and she hastily swiped to answer it as quick as her fingers would let her, holding it to her ear with a shaky hand.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.” Yoongi hissed through the receiver. She heard the loud commotion of Jungkook and Namjoon shouting back at him from within his range, the microphone picking up the sound but not their words. “Shut up I’m trying to listen to what she is saying!” 

Y/n kept her voice a whisper, scared that Jin would return from wherever he had left and catch them talking to each other red handed. That was if he was even still here…

“Y/n?” Yoongi’s voice cut through again, pulling her out of her hazed funk.

She hadn’t answered him yet she realized with a shake of her head, and did her best to slur out her explanation. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t…” Y/n dragged her eyes to scan what parts of the house she could see through the door, just a dark kitchen entrance and the start of the dining room. Unease pooled into the pit of her stomach, and the unmistakable feeling of being watched pricked at her skin like cold drops of rain on a hot day. She wasn’t alone, and from the sense of it, whatever was watching her wasn’t human–meaning if she were to stretch the invisible vines of her spiritual senses out it could trigger something much worse at the expense of finding more information.

 “I’m scared.” She shuddered out, embarrassed with how weak the admission sounded to herself. 

She could hear Yoongi’s heavy breathing on the other end, and it sounded like he was running. 

“We are on our way–about halfway there. We were already heading to check the lake. Thank god you’re not there. Just stay put and try to stay out of trouble.” His voice rang through loud and clear, but it did little to combat the growing fear in her belly. 

A dark shadow passed by the frame of the door and her heart stopped–or at least it felt like it–but she knew it couldn’t have with how loud the blood rushed through her ears with each pulse. 

“Okay scratch that I’m really scared.” Y/n’s voice shook, edging off of the sofa and crouching below the couch and out of sight, praying it hadn’t seen her yet. Her legs were still waking up–she wouldn’t be able to run if she tried just yet.

 The figure returned, walking in her line of sight, only to turn back out of it. It didn’t take long for her to understand that it was pacing quickly from one end of the dining room to the other where it would disappear around the wall and return seconds later; its body language agitated and fidgety. 

Yoongi cursed, and she heard Jungkook’s garbled voice trying to shout something to her. 

“I don’t have my light.” Y/n could barely hear her own voice it was so quiet, and she hoped they still could by pressing the microphone as close as she could to her lips without touching it. She had surely lost all of Jungkook’s trust, she lamented to herself. What a fool she has made of herself. 

Whoever was in the other room had started muttering to themselves, their breath coming out labored around the sharpness of their words. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she could tell that they were upset, and that made her terror only grow. She couldn’t stay on the phone, it was too risky–they were going to find her, and she was going to have to run. There was no other choice. 

“Hurry please, someone is here.” Y/n begged, and before he could respond she hung up. If she waited at all, or gave any of their voices time to pierce through her mounting resolve she would stay stuck in her spot, using the sounds of their breathing like a security blanket of delusion that it would do enough to keep her safe. But it wouldn’t. 

Y/n could now make out the sound of the spirit’s rushed and clumsy footsteps dragging back and forth across the wooden floors, picking up speed and slowing when they would turn to retrace their steps. The muttering grew more frantic, and its volume increased–surpassing agitated and skyrocketing into twisted mania and fury. Y/n struggled to swallow, and knew she was going to have to make a decision on when to run, but the thought of her lost friend held her back from fleeing each time the figure vanished behind the wall. 

Jin, where are you? Y/n pleaded in her mind that he was alright, and had simply gone to the bathroom or to one of the guest rooms to lay down. But why hadn’t he woken her up? Why hadn’t he said something? 

“But as for someone else near you, the smell of death is quite strong–someone at your table perhaps? I’d know your onions if I were you.” 

No. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes that threatened to leak salt streams of fear down her cheeks. That was a lie. Jin has to be okay. 

The person pacing back and forth groaned in frustration, and she saw them bring their hands up to their head to cover their own ears and their steps got faster as a result, blazing lines into the floor as they darted back and forth. Y/n made up her mind in that moment that there were only seconds left before this thing erupted into something more; her gut and her senses buzzing with alarm bells, and her nose picking up the first few whiffs of rot. 

There was movement outside on the grass, and Y/n let herself have one delusion to keep herself sane (funny way the human mind works, isn’t it?)–and let herself believe that it was Jin. Y/n knew that this was her moment, and tracked the figures next turn and watched it vanish for a second behind the dining room wall, timing how long it took for it to come back into her sight and turn. Two seconds. Y/n shook out her hands that had finally regained feeling, wiping the dampness from her eyes on her shorts. Two seconds will have to do, she reluctantly noted. 

When it turned and started its trail back behind the wall, she leapt to her feet and bolted for the sunroom door, ripping it open and throwing herself down the few wooden steps to the grass and taking off towards a broad shouldered figure bent forward at the waist to inspect something in the grass. Y/n could hear the figure from the kitchen thundering into the sunroom, its voice layered with a thick accent in a language she couldn’t discern at the moment–but she didn’t care. Not when Jin was coming into view, and alive. 

“Jin!” Y/n called out for him, the tears from before returning in an overwhelming sense of relief. 

As she approached him, he rose to his full height and Y/n grayed in horror when as the distance lessened, no features became distinguishable on his face: there were no plush lips and no warm brown eyes to look down at her. Just a dark shadowy figure. Y/n kicked up grass and left divots in the dirt below it in the wake of her feet finding enough of a hold to stop her trajectory forward–but she was going too fast. She collided with the figure, the shadows licking at her skin with icy tendrils where two calloused and freezing hands gripped at her shoulders and held her in place. Y/n bit back a scream and tried to shake the hands off of her to no avail. 

“Get off me!” Y/n’s hands disappeared through their torso when she tried to push them away. Though it did not verbally respond, the shadowy figure that held her shoved her to the side, stepping in front of her and towards the speedy inhuman figure that pursued her from the sun room. Y/n watched as the tall figure in front of her pulled something long and slender from his back to hold at eye level. 

A gun. 

A gun that was pointed directly at the rapidly approaching dark figure from the kitchen.

Y/n’s hands clamped down on her ears and crouched low to the ground to mute a deafening bang that rang from above, splitting the figure from the guest house into two wispy halves. The spirit howled out in agony, the sound almost just as tumultuous as the gunshot–then he was no more. Y/n watched both halves dissolve into dusty, weightless, particles and fall to the grass where the demonic figure had just been a second before. Gone. 

The remaining figure in front of her lowered the gun and turned his head to nod at her, using one hand to point at the woods behind her frantically, only stopping when she turned her head to look to where he was gesturing wildly to with a slow and uncertain turn of her head.

From the direction in which he pointed, two more dark outlines of men emerged from the treeline, these two varying in height and build. They ran up to where Y/n was crouched, peering down at her with similarly featureless faces, and the taller one of the two took both cold hands and lifted her to her feet, waving at her with what could only be read as excitement. 

Y/n blinked at the shadowy man, her ears still ringing from the gunshot and the scream. Something in the way he held his hands up to her face and tilted his head with an air of innocent youth brought forth another image. An image from the woods outside the historical society, and an uncannily similar shadow figure tiptoeing behind her. Y/n gasped, her hands falling from her ears to muffle the sound. 

It was the same indecipherable man from before–the shadow from the historical building that had followed her and Jungkook.  

“Tree man?!” Y/n breathed through her hands, the sound warped by the press of her fingers.  

The shorter one (not tree man) grabbed at her forearm, and cold sensation coated her hand that they enveloped in a shadowy one of their own giving one firm tug in the direction of the treeline. Y/n tried to pull her arm away but stopped; Tree man tapped her arm to give her a thumbs up that held too much enthusiasm than Y/n found appropriate for the situation they were in, but nonetheless the effects were reassuring–at least slightly so. 

Tree man faced forwards to the first figure, and reached up over his own shoulder to unholster his own musket, juggling with parts of it she couldn’t see and jerking his head to the side in the same direction his shorter friend was trying to lead her to. 

Y/n didn’t need any other convincing to hightail it out of there–not when she could see the ground pulsating with an ever growing dark mass where the other ghost had vanished, whispers of his anguished mutterings spewing from it like a pit of souls. 

Y/n spun on her heels and sped off towards the path, her hand in the hold of the shorter spirit. She glanced back, catching the tallest shadow man perching his gun on his shoulder again in preparation for the return of the demon, sidling up next to Tree Man in uniform position. It was almost funny that now with something else completely taking over her fear, she didn’t think twice as she barrelled through the brush with a potentially dangerous spirit and onto the dirt path, her mind focusing only on finding her friends and getting the hell out of there. 

Y/n pumped her arms and legs with fervor to keep up with the short ghost’s agile speed as he weaved the two of them through the complete blackness of the woods, trusting in the way he appeared to know exactly where they were going. Her eyes caught the faraway glare of a flashlight–a gleeful swell of hope pooling between her struggling lungs and throwing herself to accelerate forwards blindly in search of catching another glimpse of it. When the glares turned into tiny bouncing balls of white light Y/n held her free arm up and shouted out to them from down the trail as loud as she could with what little breath she had. 

“It’s me! I’m right here!” 

There was a chorus of distant shouting, and her legs nearly gave out in relief when she recognized each one of the voices calling back to her as her friends. As the lights grew closer, she could make out the familiar shape of Jungkook charging ahead of the other two, and Y/n wanting nothing more than to be scolded by them because at least it meant she was with them and not lost in some hazed mess in an entanglement of spirits back at the guest house. 

The distance between them closed and she released the ghostly hand with no fight from the spirit, and hurtled herself towards Jungkook with what last of the power she had left in her, his arms already open to catch her fall. They collided with an audible noise, the wind knocking out from her lungs  an entirely acceptable trade off in her mind for being able to feel the warmth of his body radiating heat onto her cold skin. Y/n felt her teeth chattering–Had she been this cold the entire time? She had been too focused on fleeing to even notice that her skin was coated on goosebumps, or that her fingers were completely numb. 

Jungkook held her close, his eyes trained on the figure that had guided her here with a leering glare. Yoongi and Namjoon filed in next to them, exhausted and out of breath. Yoongi’s wild eyes fixated on her face, and Y/n watched his muscles make their move to bathe the helpful spirit in light from his flashlight. Y/n freed one arm from Jungkook’s hold and waved it in front of the beam of light as best she could, some of it spilling between her fingers and streaking across the spirit’s figure.

“Stop! They helped me!” Y/n cried out desperately, the figure raising a hand of its own to shield the light from its face. 

Yoongi directed the beam towards the ground, his shoulders still heaving and his eyes raging with a strong emotion she couldn’t read. For a moment it was just the sounds of the night, and their heavy gasps for air while they were at a standstill with the figure. 

“Who are you?” Jungkook grit through his teeth, the whites of his eyes swallowed whole by his stabbing glare. “Show me who you are.” 

The figure faltered forwards, as if tugged by an invisible rope towards Jungkook. He dug his heels in and scrambled a few steps back to try and fight the magnetic draw of Jungkook’s words, glancing over his shoulder and back to the four of them he hastily surrendered both hands up into the air with a skittish shrug. Jungkook stiffened and opened his mouth to speak, but Yoongi beat him to the punch.

“Do you even know your own name?” 

The figure inched his hands back down to his sides, letting them fall against his legs with a somber shake of his shadowy head. 

Yoongi grunted out a sigh and wiped at his brow, the release of breath doing nothing to soothe the tension radiating from him. “He’s harmless.” Proving his point, he shined over shadow with his flashlight to find him immune to the effects of the light. “A soldier.” Yoongi licked his lips and pocketed the flashlight, gesturing to the figure with his chin. “You can go.” 

The figure held up one hand in a grateful salute and followed Yoongi’s order, whirling back down the path whence they came to the guest house. They watched him dissipate into the darkness through the beam of Yoongi’s flashlight, and Y/n felt the shake of her knees threatening to give way, gripping onto Jungkook tighter. Namjoon came up on their right side, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder blades to which Y/n threw one of her arms over Namjoon to siphon more heat into her clammy skin.

“No more guest house.” Yoongi declared with a huff and kicked a rock with vengeance, watching it sail into the tree line and clamber out of sight. 

_________________________________________

Y/n stumbled along the now lit dirt path, her one side tucked tightly against a steely Jungkook, and her other hand squeezed between Namjoon’s fingers.  Yoongi strode in front of them, invisible steam still seeping from the top of his head and into the air and his shoulders were still scrunched up towards his ears while he took it upon himself to light the way ahead of them all. 

Y/n felt terrible for stressing them out the way she had–the only way she seemed to be able to anymore. But she couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks at the thought of Jin’s voice that had lulled her to sleep, or his sweet smiles.  It was unlike her to leave anyone behind–she hadn’t even gone in to look for him–she had only thought of herself. 

“Jin,” Her mouth worked on its own accord, her voice croaking out from between her lips and into the heavy air that surrounded them. “We need to find Jin. I just left him there–I need to-”

“-You didn’t leave him anywhere.” Yoongi spun on his heels, his tone cutting. “Jin left you as far as I’m concerned.” 

Y/n stilled, causing Jungkook to stop with her. “He wouldn’t have if he had known better. Something is wrong back there and he might still be out there alone.” 

“His fault.” Yoongi grunted, starting forwards again. 

“No it isn’t.” Y/n admonished, refusing to take any further steps forward. “He could be hurt. Think about what Bea told me Yoongi!” 

“We can’t trust everything every ghost says. We need to get you to bed before you pass out.” Yoongi didn’t stop even though he knew she wasn’t following. 

“You can’t be serious!” Y/n turned to Namjoon and Jungkook for aid, imploring them to back her up. “He can’t be serious!” 

But neither of them could bring themselves to look at her. Y/n felt a few more tears drip from her chin, and used her hand that was conjoined with Namjoon’s to furiously wipe them away. 

“We don’t leave anyone behind. Ever. We stick together, remember?” Y/n weakly called back up to Yoongi’s distantly retreating figure, her shouts making him freeze mid-step. Yoongi coiled in, pulling taught with an inhale like a poised hunter, waiting to strike. He snapped into motion with his exhale, whirling back to stride towards her with purposeful steps.  

“We aren’t kids anymore Y/n. This isn’t play time with Uncle Bear–This is real shit.” He took one finger and pointed at the darkness behind Y/n, down the path towards the house. “No one gets left behind? I think Jin forgot the memo. Because the last we saw of him on the way here, was him getting into a car at the front of the estate, dodging any questions Namjoon threw at him of your whereabouts and driving off into the night with one of his best buddies.” 

“No…” Y/n launched herself into denial, her lungs constricting in on themselves like they were getting stuck together with every exhale, and every inhale ripped them apart with a painful spasm. “Who did he go with?” 

“Who do you think?” Yoongi hissed through his teeth. “Hoseok Jung.”

The world spun around her–or maybe it was her that was spinning–she couldn’t tell. What she could tell was that her stomach was lurching dangerously, and the nausea that had held her in a chokehold before had made its return. The ground approached her quickly, and Y/n barely managed to crawl a foot to the left to avoid hurling on any of her friends' shoes. 

“Yoongi–that’s enough.” Namjoon reprimanded the shorter one in front of him, and rushed to rub comforting circles on Y/n’s shoulder blades. “She’s been through enough tonight.” 

Namjoon turned his words to Y/n penetrating her peripheral with a fixed worried stare. “He’s not mad at you Y/n, I promise.  He’s angry with them–we all are. But first and foremost we just want to get you home safe, okay?” He raised his tone to a volume loud enough for Yoongi to hear and then some. “And we aren’t going to take out our anger on anyone that doesn’t deserve it, right?”

Yoongi slid his eyes closed with a sigh, regarding Y/n’s pathetic look at him from over her shoulder, and Namjoon’s heated glare. Jungkook remained silent; as wooden as a puppet while he stood motionless where she had left him. 

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi submitted softly and pressed his tongue against his cheek, his dark eyes glistening vaguely in the reflecting light of his flashlight. He abruptly turned with a clear of his throat, and started forward again. “We need to get you home. You should sleep.” 

The remainder of their trek was silent, save for Y/n’s occasional sniffle or Namjoon’s concerned voice checking in on her in hushed whispers. Once the estate had come into view, Yoongi separated from the rest of them, his head kept low while he rounded the back of the estate to enter through the back door while the rest of them entered through the front. 

Forcing Jungkook to let her enter the Estate and walk up the stairs with only Namjoon was like trying to bend hot metal with her bare hands, but he relented with the promise that he could come check on her before bed once he had gotten himself settled; only responding to any and all comments with single words or shakes of his head. 

All Y/n could think of as Namjoon guided her up the stairs was how terribly she had messed up that night–with Yoongi, with Jungkook…

With Jin. 

She couldn’t even say his name in her head without wanting to cry. She couldn’t fathom that he would have left her behind on purpose. But then the more Y/n thought about it–the more things fell into place. 

Jin always requested to spend time with her on days they conveniently planned to try something new–or push a new boundary spiritually. There would’ve been no way he could’ve done that on purpose. No way he would have known their plans ahead of time. 

“They’re listening to me. I’m sorry.” 

Jimin’s note crashed through her thoughts, spinning through her brain like a tornado–sucking up everything that she knew and spitting it out into mismatched and jumbled theories and conjectures. 

The night when Hoseok and Jin returned from a mystery outing with her mother; The way Hoseok had clearly lied at lunch about his whereabouts; Jin’s impeccable timing on wanting to spend time with her; Hoseok dancing with her while her mother whisked Roland away; and so many other “coincidences” she could spiral herself into if she wanted to–though they all led back to the same conclusion: they had to be working together to cover up whatever mess she had made. They had to be listening, she  just couldn’t piece together the how. 

“Here we are,” Namjoon sighed, pushing open her door for her and steering her into it. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” The smile he gave her said everything she needed to know–that he had already come to the same conclusion, and that he was doing his best to keep everything together with a solid hold; the foundation beneath the crumbling walls of everyone else’s processing.

God she loved him. 

“Yeah.” Y/n murmured, stumbling to her closet and pulling out whatever was closest to her. Y/n didn’t care if he was still in the room with her, tugging off her shirt and pulling on her t-shirt swiftly. They were adults, and could handle it. 

Her sleep shorts were tugged on and she tossed her old ones haphazardly into her hamper as she passed it on the way to her bathroom, catching sight of Namjoon bent to inspect her plants in a covert way of offering her privacy.  He followed her into the bathroom, hovering in the door frame and watching her lazily scrub at her teeth, before she moved onto washing her face. 

“We will figure this out, okay?” Namjoon broke the silence, convincing both her and himself with his words. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Y/n didn’t have it in her to say anything else, and buried her face into a soft towel. Her friends might have been betraying her this entire time, and she was dumb enough to let them.

“Christ!” Namjoon leapt into the air as Jungkook rounded the corner to stand next to him in her bathroom doorway, having forfeited knocking and moved to letting himself in. Jungkook didn’t react to his startled outburst, keeping his face still as stone and his eyes distant while he observed the scene.  

“I’ll let you two be.” Namjoon resigned himself, his hands sliding into his pockets. “If you need me for anything Y/n, I’ll be here.” 

“Same to you. They are your friends too.” Y/n returned, dropping the towel and moving to take him in a hug meant to comfort the both of them. Y/n felt his shoulders shake beneath her hold, if only unnoticeably so, and he squeezed her back just as tightly. 

“Yeah,” He breathed, “They were.” Namjoon untangled himself from her hold, and kept his face turned away from hers while he made his way to her door, making his exit quickly.

Y/n could feel Jungkook’s eyes still boring into her, and she readied herself for the impact of his scolding–whatever it was, she deserved it. She turned to face him, leaning herself against her bathroom counter to leave less than a foot between them and face him head on. 

“Whatever you want to say–say it now.” Y/n held her hands out in surrender. “I know. I fucked up.” She took one hand and counted off her sins for him, her voice growing more hoarse with each itemized bullet she was giving him to throw at her. “I forgot the flashlight, I was by myself, I didn’t think things through, I trusted a ghost of all things-”

Jungkook lunged forwards, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head, guiding it to his shoulder and the other wound his arm across her middle to squash her against him with crushing force. 

“Stop.” His voice was much flatter than she expected, far from the anger filled wrath she anticipated.  

Y/n welcomed to embrace, returning the gesture with her arms clawing around his middle to grasp at the back of his t-shirt. “Why aren’t you yelling at me? Please yell at me–do something. Anything.” She begged, his distance hurting more than any scolding could. 

“I thought you were dead.” The dam broke with a broken whisper, and he trembled against her. “I thought I was going to have to find your body somewhere.” If it was even possible, his admission had him pressing her to him tighter than before, desperate to feel her heartbeat and her breath against his skin. “And then when we found you, you were so fucking cold–I couldn’t tell if you were a ghost.”

Y/n felt as though a hole had been punched through her chest, carving out everything it could to find a grasp on his words. “I’m so sorry.” Y/n sobbed, one of her arms coming up to card through the hair on the back of his head, imitating the way he held her to him. 

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.” He spat out the words with soaked venom, and she felt two droplets drip onto the side of her neck. Then another. And another. “It’s them.”

Jungkook didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night, and Y/n didn’t want him to.  They had tucked him into a makeshift bed on the floor next to her own, thrown together with extra blankets from the hall closet and shoved as closed to the edge of her mattress as they could get it. Y/n’s arm was hanging down the side of her bed, securely tucked between Jungkook’s fingers and his cheek while they both stared absentmindedly with glassy eyes into the darkness of her room; him on his back and her on her stomach. 

“They aren’t going to do this to you anymore.” Jungkook muttered from the floor, her eyes flitting down to stare at his face. “I won’t let them.” He looked up at her with pure rage simmering beneath the surface of his irises–hot and biting. “I promise.” 

With Jungkook’s slow and steady breathing next to her, and his real hand slotted in hers, any haunting images of the beast from the kitchen or the figures from the woods were kept at bay. Eventually the two of them managed to slip into a restless sleep with only a few hours until sunrise.

_________________________________________

Y/n was hungry. That much she was certain. 

Anything else? Don’t ask–because she wouldn’t have an answer. 

It was late Saturday morning, an appropriate foggy mist settling over the grounds that occasionally found itself sliced through down the middle by rays of sun that crept through thick layers of harmless cloud. 

Namjoon had prepped the batch of tea they were supposed to use the day prior for this afternoon–where Yoongi had decided that if evenings were going to be so complicated, they might as well try to make use of her mother’s absence by trying out a session while the sun was still up (more or less with today's weather, but the point still stands). Nothing would stop them this time–absolutely nothing. Not when the stakes had risen that much higher after the scene at the guest house. For the only thing Y/n had left to do before Namjoon finished up a few last minute tasks at the green house while Yoongi handled an A/C emergency at the hotel, was to simply find something to eat. Only there was one problem. 

Yoongi was–as explicitly stated–at the hotel; Namjoon was working at the green house for a couple of extra hours that he had hoped to take uninterrupted; and Jungkook was getting in a much needed gym session to work through the remaining tension and stress of the previous night, with the promise to be back as soon as possible. Thus leaving her with no way to satiate her impatient stomach. 

Whatever time Jungkook was to return, wasn’t soon enough. She was starving–no dinner and no breakfast, coupled with a traumatic experience and life altering news? Yeah, she was rolling the dice for whether or not she was about to shoot off into a rocket with the only possible destination being the beginning of a manic episode. Which while great for productivity, would not be great for her physically or spiritually. 

Y/n texted their group chat with her thoughts, feeling more like a toddler than a grown woman for having to ask to eat–but it was better than running into the beast from before or any other demon that would choose to crawl from the cracks and stomp after her. She tried to will the time to pass faster (which never worked, but it was worth a shot) by getting herself dressed and ready in clothes that were easy to move around in, but comfortable. The sound of someone approaching her door had her all but skipping over to open it–her excitement dropping like a vase crashing to the floor and shattering into little pieces at her feet; the same feeling of anger and desolation at the sight of more fucking peonies. 

Y/n huffed, grabbing them from the floor and tossing them carelessly onto her desk with the pile from the day prior and talking out into the empty room and hall, leaving her door open for the mystery culprit to hear. “Alright, this isn’t funny anymore. Whoever is doing this–I got the message, thank you for the flowers but I’m going to run out of space.” 

Nothing. 

Nothing except shoes scuffling on the carpeted stairs and rounding the landing to approach her hall.

Taehyung came shuffling around the corner, a paper bag swinging over his arm that held a cup of coffee up to his lips, his head bent to take in the screen of his phone and keep the straw lodged between his teeth for quick and easy access. 

Freedom, both Y/n and her stomach thought gleefully. 

“Hey!” Y/n waved at him from her doorstep, being sure to keep her feet within her door frame. 

Taehyung perked up at the sound of her voice, his lips releasing his straw to give her an inviting smile. “Morning–or I guess good afternoon.” He chuckled. 

“Morning, what are you up to?” Y/n tried to sound nonchalant like she wasn’t just talking to thin air, and also internally praying to the universe that he hadn’t gotten anything to eat from the cafe and would be open to taking her down to the kitchen for something. 

“Needed some caffeine–had a bit of a rough night of sleep.” He scrunched his nose as he approached his own door, stopping to face her. “You?” 

“Oh–nothing interesting over here. I only just woke up not too long ago myself.” She laughed nervously, moving to prop a foot up against the back of her knee and leaning all of her weight on the doorframe. “Would you perchance want to go grab something to eat together?”  

“Perchance?” Taehyung laughed around his straw, and took another sip to hide the growing smirk. “I would love to, but I did just have a pastry from the cafe so I don’t have that much of an appetite for a big meal.” 

Y/n’s face visibly fell, and her stomach let out a similar cry of its own. “Oh.” 

He bit his lip over a boxy smile, his eyes flickering from her stomach to her disappointed pout. “If you wanted to spend time with me that badly, you could’ve just asked.” 

Y/n’s face grew warm, and she rushed to defend herself. “I didn’t–I mean I want to I just wasn’t trying to–” 

“It’s alright.” Taehyung held the paper bag up for her to see, and gave it a gentle shake. “Luckily for you, I brought extra back for seconds.” He twisted open the door handle to his room and gestured into it with his chin. “Care to join me?” 

Y/n started forward, but paused. If Namjoon wasn’t enough to keep the demon from the basement away, who's to say Taehyung was? But she couldn’t resist the invitation, she was human after all–and her stomach was threatening a coup on both her insides and mental state if their ransom demands weren’t to be met. And after her events from last night , she could feel herself tipping into foolish carelessness from being so close to the safety of her room–she had much better chances here than having to run through the woods in the dark.

“One sec!” Y/n called back to him, rushing back into her room to tuck one of her flashlights into her jogger pockets and her phone in the other. She practically leapt across the hall between their doors to slip into his room, missing the questioning raise of his brow at her antics. He left the door of his room cracked slightly behind him as he entered, and moved to drop the bag of pastries onto his dresser. 

He had kept his room close to the original design she noted: red ornate wallpaper, a dark and heavy solid wooden bed frame that was older than any of the children on the property, but a new mattress lay with a vintage floral comforter in creams, oranges, pinks and reds to match a sizable old painting hung on the back wall that–forget the kids, was older than anyone that was still within the land of the living on the property. The two end rooms sandwiched in the middle of the estate were more narrow than the rest, the shapes reminiscent of what a true house from the 1800’s looked like: narrow and tight fitting with an even smaller bathroom and closet than most of the other available rooms. Why he chose one so small when there were still a handful of bigger ones available, she couldn’t know. 

However if there was one thing she could pinpoint about Taehyung, it’s that everything from his music taste, style, and interests were what she could describe as classic and vintage; so it was no wonder he kept the room mostly the same as it had been when G-min had lived in it before him. The past lived on with Taehyung, and she had to admire his effort to stick to his aesthetic, noting the choices of antique furniture he must’ve dug out from the basement or attic to suit his personal tastes.  

“I grabbed a few extra, so take your pick.” Taehyung tossed his brown coat over a skinny coat rack that had a few nicks in the varnish from age. 

Y/n felt little embarrassment in doing as she was told, poking around the bag at what he had to offer, settling on perching a fruit tart on her palm and looking around for some place to sit. Her eyes landed on the thick wooden chair snuggled up against the wooden desk, and back to Taehyung. 

“Is it okay if I sit there?” 

“Hmm?” He looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded. “Wherever you’d like to sit is fine by me.” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, a playful smirk threatening to erupt on his face only held back by a bite of his lower lip as he moved to say something else but stopped himself–finding it best he didn’t. Y/n shrugged it off, and focused back in on her saving grace, the light in a dark tunnel: food. 

The first bite was well worth the risk of coming over here in her opinion, a small sigh of relief being pulled from her system when the flavor burst across her taste buds, laying a balm over her hyperactive mind. Content with munching on the edges first, she barely registered Taehyung coming up to her side, his loose fitting emerald green sweater brushing over her shoulder as he reached over her side jolting her to notice his close presence. His hands fiddled with a weathered record player that took up the corner of his desk, and dropped the arm carefully down onto the record he had played last, not bothering to put a new one down onto the turntable. 

Y/n’s phone buzzed in tandem with the first blow of the gravelly trumpet from the speakers, a text from Jungkook asking if she could wait twenty more minutes for him to get back and shower. She responded with a simple thumbs up and shoved it back into her pocket, not wanting to come off as rude or disinterested in the man before her who had turned to perch himself on the edge of his bed, their knees practically touching with how close the desk was to his bed. 

“How have you been? I haven’t gotten to see you around as much this week.” Y/n braved the first question, the urge to both genuinely check in on him and to have him be the one talking so she could continue taking bites of her pastry. 

“I should be asking you that question.” Taehyung tilted the top of his cup towards her, but seemed to eye the way she scarfed down the sweet treat and relented his answer first. “I’ve been alright. Worked on some setlists, went into town to help Jimin pick out a nice outfit for this weekend and for a few other things…otherwise I’ve just been here, practicing.” He shrugged, giving her a coy smile. “How’s that pretty head of yours?” 

Y/n choked on the last bite she had just managed to push into her mouth, and beat her chest a few times to help ease it down her throat. “I-It’s fine. Thank you.” She averted her eyes to stare mindlessly at the painting above his bed. 

“Good to hear. Did you go see someone about it?” Taehyung remained passive and friendly, but the question felt intentional if the way he plucked at the paper edge of his lid was anything to go by. 

“I did, my mom ended up taking me. They said everything seemed alright–though I might have to go get imaging and shit done.” Y/n rolled her eyes with a dry chuckle. “Whatever, as long as my mom pays for it.” 

“You don’t think you should?” One of his eyebrows quirked up ever so slightly and he teethed at the edge of his straw. He gestured for the paper back with the two remaining pastries in it with a beckoning hand.  

Y/n shook her head, holding the bag out for him to take. “No–I don’t see the point. There’s never been a reason to go get anything checked.” 

“Until this past weekend, you mean.” Taehyung corrected, and looked up at her from over the edge of the bag, pulling out a chocolate croissant and putting away half of it in one oversized bite. 

“Yeah, until this past weekend.” Y/n scratched at her ear awkwardly at her own slip up, and tilted her head to get lost in the way the vinyl spun, reflecting the light from his window on the grooves. 

Taehyung grunted around his second bite, only a small portion of the flakey pastry left in his fingers. He chewed a few times, and brought his other hand up to wipe away a small dot of chocolate on his nose only to smear it across the surface to make a much more noticeable stain. “That’s a good enough reason in my opinion. You don’t want to fuck around with your head.” 

“I guess so…” Y/n watched him toss the last small piece into his mouth and try to wipe at the chocolate again only to miss it entirely, her eyes unable to look away from the growing spot. 

“You guess so? You went down pretty hard in there.” He scoffed, grabbing a napkin to dab at it yet still somehow missing. 

“Were you there? I hadn’t seen you–” Y/n couldn’t watch him struggle any longer, pulling the napkin from his hand and leaning forwards, “–let me get it please.” She graced one hand along the edge of his jaw to hold his face still while the other rubbed at the spot, swiping it from his face and onto the napkin with a gentle hand. 

She hadn’t realized how close her impulsive action had brought them, their faces only inches apart and her fingers still pressing into the side of his face forcing them closer in proximity. Y/n slowly brought the napkin down between them and hastily let go of his jaw. 

“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have done that without asking.” Y/n didn’t pull herself away from his entrancing gaze–a contradiction to her words–and neither did he.  

Taehyung licked his lips, his eyes flitting down to look at her mouth and back up to her eyes so quickly Y/n had thought she had missed it. He didn’t lean in any further, but kept them locked in an intimate stare far longer than Y/n would’ve normally found comfortable. But lately she hadn’t felt normal. 

“Would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow morning? At the cafe?” Taehyung's voice was silky, the baritone tone rattling up from his chest and to her ears like sweet molasses. 

Y/n didn’t trust her voice to speak, settling for a few nods in its place.

Lithe, heavy-shoed, steps drew her back from his orbit and Y/n caught a glimpse of red pass by the crack in his door, stopping at her own. 

“Y/n?” Yoongi’s gravelly voice called softly for her, and she heard his heavy work boots stop outside her door.

“Sorry Tae, I have to go–Can I call you Tae? Sorry I’m a mess today.” Y/n scrambled to her feet at the same time that he did, their bodies engaging in an awkward shuffling dance in order to let her roam towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow If I don’t get to see you before your show?” 

Taehyung chuckled, his eyes furrowing in humored befuddlement and his cheeks flushed lightly while he tipped his cup in her direction as a goodbye. “Yes you can–and same to you. See you tomorrow.” 

Y/n whisked herself out of his door, praying that he would keep his mouth shut to everyone else  about just who exactly had come looking for her. His door clicked shut behind her and she came up right behind Yoongi, giving him only seconds to adjust to her arrival. 

“Where were you?” He pressed, arms crossing over his chest where he still hovered outside her open door. “You’re lucky I came to look for you first and not the kid.” 

“I was with Taehyung, he had offered me a sweet treat and my poor empty stomach and I simply could not refuse.”  Y/n gave a sheepish shrug of her shoulders, and clasped her hands in front of her in prayer. “Please don’t tell the other two–they’ll kill me for leaving the room before any other ghost will.” 

“Hmmm I don’t know…What’s in it for me to lie?” He looked at her expectantly, a ghost of humor passing over his features. 

“My undying loyalty?” Y/n tried, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. 

“Boring.” Yoongi flicked her forehead, the surface of her skin tingling where they touched. “Try harder.” 

“Ugh.” Y/n brought her hand up to run her fingers along the sore spot. “I’m still recovering technically, that could've set me back you know.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Yoongi scoffed, and started down the hall. “Think of a better argument and I’ll think about keeping your illicit affairs with our neighbor a secret.” 

“It wasn’t like that!” Y/n whined, following him out the door into the hall. “I swear–you always make assumptions about me and anyone I’m alone with that isn’t you.” 

“It’s not an assumption if I can see it written all over you. Psychic remember?” Yoongi tapped his temple, and signaled for her to wait at the end of the hall. “I’ll head down to the dining room first and watch you come down just out of view of the cameras. I’ll be right there, just give it thirty seconds or so.” He pointed down to the foyer, and started in the direction he gestured to. Y/n felt her anxiety prick at the back of her throat, making it feel tight to swallow and the hall suddenly felt wider and far longer than she remembered. She couldn’t help but imagine the demon lurking just out of sight around each corner, and wondered what had gotten into Yoongi to even think about leaving her alone for thirty seconds after last night's escapades. 

The top of Yoongi’s head stayed in view, giving her enough of an anchor to pull herself out of another spiral with the last thing he had said to her coming to the front of her mind. Could he really see how jumbled her feelings had become for her friends? Why did that concept make her feel more nervous than her discussion with Namjoon had? The seconds ticked by to thirty signaling Y/n to start her descent, and his eyes never left her movements as she walked from the landing to the dining room, just out of view of the cameras like he had promised. 

“You still hungry, or did I catch you too late?” Yoongi smirked, obviously picking up on her increased embarrassment from his earlier blunt observation. 

“No, I could definitely still eat something.” Y/n licked her lips, ready to devour the first full meal in sight. 

“What are you in the mood for? We could wait here for lunch, or get something from the Adelaide–even go into town?” Yoongi asked, shifting his eyes from the front door to the kitchen. 

Y/n snorted. “Eat here? Yeah right–Mom may be out of town but she’ll still find out somehow.” She squinted up at him curiously, eyeing his relaxed features. “What’s up with you? You seem much happier than your texts make you seem…”

Yoongi shrugged and licked his lips, quirking a flirtatious brow in her direction. “I get to see you. Isn’t that reason enough? Now make your decision.” 

Y/n scrunched her face and released a few nervous chuckles, taken off guard by Yoongi’s blunt verbal affection but complying either way–swinging her arms back and forth at her sides in thought. Y/n had just landed on her decision to just go with the easiest option, partly because of respecting Yoongi needed to get back to work and partly because it meant having her meal in less time than it would take if they went into town. Visions of the rice bowls from the Adelaide lunch menu came to the forefront of her mind and left just as swiftly when Yoongi grabbed her wrist with urgency, his wide-eyed gaze fixed over her shoulder on something in the foyer.  

“Run.” He hissed, tugging her swiftly from the dining room and through the kitchen doors without even giving her a chance to see just what had garnered such a reaction. Not that she cared to anyways. 

Y/n could barely keep up with his unforgiving speed, hauling her behind him out into the hall, the doors of the ballroom whizzing by in a blur. Y/n stole a frantic glance over her shoulder, but could see nothing with her own eyes. Alternatively, he ears happened to pick up on another set of heavy footsteps pounding after them, the glass panels from the ballroom doors reflecting snippets of something broad and dark hot on their tail. 

Yoongi turned them sharply down the hall to their right hand side, and kicked them forward  to barrel through the entrance of the living room. Whoever was pursuing them didn’t falter, if anything their steps grew more prominent, and more if this world than that of spirits. They weaved in and out of the couches, armchairs, and end tables, and leaped over the stack of brightly colored bean bags that toppled over each other by the backdoor. They blew through it in seconds, and Y/n managed another look over her shoulder as they tumbled out onto the back porch, only a glitching image of a tall masculine frame visible for nothing but half seconds at a time. He blinked rapidly in and out of her vision, none of the flashes suspending in time long enough for her to see any defining features. Y/n cast a nervous glance down at her feet, only covered by socks–there hadn’t been time to grab any shoes and her feet were going to get wet-

“Don’t stop!” Yoongi commanded, jolting Y/n back into motion where she had unknowingly stopped.  

They dashed across the yard, the grass still slippery from the overnight rainfall not enough to slow Yoongi down. They passed by the greenhouse, where a very confused Namjoon peeked out at the two of them from the window he had propped open. He opened his mouth to shout after her, but she hadn’t the time to listen to what any of the words meant let alone respond to them.

Yoongi didn’t let up, dragging her only faster to cross one of the small cobblestone side roads used only for residents and into the tree line–yet the mysterious pursuer didn’t seem to be following them any longer–no footsteps trailing after them. 

“Yoongi–slow down!” Y/n shouted up at him, struggling to catch her own breath. “I don’t see anyone following us!” 

He didn’t let up–if anything he squeezed her hand tighter within his own clammy hand, pulling her deeper into the damp trees and brush. Y/n twisted her wrist, his grip starting to hurt and her hand starting to feel like it was full of static from the lack of blood flow. She barely managed to shimmy it from his grasp and come to a tumbling stop. 

One moment Yoongi’s boots were hitting wet mud and the next they were completely still, sinking into the substrate beneath them and coming to a stop with breakneck speed. His black eyes were piercing through her, urging her forwards. 

“You need to run Y/n, they are coming.” Yoongi tried to grab for her again, but Y/n leapt out of reach–something in his face seemed off, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. 

“Who? Hadwin? The beast? Duane? Who?” Y/n demanded, subconsciously taking a step backwards. 

“I don’t know–you know I can’t see that well. Who cares who it is?” Yoongi spat, his frustration evident in the way the words shot from his lips like daggers. “Now come on–let’s go.” 

Yoongi made a second attempt at reaching for her, but Y/n took several steps away from him, backing away in the direction from which they came. She shook her head slowly, anxiety crawling up her throat making it feel tight. “No.” 

Y/n’s chest rose and fell quickly, and her eyes zeroed in on every part of him–his wildly messy black locks, his deep penetrating dark eyes, the familiar furrow of his brow–everything seemingly normal. She couldn’t understand why every cell in her body told her to do exactly as he said. To run. Just not with him, but away from him. 

“Y/n–Now isn’t the time for bullshit. We need to go, now.” He held fast, his jaw clenching in a clear show of self restraint. 

“To where?” Y/n asked breathlessly. 

Yoongi threw his hands up in exasperation, scoffing. “Does it matter? Anywhere but here!” He closed the distance between the two of them, forcefully grabbing her hand in his. Cold. His hand was cold. 

Before he could tug her forward Y/n grasped at straws for a question he would surely know the answer to, not willing to accept his lackluster roundabout answer. 

“What is your contact name?” Y/n took her hand from him again and swallowed her ragged breaths down, cradling her palm to her chest to warm the frigid temperatures that crept into her skin from his.

“Pardon?” He turned to face her slowly, utter disbelief pulling his brows into his hairline, rage simmering beneath the surface of his eyes. 

“In my phone. What is your contact name?” Y/n snapped back, the unease in her chest engulfing her nervous system into panic mode. 

Yoongi laughed–humorless and empty. There was no small hiccupping squeak in the back of his chest or visible gums creeping in on the edges. He trained his sharp stare on her, not like he was looking at her, but like he was calculating his next answer and her next move. “Is this a trick question?” 

The hair on Y/n’s arms rose in response to the iciness that seeped from every crevice of him, her voice coming out harsh and challenging. “If it’s such a stupid question, it must be easy to answer it.” 

It was at that moment–that terrible, stomach dropping moment–that Y/n saw the facade drop long enough for her to see through it. His lips curled up to show his teeth, pulling his nose into a scrunch like he had tasted something awful. The movement lasted only half a second, but it was something she had never seen him do even in childhood. The unconscious tick did not belong to him, and had slipped through while he thought of his answer. The action was foreign enough to make her arms feel disconnected from her torso as all other space to feel had been smothered by freight. 

“Yoongi. My contact name is Yoongi.” Yoongi’s eyes looked black. Not his deep brown eyes that swallowed all light, compacting each ray into flakes of gold that only appeared to those gifted the chance to be close enough–to those looking at just the right time when passing by him. Those were gone. 

A ray of sun slithered from a break in the gray clouds, shining down through the canopy of trees and scattering golden shapes over the dirt and their skin–only Yoongi’s looked spotted with gray where it touched. There was no lively glow. Y/n couldn’t bear looking at whoever stood in front of her for another second. This trickster, demon, mimic–whatever the hell it was–it wasn't Yoongi.

Y/n cut through the trees to her side, catching the mimic off guard for he had expected her to run back to the house, his long heavy strides starting in the direction they had come before registering her change of direction. Y/n could hear the trees rustling above her yet no birds, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, and the mimic’s stampeding steps following after her–wearing the sound of Yoongi’s breathing like a costume. It made Y/n sick. 

“Y/n, don’t be scared. It’s me, Yoongi.”  That voice; it scratched from his throat in a whirling mixture of Yoongi and monster–like he had gone M.A.D. “Just slow down.”

Y/n didn’t let his taunting words try to convince her of anything other than the truth, and pumped her legs faster across the uneven terrain. The mimic growled, appearing to be displeased by her lack of response. Y/n could see a part of the winding road that led to the front gates of the estate coming into view like a mirage in the desert, tipping her forward into a frenzy to get out of the uneven woods that clearly had no effect on the creature’s speed. 

“Don’t you love me still? Or have you already left me behind for someone else?” 

Y/n tripped onto the asphalt, catching herself on her tender palm that had just healed from her last encounter and tearing open the freshly formed scars. Y/n gasped at the sting but didn’t stop, lurching to her feet and running straight into the road. 

“Leave me alone! Yoongi would never say that!” Y/n screamed back at the haunting cackles of the mimic, still using a botched version of Yoongi’s voice over its own horrid scrape of vocal chords; like that would make her believe its terrible disguise after all the mistakes that have bled through the cracks during its attempts at camouflage already. 

The creature let out an ear splitting screech of victory–a cross between a yowling cat and a whistling train as it blew from his cheeks–the mimic had made it to the road and was gaining speed. Y/n wouldn’t be able to stay in the lead for long. There would only be one other option–because she was fucking tired of running. 

Y/n stopped, digging her heels into the road and skidding to a stop. The imitation Yoongi collided with her back, sending them both careening forwards and Y/n ducked at the contact; the momentum of his run sending him flying forward over her and onto the misty road below them. The blow did little to deter him, for he was able to spring up from his jumbled heap into a crouch at inhuman speed. 

“You can’t run from me–I am not of the living.” The mimic swung his fist in a spinning arc towards Y/n, and she dodged the movement just in time for him to throw another–this time landing the blow successfully into her stomach. 

Y/n bent forward from the force, the wind pulled from her lungs as her morning pastry threatened to make an unwelcomed reappearance. She hissed through clenched teeth, flames of wrath licking at her insides and pulling her upright by the sheer magnitude of its power. She was tired of being a punching bag. 

“Enough with all of you!” Y/n didn’t think–she just acted. She’d have to apologize to Jungkook later for her slip of mental control; because her fist collided with the side of the mimic's gray version of Yoongi’s face.

White hot pain seared through the bones of her hand, but she didn’t care. Not when she saw the image of Yoongi flicker, a glimpse of someone taller curling down in on itself to hunch to Yoongi’s height. 

“Sorry Yoongi.” Y/n hissed through her teeth, grabbing the ghosts shoulders and shoving him down to bring his face to meet her kneecap, extending her leg outwards to give him a kick in the chest for good measure. 

The mimic sprawled back onto the asphalt, shock exploding with bursts of black blood across his face. The surprise didn’t last long, his slackened jaw closing to beam up at her with an excited grin that pushed more black fluid from the corners of his mouth. 

“You are a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.” He cloaked his own voice with Yoongi’s eliciting more fury to pool in Y/n’s belly with each stolen syllable. 

“And you are all annoying.” Y/n readied herself for the mimic’s next move, planting her cold feet on the road while the creature pulled itself to its feet, giggling all the while like they were two children playing on the lawn. 

“Funny–because we all say the same of you lot. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” The mimic barreled towards her, dodging all of her hits with animalistic reflexes and trapping her arms at her side with an iron grip. He used his own forehead to smash into the back of her head, achieving his intended goal of disorienting her enough to push her down to the ground. 

The blow did no real lasting damage to him, the blood streaming from his nose black and thick as bothersome to him as a buzzing gnat, and he treated it with just as much disinterest when he wiped it onto his pants with the back of his hand. 

“You know, we tried to make this easy on you.” He straddled her back, one knee planted on either side of her torso. “We sent people who were much nicer than you deserved.” slotted his hands through the roots of her hair and dug into her skull, tugging her head sharply back at an angle to grab her chin with the other, leaning down to spit into her ear. “But now we need to play dirty–you’ve proven yourself quite the bug.” He summed, feigning a pensive moment of consideration as he wrenched her head from side to the other. “I’ll show you a bit of mercy by offering you a choice: Would you prefer to be smashed into the pavement or would a quick snap of the neck please you?” 

“Is that a trick question?” Y/n mumbled up at him, mocking the mimic’s previous choice of words. The distant sound of a rumbling engine made Y/n’s ears perk up, though she tried not to let the hop show across her features. She could practically hear the spirit roll its eyes at her response, and felt a thick liquid pool onto her shoulders and down her front where it gushed from his face. 

“Then I will make the choice for you.” He sighed, readying his arms to coil around her throat to hold her still. 

The car was coming closer–and rapidly. Y/n held her breath and just hoped it would be quick enough. 

“Now hold still. Unless you want me to have to do this twice.” He sibilated, bringing one leg up to steady his foot against the road, giving him the extra push he would need to make quick work of her neck. 

The car screeched to a halt behind them, and she heard Namjoon shouting her name, and over volant footsteps against the cobblestone. The creature above her snarled and constricted his elbow against her windpipe, the sensation all too familiar for Y/n’s liking. 

“Oh look, an audience. I always loved the chance to put on a good performance. It’s my specialty after all!” he howled with laughter as the steps grew closer. “He thinks he can stop me, but we all know he is much too we-” 

The creature's words were cut short, his weight was removed from torso and his arms wrenched from her neck. Y/n looked up as she gasped for breath, her forehead just missing a collision with the pavement in time to see them mimic eating his own words: Jungkook had him gripped by the collar of Yoongi’s work uniform, and pushed flat onto the pavement, raining down punches onto his face with sickening crunches. Namjoon skidded to halt, falling to his knees next to her, helping to guide her into a sitting position. 

“So much for having those few uneventful hours to ourselves, am I right?” Namjoon panted out, his large hand coming to rest against the back of her head, and coming back coated in black goop. 

“With us? Never.” Y/n shot back, equally as out of breath. 

Their attention was forcefully stolen by Jungkook’s wrestling match with the demo coming to pause, the pummeling sounds ceasing to exist. Any final waves of the creature’s laughter were silenced by Jungkook's fists, their pummeling force only stopping to hoist the mimic’s face up to his own, speaking to him through gritted teeth.

“Who. Are. You.” Jungkook grunted out through heaving breaths, shaking the creatures shoulders for good measure. “I command you to tell me.” 

The creature gargled out a few more snickers, though his confidence had faltered to a lesser degree of prominence than it had been moments before. “I’m your friend! See?” The creature’s eyes then widened into pure panic, pupils blown and his hands coming up to claw at Jungkook’s fingers, his voice and mannerisms a perfect imitation of Yoongi. 

“Please! Jungkook stop! It’s me–Yoongi!” He gasped out, spitting some of the blood onto the pavement next to him. “You’re going to kill me!” 

Jungkook hesitated, his grip tightening its hold in the cloth of his red jumpsuit and his jaw clenching. Jungkook shook his head, and pushed the figure down. “No.” 

The creature immediately dropped the act, finding it ineffective. “Fine. How about this one?” 

Y/n watched, unable to look away as Yoongi’s face melted–dripping away onto the pavement like hot wax, and disappearing with flourishes of steam. In its place, (s/c) flesh took its spot, and their eyes rolled back into terrified versions of her own. It was like looking in a mirror, only this mirror coated her reflection in black ectoplasm, and had a mind of its own. 

“Holy shit.” Namjoon swore next to her, vocalizing her internal sentiments. 

“Jungkook!” They used her own voice, the sound grating to Y/n’s ears and making her flush with how desperate the creature made her sound. 

“I should’ve trusted my mom–You’re hurting me just like she said you would!” The mimic used hands identical to her own to grapple for Jungkook’s looming face. “I’ll love you if you let me go. Please–I’ll do anything just let me go!” 

Jungkook was frozen in place, one fist suspended in mid air to take his next blow. Y/n wanted to scream at the creature for being so insufferable–for making moves so criminal she was genuinely worried Jungkook might lose. 

“Don’t listen to them!” Y/n shouted at him, one weak fist coming up into the air. “Kick their ass!” 

“No! Jungkook don-” 

Jungkook lifted the creature by the shoulders and slammed them back into the ground, the image of her face glitching out of view, replaced by flashes of a dark figure in between each flicker. All of their protests were knocked from their mouth, for Jungkook was ruthless; his fingers digging into the skin of the creatures shoulders, and sinking into the surface like it was softened butter. The flesh spiraled between the gaps of his fingers as he grunted, pushing them deeper into the creature in search of something solid to grip onto. 

Raw terror surged through the mimic’s face–not the imitation of hers or Yoongi’s–their own unadulterated fear as the realization of their impending defeat had set in. 

“You can’t! You are weak!” They tried to use Y/n’s voice, but could not seem to find the sound of it anymore, the raspy wheeze of a demon coming through. 

Jungkook’s fingers seemed to find what they were looking for, his forearms flexing with the strength it took to hoist it to the surface. The flesh of the mimic burst into a spray of black liquid, showering down upon his skin and his hair, staining his clothes; the fallout splattering over Y/n and Namjoon who were wholly unprepared for the explosion–their faces and arms coated in the substance. 

The dark shadow of a man was all that was left in Jungkook’s hold, their legs flailing in their frantic scrabble to free themselves from his hold. 

“Who are you?” Jungkook’s demand was unyielding, coercing the figure to let out a shout of defiance–but they could not stop the answer from displaying itself in front of their eyes. 

As if coerced by Jungkook’s command, the shadows melted away into swirling mist, scattering into the ground like frightful animals. In their wake, a fully visible man was left behind for all to see: tall and lanky, yes sunken in and black–gone like all of the other M.A.D ghosts on the property. His jaw was squared and strong, wider than the average man’s, and his mouth was black and decayed, his lips split directly down the center as if sliced vertically with a knife. 

Their throat contracted repeatedly, sounds trying to make themselves useful from his lips but found no proper order. That was until Jungkook asked again, lifting him closer to his face so they couldn’t avoid his prodding, all consuming eyes. 

“Tell me now. I won’t ask again.” 

“Cl-” The spirit started, unable to win the fight against Jungkook’s control. “Clay.” 

Y/n sat ramrod straight against Namjoon, the name ringing a bell of familiarity–but not finding a clear image of the name. 

“Clay.” Jungkook repeated, the name sounding more like a curse from his lips than anything honorable. 

Clay nodded vigorously, as if doing so would save him from his wrath. “Yes. Now have mercy on my soul, reaper. I have done no wrong.” 

Jungkook swallowed, his head tilting to the side in a taunting jerk. “Nothing wrong?” He cast his eyes in Y/n’s direction, taking in the damage Clay had done. Clay’s own gaze finding her gave her the privilege of watching the light of hope drain from his expression like a squashed bug. 

Jungkook shifted his weight back so he could lift Clay a few extra inches off the pavement, coiling his muscles up for his final blow. 

“Go to hell.”

Jungkook slammed the man into the ground, and Y/n felt the rumble of it within her, but not against her skin–the rumble was not of this world. The man shrieked with misery as his body crumbled into dust within Jungkook’s hands, the particles falling to the road and disappearing beneath the surface. 

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

“Du solltest seine Verantwortung nicht übernehmen, Bär.” : You shouldn’t take on his responsibilities, Bear. 

“Ich bin sein Bruder. Was ihn beunruhigt, ist auch meine Sorge.”: I’m his brother. What worries him is also my concern. 

“Und es hat nichts mit Patti zu tun?”: And it has nothing to do with Patti? 

Bärchen: Little Bear (term of endearment for children). 

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taglist: @rkive-joonie @kokoandkookie

[kingofbodyrolls]

Perfect Strangers (m) | jhs

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

When a man as warm as a crackling hearth steps into your cozy bookstore seeking the perfect gift for his friend’s Christmas party, you can’t help but offer him your brightest smile. But when he returns days later, with a spark in his eye and a bold request—to be his pretend girlfriend for this very party—you think, Why not? After all, Christmas is a time for a little magic, a little whimsy. Yet as you step deeper into his world, you discover a heart weighed down by scars from the past, a man more complex than the merry mask he wears. Still, what’s Christmas without a little hope, a touch of wonder, and a heart ready to spread the joy it knows so well?

→ Pairing: hoseok x reader (female) → AUs: bookstore!au, coffee shop!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / fake dating → Genres: fluff / angst / smut / romance → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.6k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (both), fingering, breast play, cum eating, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, Hobi was a huge cock, creampie, aftercare, marking,  → Author’s note: guess who’s back with another Christmas gift? Me! 🎁 And this time, we’re unwrapping a Hoseok story! 🥳 Brace yourselves, because this one’s got ALL. THE. FEELS. Seriously, it’s like a snowstorm of emotions—pretty sad at times, but also as warm and sweet as your favorite cup of cocoa on a chilly night ☕🫂 Because let’s be real, who doesn’t need a good hug this season? I actually wrote this in November, and it gave me all the feels while writing it. I hope you’ll love it just as much as I do—and please, pretty please, shower our sunshine Hobi with all the love and virtual hugs he deserves ☀️💛 → Read on AO3? [link] 

The air bites, sharp and unforgiving, and snow tumbles in silent waves. Hoseok pulls his green parka tighter, hands buried deep in his pockets, bracing against the chill that feels as much within him as without. He hates this season—Christmas and all its garish lights, the forced smiles and saccharine cheer that feel like hollow echoes in his ears. Every year, it pulls him back to a time when something precious slipped away, leaving only empty echoes and a bitter frost in its place.

He trudges through the drifts, his boots crunching with each step as he scuffs at the snow like it’s a living thing to be kicked away. Snow. He despises it—the memories it brings, the losses buried in its whiteness. Sighing, he drags his mind away, trying to escape from the grip of the past as he remembers his unfortunate task: a gift for Namjoon, drawn by fate and the iron-clad rules of Secret Santa. Namjoon, who seems like he’d raise an eyebrow at any attempt to impress him. What do you buy for a man whose tastes are as precise as clockwork? Hoseok’s mind wanders, a book, maybe—a neutral, safe bet. Or a plant? Or some gym gear, though he winces, thinking that might feel too impersonal. The book is safer, he decides, less likely to disappoint.

His friends won’t let him slip out of their gathering this year; the annual Christmas dinner. They’ve grown wise to his excuses, having humored them too many times before. This time, they said, he simply has to come, or they’d drag his sorry ass out of his apartment themselves. So he’d agreed, and before he could stop himself, he’d added a lie—a plus one. A date. Why he’d said it, he didn’t know. A flare of bravado, maybe, or a strange wish that he could bring someone to light the way through the season he loathes. But he hasn’t had anyone in years, and now the promise lingers uncomfortably, as cold as the snow itself.

Just as his thoughts are tangling around the dreaded dinner and the impossible gift, something catches his eye. Through the haze of snow, a flickering glow lights up the street. LEDs twinkle on a small shop sign, casting warm light onto the swirling cold. The words, “Books & Coffee,” curl across the sign in whimsical letters. Through the frosted windows, he catches a glimpse of cozy warmth inside—painted winter scenes, shelves filled with books, and the faint haze of steam rising from mugs. A chance, he thinks. A book for Namjoon, maybe, and a cup of coffee to thaw his mood.

With a shake of his head, he steps toward the shop, hoping the warmth within might push back, if only for a moment, the frost of memory that clings to him so stubbornly.

He pushes the door open, expecting the cramped and dim interior of a hole-in-the-wall shop. But as he steps inside, he pauses, surprised. The space stretches wide and tall, a quiet maze of towering bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling like trees in a literary forest. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and fresh coffee, as warm and comforting as a blanket against the cold. Each shelf brims with books of every size, color, and genre, neat little labels dividing worlds of romance, mystery, fantasy, and more. And there, at the back of the store, his eyes catch on something unexpected—a grand coffee station, part of the cashier’s desk, decked out with bottles of liquor that glint invitingly beneath the dim lights. He frowns, amused, wondering just what sort of bookstore he’s stumbled into. 

Around him, people sink into overstuffed couches and mismatched armchairs, nestled beside little tables piled high with books and steaming mugs. Some read in hushed solitude, while others murmur in low voices, their laughter rippling like warmth in the cozy air. He laughs to himself, an ironic chuckle at the scene—it’s like he’s wandered into a romantic comedy set. Christmas decorations hang from every possible ledge, string lights wound like ivy around the shelves, falling snow draping down from the ceiling, like something straight out of The Great Hall in Hogwarts. It’s kitschy, as if the store itself is leaning into the absurdity of holiday cheer, its charm so overdone it loops back into endearing. He can’t help but picture it: a flower stand in one corner, and his “perfectly quirky holiday shop” bingo card would be complete.

Not knowing where to start, he begins wandering among the shelves, eyes skimming over the labeled sections—romance (divided by spice levels, he notes with a faint smile), “how-to” books, self-help guides, fantasy, young adult, crime thrillers. He feels lost, in more ways than one, unsure what might interest Namjoon. A philosophy book, maybe? Or poetry—something brooding and introspective, since Namjoon’s always been the type to lean into “the deep stuff.”

Just as he’s contemplating how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, has to pick out a “meaningful” gift, he glances up and spots you at the counter, your lips curved into a soft smile. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, he feels something unexpected—a flicker, like warmth pressing through the cold. You’re watching him with a light in your eyes, a warmth that, to his surprise, disarms him, even makes him feel almost…seen. Before he can look away, you’re already walking toward him, smile unwavering, and a strange, unfamiliar shiver runs down his spine.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, your voice soft and welcoming, your gaze roaming over him in casual appraisal.

If he had a flirting bone left in his body, he might have found a response, something charming to match the spark in your eyes. He thinks you’re cute, sure, and there’s no mistaking the interest in the way you’re looking at him. But he doesn’t have it in him, not anymore. It’s been too long since he’s let himself flirt, or even felt the desire to.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’m…looking for a book. For a friend. Got stuck with him in Secret Santa this year,” he shrugs, hoping that explains enough. 

You nod, listening with a gentle attentiveness that surprises him, as if every word he says matters. 

“Alright,” you reply, a bright smile lighting up your face as you clap your hands together in delight. “What kind of books does he like?” you ask, leading him further into the store with a spring in your step, your energy contagious, warming the air around you.

For a moment, he finds himself smiling back, the heaviness he carries lifting ever so slightly. Following you, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, this little shop—with all its quirks and kitschy charm—has a kind of magic after all.

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you move, graceful and light, as if the weight of life has never touched your shoulders. You float through the shop like someone untouched by scars, unshadowed by loss. He envies that ease, that freedom—it stirs something in him he thought he’d locked away. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to that version of himself, the one who moved through life without feeling every step like a burden. He sighs, catching himself and remembering you’d asked him a question.

“Ah—Namjoon’s into poetry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Existential stuff. The deeper, the better.”

Your smile grows, wider and brighter, and he catches sight of your slightly crooked front tooth—a small imperfection that only makes you look cuter as you bounce across the store. “I know just the thing! Follow me,” you sing, your voice lilting with a joy that contrasts starkly with his own. 

As he trails after you, he finds himself standing a little taller, rolling his shoulders back, almost as if he could let the weariness fall away. You lead him to a tall bookcase near the back of the shop, beneath a quaint little sign that reads, “Poems; a penny for your thoughts?” He raises an eyebrow at the cheesiness, but something about it is endearing, and he feels a hint of warmth sneaking in, thawing the corners of his frozen heart.

“So, this whole section is poetry. Anything specific you think he’d like, or should I recommend you something?” you ask, turning to him with eyes that feel soft and inviting, like an open door.

He hesitates. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s…well, his taste is kind of serious, and sometimes it’s just boring to me,” he admits, shrugging. A hint of worry lingers, hoping he hasn’t come off as rude—especially if poetry is something dear to you. But your smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it seems to soften, unfazed, still welcoming him in.

“Perfect! Then I know exactly what to recommend to you.” Your eyes light up with a spark of joy that catches him off guard, making his heart stir with an unfamiliar flutter. Reaching for a thick book, you cradle it like something cherished, a small treasure passed down. Your fingers trace the cover, vibrant and abstract, alive with colors that swirl and dance. He peers at the title, upside down but legible: Seasons Change, People Change: Thoughts on Personal Growth Inspired by Mother Nature.

You hold it out to him, gently, and begin with a quiet, thoughtful enthusiasm. “This collection is one of my favorites. Each page is filled with illustrations—paintings and sketches that bring the words to life. It’s divided into four sections, one for each season. It’s beautiful, but it’s also challenging, introspective. I keep it close for those days when I need something grounding, something to remind me to keep growing, even when it’s hard.” Your voice is soft, reverent, and the passion in your words flows freely, making his heart stumble a little, a pulse he thought had quieted.

Without a second thought, he feels himself drawn in, already captivated by your summary and the way you cradle the book like it holds some kind of quiet magic. He feels it—the warmth and lightness in your presence thawing the edges of something inside him. He thought he’d long forgotten this feeling, but as you stand there, glowing, he realizes maybe it isn’t gone after all.

“Do you want to get him this one, or should I find something else?” you ask, your eyes gleaming with a playful spark, the kind of light that could brighten even the dimmest of days.

He lets out a chuckle, low and gravelly, surprising himself. The sound feels foreign, rusty, like laughter hasn’t escaped his throat in a long time. “No,” he starts, and then realizes you’d offered him two options, so he clears his throat and clarifies, “I want this one. Thank you.”

Your smile widens, and there’s that same warmth in your eyes, shimmering with a joy he hasn’t felt in years. “Awesome,” you murmur, a quiet delight in your voice as you turn to lead him back to the counter. He follows, watching the way you move, the easy grace of your steps, the little bounce that seems so at odds with his own heavy tread. He can’t help but notice the care you put into even the smallest details—how your fingers skim over the cover as you scan the book, your voice soft as you tell him the price. He nods absently, hardly hearing you; he’s already decided this book, chosen with such thought, is worth every penny.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles again, awkward this time, and you respond with a light laugh of your own, a sound that melts the air between you. “I’ll wrap it up real quick,” you say, reaching for a roll of delicate paper. “Just a sec.”

He watches, captivated by the way you work. Your hands move smoothly, almost lovingly, as you fold the paper with practiced ease. You add a final touch—a bit of decorative tape, a couple of small stickers, a tiny pocket for a note. There’s a grace in your movements, a tenderness he hadn’t expected to find in something so ordinary. It strikes him that you must do this every day, that you’ve wrapped countless books just like this one, yet you treat each with the same reverence. For a moment, he’s transfixed, caught up in a little world where every gesture, every detail matters.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the book, now carefully wrapped and nestled in a paper bag.

“Will that be everything for you today?” you ask, smiling softly as if you can sense he’s still lingering, still caught in his own thoughts.

“Oh—actually, no!” he exclaims, a laugh slipping out, and it’s genuine, unexpected. “I’d like a coffee to go, please.”

“Of course,” you reply with a little nod, and he watches as you glide over to the coffee station, your hands moving gracefully as you work the machine, pouring a steady stream of coffee into a simple paper cup. You bring it to him with a quiet smile. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the cup, its warmth seeping through the paper and into his fingers, spreading heat into his bones.

“Thank you,” he says, reminding himself to return your smile. There’s a warmth there, an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he finds himself thinking, just for a second, how pretty you look with that gentle expression, with the easy way you move through the world. If only he weren’t so closed off, so weighed down by his own wounds. You’d be the kind of person he’d love to ask out, if his heart hadn’t already been numbed by the cold.

But no—he’s too far gone for that. So he simply raises a hand in farewell, turns his back, and steps out into the biting wind. Snowflakes swirl around him, cold against his cheeks, but his coffee is warm in his hands, sending up gentle tendrils of steam that vanish into the icy air. He trudges through the snow, his footsteps muffled, his mind unexpectedly lingering on you—your warm laugh, the way your eyes glinted with life, as if joy itself lived inside you. 

Maybe he should let himself try again. Maybe he should take a chance and see what could happen, let someone in, just once more. His friends have told him enough times how much he needs that, how he should stop closing himself off. But then he remembers how content you seemed, untouched by the darkness he carries, and he can’t bear the thought of bringing his storm into your sunlight, of tainting that brightness with his own shadows. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better not to risk another heart—especially not one that shines like yours.

The sun spills across the snow outside, making it glisten like a field of tiny pearls scattered over the earth. Inside your bookstore, the warmth of Christmas lingers in every corner, filling the air with the quiet glow of string lights, the soft hum of holiday music, and the scent of coffee mingling with cinnamon. It’s just the way you love it—cozy and inviting, a small world apart. The fragrance stirs memories of Christmases past, when warmth and wonder felt boundless. It’s nostalgic, yes, and you find yourself wanting to pass that feeling on, to wrap it up like a gift and place it into the hands of every person who steps through the door.

This is why you opened this bookstore with its coffee corner, a place where stories and comfort blend as naturally as words on a page. You’ve always been captivated by the written word, knowing full well how a single story can slip beneath your skin, change your world, and leave you breathless with a sense of wonder. A story can make you pause, whispering, wow, this was amazing, or surprise you with glimpses of yourself in its characters. Some books show you new paths; others mirror the parts of yourself you hadn’t quite understood.

This is the magic you’ve always chased—a quiet enchantment found only in books—and why you can’t help but adore recommending them. You believe in the power of words, that the right book at the right time can light up a reader’s world. And here, among the shelves you’ve lovingly arranged, you get to share that magic every day, welcoming others into a world that feels like home.

Every person who steps into your little winter wonderland is met with a genuine smile, and if they’re looking for a recommendation, you’re ready to sprinkle a bit of joy their way. Life hasn’t been simple for you, and you’ve had to fight for much of what you have now, but it’s made every small thing feel that much more precious. Every creak of the floorboards, every cover softened by countless hands, every whispered exchange about a new favorite book feels like a gift.

It’s midday on a bustling Saturday—one of the busiest days of the week—and today’s book club meets in half an hour. You glance at the clock and start setting everything up, filling the air with extra anticipation. You prepare an assortment of drinks: coffee, of course, but also tea for those who prefer it, poured into festive mugs that add a little extra cheer. You drape fluffy blankets over the cozy couches and scatter them with soft pillows, transforming your reading nook into a haven from the cold outside. Freshly baked muffins and cookies wait on the table, adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

In your hands, you hold today’s book—a thrilling, spicy fantasy where a young woman uncovers a hidden truth about herself, discovering magic and mystery with the help of a tall, dark, brooding stranger. It’s the perfect pick for this crowd, an escape into a world filled with intrigue and impossible love. Your bookstore hosts a range of book clubs, something for every taste, from cozy mysteries to heartfelt memoirs, so everyone who wanders in finds a place to belong.

As you check the time again, the chime of the door opens, and members trickle in, mostly women but with a few men scattered among them. They settle into the chairs, cradling their warm drinks and pulling out their books, eyes bright with anticipation. You begin, reading snippets aloud, leading discussions that bounce from laughter to quiet reflection as everyone shares their favorite lines, passages that moved them, questions that linger. Hours slip by in an instant, and even after the meeting ends, people linger, reluctant to let go of this cozy, book-filled oasis. Some stay to read, sipping slowly at their cups, while you return to the counter, greeting the steady stream of customers that fill your little shop. 

As you move between the bookshelves and help others find their next escape, you feel a quiet pride. This place is yours, filled with stories, laughter, and a touch of magic in every corner—a small universe where people come to feel less alone, warmed by the same words that have guided you all your life.

As you wait, relaxed, watching for anyone who might need help, your mind drifts back to a few days ago, to that stranger who walked in with the quietest of presences, searching for a gift—a book for his friend. Namjoon, that was the friend’s name. You realize now you never caught the stranger’s name. He was handsome in an understated way, but there was a heaviness about him, like a cloud clinging to his shoulders. That sadness had tugged at something inside you, urging you to offer him a touch of the holiday warmth filling your little shop. Despite his guarded nature, you saw those small cracks, those fleeting moments when he softened, letting in a glimmer of the joy you tried to share.

Now, with closing time just around the corner, your thoughts drift back to him and that lingering, frowning gaze. Just then, the bell chimes, pulling you from your thoughts, and to your surprise, in he walks, the same stranger, stepping through the door with a hint of apprehension. For a split second, he looks vulnerable, almost unsure—but as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts, confidence replacing hesitation. His small smile is radiant, a rare glow that catches you off guard, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to leave you wondering what storms he’s weathered to dim his light this way.

You greet him with a soft smile of your own as he steps up to the counter, stopping just before you. 

“Hi,” he says with a steady voice. You return the greeting, about to ask if he needs help with anything, but he speaks first, voice a touch uncertain but warm.

“Remember that friend you helped me find a gift for?” he asks, scratching his head, as though he’s slightly unsure of himself. You nod, intrigued, and he clears his throat, glancing away for just a moment.

“Well,” he continues, his voice steadying, “we’re having a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I thought... Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

You blink, taken by surprise, and a laugh escapes as you say, “I don’t even know your name,” your tone light, not saying no, but letting him know you’re curious, open to this unexpected invitation.

“Ah, right—my bad,” he says, stretching his hand toward you with a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok. And you?”

You take his hand, his warmth surprising you, and you giggle, “It’s Y/N,” you reply, your voice soft, the sound of your name feeling different in the warmth of his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeats, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but feel the faintest hint of flirtation woven in his words, though there’s still a nervousness in his eyes.

Then he takes a small breath and adds, “Just to clarify,” he hesitates, his voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty, “you’d be going as my girlfriend. Well, my fake girlfriend.” He chuckles nervously, almost wincing at his own words. “I mean—if you’re good with that?”

The words hang in the air between you, unexpected and just a bit surreal. Fake girlfriend? You blink, caught off guard, studying his face as he scratches the back of his neck, stammering slightly, realizing, perhaps, the absurdity of it all. “I told my friends I’d be bringing my girlfriend,” he explains, his cheeks coloring, “but, well… I don’t actually have one.”

There’s something so earnest, so endearingly awkward about him that you can’t help but smile. And before you know it, you hear yourself saying, “Yeah, sure. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” The words come easily, and even though you’ve only seen him once in your bookstore, something in his gaze feels steady, genuine. Maybe it’s a leap, but you’ve always trusted your instincts, and right now they’re telling you he’s worth it. If this brings him a little joy in the midst of whatever shadows he’s facing, you’re happy to oblige.

Hoseok looks stunned, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief, and then a broad smile lights up his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief and a soft gratitude. He tells you he’ll pick you up tomorrow, and you exchange numbers and addresses, the simple gestures somehow feeling significant.

As he heads out into the frosty night, his figure disappearing into the snow-dusted street, you’re left smiling to yourself, the weight of the unexpected encounter settling over you. You lock up the bookstore, half-wondering at the mystery of it all, but feeling strangely certain this is exactly the kind of magic the season brings—unexpected, a little reckless, and wrapped in the glow of winter lights.

You clasp your hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, nerves fluttering in your chest as you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. You agreed to join him at his friends’ Christmas dinner as his pretend girlfriend, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, doubt creeps in. You’ve only met him twice in your bookstore, barely know him beyond fleeting glances and brief exchanges. The thought of walking into a room full of strangers prickles at your confidence. But you remind yourself that it’s just like meeting new faces at the shop. Slowly, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing steadies.

Glancing at your wristwatch, you see it’s nearly time. You grab your keys, lock the door, and head down the stairs, feeling the soft knit of the Christmas sweater dress Hoseok insisted you wear, an odd sense of comfort in its silly design. Apparently, you’re “matching his ugly sweater,” as he’d said with a laugh. Wrapped in your winter coat and boots, you step into the night, the cold air crisp and bracing as delicate snowflakes drift through the air, illuminated by the warm amber glow of the streetlamps.

Headlights sweep up the road, and Hoseok’s car slows to a stop in front of you. He’s waiting, the dim light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. You open the door, sliding into the passenger seat, where warmth radiates from the heater and a familiar cinnamon scent lingers in the air. Hoseok greets you with a quiet smile, though his eyes hold a hint of his own nerves.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, watching you as you fasten your seatbelt. He shifts into gear, guiding the car down the snowy road. His fingers clench the steering wheel, and after a moment, he glances your way. “So…you remember our backstory from last night?”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember the texts,” you say, warmth lacing your voice. “We’re childhood friends from kindergarten who recently reconnected when you moved back into town.” 

He hums approvingly, tapping his fingers lightly on the wheel as he stops at a red light. “Perfect. My friends are probably going to ask a million questions—I hope you’re ready for that.”

You shrug with a playful confidence, grinning as you glance over at him. “I think I can handle it.”

The two of you share a small, knowing smile, though the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you. Here you are, headed toward a stranger’s holiday dinner, to pretend to be his girlfriend. You don’t gain anything from this beyond the joy of helping someone out, but still…there’s a little thrill in the adventure.

The city lights gradually fade as he drives out toward the quieter suburbs, snow dusting the dark roads until he finally turns into the driveway of a quaint little house, string lights twinkling around the doorframe like stars. Hoseok cuts the engine, the two of you sitting in the hushed stillness for a moment, watching as the snowflakes swirl gently outside the windshield.

“We’re here,” Hoseok murmurs, and you catch his smile, warm as the headlights reflecting off the falling snow. “This is actually my friend Namjoon’s place,” he says, reaching for a carefully wrapped gift on the seat. Watching him, you suddenly wonder aloud, “Should I have brought something, too?”

He waves his hands between you, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry—you didn’t draw a name for Secret Santa, so you’re all set.”

Relieved, you step out into the brisk night, following him along the snow-dusted path. As you approach the door, he reaches for your hand, his grip both grounding and electrifying as he gives a gentle pull, guiding you to the doorstep. You bite your lip nervously, a bundle of nerves and excitement building, when the door swings open. Standing there, smiling with dimples that carve deep into his cheeks, is a man who strikes an oddly familiar chord.

“Hi, Hobi,” he greets, his voice rich and welcoming, before glancing at you with a knowing twinkle. “And this must be your girlfriend?”

Hoseok’s hand presses lightly against the small of your back. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he introduces you with a soft squeeze that sends a rush of warmth through you.

You follow them inside, feeling the sudden coziness of the house—a subtle warmth, holiday lights casting a glow over walls adorned with paintings and art pieces. When you step into the dining room, you stop, eyes widening at the grand bookcase stretching along the wall. It reminds you of your own bookstore, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes you.

You’re greeted by Hoseok’s friends, easy smiles and lighthearted jokes melting away your nerves. There’s a surprising ease to slipping into this role, to letting Hoseok’s arm find its way around your shoulder, his touch landing at the small of your back, drawing you in for a gentle hug every so often. His casual touches feel natural, and you find yourself leaning into him as if you’ve known each other for far longer than two brief meetings.

As the evening unfolds, though, you notice something. While you’re chatting and laughing with his friends, Hoseok seems quieter, reserved, watching more than talking, an unexpected contrast to the warm person who’s held you close all evening.

Soon, everyone settles at the table, and you find yourself between Hoseok and Namjoon, whose familiarity still niggles at your mind. Drinks are poured, laughter fills the air, and a delicious meal is shared. The room falls into a comfortable quiet as everyone eats, voices softened as plates empty and contentment settles in.

“So, how did you meet our Hobi?” a tattooed guy—Jungkook, you think—asks with a curious smile.

You recount the story Hoseok gave you, weaving it with a smile. Jungkook nods, seemingly convinced, and around the table, friends accept your tale with knowing grins—except for Namjoon. You catch the soft scoff he tries to hide, though the others brush it off. When you finally turn fully to face him, catching his eyes, recognition strikes.

Of course—he’s a regular at your bookstore. You’ve seen him countless times, tucked into a corner with a book in hand, quietly immersed, though he’s never spoken to you and always leaves without buying anything. You wonder if he remembers you too, if he feels the same familiar spark, or if it’s just you, standing in the company of strangers who somehow feel just a bit like home.

A pang of doubt twists in your chest. If Namjoon has indeed pieced together that you’re not Hoseok’s real girlfriend, then the secret you’re helping carry feels a little heavier. You remember Hoseok mentioning their long history, and you wonder how well Namjoon can see through this little charade. But as dinner goes on, he stays silent, leaving you in an unsettling limbo of half-glances and unsaid words.

The night drifts on, and laughter fills the room as everyone exchanges Secret Santa gifts. You can’t help but smile as each friend unwraps their present, the spark of surprise and joy lighting up each face. When it’s Namjoon’s turn, he opens Hoseok’s gift—a book—and he pauses, his gaze slipping to you in a flash of recognition. You avert your eyes, warmth creeping into your cheeks, uncertain of what he sees or thinks.

When the last of the presents has been exchanged, Hoseok turns to you, a small, wrapped package in his hands. “For you,” he murmurs, his smile soft, almost bashful. Surprised, you unwrap it, revealing a tiny sun plushie with a wide, beaming grin. Its warmth brings an involuntary smile to your lips, and you clutch it close. “Thank you, dear,” you say, leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Hoseok’s friends exchange giggles and knowing looks, and Hoseok whispers softly to you, “It’s for being my partner in crime tonight.”

As the evening winds down, you join in clearing the table. Hoseok has drifted to the couch, his figure outlined by the window, eyes distant and fixed on the winter night. A weight lingers in his expression, a deep-seated sadness that seems miles away from the warmth of the room. You’re about to go to him, to ask if he’s alright, when you feel a strong hand at your wrist, guiding you into the hallway.

It’s Namjoon. His presence is grounded and steady, like an oak tree catching you in the autumn wind. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see both questions and answers swirling there, like he’s holding onto a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to speak.

“So, should I be thanking you for the book?” Namjoon chuckles, his smile gentle yet curious, as though he’s only half-convinced of your innocence in the matter.

“Not really,” you reply, grinning as you deflect his gaze with a little shrug. “I just helped him choose because he’s hopeless with books—unless they’re comics.” You laugh, hoping your nonchalance hides the truth beneath the surface.

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sounds like him. Comics are about as close as he gets to literature.” His eyes flicker with warmth as he continues, “So, what’s your kind of book? What authors and genres do you get lost in?”

Before you know it, the two of you are deep in conversation, voices lowered in the hallway like you’re sharing secrets. Time becomes a vague notion, and the room around you seems to fade, leaving only the vibrant world of books—their characters, settings, and journeys—alive between you. Talking about stories, you feel a rare lightness, as if Namjoon is the first person in ages who shares the same deep love for them.

“You should drop by the bookstore sometime,” you say with a smile that feels wider, warmer. “We have a book club, too. It’s not as fancy as this,” you laugh, glancing toward the festive room, “but it’s a cozy crowd.”

Namjoon hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of shyness breaking through his cool exterior. “I might just take you up on that.” He pauses, as if summoning courage. “Actually… could I get your number? There’s that book you mentioned earlier—I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but…” He glances at the room filling with laughter and goodbyes. “Looks like this night’s wrapping up.”

For a brief second, you wonder at the request, but something in his gaze, earnest and unguarded, assures you. With a soft smile, you hand him your phone, and as you exchange numbers, a quiet sense of possibility lingers in the space between you.

He must know, right? That you’re only pretending to be Hoseok’s girlfriend? 

And yet, Namjoon has said nothing, given no sign that he’s in on the secret. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you find Hoseok across the room, engaged in conversation with Seokjin. You drift over and settle next to him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels almost natural, if not a bit intoxicating. It’s easy to lean into his warmth, to fall into step with this rhythm of borrowed closeness, though your heart betrays you with a quiet flutter. Hoseok is both charming and soft-spoken—the kind of person you might fall for. But as he laughs and smiles, you sense a faint veil behind his joy, as if he’s holding something back, a quiet sadness simmering beneath his surface.

Your curiosity pulls you closer, like you’re skimming a page of a novel you’re not yet allowed to read, catching only glimpses of the sorrow he hides. You wonder what story lies beneath his charming front but stop yourself; after all, tonight you’re nothing more than strangers playing at love.

Later, as he drives you home through streets blanketed in snow, a mellow Christmas tune hums softly from the radio. He’s quieter now, eyes focused on the road, his features thoughtful, even solemn under the glow of passing streetlights. You wonder what’s shifted within him, what’s brought on this sudden retreat. You want to reach out, to ask if something’s wrong, but the words linger on your tongue, uncertain. Instead, you fall silent as the car slows, then stops outside your building. A strange reluctance holds you there, as if the air itself has thickened, laced with words neither of you are quite willing to say.

After a pause, Hoseok turns to you, clearing his throat, his hand resting on your thigh—a gesture that’s both tender and strangely formal. His voice is low, soft as he murmurs, “Thank you for being my fake girlfriend tonight. You… really made it feel real.”

He says it softly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness that catches you off guard, a weight that settles around your heart like mist on a winter night. His words linger, unspoken emotions woven into the silence that stretches between you, and you find yourself wondering—what happens now, with this fragile connection suspended in the cold, quiet air?

“It was nothing. Really—you’re welcome,” you say, a gentle reply you hope sounds reassuring, though it feels distant, safer. Perhaps the middle of the night isn’t the time to unearth things better left unsaid. Yet the thought crosses your mind: will you see him after this? Wasn’t this just a single act, a temporary arrangement?

“Will I… see you again?” you hear yourself ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if it too fears rejection.

Hoseok’s hand retreats, and he glances down, a subtle sadness clouding his eyes. “I… I don’t think so.” His words feel heavier than they should, an unexpected blow that leaves you feeling emptier than you thought possible. You hardly know him, yet there’s something unspoken etched across his face—something hurt, guarded, and you ache to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s holding back, he doesn’t have to carry alone. But he’s closed himself off, walls too high for a stranger’s comfort to reach.

You sigh, swallowing the pang of regret, clenching your hands to steady yourself. “Oh… okay,” you say, masking the ache with a soft, hollow smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting to bridge the gap between you, to offer some small comfort—but his posture tells you he isn’t ready to accept it. He looks away, his expression distant, already far ahead on a road you’re not part of, his face cast in shadow.

With a deep breath, you open the car door and step out, lingering just a moment longer before whispering a soft “Goodbye.” He barely meets your gaze as you close the door, and before you know it, his car is fading into the darkness, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, wrapped in silence and the unsettling ache of missed chances.

You stare after him, shivering under the streetlights, wondering if you should’ve pressed, if you should’ve dared to ask what weighed him down. But the night stretches on, and you’re left there with only your thoughts and the haunting feeling that you missed something rare and beautiful that might never return.

Hoseok feels hollow, a sinking weight that hasn’t lifted since he saw that crestfallen look on your face when he left you at your door. He’s not blind; he knows he messed up. But there’s something about this season, the way it reaches into his chest and pulls him under, leaving him fighting against a tide that he’s been trying to ignore for years. And now Christmas Eve is almost here—an anniversary of grief he hates most of all—and the closer it gets, the more his mood tangles, turning dark and unmanageable.

Why does he always ruin things? You were so sweet, so bright, your hand fitting perfectly into his like it was meant to be there. It’s been so long since he’s felt even a spark of warmth like that. Having you beside him at the dinner helped, too, lifted the weight for just a moment. But now, he’s gone and left you with nothing but silence. He knows he’s worried you, knows he’s made you question yourself. And yet, his heart twists at the thought of texting back, at unearthing the reason for his darkness.

The worst part is he’s seen every message you’ve sent, each one left unanswered, and with every passing day, they’ve dwindled until now… there’s nothing. He can’t blame you for giving up—he’d have done the same. And still, something in him aches at the absence, at knowing he’s pushed you away when he’s wanted to tell you the truth. Wanted to let you in. But the truth feels as vast and heavy as the winter sky, and he doesn’t know how to share it. He doesn’t know if he ever could.

His friends have noticed, too, hounding him with questions that scrape against his guilt, asking him how he kept you hidden for so long. Namjoon even laughed and asked how he’d managed to keep such a “childhood friend” so secret all these years. Hoseok’s stomach tightens with the weight of his lie, the flimsy story unraveling before him like a thin thread he can’t control.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in his throat. How could he possibly tell you what’s really going on when he knows it would change how you see him? How could he bare himself to you, darkness and all, without fearing he’d lose the brief light you’ve brought into his life? The thought circles in his mind, relentless, as he wonders if he’s ever been brave enough for the truth—or if, this time, he’s finally lost the chance.

The doorbell cuts through the heavy silence of Hoseok’s apartment, and when he swings open the door, there stands Namjoon—tall and composed, bundled in a long coat, a beanie tugged low, thick glasses catching the faint winter light. He’s holding a houseplant, its green vibrant against the muted backdrop of the street.

“Mind if I come in?” Namjoon asks, but before Hoseok can even respond, his friend steps over the threshold like he’s been here a hundred times. Hoseok stands, caught off guard, words barely forming in his throat.

“Uh, sure,” he finally stammers, wondering what could have brought Namjoon here at this hour, unannounced and unreadable.

Namjoon places the plant—small, resilient-looking—onto the dining table, then slips off his coat and drapes it over the chair, pulling it out with a quiet determination. Hoseok follows and sits across from him, still dazed, feeling like he’s been summoned to some private tribunal.

Namjoon clears his throat, fixing Hoseok with a steady, discerning gaze. “You and Y/N,” he begins, words deliberate, “have you told her why you can’t stand Christmas?”

Hoseok’s breath catches; his throat tightens. He forces himself to shake his head. “No, I haven’t,” he manages, the words heavy.

Namjoon leans forward, his posture stern yet somehow protective. “So you’re not serious about her?” he presses, voice low but insistent, as though each syllable is meant to peel back the layers of Hoseok’s tangled emotions.

“No...I mean—” Hoseok hesitates, feeling the urge to confess he’s cut things off, ended this entire charade before it grew more complicated. But Namjoon speaks again, his voice shifting, a rare gentleness threading through.

“I stopped by her bookstore,” he says, and Hoseok holds his breath, tension prickling beneath his skin as he waits, unsure of where this is heading.

Namjoon’s eyes soften, and a small, genuine smile flickers across his face. “She’s really sweet, you know. Bright. Kind. I think she’s exactly what you need—if only it were real.”

The words pierce through Hoseok, his heart stumbling. He feels his pulse race, the subtle grip of panic and dread mixing with something that feels painfully like hope. He knew this moment would come, knew someone would finally see past the lie, and yet there’s relief in the admission. He can’t hide, doesn’t want to.

“So...you figured out it’s fake,” he mutters, defeated, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Namjoon nods, arms crossed, his expression shifting to something sterner, more disappointed than Hoseok could have anticipated. “What I don’t understand,” he says, voice firm but low, “is why you’d hurt her feelings like this.”

Hoseok flinches, each word like a heavy stone sinking into his chest. Hurt you? The idea stings, unearthing a guilt he hadn’t let himself feel fully until now. He’d thought this arrangement would protect him, keep everyone at a safe distance. But hearing it said aloud—that he’s hurt you—tightens the knot in his chest, makes him realize just how much he’s let his own grief pull him down, dragging someone else along with him.

He searches Namjoon’s face, but his friend’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding him accountable with a simple, unrelenting question. And for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been too afraid to let himself feel something real again.

Hoseok’s gaze meets his friend’s, a trace of confusion flickering there, but then, with a pang, he remembers the look on your face when you’d asked if you’d see each other again. He can still see it—how your expression fell at his answer, the sadness that slipped across your features.

Namjoon leans forward, his tone gentler but resolute. “You know... I think she actually cares about you,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking his head in amused disbelief. “I don’t know how you manage to pull that off while acting like the Grinch himself,” he scoffs, “but somehow, this girl’s worried about you. You really should go talk to her, at least apologize for being a complete ass.”

Hoseok feels his chest tighten, leaving him mute, almost stunned. He knows Namjoon is right; he knows it all too well. But saying what he feels, peeling back that scarred armor—especially around Christmas—is something he’s almost incapable of doing.

“I don’t know if I can, Joon…,” he murmurs, the words coming out more fragile than he intended. “I just think telling her everything will only make her sad,” he says, his gaze dropping to the table, his hands clasped tight as though they could somehow keep his emotions contained.

Namjoon doesn’t let him off that easily. “And what do you think she is now?” he retorts softly, but with enough weight that the words feel like they land with an impact. Hoseok’s eyes widen, struck by the truth that he’d been dodging all along.

He’d thought, maybe, you’d be angry at him—mad, frustrated, but surely you’d move on quickly, brushing him off as just another mistake. After all, you were nothing more than strangers bound by a silly pretense. But hearing Namjoon say it so plainly, he realizes just how deeply he’s been fooling himself. And underneath the weight of his resentment for this season and the pain tied to that distant, bitter December night, he can’t deny the truth—he finds you kind, thoughtful, even hopeful in ways that he barely remembers feeling himself. 

If things were different—if his grief hadn’t swallowed him whole, if he could loosen the grasp of the past—he could almost imagine himself with someone like you. But here he is, still tethered to that haunting memory, letting Christmas slip by year after year in the shadow of that loss. 

Namjoon watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks, his voice quieter but unyielding. “Hoseok, we’ve all tried to tell you. The past can’t be a place to live, no matter how much it calls you back.” 

And Hoseok feels the truth of it—a weight and a choice lingering like the chill of winter air, urging him, perhaps for the first time, to break free.

It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and you’re setting up for the last book club gathering before the holidays—a special, spicy session in the fading afternoon light, centered around a tale of witches, dragons, and the tangle of morals. While you lay out the books, aligning them carefully on the tables, your mind drifts to Hoseok, stirring with thoughts you can’t quite suppress. Namjoon’s words echo in your memory, nudging you to give his friend a chance. But the emptiness of your unanswered texts lingers; despite the messages you’d sent with tentative care, Hoseok has remained silent. A part of you aches to reach out just once more, yet the other half insists on self-respect—if he doesn’t want the comfort you offered, the space to unburden himself, you tell yourself that’s fine. Still, beneath that quiet resolve, a sliver of frustration seethes, and it slips into your work, reflected in the books you place down a bit too roughly, each one landing with a defiant thud.

Tonight’s book club promises to be a lively one, with more attendees than ever before. You’ve even roped in a few friends to help rearrange the store, setting up extra couches and stools to welcome the crowd, and handling the front counter while you join the readers. Despite everything, the prospect of the gathering fills you with a kind of joy that’s untouched by disappointment. Here, surrounded by stories and souls eager to explore them, you feel anchored, reminded of the warmth and kinship that words can forge even on the coldest nights.

Everything is ready, and as people start trickling in, the space soon brims with warmth and laughter. Every seat is filled, and latecomers, wrapped in thick blankets, settle on the floor, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Soft candlelight dances across the room, casting a gentle glow over festive mugs brimming with coffee and tea, and you smile, savoring the joy that settles over your little bookstore. You begin speaking about the new indie author whose book you’re exploring tonight, diving into themes of morality, which quickly spark a spirited debate among the readers. 

But then your phone vibrates, faintly insistent in your pocket. At first, you ignore it, but when it continues, you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile and slip away to the counter. A string of messages from Namjoon lights up your screen.

[19:23] Namjoon: Hi 😀  

[19:23] Namjoon: Sorry to bother you again, but  

[19:24] Namjoon: TY for letting me visit your bookstore 📚  

[19:24] You: You’re welcome anytime! 😊  

[19:24] Namjoon: and finding that book for me  

[19:24] You: np at all 😀  

[19:25] Namjoon: I know that your relationship with Hobi is fake, but I really wanted to say that I think you’ll be good for him ☀️  

[19:25] You: Really? 🥹  

[19:25] Namjoon: I hope you’ll want to get to know him. He’s a really great guy 👍  

[19:25] You: I do! Yeah. I had a feeling there’s a nice guy under all that sadness 🥹  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, yeah. He actually used to be the happiest and brightest person, but…  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, sorry 🙇  

[19:26] Namjoon: It’s not my place to tell you.  

[19:26] Namjoon: You should talk to him 🙂  

[19:26] You: DW! I didn’t want to pry. I’ll ask him himself 🥰  

[19:27] You: TY for looking out for him. You’re a good friend 🫂  

[19:27] Namjoon: Always. He’s one of my oldest friends and I just want to see him happy again 🥹  

[19:27] You: I’ll try talking to him. I hope he finally responds 🙏  

[19:29] Namjoon: Please do, otherwise I’ll kick his ass!

You smile at Namjoon’s last message, the warmth of his words lingering as you slip your phone back into your pocket. But a tangle of thoughts and emotions stirs within you. Namjoon seems genuinely hopeful for you and Hoseok, nudging you toward him with a gentle insistence that Hoseok might just need someone to reach out. You’d promised to try, but doubt lingers at the edges—what if it’s all in your head, an illusion woven by the quiet moments you shared and the loneliness he wore like a mask?  

Yet, the image of Hoseok as the “brightest person,” as Namjoon described, sits heavy in your mind. What could have dimmed that light? And as you glance out at the book club gathering, a part of you wonders if, somehow, there’s still a chance to bring a bit of that warmth back to him.

Hoseok finds himself aching for your smile, the warmth you seemed to pour out effortlessly, and the sharp, clever humor that softened his edges in ways he didn’t expect. Namjoon’s words echo in his mind, words that have been unraveling him slowly, urging him toward the chance to make things right. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his feet carry him almost unconsciously toward your bookstore. He knows you’re working tonight, but he doesn’t care about timing or convenience; he only knows he needs to see you, to finally apologize and hope you’ll give him even a moment of your time. He’s prepared to accept whatever you’re willing to offer—even if it’s a closed door.

As he steps inside, the familiar warmth and scent of cinnamon and worn paper embrace him, comforting and bittersweet. You glance up from the counter, and the softness of your smile catches him off guard; relief flickers in his chest—you haven’t yet written him off. He makes his way over to you, offering a tentative, apologetic smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, noticing the subtle spark in your eyes, something between surprise and hope. “I came to order a coffee…and give you a proper apology,” he adds, his voice warm, almost pleading.

You let out a small chuckle, the sound light but genuine, and turn to make his coffee. “Is this one to go?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he replies, a hint of a grin breaking through his seriousness. “Actually, I was hoping for one of those festive mugs, and maybe to borrow a book and stay for a while—if that’s okay.”

A warmth lights up your eyes, and he feels his heart lift, his nerves unraveling just a little. “I think that’s a great idea,” you say, and reach for a whimsical reindeer mug, the kind with a scarf winding into the handle, speckled with snowflakes. You fill it with steaming coffee, setting it before him with a soft, inviting smile.

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the mug as he gathers his thoughts, then he looks up, meeting your eyes as he speaks. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “For everything. I know there’s no excuse, but Christmas has always been…well, it’s not exactly my season,” he trails off, catching himself rambling, and gives a nervous chuckle. “But I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, truly, and I’ll try to be better.”

The smile you give him is small but warm, like a flicker of forgiveness, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can start letting go of his past.

You hand him the reindeer mug, warm and brimming with rich coffee, smiling as you pass it to him. “I’m glad to hear it, Hoseok. You were acting like an ass there for a bit,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes, “but that’s in the past now—you’ve apologized.” Gently, you slide the mug across the counter toward him. “Here’s your coffee. Pick out whatever book catches your eye,” you add softly, your voice warm.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he clears his throat. “Actually,” he begins, a bit hesitant, “that poetry book you recommended for Namjoon…do you have another copy?”

“I do,” you say with a quick smile, nodding toward the poetry section. “It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the mug and savoring its warmth. “Figured I could use a little introspective magic.” With that, he takes a long sip, the comfort of the mug slowly thawing his cold fingers.

He makes his way to the poetry shelves, pulls down the book, and settles into one of the plush armchairs in the corner. For a long time, he reads quietly, the pages offering him solace in ways he hadn’t expected. While his usual reads lean more toward comics, he feels something settle inside him as he lets himself sink into the rhythmic flow of the verses. Every so often, he looks up to see you moving gracefully through the shop, helping customers, laughing softly with a warmth that feels magnetic. He realizes, almost with a pang, that this warmth is something he used to feel too, before the shadows crept in. Maybe that’s part of the draw he feels toward you—you radiate the kind of light he’s been missing.

From the corner of his eye, he notices you glancing over at him, and when he catches your gaze, a soft blush creeps up your cheeks. You offer a shy smile, and he returns it with a gentle wave, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, nestled into that armchair, his coffee long finished and now sipping tea. Hours seem to slip by, but he doesn’t mind. As he flips through the poems, he’s surprised by how deeply they resonate with him. Some verses are quiet and sad, others comforting, and some seem to reach into the bruised places he’d long tried to ignore. He closes the book, his heart feeling just a little less heavy, and places it back on the shelf.

Finally, he walks to the counter, holding the empty mug in his hands. A grateful smile lingers on his lips as he approaches you, words forming in his mind like the first sparks of something new.

“It’s getting late, so I should head home,” he says softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for the coffee and…the poetry. Your store feels like a warm hug, honestly—cozy and comforting.”

You smile, touched by his words. “That’s exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for,” you reply, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the tray to be cleaned later. 

He lingers, shifting slightly, his eyes dancing around the room as he gathers the courage for what he wants to say next. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing up at you, “I’d like to come back sometime soon. Maybe we could actually hang out?” His voice wavers just a little, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his expression.

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease, letting a hint of mischief dance in your gaze.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, actually… I’d like to take you out. Not here in your store. How about a movie or something?” he mumbles, trying to hide his hopefulness.

“A movie sounds nice,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your own chest.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes brightening with relief and anticipation.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Sure.”

His blush deepens, and his grin widens as he waves goodbye, stepping out into the night air. As he heads home, he feels lighter, like a weight has lifted, the warmth of your smile lingering with him, warming him even as the winter wind swirls around.

Hoseok insisted on watching one of those cheerful Christmas movies, the kind that swells with improbable reunions and holiday cheer, even though you’d told him he didn’t have to—any genre would’ve been fine. But he’d insisted, almost stubbornly, saying that it’s what he wanted. Yet, even as the lights dim and you settle in, you can feel the irony of it: this bright, glittering warmth on screen, and something distant in his gaze that it doesn’t quite reach. 

You’ve got a tub of buttery popcorn between you and sodas on the floor by your feet, but your attention isn’t really on the movie. Something about a girl rediscovering her family…you’ve seen it before, enough times to know every twist and turn by heart. Instead, you focus on the space between you, the openness of your hand resting on the armrest, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, intertwining his fingers with yours, a soft thrill of warmth lights up your chest. 

He hums contentedly, gently squeezing your fingers, and after a while, his head leans softly against your shoulder, his breathing falling into a slow, steady rhythm. When you glance down, you realize he’s drifted off, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He must be exhausted, though you don’t even know what he does for work, what fills his days with the kind of weight that would make him fall asleep so quickly.

You let him rest, his warmth comforting against your shoulder, and time slips away until the credits roll and the lights blink back on. As he stirs, blinking sleepily and straightening up, a hint of embarrassment flickers across his face, but you brush it off with a reassuring smile, finding that you liked the feeling of him resting against you.

“Want to come back to my bookstore?” you ask as you both step out into the cold night, snowflakes swirling gently around you. Your fingers find his again, as natural as breathing. “We could have a drink. It’s closed for the holidays, so it’d be just the two of us,” you add with a smile, looking up at him.

He yawns, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

You walk together through the snow-dusted streets, laughter mingling with your steps, until you reach the bookstore, keys jingling in your hands as you unlock the door. Inside, the quiet space welcomes you both, the ceiling lit with floating snowflakes casting a soft glow over the shelves and cozy reading nooks. You both shrug off your coats, and you lead him into the back of the store, where the barista machine hums quietly in the corner.

“How about hot cocoa?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a little late for coffee.”

He nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he settles into one of the armchairs. You start grinding cocoa beans, the rich aroma filling the air, and set two festive mugs beneath the machine, watching as it pours thick, velvety cocoa. The air is warm, and somehow you feel more at home in this quiet moment than you have all season, the world outside reduced to the gentle hush of falling snow.

With the cocoa steaming in your hands, you settle into one of the oversized, cloud-soft couches, and he sits across from you, mirroring your small, hesitant smile. The bookstore feels like a world away from the outside, a sanctuary where the soft hum of holiday lights flickers gently, and the scent of chocolate mingles with the faint, comforting smell of old books.

You take a slow sip, letting the warmth fill you. “So,” you ask, voice gentle but direct, “do you want to tell me why you hate Christmas so much?”

He pauses, caught off guard, nearly choking on his own cocoa, and you watch his face flush, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hesitation. Realizing you’ve gone right to the heart of it, you quickly add, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just…curious. But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

For a moment, he seems to shrink inward, his face turning soft with a sadness that feels ancient, like a weight he’s carried for too long. He takes a breath that’s almost a shudder, expanding his chest as if even breathing through it hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he says finally, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “It’s that I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, that I’ll just…bring you down.” His words are vulnerable, stripped bare, trembling with the unspoken.

Reaching out a little, you reassure him, “I won’t. I promise. But really, there’s no pressure. You only have to share what feels right.”

He nods, but there’s something in his gaze that shifts—like he’s waging a silent battle, torn between hiding and the need to unburden himself. He fidgets with his fingers, then places his mug carefully on the table, as though any movement could shatter the quiet around you.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, casting his gaze downward, then continues, “I want to tell you, because…well, only my closest friends know. And I think you deserve to know too, since I’ve been such an ass to you…” he trails off with a nervous laugh, tinged with sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It happened when I was seventeen,” he says, voice low and brittle. You set your own mug down, instinctively leaning forward, drawn to the rawness of his words.

“It was Christmas Eve,” he says softly, staring past you, somewhere into the painful fog of memory. “There was a storm—snow swirling thick, icy roads. And…” He pauses, his voice trembling, his words hitching, thick with emotion.

Instinctively, you move over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he struggles for composure, his breath shaky. Leaning into your touch, he swallows hard, gathering the words from somewhere deep, each one a fragile release.

“My parents and my sister…” he chokes out, his voice shattering into tears, and you draw him closer, feeling him tremble against you. One of his hands finds yours, his grip tight, holding onto you as though he fears the memory might pull him under.

“They died,” he whispers, and the words break free like a dam bursting. His shoulders shake as the full force of his grief surfaces, raw and unrestrained. He buries his face in his hands, and you gently place a hand on his back, offering the quiet comfort of your presence as he unburdens himself.

He leans into you, surrendering to the weight of years of sorrow. “And it’s all my fault,” he sobs, the words barely discernible through his heaving breaths.

Softly, you murmur, “How do you figure that?” Your voice is low, gentle, as though you’re trying to hold him steady with your words.

“Because…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I asked them to go out that day. The star on the tree was broken, and I’d wanted everything to be perfect, so they went out just to get a new one. And they never came back.”

His confession lingers in the air, heavy, each word carving deeper into the silence. You pull him close, holding him as he cries, his sobs echoing softly through the quiet bookstore. 

You pull him closer, letting your warmth envelop him like a soft blanket, as if you could shield him from the pain he’s held onto for so long. “But it wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, gently, your words like a balm, “How could it be? They were adults, Hoseok. If they hadn’t wanted to go, they wouldn’t have. You didn’t force them, didn’t ask for a storm. It’s horrible and tragic, yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this, but…it’s not your fault.”

A sob breaks from him, raw and filled with years of bottled sorrow. “But it is,” he cries, his voice catching, “If I hadn’t been so insistent about that damn star, if I hadn’t wanted everything to be fucking perfect…”

Tenderly, you tighten your embrace, gently rubbing his back. “But you can’t know that, Hoseok. No one could know.” Your words are soft but sure, reassuring, each one carrying a warmth you hope he can feel. “Sometimes…things just happen, things we can’t control.”

“It’s been over a decade,” he says, his voice a fragile echo. “But every Christmas—every snowstorm, every time I see the lights, I’m right back there. All I see is them, and I hate it.” His voice trembles with anger, grief, and resentment. “I hate the snow, I hate the holidays. That storm, those roads…it’s all ruined for me.” He breaks again, the words torn from him, and you hold him through his tears, letting him release everything he’s held in, feeling each tremor as he cries.

For a while, you just stay there, giving him the space to let the sorrow pour out, letting him lean into you fully. You say nothing, just hold him, until the sobs subside to quiet sniffles. His voice barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I just want them to come back…” and the raw ache in his words tugs at your heart.

Your chest tightens with empathy, the pain he’s carried so vividly there before you. The weight of it all is almost unbearable, and now you see why he’s buried his light under layers of grief for so long. But there’s something else there, too—a longing to break free, if he only knew how.

Finally, you find the words, speaking softly. “Look, Hoseok…I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. And it’s unfair, all of it. But you’ve carried this for so long, like a stone around your neck, dragging you down. It’s part of you, yes, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t have to define every part of you forever. What if you could let a little of it go?”

He’s quiet, thinking, eyes still glistening. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, looking at you as though searching for permission to forgive himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy…”

You reach for his hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours. “Hoseok,” you say, voice steady but warm, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve all faced loss and scars that linger, but we don’t have to carry them like this. I’m not saying you need to forget, but…maybe you can let the pain be something else now, something softer, something that blooms instead of weighs you down.”

He looks at you, brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to understand. “Like turning it into something beautiful?” he asks, his voice so low, so vulnerable.

“Yes,” you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Like tending to it, like planting seeds where the pain was, and seeing what beautiful things might grow. Hold onto that pain, but let it bloom into something beautiful rather than letting it scar. Nurture it like a garden, tend to it with care, so that the memories don’t define you, but become parts of you that you can cherish, like petals of a rose you keep alive. New memories, maybe. Or something to honor what you loved about them.”

He looks up, eyes glistening with tears, and yet you can’t help but think he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this—vulnerable, raw, his heart laid bare.

He stares into the distance, thinking, his fingers still laced with yours. For the first time, you catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, fragile but alive. The weight is still there, but something else is there now, too—a softness, a beginning.

“Namjoon told me you used to be like the sun itself, and I think it’s time to let your light shine again. I can see glimpses of that warmth, those pieces of who you were. You deserve happiness, Hoseok. Don’t you think?” Your hand gently cradles his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

His breath shudders, voice rough and tremulous. “I… I’m not sure.”

You squeeze his hands, a comforting weight. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight. But you deserve the world, and maybe…maybe it’s time to let yourself imagine that.” You search his face, noticing the exhaustion in the redness of his eyes, the weariness clinging to him like a shadow. He’s been carrying his world alone, and it’s wearing him down, thread by thread.

“Listen,” you whisper, “we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. You look so tired. How about this—I’ll find some blankets, and we can sleep on the couch, together?” Your arms hold him close, an offer of sanctuary, one he so clearly needs.

He nods, and you rise to gather the blankets, arranging them softly around him before settling beside him. You help him lie down, his head resting on your lap as your fingers drift tenderly through his soft brown hair, tracing gentle circles. Your fingertips graze the shell of his ear, and you feel a delicate shiver ripple through him. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tension in his face unwinding as you touch his cheek softly. His eyes flutter shut, though a few quiet tears slip free, trailing down the bridge of his nose to rest, shimmering, on your thigh.

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” you murmur, voice almost a breath against the quiet. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure your parents and sister would want to see you smile again, to see you living freely.”

He hums faintly, a soft sound that melts into the stillness, leaning unconsciously into the warmth of your hand. With a tender impulse, you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips meeting his skin like a promise. “You’re a beautiful sunflower, Hobi,” you whisper, the words a soft caress.

A small, fragile smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breaths deepening as he drifts, his body finally surrendering to sleep. Your heart aches for this gentle soul, and yet you feel strength in the quiet resolve settling over you. Though you’ve barely begun to know him, you feel an undeniable pull—to protect, to nurture, to help him find his way back to the light. You want to see him reclaim the happiness he’s buried, for you feel, deep down, that he deserves it more than anyone.

As you press your hand softly against his shoulder, you settle beside him, closing your own eyes, and together, under the soft weight of blankets, you both drift into the quiet peace of sleep.

His chest feels strangely lighter, as if the weight he’s carried so long has finally loosened its hold. The scent of old paper mingles with a trace of last night’s cocoa, stirring softly around him, and he opens his eyes to find two forgotten mugs, their contents now cold, sitting on the table. Morning light streams through the bookstore’s large windows, casting delicate beams across the room, where tiny particles of dust dance and swirl like winter snowflakes caught in a golden glow.

And then it hits him—he’s in your bookstore. He fell asleep here, his heart laid bare, resting in your gentle embrace. Last night, he poured out his grief, his regrets, his guilt, and you’d held him in the quiet safety of your lap, soothing him with words that linger in the air, as soft as the dawn light now filtering in. He feels a warmth settle in his chest, something lighter and more hopeful taking root, gently nudging the darkness aside.

He turns, catching sight of you still asleep beside him, your lashes fluttering against your cheek in the gentlest rhythm, like the delicate wings of a butterfly resting between flights. You look so serene, so quietly beautiful, and in this moment, he feels his heart expand, filled with a quiet gratitude and a strange, new kind of peace. He isn’t fully healed—not yet—but he feels the faintest beginnings of something brighter, a light beginning to shift within him.

You were right, he realizes. He doesn’t have to carry his grief alone, doesn’t have to let it take root so deeply. His friends had tried to tell him before, but somehow, he’d resisted. With you, though, it felt different. Maybe it’s the way you looked past the jagged edges of his sorrow and saw the flicker of light he thought he’d lost. Maybe it’s the way you listened, without pity, without judgment, your compassion flowing freely, like a balm to his worn-out soul. He feels a rush of quiet reverence—for your kindness, for the safe harbor you offered, for the hope you unknowingly planted in him. And he knows, somehow, he’ll carry this moment with him forever.

You stir softly beneath him, your body stretching as you wake. Your eyes meet his, soft and warm, and in that gentle gaze he feels understood in a way he hadn’t thought possible. You smile, a tender smile that feels like the start of something new.

“I loved our talk yesterday,” you murmur, voice laced with warmth and care. “How are you feeling?”

He hums softly, the morning light catching the hint of a smile on his lips, “I feel… lighter, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m so glad,” you whisper, fingers tracing gently along his cheek, your touch soft and warm. A shiver rolls through him, and he feels goosebumps rise, like your kindness has left its own quiet mark on his skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice tender and full. “Thank you for listening, for everything… truly.”

You smile, brushing a strand of his hair back with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t do anything—you did that,” you say, your voice a soft tease. 

He chuckles, feeling his heart swell as he sinks a little deeper into your lap, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re good with words,” he replies, leaning into your touch, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

“I read a lot,” you chuckle, fingers weaving gently through his hair, each stroke grounding him more fully into this quiet moment.

He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an unexpected tenderness, “What are you doing tomorrow? On Christmas Eve.”

You pause, a flicker of surprise lighting your eyes before you break into a gentle smile. “Nothing, why?”

A smile spreads across his face, slow and earnest. “I’d really like it if you’d come to my place. I want to make dinner for you, to thank you. For all of this.”

Your eyes soften, glistening with a look he can’t quite decipher, something warm and unspoken that makes his heart beat a little faster. And then, leaning closer, you brush a kiss against his cheek, your lips feather-light and warm.

“I’d love to,” you whisper, and your words, simple as they are, feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the quiet streets are bathed in the soft, amber glow of street lamps, their light dancing on the fresh blanket of snow as you wait for the bus that will carry you to Hoseok’s place. A warmth bubbles up inside you as you think back to yesterday—when you finally glimpsed the beautiful light that has always flickered behind his eyes. That warmth wrapped around you, like a blanket on a cold winter night, and filled your heart with a joy you can’t quite put into words. 

Seated now in the gentle hum of the bus, you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the world blur past in a whirl of twinkling lights and shadows. Your mind keeps drifting back to Hoseok, that ray of sunshine who’s somehow already become a quiet storm in your chest. You’ve never felt like this for anyone—never this quickly, never this intensely. You know you like him deeply, but there’s so much more to discover. This dinner, you think, could be the start of that journey. 

As the soft strains of Christmas music fill your ears, you imagine what his home might look like—wondering if it would feel as warm and comforting as his presence. The bus slows, and you press the stop button when you realize the next stop is just a heartbeat away from Hoseok’s apartment. The doors open, and you step out into the crisp, dark afternoon, your breath puffing out in delicate clouds as you trudge through the snow, boots crunching with each step toward his building. Finally, you find it. You shake the snow off your boots before making your way up the stairs, your heart fluttering as you ascend to the right floor. You reach his door and knock gently, anticipation coursing through your veins. It’s only moments before the door swings open, and you’re met with an embrace of warmth—both from the cozy glow spilling out from inside and from the inviting scent of something delicious drifting in the air.

Hoseok stands before you, wearing a red Christmas apron, with a pocket embroidered with Santa and snowflakes at the edges. The sight catches you off guard, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Wow,” you begin, taken by surprise, but he grins back, the same joyful light in his eyes. “—Handsome, right?” he finishes your thought with a laugh, and you join in, smiling even brighter. “Yeah,” you laugh, nodding, “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” You slip off your coat and shoes, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around you like a soft embrace.

You look down at your dress, a silky golden thing that rests just above your knees, with the barest hint of your collarbone exposed. Beneath the apron, you catch the outline of his dress shirt, festively adorned with Christmas prints, and the way his dress pants fit him perfectly. Without thinking, you reach out, gently grasping his bicep, surprised by how solid and strong it feels beneath your touch. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but for a moment, the words slip away, leaving you with only the quiet flutter of your heartbeat.

“I used to go all out at Christmas,” Hoseok says, his voice soft, catching your gaze as he notices you watching him. “When my family was still alice… it was kinda our tradition. And,” he pauses, the weight of the memories hanging between you both, “I thought maybe I should replace those dark memories with new ones. Water the flowers, like you suggested.” 

The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heart, and you feel a warmth spread inside you. He really took your rambling words to heart, didn’t he? It’s almost too much, the way he’s reaching for healing, for light. You blink quickly, trying to stop the tears from spilling over—because God, if he keeps this up, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it together. 

He smiles softly at you, a smile that carries both gratitude and something more, before gently guiding you into his home with a hand resting at the small of your back. “Come in,” he murmurs, as if he’s sharing more than just his space, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself. 

You step inside, and the atmosphere is instantly warm, comforting—like stepping into a dream where all the colors and memories belong exactly where they are. His personal items are scattered thoughtfully around the room, each object, each piece of art, telling a story of the man himself. The walls are adorned with splashes of color, vibrant yet intimate, as if the house breathes with the same life that hums in his veins. It’s the kind of home that makes you smile involuntarily, grounded and cozy, much like him. 

You follow him into the kitchen, small but inviting, its walls holding the scent of simmering food and something more—something like hope. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you watch him finish off the last details of the meal, every movement graceful and purposeful. It’s like watching an artist at work, and your senses are overwhelmed by the delicious aroma that fills the air.

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up with an easy, practiced motion, revealing arms veined and strong—muscles flexing as his hand moves to stir the pan. Your mind drifts for a moment, caught between admiration and the soft, flickering thoughts that begin to dance behind your eyes. His presence feels like the warmth of the sun—comforting, yet powerful.

“Do you want wine?” he asks, his gaze meeting yours as he reaches for a heat-resistant mat to place the pan on. 

“Yeah, but just one glass,” you answer, your voice steady. You don’t want to cloud the clarity you feel in this moment—not today. Not with this quiet intimacy swirling between you two, a pull that feels magnetic, like you’re drawn in by the gravity of his kindness and the warmth of the space he’s shared with you. 

When you step into the dining room, the sight before you takes your breath away. The table is set perfectly—candles flicker gently, casting a soft glow across the room, while a delicate Christmas playlist hums in the background. The ambiance feels like something pulled from a dream, and your heart flutters as you take it all in. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice quiet with awe, still unable to fully comprehend the effort he’s put into making this evening so special.

Hoseok chuckles softly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he drags a stool out for you to sit. “Actually,” he says, placing the food carefully on the table, his eyes warm and earnest, “I had to. It’s the least I can do.” He pours wine into your glass, his fingers brushing the stem gently, and as he looks up at you, something shifts between you both—something that feels like the beginning of a new story.

You blush and smile, warmth blooming inside you, feeling a kind of happiness that only his presence seems to create. It’s a glow that wraps around you like a soft, sunlit blanket, a feeling you know he brings to others when he’s not weighed down by his sorrow. But tonight, Hoseok is different—lighter, freer. He’s like a person emerging from the dark, letting the painful past be nothing more than distant echoes, fading into the background of his life. There’s a spark in his eyes, a lightness to his spirit that wasn’t there yesterday. You know the sadness still lingers in him, but damn, seeing him fight to reclaim joy is nothing short of beautiful.

His movements are more confident now, flowing with a grace that seems to echo his shifting mood. The pain didn’t vanish overnight, but he’s making a conscious choice to let go, to change, and that’s the most powerful thing. It feels like watching someone wake up, piece by piece, from a long and heavy slumber.

You take a sip of your wine, and the quiet hum of contentment fills the space between you. As you begin to eat, the flavors on your tongue are nothing short of heavenly, and you realize—he’s not just kind, not just tender, but he’s an incredible cook too. Your heart swells, and you glance at him, finding his smile—soft, genuine, a reflection of the warmth that’s spilling out from inside him. He’s smiling with his eyes, and it makes you feel elated, like everything in the world has aligned just perfectly. 

Then, you feel something nudge against your foot, warm and gentle, and your gaze drops to see his foot brushing against yours. You can’t help but giggle, a little burst of joy that seems to bubble up from your chest. You drink a little more, letting the wine relax your senses as you continue eating, savoring every bite until you’re almost too full to move.

“This was so delicious, Hobi,” you say, your voice soft, full of admiration, as your hand stretches across the table, finding its way to gently caress his. 

He smiles, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he meets your eyes. “Mh. Thank you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in warmth.

“But you’re the one who deserves all the thanks and praises,” he adds, his voice thick with sincerity, his gaze never leaving yours. You blink, surprised by the depth of his words, and feel your heart stir with a tenderness you can’t quite explain.

“Me?” you laugh, a little incredulous, the sound light and playful, like you’re both caught in this beautiful moment of connection.

“Yeah,” he nods, his voice low and filled with gratitude, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the strength to face my pain, to let the old me—the me I thought was lost—come back to life.” 

His words settle in your chest, heavy with truth, and it stirs something deep inside you. 

“Instead of sitting here with you today,” he continues, his voice raw and real, “I’d probably be lying in bed, bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it. But here I am, actually enjoying Christmas. Actually enjoying life again.” 

The rawness of his honesty catches you off guard, and your heart aches with the beauty of it. A few tears well in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his words. His gratitude, so pure and so deeply felt, moves you in ways you didn’t expect.

He caresses your hand back, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of warmth through your chest. “Thank you for guiding me back towards the light,” he whispers, his voice soft yet resolute, the sincerity in it making your heart swell. 

Your eyes flutter, feeling a mixture of gratitude and happiness for him. This is the light you saw the moment you met him—the flicker of hope beneath the surface of his pain—and now, with gentle patience, he’s found his way back to it. To see him embrace it, to see him live in it again, is nothing short of breathtaking. And in that moment, you realize just how incredibly sexy that is—this strength, this vulnerability wrapped in his quiet confidence. 

Without thinking, driven by the pull of something deeper, you lean in across the table, closing the distance between you, and your lips meet his in a kiss so tender it almost feels like the world stops. 

For a fleeting second, there’s hesitation in him—surprise, perhaps—but then his hands cradle your cheeks, his fingers slipping into your hair, and he moans into the kiss, pulling you closer, deepening it. 

Your heart races, the connection between you sparking like wildfire. You think, with a flash of clarity, that it was only ever a matter of time before this moment arrived, before your lips touched in the way they were always meant to. 

When you pull apart, his brown eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, as are yours, and you feel the heat between you intensify, every nerve in your body alive with the electricity of the moment. 

He leans in again, lips brushing against yours as his breath quickens, and you feel something stir within you, something deep and primal, fluttering in your chest. 

He pulls back again, and his voice is laced with desire, hushed but intense. “Do you want to see my bed? It’s nice and soft,” he asks, his gaze still smoldering.

You blush, the heat rising to your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh—a breathy sound, teasing and full of playful mischief. “Yes, but I’m more into the harder beds.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening into something more dangerous, more magnetic. “You are, are you? So you like it hard?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge to it now, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“Maybe,” you tease, batting your lashes as your heart begins to race. You rise from the stool, the air between you thick with unspoken promises.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the heat between you palpable, electric. You can already feel the pull of him, the temptation of what’s to come.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for yours, and you feel the warmth of his touch ignite something inside of you. “This way,” he murmurs, his fingers threading through yours as he leads you through the tiny hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the anticipation building like a slow crescendo, your pulse quickening with every heartbeat. The air feels thick with tension, charged, like a storm ready to break. As you step into his bedroom, the world outside seems to disappear, and all that exists is him—his presence, his touch, the way he’s looking at you with that fire in his eyes.

Before you can take another breath, he pulls you into his arms, one hand sliding behind your neck, the other settling on the small of your back. His lips crash into yours, deep and smoldering, igniting the very air between you. You melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching for the closeness, for everything that’s about to unfold.

His tongue dances with yours, a teasing, intoxicating rhythm that sends shivers through your bones, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips and into his. The air between you is electric, alive with a pulse that pulls you both closer until clothes become mere shadows cast aside, and your chests rise and fall in time, breaths mingling as one. He guides you down onto the bed, and you gasp, bouncing softly against the mattress, a laugh escaping you—only to dissolve as he hovers above, his gaze dark and consuming, savoring every curve, every inch as though you were his finest vintage.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent, as his hands trace along your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You shiver, the warmth of his touch awakening every inch, every nerve, until your skin hums under his fingertips. His lips descend, his breath warm against your skin as he moves lower, his gaze holding yours in a promise, a delicious anticipation that pools and aches within you.

“Can I touch you, make you come on my tongue?” he whispers, his voice low, pleased. You nod, breath hitching, and when you gasp a desperate ‘yes,’ he presses deeper, spreading you open, his lips finding your pussy, soft and warm, as a shudder rushes through you like a wave.

He doesn't hesitate, diving in, his tongue moving in slow, devastating circles that steal your breath, exploring you with the kind of hunger that unravels you. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you steady, his own groans vibrating against your skin as his mouth moves against you, relentless, devoted. The wet sounds echo, shamelessly intimate, drawing you closer to that edge, your pulse quickening as his nose brushes your clit, a shockwave of pleasure sparking up your spine.

Your fingers knot into his hair, tugging, a fevered plea spilling from your lips as he drives you higher. A skilled flick, a press, and your hips roll forward, chasing the pleasure he's offering, breath coming fast and shallow. “Hobi,” you gasp, feeling the tidal pull of release, the wave cresting just at the brink. “I’m so close, I—”

He pulls back only briefly, his voice a husky command. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

The endearment sends a dizzying rush through you, a warmth that winds tight in your core, pushing you over the edge. With a final swirl of his tongue, you fall, your muscles clenching around him as his name shatters from your lips, your body arching, pulsing with every wave that rolls through you. He doesn't let up, holding you through every tremor, his mouth and fingers steady, pulling every last bit of pleasure from you.

When your breath finally slows, he trails kisses up your body, lingering over the swell of your hips, your stomach, each touch a worship. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your jaw, his face gleaming with your warmth as he murmurs, “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“That tickles,” you giggle as his lips trail across your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a tender, lingering kiss. There’s a faint taste of yourself on him, but it’s lost in the intoxicating warmth of his presence; you’re drunk on him, submerged in the depth of his touch, his scent, the pull of his breath against yours. It’s astonishing how deeply you feel for him already—as if you've known the quiet rhythm of his soul and the dance of his heart for years, not days that turned to weeks.

“Was it good?” he murmurs, his eyes bright and searching, holding a playful tenderness that only he seems to bring out in you.

“It was incredible,” you pant, your body slowly easing down from the dizzying high, a blissful afterglow humming through every inch of you.

“Then let me give you another,” he says with a teasing glint, the promise glistening in his voice as he leans closer.

You blink, surprised, a trace of doubt slipping through your words. “Are you sure?” It’s not that you question his skill—he’s just shown you what he’s capable of—but you’ve never been able to reach that edge twice in such quick succession.

His expression softens, his eyes tracing over your face with quiet understanding. “You’ve never orgasmed twice in a row, have you?” He asks, his voice gentle, knowing. You bite your lip, nodding, your cheeks warm.

“Then lean back, relax,” he whispers, a warmth threading through his voice that feels like a promise waiting to unfold. “Let me do all the work.”

He guides you to sit up, leaning comfortably against the headboard, and settles in beside you, close enough that his heat seems to melt into your own. With a soft, lingering kiss, his lips capture yours again, while his fingers trail a path down your body, finding the sensitive peak of your breast and teasing your nipple with a gentle, rhythmic squeeze that draws a moan from deep within you. His hand moves skillfully, squeezing, massaging, until your skin tingles beneath his touch, each sensation like a spark flickering into life.

When his hand finally moves lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, you’re already quivering with anticipation. His fingers find that sensitive spot between your legs, his touch feather-light but insistent as he circles your clit, the glide slick and warm, a sensation that sends tremors through your body. A soft moan escapes your lips, melting into his as his finger slips inside you, a slow, steady rhythm building as he moves in and out, each motion drawing you closer to that simmering heat just waiting to burst.

His lips never leave yours, each kiss drawing you deeper into the haze of his touch, your body moving in sync with his, rolling against him as his hand works its magic. You’re already beginning to unravel, each touch, each whisper against your skin making you feel like you’re on the verge of combustion. Not quite over the edge yet, but right there, teetering, every nerve alive, every inch of you utterly and completely his.

“Mmmhh,” he breathes against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away to meet your gaze. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and inviting, filled with a warmth that makes your pulse quicken.

“Ah, Hobi,” you pant, your hips instinctively moving in sync with his hand, matching each subtle movement with a desperate rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, his voice soft but laced with a confidence that sends a shiver through you.

“I do,” you moan, breathy and unguarded. “You can… add another.”

He obliges, slipping a second finger beside the first, the added stretch sending a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you can’t help the delighted mewl that escapes your lips. He moves with a steady, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling, finding just the right spots, each motion igniting something deeper, pulling you toward that familiar crest of pleasure. For the first time, you believe—maybe you could actually come again.

Your head falls back, resting against the headboard, and he seizes the moment, his mouth tracing along the exposed curve of your neck. His lips, warm and firm, press kisses to your skin, each one sending a wave of electricity through you, and as his teeth graze just beneath your ear, you giggle softly, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, each word brushing against your skin like velvet, sending delightful shivers coursing through you. “Think you can handle a third finger?”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping as you murmur, “Maybe… Are you getting me ready for that monster cock of yours?” you tease, voice wavering with laughter and heat.

He laughs, the sound low and deep, and slides a third finger inside, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I’ve got to make sure your sweet, tiny pussy can take me.”

The words strike something in you, a spark that seems to light you from within. Your body welcomes the stretch, feeling fuller, each movement of his fingers heightening the tension building inside you, every push and curl driving you closer to the edge. You’re lost, breathless, a soundless cry caught in your throat as his thumb grazes your clit, sending you spiraling, stars dancing in your vision as pleasure wells up from within.

“Are you close again, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling in a way that’s both messy and perfect, igniting every nerve.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word more a breath than a sound, your hips rolling in time with his hand as he dips his head to your neck, then your cheek, each touch gentle, yet searing. He catches a stray tear of ecstasy on his lips, and then he finds your mouth, kissing you deeply, his body pressing against yours, chest against your breasts, the closeness amplifying every sensation. The world fades around you, narrowing to just the two of you, to his fingers, his lips, his warmth, everything feeling achingly right.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, your body pulsing around his fingers as he moves within you, steady, guiding you through every wave of your release. You’re left breathless, panting, as the pleasure washes over you, his fingers still moving, coaxing every last tremor from you, until you’re spent, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

“See?” he grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I told you I could make you come again.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, your body still pulsing in the delicious aftershocks of his touch. He holds his slick fingers in front of you, and for a moment, you think he’ll ask you to taste yourself. But instead, he surprises you, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, his lips parting as he sucks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and your body responds instinctively, clenching at the image of his self-indulgent pleasure.

“That was… incredibly hot,” you murmur, still breathless, your hand finding his chest as you push him gently back against the headboard. He gives a soft, surprised laugh but lets you take the lead, his body relaxed, trusting. His legs part under your touch, his cock heavy and hard between them, and you feel a rush of excitement knowing he’s been waiting, building up desire, just for you.

“Oh, okay,” he breathes, his voice breaking into a pant as you lean in. You spit into your hand, wrapping it firmly around his dick, feeling the warmth of him under your palm, the slight pulse of anticipation. His eyes close, his head tilting back, a moan slipping from his lips as you begin, your hand gliding over his length, making sure every inch is slick and ready for you.

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth down to him, taking him in fully, your lips stretching around him as you ease down. He gasps, his body jerking slightly, unprepared for the sudden depth, and you stay there, breathing steadily, relaxing as you let him fill you completely. Above you, he murmurs something unintelligible, a string of curses and soft sighs that only drive you further.

You pull back, letting him slip from your lips with a soft, wet sound, the cool air hitting his skin as he opens his mouth, stunned. “Damn, Y/N, I—”

But before he can finish, you take him in again, his words dissolving into a low groan as you move, finding a rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him as you hum, feeling him pulse with each sound. The slight salt of his precum lingers on your tongue, a taste that feels both intimate and thrilling. His hands find your head, fingers threading into your hair, and you feel him tense above you, fighting for control. But then his grip tightens, and he pushes you down gently, deeper, a raw, breathless whisper escaping him.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice breaking as you take him all the way in again, your eyes watering slightly, the warmth of him filling you completely. He presses his palms to your cheeks, drawing you up, meeting you with a hungry kiss, his mouth capturing yours in a fervor that leaves you both breathless, your bodies pressed close as if to savor every last taste, every last touch.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his eyes meeting yours, deep pools of desire and awe, the kind of look that sends warmth pooling low in your belly.

You giggle, shifting down the bed and tugging at his legs, playfully coaxing him to lie flat beneath you. As he settles back, you crawl over him, gazing down, feeling the heat between you like a magnetic pull. Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips, letting the kiss deepen until it feels like you’re both tumbling into something endless.

When you pull back, your voice soft, you ask, “Are you okay with doing it raw?” His face flushes, his eyes darting to the side for a moment, vulnerable, unguarded. “If you have condoms, that’s fine too… I’m clean, and—”

He interrupts, his words stumbling. “It’s fine. I—It’s been a long time for me, but… it’s not like I haven’t… I mean, I’m not a virgin… it’s just been a while since—”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile, your other hand resting on the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded with desire. “I just want you. Right here, right now.”

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding under your hand before he breathes out, a quiet “Mkay.”

That’s all you need. With a slow, deliberate motion, you swing your leg over his hips, settling yourself above him, your hand finding him, guiding his dick to you. Gently, you press yourself against him, letting the head of his cock tease you, a tantalizing friction that makes his face tighten with a mixture of pleasure and impatience.

“Don’t tease,” he pants, his voice a husky whisper.

“Says the master of teasing,” you quip back with a grin, and finally, you begin to lower yourself onto him, savoring each exquisite inch as he fills you, stretching you with an overwhelming, delicious pressure. Every nerve ignites as you sink down, hands splayed on his chest, his skin hot and firm beneath your palms. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and hungry, and as you begin to roll your hips, a soft moan escapes you—he feels so perfect.

“God, you’re so big,” you murmur, voice wavering as you ride him, your movements picking up a steady rhythm, each glide smooth and effortless, your body still sensitive and wet from the pleasure he’s already given you.

“You look so beautiful on top of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe as he watches you, his gaze tracing the way your body moves, the rise and fall of your breasts as you ride him. His words make your pulse race, and your body clenches around him in response, your hips picking up speed, moving faster, deeper, chasing that place inside you where everything blurs into pure sensation.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, your mouth finding a spot just below his jaw where you suck softly, marking him as yours. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough, his need written in every small movement.

When your lips return to his, he kisses you fiercely, and you slow your hips, grinding against him with deep, rolling movements that leave you both breathless, the friction between you a heady, delicious ache. His hands hold you with a greed that makes your skin tingle, his grip firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to savor every second, every feeling. 

He begins to thrust up into you, his movements sudden yet electrifying, each stroke catching you off guard in the most thrilling way. A gasp escapes your lips, raw and breathless.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant against his ear, your voice a broken whisper.

“Good?” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing.

“Mhm, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as his hands pull you down, anchoring you to him, while his hips drive up to meet yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends a delicious shock through you, his cock filling you so deeply that you feel entirely claimed, entirely his.

“Let me flip you over,” he pants, and with a strength that feels effortless, he shifts you onto your back without ever leaving your body. Your legs wrap instinctively around him, locking him in place as he plunges deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that’s quick, relentless. Your hands fall back, palms open beside your head as he holds you there, his hips moving in an unyielding rhythm that sends you spiraling, your vision blurring with pleasure.

Above you, he’s sweating, his chest heaving as he breathes out, “Think you can come again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, each word trembling with the anticipation building low in your belly.

“Let’s find out,” he replies, his voice thick with determination. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as he sucks, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thrusts remain deep, unyielding, each movement pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, as his scent surrounds you, grounding you in him.

He moves to the other nipple, and as his lips close around it, your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious pull of another climax gathering, stronger, more overwhelming.

“I think… I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, every nerve alive with the approaching edge, feeling yourself build higher and higher, almost unbearably.

He hums against your breast, the vibration rippling through you, and when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your body seizes, your pussy clenching around him—hard, locking him deep as your vision whites out in a blinding rush of sensation. The world blurs to nothing, a soft ringing filling your ears as your chest heaves. You dimly register his eyes on you, his gaze intense, enthralled, as you let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, endless, consuming, as he continues to thrust, drawing every last bit of sensation from you. It feels like it will never stop, his body perfectly attuned to yours, his movements relentless, and you’re left breathless, utterly taken by him, lost in the exquisite pull of his touch.

“Oh my—fuck,” he rasps, his voice catching as he stills, releasing himself into you with a shuddering breath. His chest heaves, spent and utterly captivated, and as he catches his breath, he murmurs, “Shit, I didn’t ask if I could come inside you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a tired, blissful warmth spread through you. “It’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft and slurred, still drifting in the hazy warmth of pleasure. Despite your exhaustion, your body continues to pulse around him, a lingering hold, like it’s reluctant to let him go.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you. “You’re still squeezing me,” he says, giving a few gentle, lingering thrusts to help you both ride out the aftershocks, savoring every last sensation.

“This… has never happened before,” you murmur, a soft giggle escaping as the warmth fades and your body begins to relax. Finally, the last traces of tension melt away, leaving you both drowsy and satisfied.

“I hope it was good for you,” he says, letting his weight rest against you, his chest pressed to yours as his breathing steadies.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It was incredible,” you whisper, a tenderness in your voice that makes him chuckle softly. He nestles his face against your collarbone, eyes closed, sinking fully into the afterglow.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble against your skin. “It was incredible for me too.” For a moment, the two of you lie there, basking in the quiet peace between breaths, in the warmth of skin on skin. He shifts slightly, resting his head on your chest, and you feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I could lie here forever,” he breathes, his voice soft and content.

You giggle, brushing a thumb over his shoulder. “Sounds nice, but you’re just a little bit heavy,” you tease, your voice trailing off with a sleepy laugh. “But… Can I stay? I’m so tired, and I really don’t want to go outside in the cold snow.”

He draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips brushing over your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay. Sleep. And in the morning… I’ll make sure to fuck you real good all over again.” He tilts your chin up, sealing his promise with a warm, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded, even now.

“That,” you sigh, smiling as you close your eyes, “sounds perfect.”

Slowly, he slips out of you, and though you feel the absence, he’s back almost immediately with a warm cloth. His hands are gentle, his touch soft as he lifts your legs to clean you with careful attention, leaving a trail of warmth where he touches. You hum, your body responding to his tenderness, and he smiles, brushing a kiss to your knee as he finishes.

“Do you want to sleep in a shirt?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches you start to drift off.

You shake your head, smiling sleepily. “No, I’m too tired to move… just come and spoon me,” you murmur, your voice already fading as you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Naked?” he teases, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief.

You smirk, stretching out your words, “Yeah… unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the least,” he replies, flashing a cheeky grin before slipping into bed beside you. He slides in behind you, pulling the covers up over both of you as if sealing you in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His body, warm and steady against yours, is like an anchor, and within moments, the world fades away, and you’re sound asleep, cradled in his embrace.

Morning comes gently, with the soft tickle of Hoseok’s breath grazing your neck, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you begin to stir. You shift slightly, and he wakes, nuzzling close to you, his lips pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rich and low.

You chuckle, turning your head slightly to face him. “Good morning… and Merry Christmas.”

He yawns, then his face lights up with a lazy, warm smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice filled with a happiness that feels both new and deeply familiar, like something cherished but long forgotten. The two of you laugh softly, as if sharing a secret, wrapped in the fullness of each other.

You wonder if he’s ever spent Christmas with anyone since his family passed, but something tells you not to ask—not when everything feels so gentle and good. His hand drifts down your body, his fingers finding the curve of your hip, settling on you possessively, and giving you a playful squeeze.

“Can you turn around?” he whispers, a subtle seriousness beneath his tone. “I want to ask you something.”

You shift to face him, and it’s like the morning light itself is gazing back at you—he’s radiant, his smile warm and glowing, spilling over with something tender and unspoken. For a heartbeat, you’re breathless, marveling at how a man could look this luminous, this achingly beautiful, as though he’s sunlight made flesh.

“What do you want to ask me?” you murmur, your own voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you reach to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze twinkling with a mix of happiness and something bolder. “Would you… be my not fake girlfriend?” he asks, eyes dancing with playful mischief, though you can tell he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but laugh, fingers threading through his hair. “So… you mean, a regular girlfriend?” you tease, tapping your chin and pretending to ponder it, though your heart already knows the answer.

He nods, grinning but waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, full of hope.

Without another word, you lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s both deep and tender, lingering as if to say all the things words can’t quite hold. When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, gaze soft as though he’s still catching his breath.

“Yes,” you whisper, a smile lighting up your face, “I want to be your not fake girlfriend.”

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ requested taglist: @nora12379 @back2bluesidex @joonsmagicshop @hobi-love @bangtan-tee-86 @itsmina29 @vintageroses10 @hoseoksluna @knjjjk @ktownshizzle @angellekookie @miksancheese

→ Author’s endnote: so… how are we feeling after riding this emotional rollercoaster of all the feels™? Are we okay? Did it wreck you just a little? Or were you like, “meh, this sucks”? Be honest—I can take it (I think) 😅 I may or may not have poured way too much of myself into Hobi, and then used OC as a therapy session to bandage my own emotional wounds 😂 Why do I do this? Every. Single. Time. But hey, at least we’re all healing together, right? 💜 Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me all your thoughts, feelings, and maybe even your favorite moment—it means the world to me! 🫂

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[ruerecs]

fanfic writers NEVER contemplate or apologise for your fic being over 3-5k words long, we readers LOVE longer fics!! anyways have a good day/night 🙂‍↕️

[cheeseceli]

Boyfriend Hobi

Pairing: Jung Hoseok × gn!reader

Genre: headcanons, fluff

Request: boyfriend hobi, perchance?!

Warnings: physical touch, mentions of food, he's an idol, mentions of fights

A/n: this one's a bit long I think lmao | daily click

Hobi ver. | Jimin ver. | Taehyung ver. | Jungkook ver.

This was probably a best friends to lovers thing

It took him a while to make a move because he was scared to mess up the relationship

So either you make the first move or you'll have to be very patient 😭

Oh this one is strong on physical touch btw

He likes to cuddle, he will always save a seat for you next to him, random hugs just because

And he will never let go of your hand

Trust me on this one

If you're walking around, better believe he WILL be holding your hand

And he also hugs you when you're cold to warm you up 🙂‍↕️

Your opinion is EXTREMELY important to him

Both on trivial matters, like what hat he should wear, and on more important things, like his job

You always receive spoilers to the tracks he's producing as well

Partner privileges

Talking about partner privileges

He takes such care of you

Always make sure you ate enough and on time

Drives you to your work/uni and then drives you home after

Insists on you taking an extra coat on cold days

Even massages you when you're too stressed or when you had a particularly rough day

Also loves to send you texts and voice messages throughout the day

If you can't see each other that day, he's gonna make sure to document EVERYTHING to you

He loves to have you near, even when it's not physically possible

He also smiles mid kiss 💔

He perceives everything as well

You're currently obsessed with a new series? He's already sending you videos about that

You're feeling kinda down? He is comforting you before you can barely understand what you're feeling

You want to go to some place? He's already cleaning his schedule so you can go asap

He's so observant

And if you're talking, his eyes are on you

The type of guy to put his full attention on you

He's a perfectionist, nothing new here

So if you guys ever fought it would probably be because of these details

And because he wanted the relationship to be so perfect, there would probably be a bit of accidental self sabotage

But with time this gets better

He also needs a bit of validation

I don't think he'd be very jealous (considering the perilla leaf debate)

But some validation is still nice lmao

Trusts you with his life

You know every single secret of his

You know where every precious possession of his is, and you can use all of them

You're his emergency call

He genuinely trusts you a lot

He's not jealous, but he is protective

If he senses you're feeling uncomfortable, he will step up with no hesitation

Sidewalk rule

He loves your smile

He has 649264 pictures of you smiling

And most of these pictures were taken secretly, when you were too focused on just enjoying life to notice the camera

Idk he also seems like he would want to have matching items with you

If English/Korean are not your mother tongue, he would LOVE to learn your language

He would learn a few words and suddenly that's all he's saying for the rest of the week

Overall, he's your safe place and you're his

He is your personal sunshine: cheer you up on sad days and make happy days even brighter

Confidents of each other

It would be a dream, honestly

Masterlist | you'll probably like: Fri(end)s

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @butnotmontana @sheraayasherrecs

Dividers by @adornedwithlight | images 1, 2 and 3

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Asking best friend!BTS for a divorce

Warnings : mentions of divorce, gender neutral but mentions of having kids

A/N : I'm still in the process of moving but I had this in my drafts and figured I'd post it ! Starting in August I will be posting fake texts again, so look out for more coming your way soon 💕 Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoyed 🥰

@comingupwithacoolnameishard @lethallyprotected @eastleighsblog @abbiestearsricochet @berryblog @th3melthatfell @weird-bookworm @dreamingaboutjisung @the-lemon-boy @nfrgirl @choisoorin @minhoino @retromalum @junebug032 @alyszaen @felixmainacc @dinonuguaegi

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [5]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 9.4k

Edit (02-04-25): nothing important was changed, just made it more readable(?). Didn't realise how much I yapped nonsense here oml

thank you all for your comments and likes, it keeps me going :DD

<<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>>

_____

Namjoon was a man of science.

He believes in everything that can be explained in a lengthy and intricately detailed book filled with an even more difficult terminologies and worded examinations backed up by photographic evidence to prove it. 

To him, if he didn't see it happen before his very eyes, it was fiction, a lie.

It's how it should be.

As a child, he frowned upon the heretics and the desperate, thanking a nonexistent god for the fruit of their hard work. He couldn’t fathom how they could weep so genuinely as they prayed on their knees for blessings that never come, and if gods were real, he could never understand how devoted they are for someone who turned a blind eye to the challenges they faced.

He never understood how the lonely could resort to immorality in their desperation for a soulmate, couldn't fathom how easily they shed their humanity for a morsel, a hint of that sense of belonging and importance being a tethered gave.

It was dumb.

Life doesn't revolve around soulmates, they should've tried other options instead of blaming the theoretical nirvana for their own misfortune.

Despite being a child born from two mates, he never believed in the concepts of soulmates, thinking it childish as it was an idea the lonely and the hopeless hung onto to feel better for themselves. He believed that his parents would have met either way without their soulmarks, would've fallen in love the same and bring him to life. 

Because they were meant to be, even without the marks to prove it.

Sure he wished to eventually settle down with someone who also loved him as his mother does with his father but he doesn't believe in the spiritual connection.

But science has nothing on the sensation he was feeling right now.

The moment the clock struck midnight, a heartbeat suddenly began to drum at the back of his head, but it was faint and muffled as if it was distant and came through multiple walls but he could hear its panicked pace echoing in his skull. In the silence you and Jungkook’s departure has left, Namjoon began to feel dread bubbling inside him. A tension slowly building up with the beat of the racing heart at the back of his head.

It felt like those slowly crescending notes of a horror movie's background music as the killer stalks nearer. There's a tension thickening but he's the only one who could feel it, could sense it coming.

It's making him nervous beyond belief how he doesn't know what is afoot.

A gasp tore through his thought process and he looked up to see his Yoongi hyung eyeing something invisible in his right hand, disbelief apparent in his wide eyes as the others turned to him with concerned curiosity.

But Namjoon already knew what it was, at least felt like he knew what it is, although he himself is incredulous.

He's read up everything that he could about soulmates in his teenage years wanting to refute his parents' insistence on how they wouldn't have clicked as well as they are without the soulmark yet none of them could explain how he just knows the heartbeat at the back of his head belonged to you.

________

Fate truly has a funny way of revealing who your soulmate is.

It was said that the sensation when you first meet your soulmate should be a wave of cold relief flushing all the worries out of your system. Your mother and Jihae told you stories of the sudden sense of belonging, like finding the last piece of the puzzle you’ve walked your whole life without from a mere accidental brush of a hand with a stranger on the streets.

If it was in any other scenario, you would've agreed with them.

But as Jungkook raises both your hands to survey the skin for any mark, your world shrinks down like an air tight ziplock bag to only fit you and him. 

A low thrum resonated in the air, mellifluous and sweet, a direct contrast to the dull but racing heartbeat at the back of your head. Jolts of electricity vibrated under your skin starting from your joined hands and spreading across your muscles and lighting your nerve endings awake.

The walls around you closed in, not because it was Jungkook who you happened to be fated to. But because there's a thin, red thread tied around your pinkie.

A red string of fate.

And it's not tethered to Jungkook.

It goes behind you and you dread to know who it leads to.

There's a curious tug from down the line, the thread turning tangible at every pull and the urge to run away, to hide in the comforts of your home grew tenfold. Because you're sure the string leads to one of the boys.

People who became your closest companions after years of being their make-up artist. Three of which you've rejected and the remaining four you've remained friends with. 

Isn't this a bit too much of a joke?

How funny it must've been for the divinities to watch you reject the men eventually revealed to be your soulmate. They must've cackled, pointing fingers and all, as they watched you reject them. You wouldn’t put it behind them to connect the end of your string to someone you’ve also turned down once.

You watched Jungkook speedrun through the five stages of grief in a few seconds, face contorting every so often it made it hard to get a read on what he's feeling. He let out a shaky exhale as he came to, doe eyes meeting yours with an incredulous sheen. 

His continuous silence stuffed cottons into your throat, the conflicted expression he has settled on only furthering the panic in your chest. 

You retract your hand but he was faster, catching your wrist in a tighter grip. There's a question hanging from his lips but they cease to exist the moment you both see the mark on your finger.

In the space between your index and middle finger lies a black quarter note, inked into the skin of your middle. The tint is bold and black. 

Raising his own hand, your eyes landed on the same pattern etched on his on the opposite side. As if hypnotized, he intertwined his fingers and the same gentle thrum came back, along with a comforting warmth echoing from your soulmate mark and throughout your body, almost rendering you boneless from how intense and relieving it felt.

You weren't the only one affected by its calming properties. The frustration in Jungkook's from earlier now erased from his face, as if it was never there. Acceptance.

Just like that, the problem is solved; and that unsettles you.

“Noona… Wh-what is happening?”

His voice is so small, shaky and hopeful. Eyes growing larger as he surveys your soulmate marks in disbelief. He untangled your hand and pulled the soulmark closer to his eye. Curiously, Jungkook hesitantly taps the musical note and shivered with you when skin touched skin.

You both suck in a deep breath, freezing at the foreign sensation it brought you both before a smile that stretches high up to the heavens brightens his face.

Jungkook's eyes were glazed with unshed tears when you found them once more, breath shaky as he placed a kiss onto your knuckles. The sensation of his lips on your skin making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Noona, we're soulmates.”

You didn't even hear the sound of footsteps running up the stairs nor Taehyung calling you both until he got close, hand landing on your shoulder and effectively snapping you out of your trance.

“Are you guys okay? Not too long ago you were at each other's throat and now—woah!”

A shrill of pleasure shocks your body, vision flashing white and you fall. 

If it wasn't for Jungkook, you would've collapsed boneless next to Taehyung who's gasping on the floor, hand clutching his heart as he heaved. Jungkook let you lean your body weight on him once you stood up again. Arms wrapping around your waist protectively as your brain catches up.

A sharp gasp from Jungkook kickstarts your already racing heart, panic flushing out whatever has happened earlier.

But that wasn't the thing that made your head pulse.

It was the shaky utterance of your name and looking up at Jungkook only to be distracted by the faint glow of blue in the shape of a hand on your shoulder. The spot where Taehyung had last touched you.

In the dimness of the hallway, Love Prints gleamed a soft shade of purple like a splatter of glow in the dark paint. Your head snapped back to Taehyung who had pushed himself to sit up, cradling his head while murmuring intelligible under his breath until he looked up and his jaw fell.

“I-Is that…?”

“Hyung, what is the meaning of this?”

Taehyung turned to the maknae, spluttering. “I-I don't even… Ho-how is this even possible?”

How is it possible to feel like the world has pulled a carpet from under you while also feeling like you're laying on cloud 9?

Three soulmates.

Two of them being people you once rejected, one of them unknown but the string suspiciously led downstairs where the rest of the boys are.

You feel like passing out just to avoid the talk it'll entail. Maybe you should run at the wall and hope you'll hit your head hard enough to guarantee amnesia.

“Noona, you're seeing this too right?” 

Taehyung is now standing in front of you, reaching up to trace the already fading handprint and a new splatter of purple followed his finger. He grinned, eyes misty and overflowing with joy as he giggled, the sound almost reminiscent of a delighted child.

Jungkook’s arm tightened around you.

“Wh-why— Is that love prints? Hyung?” Jungkook’s voice shakes from the weight of the revelation hanging above his head. “Are we sharing noona?”

“GUYS! YOONGI HYUNG GOT A SOULMATE!”

Holy shit.

Unlike you who's despairing to see the man on the other side of the thread, Taehyung was beyond ecstatic.

“No fucking way. I gotta see this.”

Taehyung dragged you to the stairs when your legs refused to move, uprooting you from where you leaned onto Jungkook's side. Your stomach churned at how lighter the strings felt in your pinkie and a tad tighter as the distance shortened.

There's a sudden heartbeat racing in your ears but it sounds far away and it doesn't sync with the pulse you feel in your temples. You couldn't dwell on it for long before you're faced with the man at the other end of the red string.

___________

They said it all started with their eldest but unbeknownst to them, he was the first to notice how your eyes would light up like the stars in the night sky, how your laugh sounded like wedding bell rings than the dying pig you claimed it to sound.

Seokjin might be their eldest and Taehyung might’ve fallen deepest but he was the beginning of it all.

In his twenty five years of existence on this damned planet, Min Yoongi has never asked for much, content with whatever life throws at him.

Even with his harsh upbringing, he never kept what he has from others, especially since he met his brothers. He'd willingly ripped off the cloth from his back to keep them warm and plugged their ears with both his hands so they couldn’t hear the hateful words thrown at them at debut, even if it cost of being exposed to them instead. But he couldn't care less, Yoongi loves them with all his heart.

There's nothing in the world that could ever stop him from bending over backwards just so the others could live peacefully.

When his pockets grew heavier with age, this trait only bloomed further into millions donated anonymously to hospitals and charities he could stumble upon. 

To everyone, especially his brothers, he’s a generous man.

Until you strode into his life and haunted him in his waking days with the ghost of your touch caressing his face.

Min Yoongi never wants yet he yearned, he craved to feel the softness of your skin under his fingertips, to taste your lips and discover if you tasted as sweet as you smell, to run his hand through your hair as to know if it's as soft as it looked under the soft glow of the room. 

And for once in his life, he wanted to be selfish.

Being with you makes him want to believe, want to hope that something nonsensical as the concept of soulmates is true.

Originally, Min Yoongi wasn’t a believer of such optimism because his mother wasn’t. 

She passed down her resentment for the fates for turning a blind eye on her onto her next of kin. She was bitter from being untethered and barred her children from subjecting themselves to whimsical thoughts of fates and destinies.

Never had he entertained the ideas of soulmates until you came and bursted through the iron doors of his heart. For the first time in his life, he began to want, to wish that he gets tethered to you.

You who shined even without the help of others, who stood out like the beacon of light in the shady pits of this world. He couldn’t dare face you as someone whose future is as dim as the blasted world he cursed out. With nothing to offer, he strived to be the best, to crawl to the top whatever it takes.

He couldn't show you a pathetic side of him, he knew he couldn't step forward with a bleak future to offer. Yoongi wouldn't be able to bear it if you were to grow miserable beside him.

Because for you, he'd stop at nothing to hand everything you'd ever lay your eyes on wrapped in a pretty bow of the most expensive quality and tucked neatly behind soft colored gift wrappers.

So for years, Min Yoongi hid.

What else could he do when most of his brothers also vied for your attention? He loved you all with all his heart, couldn't bear the thought of ever hurting any of you for his selfish desires. So he did what he thought was best, step back and watch from the sidelines.

And he was fine with that.

He thinks himself a patient man. A trait forged by years of encountering nagging customers and demanding adults from working as a delivery boy. Yet all it took was a couple dozen bottles of Soju and a warm atmosphere to accidentally confess his feelings for you. Ashamed and already knowing what his hyung has received as an answer, he puts on a mask the next day and acts.

He did it so well you were convinced he wasn't kidding by forgetting last night's mistakes and swallowing up the disappointment when you didn’t bother asking him again and acted like nothing ever happened.

But it's okay, Min Yoongi is a patient man, he can wait.

So when you appeared before him, a red string tied prettily around your pinkie with the thread leading back to his own, he was beyond euphoric. He felt like a champion, of what? He didn’t care much to think.

He felt like he could climb the highest summit in record speed with no equipment and only the warmth of the new bond to keep him alive.

________

The moment you all appeared in the living room with your shoulder and linked hands glowing purple, all hell broke loose. You didn't even get to look at Yoongi’s reaction when everyone was exploding around you, running to look at the evidence of your connection to Taehyung up close.

“Oh shit…”

“What the fuck?”

“You guys are connected?!”

Taehyung hovered protectively behind you with a smile so bright it can deter the night, hands planted on your shoulders and pushing his hyungs a few steps away to keep them from overwhelming you.

Everyone surrounding you had varying reactions even then, Namjoon kept his distance but hovered over behind his brothers with his eyebrows furrowed, staring with his calculating gaze and the heartbeat echoing at the back of your head grow rampant. 

You didn’t dare look at Seokjin, whose gaze weighed heavily with hurt and disappointment. You try not to flinch when you hear him run upstairs, and the door of his room slams shut.

He who had confessed first, had continued to love you even when you had brushed off his affections, somehow didn’t make the cut. You didn’t even want to know what you’d do if you were him.

A finger traces the fading prints of Taehyung’s touch on your shoulder and you immediately crumple to the floor with a gasp as an intense wave of euphoria runs through your veins. You could barely make out the feeling of someone’s arms holding you up and someone pushing your head to their chest.

The bleary sight of what looked like Yoongi pushed through the crowd and reached up to cup your face, instantly, the warmth of his touch grounds you. Then you were being carried to sit on the sofa with everyone spaced around you, except for Jimin who’s bonelessly spread on the opposite side of you.

How funny was it for the universe to link you to the same men you've rejected for the fear of ruining the amazing brotherhood they've built from years of hard work and tears?

As the sensation from Taehyung and Jungkook’s touch subsides, dread reintroduces itself and slowly crawls up your skin. Your headache has long evolved into having two throbbing pulses at the back of your head. From the revelation to the onslaught of feelings attacking and fighting off your initial panic, your body struggled to keep up with the conflicting emotions.

You wanted to run, to hide from their gaze, to put an end to the mess of emotions caused by the forced relief from their touches.

Jimin is now staring at you from across the lounge, his beautiful face contorted into concern, his soft eyes seeing past the fog in yours. They stared at you as if trying to decipher something, as if he could somehow feel how overwhelmed you are.

He opened his mouth to say something when a voice broke through the chatter.

“Are you okay, noona?”

Namjoon’s hands were steadying when he held your shoulders, like water in a desert, like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. With their leader stepping in, all words fell into a hush and for the first time since the chaos, it was silent; save for the slowing rhythms of two heartbeats thudding in your head.

If Taehyung and Jungkook's touch felt like a jolt of energy and Jimin was rejuvenating and healing, Namjoon had the ability to kill the noise in your mind with eye contact alone.

Peering deeper into his gaze, your breath stutters and you move to flinch away in fear of setting off the new bond but instead find yourself slowly coming into a realization when nothing had happened in the short time Namjoon had touched you. The second heartbeat at the back of your mind grows louder, completely setting itself apart from what is truly yours. 

You’re sharing heartbeats with Namjoon.

A fifth soulmate.

What the fuck.

“Hyung, are you sober enough to drive?” Namjoon looks up to stare at someone behind you.

“A-are you sure I should be driving her home? I could set something off from an accidental brush of a hand.”

“She’s overstimulated from being surrounded by us, having someone outside the links would help.”

You sensed Hoseok’s apprehension in his silence. Then, he sighed.

“Alright. Let’s go, noona.”

It felt burdensome to leave such a life-altering problem for them to handle while you cower in your home, trying to hide from the reality where you might be linked to all seven of them. 

The reassuring squeeze on your shoulders brought you back from the guilty trans you’ve submerged into and was faced with Namjoon's kind eyes and smile.

“Go home noona, we'll handle it from here.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “I know this is overwhelming so I want you to go rest and let me do the planning and talking, alright?”

When you didn’t respond, Namjoon wrapped his arms around you. There’s hesitance in how his movement stuttered, could hear him ponder as he pulled you flush to his chest, afraid of affecting you like the maknaes had but when his touch didn’t evoke the staggering flood of euphoria, he grew more sure of his movements.

With a kiss on your head, he unwraps himself from you and gently guides you back to Hoseok who’s now standing outside the open door of their dorm. His eyes averted and steely.

Walking to the car was a silent affair and you don’t know if you rather have Hoseok being quiet or not.

It was bearable when he turned on the radio and a song that has no connection to the boys plays, not that it stopped the thoughts from spawning in from the crevices of your mind.

When you had asked the fates for a soulmate, had you sounded so desperate that they'd given you five?

You’ve heard of three souls being connected. Hell, Yeonjun is a part of a five-way soulmate link; Interlinked, is what they’re called. Everyone in the group has their own unique mark with each member which usually led to constant overstimulation in the beginning, the company had put them on medications until their bond settled a year later.

Even today, there are times where they still get affected by their bonds, although not as often as it used to. It was a wonder how there haven't been investigations put on BigHit with how often the five had to be sent to the hospital for soulbond hyperactivity at least once a week for a whole year.

But a nexus between six people, five connected to one. That is unheard of, the rarest even.

Five soulmates yet none of those were Seokjin. Someone who had stuck with you since the first day, the first to confess, and the one who remained loyal, wasn’t tethered to you. 

You turned to Hoseok who had remained silent the whole ride, stomach churning as a revelation hangs above your head.

“Hoba?’

“Yes, noona?” 

He sounded guarded, his face ironed into a neutral, more serious expression as he slowed as the traffic light went red.

“What’s gonna happen now?”

He bit his lower lip as he pondered, thumbs tapping incessantly on the wheel before he spoke.

“We're gonna have to update your statuses in the fated registry, but I doubt the company will make it public just yet. There's nothing also in our contract that prohibits us from pursuing a relationship with our soulmates if we ever come across them so you're good on that front.”

You notice how he excluded himself from the Nexus bond and you feel a pinch on your heart at how formal he has become, as if he’s already put up a wall between you both.

“We'll probably have a long talk about it once I get back but I doubt they'd wait for me since it doesn’t really concern me anyways. You’re probably wouldn't be allowed to touch Jimin and Taehyung anymore when you're working because your soulmarks are very obvious and I know you don't want—”

“Y-You don't think you're also…”

Silence followed as he adjusted himself in his seat as the car began to move again, his hands drumming on the wheel halts as the facade he's wearing shattered for a moment and his eyes grew foggy, clouded by a deep shade of blue.

Under the passing warm lights of the streetlights overhead, Hoseok has never looked more devastated to you than he does now.

You had never noticed it, he has always been open with his affections to his friends so you never thought of it as anything but his usual touchiness. He shows his care for you in the same way he does with his brothers, so paid it no need and brushed it off.

How could Soobin notice it? What had he seen that you missed?

“If I was, I would've felt something or seen that something but here we are.” He forces out a laugh before glancing at you and offering a hand. You notice how his smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “We're still the bestest of friends even without the mark, right?”

Hesitantly, you took it.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his Hoseok immediately pulls his hand back in favor of holding the brake between you both.

You try to not let his aversion to touch affect you. New soulbonds are fickle, there’s been multiple reports where people are rushed into ER after brushing their hands against strangers and had been in excruciating pain from soulbond strain.

Their new bodies had thought they were denying destiny and had punished them.

But for him to completely retreat to himself, visibly putting up a tall wall between you both is a different kind of pain. For Hoseok, someone who has never had to restrain himself from holding your hands or hugging you whenever he's excited, to step back hurts you more than you thought it would.

“Noona, we’re here.”

As you left the car, you pondered on what to say to him. What could you even tell him?

Do you even say you're sorry he's not one of your soulmates or would that sound mocking?

Should you say that you had wished once that he became tethered to you or would that be rubbing salt on the wound?

But before you could even turn around and say your goodbyes, the moment the door was closed, Hoseok drove off. 

__________

Waking up was dreadful.

It felt more exhausting than it had yesterday when you were going to your third date with Guwon knowing he wanted to propose to you. Sleeping was difficult, you could feel Yoongi touch the string from miles away, eyes flying open whenever you felt the thread become tangible and gently glow in the darkness of your room.

It wasn't his soul-link alone that disturbed you, Namjoon’s heartbeat constantly changed rhythm although it was faint enough to blend into the background with the rumble of the air conditioner. From the nervous gallops to the calmer but deeper thuds whenever he seems to drown himself in his own thoughts.

You had research about your soul links when you grew restless in your bed, obsessed over the fact there's little to no information on your and Jimin's mark, trying to ignore the messages from your mother and sister. They were asking about Guwon and why you decided to end things. You know that you should explain, you at least owe your mother the reason why you had decided to stop seeing the lawyer but you couldn't.

After days of her constant questioning and spamming links of wedding organizers and dressmakers, you couldn't find the courage to face your mother.

Not that it matters anymore though, not after last night.

Would you send her to an early grave once you tell her the news? How do you even break the news to your parents? Hi mom, I'm sorry I've been ignoring you yesterday. Yes, I stopped seeing Guwon but hey, I found you five new son-in-laws and they happen to be the members of the world's biggest boyband so don't be mad yeah?

She might just make true to her threat of hanging you upside down on a sack on your porch back in the province.

The same thought had led you to realizing how bad it would’ve gone if you got engaged with Guwon in Jeju only to find out the next day who your soulmates were. 

When you trudged to the bathroom, exhaustion weighed your bones but you excused it to your shitty sleep.

Not once has any of the boys reached out to you the whole night, Seokjin’s silence louder than the others. You know that they're busy handling the paperworks due today but to have not a single text in the groupchat made dread crawl up within you. It had never once died down in all those years it existed until last night.

So when the door rang a quarter to nine, you jumped.

The door opens and Namjoon steps into your living room with Seokjin following closely behind him, expression guarded and eyes averted while his leader approaches you. Both their eyes are swollen, no doubt from a sleepless night.

(You try not to notice how Seokjin looks far puffier than the other.)

“Sorry we went silent, we got… busy talking about things,” Namjoon began, voice soft as ever as he approached you to wrap his arms around you and you let him. “Hyung’s here with me to drive you to the DFR, the others went first since we decided that it's better if you're not lumped up with all your soulmates in one small space so it's just us three for a while.”

“Have you eaten?” Seokjin asks, unmoving from where he stands a step away from the door, guarded and stiff, as if trying to meld himself into the wood.

His voice is hoarse and he looked more worn than you've ever seen him in years yet he managed to sound soft and put on the smallest of smiles. Your heart twinges.

“I haven't, you guys didn't tell me when we were going to have the bond registered.”

Namjoon sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “We got busy the whole night discussing how we'll be moving forward, the company has already cleared out the department office and as Hobi-hyung might've told you, they're doing everything they can to keep this under wraps for now.”

“There’s unfortunately no time for take-outs due to the time crunch, I doubt you guys will be out by twelve but I think we can all go for a good, filling lunch.”

“Jinnie, are you okay?”

The words slipped out of your lips before you could realize it had. His eyes widened for a fracture, taken aback before a sad smile stretched his lips.

“I will be, don't worry.”

Namjoon claps his hands abruptly, cutting through the air as he forces out a grin. “Alright, let's be on our way.”

“What about the family dinners?” You pushed on.

“We'll tell them the truth. I can't exactly bring you to family dinners as my fake girlfriend anymore now, can I?”

What started as Jin needing your help in stopping vulture-like aunties trying to introduce their daughters to him, grew far more serious when Mrs. Kim began to invite you annually to their family reunion dinners and had begun sending you the occasional gift boxes from her trips abroad. 

You tried giving them to Jin when the first box came but he insisted you keep them anyway. It made you feel guilty for tricking his family, especially his mother, but Jin needed your help in warding off the bad energy.

“We told hyung that once the bond gets stable next year, you can continue attending them.” Namjoon adds.

“Obviously I denied, what a stupid idea.” Seokjin immediately responds with a scoff and crosses his arms. “Why are you even paired with them when they disregard your safety like this? Really, why would you guys even suggest that?”

Namjoon turns to him with a look that seems to ask ‘do you really want me to answer that?’ and Seokjin pursed his lips in a straight line. You laughed.

It was a relief to see that nothing has changed within their dynamics. You had feared the day everyone would turn against each other because of you. It had made you wary of how much time you spend with a member one on one, scared the others would think of it as picking favorites. 

To see Seokjin, the one you have no doubt been more devastated than Hoseok, be making light hearted jokes about the soulmarks lifted off a huge weight from your shoulders.

“I hope auntie won't take it to heart. You were a nice boyfriend but you kept nagging me to pay a nonsense debt.”

“You still have a balance to settle with me, don't forget that,” He jokes. “But seriously, mom would be sad, she liked you better than me.”

Namjoon's phone pings, the sound silencing you both. With a hissed apology, he turned his attention to the device and read the notification on his lock screen before turning to you.

“We need to get going soon. Hobi hyung said Yoongi hyung and Jimin just got called up.”

“Wait, I haven't showered yet! You guys didn't even warn me!”

But as you move to run back to your room, Namjoon stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“It's fine, noona.”

“It's not like we haven't seen you with unwashed hair for two days straight.”

“What was the longest day, hyung?” Namjoon clicks his fingers, a small teasing grin tugging his lips.

“Three days I think?”

“I thought it was a week?”

“It might’ve been.”

Their laughter when you slapped both their arms twinkled in your ears. The sound warming your chest but also grating your gears at the same time. 

Fresher than you had been earlier, you all arrive at the DFA an hour later. Spending thirty preparing, another half traveling to the heart of Seoul.

There's already a few bodyguards dressed in civilian wear lingering outside the office. Mr. Lee approached the car once the three of you began to step out before ushering all of you inside the building with a few other guards.

Save for the receptionists on the other side of the counter placed in the dead middle of the room, the lobby was empty. Sejin comes out from the wide open arch on the right, a man dressed in a neatly ironed tailored black suit following behind him. 

“Let's all move to where the rest are. We couldn't rent the building for the whole day so they’ll be opening to the general public soon but we were allowed to have one floor to ourselves.”

None of you objects and followed him to the elevator and to the second floor where you were immediately greeted by Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook sitting on the blue plastic seats clustered by both sides of the walls.

When the metal doors parts open, their heads turn and immediately, Taehyung stands and runs up to you with arms wide.

Namjoon and Seokjin weren't able to react fast enough. The moment Taehyung wrapped himself around you, a powerful wave of bliss crashed over you and your legs gave out. They all screamed your name as you fell but they were muffled, hands grabbed onto whatever they could in the haste of catching you.

In the bleariness of your vision, you could make out Taehyung narrowly avoiding crumpling onto the floor when someone caught him by the waist.

“...That was so stupid of you…”

“...Why…Taehyung?...”

“Noona?”

The haze clears and you find yourself being carried by Seokjin into the nearest doctor’s office. You hear the door open before Yoongi’s exasperated but concerned voice follows.

“What the hell happened now?”

“We have no idea, Tae’s touch didn’t do this to her last night.”

“Fuckin—Just get her inside.”

“Noona, I’m so sorry!”

Seokjin lets you down on a soft cushioned armchair and you find yourself staring back at a bespectacled woman with hair so straight you wonder how Yoongi didn't feel exorcized at the sight of it.

She didn't waste any time and she rose from her seat to inject something in your arm. 

“What a wild introduction this is. First you come in with five soulmates, a Nexus group and one of them having Healing Touch, and as if that's not intriguing enough, you faint after a touch from Love Prints! So, very interesting!”

She returns to her seat as the haze ebbs away from your vision with the glowing purple paint on your torso.

“I guess it's true that all soul specialists are… enthusiastic.”

“Only on the right things, don't worry we don't bite.”

There's almost a manic look in her eyes as she stares at you with a fascination only seen in a mad geologist who had found a new and infinitely curious piece of history in the dirt. Seokjin pats your shoulders, squeezing it assuringly for the last time before he disappears out the door.

“So, how's this gonna go?”

Doctor Gwak Jihye was a woman with flat light brown hair almost the same height as you. There's narrow rectangle glasses sitting neatly on the bridge of her nose and a notable beauty mark placed on the apple of her cheekbones. Black vine-like tattoos peaked out of her cream turtleneck, a soulmark you guessed once you saw the ring on her finger.

The band is as dark as the night yet gleaned like stars under the bright light of the room with three deep blue sapphires engraved on the front. A ring made from soul metal, created and used only by the tethered. 

She wore the standard white coat of every doctor you’ve ever met with the exception of the detailed pin of two white strings knotted together inside the lining of a heart and a red cross placed in the middle of it all.

���We'll do the basic health checks, the measurements and all the like. Nothing too difficult. Then we educate you on every soulmark you have. You are aware of what you have with the five of them, correct?”

She rapid fires and you're left agape, mouth closing and open as your brain catches up. The doctor raised an eyebrow and you nod. With that, she motions to the scales behind you as she stands. You followed the woman to the stadiometer placed next to the door. 

Once she was done taking your measurements down, you both returned to her desk where she asked you a few questions about your allergies and recent medical history. It was an easy procedure, almost boring. 

The ever so present exhaustion from waking up that morning is still weighing your bones, you yawned. Staying awake felt like a challenge and you don't doubt she had noticed this when she placed down her board to open her drawer.

“You are feeling more exhausted than before, am I correct in assuming this?”

“Yes…?”

She hummed when she found what she was looking for and placed the thick white medicine bottle in front of you.

“This should help your body get used to the bonds whenever you touch Jimin or Taehyung. The exhaustion is normal since you live far from them but once you move in and are surrounded by your soulmates, you should feel more energized.”

Amoneuron, it reads on the label. Curious, you twist the lid open to see what might just be a hundred of blush pink colored round pills.

“With that out of the way, from what I've heard from Yoongi, you've researched every soulmark there is at one point in your life but I doubt that you don't have any questions,” She fished out the yellow folder under her board and opened it, not knowing how surprised you are to hear Yoongi’s involvement. “Anything you'd like to know about?”

Your mind takes you back to the empty search and countless ‘Did you mean…?’ questions on every result. Jimin and your marks never yielded any results, none in Naver and none in Google. 

You tried finding it in your books but none of them were ever close to the touch activated golden swirls and the feeling of being rejuvenated.

“I tried researching what could be Jimin and I’s soulmark but I couldn't find one, is it that rare of a mark?”

She nods. “Healing touch, there's so little information of that type of mark since the last recorded case can be traced back to 1894.”

Your eyes widen, surprised by how rare of a mark you share with Jimin.

“Which meant if there were soul-link related sickness between you, I fear that we won't be much of help as we don't know much about Healing Touch other than mates who has it doesn't get hungry, thirsty nor need much sleep if they interacted enough,” She gauges your reaction, when she saw your confusion she continues. “By interacting enough, I don't mean hugs or hand holding, I mean kisses and sex.”

You began to cough violently, choking on your saliva at her bluntness, cheeks burning bright but she ignored you and continued.

“Hand holding and hugs can only guarantee better stamina and endurance, even being close enough can make the other have a bottomless energy. As this concerns a highly valued individual, our team is already attempting to acquire more information about Healing Touch but I don’t have an estimated time on when we’ll be ready to share our findings, please understand that we are also surprised by this mark’s sudden revival.” She smiled. “Anything else you'd like to ask?”

“Are Taehyung and Jimin's marks somehow similar? I remember feeling… rejuvenated whenever the both of them touched me but then got overstimulated.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“No, Taehyung’s touch shouldn’t affect you outside of the first touch nor should you be suffering from soulbond hyperactivity from both of them. When Seokjin had carried you in, what exactly happened beforehand?”

“When Taehyung hugged me again not too long ago, we experienced soulbond hyperactivity.”

“Huh.” Was all she replied with, hand scribbling furiously on her notes. You had the urge to sit up a little straight and take a peak at what she’s writing down so passionately but decided against it, fearing what you might learn from it.

“Any guesses on what could have caused this?”

“It's hard to say much for now since Healing Touch is a very rare mark. But I can hazard a guess and say that due to their similar nature being touch-activated marks and Healing Touch being as powerful as it is, it had influenced Love Print somehow.” 

If Taehyung’s soulmark has evolved due to Healing Touch as suspected, then does that mean the benefits, at least the bare bones of them, extend to him as well?

You already sense the building headache you’re about to experience in the future with three—including Jungkook whose energy is already a thousand times more of a kid in a toy store—bouncy men with the energy of a toddler in a sugar rush. In advance, you began to pray internally for Namjoon, Sejin, and Seokjin’s sanity.

“It seems that I am due to share notes with the doctor who had interviewed Jimin,” She says as she slams close the cover of her journal with a smile. “This could lead to a breakthrough in the future. With both of your permissions, we would like to study your soulmark more intimately.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it but my soulmate might not share the sentiment. The company as well.”

“Your soulmarks could very well lead up to the discovery of the cure to an incurable disease, I doubt he would decline such a possibility.”

You don’t doubt the possibility of your soulmark being the answer to the long time issue of something as fatal as cancer or dementia but the prospect of being examined, had made you feel uncomfortable. To be under intense scrutiny and possibly put under a specific diet to tailor to their needs—especially when Jimin had only recently stopped caring about his body image—had made you more unwilling to participate.

You’d spare a few vials of blood since your bond can regenerate it back in record time but a prolonged trial is definitely a no.

“Why did it manifest now? After all those years, why now?” You ask abruptly, trying to change the subject. 

You hoped she would take the bait and luckily, she did with a defeated sigh.

“As you know, once we hit the age of 16, the chances of meeting our soulmates goes up to 10% and will gain the same amount the next year. This will continue on until it hits a hundred on the 26th and the chances of manifesting a mark stops on the 27th,” You nod, feigning ignorance and she continues. “The Nexus connection had to wait for Jungkook to show which had put yours and the rest to a state of dormancy. So when he turned 21, with half a hundred chance, he finally got a mark and here we are.”

You stand and bow, not wanting to leave any free millisecond where she could try continuing to pressure you into agreeing into their research.

“Thank you so much for your insight, Dr. Gwak.”

She looked incredulous and surprised by your sudden actions before returning the gesture.

“It’s a pleasure to be able to foresee a unique connection such as yours, Ms. Y/n. I hope you all the best.”

With that, you leave the room in a haste and let out the biggest exhale once the door behind you closes.

You hear the soft murmurs of voice just around the corner where you guessed you’ll find everyone save for Namjoon who must’ve been called after you had been carried in by Seokjin. But when one door closes, another opens. There’s still a few things you’re due today, a talk with the inner circle of the company, talking with the legal team to figure out who else can know the connection outside of your Nexus, and how you’ll be continuing working as their make-up artist.

There’s a tug down the thread and you look down at your pinkie to see the line turn tangible and vibrant.

‘How are you?’

‘Feeling good?’

Tentatively, you twirled the string around your finger and the headache fades. You watch as it glows brighter, livelier with both hosts touching it before tugging it back twice. 

‘Good.’

Instantly, Yoongi responds.

‘Glad. ‘

You expected the string to dim but it remained vibrant under both of your touch and warmth exploded in your chest.

“Are you the lady with the Healing Touch soulmark?”

You jumped back to see an old woman, around the age of sixty, peering up at you with a gentle smile playing on her lips. She dons the same white coat Dr. Gwak wears the same pin of a soul specialist on the lapel and her name tag displayed on her breast pocket.

Shin Sun-young, it reads.

“In my years of being a specialist, I've never seen so many souls connected to one so I'm sorry if I'm a bit much, I'm very curious how it must feel. Having one is already overwhelming for me, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling now.”

“Yeah it's a bit much sometimes. I don't know how to deal with it.”

“We have some medicines for that but I’m sure you already know that and have been prescribed right. It’ll dull up your senses then you can stop taking it after a year.”

She pats your back as you both walk off the sides and you find your soulmates sitting obediently down the hall. Jimin was lying on one cluster of seats in front of the others with an arm over his eyes and the other pinched into a fist on top of his stomach while the rest of the boys squeezed together into the five seats on the opposite wall. 

You notice the missing presence of their eldest but shrugged it off, guessing that he must've wandered off to find the bathroom or a vending machine.

“I hope it goes well for you seven, I'm sure they'll treat you so well.”

Your head snaps to her. “Seven?”

“Oh? Am I wrong? I thought all of those boys are tethered to you. Forgive this old soul.”

You try to not think about how she must’ve intentionally guessed wrong to fish for information. Soul specialists have the reputation of being crazy knowledge-driven people with barely any other qualifying trait other than their unusual obsession with soulmates after all and this lady just happens to be one.

“Hoseok and Jin, their eldest who has gone somewhere, aren't tethered to me. There's no sign of any marks manifesting and we just assumed the worst.”

You hated how you sounded so dejected. You must’ve sounded so greedy to the lady for wanting to have your seven friends to be yours, as if you even deserve Seokjin’s unfaltering love.

She hums. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Dear, everything in the world is advanced now. They could have their blood tested to see if there's a possibility that they're also tethered to you.”

You were reminded of the times where you began to dread your birthdays when you should've been celebrating, the desperation before the abrupt descend of defeat on your birthday this year when you finally realize that you weren't 

“How is that possible? Why now? We've had years of technological evolution but something like that only appears now? Where was this when I wanted to find out if I was—”

She sighs and puts a hand on your shoulder, effectively shutting you up. “Soulmates are spiritual deary. Past technology and brains of yesterdays had difficulty in figuring out the hows and why it works. But now, I can assure you that we have finally found a way to find if you're really untethered or not.”

“Tha-that’s a thing?”

You turned around to find Seokjin on the opposite hall, carrying what seems to be a hundred snacks with two hands, surprise contorting his face. Crossing the distance in under two steps, he stared at the lady with hopeful eyes.

“Where can I have myself checked?”

The way his voice dripped with hope, with desperation of a man who had lost his way and finally found a chance of redemption, a new salvation to pour his attention to. Hearing it made your chest clench. But there was no testimony for their new found tech, there's no telling if they're actually telling the truth.

As much as you are curious as to what the result could be, you couldn't have Seokjin join the test all hopeful only to fall into a deeper hole if he found out that he's actually untethered.

Your heart won't be able to handle the absolute devastation that would follow.

“Jinnie—”

“You boys are in luck, we just had the machine set up last night and we’re looking for volunteers.”

“I’ll do it. Me and someone else.” 

As they began to talk about the technicalities of using the machine and partaking in their research, you found yourself standing there in shock. 

You already suspected Hoseok also shared the same sentiment Jin held but to hear him indirectly confirm them had your heart bottoming to the soles of your feet. The guilt that used to only stem from Jin and Taehyung's confession came back to you like a blow to the head.

Jin then walked away, you followed to see him approach an increasingly concerned Hoseok who watched his hyung march up to him with an indistinguishable fire in his eyes.

“Hoba, I found a way.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Found a way? To-to what exactly?”

“They have the technology to figure out if we're actually untethered or not.”

Everyone's eyes widened. Jimin had woken up from his nap and turned his head to his hyungs, shocked by what he had heard. Taehyung's jaw hung open, looking around in bewilderment before he stood to walk around the rest of the boys and into the stunned Hoseok on the other side of the seats to engulf him in a hug.

Even Manager Sejin who had been talking to the lawyer he brought with him had turned to listen to the conversation.

“H-Hyung—”

“I've already talked to the doctor who will be overseeing our examination and all they ask of us is our blood then the resul—”

“No.”

Seokjin’s shine dims with the atmosphere as his smile falls. Taehyung pulls away, more astounded than he was before as he stares at him in disbelief.

“Hyung?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Seokjin stammers out in disbelief.

Hoseok lets out a defeated sigh. “What if it came out as negative? Hyung, I've already accepted my status. I-I don't want to raise my hopes up only to come down to the same result we’re all expecting.”

“It doesn't hurt to try Hoba,” Seokjin said softer this time as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Try with me, please. If it's negative, at least we can lament together.”

The younger man stared up at his hyung, conflicted. For a while, all Hoseok did was look back into the fire in Seokjin’s eyes, searching for an answer only he knew the questions to before he stand up and nodded, motioning to his hyung to lead him the way

Everyone waited for them to return, ordering a diabolical amount of fast food to eat for lunch as the two were taken to the testing area. You took the seat next to Yoongi, making sure you’re far away from the practically vibrating Tae and Jungkook staring at you with wide, puppy eyes. 

It's only 10am at that point yet your energy tank is drier than the sahara and non-existent as a stress-free day. When the two returned, you were already slumped down on Yoongi's shoulder half asleep.

The day unfortunately, didn't end there.

After your soulmarks were registered, you all went to BigHit for a meeting and you thanked the high heavens no one from your department had seen you enter the conference room with the boys and a lawyer.

Minhyuk had asked you why there'll be a company party at dinner but no birthday boy will be showing up. You lied and told him that Jungkook’s going back to Busan to celebrate his birthday with his family. Jihye had also questioned your absence and you had apologized to her, knowing how often you've been going for leaves these past few weeks.

She says it's fine but you still feel bad anyways.

The meeting was short yet it felt like centuries has passed until you were freed. Just a couple of rules being laid like you being unable to handle Jimin and Taehyung anymore, the living situation where you'd be moved to the Bangtan dorms, and who else would be allowed to know about the connections between you and the boys.

Thankfully, they had approved letting your three friends know once you reasoned that they'll be able to save you once people began to question your aversion to touching Jimin and Taehyung in the future.

By the time you had trudge into your room, you were beyond the word exhaustion. Brain far too fogged up you to pick up on the blaring red lights in your mind as the world swirled around you and you fell face first into your bed.

You chalked it up to your sleepless night and the emotional stress you've gone through these past few days so imagine your shock when you wake up and find yourself in a sterile and white room whose ceiling lights burned your eyes the moment they opened again.

It was so bright and so white, you remember passing out before you came here and all you could feel now was bliss, as if the heavy baggage you've collected from last week and last night had been lifted off your form.

As if you were in heaven.

“G-God?”

“No, it's Min Yoongi. Open your eyes, brat.”

The haze clears at his gruff voice and you begin to hear the stable beeping echoing in the hollow room. There's a heavy weight wounded loosely around your waist as well on your legs, turning your head, you were faced with the peaceful but almost colorless face of Jimin, his usually plush pink lips now pale and chaffed as his body trembled next to you; you were shaking too.

Turning to Yoongi to ask him what happened, you find your hand entangled with his. His impassive face now laced with concern and there were dark bags hanging under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping for a while.

“What the fuck happened?”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about ex-husband!hoseok who went to the very place he proposed to you on your wedding anniversary despite the rather unhappy ending

he’s aware that the last thing he should be doing on his and yours wedding anniversary is being at the same location where he finally had the guts to propose, just standing there and staring at the statue that was present in that wonderful moment in your lives.

this is the last place he should be at, especially since it’s been a year since the two of you reached the hard conclusion of settling for a divorce as neither was willing enough to fight for the relationship—but he can’t help it, not when it was dawning on him how filing for that divorce was the biggest mistake of his life.

“hoseok,” he hears his name and when he turns sideways, he’s surprised to see you standing there, an equally shocked expression on your face, “i… i didn’t know you’d be here.”

“the same goes to you.”

“i was just passing by,” you reason as you turn and face the statue, putting your hands inside the pockets of your coat.

“me too.”

“what a coincidence, huh?” you softly say with a chuckle.

he nods, even though he knows it isn’t. “yeah. what a bg coincidence.”

the two of you stay there for god knows how long, saying nothing, just staring at the statue, your minds drifting somewhere else, specifically to that said night, and hoseok lets out an exhale, glancing at you who hasn’t moved an inch.

“what are you thinking of?” he asks and you glance at him too.

“to be honest, a lot of things.” you shrug. “how we ended up like this… why did the two of us meet here right now… what’s the point of all this…” you let out a sad chuckle. “how about you?”

hoseok shrugs. “pretty much the same.”

“oh, yeah?”

“well, there’s this one thing that’s missing,” he says, pursing his lips, “just a thought that if i… if i asked you to marry me again, would you?”

you don’t say anything at that, mostly because you’re unable to think of how to respond to that surprising hypothetical question. and hoseok isn’t expecting anything, he just wanted to say it out loud, for you to hear what he wanted to tell you before he regrets being a coward and suppressing his true feelings once more.

after all, this place right here, this was a place where something great happened to the two of you. he didn’t want to taint it with another bad memory.

“depends,” you reply.

“depends…” he repeats, an amused smile creeping on his lips. “that’s good to know.”

you don’t hear the last part because you’re too focused overthinking about the question he just uttered, heart beating fast at the possibility of rekindling what you used to have with hoseok on this night.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Every Beat of your Heart ~ JHS

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 3.9K 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: established relationships, military service, cute, fluffy, a little angst I guess, reader and hoseok being goals, 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

The dim glow of the bedside lamp flickers in the quiet room, casting soft shadows against the walls. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your fingers toying nervously with the edge of the blanket, watching Hoseok as he finished packing his duffle bag. The sound of zippers and rustling made you snap out of your daydream but it did nothing to cover the tension hovering between you both. Everything was strained that day, you'd been two minutes away from crying whenever he spoke to you. Nothing felt like you had enough time together and you knew the day had gone by faster than usual just to torture you.

Hoseok was moving slower than usual, as though each item he folded into the bag was another second of time slipping away, he hated this. All day he'd just wanted to spend in your arms but he had obligations all over the place, the guys wanted to see him, the fans wanted a live and he loved them he did...but you were his world. He wanted to spend his last few hours with you.

His normally bright, energetic personality was muted, weighed down by the reality that this was your last night together... for a long while, something neither of you was exactly pleased about. You'd been trying to come up with ways to look at this all positively but it was a little hard. You clear your throat softly, trying to break the silence that was surrounding you both.

“You’ve got everything?” Your voice was shakey as you stared at the back of your boyfriend's head. Hoseok glances over his shoulder, offering you a small, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I think so.” He zips the bag shut with a finality that makes your chest tighten. It wasn't like you were going to be completely alone after this, you could still call and write letters but it wasn't going to be the same. None of it was going to be the same.

“It’s not like I’m going that far. I’ll be back before you know it.” He sent you a small smile before squeezing your thigh softly. You did your best to try and smile, but it falters and you tear up a little. You hated that you were doing this but you couldn't help it. It felt as though you were never going to see him right now.

You'd been the same when he went away on a world tour for the first time but you knew a schedule for that. This was all just new to you.

“I know.” You whisper a little. In reality, you knew he wasn't going to be away forever and the time would move a lot faster than you were imagining but it didn't make any of this easier for the two of you.

There’s a beat of silence before Hoseok walks over to you, dropping to his knees in front of the bed and smiling weakly. He takes your hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on the back of your hands as you stare down at your hands intertwined.

“Hey, we’ll be okay.” He promises you. Your eyes well up with tears despite your best efforts to hold them back, you didn't want to spend his last day with you crying the whole time. You didn't want to make this harder for him than it already was but the thought of waking up without him tomorrow was killing you inside. You were going to have to get used to living in silence, without his laughter filling the house. It felt unbearable.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” Your voice cracked as you shook your head. Hoseok leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin making you come out in goosebumps.

“I’m going to miss you, too. Every single second.” He smiles weakly and kisses your lips softly, the two of you leaning your foreheads on one another in silence.

You sit like that for a long moment, neither of you wanting to break the fragile bubble of peace you've created in the quiet. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your other hand resting on his cheek as if you can somehow memorize the feeling of him being close, the texture of his skin, the way he smells like warmth and comfort.

“I’m proud of you,” You whisper, your voice was once again, shaky.

“I’ll wait for you, no matter how long.” It was what you'd said to him after the boys found out they wouldn't be excluded from service and you would continue to remind him however long he needed to hear it. Hoseok’s eyes glisten under the low light as he pulls back just enough to look at you fully.

“You don’t have to wait too long. I’ll come back as soon as I can and before you even know it. You’re my priority, Y/N. I’ll be thinking of you every day.” He squeezes your hands softly and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you try to focus on the right there and now.

“I’ll write to you. And send you things. Whatever you need.” You told him with a smile making him chuckle softly for the first time all day, a sound that instantly warmed your heart.

"I'll send you things too," He offered and you nodded at him, running your hands over his shirt as you looked at him.

“Just send me something that smells like you. That’s all I need.” You promised him, leaning forward and closing the gap between you and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is slow, tender, filled with everything the two of you wanted to say but couldn't find the words to do so.

“I don’t want to go,” he admits quietly, his voice breaking just a little.

Your hands move through his hair, comforting and steady as you brush through the strands. It wouldn't be long until all of it was gone so you were trying to get your fill of it.

“I know. But we’ll make it through this.” You promised.

"And you know, having the house to myself might be nice," you tease as he pulls you into his arms, falling onto the bed with you as you cuddle into each other and enjoy your final night.

The days without Hoseok blur into one another until it had almost been a full month apart from each other. You were doing everything that you could to keep yourself busy, filling the empty spaces of your shared home with errands, work, and friends. But no matter how much you try to distract yourself, there are quiet moments—usually late at night—when the absence of him becomes unbearable to deal with. His side of the bed was always so much colder, the house quieter without his laughter.

Falling into the new routine was proving harder than you'd expected. For the first time in five years, you had to learn to sleep alone, and the bed felt miles too big, too empty for you. So you stacked pillows behind you for some kind of comfort, even spraying them with the aftershave you knew he loved.

The silence of the nights was deafening without the soft sound of Hoseok’s breathing beside you, you missed rolling over to listen to his heart. You missed waking up tangled in his legs in the mornings. Every night you tossed and turned around, clutching the pillow he used to sleep on, trying to find some comfort in the lingering scent of him. But it’s never the same. The room felt hollow, and every time she woke up, reaching out instinctively for him, you were hit with the stark and cold reminder that he wasn't there anymore.

The mornings weren't any easier either. You'd grown so used to your rituals—Hoseok making coffee while you lazily stayed in bed, his laughter filling the kitchen, the way he’d hum to himself when he thought no one was listening. The way he'd make sure to put your coffee in the fridge to cool it down since he knew you made your iced coffee after he'd gone to work and didn't like making it with ice because it watered it down too much. You missed coming home to fresh flowers on a Friday night when you'd finished work. Now, the house is filled only with the quiet hum of the fridge, and the once lively energy has dulled and the colour the fresh flowers bought you were dulled out. Everything just felt black and white.

Sighing you rolled over in the bed and grabbed your phone, glancing at your phone, opening up his last text again, the one he sent to you just before lights out.

HobiStar: "Missing you like crazy, but I’m okay. I’ll call as soon as I can. Don’t forget to eat well, and drink plenty, okay? Love you, always."

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting to send another message, but you know he wouldn't see it for a while, every morning he was straight to training. Some days you were lucky enough to get a text and other times you weren't. Instead of replying, you shut the screen off with a sigh and walked over to the small table where you'd been collecting things for his care package.

You wanted to make sure he had something from home while he was there and you were trying to make sure all of it was perfect. It was your own little way of staying connected to him. You carefully folded up a sweatshirt you know he loves—the one that you used to steal from him when the nights were cold or when he went away on tour. You giggle a little to yourself as you remember all of the times he would pretend to be upset, only to toss it at you with a grin later.

Next, you placed a handful of snacks you'd picked out during a trip to the store: his favourite candies, a few protein bars, and some ramen that would remind him of home. You knew the food in the barracks must get monotonous, and these small comforts might help lift his spirits a little.

Your eyes wander over the table, landing on the bracelet you'd made last week, your heart fluttering a little at the thought of him wearing it - if he was even allowed. But it was just a simple bracelet, a few braided threads in his favourite colours, but it felt special to you and you knew it would to him too.

Lastly, you pulled out a small photo of the two of you together—one that you'd taken on a date not long before he left. In the picture, you were laughing, arms wrapped around each other, the sunlight catching Hoseok’s smile perfectly. Turning it over you quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled on to the back.

“So you don’t forget what we look like together. I’m waiting for you. Love, Y/N.”

Before sealing the package, you added in the long letter that you'd been writing all week long. It was something you'd poured your heart out into, promising him that you would make sure when he returned you'd have the home welcome for him. That you were going to throw a huge dinner party for him and his family to come along to and you couldn't wait to be able to cook for him again soon.

The door creaks open, and before you can even register the sound, you hear his voice—soft but unmistakable but it is him. He was home! You knew he'd been planning to come home that weekend but you thought you had more time to prepare for his visit.

“Y/N?” You drop the dish towel you were holding and rush to the entrance. Your heart races out of your chest as you finally see him standing there, looking just as you remembered but somehow different. His uniform is crisp, his posture a little more rigid, but it’s still Hoseok. The same warmth in his eyes, the same gentle smile you'd missed so much.

“Hoseok!” You practically scream, throwing yourself into his arms before he can take another step inside. He catches you - as he always did, his strong arms wrapping around you tightly as he buries his face in your shoulder. He took in a deep breath, he'd missed you being this close to him, he'd missed feeling you in his arms and most of all he missed your smell. Spraying your perfume on the sweatshirt you sent him just wasn't the same as the real you.

“I missed you,” he whispers into your neck, his voice thick with emotion. Small kisses were left up and down your skin, as you felt your legs shake a little, almost giving in and dropping against him.

“I missed you too,” You sniffle, holding him even tighter, as if afraid he might disappear if you were to let go. You take your time to breathe him in this time—the familiar scent of him mixed with the fabric of his military jacket—and it feels like a part of you that’s been missing has finally come home.

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, holding each other in the doorway. Neither of you was moving, too scared that it would be over too soon if you were to move. There was no need for words, just the comfort of being together again after so long apart.

“You look good,” You say, smiling despite the tears gathering in your eyes. He looked so different but it was a good different. The selfies he was sending you didn't do him justice at all.

“Different, but good.” you giggle a little as a blush begins to creep its way onto your boyfriend's cheeks and he chuckles, a soft sound that makes your heart flutter.

“You think so? I feel exhausted.” You brushed your hands over his face and nodded a little,

“You must be.” Your hands drop to his chest, feeling the firmness of his uniform beneath your fingers.

“Come on, you need to rest.” You whispered. He nodded at you, but before you could move, his hands found yours again, squeezing gently and looking at you. He wanted to commit this all to memory, to really take in that he was home, at least for a little while.

“I really missed you,” he says again, more serious this time as he needs you to understand just how much. It was killing him not being able to see you.

“I missed you too, Hobi,” You whisper, using the nickname you know makes him smile and you nod, squeezing his hand again.

“But you’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

"But it's only-"

"You're here," You whispered. Cutting him off before he could complain that he didn't have long. You didn't care how long you had him, he could come home for five minutes and you would still cherish every single second with him before he went back. He was home and you were going to take care of him.

Later that evening, after Hoseok had showered and changed into more comfortable clothes, the two of you had found yourselves sitting on the couch, legs tangled together under a shared blanket, one he'd sent to you while away. Your head was resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a sound you'd missed more than he probably realised.

“Tell me everything,” You say softly, tracing small circles on his arm and looking up at him. The two of you had talked about his training before but that was only through letters, you wanted to hear all about it from him in person as well.

“How was it? Are you okay?” Hoseok lets out a long breath, his fingers dancing over your skin absentmindedly.

“It’s… hard. Different. But I’m managing.” He pauses, glancing down at you. It was hard for him not to see you every day or even the boys. He knew he got to see them on occasion but it didn't make any of it any easier.

“It’s weird, though. No matter how much happens there, my mind is always here. With you.” You felt your body heating up and you smiled, lifting your head slightly to look him in the eyes, you never wanted to take your eyes off him.

“I think about you all the time, too. It feels like something’s missing when you’re not here.” He leans down, kissing your forehead tenderly and closing his eyes for a second.

“I’ll be back for good before you know it.” The two of you cuddled together in silence a little while longer but you knew Hoseok was keeping his eyes on the clock. You could feel him checking it every so often and your heart sank when you realised why. He was probably counting down the minutes to when he was leaving you again.

“Do you have to go back soon?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, almost as if you were scared to ask him it. Hoseok sighs softly, his hand resting on the back of your neck.

“In a few days, yeah.” You smile. Days were better than you had been expecting so you nodded. You'd already called into work and told them you'd be out all weekend so you had time to spend with him.

“Then we’ll make the most of the time we have.” He pulls you closer to him and chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple as he nods a little.

“We always do.”

That night, the two of you fell asleep wrapped around each other, your limbs intertwined as if you were trying to make up for all the lost time when you hadn't slept together.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the military training facility, Hoseok couldn't stop the way his heart was racing as he waited for you. All week long felt like it had been torture, counting down the seconds to when he could finally go home and go home for good.

The air was thick with tension as soldiers said their goodbyes to each other, laughter and emotion swirling in the late afternoon breeze. After two years of service, today is the day—he’s finally discharged. No more long-distance calls, no more nights in the barracks. He’s going home and not just a visit.

Home. Home for good.

But first, he needed to find you.

You'd told him you were going to pick him up from the base but neither of you had realised just how busy it was going to be and how quickly you were going to get lost in the sea of people all coming to get their loved ones.

He glances around, searching through the sea of people. His uniform feels too stiff, his hands trembling with nerves. He knows you were there somewhere in the crowd, waiting for him, just as you had been through all the time you'd spent apart. His heart pounds harder with every step as he scans the faces of those around him, anxiety creeping up when he doesn’t immediately spot you.

“Y/N…” he whispers to himself, his voice lost in the buzz of the crowd. He hadn't been this needy to see you since the first time he went away on a world tour and had to come home to you.

Meanwhile, you rushed through the training grounds, your heart pounding in your chest. This day was everything you'd been waiting for, everything you'd been dreaming about, counting down the days to when you finally had your man back. But now that it’s finally here, you can hardly contain your emotions. Ever since you'd woke up that morning you'd been crying on and off. You'd had to pull over on the drive here because you couldn't see through your tears.

Even now tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you move faster, your eyes darting frantically, trying to spot him among the rows of uniforms.

Where is he?

Your hands shake as you grip your phone, his last text open on the screen. “I’ll be out soon. Wait for me, love.” You look up, panic rising when you don't see him right away, you knew he was here, there was no way he wasn't here but not seeing him was making your chest tighten more and more. But you kept moving, pushing through the crowd, knowing that you'll eventually find each other. You always did.

Suddenly, as if drawn by some invisible force, your eyes lock across the distance, your smile spreading from ear to ear as you see him. Time seems to slow, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as everything else melts away. Hoseok’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he can’t move. He stands there, frozen, as if his body can’t quite believe it’s real. But then, without thinking, his feet start moving, faster and faster.

At the same time, you feel your heart leap into your throat and you start running, the crowd parting like waves as you sprint toward him. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, tears streaming down your face, but none of it matters, you don't care who saw you crying right now. He’s right there, and after two years of waiting, nothing can stop you from reaching him.

Like in the movies, the two of you crash into each other with a force that nearly knocks you both off balance. Hoseok’s arms wrap tightly around you, lifting you off the ground as he buries his face in your hair, breathing you in. Your hands clutch the back of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, your heart racing as if it’s trying to make up for all the time you've spent apart.

“Hoseok,” You whisper, her voice breaking as you break down into tears.

“You’re here… you’re really here.” You whimpered, sniffling a little as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining with tears, his hands cupping your face as he ran his thumb under your eyes.

“I’m home,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m home, and I’m never leaving you again.” He vowed to you.

Before either of you could say another word, your lips crashed together in a desperate, passionate kiss. It’s a kiss that speaks of every missed moment, every sleepless night and every unspoken word you'd held onto for two long years. Hoseok holds you as if he were afraid you were going to disappear, pouring all of his love, and all of his longing into the kiss.

When the two of you finally pull apart, both breathless, Hoseok presses his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice trembling with the weight of his feelings.

“I missed you more,” You giggled, your eyes once again filling with fresh tears.

“I thought about you every day. Every minute.”

“I know,” Hoseok says softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"I love you, baby." He whispered, bringing you into him and holding onto you tightly. The two of you forgot all about the other soldiers who were reuniting and getting lost in each other.

"I love you too...I-I...I told your family to be home in four hours." You whispered to him,

"It only takes an hour to get home-"

"I know," You smirk at him, you just wanted some time along with him before you had to share him with everyone else again.

"Then let's not waste time," he smirks grabbing your hand and following you out to the parking lot.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@tinyoonsblog@whitefoxgirl@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@choisoorin@heyjiminnie@btsiguess-kpop@halesandy@gothic4under4lord@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lenfilms@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact @Namgiswifey@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@swga-ficrecs@niktwazny303@armystay89@myyouthdonut@xakx@kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy@kpopmenace143@loveforred@b1nn1e-1s-cut3@elissasimp @royallyjjk @parkjennykim @piercedddriver

[persphonesorchid]

Connotations Of Sin - JHS (m)

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel Au | Angst, fluff, smut (mdni), horror (V lowkey, I swear)

Word Count: 30k

Masterlist

Please read these warnings carefully!!

Warnings: Homelessness, Kidnapping (? is it though??), Suicidal ideation, referenced and described abuse and murder of a child. Hoseok is his own warning. Mc gets drugged and then she gets sick... A bit of religious babble, mc has nightmares (one of which is actually kinda bad...), she almost dies at one point. Hoseok likes playing mind games, but they aren't serious (Honestly debatable...). Implied gang activity and violence. Hoseok contradicts himself a lot, he's really confusing. Smut: oral ( m and f receiving) soft dom Hoseok, i think Hoseok has an oral fixation (or is it ME, the author?????) unprotected sex.

Notes: Phew, welcome!! SO, it's finally here!!! I'm so excited to share this project with you alll! It was such a big project for me, and so much time and effort went into it. Believe it or not, this started out as a smut piece and it had nothing going for it at all. If you've been following me for a while, you'd remember that back in 2021 i posted a teaser for something similar. Tbh back then probably wasn't the right time to post such a thing lmao, i for certain wasn't ready to write it and it wouldn't have been written in the way it was meant to with my writing style back then. It's been a long journey of understanding the characters portrayed here, and a lot of work to get them right. Very big shoutout to @hwaslayer who's - as always - been there with me from the very beginning and has been the biggest help and motivator, please look out for her Ateez's Seonghwa fic that shares this universe!! I won't keep you any longer, but please be sure to leave feedback, a lot of effort went into this project and i'd love to hear what you think and answer any questions! Happy reading!!!

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here with me dearie? I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than being out in the elements.” Abigail takes your hands in hers, hands that – much like yours – are dirt stained and ruddy, but bring you comfort that you wouldn’t find elsewhere. Abigail – or Toothy as everyone else calls her – is a frail woman with wispy auburn hair and a gap tooth smile. Her hair had gone white in some places, the crows’ feet at her eyes can barely help you guess her age. Her eyes are blue and dull but still regard you warmly like she did when she’d found you wandering along the fourth avenue weeks or so ago.

The space where she stays isn’t much; a nook in an alleyway between two rundown buildings that people don’t bother to go into. She’d tried her best to make it into a space that’s comfortable enough, the roof made of termite bitten sheets of ply that’s at least a square and a half wide. An old, mildew ridden tarp thrown over it and held down by a couple pieces of rubble from the building across makes up the walls that offer shelter from cold wind and rain and as much privacy you could get out here. The floor made of giant trash bags Abigail had swindled from some place or another, covered with old sheets that’s definitely seen better days. Even though the sheets had long lost their softness and leave you itching, they kept your butt off the cold concrete.

You’re going to miss the stories she’d tell. You’d lay on the floor, the longest part of the tarp folded over the top, and stare up at the strip of night sky between the buildings, twinkling with the bit of stars you can see and listen.

She’d tell you of her life before she fell to rock bottom, how grand everything was. How, many years ago, she’d won the lottery by a stroke of luck, only to have it turn sour when her fiancé gambled it all away and she lost everything. She never did tell you what happened to him.

You’d miss walking the couple of miles to the river, armed with pieces of run-down bar soaps and plastic bags with the little clothes you owned in them bundled in your arms. Or the nights when it’s cold, you’d go down to the square with her and look around for things to burn and dump them into the steel barrel to keep warm.

There are days when there’s nothing, and Abigail would distract you from your stomach trying to eat at itself with another one of her stories and old cans filled with steaming boiled rain water. There are days when you’d sit with a full tummy, there’s usually one kind soul out there that takes pity on you both to offer as much as they could.

You’ll be forever grateful for Abigail, with her motherly affection and her warm hands. She never once asked how you ended up here too, she simply offered a hand when you needed it most.

You felt as though you lingered too long... this is the longest you’ve stayed in a place. The company was good, but you feel like there’s just so much you’re robbing Abigail of by staying with her. You know she would strongly disagree; she’d probably whack you with her busted up sneaker and send you to sit in a corner until you’ve apologized. It’s simply how you feel, if you’re not here, Abigail wouldn’t have to share the little of what she gets, you feel terrible enough that she gives you more than she keeps for herself.

“Don’t worry Abigail.” You smile, pulling one hand away to pat hers. Her fingers are bony and long, and lacking the warmth they did earlier in the day. “I don’t stay one place for too long.”

It’s a lie, obviously. You’d rather chew your leg off than go out there alone. Away from the safety this little nook had been for the past month, away from Abigail, who’s cared more about you than anyone has in a while. But you care about her too, enough that you’d leave to make sure that she eats well enough to survive and not give it all to you. She’d be better off.

Abigail narrows her eyes at you, the wrinkles of her face deepening as she frowns. She looks sad, you note, the blue of her eyes dark and stormy, but she says nothing, just squeezes your hands for a while before letting go.

You smile softly, and continue stuffing your clothes into an old backpack Abigail had given you a while back. You fold the dirty ones tight, setting them at the bottom, and the few clean ones you had that still smelled like your last bar soap at the top. You don’t have much, and you’ve gotten used to it – as hard as it was.

When you shouldered your bag and stepped out from under the tarp, Abigail follows, worry on her brow, saying that she’d walk you to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oh!” She says, turning back to duck under the tarp. You hear the rummaging of her old pot wares, the clanking of the metal before she comes back and holds out a can to you. The label looks worn, peeling off in some places, but you make out the bright red ‘canned peach’ on the side. “I was savin’ this for when we go down to the river, but you’d better have it.”

“Abigail...” You sigh, guilt gnawing at your edges, “I can’t take this.”

Abigail purses her lips, smacking the can into your hand, “Yes, you can. It’ll hold you out for a little while.”

“Then what would you eat?” You outstretch your hand, offering the peaches back to her and she narrows her eyes at you.

“I can manage.” She says testily, and then sighs, softening, “Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” She takes the can and tucks it into the outside pocket of your bag, “It’ll be rough ya know.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say, and then, you hug her. Truly, you’ll miss her. She pats your back gently, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, we gotta look out for each other out here.” Abigail smiles, pulling away. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans, something she’d picked up at a donation shelter a couple of days ago. It’s got a few holes and it’s frayed at the ankles but she’d never complain. “If you fall into luck, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

You both say your goodbyes and you try your best to not cry at the sadness that clings to Abigail’s form as she hobbles back to her little nook. You take a breath and pick a direction to walk in.

You think about going to the river first, to get a little cleaned up before you go looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. You’re already regretting leaving the comfort that Abigail provided. You know she wouldn’t blame you if you turned right around and dragged yourself back. You’ve already made your mind up, though – it’s better this way.

You don’t have a gauge on the time, but the sun’s getting quite low. It streaks the sky in orange and pink, hiding behind a fluffy white cloud as it makes its slow decent. You might be able to make it to the river and back before night falls completely if you hurry. So you walk, and walk, and it’s a long way past the street Abigail first found you, where the city meets a forest edge.

You once asked Abigail why she didn’t live closer to the river, you worry about her most days, taking her frail self through the streets for such a long walk just to get here. She’d told you that even though some of your street dwelling comrades are friendly, most aren’t, and would do the worst to get what they need. It’s too risky to be close to the river where all manner of folk pass to get to it.

You tuck your bag to your front and keep an ear out for anyone that may be in the area. You grimace as the twigs and stones of the forest floor poke at your feet. Your shoes were on their last, they kept your feet warm most days, but they’re biting holes into your last good pair of socks. The trees get sparse the further in you go, and over the tweeting and chittering of the forest critters, there’s the sound of rushing water.

You break out of the trees and stand on the little edge where the forest pauses and the soft wet dirt begins. The river is a bit wild today, rushing through the rocks as it makes its way from wherever it starts. You know there must be a spring somewhere deeper if you follow the river back, but you don’t have the time to as the setting sun makes the forest look darker already. You wouldn’t like to be out here at night.

You slip out of your shoes and socks, wanting to keep them dry and walk down to the bank. Abigail has a little spot between three large boulders where she hides things. The spot is covered with leaves and sticks, and you dig through it to find the old blue bucket. It’s missing it’s handle and turned over to keep things under it.

There’s a new pack of soap powder that’s already been opened, a little square plastic bowl that’s probably seen better days on a dish rack and half of a soap bar. You pull the bucket out of its hiding place, taking just a handful of the soap powder and tossing it into the bucket. You tuck the powder into a corner of the rock with the soap bar on top of it and carry the bucket over to the river.

You rummage through your bag to find the clothes that needed cleaning, and put them in the bucket with the soap. It takes a moment of scooping water from the river and pouring it into the bucket. All the while you’re wondering where Abigail scored the soap powder from. A lot of things are hard to come by, but some people make trades with the little they’ve got. You feel a little guilty as you watch the water and soap soak into your clothes, though you know she wouldn’t mind if its you – you’re the only two that know where she keeps her stuff hidden – but still.

The soap smells sweet, and fresh in a way you haven’t smelt in a while. With the sun long gone behind the trees but still lighting the sky a bit, you wash your clothes as quickly as you can. You throw the soapy water on the bank and not back in the river, and rinse your clothes out just as quick.

There’s no time to wait for them to dry, with the sun being as low as it is and the wind baring its teeth. So you wring them out and pull out the plastic handle bag you keep folded in one of your backpack pockets to stuff them into.

It’s completely dark out once you’ve put the bucket back and covered Abigail’s things again and made your way back out of the forest. You would’ve liked to take a quick wash, but it’s too dark and the water’s too cold now. You’ll come back tomorrow when the sun’s high and hot.

You walk in a different direction than the way you came, looking for the little park that Abigail mentioned once. Its completely dark by the time you get there, your feet aching from the long walk and your mind muddled with thoughts.

You would often remind yourself not to think too hard, as your thoughts would often lead you to a dark place you find difficult to crawl out of. You would often regret not having people close enough to call good friends, maybe then you wouldn’t be out here.

You didn’t have a difficult life; you grew up in a loving home with both parents making sure that you were happy and not too spoilt by the fruits of their labour. You know the value of things and you know well to act like your parents raised you with some sense. Your mother passed when you were ten, and your father remarried when you were sixteen. You couldn’t understand why, your father loved your mother so much and you thought it would just be you and him against the world. You understood that your mother wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life overshadowed by her passing and forget to continue living. So when he introduced you to the woman he met on a business trip, looking happier than he had in six years, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that something was off.

Your mother had always taught you to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of a doubt. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in your step mother’s eyes when she would look at you. She was quite young, compared to your father, anyway, and as the years went by, he spoilt her. He gave her whatever she wanted when she wanted it as long as it made her happy and you could only watch from the sidelines.

Your father fell ill, and everything went downhill from there.

When he passed, your world shattered and crumbled, leaving you standing in the rubble grasping at the wisps of it slipping through your fingers. Things were okay, for a while, grieving the loss of your father and trying to move on and step without him. Then the news of his will came not long after he was buried.

Your father left everything for his wife, the house, his money, and as you’d found on the first night you were out here, the savings account your mother had set up for you.

You had nothing.

You’d always kept to yourself growing up, and never let anyone closer than you would allow. You were home-schooled – all the way up to your tertiary education – and had no friends to speak of. Your parents never spoke of their family, all you knew and had were your mother and father.

It’s been a while since then. A good long while. It was hard to adjust to having everything at the tip of your fingers to having it ripped away all at once.

The first week was hard. You’d worked odd jobs here and there to keep your head above the water. Sleeping in a motel every night wasn’t ideal, especially since you had to buy food and every thing else. The little money you had ran out quickly, even when you pawned the possessions you did own it wasn’t enough.

You’ve had time to adjust since then. You met Abigail and things were as okay as they could’ve been considering. You remember, she had been pestering you about why you were pacing around on that bridge when she found you.

The deep rushing water below it had looked inviting – an easy way out. No one would’ve missed you, anyway.

You take a breath in sharply, and it burns. Cold air fills your lungs with little pinpricks as night fully settles. You try not to think about anything more as you walk through the park.

It looks empty, large trees and neat grass fields and cobbled walkways. There are dark metal benches scattered about, a trickle of water you can’t pinpoint coming from somewhere.

You’d just stay here for tonight, and find somewhere you wouldn’t be in trouble to stay at in the morning. You’re pretty sure you’re breaking some law being who you are as you sit down on the bench. It’s uncomfortable, the metal cold and biting, but you’d just have to deal for the night.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out the plastic bag with your damp clothes, a jacket that’s still in good condition and the canned peach Abigail sent you off with.

You spread your clothes out on the back of the bench, and you’re hoping they dry properly even if the air feels a little damp.

With a soft sigh, you lift the circular pin on the lid of the can and pull. The peaches are cut into slices and swimming in a sweet juice, and with some guilt you pick a piece out. It’s sweeter than anything you’ve had in a while, and for a moment you feel like crying.

You feel tears burn your eyes and nose as you chew the fruit, washing it down with a sip of the juice that tastes slightly like the can. It wasn’t long before it was all gone, your fingers sticky with the juice and you stare into the empty can with a frown. You wonder about Abigail and if she’s okay right now.

Setting the can down near the foot of the bench that’s bolted into the cobblestone path, you lay back. The sky is fairly clear, with a little smattering of wispy clouds floating by and stars that twinkle in the distance.

Drifting off slowly, you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in – though there isn’t one with this metal bench. Your jacket thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

You’re not certain how long you sleep for, but when you wake, its to a tapping on your shoulder. The air is thick with something as you breathe in, and a lot damper than it was when you’d settled.

“Ma’am.” A voice calls, prodding your shoulder again, “Hello, miss?”

You open your eyes and your blood runs cold at the sight of the man in uniform standing above you. You sit up, excuses dancing at the tip of your tongue before you realised you could barely see past your nose.

The officer is holding a flashlight, the beam directed somewhere off to your right. A thick fog had settled while you slept, swirling way past the officer’s head.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep here. This is a private park.” His words aren’t unkind, they come out gentle and a little pitying, as though he regrets having to do his job of keeping the riffraff out. He lets you gather your things, stuffing your still damp clothes back into your bag.

He takes a step back when you stand, “If you need somewhere to stay, there’s a shelter not far from here. Couple blocks that way.” He waves his flashlight behind you, towards the park’s exit, “Can’t miss it.”

You could barely see the guy, much less which way exactly he’s directing you to. You turn, squinting at the way you think he pointed. “Thank you... I’m really sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it...just keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

He motions with his flashlight again and you take two steps away before stopping and turning back, “Sorry but...the fog...which way...”

The man is gone, no sign of him having been there in the first place. It’s quiet, not even insects are chirping, you don’t hear any retreating footsteps. You stare at the spot he was just in, but didn’t want to linger lest he comes back and he’s decidedly less kind.

You hike your bag up on your shoulder, squinting to see through the fog as you walk towards the exit. The roads are empty, there’s the soft clicking of the traffic lights and the glow of shop lights and street lamps that make it a little bit easier to see. You still look both ways before walking quickly across the street, keeping straight like the officer told you.

It’s quiet, and honestly, it freaks you out a bit. You don’t think it’s that late, and even so, there should be people out and about. You don’t even think you slept for that long, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. There’s no reason for no one to be around, then again, you don’t know this area very well.

You walk for some time, the sound of your footsteps and your steady breaths your only company. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter, staring up at the glowing signs and squinting to see through the fog. You passed a convenience store, a pharmacy and a pet shop, all closed and dark inside. You’ve crossed two roads so far; it shouldn’t be much more walking...unless a couple of blocks have two different meanings between you and the officer.

You stop for a moment, taking a breath that settles heavy and damp in your chest. You look back the way you came, look at the signs of the buildings across the street and the one you’re outside of. You can’t see much more than that unless you keep walking straight.

You’re beginning to wonder if he’d only said so to get you out of the park. You take a couple of steps forward and then stop, looking over your shoulder. Your brows furrow and the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end.

It’s said that the mind always knows when you’re being watched, a sixth sense to be aware when someone is staring at you.

You feel watched.

And it isn’t an ordinary feeling.

It feels off, like some primal switch just flicked up in your brain. Briefly, you think that this is how a bunny feels being cornered by a fox. Your heart suddenly kicks against your ribs and something in the back of your mind screams for you to move.

You press forward, the feeling lingers, and intensifies. You walk as quickly as you can, your once steady breaths loud and harsh in the quietness of the night. You try not to look behind you as your ears pick up on the sound of another pair of footsteps. They match yours, and you’re not too certain if it’s just really your own bouncing off the walls of the buildings. When you stop, they stop, and start back up again when you start.

There’s another sound below it. Something snarls like a dog somewhere in the distance behind you, but, like everything else about this moment in this fog, it sounds wrong. Like it’s coming from a creature that’s trying to mimic the sound of an animal.

You stop dead in your tracks, goosebumps rippling along your skin like a wave from the top of your head and downwards. You take a breath, and with one foot in front of the other – you sprint.

Your footfalls are loud in the quiet, and even through your panic you notice the change of the footsteps that mimicked yours. There’s two more with it that falls in rhythm, like a large beast running on all fours.

It’s running faster than you are, the pounding of its feet against the pavement is double the speed of your own. You feel like your lungs are about to burst, your legs burning, and the damp air becomes fire in your throat when you breathe.

Whatever it is snarls again, and it sounds way closer than it was before. You could almost feel the sound rumble through you, and something hot fans at the back of your neck. You nearly trip, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to run faster. You round a corner blindly, hoping to throw whatever it is off your trail and smack right into someone.

With your momentum, you’d think that you would send yourself and the person sprawling to the hard concrete. The terrified scream you let out rings in your own ears, high pitched and shrill, as you bounce back, falling in a heap. There’s a sharp twinge in your wrist as you brace, and a stinging in your palm when you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“Shit!” the person exclaims – a man, if the deep timbre of his voice was anything to go by. “Are you okay?!”

The man crouches down and you scramble back, then remember that you crashed into him because you were running from something and the panic comes back.

“I—there’s ... Something’s following me! It chased me all the way here...It’s—”

“Hey, hey...it’s okay...you’re fine.” The man seems to look behind you. You could barely see his face, even with him being as close as he was; the fog just seems to get thicker. “It’s just us out here...”

His voice suddenly seems hesitant, and you wouldn’t blame him if he thought you were crazy.

You breathing is still erratic, heart still trying to pound its way out of your chest.

The man’s hands hover at your shoulders, and there’s worry in his tone when he speaks again. “It’s okay. You’re alright, nothing’s out here but us.”

He takes your hand – the one that’s not holding your weight – and presses it to his chest. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, but his own heart is steady, beating a slow rhythm against his sternum. “Breathe with me.”

He takes a deep breath in, and you feel his chest expand as his lungs fill, you try your best. Your throat is burning, and every breath feels like fine glass is swirling at the back of your mouth. It takes a moment, but eventually, your breaths match his and the adrenaline seeps out with your every exhale.

Your brain finally registers the throbbing of your wrist and palm, and the ache in your sides.

“There you go.” You can faintly make out the smile that spreads across the man’s face, heart shaped and pretty white teeth. “Good now?”

You nod, just barely, and he releases your hand. There’s a shuffling and the sound of a zipper and then he’s holding a bottle of water out to you. You eye it with some suspicion, and he picks up on it.

“It’s just water, promise.” He says, wiggling the bottle a little. “The seal isn’t cracked or anything.”

You take your weight off your palm, wincing at the hot flash of pain from the movement. You right yourself a little, taking the water from him with your uninjured hand and a soft thanks.

“Oh...here...” he keeps the bottle steady in your hand with a palm under the bottom of it, and the other cracking the seal with a twist. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you take a sip, and then a gulp, “Easy, not too fast.”

The water is cool, and a blessing, you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. When you’ve drank at least half of the bottle, the man puts the cap back on and leaves it in your hold.

“Were you looking for something?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“The homeless shelter...I think I’m lost now, though.”

The man tilts his head, “There aren’t any shelters in this area...you’re on the wrong side of the city if that’s what you were looking for.”

You stare at him for a moment, “...Oh.” The officer really did just say it, then. You’re not sure what to say to the man and you glance around at the street that’s still teeming with the thick fog.

You’re not sure what to say to him, and instead, look around the street for any sign of the shelter even though he’d said there isn’t one.

“I think the fog’s lifting...” The man mumbles. The fog is clearing; it’s easier to see further down the street and the man in front of you. He presses his palms against his knees and stands, looking around for a moment before looking down at you. “There aren’t any shelters around...but...I can help you. If you want, I live a bit that way, and I’ve got an extra room...”

This is a bad idea.

He’s quite tall, on the lean side with long limbs. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his black, suede shoes look just as expensive as the watch that peeks from the end of his sleeve at his wrist. The white tee shirt he wears looks a little billowy, like it would swallow his frame once he takes the coat off. He turns a little and you get to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I won’t hurt you or anything. I just want to help.” He says, turning back to you. His eyes are dark, but kind as he offers a hand to help you off the concrete. “I’m Hoseok.”

You take his hand, and there’s nothing in the back of your mind telling you to get away. Nothing in his body language that shows ill intent, and you have to remind yourself that some people are simply kind.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him softly, giving him your name. His smile is soft as he nods, lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyes squinted just a bit.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. It’s a bit late, though, and you’d have to walk a long way to find the shelter...” Hoseok says softly.

You’re still holding his hand, and the warmth of it grounds you. You honestly shouldn’t, really, you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t follow random men promising kindness. He really looks like a good person, quietly waiting for your answer as he gives you chance to change your mind should you wish.

He doesn’t rush you, and briefly you wonder if he doesn’t have anything else to do. He was clearly going about his business before you tackled him, though that word should be used lightly considering you’re the one who ended up on the ground.

“Okay...thank you.” When you finally speak his smile broadens, showing pretty teeth and still holding your hand, he leads you in the direction he was coming from before. You feel a bit bad, turning his night on its head and probably inconveniencing him.

The fog is lighter now, the air not as thick with it as you follow along. Hoseok didn’t talk much, not once mentioning your pitiful state of dress, or asking any questions. You’re grateful, not many people would go out of their way to open their homes to someone without one.

The place he leads you to looks expensive and you feel out of place. The road winds and twists into a residential area with houses and three storey apartments. There are cars parked in driveways, neatly trimmed grass and hedges, a fence around every tree. Lampposts dot the sidewalk every thirty or so steps, casting their orange glows across every surface.

Across from there, the road veers off into a more commercial area, with fancier housing and shops and a tall, looming hotel. The streets are quiet, shops already closed for the night and you wonder what time it is. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, save for you and Hoseok making your way towards the hotel.

The doors slide open with a little mechanical whir, and you balk at the sheer size of the lobby alone. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bouncing their glows off of shiny surfaces. There are red and black lounge seats along a far wall, coffee tables of black tempered glass between them and the single seated chairs across. On the other side of the lobby is a little open cafe area, closed of course, with comfortable looking chairs tucked under tables.

There are two elevators, one of which you assume to be for staff. The reception area is a counter space of smooth looking white marble, though no one sits behind it.

Hoseok leads you to the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. You’ve let go of his hand now, as you take in the sight of the place. You wonder what anyone would think seeing someone like you in here. With your shabby clothes that’s seen better days, your dirty sneakers and backpack that looks like it’s moments away from just splitting apart.

There’s no one to see you, as the elevator comes down and opens with a ding. You catch sight of your reflection in the elevator walls, and grimace, regretting not bracing the cold river earlier. You definitely look homeless, your last bath was exactly two days ago, you look grubby standing just a little bit behind Hoseok. Anyone who would see you now would definitely turn their nose up at you and outright ask what you’re doing in their pristine hotel. Though, there isn’t much you can do to prevent that.

When the doors slide close you focus on the button panel, and next to it is a key card scanner and a button under it. The word penthouse is neatly labelled on the button in little black letters, and Hoseok fishes around his coat to pull out a key card. You blink, of course he lives in the penthouse.

The scanner beeps softly and Hoseok presses the button that glows a soft blue before the elevator lurches slight and ascends.

You fiddle nervously with your fingers in front of you, keeping your eyes on your shoes. There’s a shuffle and Hoseok turns to look at you, he’s smiling kindly again, something like pity woven into it and you feel a coil of shame twist in your chest.

“I’m sorry...” You say without much reason, glancing at him and then back down, “For the trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hoseok says softly, concern on his brow, his hand reaching out but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if he could touch you. You’re surprised he even want to. Heck, you’re surprised he’s doing any of this at all. “Really.”

“Do you usually take in random homeless people?” You ask, and his chuckle is light and teasing.

“Only the cute ones.” He says and then looks a little mortified, “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s just...you looked like you really needed help...so I’m helping.”

“You’re very kind.” You murmur and offer a smile.

He smiles back, not as brightly as his other ones, it curls his mouth less, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods, “I try to be.”

The elevator slows to a stop, doors sliding open to a little well-lit hallway. On the other end of the hall is a wide pane of glass that overlooks the city lights, twinkling in a dance of their own making, and an emergency exit sign jutting out of the wall. You follow Hoseok out of the elevator towards the door which he unlocks with a password — the beeps loud in the quiet — the door opens with a soft thunk and a beep and he lets you walk in first.

The lights are on, as though he’d only planned to be out for a moment. You’re not too sure what to do with yourself now that you’re here, staring at Hoseok’s back unsurely as he takes his shoes off and tucks them neatly on a shoe rack.

He turns to face you, “I don’t mean anything by this, so please don’t misunderstand...”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

He seems to weigh his words carefully, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You flush, yeah, you surely look grubby enough for him to ask that. It’s warranted, so, you’re not upset that he asked. You’d actually love to, when was the last time you took a bath that wasn’t in the freezing river?

Still though, it’s embarrassing. So you nod silently, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking genuinely relieved. “You can leave your stuff here and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay...” You step out of your shoes, nudging them in a corner before you take your bag off and set it down. The clothes you have are still damp, stuffed in a plastic bag somewhere in the depths of your tattered backpack and Hoseok doesn’t give you a moment before he’s leading you through his home.

The chill of the grey tiled floor runs up your legs through your thin, threadbare socks. You don’t have much time to look around, but you’re aware you’ve passed an open space kitchen and living room, splashes of white, reds and black in the corner of your vision.

He lets you into the bathroom, “Use whatever you need. The towels and things are in the cabinet.”

You turn to face him, “I really can’t thank you enough.” You say earnestly, and he waves you off, turning to leave and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll bring you some clothes that you could use.” He says through the door, his voice muffled. You thank him again and his footsteps trail away.

You turn and glance around the bathroom, floor to ceiling glass panes makes up the furthest wall. Before it is a porcelain bathtub that could easily fit three people, on a raised platform of white stained marble, and that platform on another, creating a single step up in order to get into the tub. The colour of the platforms compliments the dark reflective marble floor. The undersides of the platforms are lined with what you assume must be LED lights, glowing a pale white along the bottom.

The same LEDs line the back of the large wall mounted mirror, giving it an ominous glow. Below the mirror is a dark granite sink with a faucet you’re not even sure how to turn on. The cabinet below the sink house only cleaning supplies, and you look around for the towel space.

The shower takes up nearly the whole wall it’s connected to, frosted glass and jets embedded into the wall.  

You walk over to the shower and realise that was wall beside it sorts of curve and you let out a surprised sound when you walk the short way towards the back of it. The ‘cabinet’ is more of a little walk-in closet, there’s a few fluffy looking bathrobes sorted by length and colour, and towels and washcloths stacked on shelves that match.

Under those are neat little space savers filled with bath oils and shower gels, sweet scented candles tucked into corners. Bar soaps and toilet paper on their own shelves at the bottom, unopened toothbrushes and what have you.

There’s enough room to turn full circle without bumping into anything if you step into it. But you look at your hands and decide to not touch anything until they're clean.

So you walk back out to the sink, frowning at the faucet with no visible way to turn it on; it’s just a sleek piece of metal that curves back into the basin. You look at it to and fro and wave your hand under it, startling slightly when water sprays from the faucet. You hold your hand away and it turns off after a moment. Now, your parents had money but it wasn’t anything like this.

You can’t imagine the cost of this place.

You find hand soap after peeking into the cabinet below the sink again, taking your time to thoroughly wash your hands clean. It’s hard to see the dirt go down the drain against the dark granite, but you’re grateful. You inspect your hands once your done, and finally allow yourself to touch Hoseok’s things. You take a towel down from the shelf, the one that’s at the top of the pile. It’s a nice pale yellow, and near the bottom right corner is a little blue butterfly embroidered into the fabric. After a little debate with yourself, you pull the washcloth that matches from its pile.

You set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet, and strip out of your clothes. You fold them neatly and set them on the floor along with your socks, stuffing your underwear into the pocket of your jacket. You step into the shower and pull the door shut behind you.

You turn the knobs and adjust the water so that’s it not too hot, and for a moment, you simply stand there. The water flows over your skin in rivulets, washing away the sweat and grime of the past two days. You try not to take too long, but made sure that you’re thoroughly scrubbed clean. You try not to use too much of Hoseok’s things, even though he’d told you to use whatever you needed.

You’re not sure how long you were in there, how long you stood letting the water wash away your tears as well.

When you step out, steam billowing put behind you, you wiggle your toes into the fluffy cotton mat under you, wrapping the towel around your form. It feels nice to be clean, skin feeling a little raw from the hot water. You tiptoe to the door and ease it open, and it pushes lightly against a bundle of folded clothes on the ground. Next to it, a pair of warm looking house slippers that you shuffle into immediately after drying your feet.

The clothes: a dark grey long sleeve crew neck tee that hangs just a little off one shoulder, a pair of boxer shorts still in it’s wrapping, and long fleece lined sweatpants that you have to fold at your ankles.

Near the door is a towel rack where you hang the towel you used to dry, and after taking a breath, you step out of the bathroom.

You walk back the way Hoseok led you, and the air is prickled with the scent of freshly made food and it makes you wonder just how long you took in the bathroom.

The kitchen is a wide space, between the area that makes up the entrance hallway is a kitchen island, and much like everything else you’ve seen, is a long, polished slab of dark marble. There’s a sink in the middle, sleek and silver and soft white light comes from the fixings above it. Across from that is a large refrigerator, an electric stove and more counter space. There are a few scattered appliances, a coffee maker and a small espresso machine tucked under a cupboard over them, and a blender with something or the other in it.

Hoseok stands with his back to you, he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and startles.

“Oh – shit.” He laughs softly, “Hey, was your bath okay?”

“Sorry...” You apologize for scaring him and he waves you off, turning to face you fully. He scans your form but there’s nothing odd in the action, and he nods to himself at whatever he was looking for. “Oh, yeah. My bath was okay, thank you.”

“Dinner’s ready if you...oh...” he glances to the side, back to you and then to whatever he’s got going on the stovetop. “...This might be too heavy for you right now...” He murmurs to himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish, a little guilty about something he didn’t consider.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll eat whatever it is.” You’re not about to make him waste his food, or be impolite.

“Okay, well.” He presses a button on the stove panel, turning to the island. There’s the sound of a drawer opening and he pulls out a kitchen towel, smiling at you. He nods his head to the right, where, tucked to the wall is a modest sized wooden table. There’re two plates of what he’s made already there, and tall glasses of water. “Go ahead.”

You walk over to the table, pulling out the chair to sit. Dinner is creamy mashed potatoes, a hearty portion of steamed mixed veggies and steak that’s somehow done to your liking and already cut into pieces. Your mouth waters at the sight and it smells so good you could cry. Hoseok isn’t finished at the island, so you busy yourself with folding the sleeves of your borrowed tee-shirt up and out of the way.

When he comes over he frowns a little, “You didn’t have to wait, dove.” He takes his seat opposite you, “Please, eat.”

The random pet name flies over your head, not that you would’ve been bothered by it had you been paying attention. Hoseok was kind enough to open his home to you, let you use his things and now he’s feeding you. He could call you whatever he likes.

You murmur a thank you and dig into your food. The sound you make when you take the first bite borders on erotic, but your gracious host doesn’t seem to mind very much. There’s a pleased glint in his eyes and a small curl to his mouth as he watches you eat for a moment.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed by the intensity of his stare, but you’re mindful to not choke or look like you left your manners somewhere at your feet.

The food settles in your stomach, heavy but it’s a feeling you welcome. You could barely remember the last time you had a full meal. The bite you swallow brings the odd feeling of it slowing down behind your sternum, and you take a long drink of the cold water Hoseok had set out for you.

The man himself barely touched his own food, seemingly content to watch you scarf yours down. He has his chin propped in his hand, a small curl to the corner of his mouth and a glint of something in his eyes.

“Thank you...for the food.” You stare at your plate, drizzled with gravy and what’s left of your dinner. You can’t meet his gaze and you’re not certain why, and the intensity of it is starting to gnaw on your senses.

“No need for thanks, little dove.” Hoseok says, and there’s a soft clink when he finally picks his fork up and it knocks against the round rim of the plate. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”

The pet name strikes you this time, no longer distracted by the delicious food and your rumbling tummy. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver racing down your spine, one that was decidedly unpleasant. There’s something in his tone, the way he stares when you raise your eyes to meet his, something in his beautiful heart shaped smile.

The fine hairs at the back of your neck raises, and you’re back to feeling like a bunny in a fox’s burrow. It was the same feeling you’d gotten earlier in the strange fog; the primal sense that you’re no longer the apex.

Something like a bell jingles in the back of your mind and grows louder until its a wailing alarm.

You should leave. Thank him for being so kind and get as far away from him as possible.

The look in his eyes unnerves you, but it’s something you can’t put a finger on. Just off the edge of his form something flutters, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, but it’s gone so quickly you didn’t have time to focus on it. The feeling intensifies; tugging, now.

You don’t think he’s blinked.

A shudder runs through you, rippling along your skin like a shockwave and Hoseok is calling your name.

“Are you okay?” there’s concern on his brow, his unoccupied hand raised in a wave as though he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. “Do you feel sick?”

“N... no. I’m fine, thank you.” You try to smile, but you’re pretty certain it looks as strained as it feels. He was almost done eating, though he’s paused to asses you with furrowed brows. You feel like you’ve missed something in the past minute.

“I asked if you wanted more food but you just blanked on me.” Hoseok sets his fork down and you feel like you’re losing your mind. The feeling from before is gone, and you’re not even certain if you felt it in the first place. Maybe you’re tired, or maybe the feeling of the comforts you’ve missed for so long is messing with your head.

Hoseok looks perfectly normal, there’s nothing flickering at his back or anything odd in his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” You don’t feel certain, and if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment on it. You pick up the fork again, scraping up the little left of your food onto it quietly. You feel strange, as though the past two minutes moved by too quickly, or like they happened weeks ago and you’re struggling to cling to the details of them.

Hoseok is focused on his plate, and uncertainty at the hope that he keeps his eyes there blooms in your chest. You’re not sure why.

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple moments, with Hoseok finishing his meal and you, playing with the folded ends of your borrowed tee-shirt. When he was done, he takes the plates and the empty glasses to the sink to clean them and you sit idly at the table.

He’s drying his hands with a dark kitchen towel when he’s done, settling at the edge of the island and facing you. The overhead lights glow against his form, casting shadows along his visage that makes him look sharper; menacing. It clings to his hair like a depiction of something holy, making his dark hair look russet in the gleam.

You go to thank him again, even though he’d probably wave you off like he’s been doing the whole time, but the lights are too bright. The glow of the lights swells and flood your eyes, you squeeze them shut, trying to dispel the ache that comes with it. You turn your head and it feels like you’re neck deep in mud, it takes too much effort to do something so simple.

Panic wells in your chest, sending your heart kicking against your ribs harshly. You take a breath, well, you try, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat and you choke on it.

There’s two Hoseoks when you peel your eyes open, and they neatly fold the towel they were using and put it down. For a minute, your vision settles, and the man leans against the island nonchalantly, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches you spiral.

“You should try to calm down.” He says softly, and you hate the way you cling to the sound of his voice when it’s very clear what’s happening.

“Wh...” Your tongue feels heavy, and the words you try to say are slurred and unintelligible. You move to stand, trying to get away even when your limbs feel like there’s a ball and chains at the ends of them. The world tilts on an axis, doubling as you make to your feet, you’re not sure if it’s leaning or you are.

Hoseok reaches you in a single step and a strangled sound escapes you. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you back into the chair. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your body can’t handle.”

You can barely hear him, your ears feel as though there’s cotton in them, reducing his words to a muddled murmur. You can’t feel the way his fingers curl into the hair at your nape, but you notice the shift as he tilts your heavy head back to look up at him.

He’s smiling, you think. Pretty and heart shaped, all white teeth and sinister. And there’s that feeling again, as he says something you can’t hear, can’t focus, your eyes are closing.

There’s something dark and broken that flickers against the light above his head and shadows that dance at his back.

When the morning came and you didn’t wake, Hoseok wasn’t too concerned. He watched over you as once was his duty to another, tucked you into the sheets and the blankets and let you sink into the warmth of them. He sits in a chair at your bedside, simply watching the rise and fall of your chest and the pinch of your brow as sweat beads upon it.

Your body is fighting hard to flush out what he put in, and he admits, he may have given you a bit too much of it. It wasn’t his intention, but nothing can be done now but wait for you to come to.

When the afternoon comes and the first sign of your conscious shows in a weak attempt to rouse yourself, and a jumble of words that Hoseok deciphers with a well-trained ear it; was clear you weren’t fully there yet. Your skin was too warm, eyes not nearly focused enough, barely looking at him, and then the contents of your stomach come in a rush of bile and acid.

Hoseok tends to you gently, patiently, taking you to the bath and settling you in a way so that you don’t slip under and drown in your unconscious state. He cleans your mess, changes the bedding, puts you in a fresh set of clothes and lays you back to rest.

You stay asleep throughout the day, and Hoseok isn’t too concerned.

Humans are such fragile, foolish things. To him, you’re a porcelain doll, pretty to stare at and admire if it sits on the top of a shelf behind a case. Take it out of that case and it’s so easily broken. Hoseok is like a child in a sandbox of his own creation with too much power in his fingers. If he isn’t careful, he could shatter your form and lose you to the dunes.

The fear you felt the night before played you directly into his hands – never mind he had nothing to do with it – and Hoseok knows, you don’t have to be inclined to feel the weight of his presence. Your mind knew that something wasn’t quite right -- unconsciously or not --, and yet, you willingly followed.

Foolish.

Though, it was purely coincidental that you ran into him, he had been on his way to somewhere and wondering about the strangeness of the fog that rolled in out of nowhere. He hadn’t missed the weird quiet and lack of people either, it hadn’t been that late.

He doesn’t know exactly what you were doing in it, running around the way you were like a mouse in a maze. It’s something that sits at the back of his mind.

The morning of the second day brought no change; you were in and out of your drug induced sleep, and now, Hoseok was a little concerned.

::

“How much did you give her?”

There’s a squeak of leather as Seungcheol crosses his arms, when it’s quiet for far too long he gives Hoseok a look.

“A little.”

Seungcheol leans over your sleeping form, raising a hand to rest against your forehead. Hoseok would think you were dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“If it was a little, you wouldn’t have called.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head, the dark waves of his hair brushing his eyelashes.

“Well, she’s not dead.”

“Dude.” Seungcheol looks a little disturbed, straightening to stare at Hoseok with a displeased furrow in his brow. “You can’t just – humans have limitations.”

“I’m aware, Cheol. Thank you.” Hoseok grumbles, and he ignores the raise of Seungcheol’s eyebrow and the clear disbelief in his eyes.

“‘Course you are.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs lowly, he turns back to you, placing his hand on your forehead again until the tension in your face fades. “Don’t give her any more of that shit. She should wake up sometime today, maybe.”

Hoseok knows better than anyone the limitations of humans. Not that he acknowledges them, he hadn’t the need to in a long time, but he should be careful at least.

Hoseok leads the way out of his guest bedroom with Seungcheol following and closing the door gently behind him. Walking to the kitchen he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hoseok takes his time, fetching a glass from one of his cupboards and the whisky he keeps stashed away for his more stressful days. “Spit it out.”

Seungcheol braces his arms on the other side of the island, eyes dark. “Hoseok. I normally don’t care what you get up to; it’s not my business.” He says, looking somewhere to Hoseok’s right. “You don’t fuck around with humans. Who’s the girl?”

Hoseok hums, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass with a contemplative stare. “Street urchin. No one anyone would miss or bother to look for.”

“So you just took her off the street?” Seungcheol frowns, but Hoseok could tell from the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not that simple.

“She came willingly.” Hoseok corrects, taking a sip of the alcohol he could barely taste.

He sets the glass down on the island and pours the whisky to fill half. Seungcheol is quiet, and Hoseok hates it. It gives his mind a moment to wonder, to open a box he’s kept locked and chained.

On most days, Hoseok barely knows himself. He remembers what he’s supposed to be – what he was – and sometimes, that part of him rears its head to fight with what he’s become. Wings dipped in gold and divinity at the end of his fingertips battle endlessly with the shadows that encased him.

A memory of a time he held something as fragile as glass in his hands, broken before he could properly hold it by someone who was supposed to keep it safe. The ache of it burns like a rash that never goes away, always there, only hiding under his skin until it flares up again.

“Just... don’t do anything stupid.” Seungcheol says after a while, watching Hoseok carefully.

“You and your moral compass.” Hoseok shakes his head, and just like that, the golden light is bundled up tightly and pushed back into the corner where he long hid it.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh, shaking his head, picking up his bag he threw on the island counter when he got here.

“I need you to do something for me.” Hoseok says, watching the light shine through the glass in pretty crystal shapes. There’s a furrow of Seungcheol’s brows, but he tells Hoseok to continue with a raise of his chin. “Keep an eye out for a fog.”

“A fog? Why?”

“She was in one the night before.” Hoseok sucks air in through his teeth, “and she wasn’t alone.”

Seungcheol hums, “Alright.”

Hoseok drinks the last of the whisky in one go and waves a hand at Seungcheol, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, Cheol. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Seungcheol grumbles and then raps his knuckles against the countertop. “I’ll be over here for a few days, gotta sort some things out. Call if you need me.”

Hoseok watches him leave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he walks back to the bedroom where you still lay asleep.

He sits on the chair, watching the rise and fall of your chest, every minute twitch of your facial features. Restlessness tugs at his limbs as the sun makes its descent western sky, spraying the dimming canvas in hues of lilac and peach.

Something in the back of his mind asks what exactly he’s doing. There was no reason – there wasn’t a reason for him to take you in. A sprout of boredom, maybe, or something involuntary.

Hoseok stares out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the soft glimmer of early evening stars, until the sky is navy and darkness clings to the room.

Your mouth feels like someone’s stuffed cotton in it, and your throat feels like sandpaper when you try to swallow.

You haven’t opened your eyes, laying on what you presume is a bed, if the softness beneath you was anything to go by.

There’s not much that you remember, even as the fog in your mind clears little by little. You remember eating, you remember feeling strange like someone had shrunk you and shook you around in a jar of water. You remember the fear that quickened your heart and your breaths and Hoseok, standing above you like a malevolent God.

You remember the strangeness of his form, and even now your mind can’t comprehend it. You’re not even certain if what you saw was actually real and not an effect of whatever Hoseok had drugged you with.

Drugged.

He drugged you.

Your eyes open and the room is dark. The blankets are thick and heavy and they make you feel warm. There’s a window to your far left, curtains drawn back to show the city in all it’s glory.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing yourself upwards on arms that feel a little weak, and find – to your horror – the clothes you were wearing before aren’t what you’re wearing now.

You take a breath before the panic could set in. You could feel it rolling under your skin like a rumble of thunder before rain, and you try your best to stay calm. You need to find a way out of here.

The apartment seems to be quiet as you slide your feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You barely register the chill of it when you stand, sock-less feet making it easier to sneak over to the door without making a sound. You don’t know where Hoseok put your things, and you don’t have time to go looking for them.

The door isn’t locked, and doesn’t make noise when you push it open slightly to peek out through the little gap you made. You recognise the hallway, the bathroom is two doors down on the other side, and opening the door a little more, you poke your head out tentatively. 

You don’t breathe as you listen, but it’s so quiet, so much so that your exhale seems too loud, and there’s a soft ringing in your ears that set you on edge. Stepping outside the room, you contemplate your next course of action: You can bolt right for the door and get out, but risk making too much noise if Hoseok is indeed here. Or, you can slowly and quietly make your way over and slip out without cluing your kidnapper in on your escape.

Can it be called kidnapping if you were living on the streets?

The door seems miles away as you inch slowly towards the open kitchen and living room area. There are a few lights on, the same LED lighting strips run along the edge of the large pane windows and glows an ominous blue and the lights over the marble island had been dimmed. Both rooms seem empty and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Like a mouse, you skitter across along the hallway space that divides the two, down the little platform at the entrance and take one more step towards the door.

The door that seems further back than it was a second ago.

The stretch of space that was just an arm’s length away was now more than a hallway’s length. You stand still and stare at it, reaching an arm out in case you’re suddenly tripping balls but your hand swipes through air and falls limply at your side.

You look behind you and the rooms and hallway are just as they were, and turning back, the door was right where it was before. You could’ve sworn there was a handle on it. You place your palm against the cool, smooth surface where the handle should be and in the face of your freedom thwarted, you pinch your thigh.

You must be dreaming. The pain flares and grounds you and you realise there’s no explanation for this. You’re wide awake. Still drugged then. But you feel fine. There’s no swirling vision or heavy limbs, your mouth doesn’t feel like someone squeezed glue into it; you’re fine. This doesn’t make sense.

You back away from the door and almost stumble against the raised ledge behind your heels. Steadying yourself with a hand against the wall, you turn, and immediately, notice the darkness of the hallway.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart slams so harshly against your sternum it hurt. There’s that feeling again, it sends a shiver racing down your spine and scattering goosebumps along your skin. You’re being watched. You are not the apex here.

You want to run, or curl up into a ball and hope the darkness hides you. Fear coils into your muscles and locks them tight, and you’re left standing still, eyes darting around trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark.

There’s a darkness that curls at the center of the space a few feet away from you, undulating and crashing in on itself in an uncoordinated dance of chaos. It’s somehow darker than the darkness – stands out against it like white on black paint. It doesn’t make sense to you, and it could simply be your mind turning against you and scaring you further.

It slowly floats towards you, wraps around you in a languid, bored way, like smoke, no longer as tangible as it seemed before. You don’t feel it’s caress, but it’s cold, like you’d submerged yourself into a tub full of ice and water. You feel as though you’ll pass out, like the black wisps of strange smoke is filling your lungs and carving its way through. There’s fear, which is yours, and something that isn’t.

Something dark and lonely, desperate and afraid. It’s sad, so sad that you feel like you’ll drown in it, that tears would well in your eyes and squeeze your throat tight. There’s anger. It feels as though you can burn the world and revel in it.

The smoke snaps back and away from you, crumples on itself violently and then the lights are on, blinding you.

Hoseok is standing in front of you. There’s a mix of conflicted emotions on his face like he can’t settle on one before the storm in his eyes calm.

There’s a tenseness to his brow, and he studies you quietly with a tilt of his head.

“You’re awake.”

He takes one step forward and you take two back in turn. His eyes dart down to your feet and quickly back to your face, and draws the foot he put forward back to himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You scoff before you could help it, fear pushed slightly to the side as your anger rushes forward. “Right. Like I’ll believe that after you fucking drugged me.”

“Like I said, it was nothing your body couldn’t handle.” Hoseok counters calmly, “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I here? What do you want?” His threat didn’t go unheard, it settles into your mind and buries itself underneath everything else you’re trying to absorb for you to freak out about later.

Hoseok smiles, and its bright in its visage, every bit of sweet and caring as you thought him to be. Dimples you haven’t noticed before sinks into his laugh lines, and you think briefly, it makes him even more dangerous. He looks so harmless, as his smile blossoms and blooms into the heart shape you remember from the night before.

“Just you.” He says, eyes glinting with something you’ve decided is more than a little crazy.

You take another step back and he remains in his spot. If you’re quick enough – just enough – you can make it to the door. You might be able to outrun him.

“You can leave if you like.” He says, like he could tell what you’re thinking – or read your mind – and his smile fades, like a raincloud swelling and covering the warm rays of the sun. “Can’t guarantee you’d get very far, so I advise against it.”

You’re not sure if he’s being honest. Though, he looks pretty damn serious. He stares at you quietly, intensely, like he’s daring you to make that mistake. You hazard a look at the door behind you and the handle is still gone.

“What are you?” you ask, turning to face him and he’s directly in front of you. The startled squeak that leaves you makes him chuckle. Bending at his waist, Hoseok stares right into your eyes and you feel like your heart might just burst out of your chest and take off running.

Bunny in a fox’s burrow.

“Hm.” He hums, “Now you’re asking questions.” He straightens with a smile and steps aside, gesturing to the kitchen with a slight nod of his head. “I’ll tell you eventually. For now though, you should eat.”

You stay rooted to your spot and decide that if he wants you to move, he’s going to have to move you himself. He’s insane if he thinks you’d be eating anything he gives you.

“Come now, dove. Don’t be that way.” He sighs, stares at you for a moment later before nodding. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without you.

There’re the soft clangs of him moving things around, doing whatever he’s doing in there.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and you’ve been sick. You shouldn’t be standing.” You hear him say from the kitchen, and you think you could make another attempt at the door but the handle is still missing, so you have no choice but to go.

You eye him suspiciously when you enter, watching as he butters a piece of toast and puts it on a plate. He doesn’t look at you as you hover unsurely at the dining table, watching the lights catch on the dark marble island counter.

“I won’t give you anything to drink. Get it yourself if you’re worried I’d try something.” He says softly, and not unkind. There’s a shift in his tone and the way his body moves as he brings the plate over. You feel like the man who was standing in front of you a couple of minutes ago in the hallway had hidden himself away and the man you’d met on the street had crawled his way back to the surface.

He sets it down on the table and walks back around the island, opposite from where you’re standing, and out of the kitchen.

You’ve been here for two days – whatever he’d given you must have been strong as hell – trapped here with...him. You’re certain you can’t call him a man, he’s something more than that and you won’t know until he tells you. Most of the memory of the night you came here are blurry and frayed at the edges, making them impossible to cling to and analyse.

There was something strange in the moments before the drug kicked in and right before you passed out. Something strange about Hoseok, but you can’t seem to recall it. It’s like it happened years ago.

The inconsistencies of your memory leave you on edge, and you eye the two slices of perfectly buttered toast on the plate. He’s given you something light enough that your stomach won’t be upset. As the thought comes to mind you faintly remember being sick at some point, but that too is fuzzy and you aren’t sure if its real. At least now the change of clothes makes sense, though, it doesn’t make you feel any better. He could’ve done anything to you while you were drugged and unconscious.

You wonder what he could possibly want with you. Why you, of all people? You’re just a girl who had everything taken from her and thrown off the ladder, now at rock bottom fending for yourself. There’s nothing left of you that could be given.

You feel Hoseok’s presence before you see him, a sort of odd pressure in the back of your mind and your chest. He pokes his head into the room like he’s checking to see if you’d started eating or not and doesn’t look surprised to see you’d left the toast untouched and you’re still standing.

“The toast is fine, you know.” He says, and there’s an understanding in his eyes when he looks at you. He knows you don’t trust him, though, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He sighs when you don’t make a move and comes into the kitchen. He takes the same route as before, walking around the opposite side of the island – away from you – until he’s standing at the other side of table.

“Okay.” He says, picking up one of the toast slices, he bites into it and stares at you while he chews. “Make something yourself then.”

You blink, “Huh?”

“The bread is in the fridge if you want. There’re oats if you prefer that instead. Stick to light things. I’d rather not be cleaning up after you.” You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

He stares at you like you’re a complex puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “I used to be an angel. Fallen from grace.”

You’d laugh at the absurdity of his words, but he has that look again. He has that look that makes you believe him, and everything seems to click into place and make sense, even if you barely understand it at all.

“Okay.” You nod, and then take a seat. You focus on the gentle waves of his dark hair and not his eyes, “Why am I here? Why can’t I leave?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. You can if you want to. I said that I can’t guarantee you’d get far; You weren’t alone out in that fog.”

You’d almost forgotten about that. Recent happenings had been enough to push it to the back of your mind. You knew you weren’t losing your mind that night, something had definitely chased you and you’re positive it wasn’t a regular animal.

“But that’s another topic.” Hoseok mumbles, more to himself than you, and it looks as though his thoughts strayed elsewhere for a moment before he focused. “You should be thanking me.” He says, tilting his head to meet your gaze with a smile.

He couldn’t be seriously wanting you to thank him. For what? Saving you? For all you know it could’ve been one of his tricks. Why would you thank him? He says that you could leave if you like – him messing with you since you woke up says otherwise. He’s not actually giving you a choice. You’re not going anywhere unless he lets you.

When you remain silent, he leans forward, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “There’s nothing for you out there, though.”

You know he’s right. But that doesn’t justify what he’s doing. You assume he doesn’t care, if you were him, you wouldn’t feel the need to abide by law either.

You’d never been much for fantasy stories, growing up you were well aware that they were just that – stories. Your parents weren’t very religious, but you’d say grace before meals, pray before you go to sleep and when you woke up. Your parents would sometimes quote the bible when you were being naughty and every now and again you’d find yourself in a church for Sunday mas.

Your father used to say that the bible is a book of stories and lessons, and even if you aren’t to abide strictly by it, you should at least heed it. There’s someone up above, watching always.

The angels in the bible were described differently than the man before you, you think. Can angels really do things so bad that it gets them casted out?

Did he do something bad that got him sent here like some wayward child sent off to boot camp?

Even if a part of you is ever doubtful, his existence proves the existence of a higher being and you have some choice words for them.

In the days that go by, you remain wary of Hoseok. You don’t trust him, but you appreciate him letting you hover about him anytime he makes you something to eat. He makes everything from scratch and you wonder most of the time if it’s a skill he just has or was it something he had to hone on his own.

He barely bothers you, goes about his business, which really, entails him sitting in the living room and ignoring you.

Some days is another story entirely. You came to realise quickly that Hoseok is fond of games, usually at your expense. A shadow following you here, whispers that come from no where and bounces off the walls.

There are moments when you catch glimpses of something out of the corner of your eye – a figure lurking in the darkness, just beyond your line of sight. When you turn to look, there’s nothing there, leaving you to wonder if it was ever really there at all. You’ve seen shit at the corner of your vision way too many times for it to be a coincidence. You try to brush them off as tricks of the mind, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

Hoseok is always there when it happens, some sort of mirth in his eyes like your suffering is amusing.

The feeling of being watched becomes a constant presence, a weight on your shoulders that you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. Every time you turn around, you half expect to find Hoseok lurking in the shadows, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

For the first week it’s been this way, and when the second week started, he’d leave at one point during the day. Bored of you most likely, not that you’re complaining; at least he was no longer trying to send you crazy.

He’d give you the same instruction he did the night be brought you, use anything you need with additions of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ and ‘Stay put’. You always roll your eyes at that, the door remains the same; missing it’s handle. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.

You would stand in the living room, which looks much like the rest of Hoseok’s penthouse apartment; sleek and dark. There’s a few accents of white and red, black leather couches and clear glass tables. A flat screen TV you’ve never seen used mounted on the wall, a fluffy white rug covering the space between it and the couch. You’ve seen no other electronics besides that, nothing that you can use to contact anyone.

He’d left you things to occupy your time – like you’re a child – books and puzzles and what have you. And you found that the TV works if you become bored of the other things.

Weirdly enough, there’s people outside and below, unlike the night you came when it looked like a ghost town. You can see the glint of the sun bouncing off of shiny cars driving in and out of the hotel’s compound. Little people walking around as they go about their days, oblivious to your plight.

Sometimes you would hear someone out in the hallway beyond the door, like someone coming to clean and you would bang on the door and be as loud as you possibly could. It’s like you’re a ghost. You asked him about that once, and he told you that he can mimic spaces, make it seems as though something is or isn’t there.

Sometimes Hoseok would come back from his little excursions and be as normal as he could be. He’d talk to you like he isn’t holding you captive, ask you about what you did for the day as though there’s a million and one things you could do while there. You’d answer as to not be on the wrong side of him, even though it’s clear that he doesn’t quite mind you not saying anything back. He’d ask you what you’d like for dinner, and he’d eat with you.

On days like those it feels... normal. You feel comfortable and the nature of the situation escapes you. Like this had been your life for as long as you could remember. And sometimes you think, that maybe, if things were different. If perhaps he hadn’t kidnapped you, ‘helping’ you or otherwise. Maybe if your life had gone a little differently and you’d met him under different circumstances...then maybe.

Sometimes on those days he’d sit quietly as you give him little pieces of you; telling him about your childhood and not so important things. He’d clear the coffee table to put a puzzle together and ask you to help him with it.

Some days he’d come back and he wouldn’t be in a good mood. He’d stand and brood at the large windows looking out, lost in thought. On those days he’d look gone, vacant, as though whatever going on in his head was paramount to the reality around him. His eyes are sad then, and he’d be so quiet you’d forget he’s there. He’d make dinner, and he would not eat.

On days like those, if you wake at night and venture out of your room, you’d find Hoseok as you did the night you first woke up. A swirling ball of shadows and smoke somewhere about, and the lights are always off. It scares the hell out of you every time. It reminds you of what he is, despite the nature of his existence, there’s something very dark about him. He scares you mostly, even when he’s being nice, it’s unnerving. You’d try to stay clear of him then.

Something in your mind had been made aware that he is beyond your understanding. He’s stronger and faster than you, can do things that makes your brain grind to a halt trying to process. Sometimes it feels like he’s in your head, watching your every move and surveying your every thought. It scares you.

On days like those, the last thing you want to do is sleep.

Sleep evades you and when you do finally catch it, your dreams are wrought with nightmares of shadows and screams and blood. Sometimes Hoseok is there and he’s less kind than he’s ever been, and you’re lost in darkness and can’t find your way out.

Sometimes it’s a man with red hair lurking at the corners of them, smiling and taunting you. You feel like you could never escape them, like your dreams lasts the entire night and leave you exhausted when you wake up.

The room you woke up in so long ago was yours; Hoseok stays clear of it and never enters without knocking. One day Hoseok had brought you clothes you’re certain costs more than your life, they’re mostly comfort clothes as you have nowhere to be at no point in time. From sweaters to tee-shirts, lounge pants to bicycle shorts and an assortment of underwear that made you scowl at him.

That day you asked him just how long he was going to keep you captive – he didn’t much like the use of that word, prefers ‘keeping you safe’. He told you about the mysterious animal that chased you in the fog, that he and a friend are looking into it and reminds you that you wouldn’t get very far should you leave. You reminded him that he’s not letting you go anywhere.

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the swirling pattern from one corner to the next. You’ve lost count of them every time and you’ve lost count on just how long you’ve been here. Hoseok remains the same, fluctuating between rivalling the sun and being the moon that sometimes eclipse it.

It’s the morning of yet another day, and you can hear Hoseok moving about already. Sometimes you wonder if he ever sleeps...does he need sleep? He eats...that much is for certain, so by any rate he functions partially human.

You sigh softly, getting out of bed and shuffling your feet to the house slippers Hoseok gave to you. There’s the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok moving about, and it sounds like he’s in a good mood if his humming is anything to go by.

You wash up for the morning and get changed before carrying yourself out to the kitchen.

Hoseok looks devastatingly domestic and the smile he directs at you is enough to send your mind haywire. These past few days has been confusing for you. Though the initial fear you felt for him was there, lately, it’s been less. You’ve found yourself missing him when he goes off to do whatever he does during the day and you’re excited when he comes back. You’re chalking up the reason for that being that he’s the only person you’ve been in contact with for possibly a month or two.

On some of the days where he would come back and be less than happy, and the lights go out like they’re scheduled to and Hoseok is no longer tangible. When he hovers in a little ball of controlled chaos that blends into the darkness, you sit and wait. You wait until he’s there again and the lights are back on and he looks at you like you’re something he’s lost.

It confuses you as much as his smile that sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage in a dance that isn’t out of fear. You actually can’t remember when you’d stopped being afraid of him.

“I’m going out today.”

Your brows furrow, he’s never told you that he’s leaving before. He brings over a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced fruit. A sealed carton of orange juice and a glass for you.

“Okay...?”

Hoseok smiles, “Okay.”

::

When lunch came around, you’re sitting at the island watching Hoseok prepare the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make.

You don’t really feel the need to watch him as closely as you did when you first got here, now you simply do it because there isn’t anything better to do.

He moves in the kitchen like it’s a dance, turning to and fro with a grace you could only hope to have.

He’s already got something on the stove, some sort of sauce you think. It smells amazing and you’re looking forward to whatever it could be.

He looks a bit in his head, brows furrowed as he concentrated a little too hard to just be cutting an onion into crescent slices. He mutters something under his breath, turning to stir the contents in the pot before going back at the onion.

“Hoseok?” You call softly as he sets the onion aside in a bowl and pulls something else onto the cutting board. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s heard you, with just the steady sound of the knife hitting the board, he hums, glancing at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” You can tell he’s in one of his moods, but he’s actively trying to be pleasant. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove and then turns the oven on to heat up. “What is it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, just a tad bit impatient.

“Is cooking just something that you can do? Or did you have to learn?”

He turns, pauses, stares at you for a moment and then chuckles, “It’s a skill I acquired through a lot of trial and error. I had a long time to perfect it, though.”

“How long are we talking?” You’re a little intrigued, besides him telling you that he’s a fallen angel, he hasn’t told you exactly how he became one or how long he’s been here.

He tilts his head and smiles gently in the way he does when he’s thinking if he should answer you honestly or not before shrugging, “Long enough.”

You sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re probably older than dirt anyway.”

A surprised laugh leaves him, high pitched and a little untamed. The sound is infectious and now you’re laughing too.

Happiness looks good on him, you wish he wore it often.

When it was about four in the afternoon, you hear the closing of Hoseok’s door and the sound of his footsteps walking up the hall.

You’re curled up against the corner of the couch, tucked under a yellow blanket with a book in your hand. You smell him before you see him; the cologne he’s wearing reaching the room before he does.

He steps in and stands near the entrance, the end of his coat brushing against his shins while he secures a watch to his wrist. His hair’s grown longer since he brought you here, curling against his jaw and the bangs are long enough to almost hide his eyes if not for the middle part. The rings on his fingers catch the light of the sun, and he finally settles, a serious look on his face as he watches you for a moment.

He seems to be contemplating something, the muscle of his jaw tensing as he grinds his teeth. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at you.

Unwrapping yourself from the blanket, you walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but levels you with a look and guides you into the hallway with a hand at your back. “I’m leaving the door alone.”

The door is practically singing your freedom, the silver handle looks like a lighthouse at a stormy sea at night. Hoseok is looking down his nose at you when you finally tear your eyes away. His eyes narrow as though he can hear your thoughts and steps away from you.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You messed around with the TV, got bored, read another book, and decide to take a nap. Doing it all to ignore the door. You wouldn’t get very far. You really don’t want to know what Hoseok meant by that.

There isn’t anywhere you can go, you have nothing to your name. You get three square meals, clean clothes and a bed to sleep in when night comes – you think about Abigail, you wonder if she’s alright – you’d actually be quite dumb to go out there. Hoseok hasn’t done much but mentally exhaust you, you aren’t chained up in a dank room and being made to do things against your will. It’s actually quite pleasant.

You shuffle to your room and crawl under the covers, suddenly too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You would usually take naps when there’s nothing else for you to do, but you’re never this sleepy. It’s like your body is demanding you close your eyes and pass out right now.

You open your eyes a couple of minutes later and realise you didn’t know you fell asleep. It’s dark out already.

You throw the covers back, scoot to the edge of the bed, and put your feet right into water. You look down at it confused – did you leave a tap on? Hoseok would probably throw you out a window for flooding his place. Or maybe he’ll start up his silly mind games again and drive you nuts.

You’re not too concerned about it, strangely enough, as you get up, the water soaks into the legs of your pants. It’s high enough to lap against the middle of your shins and you curse softly, how could you forget to turn the tap off?

You swish through the water, reaching the door and pulling it open. The water is gone and you’re standing in the living room. Hoseok sits on the couch, one leg lapped over the other, bobbing idly as he turns the page of a thick book balanced on his thigh.

“Hoseok.” You sigh, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for your stupid games.”

He turns his head slowly to look at you, crooks a finger like he did at you earlier. You stomp over to him, not caring that you probably look rather childish doing so. When you stop in front of him, he gently puts the book aside and then wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Your pulse flutters and you pray that he can’t feel it. A soft squeak leaving you as he tugs you to him, you fumble to catch yourself, trying not to trip over your feet and the carpet. Your hand lands beside his head, sinking into the leather, his eyes meet yours through his hair, and when he pulls you down, you follow without question.

He settles you in his lap, one hand gripping your waist and the other snaking upward to bury itself into your hair. He leans forward, nosing along the underside of your jaw and when the warmth of his tongue streaks against your pulse, a shiver races down your spine before you catch yourself. You push against his shoulder, “Hoseok.”

His chuckle sounds dark to your ears, his grip on your waist tightens enough that you fear you’d bruise. His teeth drag against your earlobe and yours sink into your bottom lip. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you want.”

His words wrap around your head, burying themselves under your skin and makes home there. The hand in your hair slowly slides out of it, moving down until it’s wrapped around your throat. His thumb presses against your racing pulse, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to break you.”

It’s a moment of bliss, warmth spreading through you before it instantly chills. It’s all fun and games until he’s actually trying to choke you out. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as Hoseok’s grip tightens around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic surges through you, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

He’s going to kill you.

Desperate, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away, but his strength overwhelms you. Your struggles intensify as you realize the danger you’re in.

He stands swiftly and lets you go, and you crash unceremoniously into the glass coffee table, nearly breaking your wrist trying to catch your weight. You cough and gasp, clutching at your throat that burns with every breath you take. Your eyes sting with tears as you scramble to put distance between you and him.

He watches you, amused, taking slow steps towards you. He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls and you realise – there’s nowhere to run.

You look up at him, and you’re now facing the windows. The LEDs that line the perimeter of them are glowing a sinister red and they’re the only source of light. There’s something slick under your palms, something you slide in as you try to get up. Inspecting it in the lighting does nothing, as it simply looks dark against your skin, but, there’s no mistaking the scent of copper.

Gazing around, you’re sitting in a pool of blood. Hoseok is nowhere to be found. The pool stretches off like something was dragged through it, going out the living room and down the hall.

You follow it, against your better judgement. This is the worst trick he’s ever played.

Your pants stick to your skin uncomfortably, and you wipe your hands hurriedly against the front of them. It doesn’t do much but spread the mess of blood around. The trail leads into your bedroom, and you stand outside the slightly ajar door with your heart pounding against your ribs.

Raising a hand, you push the door open, but plan to go no further than the threshold. The lights are on, dimly, it doesn’t give you much vision, but you could see Hoseok standing over someone.

It’s you, well...it was you. You’re not sure if you could call that you anymore. Limbs twisted in unnatural angles, sharp ends of bone sticking out from your bruised skin.

You stumble backwards, slipping in the still wet trail of blood and falling against the door behind you. Tears blur your vision, you feel sick.

“You see?” a voice whispers, echoing and bouncing around in your head. “This is what will happen.”

There’s someone else here.

“He’ll kill you.” The voice snickers, crawling along your skin like poison ivy. “Run. Get out.”

You startle awake, gasping for air, searching your body for any sign of blood. The sun is almost setting, preparing to make its descent in the west and you dart out of bed. Your skin feels tight, like you’re too big for it and it makes you uncomfortable. Your breaths are harsh barely making it into your lungs before you’re forcing it out again.

You make for the door, yanking it open and running down the hall. You didn’t stop to think, you just want out. You push the entrance door and it opens and you stumble out into the hallway you haven’t seen in ages.

You run up to the elevator, the overhead floor indicator is blank. And the elevator doesn’t budge when you push the button frantically. Hands caught in your hair you spin around, there must be a way.

The green exit sign glows like a beacon of hope. You trip over your feet getting to it, almost face planting on the expensive rug that lines the hallway. The door opens with a click and your footsteps echo in the stairwell as you take them two at a time to get as far away from this place as possible.

You don’t stop until you’re three flights down, breath ragged and vision spotty. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, panting and wiping the sweat off your brow.

There’s a loud bang that echoes from somewhere below and you freeze. Taking careful steps you peek between the railings and see nothing.

It might be Hoseok.

Or, it could be someone else in the building and your only hope of getting out of here.

“Hello? Is someone ther—” There’s another loud bang, and you take a couple steps down the fourth flight and look over the railing again. A thick fog swirls just a floor below.

The hair on the back of your neck shoots up at the low growl that dances up the stairwell. You nearly go tumbling down it in your haste to turn around and go back up.

As you turn to go back up the third flight, the fog surrounds you and you stop as it becomes impossible to see. You grip tightly to the stair railing, tentatively stepping up – You’re trying not to breathe too loudly.

There’s something scraping against the ground on the stairs below and your heart kicks. You step faster, at the same time trying not to trip and break your neck. There’s a low snarl and you bolt, taking the stair two at a time back up the way you came.

The floor vibrates beneath you as whatever it is gives chase. You make it up to the first landing, pulling the exit door open with a grunt. You’re just about to step through when what feels like three hot butcher knives slices through your back. The force of it sends you pitching forward, smacking hard into the wall on the opposite side before you crumple against it.

You could barely feel it, you’re aware you’re hurt...you could feel the pulsing, open wounds at your back. Your mind is trying to process as you struggle to move, taking a breath aches as you push yourself upward and away from the wall just enough to turn. You don’t manage much more than that, sliding down the wall until your butt hits the pretty red carpet.

The metal door of the emergency exit swings open harshly, banging loudly against the wall before it leans forward; one of the hinges broken. The thing that stands in the doorway looks like it crawled out of some deep, dark part of hell. It’s standing on it’s hind legs before it drops forward, claws that look at least nine inches long scraping against the linoleum.

It looks like a giant dog, honestly. It’s hard to tell when all you could focus on was that you could feel your heartbeat at your back, and the slick warmth soaking into your ruined sweater and pants. Shock maybe...or adrenaline, was keeping most of the pain at bay, you’re pretty sure you’d be dead otherwise right now.

With a guttural growl, the creature emerges, its form contorted and twisted, as if it were forged from the very essence of nightmares.

Its body is a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sinew, its skin a sickly shade of mottled grey, stretched taut over bulging muscles that ripple with every movement. Sharp spikes protrude from its spine, glinting menacingly in the dim light, while its black eyes burn with a fiery intensity that seems to pierce through your very soul.

The creature's mouth curls into a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. Its breath is a noxious cloud of decay and sulphur, filling the air with a suffocating stench that makes your stomach churn.

As it lurches forward on all fours, its movements are unnaturally fluid, each step sending tremors through the ground beneath you. It’s trying to squeeze its way through the small space of the doorway, too big to pass through, and you could do nothing but watch.

Your vision goes hazy as you simply stare at the creature.

The adrenaline is fading and you’re starting to feel your wounds, but maybe if you could crawl towards the door...

At six pm on a Friday evening, Hoseok isn’t at all surprised to see the line of people waiting to get into the club. It’s still a long way to opening, but with the prestige of this place, again, he isn’t surprised.

He was with Yoongi when he bought the place, watched him build it from the ground up. Watched his taste for the interior bounce around erratically until he settled, as the clientele flickered from the common club goer to people – if they had enough money – buying their way in.

Haegeum is on the high-end of the city, the type of place where you’d wonder if folks had enough money to burn just because. Yoongi doesn’t discriminate and all are welcomed.

The queue is a mix of people: folks dressed to the nines just to step a foot in the place, those of which would most likely be sitting pretty in the VIP section. People just looking for a place to escape to for a while, teenagers holding tight to their fake Ids and clinging to their friends. They mingle in groups or alone, their chatter filling the air with a soft buzz of voices and hushed giggles.

Hoseok takes everything in with an air of nonchalance as he strolls by.

The bouncer at the heavy black door stands stoically, clipboard in hand for VIP clients. Hoseok breezes past him when he opens the door to let him in, stepping into the entrance foyer, illuminated by dim red lights. He walks down the hall, and down the dark metal staircase into the main floor of the club.

The above head white florescent lights do nothing to take away from the grandeur of the club, though, Hoseok likes it better when it’s late and the lights are off. The main floor is usually accented in lights of blue and red, casting shadows streaking along the sitting area. Embedded into the walls are velvet couches that flow with the design in a sort of snake like shape, a short-legged coffee table and single seated chairs dotted between every inward curve. There’s a wide enough walkway for two people walking side by side to pass, a partition of glass, and on the other side of it, black leather couches and even more glass coffee tables.

 The walls are interesting, and Hoseok thinks this because he doesn’t know why Yoongi likes it so much. In large arched alcoves sits head statues of Greek gods of mortal tales, staring lifelessly into the distance, bathed in dark blue light. Between every two are columns that resembles those of a temple, and smooth grey stone. Hoseok honestly doesn’t know which vibe Yoongi is going for, not that he’d say it to his face.

He walks down the little walkway, down another set of stairs and across the dance floor. The bar is tucked in a corner, glasses being wiped by one of Yoongi’s employees behind it. Hoseok offers the man a nod of his head, moving towards the staircase that curves with the wall and upwards.

Yoongi’s office veers just off the VIP lounge, set behind large mahogany doors. And Hoseok doesn’t bother knocking. The room looks pretty much the same as it’s always had: dark walls with darker patterns, a maroon carpet lining the floor, abstract paintings hanging on the walls that allude to a darker nature, and in the far corner on the wall between two paintings is a golden blade dagger behind a mounted glass case.

“...Pick your side, kid. It’s either you’re with me, or against me.” Yoongi’s voice is cold, not angry per se, but reeking in annoyance that chills rather than burns. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want me as your enemy. I don’t play nice.”

There’s a young man standing in front of Yoongi’s large desk, his hands behind his back where one hand squeezes the other in bouts of nervous jitter. There are bruises on his knuckles, and even from behind, Hoseok could tell that he’s trying to fit into a crowd that doesn’t suit him. Haegeum isn’t just a club but a base of operations so to speak, in the middle of this high-end city, its easy for Yoongi to wrack up a certain clientele. People who seek a different ease of mind and has a different lifestyle.

Hoseok leans against the door, watching the scene play out, as the young man bows slightly and Yoongi waves his hand at him.

“Keep shadowing Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the week, and I don’t want any trouble this time.” He says dismissively, and the boy turns to leave. As Hoseok catches his eye, something akin to a bolt of lightening shoots down his spine. It isn’t noticeable to the more ordinary folk, but Hoseok isn’t ordinary, and neither are Yoongi and the rest of his boys. 

The air crackles with static, raw, untrained power that itches Hoseok the wrong way. The boy stands there clearly a moment too long, and Yoongi’s knuckles raps against the table top. “Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun gives a soft apology, and quickly walks towards the door. Hoseok opens it for him, not out of kindness, but purely to give him a long unbroken stare. He smiles as the boy struggles to hold his gaze, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end at his proximity.

When he shuts the door behind him, Yoongi is already watching him with a raised brow. Hoseok wanders over to the leather armchair at the front of Yoongi’s desk and sits, shifting around until he’s comfortable in it. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Obviously they’re not.” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as he sieves through a stack of papers scattered on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. “Kid wanted in, so I let him. More trouble than it’s worth, honestly. But, the Nephilim are stronger than the order, so I gave it a shot.”

Hoseok hums, and Yoongi seems to catch himself, narrowing his eyes at him. The scar that runs through his right eye looks pink and irritated in the motion and the overhead lights. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t visit?”

If Yoongi narrows his eyes any more, he’d close them, “I think you know better than anyone that you’re never here.” He says, “You’re absent more often than not, so I have the right to ask. Did you do something? I’m not cleaning up any more of your messes.”

Yoongi pushes back his chair, walking across the room to the mini bar he has tucked in the corner. He pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whisky from a long necked crystalline bottle. He takes a sip and turns leaning against the bar’s edge. “Last time was enough trouble.”

“You’d clean it up anyways.” Hoseok says, leaning his head back against the chair, tilting his head to look at Yoongi. “I found something fun to do.”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, quiet, contemplative, “Causing a different type of trouble, I see.” He chuckles, “Don’t break her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok smirks, and then frowns a little. With all Yoongi’s prowess and danger, he’s gone a little soft around the edges, and he could see that softness in his eyes as he looks off into the distance. Surely thinking about the mortal girl that has him wrapped around her little fingers like bubble gum.

“You’ll learn.” Yoongi says cryptically, and it reminds Hoseok that he’s never really sure what Yoongi is thinking. Sometimes he’s an open book and Hoseok could read him like one, easy to figure out in the way that he moves, and sometimes he’s sealed tight.

Yoongi drains his glass of whisky, setting it down with a clink on the bar top before walking back over to his desk. “Since you’re here...” He opens a drawer and pulls out a thick black file, “Give this to Seonghwa.”

Hoseok takes the file and opens it, reading over the contents. There’s a man on Yoongi’s black list that’s due a checking in. “You let him and Joong have all the fun.”

“You’re too messy.” Yoongi retorts, “I said I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Hoseok shrugs, and gets up, skirting around the back of the chair and walking towards the door.

“Hobi.” Yoongi calls, “I don’t have to remind you that there’s a meeting at the end of the month, right?”

“I’ll be here.” Hoseok says, as the look in Yoongi’s eyes gave no room to say anything else.

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and lets the tension roll off his shoulders. He goes back the way he came, black file in hand, towards the VIP section where he knows Seonghwa would be lurking. He walks down the little walkway, through the identical couches and tables on raised platforms that overlook the main floor of the club.

At the end, there’s a small section of booths, black velvet and low lit, and standing with his back to him is Hongjoong. He seems to be busy, twin pistols in pieces on the booth’s table, cleaning supplies set up neatly in a little row. Hoseok saunters over, and throws his arm over the man’s shoulders.

Hongjoong doesn’t spare him a glance but sighs softly through his nose. “I’m busy, Hoseok.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Hoseok asks, and waves the file at him, “Yoongi has work for you two.”

“When doesn’t Yoongi have work for us.” Hongjoong slides away from under Hoseok’s arm, sitting down in the booth to avoid him all together. There’s a dull glint of light as the fixtures catch on the gold diamond studded crucifix that swings against the white of Hongjoong’s tee-shirt.

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

The dark bangs of his hair, which are usually styled away from his forehead, falls into his eyes when he glances upward at Hoseok. He picks up the cleaning solvent and pours a bit of it into the cap before dropping a cotton patch in to let it soak, then, he wraps the patch around the bristles of a small bore brush.

“Seonghwa isn’t here, he’s out back.” Hongjoong picks up the dismantled gun barrel, sliding the bore brush through until the now dirty cotton patch pokes out from the other end. The scent of the solvent burns Hoseok’s nose, and he leaves Hongjoong be, going back down to the main floor and through the emergency exit. The exit sits in the middle of an alleyway that connects two streets, and Hoseok catches sight of Seonghwa’s faux fur coat on one end.

Smoke curls away from his form with a light wind and brings the scent of a cigarette as Hoseok walks with quiet steps towards him. He’s laughing at something, phone in hand, and Hoseok drops his hand heavily on his shoulder and feels the way he immediately tenses.

“I’ve told you one too many times, Seonghwa.” Hoseok says, stepping to the side and around him, “Always be on your guard.”

There’s a glint in the way that he sneers, pulling away from Hoseok’s grip. He takes a couple steps back, watching Hoseok as though he spat at his feet.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. Makes me all tingly.” Hoseok teases mockingly with a smile, and then offers the file to him. “Here.”

Seonghwa shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat, taking the file and looking through it. He takes one last drag of the cigarette between his fingers before tossing it. He raises a perfect brow at Hoseok and tilts his head, something like amusement in his eyes. “You don’t show up for weeks, and now you’re just Yoongi’s errand boy.”

Hoseok chuckles and it’s dark, low in his throat. “Seonghwa.” He takes a step closer, “Don’t forget your place.”

It’s irritating how Seonghwa doesn’t back down, the way he looks at Hoseok as though he’s beneath him. He stands tall and proud with his chest puffed out like a peacock, and Hoseok knows he’s about to say something stupid without using that brain of his first.

“Don’t act like we’re not in the same boat.” Seonghwa scoffs, and even before he opens his mouth, Hoseok could see the thought in his eyes, glowing like an ember in the dark. He sees the minute curl at the corner of his mouth and the glow of the street light that catches on the pretty studded silver of his teeth. “You got your ward killed, and killed the man that killed her. There’s no hierarchy among murderers.”

Hoseok takes a breath, and he feels the heat rising from the tips of his toes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the images he’s locked away floods out of the steel box he’s put them in. The little girl he’d been guardian to, her short, miserable and painful life. Found end at the hands of someone she had the misfortune of being born to. It was too late – he was too late, when he’d found her. And just like then, Hoseok sees red.

Warm, gushing red that spill into the creases of his fingers when he swings his fist at Seonghwa’s face. The black file and the papers within scatter on the wind.

Hoseok doesn’t let the surprise and force send the younger man stumbling back too far, and grabs hold of the front of his coat, curling his fingers into the material tightly. He kicks at his knee, and when he’s forced to kneel, Hoseok leans down to his height.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who lost his wings for something so trivial; your sin and mine are two different things.” Hoseok sneers, and he’s so mad he could set Seonghwa on fire and watch him dance. “But I can remind you exactly why Yoongi doesn’t bother to have me involved.”

Someone pulls Seonghwa back, dragging him up to his feet. “The fuck are you two doing?”

There’s a tick in Seonghwa’s jaw that doesn’t go unnoticed and his eyes stay locked with Hoseok as he straightens. He should think twice, Hoseok knows he knows better.

Hongjoong shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder, “Go pick that shit up.”

Yeonjun stands at the open doorway of the emergency exit, watching with wide eyes, looking like he’s halfway to backing out on his choice to get into Yoongi’s ranks. Hongjoong eyes Hoseok warily, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Seonghwa was doing as told.

Hoseok’s gaze burns a hole into the back of Seonghwa’s head as he moves around to pick up the scattered papers while Hongjoong stands like a watchdog.

Hoseok shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “You boys be good, now.” He says in parting, turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

“What the fuck did you say to him?...”

Hoseok walks up the street, through the throngs of people still waiting to get into Haegeum. His phone vibrates in his coat pocket, with a sigh he pulls it out and answers.

“Yes, Cheol?”

“Hey, remember when you asked me to tell you when I’ve seen that weird fog?” Seungcheol sounds distracted, there’s a sharp sound from his end that has Hoseok pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. He says something to someone else, voice too far away for Hoseok to catch, before he speaks again. “Couple of nights ago, it was in my area. Whatever’s in it is pretty good at hiding. It’s not the only thing in it either.”

Hoseok crosses the street, going in the opposite direction of which he came from. The people that line the sidewalk give him a wide berth as he weaves through them; unconsciously reacting to him being near.

“Didn’t see much of the guy, some twinky-looking redhead.” Cheol sighs, “I think the fog is like a domain. If you get lost in it, it’s like there’s no-one in there but you. Like a mirror realm.”

‘They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves.  And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’

What defines a monster? Something that goes beyond human comprehension, something that stands outside the bounds of what is morally accepted. Something that a person fails to understand and is therefore scared by. Something that make stories entertaining because they’re meant to be defeated in the end. They’re meant to be slain and mounted like trophies, pinned up for grotesque display of heroism.

What defines a creature that goes beyond human comprehension? White coloured morals and the freedom to help in the way it needed. He stopped being what he was created to be, and instead became something that someone needed the most. He did everything right. He had his head in the right place, he was determined to see it through to the end.

He was a little too late.

Over the years, Hoseok could no longer recall just how late he was. If it was by seconds or minutes, or an hour by a half. When he was finally strong enough to move, he traced the memory of a place he’d seen for years, all the way to a house where his charge waited inside.

She was always afraid. Alone, trapped with a monster of man’s making. A child he’s watched since the moment of her birth, watched her grow to be afraid and the light never reach her. By the laws of his nature he was forced to do nothing.

He was restricted to assisting in the only way he could. He couldn’t shield her physically, so he instead manipulated the monster in her closet. He made sure that his mind was changed, that he didn’t swing his claws as fiercely, that he slept deeply so that the child can have a night of rest.

He started to question, as he watched the monster that called himself a father, prey upon what he was meant to protect.

What’s the point? Is he not allowed to stop this? Why can’t he stop this? He could stop it because he has the power to do so.

The ideology was shared by another, and together, hubris.

Hoseok fell with pride; he fell with the intention to seek his ward out and help her. Even if he had no idea what was to come afterwards. Stripped of his grace and the feathers of his wings burned away, it didn’t matter to him.

He went as quickly as his wounds allowed, which in retrospect, wasn’t quickly enough. She was only six. An awfully short time to the likes of him, even shorter to mortals, not enough time to live and laugh – she wasn’t allowed to even do that. He’d stood there, in the broken doorway of a broken home and watched as the monster of his ward’s nightmare became a man before him. Hoseok’s vision had tunnelled and in the centre was the broken body of the child he’d sworn to protect.

When the shadows on the walls grew tall and Hoseok’s mind closed in on itself and allowed those shadows to encase him, the man cried. He pleaded on his knees at the sight of his reckoning, begged for mercy when he gave none.

Then, Hoseok shattered. Scattered like tiny specs of dust floating on the wind, and under the heat and pressure of his own realisations, he turned into glass. With his sharp edges he cut into the man and reveled in it. The sounds of his pleas like the gentle strum of a harp’s string, and the warmth of his blood was a bath Hoseok sunk into.

What he was, was something that was no longer needed, and with his hands covered in blood and gore and mess he held tight to his reasons for being and cried for her. He became something else that only protected himself. While he locked everything away and allowed the shadows to stay. The light he’s trapped struggles to glow, to breathe, and some days Hoseok wants to snuff it out for good, to become the shadows he plays in.

He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, though. He still has a sense of himself, however skewed.

He owes Yoongi a lot, his partner in crime that he would follow to the ends of the earth. He never turned his back on him even as Hoseok changed to suit his troubles.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi standing at the doorway, catching up much later than he had. He stayed there quietly while Hoseok mourned the death of his ward and his tears made tracks in the blood that coated him.

Hoseok buried her away from her cursed home, far away and as deep as the roots of an old oak runs and salt floats on the air. Wild flowers bloom there, giving her the beauty in death she wasn’t allowed in life.

His chest aches as he stands there now. Under the shade of the oak tree where little speckles of the setting orange sun spills through leaves and dances along the space that he occupies. There’s a crinkle of plastic and Hoseok stares at the small bouquet in his grip. He chose every flower that reminded him of her: daises and lavender, lilies and snapdragons.

He lays it gently on the patch of grass that’s long grown over between two large protruding roots, mutters the same apology he does every time he comes by, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat as he straightens.

He’s sorry he wasn’t there in time.

He wished she was given a chance, and wondered if her death was his punishment. He wonders what it would’ve been like to watch her grow, safe and happy. What her favourite flower would’ve been, if she would’ve valued the little things. He would’ve given her everything – pulled the moon from the sky if she so desired it. He would’ve taken the stars and put them in her little hands for her to watch them shine.

He wonders if it would’ve been better had he waited a little longer. That maybe the slightest change would’ve brought about a different outcome.

Hoseok sighs, turns his head to watch the sun set, dragged behind the ocean’s edge far off in the distance. Something at the back of his mind wiggles and tugs. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in no mood to deal with it.

You’re dying...you think. Your hand slides against the floor and it takes a moment to realise it’s your blood you’re slipping in. You can barely feel the rest of your body, adrenaline pumping your blood out of the wounds at your back. The doors of the elevator doubles and swarms in your vision.

You see them open but it’s so hard to focus. Hoseok steps out and walks slowly to you, you can’t see his expression, but you faintly hear the long, drawn-out sigh he releases. Your eyes focus on the darkness that surrounds him, the way it curls like smoke. The shadows at his back are clearer to you than they’ve ever been – wings. Dark plumage that glitters with something silver in the light, the feathers are long, long enough that they drag behind his steps. If he were to unfold them they would easily span to the ends of the hallway.

He hardly gives you a glance, stopping in front of you. You can’t see the creature now – blocked by Hoseok’s wings – but you hear it growl, and the scraping of it’s claws against the floor. Something glints in his hand against the flickering lights, a short sword that looks like it was dipped in gold from the hilt and it ran down the edges of the blade.

He’s a blur as he moves and your tired eyes can barely keep up with him, if it weren’t for the small space and shadows his wings casted you would’ve lost sight of him completely. 

The creature snarls and lashes out with its razor-sharp claws, but Hoseok is already one step ahead, dodging with effortless grace. He moves with a speed and agility that seems impossible in the space he occupies, closing in on the creature that growls and snarls at him. It’s forced to dislodge itself from the doorway, pulling back into the stairwell that gives it even less room to defend.

Hoseok’s wings fold tightly to his back as he follows, and you could only hear the sound of his weapon sliding through the air, the sound of the blade whistling and the increasingly irritated sounds from the creature. Hoseok ducks under a swiped claw, makes a spin on his knee, and switches the hands that holds his blade. It slices through the creature’s gigantic paw like it’s made of something soft, and through the other as it comes back down. The severed limb drops heavily on the ground before it dissolves into ashes and float upward.

The sound it makes grate on your ears, loud and sharp and you can’t bring your hands up to cover them, something warm trickles out of each.

Without it’s two front legs to support it’s weight, the creature drops forward, and Hoseok grabs hold of the first spike at the top of its head. With a flick of his wrist his weapon spins in his palm and he points the blade right between the creature’s eyes and pushes.

Golden light flashes, nearly blinding you on top of everything else, you can just barely hear the cry it makes this time as it writhes in agony. It’s monstrous form twists and contorts before finally collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Hoseok stands over the fallen beast, his weapon clenched tightly in his hand, watching intently as it’s body dissipates like ash from a fire.

With a satisfied nod, Hoseok sheaths his weapon and it vanishes, and then turns his attention back to you, his expression a mixture of something. You can’t tell, everything seems so dark and it’s hard to breathe. He approaches you slowly, his movements cautious as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Hoseok crouches and you slowly look up at him, he tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I told you not to go anywhere, little dove.” He says softly, calmly, as though he’s telling you about his day and you’re not bleeding out in his hallway. “You’re so troublesome.”

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat, drowned out by the rush of blood and the overwhelming sense of impending darkness. Hoseok’s presence feels both comforting and ominous, his wings casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls. You try to focus on his face, to find some semblance of reassurance in his eyes, but all you see is a blur of shadows and flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own laboured breathing.

Hoseok’s expression softens slightly, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to gently brush the hair from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Jesus...” Another voice says, the sound of footsteps hurrying close and the last thing you see is the shift of the hallway.

The night he found you out in the fog wasn’t the first time Hoseok had seen you.

By now, it would’ve been at least three months ago. You were alone, pacing around like a worried mother on a bridge over your perceived peace – had you decided to take it.

Human lives were no longer any concern to him; no consequence. He and his kind were here before and would be long after your kind has crumbled to dust and returned to the earth. He stopped then, and watched you contemplate the height of the bridge and the chill of the water below it; whether or not you’ll receive the mercy you seek. You’d cried for a long time on that bridge.

Hoseok is many things, but cruel is not one of them. He changed your mind and sent you away into the arms of someone that would care.

Hoseok has many contradictions. The darkness that he allowed entry fights the light, beating it into a corner where it cowers on most days. On those days he’s distant and struggling to contain it, he could taste malice on his tongue and the bitterness of it. The steel walls he painstakingly built with bloody and broken fingers are nothing more than barbwire fences; they do nothing to protect the glass figurines that make him whole.

Sometimes the glass are shards, sharp and unforgiving and willing to cut anything that gets too close. Sometimes they’re splintered panes and Hoseok is cutting his fingers to keep them in place. He curls in on himself, draws himself away, pushes everything outside his barbwire fence and tries to reinforce the walls. The darkness that swirls outside it seeps in and he can’t keep it out so he lets it fester and churn and he becomes intangible.

You weren’t there, and then, at some point, you were.

Sometimes...

Sometimes he’s standing in a grass field full of wild daises and the sun is warm and there’s salt in the air. The light peeks through the leaves of an old oak tree, and there’s a little girl who’s placed her life in his hands, who skitters about in the  grass like something wild and free. She glows in her happiness, and nature stains her hands and the bottom of her white dress. She makes faces at him behind the trunk of the tree, smiles and hold his hands and tell him that it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault and he’s forgiven, he could let it go and be.

On those days, Hoseok feels like a still pool of water. The ones with lily pads and life, and everything’s alright. You’re always there then.

Hoseok knows of the fragility of humans. How easily they could shatter and break and suddenly be no more. He was something once, and then he became something else, and sometimes it’s hard to not be what he is. His darker nature prevails, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Sure, sometimes he’s done things simply because he’s feeling particularly malicious and thinks that everyone should suffer – it’s almost always harmless.

He has a sense of himself, he knows when to stop, when things are taken too far and you can’t take much more of it. You eventually learnt to take it in stride and Hoseok was proud of that, though, a part of him thought it wasn’t nearly as fun anymore.

He would walk your dreams some nights when he was bored and had nothing better to entertain himself, his presence would sometimes bring his darkness and your dreams would not be as pleasant. He tried to walk through them less often.

When you were jumping at every little sound, the silence that Hoseok moves with and the way you’re less of yourself some days – he realised something. Not every nightmare was his doing, and the whispers in the walls of your dreams spoke of something else entirely.

The far, fuzzy edges of your vivid dreams where he’s reminded of things he’s tried very hard to lock away, lurks something red and more sinister than he.

He’s every reason to believe that hellspawn didn’t find it’s way here on accident, and for it to go undetected until the very last moment. It bothers him like nothing else has.

Though you lay peaceful now and Seungcheol had left after doing what he does best, the unease lingers in bouts under Hoseok’s skin, skittering about like electricity on a wire. His feelings where you’re concerned contradicts each other. Like oil on water he’s stuck in between wanting you close and keeping you at arm’s length. He likes when you’re near, but he likes when you’re far. A consequence of his nature, he toes the line of something sinister and could get dangerous and down right evil if he doesn’t reign himself in.

At a point he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. He was just as confused on why he stopped you from ending your own life that night on the bridge and why he took you in that night in the fog. At first, he was just as wary of you as you were of him, despite the way he acted. He can’t help what he is.

On the days where he feels like splintered glass and he’s choking on his despair, you’d waited. You were there until the smoke cleared and your quiet presence helped put the glass back up and straighten out the posts in his fence.

He told Yoongi, there’s no fun in not breaking you. Yoongi said that he’d learn.

He can’t help what he is.

He could try, though.

He doesn’t want to break you, it’s a matter of cause and effect. You’re here with him, evidently, you’d be broken regardless. The most he could do is try. He could try to not be the straw, and try to not let outside forces become it.

He cares. He cares so much that sometimes he could taste it on his tongue. He cares that you smile when he’s earned it, that you eat well, that you greet him like a friend and then somewhere along get shy when you do. He cares if you live or die.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, opening them to blink away the image of you, helplessly laying in a pool of your own blood.

Fear. He’s has only felt it once, the fear that you would die and he would’ve failed again to protect someone.

He sips slowly at his glass of whisky, drinking in the sight of you. He thought you were smart enough to listen to him at least, trusted that you would stay out until he got back. Perhaps it was his mistake, but he wonders, and he ponders as you give a minute twitch in your sleep. Your eyebrows draw together and you murmur something unintelligible.

Hoseok sets his tumbler on your bedside drawer and pulls his chair closer. This is something he could easily do from another room, though, for what he’s about to do he would need to be touching you in some capacity.

Your dream had started off vividly, as most of your dreams have since you came here. Hoseok stands just in the corner of it, watching you wake within your dream and put your feet down into water.

He walks along the edge of it, watching it play out like a simulation, following behind you as you make your way down the hall towards the living room. He’s there and Hoseok isn’t surprised – it’s not the first time you’ve dreamt him.

He watches as your dreamscape version of him pull you into his lap and he feels a little offended and rolls his eyes – he didn’t even try to make it look sexy. Is this what you think of him? He isn’t half as tactless. Seduction takes finesse, and you clearly have no idea what that is.

Hoseok turns, gazing at the darkened edges of your dream.

There’s a shift and he feels it. It’s heavy like a wet blanket and seeps in like mist, and your dream changes accordingly.

He knows this feeling too well – the intrusion of an external force manipulating the dream, it’s faint enough that he knows it wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere nearby, but strong enough to reach so far.

Hoseok hovers hesitantly between the doorway of the living room and the hallway, and closes his eyes against the image of him hurting you.

He follows you as you follow blood, and he wishes you weren’t so frightened. He stays close to you, stepping where you’ve stepped as though he could protect you from something that’s already occurred. You push the door to your bedroom open and he wants to stop you, turn you around and shake you awake, but he can only watch.

You’re there and he is too, whispers skittering along the walls like mice, and Hoseok yanks himself out of your subconscious mind.

He feels like glass.

When you wake it’s dark and your back is sore like you fell from a high place and splatted against a body of water. The moment feels like déjà vu regardless as you swing your legs over the side of the bed with a wince.

The broken projector of your sleep-addled mind flickers in black and white cut scene imagines of the evening. Hoseok, the fog, the dog that crawled out of hell specifically for you – as you can only assume – things considered, you’re pretty certain you died at some point.

The dark unnerves you, it makes you feel like a kid as you pull your feet back up onto the bed, and pull the blanket up over your head and pulled tight between your fingers at your chest.

You scoot back, wiggling a bit until your back is pressed flush against the headboard. There’s no light seeping in from under your door, and you sink lower, curling into yourself and hold the blanket tighter.

There’s a prickling at the back of your neck that sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head turns slowly to the left and notice the unnatural darkness of the space between the edge of the wall and the window pane. Relief blooms in your chest at the sight of it.

“...Hoseok.” You call softly, waving a hand into the dark. You wait for a moment, but the lights don’t come on and he doesn’t appear as he usually would.

Carefully, you unwrap the covers from around you and place your foot on the ground. Taking a moment, you count your fingers – it’s always hard to count them in your dreams. All ten are there, and you take a breath before standing.

The floor is cold, and you notice the carpet that’s usually under your feet is missing, and the silhouettes of the things you’ve made yours are different; this isn’t your room.

You approach the ball of chaos carefully, and stand five steps away from the space it occupies. This is the second time you’ve been close to it, the first time had been much closer and you hadn’t understood it then. You reach a hand out, and gently: “Hoseok...”

It slows, the shadows and wisps shifting gently like a leaf on a soft wind. It elongates into a vague outline and then, Hoseok stares through you before he sees you. He’s still wearing the clothes he left in earlier, coat and all, looking a little more than rattled even in the dark.

He raises a hand and it hovers by your cheek, thumb ghosting the skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The lights didn’t come back on and it’s hard to decipher his emotions in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the darkness. Somewhere behind you, a lamp flickers on dimly and Hoseok looks like he’d shatter if you touched him.

“I’m okay.”

Hoseok’s hand drops slowly from your face as he blinks, as though waking from a dream. His gaze focuses on you, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes. For a moment, he seems almost confused, as if he’s not sure how he ended up here or what to make of your presence.

His touch is light, gentle, like he’s handling something fragile when his fingers brushes yours. You feel his fear, a palpable thing, thick and heavy. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

He exhales softly through his nose, nods once and then his eyes are somewhere above your head. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Your back sings a low hymn, achy and sore, but it’s nothing to fuss over. “I’m okay.”

There’s a lot of things you want to ask, but you can’t seem to pick one. You want to ask him about the fog and the creature, about his wings or how you’re even alive to mull over said questions.

Instead, you ask: “Are you okay?”

Hoseok looks unprepared for that, his eyes snapping back to yours and he flounders. His mouth opens and closes before he stares at you in that unnerving way he had your first couple of days here, like he’s trying to understand you. Like he could strip you down to atoms and see what makes you act the way you do and therefore comprehend the bases of your human nature.

“I’m...” He blinks, looks away, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitches, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and you aren’t either, and where his hand brushes yours you reach out first. His fingers are cold and he looks down, staring at your hand like it’s something foreign, but his grip tightens. It’s quiet for a moment, he takes a breath that doesn’t seem to ease the weight he carries.

“You almost died.” He says quietly, brows furrowed as though he can’t understand his own concern. “When I brought you here...I did so with the intention to keep you safe.”

It’s quiet again and you wait, and wait.

Hoseok’s eyes mist, his breath shudders on the exhale. “I wasn’t here in time. Again. I—”

His hand in yours tremble, he’s looking through you again, not entirely here and he looks like a man haunted by ghosts he alone could see. You stumble a step back when he falls to his knees before you, but didn’t get far as his arms wound tight around your waist. There’s something strange about a creature such as him with all his prowess and tainted grace kneeling at your feet, and his words tumble from his mouth like his tears that soak into your borrowed shirt and he lets you hold the chain that drags behind him.

The weight is heavy, heavy enough that it grounds you and you listen to it rattle as Hoseok tells you everything. In a broken tone about a broken home and a child he couldn’t reach in time to save, about the shadows that he let hide the light and now he struggles to find it. The things he’s done since that would make the most wicked men cower.

You make the connection, as he lays himself bare before you. He peeled back the layers of his being himself and let you look inside; the bases of his nature, the connotations of his own sins. It makes sense to you now. The way he would change like the tide and his near obsessive, compulsive need to wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a glass case. He’d long stopped scaring you and somehow became a comfort despite himself.

Maybe it’s circumstantial, or something else entirely, but you’ve grown to care for him and he’s been caring for you from the start. However skewed that was.

When he’s stopped his babbling, and he’s no longer crying, he still holds you tight, whispering apologies against the dampness of your shirt. You meet his height, gently pulling his arms away from you and you kneel, too. He blinks away the last of his tears and you catch them with your thumbs just under his red-rimmed eyes.

He’s no longer looking through you, one of his hands covers yours, his lips brushing delicately against your wrist when he turns his head; your heart flutters. He whispers something you didn’t catch, he closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he repeats: “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Will you stay, then?” He looks away when he asks, pressing his fingers against your palm in a way that tickles and distracts, and studies the lines of them quietly. “Stay here with me.”

There’s something like hope in his eyes that glints against the shadows that linger, shining like flecks gold in cracked rock. You nod slowly and he smiles easily, all teeth and heart shaped and his hand is warm when he cups your cheek with the one that isn’t holding yours.

“Your dream...” He says softly, and later you’d find that it troubled him the most; he would never do something like that – not to you. “I’m sorry.”

You store the fact that he knows about it at the back of your mind for later – later when he’s not pressing the pad of his thumb against the fullness of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. You’ve learnt to ebb and flow with him, a boat on his tide, taking the shift of his mood in stride.

There’s something in his eyes now that has nothing to do with how you found him earlier, something that makes you follow his lead, leaning in when he pulls you towards him. Deja vu accompanies the way he shifts, easing back and turning you as he does, leaning against a dresser you hadn’t noticed. He keeps his eyes locked with yours, directing your leg over his with a hand, and he settles you on his lap.

“This feels familiar.” He giggles, lifting his head to nose along your jaw and you’re reminded that he knows. Heat flares at the back of your neck and races up your ears, and when you push against his shoulders, he steadies and keeps you still with his hands on the top of your thighs and a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m teasing.” He gives a crooked smile, tilting his head, “It’s cute that you think it’ll play out that way.”

“Isn’t it, though?” You blurt out, embarrassment forgotten. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the room, and when Hoseok pauses you smirk.

He smirks right back, something dangerous, and he chuckles, “Keep talking back. I like that.”

His hand slides up your back, and you don’t suppress the shiver that follows after it. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You’re vaguely aware of your heart pounding, the rhythm matching the erratic thrum of your blood. He leaves a kiss where your jaw meets your neck, sucking lightly on the spot.

“Hoseok...” You start to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless whisper. You’re not sure what you intended to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with desire and darker still. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to form words.

With a low growl, he takes your silence as an invitation, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss you gasp into. It quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, as if he’s trying to devour your very soul. His other hand finds your hip, squeezing possessively.

You’re lost in the sensation, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours. The world has narrowed to the two of you, to this moment.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and he takes that as a cue, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that sets your entire being ablaze.

His touch ignites a fire within you, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

He pulls away slowly and you chase, he smirks against your kiss, and when he lifts his hips you feel the press of his arousal. His kisses trail, ghosting along your jaw, his tongue warm where your pulse thrums. He directs the shifts of your hips, grinding you down against clothed erection with a curse growled against your skin.

You follow the light tug of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back and to the side to give him more room to work. He hums appreciatively around your skin between his teeth and you hiss softly at the sting of the pull.

“So good for me.” He whispers when he pulls away. His fingers tap at your hip before he wraps his arm around, bracing the other against the dresser behind and stands easily.

A startled squeak leaves you, wrapping your arms around his neck even though he’s holding you steady. He reaches the bed in two strides, and drops you there, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You bounce a bit amongst the soft sheets with a soft giggle before you settle. His index finger curls beneath your chin and tilts, thumb brushing along your bottom lip again, “Ah.”

You comply easily, and then his thumb is pressing against your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he hums when you wrap your lips around the digit. There’s a tick of his brow and the dull glint of his teeth when he smiles in the dim light of the singular lamp, and a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t scare you.

He tests the boundaries of what you’d allow, sliding his thumb along your tongue. His palm lays flat against your cheek, thumb reaching far until you feel the lurch of your stomach and pull back with a gasp.

He coos softly, leaning down just as he slips his finger out of your mouth to capture your lips in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. He nudges you back softly, large hands sneaking their way under your tee to reach your skin, desperate in a way that makes you think he’d die if he doesn’t.

He stops just shy of the undersides of your breasts, pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths are shallow, he whispers your name, “I can get intense.”

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know.”

He studies you for a moment, then, tugs gently on the hem of your tee-shirt, “Up.”

As you shift to sit, you’re not surprised to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath the tee-shirt and cotton shorts he’s put you in; dressing you properly must’ve been the last thing on his mind.

Hoseok stands back to shed his coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle of his belt jingles, and the sound of it racing through the loops of his pants.

You – oddly – don’t feel ashamed under his gaze that sets a heat wherever it settles as he roams over your exposed upper half. Putting your weight on your hands, you lean back, watching Hoseok roll the long sleeves of his tee-shirt up his forearms.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he closes the distance again, climbing into the bed on his knees and coming up until they’re on either side of your thighs. Silently he trails a finger down the slope of your neck, it tickles across your collarbone and his fingers spread and palms your left breast.

Your breath hitches and he chuckles, and you know very well he could feel the shifting of your thighs as you rub them together seeking friction. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched you like this, all of Hoseok’s teasing isn’t doing you much good.

His lips meet yours, licking into your mouth, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. His fingers lightly pinch at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand roams, goosebumps following it’s path down your side and stops where his fingers tease the band of your shorts.

Your hips buck as you whine and Hoseok pulls away, eyelids heavy, pupils all but gone, panting softly; looking drunk on you.

He smiles and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “Patience little dove.” He tuts, tilting his head at you, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He trails his fingers along the edges of your shorts before pulling them down and off, leaving you exposed to his touch. His hair tickles where it drags against your sensitive skin as he moves downward. He avoids where you need him most entirely and you squirm, a soft whine building in your chest.

He kisses and licks his way up your thighs, teasing you until you’re begging. Gently, he spreads your legs, kissing the inner thigh of your right before he rests it over his shoulder, pushing your other up and holding it there with a palm.

His dark gaze meets yours and you can’t hold it when he licks a hot stripe from your weeping entrance to your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching when his responding growl vibrates against your core.

With each stroke of his tongue, Hoseok explores every inch of your most sensitive areas. He laps at your clit, drawing out a series of gasps and moans that fill the room. You’re shaking and swearing as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit in figure eights and then dipping into you. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands curl into the sheets, fingers digging in as if to anchor yourself. You’re lost in the sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure that leaves you breathless. And you wonder, briefly, if this was just something he was good at or something he had to hone.

His arm draping over your hips was the only warning you got before his lips wraps around your clit and sucks. Your back arches with a pitched moan and he slips a finger into your heat, and groans when you clench and gasp his name.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your vulnerability. Yet, paradoxically, it’s this vulnerability that fuels your desire, pushing you to new heights. You’re a wild thing now, driven by pure, primal need.

From between your legs, Hoseok watches your reactions, a dark-haired god feasting on your pleasure. His gaze is intense, a silent promise that he’ll take you to the edge. He adds another finger and they curl against your g-spot and it brings about your undoing.

If your arousal was a fire, Hoseok just threw gasoline on it just to watch it explode. He keeps hips lips around your clit as it throbs, fingers dragging along your fluttering walls and your eyes squeeze shut. You could barely breathe, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you gasp his name.

“Good girl.” Hoseok praises, lips brushing your clit and your thighs tremble. He rubs his hand gently over your stomach while you come down, and evilly, bites your thigh with a dark chuckle.

“Hoseok...” you whine as he laves his tongue over the stinging spot.

“Hm?” He smiles, “Want more, little dove?”

You almost cry as he changes course, pulling away entirely, and makes it clear he revel in your suffering when he coos mockingly, standing now.

He slowly unbuttons his pants, slowly pulls his legs out of them one after the other, smirking at you all the while. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the strain his cock against his black boxer briefs and you don’t miss the near inaudible sigh of relief from Hoseok at the change in pressure.

He crooks a finger at you, and shuffles closer as you do. He stands at the edge of the bed, and he sinks his fingers into your hair, brushing it back as you look up at him. He looks down his nose at  you, and raises a brow, “Be a good girl now, dove. Or do I have to teach you?”

“I know how to suck cock you ass.”

Hoseok shrugs, a playful smile shifting his expression as he gently squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, “Is all that little mouth good for talking back to me?”

“You said you like that.” You say defiantly.

Hoseok hums, “Have your fun then,” He says, smiling, “Won’t be able to say much in a bit, anyway.” He tugs on your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to signal his impatience.

Funny, he was preaching patience is a virtue a while ago.

You scoff softly, holding your weight with a hand and tugging his boxers down with the other. His cock springs out, long and thick enough that you wonder if it would fit anywhere. It’s flushed red at the tip and leaking pre that beads and dribbles down the underside, and maybe if you focus enough you could just about see the throb of the vein that runs along side. A breath hisses through Hoseok’s teeth when you wrap your fingers around him, his eyes shut and his head tilts back.

Your eyes meet his when you slowly drag your hand down the length of his shaft, teasing him like he did you; turnabout is fair play. His hold in your hair tightens just a bit, eyes narrowing.

“Dangerous game you’re trying to start.” He murmurs, “I don’t take well t – fuck.” He hisses, the word tapering off into a low groan as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The slightly salty taste of him bursts against your tongue and you hum, twisting your wrist as you bring your hand back up to meet your mouth and follow it down again. The saliva that escapes from the corners of your mouth helps with the glide.

You take a breath through your nose and relax your jaw, taking him in until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Hoseok’s thighs tense and a stuttered breath leaves him.

“Easy there.” He soothingly runs his fingers through your hair, though it does nothing for the involuntary tears springing at your waterline. You decide to play it safe, not taking more than you can handle. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, letting you set your own pace, whispering swears and your praises.

Heat pools in your gut as your head bobs back and forth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, swirling around the head every time you pull back.

Slick with spit, your hand strokes the rest of him, and his groans vibrate in your ears. His fingers tighten in your hair, and it’s the only time he directs; holding you still.

“Take a deep breath for me, dove.” You do as told, and as you inhale, Hoseok slowly pushes forward, his cock reaching the back of your throat in no time at all. He groans above you, cock throbbing against your tongue, “There you go.”

He holds you there for a moment, only easing you back when your throat tightens with the need for air. He lets you breathe for a bit before he’s going again, thrusting slowly, once, twice and then holding you still. He keeps you there, cock throbbing at the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

When you gag he pulls you back, barely letting you breathe before he’s leaning down to kiss you, catching the string of drool that hangs from your bottom lip with his tongue. He lets you catch your breath, stepping back to pull his tee-shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the full expanse of his lithe frame.

Sitting back on your heels, breath a little ragged, you admire the sculpted lines of his body. Every movement is fluid and graceful, his muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin.

His chest is defined, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting each ripple of muscle. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders, the way they flex as he moves. There’s a raw, primal energy about him, but it’s tempered by a quiet confidence.

Hoseok comes back to you quickly, cupping your cheek and kissing you fervently, moving with you as you shift back, cock smearing pre-cum along your inner thighs as he slots his narrow hips between them. He nibbles at your bottom lip, fingers sliding through your slick folds before the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

For a quiet moment he stares then, kisses you tenderly as he breeches. It’s an easy glide, but it stings none the less, and you give an appreciative squeeze to his wrist when he goes slow. The stretch is bearable and soon the slight discomfort dissipates when he bottoms out and gives you a moment.

“Good?” he breathes out, hips pressed flush against yours. The same breath sucked back through his teeth when your walls tightens around him, his cock throbs in response and you keen. He grinds his hips down, pelvis pressing against your swollen clit and the sensation is almost too much and not nearly enough.

He’s close enough that you can run your tongue along his collarbone  and feel him shiver. Leave your own marks there with your teeth and revel in the growl that rumbles in his chest.

He hooks an arm at the back of your knee, pressing it against your chest as he raises and balances his weight. You’re spread open for him, his cock sinks deeper, rubbing against a spot that makes your eyes roll back. He gives shallow thrusts at first, pressing kisses and bruises wherever he could reach.

“Fuck.” Hoseok hisses between his teeth, hips still, palm against your cheek, and he watches you with something other than lust in his eyes. Something gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, such a good girl. Taking everything I give you.”

His hips snap forward and you cry out, hands gripping the sheets between them at his sinful groan. He keeps a relentless pace, and you could feel him everywhere. His fingers on your skin, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, gripping your hips so tightly you fear they’ll bruise. It would simply add to the ones he’s already placed, scattered on your neck and chest like mismatched constellations in a dark sky.

He brings your hands up above your head, holding them there, together with his free one.

“You’re so good to me, Dove. And all mine, hm? Say it.” He grunts, “Say you belong to me, promise me that you’ll stay here with me.” He says this softly, tenderly, grinding his hips against yours in slow movements, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. I promise.” You babble, hips moving against his on their own accord. “I’ll stay. I promise. Please.”

Hoseok groans at your words, leaning down to capture your lips with his, tongue finding yours with ease. “That’s right. You’re mine. Fuck. All mine. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Hoseok.”

He curses under his breath, straightening his form and brings his hands down to grip your hips tight, and sets a brutal pace. Head tilting back to reveal the marks you left on him, groaning before he looks back down at you, “Close? Hm? You’re squeezing so tight.” His words taunt, as did the smirk on his pretty pink lips, “Make a mess for me, Dove. Cum all over my cock. That’s it, good girl.”

White lights dance behind your tightly shut eyelids, a ringing in your ears. And Hoseok was fucking you through it, fast and hard, his praises a rumble in his chest. You lay there boneless, taking what he gave with a haze over your mind, a weak moan leaving your parted lips when his hand met your throat. Your heart spikes for another reason entirely, but he doesn’t squeeze. Fingers just there, barely any pressure, as he chased his own end, cock kissing your cervix with each trust, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach.

His thumb finds your clit and you jolt, catching his sinister smirk that curled his lips. “There’s no going back after this, baby. Fuck – you’re mine, understand?” You can feel him throbbing, feel the way his hips stutter on the draw back, he was close and you wanted nothing more than him marking you, claiming you in this way. When your eyes meet his, a shiver goes through you.

He comes undone with a low groan, hips flushed with your own, still thrusting through it, and you can see them with your own eyes, as he shudders and stills. His wings uncurl, dark feathers, darker than anything you’ve ever seen, dipped in silver, spreads out behind him and flutters. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, gentle, barely there and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your eyelids were heavy, and sleepily, you reach out to brush your fingers through the feathers that encased your forms. Hoseok stiffens before your fingers reach them, and chuckles, nipping softly at the flesh of your neck, “Go ahead, Dove.”

He relaxes, when your fingers touch, and you feel him shudder, groaning softly against your neck. They’re soft, your fingers disappearing in the inky blackness of them. With a final brush of his lips against your neck, Hoseok pulls back, his wings shimmering away like a mirage and your hand passes through air before lands limply at your side.

He squeezes your hip gently, mindful, and then he’s gone, walking out his room and into the hallway. The light that spills in helps you see a lot better than the dim lamp, and you notice that Hoseok’s bedroom looks much like the rest of his apartment; sleek and dark. There isn’t much to it either, the basics, more utilirian than a comfort space. You wonder if he uses it at all.

Hoseok comes back and gathers your boneless self into his arms. You rest your cheek against his collarbone, the sound of running water reaching your ears when he steps out into the hallway.

The tub is filling, steam rising from the bubbles that form at the top of the disturbed water. It smells like mint and some sort of fruit, and the temperature is just right when he steps into it and lowers you down. He positions you so that your back is against his chest and turns off the water when it’s high enough. You sense that he’s in his head again, not quite here even as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Feeling okay?” he asks suddenly, tracing a mindless pattern along your arm.

You hum softly, “Yeah. Sore, though.”

“I expected that.” Another kiss, apologetic, against your shoulder. “Also...” Hoseok pauses, “I finished inside you. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”

The realisation dawns on you too and you shift a little to look at him, “I don’t mind, but....is that a bad thing?”

There’s a strange half smile on his lips and he lifts a hand to tug softly on one tangled end of your hair, gently sifting his fingers through until he’s satisfied. “It can be, if it takes. But, I’ll get something for it tomorrow.”

You notice that the marks you left along his skin have begun to fade already, and you poke at them with a finger. He heals quickly, you figured. He chuckles softly, taking your hand to press kisses along your finger tips and then to your palm. Your finger brushes over the mole on his upper lip gently and watch him melt.

He studies you for a moment, the same way he did before he left earlier, though, it’s softer now. “Would you like to come with me?”

You brighten, perking up with a nod, “Is that okay?”

Hoseok hums, mischief in his eyes, “If you promise not to run off as soon as you step foot outside.”

You roll your eyes and turn around, and Hoseok pulls you back to him with an arm around your middle. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know, I was only teasing.” He chuckles.

You’re both quiet for a while, and you simply relax, almost falling asleep against him as the warm water soothes your aching muscles. You aren’t aware that you did, and only wake when Hoseok was just done tucking fresh clean sheets up to your chin. You’re back in his room but you don’t mind, the thought of going back to your own unsettles you right now. You haven’t forgotten your nightmare, and it’s something you’d definitely have to unpack another day.

You wait until he’s crawled in behind you, the warmth of him encasing you gently. His form melds against your back like he belongs there, an arm slipping under your head and the other over your hip. “Hoseok?”

“Yes Dove?”

You worry at your bottom lip, fingers finding his under the covers and they squeeze your own encouragingly. “There’s a friend of mine...I was with her before I met you.”

“I can help her.” He murmurs, and he sounds...sleepy. Today was a lot for him as well, you suppose. “I can get her a job here.”

You shift, turning to face him, he tucks you to him when you settle, chin resting on top of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

You hear the smirk when he answers, “Do you think everything I have magically appeared? I own the hotel.”

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Hoseok squeezes your hip, “Go to sleep.”

Sometime later you’ll realise that Hoseok needed you more than he would admit. When you learn his tells he would help put himself back together with you instead of trying to do it alone.

Sometime later he’d take you to see her. When the wind is cold and the old oak tree reaches it’s bare, spindly arms to the frosted sky. When the day marks yet another year and he lets you put the flowers between the roots. He looks like a shadow against the glittering white, and he tells you he’s okay.

He’d take you to meet his friends at a club on the high-end and you’d would realise that he’s soft only with you and the guy who reminds you of a cat. With the others he’s closed off and friendly in a way that seems a little odd.

You’d see Abigail often and would skirt around how you actually met Hoseok when she’d ask. Anyone would think you’re crazy if you told them.

You spend most of your time at home while Hoseok goes off doing god knows what when he’s not there. It’s something to do with his friends and you never ask.

Then he’s there and everything beyond him and you and the space you both occupy doesn’t matter. And it’s kind of easy to forget where it all started – it’d been so long since you’d wondered where you were going to get anything to help you get by.

He’s made of cracks and splintered glass but he let you sink into the spaces, filled the pieces with you and settled. There would always be cracks in the glass that he’s made of, and there would always be a post in his fence that he needs to hammered in to fix. Despite the unconventional way you’d both started, the abnormality of his existence, you’d be there.

[bold, can't tag]

Tagging: @iammeandmeisiam , @imanhaitani @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @astormunchar @eoieopda @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @mssukeyna​ @euphoricfilter @luaspersona

[alexlwrites]

How about… Scary! Reader x Hoseok?

“Honestly, how can a guy like you like someone so scary?”

All dressed in black, piercings covering every inch of your earlobe, heels high and blade like, you floated through the hallways of Hybe like a wraith, an expression of disinterest and slight boredom on your face as you went about your day, cold semblant scaring any men your body might attract.

Except, of course, Hoseok.

It was unclear where in his mind Hoseok had the idea that you two would be a good match, but your incompatibility did little to deter his heart. From your very first interaction, he knew that you were meant to be.

And yes, your first interaction was also your last, considering that he is unable to formulate coherent sentences in your presence. And also, yes, the first you talked to him was to yell at him for spilling water in the room you just had prepared for rehearsal and he didn’t get a single word in before fleeing the room with his heart on his throat and the most confusing boner he ever had.

Hoseok shrugged, no words to be said and very little thought to be found in his head, mind thoroughly occupied with your taunting presence in the employee cafeteria, eating mango slices that you had cut with a switchblade seemingly produced out of nowhere, juice dripping down the side of your lips. Jimin watched in confused fascination as his most easily-scared friend stared at you unblinkingly, gulping heavily as you swirled the blade around your fingers with precision.

“I don’t know” Hoseok answered at last “She’s just… So pretty.”

And pretty you indeed were, but you were also equally terrifying. Jimin said as much to his friend, but Hoseok just shrugged once more “She’s misunderstood. She’s not that bad”.

Suddenly, you turned to them, meeting Hoseok’s stare head on. You seemed surprised for a moment and the older man froze in his seat, holding his breath and preparing himself for your reaction. Would you point your switchblade at him and threaten him with your glare? He kinda wouldn’t mind that.

But you just looked back down and smiled a bit to yourself, before stuffing your knife into your boot and leaving the cafeteria.

Oh, Jimin thought. Could it be that you actually liked his chicken friend?

[sosickastro]

Indulgence (Bts x Chubby reader)

-------------------

Poly Bts x Chubby Reader, Soulmate au and Idol au

Summary: Poor broke and isolated mc gets the chance to go to a concert with an old high school friend, with hoping to find their soulmate and see the biggest boy band in the world. A new shocking reality hits her while at the concert.

Chapter Warnings: degrading thoughts, poor writing and grammar, gender confused reader, anxiety, mc being a loner, mentions of weight insecurities, swearing, etc (let me know if I miss anything)

A/N: Hey yall I am not dead just being a wage slave at my job and working 24/7-- I wrote this a bit ago and posted a snip it of this a while ago as well but my friend begged me to post an actual chapter of this--- if this goes well I might post more. As usual, Grammarly is my lord and savior so there are going to be some mistakes even they can't catch.

word count: 2,644 (damn)

(Thank you Corinnecousins on Pinterest for this picture)

The red string is an invisible string with only the users being able to see it. On the other end of the string, it is supposed to be your soulmate. Someone that is your other half, someone that the universe itself said was perfect for you. At the age of 18, you get to see the string in completeness, it's like officially becoming an adult. Some people do find their soulmates before the ripe age but most don't find their other half till well into their twenties. 

There is this website that the government set up, it is called ‘The SoulTies.’ This website is run by a mysterious group that knows when soulmates complete their bond and on this website, you can see who is paired with who. The website came about mainly for celebrities because a lot of casualties happened when crazed fans pushed too much to find their favs soulmates. This was the compromise, and surprisingly it worked. No one knows how these people know, it is almost like the gray sisters and the string of fate except they don't cut the string, and the string is red and involves love. Something the Greeks thought of as a tragedy and not a serendipity. I think the website is funny, not in a mean way. Moreso seeing well-known people get paired with nobodies. It’s nice knowing that the ones who acted full of themselves get humbled by their fate. I haven’t met my soulmate yet, 

I am almost 19 and a month into my freshman year of college with no friends, barely a social life, and no soulmate. Though I wasn't expecting to find him on day one of moving into college, it is still disheartening when you see others with their lovers or soulmates and your red string is so tight it can cut a block of cheese. See the further you are away from your soulmate the tighter the string, when you guys get closer to each other the string will loosen. I was hoping that moving to a different state would give me a fresh start in this whole life mess, but it just made me more depressed than I have ever been. 

I let out a long sigh as my thoughts consumed me, I adjusted the bag on my back and skipped through a few songs. The nice weather and lack of students around made the hell walk to my class more bearable. Recently I have been getting back into listening to BTS, the music makes me less stressed about life, and I get to reminisce about how happy they make me. When I was a tween and didn’t know about the struggles of financial debt and stupid people. I put on one of their albums as I made my way to my philosophy class. BTS as I recently found out are all soulmates with each other, they decided to let the world know a few years ago but I guess I was living underneath a rock when the news broke out. It makes sense in my opinion, all being soul-tied, and it's not like group soul bonds don't exist, they are uncommon, sure but not rare. A part of me, the delusional side of me, secretly hoped it would be one of them. That I was fated to be with Taehyung or maybe Jungkook. I know a lot of their more toxic fans were upset by this announcement as I went into a rabbit hole on the whole matter. The outrage by the delusional fans where overshadowed by the more competent people and was overall taken very well. 

I made myself laugh at the thought as I took my seat in the filled classroom. I gave a soft smile to the two girls who sat by me as I placed my headphones into my bag and grabbed my laptop. I make a quick Google doc so I can pretend to take notes and pull my phone out to check any notifications I may have gotten on my walkover. I smile as I see a text from an old friend, Lauren. Me and her graduated from the same high school and we were some of the very few people to move out of state for college because of this we stayed in contact with each other; hoping to lessen the stress of college and being in a new state. 

LaLaRen: Hi, I know this is sudden and you can say no to me, but I got these concert tickets from a classmate and I was wondering if you want to come with me. I think you know this band and it is happening this Saturday. 

Me: Omg, I would love to, who is the band? :] 

LaLaRen: It is the K-pop band BTS. I only really know a few songs from them. But I remember hearing from Sarah that you love them, or maybe like K-pop in general. 

Me: No fucking way- OMG YES I WOULD GO WITH YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 

LaLaRen: Haha, okay okay how about you come down Friday so we can go shopping and hangout for a little ;0 

Me: Sounds wonderful ;]

I giggle softly to myself as I feel the energy surging in me. I have always wanted to see a BTS concert and now here is my golden opportunity, fuck willy wonka this is more amazing than his chocolate factor.

When I got back from my class, I threw my bag onto my half-made bed and sat down at my desk. I grab my laptop out of my school bag to send off an email to my professors letting them know of my absence for tomorrow. As much as me and Lauren can plan around our classes, it would be easier for us not to have them. Plus I don’t believe I can sit through another psychology lesson knowing I was going to see the biggest boy band ever. 

 My phone set off as I finished sending the emails and looking into bus tickets, the caller ID displaying ‘LaLaRen’ I laughed to myself as I accepted the call. “Hi girl,” I said to the phone smiling as Lauren laughed I placed my phone on the messy desk putting the call onto speaker so I can try and muilty task, “Hello girly, so when do you think you will be down?” she asked me with a small giggle, it looked like she was equally as excited for this. “Well it's a 3-hour bus ride, if I leave at nine I can potentially get there around noon,” I click through the website the bus service has, seeing the available times for tomorrow Internally groaning at the prices for the bus. Maybe if I start walking now I will make it in time. 

A groan gets let out through the speakers “The three-hour bus ride sounds intense, do you want to spend the night at my dorm so you don't have to take the bus after the concert?” Lauren tells me, the way she says that is more of a statement than a question. “Oh my god, a sleepover with THE Lauren, of course,” I responded to her with a high-pitched voice. We both laughed at that and spent the next few hours going over the plan and creating backup plans just in case. 

You never know what can happen in the cities. Crazy people even more crazy traffic. Expense coffees and overrated bangle places. I sign knowing that my bank account will suffer after this 2-day trip.  After our call ended, I took out my school notebooks and folders from my school bag; to use as an overnight bag. I never really had the thought of buying another backpack, I never went anywhere in my hometown to need one. Perks of being a loner with friends who would rather play video games than have sleepovers. I walked over to my dresser, placed my newly empty backpack on top of it, and began packing it with some clothes. Me and Lauren both agreed to shop for a concert outfit and get some coffee before the concert on Saturday. I bit my bottom lips as anxiety fills my stomach, shopping for clothes has always been hard for me. Not that I don't enjoy it, in fact going thrifting is one of my favorite things. 

More so the part where I have to shop for pants or skirts or any bottoms for that matter, I am in the weird awkward body type where I am not fat enough for the plus size clothing but chubby enough to not be able to fit into any size below a 16, even then some 16 pants are too small for me. With Lauren being smaller and skinnier than me I hope it goes over well shopping and we don’t need to go to a hundred different shops just to find one pair of pants that fit me. With that, I put a pair of black cargo pants into my overnight bag. It goes with a lot of outfits just in case I can only find a top to wear.

I like to think I am not super insecure about my weight, though being the fat kid growing up and now even if my weight is distributed through my body after puberty, I still have a stomach to me, I still have big thighs and I still have a chubby face. The comments made to you, even as a kid, stick with you for the rest of your life. I know I am attractive and I am confident in myself, but the insecurity is still there. Especially when you don’t fit into what society wants as a mid-size person, I have a small chest size that makes me pass off as a guy. Another thing that I don't mind as I really don’t care about my gender. But it is whatever. It makes finding a boyfriend hard but makes boys with fragile masculinities pissed off easier, a small win in my book. 

I snap out of my degrading thoughts as I finish packing my bag, adding in a few accessories and perfume. I grumble as the dining halls are now closed; though the food was probably not going to be that good anyway. I place the bag at the end of my bed and debated on ordering some takeout but with the money I was going to be spending tomorrow, I decide to try and sleep. Though I know I won’t sleep for a good while,  I can spend the night relearning fan chants and old songs. But like usual  I spent the next hour scrolling through social media, stalking old classmates before I ended up falling asleep out of exhaustion. 

I woke up that morning with a newfound pep in my step, getting dressed and ready was a blur of excitement and anxiety some thoughts of telling Lauren I don’t want to go anymore pop into my head once and a while, but I can not let my anxiety get in the way of seeing my seven fake husbands. After I was done with everything I did a final check around my small dorm making sure that I had everything As I adjusted the straps of the bag, so it fits more comfortably on my shoulders I pulled out my phone to book an Uber to the bus. I give myself one more look in the mirror before heading out of the building. I can drive by the way, but in this economy, it's impossible to buy a car. But still super expensive to use Uber everywhere, it is always a lose-lose situation. A huge fuck you to the poor and stupid college kids just trying to have fun. Maybe my soulmate is some rich dude who can drive me everywhere. Being a forever-passenger princess doesn't sound too bad. 

As I wait for the driver to come I sent a quick text to Lauren that I was on my way to the bus station which she answered with a simple ‘Okay’ My Uber drive was quick as my nerves got my adrenaline rushing throughout my body, tomorrow I am going to be seeing my all-time favorite band, and who knows maybe my soulmate will be there. He needs to have good taste in music if he wants to be with me. Though it would be easy to indoctrinate him into the BTS lifestyle. 

 I give the driver a small ‘thank you’ as I stepped out of the car just in time for the bus to be pulling in. I pulled out my phone to show them the ticket I bought last night and make my over to the bus seeing as it was filling up. I give the driver a polite smile as he gave me a nod singling that I was good to sit down wherever I wanted to. I made my way down the aisle before taking a seat in an empty section. I prayed to whatever God out there that I had to row to myself. As lady luck is on my side I get the two seats to myself as the bus pulls out of the station, I readjust the headphones on my head as I am going to heavily rely on music during this drive, maybe I can sneak in a nap beforehand too. 

The three-hour ride went well, very well it felt like only 3 minutes. Maybe I am way too excited for this concert but I never had the privilege to be this hopeful in my life. I wait a little as the bus comes to a stop and people begin to step off the bus. As I also take my leave on the bus I quickly spot Lauren, her long black hair and chunky glasses give her away pretty easily. We pulled each other into a hug letting out excited giggles. “Are you ready for city traffic?” Lauren asks me with wiggling eyebrows “Of course” I say back to her, we begin to take off to meet up with Lauren’s soulmate who would be driving us. We talked about the concert and the songs we hope to hear. The sounds of traffic, people talking, kids yelling and cars honking filled the air like an unwelcomed hug from your weird aunt; uncomfortable but familiar I nodded my head along as Lauren rants about how close we are going to be to the stage and hoping to see Namjoon that close up

Then for the first time in my life, I felt a tug, anxiety filled my stomach as I froze in my tracks, and my heartbeat went through the roof as I looked down at the red thread I usually forget about, it loosened. Holy shit I am near my soulmate. Holy shit. Lauren notices that I stop walking and now staring at my pinky finger asks me “Are you okay?” I initially looked around the bus station, there were a lot of people walking around, too many to see where the string goes. “Is it your soulmate?” Lauren asks me again. I couldn't speak, my mouth dry as I gave her a shaky nod.

But unfortunately just as it loosens it quickly tightens again, meaning my soulmate either left or is on a bus going further away from me. “I wonder if he felt it” I questioned out loud, looking at Lauren with shaken eyes. She sighs, almost equally disappointed “Come on Clare is waiting for us, we don’t want to keep her waiting.” Lauren tells me, grabbing my hand and basically dragging me to the exit. I can’t stop staring at my red thread, there's hope. There is always hope. Now I at least can find comfort that he is in the States, and not in Korea or Russia or anything far away.

[bluelavendre]

BTS MASTERLISTS

Oneshots

💜Kim Namjoon

Strength in the Ranks

Miss Right

💜Kim Seokjin

Through the Years

💜Min Yoongi

Gummy Smile & Forever

Suga's Home

I'll always come back to u

💜Jung Hoseok

Encore In Paris

Dancing In Harmony

💜Park Jimin

Echoes of Us

Until the Stars Align

Not for the cats, but for us

💜Kim Taehyung

I miss you, I'm sorry

Sound of Silence

A Starry Birthday Surprise

💜Jeon Jungkook

Please, I'll Change, I PROMISE!

Villain's Soft Spot (snippet)

In His Shadow

In His Shadow Sequel

Bounded by Obsession

Hidden Feelings

Almost is never enough

Apocalypse

BTS OT7 SERIES

-Surviving together-

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28??? --- S2.1 S2.2 S2.3 S2.4 S2.5 S2.6 S2.7 S2.8 S2.9 S2. 10 S2. 11 S2.12 S2. 13 S2. 14 S2. 15

S2. 16

S2. 17

S2.18

S2.19

S2.20

S2. 21

S2.22

S2. 23

BTS Drabble Collections

Special Producer

Drabble 1

Drabble 2

Drabble 3

Drabble 4

Drabble 5

[justalittlegirl27]

Y'all Tumblr has been dull for few months now every time I try to find a good fic i can't seem to find it all I get is smut it's not that i don't like it I do like it but I feel like it's all I get maybe it's my searching problem and i don't really have time to sit and find fic that has good plot and good writing. I have to say some of the smut fics are good beacuse I feel like there is more depth to it more story to it that it doesn't feel like I'm reading the same thing and most of the smut writers can write very well and i would love to see a full fic because they can write .

So guys if have any recommendations please lmk

[minisugakoobies]

Sunny ☀️ can I request “i’ve been thinking about you all day.” With day 5 kinkmas hoseok 😭 he lives in my heart rent free forever and always 💜

B I would do anything for you! Thank you for requesting my Kinkmas Hoseok, he's a favorite of mine too 💕

(This can also be read as a standalone fic!)

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: holiday, smut, Brother’s Best Friend!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: references to fingering, holiday dick pic, would you consider sexting at the dinner table to be a form of exhibitionism? Word Count: 957 words Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don't own BTS - they just inspire me **********

Hoseok is your brother’s best friend. He is not supposed to be texting you. He’s definitely not supposed to be texting you photos of his cock - on Christmas Day, of all days. 

It starts innocently enough. You’re seated at your parents’ dining room table, enjoying dinner while your older brother Namjoon faces rapid fire questioning about his (admittedly poor) life choices. About halfway through the main course, your phone vibrates next to your plate.

“No phones at the dinner table,” your mother reminds you with a stern look. You nod, but as soon as she returns to her inquisition, you peek at the screen.

Hobi: i’ve been thinking about you all day

What a coincidence. You have not stopped thinking about Hoseok and your encounter since it happened three days ago. Is ‘encounter’ the right word? What’s it called when your brother’s bestie fingers you in your kitchen, a mere ten feet away from your brother and the rest of his friends?  Your cunt clenches at the memory, and you shift in your seat, setting your phone down with a covert glance to make sure no one saw your reaction. 

You: Is that so?

The next time it buzzes, you force yourself to slowly count to twenty before checking. 

Hobi: yeah

Hobi: i’ve been dreaming about your cookies, pretty girl

You take a sip of your wine to hide your smile. If any of your brother’s other friends ever called you “pretty girl,” you’d scratch their eyes out with your own fingernails. But when Hoseok says it, it makes your body hum in a way you’ve never known before. 

Hobi: i want another taste

With your napkin in your lap, you hide your phone as you type your response.

You: Don’t play with me, Jung Hoseok

Hobi: i’d never do that

Hobi: you trust me, right?

You do, the most out of all of Namjoon’s friends. But given the level of losers that your brother brings around regularly, that’s really not saying a whole hell of a lot. 

Hoseok doesn’t wait for an answer.

Hobi: where are you right now? 

You: Parents with Joon

Hobi: oh shit, right, it’s christmas

Hobi: am i interrupting anything?

You: Just my parents grilling Joon about his five year plan

Hobi: i didn’t know he has one of those

You: He doesn’t

Hobi: rip 

Hobi: you staying there tonight?

You: What’s it to you if I am? Nosy motherfucker

Hoseok sends a string of laughing emojis. You wonder if he’s smiling at his phone the way you are. 

Hobi: easy, pretty girl, i just wanted to know if you’d be around later

You: Maybe

Hobi: maybe you will be?

You: Yeah

You: I mean, I was thinking about crashing here. But if I get a better offer…

The typing indicator in the text chain keeps starting and stopping, and your heart starts to race. 

Hobi: a better offer, huh? 

Hobi: i can make that happen

You: What does that mean?

Hobi: it means, name your price

Heat coils in your stomach. Quickly, you down the rest of your wine, then mutter something about needing the bathroom and bolt from the dining room before anyone can respond. You dash down the hallway and lock yourself in the little half bath beneath the staircase. 

Hoseok waits. You stare at your phone, thinking of an endless combination of letters that you could type, so many possibilities for potential responses that you’re overwhelmed by choice. 

You: I can have anything?

Hobi: yeah pretty girl

Hobi: just tell me what you want

You don’t hesitate.

You: I want you to touch me again

Hobi: fuck 

Hobi: i wanna touch you too

Your knees feel a little wobbly all of a sudden, so you sit on the lid of the toilet, praying that your parents are still so absorbed in interrogating Namjoon that they’ve barely noticed your absence. 

Hobi: got me hard just thinking about it

You can’t believe what you’re typing until you send it. 

You: Show me

Hobi: fuck

Hobi: okay

It’s clearly a hastily-taken shot that he sends you, with his boxers shoved down far enough for him to grip his dick at the thick base. But it makes your mouth water anyway. You can’t stop staring at the veins, the flushed head, the dark little cloud of hair. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience right now, sexting with your brother’s bff in your parents’ bathroom. It’s not a bad feeling by any means. 

Hobi: what’re you thinking pretty girl

You: That's because of me?

Hobi: fuck yeah

Hobi: this is what happens when i think about you

You: Do you think about me a lot?

Hobi: more than i should

You: Which means…

Hobi: all the time

Your breath catches in your throat.

You: I guess it’s only fair for me to come over and help you with it

Hobi: is that what you want?

You jump as a loud knock startles you. Your brother’s voice calls your name through the door. 

“I've been sent to check on you. You good in there?” 

Seems like your time is up. 

“Yeah, I’m just surfing the crimson tide,” you lie. Your brother makes a disgusted noise and you grin, knowing your brother doesn’t ask follow up questions any time you refer to your monthly curse. “Tell them I’ll be out in a minute.” 

You hear him walk away and return to your conversation, firing off two more texts before flushing the toilet and running the sink for good measure. The phone vibrates again in your hand as you exit the bathroom, and you stop halfway down the hall to read his reply. 

You: Yeah

You: I want it

Hobi: then come get it

12 Days of Kinkmas Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist