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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

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CRANBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

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

genre: heavy smut, angst

word count: 18.4k

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

pinterest board: cranberries / taglist: join

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

Strong and unwilling to break under pressure.

“My personal life is none of your business—”

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

Wife.

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

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

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

The knife is lifted in the air, paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

You stand straighter, all of a sudden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You leave his life for good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Hobi, alone.

For a little while before a little creature comes along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t have wings and neither would he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hobi will do a good job, no doubt.

“Let’s celebrate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come here.”

Hobi’s voice. Not Jungkook’s.

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

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

“You don’t, really.”

You laugh through your nose.

“I don’t want to get pregnant here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not going anywhere, the act says.

This is what deserves to be painted, you muse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was so hot.”

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

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

Your panties are ruined, just like that.

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

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

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

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

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

And you want to be stuffed full in it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please?

Yes, Daddy.

Ashtray? No.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you wanna fuck me?”

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

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

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

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

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

He does something else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A quid pro quo.

All right.

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

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

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

Once and for all.

“Turkey.”

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

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

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

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

This is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the sliver of freedom and joy—

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

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

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

It can’t be Jungkook.

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

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

It’s over.

It’s fucking over.

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

Nothing.

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

Oh, the big bad boss.

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

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

And he shouldn’t have done that.

He refreshes your pool.

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

Not for him.

For you.

And the pleasure is much bigger this time around.

You can’t stifle your noises.

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

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

“Yes, Da—”

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

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

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

He fucking kisses the tip of your nose.

Your pool leaks onto the floor.

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

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

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

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

His eyes lid, heavily, at your diligence.

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

He must be getting the same thrill out of it.

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

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

Neither can he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do explode.

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

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

And he’s grinning, so awfully pleased.

Lifts the vibrator. Doesn’t turn it off.

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

And he’s smart.

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s yours.

No one else’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in Seoul, not on the island of Jeju.

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

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

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

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

Life gained feeling, too.

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

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

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

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

Nothing could be better than this.

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

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

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

It’ll never get old.

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

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

Hobi punches the wall, startling you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t be shaken.

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

You didn’t realize he was watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, pup. You’re gonna have to redo your makeup. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so good,” he apologizes and you can see it on his face, how serious he is about it. “You deserve to be kissed like that. Hm, you’re such a good pup for me.”

You mewl, missing his lips already, and you quicken your pace around him. He lets you, matching you, and his sounds rise in volume.

“I’m gonna come so quick for you, just because you look so good like this.”

You hiccup, squeezing him. “Like what?”

He hums, licking his lips, tasting your girlishness, and he grins, lopsidedly. “So pretty on your knees for your husband with your makeup ruined, knowing he did it because you sucked him so well.”

The third person. You die—you die a beautiful death.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby. I know. So good. Like always with you.”

And you come back to life.

You moan, giving him your all through your motions, sucking him, licking him, going even as far as taking his balls into your mouth, spreading your noises all over them, divulging how much you love that part of him. And he warns you before he comes. Doesn’t want to ruin your dress. And you watch as he spurts his cum all over his stomach while you milk it out of him—bedazzled, in love, fucked out and absolutely mesmerized.

And you rub his cum into his skin in the way you’ve noticed he likes to do on yours. Dig a grave for all the negative things he had to go through because of you and for you. You didn’t do that all those months ago, focused as you were on forgetting. But now that you’re healed from it and so is he, you dig that grave deep. Throw in his rightful anger, your ex, the painting. Sweep the soil back over it. And never look at it again.

He thanks you for taking care of him. Tells you that it was all because of how beautiful you are. Cleans the little you left behind of his own nectar while you fix your makeup. Dresses himself in black pants and a shirt that makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts.

A black and white shirt with a pattern of condoms.

“What?” he asks, but laughs along with you. “We’re saying goodbye to condoms once and for all, pup.”

You blush, terribly. He leaves the top buttons undone, letting all eyes see the way you marked him with your brown lipstick.

And he gets stared down at dinner. Cares very little, as smitten as he is with you—can’t lay his eyes off you as you walk, even as you eat and drink your Turkish tea, as you sway your body to the live, foreign music while your cigarette smoke dances along with you. Can’t stop touching you either—has to have his hand on you under all circumstances. On your forearm, the back of your hand, your knee or your thigh under the table.

Your belly, after all that food.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he says after a long moment of balmy silence. The spring wind, drifting from the palm trees, chilly ever so faintly, brushes your hair away from your face, caressing so coolly your freshly washed body, and you’re obsessed with the feeling. With his reminder that he’s gonna marry you. With him. With the fact you’re here with him.

There’s no other place you’d rather be.

“I know,” you intone, shyly, grinning, so terribly happy that its sparks detonate on your face, your thumb mindlessly playing with your ring. “I feel at home here.”

He seems to be touched by that. But you didn’t understand the gravity of his words.

Not until later.

Two strong cocktails in, the night falls. The musicians gather their instruments to leave, but Hobi, with a mind of his own, pulls you up to your feet to dance with you to the song of that balmy, restful silence. And the ardent dance, filled with twirls and sways, catches the eye of one of the musicians. An elderly man, with ebony hair, mustache and tender wetness in his eyes, picks up his decades-loved violin from its case and starts playing a song unheard by the night. A song made, intimately and privately, from his own gentle, but kindled heart for you and Hobi. The fervid song, tied with the fire of a passion shared between a husband and wife, moves you to tears and once the man sees them, he weeps along with you.

With your face pressed against Hobi’s, he barely leads you in the dance as you still ever so slightly to listen to that expression of love and marriage, paying your full attention to it. And if there ever were any forgotten crumbs of cranberries in your blood, the man’s mastery and Hobi’s touch smooth it out, completely. Order it, wordlessly, to swim out of your tear ducts.

The man ends the song and you and Hobi clap for him, bowing in all respect and sincerity. He sends you a heartfelt kiss and a thumbs up Hobi’s way, pointing at his shirt and you wave him goodbye, laughing.

No need for words.

All was said.

And Hobi senses it, a changed man. Because when you walk up to your hotel room and he sets you down on the bed—he doesn’t rip your dress away from you like he promised he would. No, he takes his time, revealing your skin little by little, kissing and licking every inch that opens for him. He’s that embodied passion and he unravels himself on your body, sucking on your perked nipple as he holds the rim of your dress beneath your breasts. Sighing, humming. Circling the tip of his tongue around that sensitive trigger. Your moans echo around the spaciousness of the room and he answers each and every one of them with his own.

“Do you want it now? On your first night here?” he asks, pools whisked to yours, grazing your nub with his teeth. You cry out, spreading your legs as far as the tightness of your dress lets you while Hobi’s body compresses them down with his weight.

You want it every night, every day until you have to return back to Korea. Want to be so full of his nectar that you’ll still feel it, even at home.

“I want us to try every day,” you say, stroking his hair, shuddering as he rolls his tongue up and down on that nipple of yours, nuzzling his face in your breast as he sucks it. Makes your brain malfunction a little bit. “Do you think they sell pregnancy tests in that little shop? I should’ve brought some from home.”

Hobi grows serious, popping your nub free. His puffy lips search for yours, enveloping them in a deep kiss. And he spreads tiny kisses on your cheek and jaw as he responds. “We can say fuck it and take that test when we get home.”

The same seriousness closes down upon you. “What if we fail? What if there’s something wrong with me that I don’t know about?”

He cradles your face, his thumb fondling your skin, your black eyelashes, sturdier than they usually are due to your mascara. “You’re young, you’re healthy. You have nothing to worry about. I’m older. What if my swimmers are blind, hm?”

Your eyes wet at the thought, but a sweet reminder seizes you—the softness you saw wrapping around him when he told you about the renewal of his work project, the amount of poor children without parents or homes that have won over his heart. And your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue.

“There’s always the children from your work. We can adopt. As many as we want.”

Hobi looks into your eyes, deeply, for a long time. And you don’t catch the drenching of his pools, nor the tender glint, the wetness of the pearls. No, you catch a single rivulet trickling down on each of his cheeks, plopping down onto your chest. The hard sucking in of his breath due to that softness swathing him all over again. The tremble of his lip. The petting of his hand over your hair as he exudes gratefulness.

“I love you, you know that?” he whimpers and you burst, your own tears dripping down the sides of your face as you take him in. The raw, compassionate and humane version of him that only few, selected people are allowed to see. You, his mom, his dad, his sister and… little Luna. And you sob, your whole body warm from the amount of love that boils in you for him. “You’re my good little pup. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice broken owing to the intensity of your feelings. Hobi kisses your neck and your hand brushes down his back, scattered with myriads of condoms. Try to feel for his wings. Want them as sensitive as his heart. “Your swimmers aren’t blind. They have 20/20 vision.”

Your little joke causes him to chuckle, adorably, and he makes that sound travel down your throat as soon as he kisses you again. Slowly, carefully—as if engraving the shape and the feel of your lips deeply into his brain, into his system that he will give to you. You want more of him, the intangible things as well as the tangible ones. All of him, all that put his being together; all that helps him get up in the morning and lay his head down at night.

And it invigorates you, the knowledge that you will get just that—once he fills you up with his nectar and his swimmers find you, perfectly. Yours and his berry baby will grow amidst the orchard he will continue to take care of; and you will have him.

Eternally.

Beyond death. Beyond the end of time.

You will have him—and you will have a little him as well.

“I want you,” you whisper onto his lips, perking up your breasts for him by squishing them together and he sees you, sees what you’re doing and he licks your nipple again, both of them at the same time in fact, torturously slowly, humming. “And I want a little you.”

Lifting his head to kiss you, nastily, he groans. The smack of yours and his mouth, the ridding of your dress—still slow, still sensual. He studies your body for a moment, shuddering, full of longing for him and his nectar, ready for him with the way it’s glistening in sweat and arousal. And he sighs, differently this time.

The sound is coated with as much longing as your body is.

You love being looked at by him; love the knowledge that he’s looking at something that’s his. Always been his to transform, make new, clean and heal. Always been his to love.

And he kisses his pathway down your tummy as if he thought about the same thing, his hands following every inch of your skin, fondling the places he kissed, licked and sucked. Not hard enough to create a mark, but lovingly enough to moisten you even more, to make your heart swell—and something else, too.

He stops at your navel. Squishes the lower belly fat, biting it as he coos—and you can feel how much he loves that part of you; always has. Because of that, there’s no insecurity tightening your lungs or worrying your brain. Only balminess, the sound of cicadas, the dance of the palm trees as the wind blows through it, the faraway sea sloshing upon shore and his noises caked with yearning—for you, for the baby.

“Our baby is going to live right here,” he says, as if he was coming to terms with it, now that he’s about to make it happen, and you soften, running your hand through the tufts of his windswept hair. “It’s going to grow and feel our love. Feel how much I love him or her. How much you do.”

You nod, a liquified softness. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

He gazes at you through his lashes and butterflies zap your stomach. “I want a baby that looks like you.”

Your heart, too.

“So, a girl?”

He rubs his face in your tummy, breathing evenly against it. “Even a boy can have your features. Your hair. Your hands.” He takes it, the one closest to him, and drifts his fingers through yours. “I want to hold their hand and know I’m holding yours. And I want to give them the love I have for you.”

A film flashes through your mind. A little boy, sitting on a sofa next to resting Hobi, watching TV while his Daddy absentmindedly plays with his small fingers, kissing them, biting them playfully to make him growl in that adorable way. The same little boy growing into a young man, having been watered by the love Hobi has for you and the new, fatherly love he gained for him. One that does not cease even as he’s older.

A boy, a man loved by his Father—ceaselessly.

Something you never had, but your child will.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Hobi wipes your tears away. Your heart thumps so rapidly against your chest that you believe it could poke through the flesh.

And you fall for him, all over again.

“That’s the most beautiful thing you ever said to me,” you whisper, high on your heightened feelings for him, high on him. “Besides, ‘will you marry me?’”

Hobi smiles. Moves you so your head reclines on the pillows, knocking towel swan off the bed, making you giggle. And he sits on his legs, clutching your waist, thumb rubbing circles on your tummy, squished and overspilling in your position as you wrap your own legs around him.

Comfortable, safe, elated.

“Two days from now, I want you to wear that dress I bought you,” he says, his smile blossoming wider and your lips mimic the same movement for some reason, despite the fact your brows furrow in confusion.

“What dress?”

He slides his hands up your highs. “The white one. The one I told you I was gonna marry you in.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips and a mist of tears thicken in your waterline, understanding what he’s saying. “Are we—?”

“Yes, pup.” A stream, not a rivulet, cascades down his cheeks and you break, you break beautifully and happily. “We’re getting married in two days. I prepared everything. Your parents and mine are flying in. I paid for their plane tickets. A small wedding with the closest. My sister slapped me when I offered to pay for hers—”

An alarm rings loudly in your sternum and you don’t think before you voice it out. Hasty in a way you don’t like, but it’s due to a certain fear that you feel expanding throughout your body.

“What did my Dad say?”

Hobi’s smile doesn’t fade and it spurs a fragment of ease to shoot down your form.

“Your Dad gave me his blessing.”

A brand new shrub begins to grow in your orchard. The final one. A shrub of goji berries, healing, beneficial to your Father complex, the very means that will treat your scar caused from it, rejuvenate the skin that bears his ignorance, lack of love, care and attention.

And you can’t breathe.

Hobi lays the front of his body against yours, propping his chin against your chest, holding the side of your face in his hand, tracing your shock and unbelief with his thumb.

“He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me, but once he heard that I mean well with you and that I make good money at my job—actually, once he heard that I work with children, his whole demeanor changed—”

“He loves children,” you blurt out, your vision unfocusing. “He just doesn’t love me because I grew up. It’s some kind of block in his body, I don’t know.”

Hobi pauses for a moment, thinking about your words, his thumb now tracing your lost eyes—your eyelids, your eyelashes.

Your Father played with you when you were a little girl. Took you on walks around the city. Bought you McDonalds. Taught you how to count money when you were struggling, unsure if you had enough from the paper Wons he gave you. But once the sadness of your girlhood absorbed your life, his presence in it shifted and moved away.

And never returned.

“He does love you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. That’s what I sensed,” he whispers, his hand descending to your neck, and you wonder if he feels the twigs of those goji berries underneath that skin—that quickly they grow. “If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. He wouldn’t have asked me if there’s anything I needed from him in terms of the wedding. And he wasn’t mad about the fact that it would be non-traditional and in Turkey, though your mom insisted she’d wear a hanbok anyways.”

You’re so overwhelmed that you can’t speak, the notion that your Father always knew you strayed away from your heritage and preferred the West sneaking into your heart. He accepted it; and he accepted Hobi.

You reach within yourself, pluck a goji berry and feed it to the emptiness that lived within you for too long. And you do it again and again—until there’s no hollowness that eats at your insides.

You’re whole.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles down his cheek and Hobi leans into your touch like he always does. “That healed me. I can’t wait to marry you.”

Hobi mirrors your softness and kisses you with it. And it’s now that the dip of the scar in your skin replenishes—through each and every moment of his mouth against yours and through his shifting to the place between your legs once you coyly ask for him there. He eats you as if he were starving, and it has great meaning to you—the fact it’s someone you love that is consuming you and not your emptiness anymore. Your feet slide across the pattern of the condoms on his back and it quickens your orgasm in the middle of his sucking and finger-fucking, all owing to the fact that Hobi made order in your life; healed your Father’s complex and now is preparing you to impregnate you, only to marry you two days later.

You come so hard that you don’t sprinkle him, but drench him whole, your nectar painting him in glimmering light that becomes holy in the moonlight that streaks through the balcony.

He heaves, ferally, kissing your clit over and over again—so hard that he’s essentially sucking it and you cry out in overstimulation.

“Taught you how to squirt, didn’t I?” he growls, hovering above you as the drops of your nectar pitter-patter on your chest and within your shyness due to his words, you’re ready for him.

He did teach you that. Since the fateful day of his work phone call, before and during which you edged yourself so painfully that when he pleasured you with your vibrator, you exploded just the same, you aren’t able to have dry orgasms. He has triggered something within you, using his businessman voice and respect, that rains for him and it has changed your sexuality once and for all.

“You did,” you try because of your shyness, your hands instinctively popping the button of his pants open, and Hobi hums, wiping his face clean and pushing his soaked fingers inside your mouth.

You didn’t expect it and the loud moan that slips out of your throat comes as a surprise to you. Hobi’s length twitches beneath your hands and twitches again when you suck on his fingers, just as loudly.

“I love it when you squirt for me, but pray to God, pup, that you don’t squirt around my dick because I’m not pulling out, you hear me?” he rasps, his voice deep and solemn, causing your walls to clench tightly and your heat to reach a boiling temperature. Your hand, mindlessly, slinks to your pussy to rub your clit and he tips his head, noticing it. “Move your hand.” You do, your heart bouncing in your ribcage. Hobi begins to thumb your clit and you writhe your body against the mattress, following each circle with your hips, the pleasure faint but so good. “Do you think you can hold your orgasms for me once I fuck you, hm?”

You whimper, regarding the idea impossible, knowing how well he does it. Impossible and rapturous. “No.”

He chuckles. Stops his circles. Lets you use his thumb. “I’ll make you, then. I can stop anytime.”

You roll your eyes back, his dominance-tinged words better than the stimulation of your clit. “Can you?” you bite back, playfully, your shyness vanishing.

Hobi bites his lip, intoxicated by your new confidence. Pins your hands above your head, leaning his weight on them. Brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t go bratty on me now. Don’t do it to the baby.”

You choke out a curse and Hobi digs his half-moons into your forearms. The moonlight anoints them, purifying the atmosphere.

“I’ll be good for the baby,” you whisper, curling your hips to feel more of his manhood, eager for it. “And good for you.”

Hobi growls, kissing the skin beneath your jawline just once. “A good what?”

You know what he wants you to say and your eagerness lengthens. “A good pup.”

Shifting so he can hold both of your wrists in his singular fist, he glides the tip of his cock along your feminine flesh—up and down, up and down.

“That’s it. A good Mommy for the baby and a good pup for me.”

He buries himself in your heat and it’s the breaking of the curse upon your life, for the intention is there. The final installment to your healing of your Father’s complex because you’re not a little girl anymore, walking in the withering forest of your saddened girlhood.

You’re a tender woman and you’re being made love to.

There’s respect to the languid and dionysian movements of his love, no matter the hardness he uses. A breath is choked out of you and he inhales it, letting your hands free to cradle your neck, pressing his forehead against yours as he moans. Your mouth is parted and Hobi plays with your tongue without closing down his lips on yours, which causes you to mark your nails down his lats. Goosebumps decorate his skin at the feeling and he speeds up, beckoning out your whiny noises as you take it.

His cock, the healing, the respect, the love.

“I love you,” he murmurs, consuming your noises as soon as he kisses you. Doesn’t stop ramming into you. “I love you, my pup. You’re my life.”

You cry out and he rips the coil of your orgasm by filling you to the hilt and lingering there, stimulating your clit by giving you fast, little strokes that makes his mound rub against it. And the orgasm overtakes you, your whole body limp and delighted as the heavenly pressure courses down every nerve ending, spreading that healing, respect and love, sealing it there.

“God, that was beautiful,” Hobi comments, stunned by the explosion of your pleasure, and he begins to give you long, hard strokes that empty out your brain and try to push out your sudden guilt for coming when he wanted you to hold back your orgasm.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, pup,” he groans, the muscles around his eyes tightening as he pants. “You’re good. Just keep coming for me. I was only kidding, pup.”

He takes your nipple in his mouth, his back strong and monumental and you sink your nails into it, marking him with the same half-moons, blushing, joyful. Hobi returns to your neck, your jaw and lips and you whine at the principle of him returning.

The feeling of it is so enormous that you come again.

“Yes, pup, that’s it. Come for your Daddy. So pretty, yes. I’m so close. I’m right there with you. Gonna make you a Mommy.”

The words that are true, at last. Not a pretense.

And then he’s fast, fucking you into the bed. Changing his mind at the last minute and lifting your hips into the air, slamming into you so hard that you have to hold onto his forearms, scattering your half-moons there and you take it all, ravenous, yet tender as you are. The squelching noises, his growls melting into soft mewls as you squeeze around him and it’s him who can’t take it.

Who can’t take the distance.

Who places your hips back down and eats your mouth, plunging his tongue inside while keeping up his rhythm. Never once faltering, nor wavering. He kneads your breast, sucks on your lip, bites it. Holds you by your throat, pushing his thumb inside your parted mouth and you have a feeling, amidst the haziness of your mind, that’s your trigger. One of them, at least.

“Suck on it.”

You clamp down on his length, obeying. Your orgasm inches closer, your fourth one of the night.

“Good pup,” he husks, closing his eyes for a split second, slowing down, rolling motions. “Are you ready to become a Mommy for our baby? Daddy’s so close.”

The sound that leaves you is of such a desperate kind that he grunts, delighting in it. Buries himself inside you to the hilt, stopping there, giving you tiny strokes that scramble your brain, plays with the haziness. Your arousal and your yearning is so raging and feverish that the pain of his tip osculating your cervix feels divine. And all you can think about is how it’s going to widen over time for yours and his baby.

“Yes, yes, please. I want it. Give it to me, please, please, please,” you beg, your lungs and your pulse quickening, muscles taut and Hobi moans in a way you’ve never heard him before.

The longing at its peak, sensitive, delicate and frail—yet he still remains as strong and monumental as he is. His Achilles’ heel has been struck and he begins to twitch inside you.

“Oh my God, pup, I’m coming so hard for you.” Long strokes, whimpers. “Are you gonna take it like the good little wife you are?” The ultimate hard thrust—the blooming of his longing, your agreement, and it’s happening. He comes. “Fuck, fuck, yes. It’s all yours. It’s all yours, pup.”

He paints you anew with the warmth of his nectar, fucking it deeply into you. And the title you utter is not one construed out of your lack, but it’s a crowning of his new role.

“Daddy.”

The final breaking of the curse.

The conclusion.

He continues to ram into you, softly, his thumb finding your clit—and it’s over.

Everything.

You step into a new life with him while you’re still connected and he keeps coming for you, his swimmers antsy and desirous to find your egg. And crossing the threshold, you come—devastatingly intensely, your body trembling and his mirroring the same shakes while he gives you the last of his all and a kiss that lasts a lifetime.

A clean slate, a clean heart, a clean body.

A clean life.

An orchard, brimming with fullness and ripeness.

Ready for your berry baby.

He looks at you for a long time, then, grinning so widely that you can sense the entirety of his joyful heart in it. His eyes wet and his smile softens as the gravity of what just happened washes over him. You feel the same process collapsing over you, splendidly, and you think that you and him must have become one.

“We did it,” he whispers, a tear pouring down his cheek and another one following.

You nod, your cheeks stained with the same tears. “We did it.”

And the newness of your life and being feels natural—just as though it has been there the whole time.

On the day of your wedding, bright early in the morning—after Hobi woke you up with his sensual The Weeknd playlist and ate you out so calamitously that you had to give it back to him by riding him into oblivion—you sit down for breakfast and discover something about him that almost makes you call it off.

Hobi put strawberry jam on his butter toast with scrambled eggs.

The Turkish sun envelops him bewitchingly, makes his tanned skin glow in its light as he enjoys, provocatively, every bite of his strange breakfast, focusing all of his attention on it. His eyes never leave it and his mouth smacks so loudly that it as irks you as it makes you laugh.

Your unbelief towards that combination is so strong that it took you some time before you could speak up.

“What the fuck, Hobi?”

His eyes flick in your direction, innocently, cheeks full and squirrel-like, layered in sweat. His hands hold a half of the toast, despite the fact you and him just sat down. Does he really enjoy it that much? He inhaled it.

“What?” he asks, mouth full, and you chuckle.

“Jam and eggs?”

He swallows, making a sound that divulges just how much he loved that bite. “Pup, it’s so good.”

You widen your eyes. “I’m not marrying you today,” you say, but you don’t mean it. You’d marry him even if he forced that abnormal toast down your throat.

He’s not one bit perplexed by your sentence. Stares you down as he runs his tongue over his teeth, mouth closed. “Be quiet.”

Heat comes apart in your body and you blush, squeezing your thighs together under the table.

“How could a combination of eggs and jam be good?” you ask, standing your ground, despite your feelings.

Hobi smiles. “One time I accidentally put sugar instead of salt on my scrambled eggs and it changed my life forever.”

Your eyes might pop out of your sockets. “What?”

He laughs, extends his hand towards your face. The sweetened, yet buttery smell of the toast hits your nostrils and your repulsion towards it dissolves. “Try it.”

You don’t trust it, though. “I’d rather die.”

He tightens his lips. “Be quiet and take a bite.”

Taken aback, your instincts win and you don’t realize your head is leaning towards the toast until your teeth sink into the crunchy tastiness. You take a small bite and thoroughly chew, the mixture of sweetness and a little bit of saltiness, wrapped around the crispiness of the toast and the slight mushiness of the eggs creating something metaphysical in your mouth.

Hobi watches you with a proud, lopsided grin. Knows you like it before you say it.

“What the fuck?”

He bursts into laughter and lets you have it, places it on your plate before devouring his second one, your liking for it elevating his.

And you devour it just the same.

“Life changing, isn’t it?” he intones, smacking his mouth in all the pleasure of the world. “Expect this kind of breakfast every morning when we get home. After I eat out your little pussy.”

You choke on it and hide your feverish face in your hands, your stomach doing somersaults. “Oh my God, Hobi.”

He laughs again, tenderly, and the sound travels all the way to Cappadocia, where he marries you at sundown.

On the rooftop of a cave hotel, overlooking an immeasurable amount of kaleidoscopic hot air balloons that magnetically travel to the heat of the orange sun, the mountains and volcanic peaks darkened by its overpowering magnificence. It encourages the sleepy walk of camels and tightens the hearts of the witnesses below and the hearts of your parents, parents in law and Hobi’s sister.

The simple dress Hobi bought you ripples in the compassionate late afternoon wind. Silky, pearlescent like his eyes in a certain light, caressing your tanned skin. So very akin to the one you wore on your first date with him, but longer, sleek, homeric in its significance.

And he matches you, all white, in his tuxedo, a stark contrast against his bronze skin and black hair, a wispy strand softly being blown sideways from his forehead by the wind. He holds his tears back in the same way he holds your hand—with all his might. And you do the same.

You share your vows.

He shares his, intertwined with the first poem you recited for him.

“I’ll carry your heart with me ‘til my last day on this Earth and I will fear no fate because you are my fate.”

Through your tears, you can see the way he’s stifling his habit of saying your pet name. And when he catches your quivering smile, he breaks into more tears.

And when you proclaim that you do take him as your husband and when he proclaims that he takes you as his wife, your tears conjoin as do your souls in a kiss that makes the mountains quake. The heat of the Turkish sun perpetuates the act of love.

The audience cheers.

Your Father weeps.

And you believe no sadness, no ruination will ever come close to you again.

You and Hobi celebrate. Dance throughout the night to foreign, passionate music that your heart seems to know. Fly in a hot air balloon, where he gets drunk and kisses you until your lips get numb.

Almost throws up all the dark liquor he drank once he sees how high from the ground he is.

And you can’t stop laughing.

Not as he takes you to the Valley of Love the next day to look at penis-shaped rock formations that nature apparently formed out of the blue.

Not as you give birth nine months later and he makes his sound effects as you push out his child.

A baby boy that has your hair, your hands, your mouth and your chin—and a whole lot of Hobi’s pearlescent eyes and slender nose. A delectable, heavenly concoction.

And certainly not as you take the five-year old boy to the Yongchu waterfall, where his Father proposed to you, and he starts sputtering out uncontrollable giggles when Hobi tells him that you ran around when he popped the question and precisely, with utmost detail, shows him how.

On your way back, when little Hyeonwol’s legs hurt and drowsiness weighs him down, he surveys the mountain peak, transfixed by it. You and Hobi notice it at the same time and share a look that could never be described through any poetry, through any beauty of words, not even the ordinary kind.

And it’s automatic, a silent, collective and simultaneous decision to break Hyeonwol’s spell by kissing each of his cheek.

The dream came true.

All dreams have, even those undreamed.

And you believe that even as you grow old with Hobi, you’ll never stop laughing.

You’ll never stop eating strawberry jam toasts with scrambled eggs with him.

With Hyeonwol, too.

And you'll never stop feeding the berry boy the fruits from the orchard that Hobi continues to take care of within you.

HYEONWOL — HYE-ON-WOL

賢월

Meaning: worthy moon

This name is given to a worthy person who is as precious as the moon.

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

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cookiekissers · 6 months ago

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Genuinely and desperately ask for Crunchy Chip cookie x male reader! Crunchy Chip always puts up a front of not wanting/caring for sweet stuff but deep down loves it. Imagine him like that but with people, he acts tough around others but completely melts when he's around reader. Thank you for existing and doing the Lord's work 🙏 lmao

[Crunchy Chip x Male Reader]

I haven't written or posted that much yet, but thank you!! It's an honour <3

Crunchy Chip Cookie works diligently to keep up his image as a hardened warrior. But like the sweets he pretends to despise, he can barely hide his feelings around you, Y/N Cookie. If he had a tail, it would be wagging whenever he sees you! He can't help it!

Around others, he acts like his usual prideful self, but as soon as he spots you, he gets quiet and flustered. Crunchy Chip believes he's good at concealing his feelings for you, but it's apparent to everyone what's really going on. Even if you're the oblivious type, you'll eventually notice because it's so obvious. Crunchy Chip isn't exactly subtle. But this only makes him all the more charming!

If you pretend you haven't caught on to his feelings yet, and decide to start teasing him, it will make him melt. He tries hard to deny the intense feelings you "inflict" on him, how his heart pounds when you get a little too close to him and tease him, and how you have all but taken over his thoughts. He constantly scolds himself for how mushy he's acting! You have turned him into a lovestruck puppy and he hates it. Acting this way is unbecoming of a great Dark Cacao warrior! Yet… ask a favour of him or call for him and he will run to you without hesitation.

If you're waiting for Crunchy Chip Cookie to make the first move you will have to wait for a while, so you will probably have to take initiative on this one. But once you two do get together officially, expect to see his softer side much more often. He only does this in private and around you. No one else gets to see Crunchy Chip like this but you. <3

It's a little different in private. When you're alone with him, he relaxes a little bit, but not by much. His code of pride and rigorous discipline has been drilled into his head, so its a tough habit to break. If you gently remind him that he does deserve to relax a little and have care and softness, he will indulge somewhat guiltily. But he is still afraid of being "caught in the act," so his relaxation with you will be restrained. But afterwards, he will dream of it. Being in your arms, having you stroke his hair lovingly while he rests in your lap. Crunchy Chip will wake up in his tent amidst the snow on a frozen mountain and daydream about looking up at your handsome face and yearn to experience such tenderness and warmth again.

But don't try to bring up your affectionate sessions in public, Crunchy Chip will panic and try to play dumb and pretend that it didn't happen. It's not that he didn't enjoy being with you! Honestly, the guy is yearning and pining so hard he thinks he's physically ill.

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 6 months ago

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Playlist Love | Jung Hoseok | Birds of a Feather | Billie Eilish

Play it again...and again and again and again

Summary: Hoseok is finally back for good and a little morning walk together changes both of your lives for the better. Loosely based off of Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish. Pairing: f!reader x Hoseok | Established relationship Word Count: 2.3k short and sweet for this one~ Warnings: Suuuuper fluffy and no smut because it just didn't fit the vibe this time lol but yeah a/n: this was supposed to be out earlier but I hope you guys like it ❤️

"How does it feel?" I ask, walking hand in hand with Hoseok as if things had never changed but a lot of time had passed since we were able to do something as simple as this without the thoughts of him leaving again.

"Hm?" he hums, seemingly lost in thought. "You know, to be back?" I clarify, referring to the time we spent apart while he was doing his service. He offers me a soft smile before bringing our interlocked hands up and kissing the back of mine.

"So good" he says, the fondness in his tone when he addresses me although a little deeper now is no less warm than before. "I really missed you, you know" I say and grab onto his arm, the feeling of being close to him again being something I will never take for granted.

"I missed you too angel" he responds but notices the slight chill that's run through my body when the crips morning breeze blows towards us leaving him pulling us towards a nearby building for shelter.

"You should've bundled up more baby" he says shrugging his jacket off and draping it over my shoulders, his warmth enveloping me instantly but I hurriedly protest and try to give it back but he places his hands on my shoulders to keep it in place.

"We're almost home so I'll be okay" he says and cups my cheek, frowning once he's realized just how cold I've gotten. "No more early morning walks" he says, the scolding tone still soft and loving leaving me giggling at his efforts.

"Twice a week?" I barter but he shakes his head. "Once?" I offer, holding up my pointer finger and he looks from it back to my hopeful expression and nods. "But you need to wear warmer clothes, got it?" he agrees, offering up a condition still but I agree nonetheless.

"Got it!" I say and solute him playfully to which he rolls his eyes. "Promise?" he says, holding up his pinky and I wrap mine around his and press our thumbs together to seal it. "Promise!" I smile and pull him back out onto the path again.

"Slow down" he chuckles, dragging his feet purposefully as I try to pull him along the way, with me laughing right along with him. "Didn't you say you wanted to show me something?" I ask, reminding him of the surprise he had mentioned earlier and he shakes his head and pulls me back, ceasing my efforts of hurrying him along.

"Yes I do want to show you something but it'll still be there no matter what time we get there" he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to keep me from trying to drag him along again.

"Fine" I grumble, getting impatient since he's given me zero clues besides the fact that it's along the path that we've walked together time and time again. "Don't be like that" he says, placing a kiss on my temple and pulling me in closer, making our steps more awkward and precarious but neither of us seems to mind.

"Can you at least give me one more hint?" I plead and he hums in thought before giving me the vaguest couldn't even be considered a clue ever. "All you need to know is you're gonna love it, or at least I hope you will" he says the last part a little quieter, a slight blush blooming on the apples of his cheeks.

"You're no fun" I huff and turn away, looking out over the river instead of at him and once he notices he walks us over to the railing, watching a pair of colorful yellow birds seemingly dancing in mid air and I can't help but smile fondly.

"That one is you and that one's me" I point them out, purposefully pointing out the clumsier one for myself and he hums and hold onto me from behind, resting his head on my shoulder and pulling me in.

"Reminds me of the first time I tried to teach you how to dance" he say, fondly calling back the memory but I can't help but hide my face in my hands, embarrassed in contrast. "Yeah the first and last" I huff and he hums and places a kiss on my cheek, "It won't be the last" he says with a certainty that I don't understand just yet.

"What makes you so certain I'll let you?" I ask, leaning to one side so I can turn my head to look back at him. "Call it a feeling" he says cryptically but I decide not to question it. "Whatever you say weirdo" I scoff and he squeezes me in response leaving us standing there for just a little longer, still admiring the aviary duo dancing across the painted morning sky until he directs me down the path to resume our journey.

"Are we there yet?" I ask for probably the fifth time but he doesn't seem to mind. "Almost" he says offering no clues and when I'm about to ask again after a few more minutes go by I see a bouquet of flowers sitting on the park bench we first met on.

I look up at him excitedly and when he nods his head I scurry out of his hold to run up and grab them.

"They're so beautiful!" I say after examining them for a moment or two, he's got a good eye for these things so I don't think I would ever be disappointed in them. To be honest though he could give me a bouquet of droopy dandelions and I would still love them all the same.

"Thank you!" I beam garnering a soft smile from him before he takes a step towards me and reaches into the pocket of his jacket that I'm still wearing. "Don't thank me just yet" he smiles and I can tell from just that he's up to something. "What do you mean?" I smile but my mind goes blank when I watch as he gets down on one knee.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, not believing that this is actually happening but when he reaches for my hand and brings me back I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, making my vision blurry to the point where I can just barely make out his nervous expression.

"Do you remember the day we first met?" he asks and all I can do is nod, holding words back to keep me from crying just yet.

"Your thoughts were so clouded by frustration that when you came and sat on this bench you didn't even realize that I had already been sat on it right next to you. You got startled when after your third angry huff I asked you what was wrong. You practically jumped out of your skin. Then again I guess that's more or less a normal reaction to unexpectedly hearing a previously silent stranger so close to you" he says, starting to ramble now and I can't help but let out a choked back chuckle at the memory.

When he realizes that he had been getting off track he clears his throat, nervous voice still ever present but I don't mind, this is perfect, he couldn't have made this moment any more perfect.

"Anyways, when I asked you, you finally told me that you were upset because you thought you messed up your interview but from the way I could see it I knew that you gave it your best shot. I told you they would be a fool not to hire you but you were skeptical since we had only just met. You asked me how I could possibly know you would be a good fit but as always I just had a feeling you were the perfect person from the way you spoke about it".

I bite back a smile and let a tear or two fall so I can clear up my view since I don't want to miss anything. A girl only gets proposed so many times in her life, I just hope this is the first and last time this'll ever happen to me.

"This next part might sound cheesy but I promise you it's true. I had a feeling similar to how I felt about you getting that job as to how I felt about knowing that you were the woman that I wanted to marry some day" and at that I let out another teary chuckle. He's always been a hopeless romantic and I can't help but love that about him, amongst many other reasons.

"Once we parted ways that day after an hour or so of talking I promised myself that if I were to ever see you again that I wouldn't hesitate to pursue you. I knew that if I tried right away that I could lose you so instead I went back everyday to that same park bench and on the fifth day when I had started to lose hope of seeing you again I saw you out of the corner of my eye practically skipping in delight and I knew that that was it" he continues and I smile at the memory.

"I got the job that day" I say, my voice incredibly soft and wobbly but he smiles and nods his head. "You did get the job that day. You called it your victory lap which couldn't have been any more endearing to me even though I can tell you're embarrassed by it now" he teases when he sees me look away but I don't mind the teasing this time.

Hearing about this...about how he started to fall in love with me at first sight was something I never knew but it just makes me feel like I couldn't love him more than I already do even if I tried.

"So I asked you out. I used a congratulatory coffee as a cover up but in my mind it was our first date" He says shyly, the tips of his ears turning pink. "And the rest is history I guess. What I mean to say though is through out all of this time knowing you I've known that someday I'd be calling you my wife...depending on your answer of course" he says, a little less confident about it.

"You've gotta ask me first" I laugh, a couple more joyful tears falling as a result making him smile and after taking another deep breath or two he finally says the words that'll be the start to our forever.

"Will you marry me?" he says letting go of my hand for a second and opening the ring box and when the sight of my grandmother's ring is revealed I couldn't be happier knowing that even with all this time he spent away from me he still managed to get my family's blessing.

"Yes, yes of course I'll marry you" I say, leaning down and kissing him, the tears streaming down my face making it taste a little salty but neither of us seems to mind. Nothing matters in this moment but him and I.

"Wait" I say after breaking the kiss, forgetting what I had planned to tell him today...what I've been needing to tell him.

"I, well..." I say and pull out the image I had been been keeping in my purse, waiting for the right moment to tell him. I look at it one last time and take a deep breath before wordlessly handing it to him and when he realizes what it is his face lights up as bright as I've ever seen in.

"Are you serious?" he says under his breath, his body practically shaking in excitement and I nod my head. "You're sure?" he asks again, the concept so unbelievable to him leaving me laughing. "Yes Hoseok, yes" I confirm and although I can tell that he's excited I need him to say something.

"You're pregnant?" he questions and I place his hand on my stomach to hopefully prove a point.

He practically knocks me off my feet making me squeal in excitement, wrapping his arms around my waist and spinning me around.

"Thank you thank you thank you" he says over and over again leaving me laughing at his adorable reaction. "Thank you for what?" I chuckle and he puts me down so he can get a good look at me. "For not only agreeing to marry me, but also being the mother of our child" he says, the serious tone he takes on makes me incredibly nervous.

"You helped you know" I tease and he smirks, smug at the thought of it. "So this all happened when..." he says but I quickly put my hands over his mouth to stop any explicit details from coming out of it.

"Yes it happened the last time you were on leave. Now do you understand why I've been hiding from you?" I say in reference to the times where I've decided to do things like shower and get dressed on my own. "The time you asked me to leave the room so you could change confused me so bad" he says and I laugh, remembering the dumbfounded look on his face.

"You were definetly flabbergasted" I confirm and he rolls his eyes. "Imagine leaving my girlfriend for eighteen months and then being denied the right to watch her change" he scoffs, "The privilege, not the right" I correct him and he sighs, accepting defeat but still not happy with it.

"The point is, I can't wait for our family of two to be a family of three" he chuckles, placing his hand on my belly and I know that's something he'll definetly be obsessed with, especially once I'm further along.

"I love you angel" he says, kissing my forehead and resting his against mine. "I love you too, more than you know"

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in the reblogs 💜

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kusakiguzen · 6 months ago

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BTS x Reader Incorrect quotes #4

Y/N: I’m in love with you.

J-hope: We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Y/N: I know.

J-hope: Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

#akineedshelp #x reader #bts imagines #bts jhope #jhope #bts incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #j hope bts #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #jhope x reader #bts #jhope x you #jhope x y/n

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gguk-n · 9 days ago

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Therapy Hybrid (Golden Retriever!Jung Hoseok x Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 2 years ago

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Made by me

The Masterlist

My BFF is a Vampire 🩸

[SUPERNATURAL AU]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐨𝐭𝟕 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.) 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞��𝐭. 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬, 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫/𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲. 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

>𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.<

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐦, 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 🩸 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 🩸 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬

𝐎𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

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

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

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

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

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

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

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

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

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone MAD OUT NOW

Five - Spoiler

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH COMING SOON

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

MAIN: YOONGI X Y/N

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

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

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

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A Rise From The Shadows (coming soon)

…

FINAL BREATH (coming soon)

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

DROPPED

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

Bunny on the run

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

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

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

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

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

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

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minix55 · 1 year ago

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How BTS would be as Boyfriends

RM (Namjoon): As a boyfriend, Namjoon would be your rock. He'd listen intently to your thoughts and feelings, always offering wise advice when you need it. With his deep intellect, he'd engage you in stimulating conversations about life, philosophy, and your shared interests. He'd be your biggest supporter, encouraging you to chase your dreams and explore new horizons together. Plus, his romantic gestures would often involve heartfelt letters or late-night walks under the moonlight, where he'd share his innermost thoughts with you.

Jin (Seokjin): Jin would be the epitome of a caring and attentive boyfriend. He'd pamper you with homemade meals and endless compliments, making sure you feel loved and appreciated every day. With his witty humor, he'd keep the relationship light-hearted and fun, always finding ways to make you smile. Jin would also be incredibly romantic, planning surprise date nights and showering you with thoughtful gifts that show how much he cares. And when you're feeling down, he'd be there with his comforting embrace and a warm bowl of soup.

Suga (Yoongi): Yoongi would be the mysterious and enigmatic boyfriend who surprises you with his depth and sensitivity. While he may seem reserved at first, he'd open up to you in quiet moments, sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings. As a partner, he'd respect your independence and support your ambitions, understanding the importance of space and freedom in a relationship. Yoongi's love language would often be expressed through his music, with heartfelt lyrics that resonate with your soul, and he'd cherish the simple moments spent together, whether it's cuddling on the couch or watching the sunset.

J-Hope (Hoseok): Hoseok would bring boundless energy and positivity into the relationship, turning every day into an adventure. He'd be your source of sunshine on cloudy days, lifting your spirits with his infectious laughter and cheerful personality. As a boyfriend, he'd be spontaneous and adventurous, always planning exciting outings and surprising you with spontaneous dance parties in the living room. Hoseok would also be incredibly caring and affectionate, showering you with hugs, kisses, and endless displays of love that leave you feeling cherished and adored.

Jimin: Jimin would be the romantic and affectionate boyfriend who wears his heart on his sleeve. He'd constantly remind you of how much you mean to him, showering you with affectionate gestures and heartfelt compliments. As a partner, he'd be incredibly attentive to your needs, always going out of his way to make you feel loved and cherished. Jimin's love language would often be expressed through physical touch, with hugs and cuddles that melt your heart. Plus, he'd be your biggest cheerleader, supporting you through thick and thin and celebrating your achievements as if they were his own.

V (Taehyung): Taehyung would be the artistic and free-spirited boyfriend who fills your life with creativity and wonder. He'd introduce you to new experiences and perspectives, encouraging you to embrace your passions and explore the world together. As a partner, he'd be incredibly expressive and romantic, writing you love letters and capturing your moments together through his photography or art. Taehyung would also be deeply empathetic, always attuned to your emotions and offering a comforting presence when you need it most. And with his playful sense of humor, he'd turn even the most mundane moments into memorable adventures.

Jungkook: Jungkook would be the devoted and dependable boyfriend who's always there for you, no matter what. He'd prioritize your happiness above all else, going out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated every day. As a partner, he'd be incredibly loyal and supportive, standing by your side through the ups and downs of life. Jungkook would also be fiercely protective of you, always putting your needs and safety first. And while he may be the youngest, he'd show maturity beyond his years, approaching the relationship with thoughtfulness and care. Plus, his boundless energy and enthusiasm would infuse every moment with excitement and joy.

#jimin x y/n #namjoon x y/n #seokjin x y/n #suga x y/n #jungkook x y/n #j hope x reader #taehyung x y/n #bts headcanons #bts x reader #bts fanfic

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sugurusladyknightt · 5 days ago

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suguru x f!reader ~ atonement!au

cw: angst mainly, some fluff(i think?), suggestive, one(1) consensual almost sex scene w suguru (someone walked in), historical setting(wwll) likely with many inaccuracies, lying, misunderstandings, romance (childhood friends trope), war, major character deaths. mentions of injury, disease, sexual assault, prison. hopefully not but probably confusing timelines, etc.. . a/n: i apologize in advance and so sincerely about hiromis character

ah, summer. the sun burning bright in the clear blue sky of the lovely morning. the warm air, warm earth, warm skin, all being warmed by its light. all except for you in this moment.

your body shivers, drenched. cool water soaked through the thin fabric of your undergarments and doused in your hair. little goosebumps have formed on your skin now.

no words are spoken as you hold your glare at the man who stand only a few feet away. no words are spoken but there is communication of sorts that you cannot comprehend. your eyes pour all the emotions you are yet to understand onto the other. it's a language you don't have the knowledge to translate. a fruit yet to ripen enough to fall from its branch, it's holding on. barely, but still holding.

although you are in open air, there is an incredibly low ceiling weight down on you. crushing. your spine can only carry so much weight before it shatters; the the delicate porcelain of the fine china you dine from.

there is a piece of the the broken vase in your hands, and one in his. your clothing, a skirt and a blouse, lay in messy pools on the ground near the fountain where you left them.

it's an easy moment to misinterpret, and it feels so much longer then it truly is.

bravely, you take the first step and break that odd connection. the link severed and conversation of no words interrupted.

pulling your skirt back up to rest at your hips, and your blouse over your shoulders, you dress yourself quickly; it's rather hard to do even simple things with quick efficiency when frustrated. you pick the almost whole vase of the stone side of the fountain; the smaller piece that got you here, clutched tightly between your fingers. through out, your lips are pressed tightly into themselves in a firm unmoving line.

you nearly bump into him as you walk past. just close enough to grab the last piece of the broken vase held between his fingers. there isn't a moment where you look back or try to find his gaze again.

he can't even get a word out, you didn't wait to hear it — didn't bother to. you miss the way his hand clenched at his side. tightened into a white knuckled fist with his nails digging into the warms of his palm before relaxing.

there are still ripples in the water of the fountain you were just in. it's angry and along with something else he can't point.

suguru extends his hand reaching for it. hovering over the disturbed water before touching the whole of his hand to it as gentle as he would you. resting on its surface, he's quelling it, it's anger and frustration. soothing it in the way he is unable to do for yours.

it may well only be his imagination, but the warmth of you that had been stolen by the fountain, leaving you shivering and cold, he could still feel it against his palm.

the touch of his hand to the water in the fountain suddenly feels incredibly perverse.

she was clever.

though she did give herself too much credit for how clever she could be. in all her cleverness she still had a lack in experience and was filled to the brim with naïveté and ignorance she failed to recognize.

a rather lonely young girl who found solace in the click click of her typewriter. fingers moving fast over the keys. it's always in the background of her mind. so far removed and far in her own world, the young girl felt like a god amongst the simple people. the all knowing narrator; the all powerful author.

she found solace in the printed word. something that cannot be taken back once the mark on paper had been made.

she's in her room now, listening to the words of her cousin as she confides in her (staying with them because of her parent ongoing divorce.)

unfortunate as it may be, it's a story she's heard before. it's been done countless times and is just eo overused. it provides no novelty and no inspiration. it is of no interest to the young writer as it does nothing to support her pursuit for a good story. that won't come from her aunt and uncles divorce.

suguru's back home, greeting his mother on his way in. he's been invited to dinner with your family tonight; although.. he was not a part of it, only the son of your family's housekeeper. he was raised like he wasn't one — grew up being treated kindly and raised along side you and your siblings. suguru felt at home in your home. he felt at home in the company of your family, he felt at home in the company of you.

he decides he'll write you a letter of apology to give you before dinner. to clear the air and avoid any unnecessary awkwardness or tension at the table. you're both adults, good friends, it was a small conflict (though he could hardly even call it that).

you will work this out.

he sits at his little desk, sliding a piece of paper into his typewriter and takes a deep breath before he starts. the clicks of his fingers on the keys fill his ears.

suguru has got just about a million crumpled copies of failed apology letters thrown aside when the frustration finally settles in.

it's become an unreasonably difficult task to write you, his oldest and closest friend, a letter. it's truly ridiculous.

the image of you, with your undergarments soaked through, hair wet and skin glistening. your eyes were wide; somehow, you were glowing in the light of the sun and yet shivering like a leaf. he can still see it. feel it.

a moment that had felt infinitely longer than it was. a moment that could stretch for an infinite more moments without any complaints from him.

the deep rise and fall of your chest, the pink hue that had taken over your face, the water droplets dragging down your skin — below your clothing — and back in his line of sight again.

how teasing. never could he have imagined feeling jealousy towards a droplet of water.

suguru managed to have picked up on all of this while maintaining kinda the contact of your gazes. for as long as he could; up until you made the first move to break it.

a heavy sigh leaves his lungs. it's quite hard to feel apologetic when such thoughts busy his mind. there is a tightness in his chest. and one in his pants too.

suguru faces his type write once again. his intentions this time, far less innocent than an apology to a dear friend. it's only between him and his typewriter, a rather private affair, but it's intense. his adams apple bobs in his throat when he sallows. he begins.

pressing the keys slower now, with much more force. as if a punishment. punctuating each letter printed on the paper.

it's short and it's concise, but it's descriptive and honest. he's so focused, like he's been tasked with writing the word of god from memory.

suguru laughs to himself a little when it's done. its more of a short pleased hum of satisfaction. relief. signing his name at the bottom to complet it. sighing as he hovers his fingers over the still drying ink.

he feels ready for that apology letter now.

with the folded and sealed letter in hand, suguru's steps feel lighter and that weight on his shoulders lifted. a giddiness of sorts creeps up his throat; anticipation.

a little away, he spots your younger sister and calls out to her. he hands her the letter with instructions to deliver it straight to you. the girl gives him a quipped nod in affirmation and runs off quickly. the letter held in her hands like it hold all the secrets of the world.

it's only a moment later that the lightness in his earlier steps becomes a haunting, sinking feeling in his chest. a cold sweat quick to pool over his tan skin., and the worst taste he has ever had the displeasure to taste claws its way up his throat and finally erupts in his mouth.

as loud as he possibly can, he yells. calling out to her. for her to stop, to get that letter out of her hands.

the girl was running fast, as fast as she could. overtaken by curiosity and interest, finally she has something she could work with. what did suguru feel he needed to write you instead of telling you himself at dinner later tonight?

she runs and runs and doesn't stop until she reaches her sanctuary, the door of her room slammed shut behind her. opening the letter with careful greedy hands, she's sitting on the edge of her bed as she reads through it.

the contents of the letter, the words written, hitting her face. the feeling somewhat similar to having your face splashed with cold water in an effort to wake you up. it's also awakening, enlightening if you.

my dear y/n,

in my dreams, i kiss your cunt.

your sweet, wet cunt. in my thoughts,

i make love to you.

all day long.

suguru.

she reads it once, then she reads it twice, and then she folds it back the way it was using the deep red wax stamp to seal it once again. composing her self quick. between this and the fountain incident she had witnessed, she feels older now. also a new sense of responsibility fills her. a responsibility to protect you, her beloved older sister, from the threat that had never been anticipated; suguru.

there's a knock at her door that snaps her out of it, her cousin. the other poor girl, comes in hardly containing her tears. she tells her about her two younger twin brothers have been so incredibly horrible to her, not understanding that it wasn't her fault they were staying with your family but the ongoing divorce of her parents.

the young girl does her best to try and console the other. in an effort to do just that, to distract her and taker her mind off it (as well as the fact that the young writer felt the need for a second opinion, this was so far out of her realm after all), she tells her about the letter. the two girls read it together.

the cousin is quick to believe that suguru is manic, her own diagnosis for him. the new friends split a short while later, each to get herself ready for the dinner tonight.

on her way, the girl remembers to seal the letter perfectly, and hand it to you. you deserve to know the truth about your so called 'friend'.

the dinner table is a rather uncomfortable place to be at the moment. the air is suffocating from the heat of summer and the awkward tense weight dampening the atmosphere.

short, quipped, forced conversation with long stretches of silence. you are sitting at the edge of your seat, sweating bullets now as your eyes try to avoid suguru's however you can. he appears calmer than you're sure you do, but he obviously is not at ease either. the weight of your earlier encounter still heavy, still new.

your hands meet beneath the table. tracing along each others fingers and the lines in his palms.

the young writer is doing her best to act natural, shooting suguru piercing glares from where her head is lowered to face her plate. she knows.

your younger cousin tries engaging in conversation with your fathers friend, hiromi. your mother, her aunt, is quick to call the girl on her actions. "wipe off the lipstick dear, you are far too young for that." there's an underlying meaning, a reminder to her that she is just a girl. a child.

there's tense banter, back and forths and the

you strangely feel like an outsider at the table. in your own home you are an onlooker. removed from the innermost circle of your family.

the dinner, it's a transition of sorts. a shift. one filled with unease and an impending feeling of crisis on the rise.

when suguru first arrives for dinner, dressed in a well pressed tuxedo and his hair tied neatly at the base of his neck with a few pieces framing his face. you're the one to answer the door. his eyes find yours before they unwillfuly drag down your form. it's only a quick glance, it doesn't last long. clearing his throat and his eyes are back to looking straight into yours.

"it was a mistake."

your response is quick, there's more he wants to say, you know that. "she read it."

though in part it could be expected, still its not a pleasant thing to hear or have to realize is the truth. "i'm so sorry. it was.. the wrong version."

mhm, "yes.", you've gathered that much, but regardless, that hardly changes the situation.

"it was never meant to be read. by anyone."

"no." of course it wasn't.

you weren't giving him anymore than one word yes or no answers. there is no room for conversation, in fact this interaction was hardly a conversation at all.

not granting him another word from your lips, you turn away and venture into the house — leading the two of you into the library. it's a dark room, illuminated only by the little light in the desk your flicked on upon arrival. leaning your hands on the desk as you turn to face him.

"what was written in the version that was meant to be read?"

he feels nervous, scared in this moment; he's walking on eggshells, his words measured and careful. "well i don't know it was.." he glances up at you "more formal. than that."

"less anatomical?"

he can't contain the short laugh that leaves him, it's rather silly in a way. pushing it down and clearing his throat, "yes"

the ticking of a clock in the background, a steady, constant sound. you can't decide if it's one you find comforting, filling the quiet moments, encouraging you. or whether it felt like a threat, counting down the limited moments you have before some horrible inevitably happens.

you look rather apprehensive now, next words coming out vulnerable and honest.

"i've never done anything like that before. i was so angry with you and with myself. i thought that if you'd went away then, i'd be happy. i don't know how to believe i could be so ignorant about myself,"

your steps pause and you turn towards suguru once more, "so stupid." your eyes sting. they burn. wet and ready to spill out over the confines of your eyelids.

he searches your face, eyes darting over it, not missing a single part. tentatively taking steps towards you as you take steps back. he isn't closing the space between you, only trying to keep it the same as it's been.

"you do know what i'm talking about. you knew even before i did."

realization can be such an interesting experience emotionally.

his expression now mirrors your own, eyes burning with wetness from what he feels in this moment, "why are you crying?"

"well.. don't you know?"

in two steps, the space between you no longer only maintained, it is closed, "yes, i know exactly."

you're pressed to the book-lined shelves of the library wall, and a kiss is to your lips. your first.

its urgent and eager, but it only last a second before he's pulling away; only a little, just enough to be able to look you in the eyes. and he waits.

your movement hesitant at first, pretty eyes fitting between his eyes and lips until the second kiss finally lands. it's slower, sweeter, kinder; though it remains just as eager as the first.

arms wrapping around his neck, bringing him further into you. suguru's hands are pulling the delicate straps of your dress down, holding them in his hands as he holds you. feeling you.

the kisses move from you lips to your cheek to your jaw. he moves down to kiss your neck and nip at your collar bone before he decides he misses your lips against his.

you bring your leg up to rest at one of the steps on the libraries ladder, opening yourself up further to him. his hands glide over your skin, making there way to the target destination.

gentle firm hands guide you. steady you.

you've never been this close to somebody before, it's exhilarating. and embarrassing. his touch on your skin so warm, gentle yet firm. it feels so good. you're lost in one another; in each others touch, each others breath, each others skin, you equally belong to each other now. you think you might always have.

"y/n"

"suguru"

"i love you" and all you could only return the sentiment to him tenfold. "i love you"

"y/n.." the voice is small, broken. and it neither yours nor sugurus. your younger sister. you pull away from each other, disentangling your limbs, left on the edge of what could've been. what should've been.

you leave the room without a word or glance in the young girl's direction. suguru follows shortly once he's tired his appearance. running through his disheveled hair in an attempt to smoothen the inky locks and brush out any knots. he ties it at the base of his neck once again, and fixes up suit.

on his way out of the library room, there's a pause. like he wants to say something, clarify, but ultimately he decides against it. leaving the room without a word to the distraught girl, who in the rooms now emptiness try's to calm herself and process what she had witnessed.

how could.. . someone do such a cruel thing to another person?

the twins, your cousins had left the dinner table earlier. gone out to play they said. your sister finds a note on one of their chairs declaring that they've run away because their older sister had been mean to them. you, your younger sister, suguru, and your fathers friend hiromi, had set out to look for the two boys.

their older sister had made a rather dramatic exit at the table when the letter was read aloud.

your mother sits alone at the front step of the house refusing to call the police because she would have to hold conversation with the constables wife whom she found to be incredibly tiresome company. she instead thinks of how your father will be calling soon, saying he'll have to stay in the city a little longer to finish work. a lie so poorly concealed it's insulting. nothing significant will happen until my death. it's a sad bleak reality the woman had long fought but accepted for herself.

you return shortly after, along with your younger sister and cousin arriving with you. the twin boys not yet found.

during the search for the twins, each person heads on differing direction.

your younger sister first makes her way to the pool, looking for the boys there. in her head she imagines the vivid image of them drowning and tries to express it in words. the young girl is also thinking about how she, for the first time in her life, has gotten to meet a real villain, and gotten to save someone who she cares for when in danger.

she decides to head to the island temple next to see if the twins had gone there. although she was frightened by the dark, she was no longer a child, and as such had a responsibility to go forth. it was more an action to prove to herself he'd truly become a grown up rather than just a child.

as she approaches, she she's a rather large figure she can't recognize, it begins moving when she casts her flashlight on it and breaks apart.

it had been two people?

the larger of the pieces had run off, a smaller figure left in the grass. trembling and teary and disoriented, a little voice she recognizes calls her name, it was her cousin.

the larger figure gets away from the scene quickly and your sister, rather than consoling the other girl, asks if her cousin could identify her attacker. quickly she follows up with the question, "was it suguru?"

it sounds more like a statement than. question. the write has a narrative in her head, written out so clearly she could never feel mistaken. the story in her mind of what she had seen needed no evidence.

the cousin, the poor girl, still firghtened and shattered doesn't confirm the suspicions, only saying that she didn't get to see who the attacker was as he had covered her eyes during the assault. she didn't know who it could've been, eventually though, she gave up on her attempts to explain. maybe she was right, after all if anyone might've seen him it would be her.

after returning to the house, the still frazzled girl is taken upstairs to her room to rest. meanwhile, your sister, a narrator who has the whole case figured out is the first to speak to the constable and investigators. with full confidence, she says the attacker had been suguru.

"are you sure about what you saw. did you see this with you mr own eyes" the man would ask again.

"yes."

"then tell me, what did you see"

"i saw suguru attacking her. he attacked my sister before. i saw it. i know what i saw. it was suguru im sure."

suguru on the other hand, is still yet to return. him, nanami, and the twins who have yet to be found.

when hiromi does return a short time later, you brief him on the situation, letting him now what had happened.

during the investigation with the officers, your sister remembers another piece of evidence she could present to them. the letter. surely it would be enough to prove that suguru would be capable of doing such a thing.

the house is a mess, there are police everywhere, investigators still conducting interviews, the twins and suguru are still missing, and everyone is convinced now that not only did he attack your cousin but you as well.

a ridiculous tale born from a childs immaturity and wild imagination, though there is no proof of that.

hours later, suguru returns with the twin boys safely in tow. his blazer removed and thrown over his arm, he's holding one of them by hand and carrying another on his shoulders. obviously m, he's glad he got to find the two boys safe and return them home, so he's rather confused when he sees the expression you make upon seeing him.

it's not at all what he'd have expected, from you or everyone else present.

glares and dirty looks are shot his way, when the boys realized the house was in sight, they let go of him and ran into it to try and avoid getting into any trouble for running away.

your mother sends your sister up to her room, asking that she follows the twins and ensures they make it to their room and she goes to hers after.

it's upsetting, she feels worry that her claims would be dismissed with the saviour act he'd put on. it would absolutely ruin her goals to make herself appear less child like. she wasn't a child, she had proved that much. she was thirteen.

when she gets to her room, she watches the window only to be met with the image of suguru being handcuffed by the police investigators. she can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, he'll be taken away, you'll be safe. he'll be punished. the sparks she needs to write her story have been ignited.

truly, a god amongst the people.

she sees you approaching him, speaking to him. the girl believes you're chastising him for his actions, for the assaults. from where she's looking down at the scene, she can't truly see either of your faces and she can't hear the conversation so when you take his hands in your own it confuses her.

nonetheless, the manic man will be taken away. in the end of it all, she has won.

"suguru, i'll wait for you. come back. come back to me."

you sound exasperated, god does he feel that too, but that is a promise he cannot make to you right now.

he can't do anything right now. no more talks of studying to become a doctor, no conversation with you about well, you. it was all on hold for a possibly indefinite amount of time.

your argument by the fountain, your silly banter and teasing remarks,

his whole life, stolen from him in a single night.

three and a half years later, suguru is on the front lines; a soldier stationed in france. his beautiful long hair has been chopped off and shaved so close to his scalp. he's lost weight and his bright mauve eyes turned sunken and gloomy. in passing, he's thought about whether they would still be capable of having wordless conversation with your own.

suguru is navigating the french country side, with two other solders (they've been separated from the rest of the unit earlier when the retreat in dunkirk began. it is where they're headed now). and though the two men outrank him, he has experience navigating in the country side while they do not, so he find himself leading the small group over to the coast.

the three men end up seeking shelter in an abandoned barn for the night before they're back continuing there journey the next morning.

it's not all the letters you've sent him, back when he was in prison and now, that would be too many for him to carry comfortably; but he has a small stack hidden in his uniform. right above his heart is where he keeps them. there's a little bloody injury in his chest, shrapnel, next to the space for his stack of letters.

that night, he thinks back to his days in a cell, the last words you said to him before he'd been dragged away. visitors weren't allowed, so he hadn't gotten to see you again until he joined the military.

suguru remembers the last time he seen you so well, memories of an ancient yesterday still so clear in his mind; memeories that can now only ever me memories. he'd been offered a reduced sentence, to be let free early if he joined the army. you'd began working as a nurse and cut off all ties with your family for their hand in his false conviction.

they should have known him. the did know him, or so he believed. to think of himself as your family and to feel at home there was a naive and all overly optimistic way of thinking.

at the cafe, it was then the last time he'd seen you. stuck working a job you were far too overqualified for because of him. it was a nervous exchange, uncertain and uneasy.

he felt a guilt seeing you there, waiting for him though he may never return again. he needed to tell you that.

"you don't owe me anything."

you don't need to leave your family. you don't need to leave your future. you have so much ahead of you.

this is his burden to bare and he refuses to share it with you. of course you're far to stubborn to allow for that. when ever have you failed to challenge him?

"have you not been reading my letters?", all he can do is stare, "suguru. if they allowed me to, if i was allowed to i would have visited you, everyday. i would have been there everyday without fail."

it hurts to says the words, coals burning in his chest and the fumes burning his throat on their way out, leaving a nasty taste in their wake.

"yes. yes i know, but y/n if all it is we have going for us, is a few mere moments in a library three and half years ago, then i don't think-"

the words make it seem small. they make the moment seem insignificant and it is in reality, to him, anything but. perhaps that's the truth, there is no justification for holding onto something so dearly. for making such a small moment bigger than you both. hoping that that momentary connection will save you both from the nightmare you've found yourselves living.

your hand comes up to cup his face, it's so gentle, there are little callouses on your fingertips now, still he relishes in the feeling of its coolness on his skin. "suguru, come back . come back to me."

oh, the look he gives you. his eyes look so sad, you can feel it; hopelessness. he's trapped.

he walked you to the bus stop after, you had another shift at the hospital coming up soon. you boarded the bus after you shared your last kiss. he's ran after the bus until he could no longer, and your eyes focused on him as you disappeared into the horizon until you lost sight of him.

the war had broken out soon after and he'd been drafted, you promised to keep writing him, to wait for him.

the horrors of war had taken their toll on suguru. he's chest injury from the shrapnel aches, there are blisters forming on his feet from the walking, he's thirsty and he's hungry and he's dirty and he could have it so much worse.

when things get especially difficult, he returns to your promise. he returns to the morning by the fountain. he returns to you. suguru takes out a post card you gave him — back at the bus stop, from the stack he keeps; a picture of a white house with a blue roof by the ocean. it was so beautiful. it was a future with you.

"come back to me" he'll make sure of it.

as suguru and the two corporals he is temporarily leading make their way to dunkirk. the devastation of the war so clear around them. the ruins of towns and villages, bodies scattered around, the smell of blood, rotting flesh, and gunpowder is inescapable; a reminder of the looming threat to their survival. images of people being blown to pieces make themselves familiar in suguru's mind, it no longer fazed him; it's a familiar sight. though it's one that's consuming him.

how is it things came to this?

six years ago, three years from the incident, suguru recalls a moment that had been nearly forgotten by him.

she was ten at the time, he'd went out with her to the river for a swimming lesson. he was tasked with teaching her how to swim. the lesson had gone well, she did learn fast. truly a bright child.

when the lesson was over, suguru now dried off with a towel over his shoulders to dry his hair, she asked him a question. "if i feel into the river, would you save me?" she asked. it was strange but he hadn't thought much about it, "of course." besides that the girl wanted to be a writer, maybe it was a line she was testing to see how it would land.

but then he heard a splash. she had jumped in. suguru didn't really have a choice but to save her. now he's dripping wet again, scolding her about being so reckless. it was not have been the reaction she had expected at all.

suguru being angry enough to scold her? she only wanted to see if he was telling the truth about saving her.

the girl explained that she jumped in to see if he would save her because she loved him. suguru didn't conceal the way his eyes had rolled at that, because however annoying that moment may have been, it was entirely insignificant.

maybe that's why. maybe it was jealousy?

at long last, suguru and the two men that have grown to be people he considered friends, find their way to the shore. they have reached dunkirk.

it's loud, crowded, and chaotic. a few fights had broken out between the men, blaming someone for something or the other had caused death. it's a scary thought but, even when suguru returns to you, he won't be a free man. he's completed his sentence for the crime he did not commit, he fought in the war to atone for something he never did and to gain his freedom, but in that suguru had truly become a guilty man. he's committed murder. more than he has the heart to count.

he tried to in the beginning, to in some cruel way try to honour the lives he took, but it got out of hand. the numbers too big and growing too fast. is it possible for a man to leave the battlefield with a clear conscious?

that night, suguru and his two mates found an old abandoned house by the shore to rest for the night. there were other soldiers already there but the found themselves a spot.

exhaustion is quite a funny thing because you don't feel it in its full until you rest. his bones are heavy and his muscles ache from the strain. the little wound in his chest from the shrapnel is taking longer to heal than previously expected, but to complain or worry about a such a small gash in a space with others who have lost limbs doesn't feel right. to take up a space for care or use up supplies would be wrong.

despite everything, suguru has it good.

before he falls asleep, suguru thinks outloud about staying in france. maybe he could find a way to save more than he's hurt.

one of his friends reminds him there are boats on their way to take them back to london. he asks that they wake him up when the boats get here, his hand clutched over his chest where he keeps the stack of your letters and the post card of the house by the ocean.

you're waiting for him, and against all the odds, he will come back to you.

back in london, your younger sister, is now working as a nurse in training at a hospital. not the life she'd imagined of going to study at cambridge like you had, but it's keeping her occupied.

she still writes. she writes letters to you ( there's never a response but she never stops), she writes to your mother but is keeping her distance, she writes short stories she submits to local newspapers in hopes of getting published (nothing so far). she writes mostly in her journal now. the click click of her typewriter set aside.

there is an aid of dread and despair. it came after news of the english retreat. the girl had also received a letter from her father informing her of the marriage of her childhood friend and cousin's marriage to nanami. they are to be wed the following week.

the news she receives in her fathers letter brings to the surface her years old guilt. she's known for a while after the incident that summer that she in fact did not know what she saw.

the knowledge she carried with her for sometime now: the attacker that night had not been suguru, it had been hiromi.

she couldn't free herself from the guilt. no matter how much of her life she has given up, no matter how good of a nurse she is, she could never make up for what she had done.

on her walk to the hospital, she sees people. friends, family, couples, engaging in mindless chatter. what ever could be so interesting? they're lives seem so lovely, so carefree. what would that be like she wonders. would she ever get to experience it?

her and a friend she made working at the hospital meet up on their way to work. an ambulance approaches the hospital, the two young women rush towards it wanting to help in anyway they can.

as she's cleaning and dressing the leg of one of the injured, she takes in how many injured men have arrived this morning alone. could suguru be among them? could he forgive her if she cared for him the way she did for this soilder now. would he free her if the torment she subjects herself to if she healed him?

after the rush in the hospital that morning, she learns her short story had been published and received lots of praise for it: a retelling of the moment at the fountain, starring you and suguru and herself as a child.

a week later, she takes the morning off to make her way to the church where her cousin is to marry hiromi. she takes a seat in the back row, watching the two read their vows. when the vicar asks the small crowd if there were any objections to the union, though merely a formality. she considers objecting, halting the wedding, and naming hiromi as the attacker that summer three and a half years ago.

who would believe her now?

she goes to visit your flat later. she's been trying to get a hold of you, but it's been difficult. you're difficult to track and incredibly talented at avoiding unwanted company. to her suprise, when she gets there, you let her in.

it's a small place, not in the best condition either, but she's glad you have somewhere to return to. you talk, she tells you about the wedding she had just attended, and you talk about clearing suguru's name. in the middle of your conversation the afore mentioned man comes out of the bedroom.

it's a mixture of shock and relief. the idea that he may have died in france now seeming ridiculous, it would be so unlike him.

suguru turns furious at the sight of her. overcome with the emotions he's gathered from his time in prison and in the war. yelling that she leaves, that she'd ruined not only his own life, but yours as well. she tells him she wants to make things right, to clear his name.

"i want to help. let me help. ive realized the horrible mistake ive made. i was a child, and i i didnt understand. it wasn't you. i know that now."

oh how ridiculous she still sounds. there is damage that cannot be undone through apologies or recognition that the damage exists. it feels cruel and stupid of her to be here to begin with.

suguru, come back. come back to me

soothing him. you hold his face in your hands, keeping him from looking at her. "look at me. suguru look at me. come back to me."

the three of you discuss what you want her to do. first of all, she'll go to your parents and tell them the whole truth of the situation and what she had done. next, she'll withdraw her initial testimony against suguru.

on her way out, she apologizes to you a final time, and secretly hopes you'll let her see you again.

she can see the two of you from where she stands through the window of your flat. holding each other close. embracing one another with so much love no matter your circumstance. it's so beautiful.

if for nothing else, than she is glad that she at least was unable to hurt the love you and suguru felt for one another. it's been left unmarred by her and the war. safe from all the destruction that surrounds you both.

"three.. . two.. . one... .we're live again!"

the year is 1999. the war has long been over, the world has moved on. the young girl, now an old woman, has gone on to become a renowned novelist. with ths release of her twenty first novel on her seventy seventh birthday.

"ms s/n l/n, welcome again. we wanna talk now about your new novel, atonement. a story of star crossed lovers and love that persists beyond all odds. it's set to come out on your birthday, only a few days from now. it is your twenty first novel and-"

"it's my last novel. i won't be able to write for much longer. not that i am retiring, i never really considered this a job. it's just all i know how to do.

i'm. i'm dying.

i am told, by my doctor that is, that i have vascular dementia. my understanding of it, is that my brain will slowly begin shut itself off and eventually i will die of it.

i think that's why i could finally get myself to complete the novel. it would be my last and i felt i had to get it out and into the world.

it's strange,

umm, this novel is my last. also this novel was my first. my first ever novel.

i've been writing it, countless drafts and copies, since i worked at the hospital during the great war.

i could never quite find the right words for it."

"so then this novel is autobiographical. was that perhaps the problem that you found in writing it?"

"yes, it is entirely autobiographical.

i had made the decision to tell no lies, only the complete truth. no play on words or use of any rhymes. i got first hand accounts for all the events i hadn't witnessed and wrote the content of the story exactly as it had happened.

but... i found no worthiness in it. "

"no worthiness in the truth..?"

"yes. no worthiness in the truth.

because the truth is, that i never went to visit my sister. in truth, i was too much a coward to do that. to face her, and suguru. that was all imagined, it never truly happened.

it never could have happened.

suguru geto, had died of septicaemia, blood poisoning, on the beaches of dunkirk on the last morning of the evacuation. from what i was told, the cause was a small untreated wound from a piece of shrapnel that had pierced his chest. he never did see her again.

they never had their reunion.

my older sister y/n, well, i was never able to set things right between us. in part due to my own cowardice and in part because she died in a bombing at balham underground station during the blitz. i.. the last i saw of her was in my attempts to visit her where she worked at another hospital, she would always brush past me when she did see me. wouldn't even yell or scold me like i was used to as a child.

and so.. . my dear sister and suguru had never gotten the thing they longed for and deserved more than anyone i know. they never got time together, or a life together.

something that i felt i had prevented.

you see, i understand why people read. i understand why people write; likely, i understand better than most.

and as i wrote and read the drafts of the novel that told the truth of this story, i thought to myself, what hope.. what gratification or fulfilment or satisfaction can be given to a reader with an ending like that?

hopeless? pain? suffering? that is not why we read.

so in the book, i wanted to give suguru and y/n what they had lost out on in life, all the things they could never have.

i don't like see it as evasive or cowardly but rather as kind.

i gave them their happiness.

i let them love one another.

i gave them a life in that house by the ocean. one filled with laughs and love and sincerity. it's all that they wanted. it's all they deserve.

its all that i.. took away.

soon i will die, and all the characters in the novel, who are real people who still live will too. we will only exist in those pages and in those lines.

all that will exist of y/n and suguru is the story i have written.

all that will be exist for them too"

"the title of the book, 'atonement', it's referring to yourself. correct? your own atonement."

"yes."

"have you atoned ms. l/n?"

"hmm" it's a small sound. unexpectedly, it's rather pleasant too. the woman's eyes softened age from the sharp ones she had as a child, though they remain just as piercing.

"it's difficult for me to say. one cannot decide for themselves if they have atoned can they? and the only two people who could say, well, they're gone.

maybe that makes this easier."

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chimcess · 9 months ago

Text

Time After Time || jhs (Teaser)

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

“What’s happening to you?” He sobbed.

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

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

“I-”

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

At least I got to say it.

Coming September 2024...

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

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margotw10bis · 1 year ago

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Crashing On Crush.JJK 6 [m]

crush!Jungkook x reader / Hoseok x reader

Genre: smut; series; romance; angst

Words: 5.1k

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

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

previous ← 6 → next

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

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

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

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

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

"You're no fun, Noona"

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

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

"I love you too, Noona"

————

"Please, Kookie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next to you, a woman appears.

"A diet Coke, please!"

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

You just stare at her, speechless.

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

"Yeah" You answer with a white voice

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

"You said no alcohol" He talks in her ear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's going on?"

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

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

————

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

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

"Do what?"

"Say you're my girlfriend"

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

"We did. Don't do it anymore"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is everyone crazy in Seoul?" Mina jokes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N, I'm so sorry"

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

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

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

"Listen to me, Mina is not-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Hobi, let's leave"

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

Hoseok simply nods and leads you to his car.

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

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

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

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

"Thank you for helping me" You say

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I, uhm, yes, kinda"

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

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

"She passed away two years ago"

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

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

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

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

"I'm so sorry, Hobi"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh fuck!" You moan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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