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hoseoksluna · 8 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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kusakiguzen · 4 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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minix55 · 11 months 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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ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 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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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 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 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.”

1K notes · View notes

chimcess · 7 months ago

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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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Taglist @hoseokteardrop @aerynorirene @jkoooooooookie @lacolegaming @busanbby-jjk @mysteriousstress65 @coralmusicblaze

Tell me if you want to be added to the taglist

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versegallery · 3 days ago

Note

iconzinhos do meu lindo yoongi(bts)??😔🙌🏼

faço sim fofis 🧜🏻‍♀️💕💕

☆ ⌇ yoongi icons

⌗ like ou reblogue se usar | créditos não são obrigatórios | psd por @colour-source

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atinystraynstay · 1 year ago

Text

Steal The Show - Jung Hoseok

Synopsis: He was amazed by her. He knew how hard she'd worked for this moment, so being able to see her do her thing made him feel complete. She outshined the sun.

There was just one thing left he had to do.

Pairing: idol! Jung Hoseok x idol! fem reader

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2.8k

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"J-hope! J-hope! J-hope!" The sound of cheers made Hoseok's heart shake with excitement. If there's any place he loved the most, it was being on stage.

Hoseok was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, an olive green tee-shirt, a black hoodie, and a black and white bomber jacket. Tonight, he was performing on the street (with J. Cole) for the first time. He was excited to showcase this stage for not just for Army, but for everyone. Especially for you.

You initially met Hoseok when you both were at an all-intensive dance class in New York City. He was shooting a music video, and you were attending university for dance. He was impressed with your dancing abilities, stepping back to watch just you when it wasn't his turn to dance. You moved as if you were made out of water, very fluid yet so in control of your body. He was amazed.

At the end of the lesson, Hoseok asked if you wanted to grab lunch. To be honest, you didn't really hear of BTS before meeting Hoseok. You figured he was your average guy from Queens who loved to dance. However, watching the dance practice videos he showed you at the cafe next door, you were amazed.

You didn't think the K-pop industry was for you though. You originally were trying to make it on Broadway, that's why you decided to attend school in the city. You wanted to network and make connections, wanted to go to auditions when you had free time. The politics involved in the Western music industry turned you off completely.

When JYP announced they were doing auditions across America, you decided to take the jump. It also helped that Hoseok pushed you to just try out.

"I'm not saying I want you to become an idol. I'm not saying I want you to move here to Korea. Even though I'd love living in the same part of the world as you," he said over FaceTime, laughing. "But it doesn't hurt to audition! Worse case, the audition is good experience for the next one you do."

He was right there. You just needed to put yourself out there. You've only done a few casting calls for ensembles, but you wanted a challenge. You wanted to attempt to go for a lead. And to an extent, auditioning for a music company was a challenge. It was out of your wheelhouse, but Hoseok reassured you that the k-pop industry drew people from all over the world from all sorts of backgrounds.

And somehow, you made it past the first audition. You sang "Fast Car" to showcase your singing abilities, even though you come from a dancing background. You were then asked to freestyle a dance, which honestly was the easiest part of the audition. It probably was easy considering you and Hoseok often freestyled with each other over FaceTime when you were in your own respective dance studios.

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"Hoseok?"

He looked over his shoulder, a smile immediately on his face. He knew that voice anywhere.

"Y/n." You were wearing a light blue dress. There was a cutout in the shape of a heart surrounded by silver rhinestones. hugged around your thighs, showing off the white fishnet stocks. You wore a matching pair of white block-heeled boots that stopped short of reaching your knee. Your hair was down in curls, framing your face. You looked divine.

Before he knew it, you walked right up to him and hugged him tightly. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. He got a smell of your perfume, something that he's grown very fondly over. It smelled like cherries and vanilla. A scent he favored resonated with you.

"I've been looking for you all over," you giggled. His heart swelled at the thought of you searching for him.

"Well know you've found me," he winked. "You ready to go kill it out there?" "And know that you're watching me? Of course."

Hoseok wasn't sure what the line-up was. He only knew that he was geared towards the end of the showcase. He always loved watching what other artists and groups came up with, sometimes making their usual performances extra special. Hoseok also liked being the one to watch smaller acts, giving them a source of encouragement as they were just at the start of their careers.

He also strategically placed himself here, right at the side of the stage, so he could watch you. Not only did he want to watch you perform, but he wanted to be the first and last person you saw before and after being on stage. He wanted to cement himself as your biggest supporter, in more ways than one. "Y/n, five minutes. Let's get you into position," one of the backstage crew announced.

That's how it always goes when it comes to performances like this. It was hectic all over. People were running around, making sure the appropriate stages were in place and artists were ready to go. It was one after the other, no real break until the last performance.

You looked up at him, a slight frown tugging onto your lips. You were hoping to have more time to catch up with Hoseok before taking to the stage.

"Promise to be here when I get back?" "Angel, I'm not going anywhere."

This time, he kissed you on your cheek before moving his lips to your ear. He could feel the eyes on him, not wanting to tell him to hurry up but also getting a bit antsy. Hoseok was a gentleman, so he could be quick.

"I'm always going to be here. Go rock that stage so you can return back to me."

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I feel so much lighter like a feather with you out my life With you out my life

The crowd screamed as you were twirled around the stage. If anyone was born to be on stage, it was you. You were smiling wide during the instrumental part of your song, your backup singers the harmonies.

You were done by the stage extender, interacting with your fans. Truth be told, you were surprised people were that responsive to you. You felt like you were at the start of your career, still trying to build a name for yourself. Of course, you took nothing for granted.

Hoseok wasn't surprised. He has seen your rise to fame happen both in person and online. People were captivated by you, but he wanted to make sure you knew he was front of the line.

Right now, you were performing a song you had written to your ex-boyfriend. Hoseok remembered that night so vividly. He had never seen anyone write a song that quickly besides Yoongi. You used all your anger to channel into this particular song. Your ex doubted that you could make it, he didn't see your potential.

But Hoseok did. He knew you were a shining star. You just needed the right support system to boost your confidence and help you pursue you dreams.

And you were blessed to have someone like Hoseok in your life. Not even someone, a man like Hoseok. He made it easy for you to forget your ex boyfriend. He was the one who reassured you, uplifted you, and showed you love. You weren't sure if there was a chance of you two getting together, but you were a wishful thinker.

it feels so good not carin' where you are tonight And it feels so good not pretending to like the wine you like

Your hips were swaying as you strutted back up to the main part of the stage. The crowd went wild for you as you ran your hands through your hair, letting it fall back down to your back.

Once you were center stage, you glanced over your shoulder. You grinned to see Hoseok still to the side of the stage, watching you. You winked at him before looking towards the crowd again.

I slam the door

You kicked up your foot as you were closing the door. You wore a smirk. Here goes nothing. I hit ignore

With your back towards Hoseok, you bent over slightly. The amount of times you ignored texts and calls from your ex were too high too count. You knew one thing for sure though. You would always pickup for Hoseok.

Hoseok's eyes widened as he watched you. That's new. Was that intended for him? Were you responding to what he said to you before you were whisked away to get on stage? He bit his lip gently, a smirk on his lips. He was proud of how far you've come, both in your personal life and professional career. But he couldn't help but feel his ego swore as he thought you were showing off for him.

Well played, y/n.

I'm saying, no, no, no, no more I got you blocked Excited to never talk

You were standing up straight again. You popped your hip slightly. The hand not holding your bedazzled microphone also resting on your hip. You wore a smirk.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

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The stage lights went dark as you bowed to the crowd. There was a loud roar of cheers, fans begging you to stay. You blew a kiss though before you were escorted off stage. Your mind was in the clouds, overjoyed by the outcome of your performance. That couldn't have gone any better!

There was just one thing left to do to truly make this a night to remember. Someone handed you a water bottle as your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart racing from the performance and adrenaline rush you were experiencing. You grabbed the water, but kept your eyes locked forward.

From the moment you left the stage, your eyes were locked on Hoseok. You didn't have to go searching for him. He stayed as he promised. He wore a wide smirk as he waited for you, members backstage of the production and your manager checking in with you. "Y/n, we can either stay to watch the rest of the show or head back to the hotel." "I'm staying."

Once you finally were away from the staircase leading to the stage, the crowd around you began to disperse slightly. You passed the water bottle in your hand to your manage before you took off running towards Hoseok.

You weren't thinking straight. All you knew was that you needed to get to him. It was as if something had possessed you because before you knew it, you were jumping into his arms. He caught you easily, the two of you in a fit of laughter. "That was amazing, y/n! You are amazing," he said, grinning. You grinned back at him. Your hands rested on his shoulder as he twirled you around a bit. Everyone around you figured you had a close friendship. A very close one, indeed. But after the exchanges between the two of you, that was going to take a step up. You were sure of it, but just not in the eyes of public.

"Come on, I think we got some talking to do, sweetheart. I got a little bit before going on stage."

Hoseok gently set you back down to your two feet, but had a hand securely on your lower back. People eyed the two of you as you passed by. Artists that you admired, friends, and others congratulated you on a successful stage. All you could do was smile and bow politely, both out of breath but also trying not to stop too long for a conversation. You weren't trying to be rude. You just had other priorities.

His thumb caressed your lower back. You didn't have to question where you were going. You always put all your trust into Hoseok. He has prove time and time again his loyalty and his sincerity towards you. He was a rare find in a world that tended to be more cruel than kind.

After a few moments, mainly with you focusing on the feeling of his touch, you found yourself out of his dressing room. He pushed it open, motioning for you walk through the threshold first.

"Always the gentleman, aren't you, Hobi?"

He chuckled and shrugged, watching as you walked in first. Once he made sure you were safely in the room, he closed the door behind him. He locked in, not wanting to get interrupted again like before.

This time, he let his heart take over rather than his mind. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You giggled in surprised, letting out a soft gasp as he lifted you up with ease. Wow, he's gotten stronger since the last time you saw him.

Carefully, he had you sit on the counter of the makeup vanity set up. His makeup team from the company already had done the makeup they needed to do earlier. They opt for a more natural look, seeing as this song was personal for Hoseok. And much to your happiness, you got his bare face all to yourself.

Your legs were slightly parted, allowing Hoseok to slip in between them. Biting your lip gently, you gazed up into his eyes. You were trying to cipher what could be going on in his mind. You were getting all the right signals from him to confirm your assumptions, but you wanted to make sure you weren't jumping to conclusions. One of your hands gripped the edge of the counter, the other hand resting on his forearm.

"Y/n, I think I'm done playing games," he murmured. One of his hands rested by yours. Not exactly touching, but your want to feel his skin on yours burned within you. His other hand lifted up to brush the hair out of your face. He tucked a few strands of your hair behind your ear. His hand then gently rested on your cheek.

The confidence you had on stage melted away. You could feel your body warm up, seeing how close you were and how alone you truly now. The chaos outside was white noise. All your attention was on Hoseok without any interruptions. He smirked seeing the shy side of yourself starting to appear once again.

He loved witnessing all the sides of you. While yes, you two were prominent in each other's lives, he wanted to learn more about you.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," you said softly.

He scoffed. "Really? You don't remember that little stunt you pulled on stage? Come on, darling, you trying to tell me something?" "But what about you, Hoseok? What was that you told me earlier?"

He hummed, nodding his head. "That's the games I'm talking about. Why don't we cut to the chase, huh? Stop torturing ourselves?"

This time, you nodded in agreement. You were onboard to full send, to take this friendship into uncharted territory for the two of you. Yes, it was scary to take this friendship into a level that most friends don't go. However, if Hoseok was willing, so were you.

Wanting to take back a bit of control of the situation, you slightly tilted your head. Your lips hovered right underneath his. His breathing seemed to hitch, which caused you to smirk.

Look who is now turning soft.

Truthfully, you made him weak and he thrived off being your weakness. It was as if subconsciously you two always knew you had feelings for each other. Yet, for the sake of the friendship, you oppressed any feelings you had. You were at the point now that you were boiling over and it was all seeping out. Everyone else saw how you two stared at each other with hearts in your eyes. You both were just catching up to speed.

"How do you propose we stop torturing ourselves, huh? Tell me, Hobi. What's been on your mind?" "You're the only thing ever on my mind, y/n," he murmured.

The way his voice dropped an octave made you want to whimper. You felt small with him towering over you. He knew the little things to do to make you weak in the knees.

"I'd just like it if you no longer live in my fantasies and were actually mine. That way I can make every thought I have into a legitimate plan with you." "Then make it happen."

Hoseok's eyebrow raised yet he was intrigued. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you slightly closer to him until you sat right at the edge of the counter. Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to your as well.

He began lean in, his lips grazing yours. You both sighed in contact. So close yet not quite there.

Before his lips could fully press against yours, there was a knock at the door. "J-hope, 5 minutes!" Dammit! He smirked as he pulled away while your frowned, disappointed to not get to kiss him quite yet. You raised an eyebrow, surprised to see him not more disappointed. "All good things come with time. Just had to get one more game in before winning you over. I'll see you after my set."

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Note: I originally got inspired from listening to Steal the Show by Lauv. since seeing Elemental a few months ago. I also have been obsessed with Sophia Carpenter's performances of Feather while she's been the opening act for Taylor Swift's Eras Tour in South America so my mind got a little creative haha

Hope you enjoyed it!!

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bluelavendre · 1 month ago

Text

Dancing In Harmony

J-Hope x Ballerina Reader

Y/N had always lived by the grace of classical movements, her life an elegant blend of pliés, pirouettes, and arabesques. The ballet studio, with its faint aroma of resin and the faint hum of Tchaikovsky, was her sanctuary.

Jung Hoseok, or J-Hope as he was known in the underground dance world, was the polar opposite. The booming basslines of hip-hop tracks were his heartbeat, and the graffiti-adorned streets of Seoul were his stage. His movements were raw, explosive, and brimming with energy.

Their worlds collided when the city announced a dance showcase that paired performers from different genres to create a unique fusion piece. Y/N was hesitant; the thought of mixing her delicate ballet with the ruggedness of hip-hop felt unnatural. J-Hope, on the other hand, saw it as an exciting challenge.

The first rehearsal was rocky. Y/N’s precise movements clashed with Hoseok’s freestyle energy.

“You have to loosen up,” Hoseok teased, watching her stiff attempt at popping.

“And you need to find some structure,” she countered, as his leap into an improvised move missed the planned timing.

But as the weeks passed, they began to understand each other. Y/N taught Hoseok the discipline of controlled movement, while he helped her embrace the freedom of spontaneity. They spent late nights in the studio, laughing as they failed lifts, cheering when they nailed sequences, and bonding over shared exhaustion.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, they found themselves sitting on the studio floor, sharing snacks and stories. Hoseok admired Y/N’s dedication to her craft, while she was in awe of his boundless creativity.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft, “I never thought ballet could be...beautiful like this. You make it look effortless.”

“And I never thought hip-hop could tell a story,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But you pour your soul into it. That’s inspiring.”

Their chemistry wasn’t just evident offstage—it transformed their performance. On the night of the showcase, the crowd was mesmerized by their routine. Hoseok’s powerful pops complemented Y/N’s graceful arabesques. When the final note of the music faded, they stood together, hands clasped, breaths heavy, basking in the audience's thunderous applause.

Backstage, Hoseok turned to Y/N, his eyes glowing with excitement.

“We should keep doing this,” he said.

“You mean...work together?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin playful yet sincere. “But only if you can handle me outdancing you.”

Y/N laughed, her heart warm. “We’ll see about that, J-Hope.”

And so, their partnership blossomed—two dancers from different worlds, finding harmony in the rhythm of their shared passion.

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J-Hope POV

The sound of people echoed through my ears, a steady hum of chatter mixed with the occasional thump of sneakers hitting the studio floor. My heart raced, my palms slick with nervous sweat. As a 16-year-old stepping into the world of hip hop, I felt like I was staring at a blank canvas, waiting for my first brushstroke.

They told me I had potential—that I could be an amazing dancer. And sure, I could bust out a few moves that made people cheer. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t there yet. There was so much more I wanted to learn, so much more I wanted to express. Dancing wasn’t just movement to me—it was my voice, my story.

I tightened my laces and scanned the room. The studio was alive with energy—people practicing their routines, laughter bouncing off the mirrors, music shaking the walls. It was intimidating, but it was also thrilling. This was the kind of environment where growth happened.

“Jung Hoseok, right?”

I turned to see a man in his late twenties, his stance relaxed but his gaze sharp. He was one of the mentors overseeing today’s session.

“Yes, sir.” I bowed slightly, trying to keep my nerves in check.

He gave me a nod and crossed his arms. “I’ve seen your moves. You’ve got rhythm, but you’re playing it too safe. If you want to stand out, you need to let loose. Stop thinking so much.”

I blinked. Stop thinking? That felt impossible. My mind was always racing—counting beats, analyzing steps, worrying if I looked stupid.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said with a small smirk, as if reading my thoughts. “Just trust yourself. Dance isn’t about perfection; it’s about connection.”

His words lingered as I moved to the corner of the studio to warm up. I started with some basic footwork, trying to let the music guide me instead of overthinking every step. Slowly, the tension in my shoulders eased, and I began to lose myself in the rhythm.

As the session progressed, I noticed the way the other dancers moved—so raw, so unapologetically themselves. It was inspiring, but it also made me question if I belonged here.

Then, the music shifted. A heavy beat dropped, and something inside me clicked. Without hesitation, I stepped into the center of the room and let my body take over. I hit the floor with power and precision, popping and locking with a confidence I didn’t know I had.

The room erupted into cheers, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. For the first time, I wasn’t just a kid trying to keep up. I was a dancer, holding my own in a space filled with talent and passion.

As the session wrapped up, I found myself grinning. This was just the beginning, but I knew one thing for sure—I was ready to pour my heart into this blank canvas and paint something unforgettable.

J-Hope POV

“JUNG HOSEOK!!”

I turned to see Jimin bounding toward me, a wide grin plastered across his face. Jimin was a friend from school—a year younger but just as passionate about dance as I was. The only difference? While I lived and breathed hip hop, Jimin was all about contemporary ballet. Fancy turns, graceful leaps, and a lot of elegance—totally opposite of my style.

“Jiminshii!” I called back, opening my arms for our signature bro hug. We slapped each other’s backs like we hadn’t seen each other in years, even though we’d hung out just a couple of days ago.

“You were so cool, Hobi hyung! You did this move—like that—it was awesome!” Jimin started imitating my moves, his arms jerking wildly and his face scrunched in exaggerated focus.

I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “That was nothing, bro,” I said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

“Nothing? Are you kidding?” Jimin’s eyes widened. “You had the whole room hyped! Seriously, hyung, you’re going to be famous one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep hyping me up,” I teased, though his words made my chest swell with pride. Jimin always had a way of making me feel like I was capable of anything, even on days when I doubted myself.

Jimin leaned against the wall, still catching his breath from his exaggerated performance of my moves. “You know,” he started, a little more seriously, “I wish I could move like you sometimes. Contemporary ballet is all about being poised and controlled, but you—you’re so free. It’s like the music just takes over your body.”

“Free, huh?” I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking about what my mentor had said earlier about letting go and trusting myself. “It’s not always easy, you know. Sometimes I overthink everything—like, am I hitting the beat right? Do I look stiff? Am I good enough to be here?”

Jimin tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “We all think like that sometimes. Even when I’m on stage, there’s a little voice in my head saying, ‘Don’t mess up.’ But hyung, when you’re dancing, it doesn’t look like you’re thinking at all. It looks like you’re feeling. That’s what makes you amazing.”

I let his words sink in, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Thanks, Jimin-ah. You always know what to say, huh?”

He grinned cheekily. “Of course, I do. That’s why I’m your number-one fan.”

We both laughed, and for a moment, the nerves from earlier felt like a distant memory. Jimin’s energy was contagious, and I couldn’t help but feel grateful for his support.

“Come on,” I said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s grab some food. I’m starving, and I know you’re not leaving until you tell me about your new fancy ballet routine.”

“Deal,” Jimin said, his eyes sparkling. “But only if you show me how to pop like you do.”

“Challenge accepted,” I said with a grin, already planning how I was going to make Jimin look completely ridiculous attempting hip hop.

And just like that, the day ended on a high note—with laughter, friendship, and the realization that I wasn’t alone in this journey.

Y/N POV

Ballet. An elegant and poised dance—beautiful and timeless. It’s everything I’ve known since I was five, my body practically molded to the sound of classical music. The graceful movements, the pointed toes, the perfect lines—it’s my passion, the thing that drives me forward.

But sometimes, it’s hard to love something that demands so much from you.

“Twirl and twirl! Y/N! You are slouching again!”

Mrs. Ka’s sharp voice cut through the studio like a whip, snapping me out of my thoughts. I immediately straightened my posture and forced my arms into a more fluid movement as I attempted another pirouette.

“Better,” she said, her tone softer but still critical. “You have the talent, Y/N, but you need to focus. You must live in the moment, feel the music. Otherwise, you’ll never reach your full potential.”

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing. Mrs. Ka meant well—she always did—but the pressure to be perfect weighed on me like a thousand bricks. Ballet wasn’t just about dancing; it was about discipline, control, and embodying perfection.

As the music played on, I forced myself to move with precision, ignoring the growing ache in my calves and the blister forming on my right foot. Ballet wasn’t supposed to be easy, I reminded myself. Greatness came with sacrifice.

But as the session ended and I collapsed onto the studio floor, stretching out my legs, I couldn’t help but feel...tired. Not just physically, but mentally.

Sometimes, I wondered what it would be like to dance without all the rules, to just let go and move however I wanted. Would it feel freeing? Would it feel like dancing for myself and not for someone else?

“Y/N, don’t forget your practice routine tonight at 8pm,” Mrs. Ka reminded as she gathered her things.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied automatically, even though my body was screaming for a break.

When the studio finally emptied, I sat alone, staring at my reflection in the mirrored wall. My bun was slightly messy, strands of hair sticking out, and my leotard clung to me like a second skin. I looked the part of a ballerina, but inside, I felt...trapped.

I closed my eyes, letting out a deep breath. Maybe I needed to find a way to rekindle the spark that had drawn me to ballet in the first place. Or maybe, just maybe, I needed to step outside of my comfort zone and try something different.

Y/N POV

At 5 pm the streets of Seoul were alive with energy, as they always were. The scent of spices from skewers wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the occasional car horn. I pulled my warm jacket tighter around me, still in my ballet outfit from earlier. My muscles ached, but the cool evening breeze was a welcome relief.

As I navigated through the crowd, a familiar voice called out to me.

“Y/N-ah!”

I turned, spotting a familiar figure waving enthusiastically. “Jimin-ah!”

Jimin, one of my closest dance mates from ballet school, jogged toward me, his ever-cheerful smile lighting up his face. He wrapped me in a quick hug, his energy as infectious as always.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re here? I thought you were still at practice,” he said, tilting his head.

“Just finished,” I replied, a small sigh escaping my lips. “Mrs. Ka wants me back tonight, though. Apparently, my posture still isn’t up to her standards.”

“Ah,” Jimin said, wincing in sympathy. “She’s tough, huh?”

I nodded, but before I could dwell on it, he gestured to the boy standing beside him.

“Oh, this is Hoseok, by the way—a friend of mine,” Jimin introduced, nudging the boy gently.

I turned my attention to him and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Hoseok-shi! I’m Y/N!”

Hoseok’s eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush crept up his cheeks as he returned my smile. “N-Nice to meet you,” he stammered, quickly extending his hand for a handshake.

His hand was warm, his grip firm yet gentle. I noticed how his flustered expression softened when he smiled—a quiet, genuine kind of warmth.

“So, why are you here alone, Y/N-ah?” Jimin asked, his tone shifting to one of concern. “You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself. Come with us—it’s safer since our homes are just a few blocks away from yours.”

I hesitated, glancing at my phone. “Well, my dad said he’d pick me up... but that was 45 minutes ago. I guess he forgot.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms. “Seriously? You’ve been waiting all this time? Come on, you’re not staying out here alone.”

“Jimin’s right,” Hoseok chimed in softly, though his gaze avoided mine. “It’s late, and it’s better if we stick together.”

I chuckled at their concern, but deep down, I appreciated it. “Alright, fine. Lead the way, gentlemen.”

As we walked, Jimin kept the conversation light, telling funny stories about their dance practice earlier. Hoseok was quieter, occasionally adding a comment here and there, but mostly keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

Despite his silence, there was something calming about Hoseok’s presence. It felt natural, even though we’d just met.

“So, Y/N,” Jimin said suddenly, grinning mischievously, “did you know Hoseok here is a hip-hop dancer?”

My eyebrows raised in surprise as I turned to Hoseok. “Really? That’s amazing!”

Hoseok scratched the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “It’s nothing special...”

“Are you kidding? He’s incredible!” Jimin cut in before I could respond. “You should see him in action sometime.”

I smiled at Hoseok, whose blush deepened. “I’d love to. Maybe you could teach me a move or two.”

He chuckled softly, his shyness fading for a moment. “Only if you promise to teach me how to pirouette.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing.

And just like that, the evening didn’t seem so tiring anymore.

Y/N POV

I pushed the door open to our house, the familiar scent of my dad’s cologne lingering faintly in the air. He was seated at the dining table, papers scattered in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. His focus was split between a document and his laptop.

“I’m home,” I said, my voice tired but soft.

He looked up, startled. “Honey, I’m sorry. I forgot—it’s just—”

“It’s fine, Dad. Jimin came along.” I offered him a small, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the guilt in his eyes.

“Well, that was nice of him,” he said, returning my smile. This one was sincere but tinged with the weariness of a long day.

I nodded and gave him a lip-tight smile before heading upstairs. As I climbed the steps, I could feel the weight of the day pressing down on me. My bag hit the bed with a soft thud, and I closed my bedroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment before sliding down to the floor.

I wasn’t mad at Dad. I never could be. Growing up, it was just the two of us against the world.

When I was two, my mother left. She cheated on Dad, and their divorce wasn’t just the end of a marriage—it was the end of a life he had envisioned for me and for himself. He didn’t talk about her much, and I never pushed him to. All I knew was that she chose to leave, and he chose to stay.

Dad raised me on his own, balancing work as a lawyer and parenting a child. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for him, but I could see it in the lines on his face, the way he sighed after a long day, the way he smiled at me even when he was exhausted.

And he did more than just raise me—he loved me. He showed me that even when life broke you, you could still hold onto the pieces that mattered most.

But the downside of his job was the time it took away from us. He earned more than enough to give me a comfortable life, but sometimes I’d trade all of it for just one evening of his undivided attention.

I stood up, peeling off my jacket and throwing it on the bed alongside my bag. My room felt quiet, almost too quiet, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound.

Walking to my desk, I sat down and stared at the photo frame perched on the corner. It was a picture of me and Dad from my ballet recital when I was eight. My tutu was crooked, and his tie was slightly undone, but we were both smiling—beaming, actually. That was a good day.

I picked up the frame and ran my thumb across the glass. “You’re doing your best, Dad,” I whispered. “And I’ll keep doing mine too.”

With a deep breath, I set the frame back down and stood up. Tomorrow was another day—a day to dance, to laugh, and to keep going, no matter how tired I felt.

Y/N POV

7:20 PM.

The halls of my ballet school were quiet, the sound of my footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. Being early wasn’t just a rule here—it was an unspoken requirement. Mrs. Ka had drilled it into us that punctuality was a reflection of discipline, and in ballet, discipline was everything.

I pushed the studio door open, and the familiar silence greeted me. No chattering classmates, no authoritative commands from Mrs. Ka—just peace. The stillness wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and for once, I felt at ease.

Being the first to arrive had its perks. Practicing alone meant no one to judge, no one to critique, and no one to dictate my movements. It was just me, the music, and the freedom to express myself however I wanted.

I placed my bag in the corner, stretched for a few minutes, and queued up my music. The soft, haunting melody of “Love Story” by Indila began to fill the room, its rhythm pulling me in as if it were speaking directly to my soul.

Closing my eyes, I let the music guide me. Each movement flowed naturally—graceful extensions, delicate turns, and soft landings. I didn’t have to think; I just felt. My body responded to every note, every beat, creating a story with each step.

It was in these moments that I truly fell in love with ballet again—not as an obligation, but as an art form that allowed me to escape.

I finished with a slow arabesque, holding the final position as the last notes faded into silence. My chest rose and fell as I caught my breath, a small smile tugging at my lips.

But before I could savor the moment, the sound of clapping startled me.

I turned quickly, my cheeks flushing when I saw them—Jimin and Hoseok standing near the doorway, both of them watching me with amused expressions.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Jimin said, walking toward me with a wide grin. “I didn’t know you liked practicing solo.”

I managed an awkward laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “I didn’t know you two were there.”

“Well,” Jimin said, glancing at Hoseok with a smirk, “we didn’t want to interrupt such a masterpiece.”

Hoseok, who had been quiet, stepped forward, his expression softer. “You’re... really amazing,” he said, his voice low but genuine.

I blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. “Thank you, Hoseok-shi,” I replied, feeling a warm blush creep up my neck.

Jimin, ever the playful one, clapped Hoseok on the back. “See, I told you she’s good, didn’t I? And Y/N, this guy here wouldn’t stop talking about how cool the studio looked when we walked in.”

Hoseok’s face turned a light shade of pink, and he quickly shook his head. “That’s not true! I just... thought it was nice.”

I giggled, feeling the tension ease. “Well, I’m glad you both enjoyed the show.”

Jimin plopped down on the floor, motioning for me to sit too. “Now that we’re all here, why don’t we show each other some moves? Ballet meets hip hop—what do you say, Y/N?”

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “You want me to try hip hop?”

“Why not?” Hoseok said, his lips curving into a small smile. “It could be fun.”

I looked between the two of them, their excitement contagious. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be just another routine practice after all.

Author's POV

Hoseok took a step toward the speaker, pulling out his phone. With a few taps, a vibrant, bass-heavy beat filled the studio. It was unmistakably hip-hop—energetic, bold, and brimming with attitude.

As the music kicked in, Hoseok’s demeanor shifted. His previously shy, reserved aura transformed into one of confidence and charisma. His body moved effortlessly to the rhythm, every pop, lock, and wave executed with precision and flair.

Y/N stood to the side, watching in awe. Each movement seemed to tell a story, the way his feet glided across the floor, how his arms hit the beats with sharp precision, and the way his entire body seemed to breathe with the music.

He wasn’t just dancing—he was commanding the room.

But what caught Y/N off guard the most was the way he kept stealing glances at her. Hoseok’s eyes would flicker her way between moves, as if silently asking, Are you watching?

And oh, she was.

Jimin leaned casually against the wall, a knowing smirk on his face as he observed the scene. It was clear he had seen this side of Hoseok before, but seeing Y/N’s reaction made the moment all the more entertaining.

As the music reached its climax, Hoseok executed a smooth spin and slid toward Y/N with perfect timing. His hand extended gracefully as he ended his freestyle with a light kiss on her hand, his gaze locking with hers.

The gesture was playful yet charming, and it sent a jolt of electricity through the room.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink as she let out a shy chuckle, her free hand covering her mouth. “That was... wow,” she said softly, her voice laced with genuine admiration.

Jimin, of course, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease. “Hyung, that was smooth. Real smooth,” he quipped, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You’ve been practicing that move, haven’t you?”

Hoseok laughed, his confident facade faltering slightly as his own cheeks turned a faint pink. “It just... fit the moment,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

Y/N smiled, still flustered but undeniably impressed. “I don’t know if I can follow that. You’re incredible, Hoseok-shi.”

“You don’t have to follow it,” Hoseok said, his voice soft yet reassuring. “Just feel the music, like you do with ballet. That’s all hip hop is—feeling it.”

Jimin clapped his hands together. “Alright, Y/N! Your turn. Hoseok-hyung can guide you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment but then nodded, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling within her. Maybe this was her chance to step out of her comfort zone—and maybe, just maybe, Hoseok had something to do with that.

Y/N took a deep breath, her nerves bubbling to the surface as she stepped closer to Hoseok. The confidence she felt during ballet practice was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by the uncertainty of trying something entirely new.

“Alright,” she said, her voice light with a hint of nervous laughter. “Don’t laugh if I mess this up.”

Hoseok grinned, his eyes sparkling with encouragement. “No one’s going to laugh. Just have fun with it.”

The upbeat music continued to play, and Hoseok took a step back, giving her space to try. Y/N mimicked his earlier movements, starting with an awkward attempt at popping her shoulders and shifting her weight from side to side.

It wasn’t smooth. In fact, it was far from it. Her movements were stiff, her timing just a little off, and her normally graceful posture clashed hilariously with the relaxed flow of hip hop.

But she laughed—really laughed—as she stumbled through each motion, shaking her head at herself. “This is harder than it looks!” she exclaimed, covering her face with her hands for a moment.

To Hoseok, however, she was absolutely adorable. There was something so genuine about the way she tried, how she wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself, and the way her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. “You just need to loosen up. Don’t think about it too much—let the music take over.”

Y/N nodded, biting her lip as she tried again. This time, she let her body move a little more freely, her laughter becoming a part of the rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better, and Hoseok couldn’t help but smile.

“See? You’re getting it!” he said, clapping his hands in encouragement.

“Am I, though?” Y/N teased, spinning in a way that was far more ballet than hip hop.

Hoseok laughed, stepping closer. “Alright, let me help.” He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, guiding her into a looser posture. “Relax your shoulders, let your knees bend a little more... there you go.”

She followed his guidance, her movements becoming more natural. Even if she wasn’t a hip-hop dancer yet, she was having fun—and that was what mattered most.

Jimin, watching from the side, crossed his arms with a wide grin. “You two look like you’re in your own little world over there.”

Y/N shot him a playful glare. “You’re supposed to be helping, not commenting!”

Hoseok chuckled, stepping back to give her some space again. “Ignore him. You’re doing amazing, Y/N. Just keep going.”

She smiled, her confidence growing with each step. For the first time in a long time, she let herself just enjoy the moment, free from the strict expectations of ballet or the pressure to be perfect.

And Hoseok? He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Y/N Y/L/N and Park Jimin,” Mrs. Ka’s stern voice echoed through the room, sharp and commanding as always.

The sound startled all three of them, and Jimin immediately scrambled to pause the music blasting from the speaker. The abrupt silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the nervous shuffling of feet.

Y/N and Jimin quickly bowed, their voices overlapping as they greeted her in unison, “Good evening, Mrs. Ka.” Their nervous tones betrayed the respect they held for her authority.

Hoseok, however, was caught off guard. He stood frozen in place, unsure whether he should bow as well, and instead offered an awkward half-nod.

Mrs. Ka’s piercing eyes zeroed in on him immediately. She approached, her sharp heels clicking against the polished floor as she examined him from head to toe. Her gaze was cold, calculating, and entirely intimidating.

“And who, may I ask, is this?” she inquired, her tone laced with disapproval as her eyes narrowed slightly at Hoseok’s casual attire and hip-hop stance.

Before Hoseok could stammer out a response, Jimin stepped forward, his smile nervous but polite. “This is Hoseok, Mrs. Ka. He’s a friend of mine—a dancer. He, uh... just stopped by to visit.”

Mrs. Ka raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickering between the three of them. “A dancer, you say?” Her tone was skeptical, as if the very idea of Hoseok qualifying as a dancer was preposterous. “What style?”

“Hip hop,” Hoseok replied confidently, though his voice remained calm and respectful.

Mrs. Ka’s lips pressed into a thin line, her disapproval evident. “Hip hop,” she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. “I see. And what, exactly, are you doing in my studio?”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Hoseok said quickly, bowing deeply this time. “I was just showing Y/N and Jimin a few moves. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”

Y/N stepped forward, her heart pounding as she mustered the courage to speak. “Mrs. Ka, Hoseok was just helping me loosen up. I asked him to. I wanted to... try something new.”

Mrs. Ka’s gaze shifted to Y/N, her expression softening just slightly. “And why, Y/N, would you think that hip hop—” she said the word as if it were distasteful, “—has any relevance to ballet?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Hoseok for a brief moment before replying. “Because... dance is about expression, isn’t it? Hoseok’s style may be different, but it has its own beauty. I thought learning from him might help me grow as a dancer.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Mrs. Ka’s face betrayed the faintest flicker of surprise.

Jimin, sensing the tension, quickly added, “And he’s really good, Mrs. Ka. I’ve seen him dance before—he’s incredible.”

Mrs. Ka took a step back, folding her arms as she studied Hoseok once more. Finally, she spoke, her voice sharp but measured.

“Very well. If this... Hoseok wishes to share his talent, he may do so. But,” she added, her gaze hardening as she turned to Hoseok, “you will follow the rules of this studio. No disruptions, no unapproved music, and no interference with my curriculum. Do I make myself clear?”

Hoseok nodded immediately. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Mrs. Ka straightened her posture, her presence commanding as ever. “Good. Y/N, Jimin, back to your positions. And Hoseok...” She paused, her tone almost grudging. “Show me this ‘hip hop’ you’re so proud of. Perhaps I’ll see if it has any merit.”

Hoseok blinked, surprised but determined. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping forward with newfound confidence.

As the tension in the room shifted, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Hoseok, a small smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but she had a feeling it was going to be unforgettable.

Hoseok glanced at Y/N, catching her worried expression. She gave him an encouraging nod, her lips curling into a soft, supportive smile. It was a silent message: You’ve got this.

He couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a sudden rush of determination. If there was one thing he was good at, it was letting his dance speak for him. And if this was his chance to show Mrs. Ka—and maybe even Y/N—what hip hop was all about, he was going to give it his all.

He stepped into the center of the studio, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms. His movements were smooth and deliberate, each stretch a prelude to the performance he was about to give.

Y/N watched with quiet admiration. There was something captivating about the way Hoseok carried himself—his confidence wasn’t boastful; it was simply rooted in his passion.

Mrs. Ka stood off to the side, arms crossed and expression unreadable. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said curtly.

Hoseok nodded, pulling out his phone to select the perfect track. He scrolled quickly, landing on a song with an infectious beat that showcased the best of hip hop’s energy and groove. The first notes of the music filled the room, and Hoseok stepped into position.

As soon as the beat dropped, Hoseok came alive. His body moved like it was in perfect sync with the rhythm—sharp pops, fluid waves, and intricate footwork blended together seamlessly. Every move was precise yet effortless, his transitions so smooth it was as if the music itself was dictating his steps.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d seen him dance before, but this was different. This wasn’t just freestyle—it was a performance. He wasn’t just dancing to impress Mrs. Ka; he was showing the room who he was as a dancer.

Mrs. Ka’s gaze, though initially skeptical, softened slightly as she observed his technique. While hip hop was far removed from the elegance of ballet, there was undeniable skill and artistry in Hoseok’s movements. His control, timing, and emotional expression were all on par with any professional dancer.

As the music built to its climax, Hoseok executed a series of fast, intricate isolations before transitioning into a powerful freeze, balancing on one hand with perfect stability. He held the pose for a beat before landing softly on his feet, finishing with a subtle bow.

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the music fading out.

Y/N clapped first, her hands coming together enthusiastically as her face lit up with a proud smile. “That was amazing, Hoseok!” she said, her voice breaking the quiet.

Jimin joined in, whooping and clapping loudly. “Hyung, you killed it!”

Mrs. Ka remained still, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke. “Impressive,” she said, her tone begrudging but honest. “You have control and creativity. And I can see you take this seriously.”

Hoseok bowed again, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said humbly.

Mrs. Ka’s gaze flickered to Y/N and Jimin. “Y/N, Jimin, learn from this. While the style may be different, the dedication and precision are the same. You may continue practicing. Hoseok, if you wish to observe or assist, you may do so—within reason.”

Y/N beamed, turning to Hoseok with a grin. “You did it,” she whispered, her eyes shining with excitement.

Hoseok smiled back, his heart fluttering at her words. “Thanks. I’m just glad I didn’t fall on my face.”

As the group returned to their practice, Hoseok couldn’t help but feel like he’d gained more than just the approval of a strict ballet teacher—he’d earned Y/N’s admiration, and that, to him, was worth everything.

As Y/N returned to her position on the floor, her energy bubbling with excitement from Hoseok’s performance, Mrs. Ka’s sharp eyes flickered between the young man and her student. She was a seasoned observer, skilled at picking up on unspoken gestures and subtle cues—and there was something about the way Hoseok’s gaze lingered on Y/N that piqued her interest.

Jimin, standing off to the side, caught it too. Hoseok’s usually bright and playful demeanor seemed to soften whenever he looked at Y/N, his smiles lingering just a little longer, his eyes carrying a warmth that didn’t go unnoticed.

Mrs. Ka didn’t comment at first, but her lips curled ever so slightly into a knowing smirk. “Jimin,” she said in her sharp, no-nonsense tone, causing him to straighten up immediately.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Perhaps you and I are witnessing something here,” she said quietly, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

Jimin followed her gaze, glancing between Hoseok and Y/N. Hoseok was standing off to the side, hands casually in his pockets, but his eyes were fixed on Y/N as she prepared for the next part of her routine. He looked proud, almost as if every move she made was worthy of applause.

Jimin’s lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “Maybe we are, Mrs. Ka,” he replied, his voice light with teasing.

Mrs. Ka hummed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she folded her arms. “Let’s see if this... admiration becomes a distraction.”

Meanwhile, Y/N, oblivious to the quiet observation from her teacher and friend, took her position at the barre. She adjusted her posture, preparing for the next exercise. When she turned her head slightly, she noticed Hoseok watching her.

“What?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a playful edge.

Hoseok blinked, caught off guard, and quickly rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing,” he said with a sheepish grin. “You’re just... really focused. It’s cool to see.”

Y/N blushed faintly, turning back to face the mirror as she suppressed a shy smile. “Well, I have to be. Mrs. Ka doesn’t let us slack, you know.”

Hoseok chuckled, and Jimin, standing nearby, leaned in to whisper, “Hyung, you’re not very subtle, you know.”

Hoseok turned to him, his face flushing slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jimin teased, smirking knowingly. “Just saying that if you keep looking at her like that, Mrs. Ka might make you practice pirouettes too.”

Hoseok laughed nervously, glancing at Mrs. Ka, who was now observing them all like a hawk. “I’m just appreciating her focus,” he mumbled defensively.

“Sure, sure,” Jimin said, his grin widening.

Mrs. Ka cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “If you’re done gossiping, Mr. Park and Mr. Jung, perhaps you’d like to join us in practicing discipline,” she said pointedly, her gaze lingering on Hoseok.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimin replied quickly, biting back a laugh.

Hoseok nodded as well, stealing one last glance at Y/N before focusing on Mrs. Ka’s instructions. But even as he tried to concentrate, his thoughts kept drifting back to the graceful ballerina who, without realizing it, had captured more than just his admiration.

Mrs. Ka, ever the curious yet composed figure, finally shifted her full attention to Hoseok after observing his interactions and dance performance. Her arms remained crossed as she approached him, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

“Mr. Jung, was it?” she asked, her tone sharp yet neutral.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hoseok replied respectfully, standing a little straighter under her scrutinizing gaze.

“I must admit, your performance surprised me,” she began, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Your movements are precise, and your sense of rhythm is exceptional. But I know nothing about you. Tell me, how old are you?”

Hoseok hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden questioning. “I’m 16, ma’am.”

“Sixteen,” she repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “And where are you from?”

“I live in Gwangju originally, but I’ve been staying here in Seoul to pursue dance more seriously,” Hoseok explained.

Mrs. Ka raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And what, exactly, do you hope to achieve with hip hop dance?”

Hoseok’s face lit up with passion as he replied. “I want to be one of the best, ma’am. I want to inspire people with my style and show them how much emotion and storytelling can come through in hip hop. It’s not just moves to me—it’s a way of expressing everything I feel.”

Mrs. Ka studied him carefully, her sharp gaze softening just slightly as she caught the sincerity in his voice. “Ambitious,” she remarked. “And how did you come to be friends with Mr. Park?”

Jimin grinned, stepping forward to answer for him. “We go to the same school, ma’am. Hoseok’s known for his dancing there. I saw him practicing once, and we started talking about dance. The rest is history.”

Mrs. Ka nodded, her attention returning to Hoseok. “You seem determined, Mr. Jung, and I respect that. But I warn you, the world of dance—any style of dance—requires more than passion. It demands discipline, commitment, and the ability to adapt. Do you think you’re prepared for that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hoseok replied confidently. “I’m willing to work hard to get better, no matter what it takes.”

Mrs. Ka gave a small nod of approval, her stern demeanor easing slightly. “Very well. You may continue visiting this studio with Mr. Park, but only if you remain respectful of my rules and contribute positively to the atmosphere here. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Hoseok said, bowing deeply.

Mrs. Ka turned to Y/N, who had been watching the exchange silently, her hands clasped nervously. “Y/N, if Mr. Jung is going to be spending time here, perhaps you can show him the discipline and grace of ballet. You might both learn something from each other.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Mrs. Ka’s sharp gaze flicked back to Hoseok one last time. “Don’t make me regret allowing you in here.”

“I won’t, ma’am,” Hoseok promised.

As Mrs. Ka turned and walked away, Jimin elbowed Hoseok playfully. “Well, hyung, looks like you’re officially part of the ballet squad now.”

Hoseok chuckled, his eyes drifting to Y/N, who was smiling shyly at him. “I guess I am,” he said softly, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

The chilly night air accompanied the sound of footsteps echoing down the quiet streets of Seoul. Y/N walked between Hoseok and Jimin, her ballet bag slung over one shoulder. The streets were peaceful, lit by the warm glow of streetlights, and the three of them chatted casually as they neared Y/N’s house.

“I still can’t believe Mrs. Ka let you in the studio, Hoseok,” Y/N teased, nudging him lightly. “She usually doesn’t warm up to anyone that fast.”

Hoseok grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’m just that charming,” he joked, earning an eye roll from Jimin.

“More like she was impressed by your dancing,” Jimin said. “And maybe the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at Y/N helped.”

“Jimin!” Y/N exclaimed, her cheeks heating up as she glared at him.

Hoseok’s ears turned red, and he shot Jimin a warning look. “Yah, stop saying stuff like that!”

Jimin just smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “What? It’s true.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to change the subject. “Anyway, thanks for walking me home, guys. It’s nice not having to walk alone for once.”

“We wouldn’t let you,” Hoseok said sincerely, glancing at her. “It’s not safe this late.”

The trio arrived at Y/N’s house, and she dug into her bag for her keys. Before she could open the door, it swung open, revealing her father. He was dressed in his usual business attire, but his tie was loosened, and he looked tired from another long day.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with surprise. His eyes flicked to Jimin and Hoseok, lingering on the former. “You’re home late.”

“Practice ran long,” Y/N replied, stepping aside to let her father see her companions. “Oh, and this is Jimin—you remember him from school—and his friend Hoseok.”

Her father’s expression softened slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on Jimin. “Ah, Jimin,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity. “You’re the one Y/N’s always mentioning.”

“Dad!” Y/N protested, mortified.

Jimin chuckled nervously, bowing politely. “It’s nice to meet you again, sir. I just wanted to make sure Y/N got home safely.”

Her father raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s very considerate of you.” Then, after a pause, he added, “You know, I’ve always wondered… are you and my daughter—”

“Dad!” Y/N cut him off, her face turning bright red. “Jimin and I are just friends. Don’t start.”

Jimin laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, sir. Just friends.”

Her father gave a small, knowing smile but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he turned to Hoseok, who had been quiet the whole time. “And you’re... Hoseok, was it?”

“Yes, sir,” Hoseok said, bowing respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her father nodded, his expression appraising. “You’re a dancer too?”

“Yes, sir. Hip hop,” Hoseok replied, standing a little straighter.

“Hm. Well, thank you both for looking out for my daughter,” her father said, his tone genuine. “It’s nice to know she has good friends.”

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a sense of relief as her father stepped aside to let her in. “Thanks again, you two,” she said, turning to Hoseok and Jimin.

“No problem,” Jimin replied with a grin.

“Anytime,” Hoseok added, his smile warm.

As they walked away, Y/N could hear Jimin teasing Hoseok under his breath. “I think her dad likes me better than you, hyung.”

Hoseok groaned. “Yah, I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly as she closed the door, shaking her head at the two of them.

It was Saturday evening, and the tension in Y/N’s house was unbearable. Her mother, who had been absent for most of her life, stood in the living room, her sharp voice cutting through the quiet atmosphere.

“I have every right to see her!” her mother yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her father.

“You walked away from her when she was two,” her father retorted, his voice firm but controlled. “You don’t get to show up now and demand anything.”

Y/N stood frozen at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister tightly. She hadn’t seen her mother in years, and now, here she was, trying to take her away from the life she had built with her dad.

“I’ve changed,” her mother insisted. “I can give her a better life—better opportunities.”

Her father’s jaw clenched. “You think money is all that matters? Y/N has a home here. She’s happy. She doesn’t need you disrupting her life.”

Unable to listen anymore, Y/N bolted down the stairs, tears already welling up in her eyes. “Stop it!” she shouted, her voice trembling. Both her parents turned to look at her, their argument coming to an abrupt halt.

“Y/N,” her mother said softly, taking a step toward her. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” Y/N’s voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks. “You think showing up after all these years and trying to take me away is what’s best for me?”

Her mother’s face fell, but Y/N didn’t wait for a response. She grabbed her jacket and ran out the door, ignoring her father’s calls for her to stop.

Y/N didn’t know how far she had run, but she eventually found herself in a bustling plaza. The sound of music and cheering snapped her out of her thoughts. A crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage where a street dancing competition was in full swing.

She weaved through the crowd, her heart still pounding from the argument and the run. As she reached the front, she froze. There, on the stage, was Hoseok.

He moved with such energy and precision, his passion evident in every step. The crowd roared as he ended his routine with a powerful move, his confidence radiating as he smiled and bowed.

As Hoseok stepped off the stage, his eyes scanned the crowd—and then he saw her. His smile faltered when he noticed her red, tear-streaked eyes. Without hesitation, he made his way toward her.

“Y/N?” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What happened?”

Y/N tried to wipe her tears away, but they kept falling. “I… I just needed to get away,” she whispered.

Hoseok placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the crowd to a quieter corner. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soothing. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But the moment she looked at his kind eyes, the words spilled out. She told him everything—about her mother’s sudden appearance, the fight, and how she felt torn between two worlds.

Hoseok listened intently, his expression softening with every word. When she finished, he said, “I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you, but you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, okay?”

Y/N nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, Hoseok.”

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Let’s do something to take your mind off things.”

The two spent the next few hours wandering around the plaza, eating street food and laughing as Hoseok did silly dance moves to cheer her up. For the first time that evening, Y/N felt a sense of peace.

As the night deepened, Y/N’s father arrived at the plaza, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. When he finally spotted her sitting on a bench with Hoseok, relief washed over his face.

“Y/N!” he called, rushing over.

Y/N stood up, guilt and worry written all over her face. “Dad, I’m sorry—”

Her father pulled her into a tight hug, cutting her off. “Don’t apologize. I was so worried about you.”

Hoseok stepped back, giving them space, but Y/N’s father turned to him with a nod of gratitude. “Thank you for looking after her,” he said sincerely.

Hoseok smiled. “Of course. I’m glad I could help.”

Y/N looked between the two, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions. In that moment, she realized how lucky she was to have people who cared so much about her.

As they made their way home, Y/N glanced at Hoseok one last time, her eyes meeting his. He gave her an encouraging smile, and she knew she wasn’t alone—not with people like him in her life.

Weeks had passed, and Y/N found herself spending more and more time with Hoseok. Whether it was sharing laughs over street food, practicing their respective dances together, or simply walking through the city, their bond grew stronger with each passing day. Hoseok had a way of making her feel seen, like she could be herself without the weight of expectations or judgment.

Jimin, however, had returned to Busan to visit his family. While Y/N missed her close friend, Hoseok filled the void effortlessly, and the two had become inseparable.

One sunny afternoon, Y/N and Hoseok sat on a park bench near a dance studio. Hoseok was scrolling through his phone while Y/N twirled a blade of grass between her fingers. The day was calm, and for once, Y/N felt a sense of stability.

“Hey,” Hoseok said, nudging her gently. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Y/N smiled softly. “Nothing, really. Just… enjoying the peace, I guess.”

Hoseok grinned. “Well, you deserve it after everything you’ve been through.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see her father’s name flashing on the screen. Her heart sank; her dad rarely called during the day, and when he did, it was usually important.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice hesitant.

“Y/N,” her father’s voice came through, shaky and laced with emotion. “Honey, I—” His voice broke, and Y/N immediately sat up straighter.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, panic rising in her chest.

Her father took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s your mother. She’s filed for custody… She wants to take you to the U.S. to live with her and her husband.”

Y/N felt the world tilt around her. “What?!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. “She can’t do that. I don’t want to go!”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m doing everything I can to fight it,” her father said, his voice cracking. “But she has money, and she’s pulling strings to make this happen. I’m scared, Y/N. I can’t lose you.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she gripped her phone tightly. “You won’t lose me, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hoseok, who had been quietly observing, reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y/N glanced at him, her vision blurred by tears, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“I’ll come home now,” Y/N said into the phone, her voice steadier than she felt. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Her father sniffled on the other end. “Okay. Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

When she hung up, she turned to Hoseok, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “She’s trying to take me away,” she said, her voice cracking. “She wants to send me to the U.S. to live with her and her new husband.”

Hoseok’s expression darkened with concern. “She can’t just uproot your life like that. You have a say in this, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, wiping her tears away. “I feel like everything’s falling apart.”

Hoseok stood and extended his hand to her. “You’re not alone in this. Let’s go. I’ll walk you home, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. His warmth and confidence steadied her, and she nodded. “Thank you, Hoseok. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As they made their way to her house, Hoseok stayed close, offering quiet reassurance. Y/N couldn’t shake the dread settling in her chest, but with Hoseok by her side, she felt a glimmer of hope.

The courtroom was heavy with tension as Y/N sat beside her father, her hands trembling in her lap. Across the room sat her mother, poised and confident, with her lawyer presenting a compelling case. Hoseok was seated in the gallery, his presence a quiet but constant source of support. Every now and then, Y/N would glance back at him, and he’d give her an encouraging nod or a soft smile, trying to keep her spirits up.

Her father, however, looked drained. The stress of the trial, the fear of losing his daughter, and the weight of fighting an uphill battle were etched into every line on his face. Y/N’s heart broke seeing him like that.

When the judge finally spoke, the room seemed to hold its breath.

“After careful consideration of all presented evidence and arguments, the court finds that the custody of Y/N Y/L/N will be granted to her mother, effective immediately.”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut. Her heart sank, and tears sprang to her eyes. Her father’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep his composure.

“No,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking. “This isn’t fair.”

Her mother stood, her face a mix of triumph and a feigned sadness. She approached Y/N, reaching out a hand. “Sweetheart, this is for the best. You’ll have a wonderful life in the U.S. with me.”

Y/N recoiled, her emotions boiling over. “You don’t know what’s best for me! You’ve been gone for years, and now you think you can just swoop in and take me away?” Her voice trembled with anger and heartbreak.

“Y/N,” her mother began, but Y/N shook her head.

“No! I want to stay with Dad. I don’t care what the court says,” she cried, turning to her father, who looked utterly broken.

Hoseok stood from the gallery, his fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to rush to her, to tell the court how much her life here mattered, how much she didn’t want this, but there was nothing he could do.

As the bailiff stepped forward to gently urge Y/N to leave with her mother, Hoseok finally moved. He caught her gaze and mouthed, “I’m here.”

Y/N’s tears flowed freely as she nodded at him, grateful for his unwavering support even in the face of something so devastating.

Later that evening, Hoseok found Y/N sitting alone on a bench in the park where they often spent time together. She hugged her knees to her chest, her eyes red and swollen.

He approached quietly, sitting down beside her without a word. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy but somehow comforting.

“Everything’s changing,” Y/N finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to go, Hoseok. I don’t want to leave my dad, or my friends, or… you.”

Hoseok’s chest ached at her words. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Y/N. I know this feels impossible right now, but you’re stronger than you think. No matter where you are, you’ll always have people who care about you—your dad, Jimin, and me.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “But what if I lose all of that? What if I lose you?”

Hoseok shook his head firmly. “You won’t lose me, Y/N. I promise. We’ll figure out a way to stay connected. And when you need me, I’ll be here for you, no matter what.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and leaned into him, finding solace in his warmth. Hoseok wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as she let herself cry.

As the night grew colder, Hoseok finally spoke again. “You have a voice, Y/N. Even if the court ruled against you, that doesn’t mean you stop fighting for what you want. Maybe this isn’t over yet.”

His words planted a seed of hope in Y/N’s heart, and for the first time since the trial, she felt a flicker of determination.

The dance studio was dimly lit, its familiar walls offering Y/N a fragile sense of solace as she sat on the floor, knees hugged to her chest. Her tear-streaked face was a portrait of heartbreak and anger. Jimin knelt beside her, a gentle hand on her shoulder, while Hoseok paced nearby, his frustration simmering under the surface. Mrs. Ka, standing by the barre, observed the scene with a quiet, protective demeanor.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Jimin said softly, his voice steady but full of concern. “We’re all here for you.”

Hoseok stopped pacing and crouched in front of her, his eyes locking onto hers. “Y/N, you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. Whatever you’re feeling—let it out. We’re here.”

She looked up at him, her lips trembling. “I feel like I’m being ripped away from everything I love,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It’s not fair.”

Before anyone could respond, the studio door swung open with a loud thud. The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor filled the room, and Y/N’s mother appeared, exuding an air of authority and impatience. Her perfectly pressed suit and cold gaze clashed sharply with the warmth and familiarity of the studio.

“Y/N,” her mother called, her tone clipped. “It’s time to go. Your things are already packed and sent to the penthouse. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick. Jimin and Hoseok both stood, instinctively placing themselves closer to Y/N. Mrs. Ka stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowing at the intruder.

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” Mrs. Ka said, her voice calm but firm, “you can’t just barge in here and uproot this girl’s life like this. Have you even considered what she wants?”

Y/N’s mother crossed her arms, her lips curling into a condescending smile. “This is not a discussion, Mrs. Ka. Y/N is a minor, and I am her mother. What I decide is what’s best for her.”

Mrs. Ka didn’t back down. “A mother? After years of absence, you suddenly swoop in, claiming authority over a child you barely know? This girl has built a life here, one filled with people who care about her. You think you can buy her love with a penthouse and a plane ticket?”

Y/N’s mother’s gaze hardened, and she scoffed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. My lawyers have already secured custody. This is no longer up for debate.”

Hoseok clenched his fists but held his tongue, his jaw tight. Jimin, ever the peacemaker, spoke up, his voice steady but with a hint of defiance. “With all due respect, Mrs. Y/L/N, have you even asked Y/N what she wants? Or do you only care about winning this custody battle?”

Her mother’s eyes flicked to Jimin, her expression cold and dismissive. “And who are you, exactly? Another distraction in her life? She doesn’t need ballet friends or… street dancers.” Her gaze fell on Hoseok, her disdain palpable. “She needs structure, discipline, and a future that only I can provide.”

Hoseok stepped forward, unable to hold back any longer. “She doesn’t need someone who’s barely been there for her to decide what’s best for her. Y/N deserves to have a say in her own life. Maybe if you spent less time looking down on the people who actually care about her, you’d understand that.”

Y/N’s mother glared at him, but before she could retort, Mrs. Ka interjected, her voice sharp and commanding. “Enough. This is Y/N’s life we’re talking about, not a game of who has the most power. You may have won custody, but that doesn’t mean you’ve won her heart.”

Y/N, who had been silent throughout the confrontation, finally stood, her voice trembling but determined. “Stop.”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t care about penthouses or flights to the U.S. I want to stay with my dad. I want to stay with the people who actually know me, who actually care about me.”

Her mother’s expression softened for a brief moment, but it quickly hardened again. “Y/N, I know this is difficult, but you’ll thank me someday. This is what’s best for you.”

“No, it’s not,” Y/N shot back, her voice rising. “What’s best for me is having a choice. And right now, you’re taking that away from me.”

Hoseok and Jimin exchanged glances, their hearts breaking for her but also swelling with pride at her courage. Mrs. Ka placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder, her silent support loud and clear.

Y/N’s mother let out a frustrated sigh, pulling her phone from her bag. “We’re done here. I’ll see you at the penthouse, Y/N. And don’t make me call the authorities to get you there.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the studio, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

As soon as the door closed, Y/N collapsed into Hoseok’s arms, her sobs breaking the quiet. He held her tightly, whispering soothing words as Jimin and Mrs. Ka looked on with concern.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Hoseok murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll figure this out together. I promise.”

Author's POV

The morning was unusually quiet as Y/N stood at the airport terminal, clutching her boarding pass. Her heart felt heavy, a mixture of sadness and resignation swirling in her chest. Her mother stood a few steps ahead, briskly checking documents and speaking with the flight attendant, oblivious to the storm raging inside her daughter.

Y/N glanced at the glass doors behind her one last time, silently praying for a miracle. She hoped to see her dad rushing in, Hoseok with that determined fire in his eyes, and Jimin offering his usual calm reassurance. But all she saw was the steady flow of strangers moving through the terminal.

Meanwhile…

Hoseok, Jimin, and Y/N’s dad were racing through the crowded streets of Seoul. Her father gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, as he cursed every red light and traffic jam in their path.

“We’ll make it,” Hoseok said, his voice firm, though his heart was pounding in panic. He looked at Jimin, who sat quietly in the back seat, worry etched into his face.

“She can’t leave like this,” Jimin murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Hoseok clenched his fists. “She won’t. Not if we get there in time.”

But deep down, a gnawing fear told him they might already be too late.

Y/N’s boarding gate was announced, and her mother gestured for her to follow. As they walked toward the gate, Y/N slowed her pace, turning one last time toward the terminal’s entrance. Her heart leapt when she spotted three figures running toward the security checkpoint—her dad, Jimin, and Hoseok.

“Dad!” Y/N cried out, her voice cracking with emotion.

Her father shouted her name, his voice filled with desperation. Hoseok and Jimin followed close behind, their faces etched with determination. But the security barrier stood between them, and the flight attendant ushered Y/N and her mother forward.

Tears streamed down her face as she mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before disappearing through the gate.

Hoseok froze, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched her leave. The sight of her disappearing felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He wanted to scream, to run after her, but there was nothing he could do.

Jimin placed a hand on his shoulder, his own tears threatening to spill. “She didn’t want this, Hoseok. You know that.”

Y/N’s father stood silent, his shoulders sagging as the reality of the situation sank in.

Hoseok clenched his jaw, his hands trembling. “I’ll find her,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Someday, I’ll find her. And when I do, I’ll make sure she knows she’s not alone.”

At 24 years old, Jung Hoseok had become a name known worldwide. From underground battles to global stages, he had risen to fame as a hip-hop icon and rapper, renowned for his incredible talent, charisma, and passion. He poured his heart into every performance, his journey fueled by one unwavering promise: to find Y/N.

Underneath the glittering lights and roaring applause, there was still a part of him that felt incomplete. Every city he toured, every crowd he performed for, he kept an eye out for her. He knew she was out there somewhere, and he wouldn’t stop until he saw her again.

One evening, after a sold-out show in Los Angeles, Hoseok sat backstage, scrolling through messages on his phone. His manager handed him a piece of fan mail—a handwritten letter addressed specifically to him.

As he opened it, his breath caught in his throat. The neat handwriting was unmistakable, and the words on the page made his heart race.

“Hoseok, if you’re reading this, it means I finally worked up the courage to reach out. I’ve been following your journey, and I’m so proud of you. I never forgot the promise you made that day, and I hope you know… I kept waiting. – Y/N”

Hoseok’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as a small smile spread across his face. For the first time in years, he felt the pieces of his heart beginning to come back together.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

His manager glanced at the envelope. “There’s a return address. She’s here. In L.A.”

Hoseok stood, his heart pounding as hope surged through him. “Then let’s go.”

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Los Angeles as Y/N sat on the couch of her modest apartment, lost in thought. It had been years since she’d left Seoul, and though she’d managed to build a new life in the U.S., her heart never quite felt whole. Memories of her father, Jimin, and Hoseok lingered in her mind, often sneaking up on her when she least expected it.

The faint chime of her doorbell snapped her out of her reverie. She frowned, glancing at the clock. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Rising from the couch, she walked to the door and peered through the peephole. Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, thinking her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Slowly, she opened the door.

Standing there, with the biggest smile and teary eyes, was Hoseok. Beside him were Jimin and her father, both looking just as emotional.

“Y/N,” Hoseok said, his voice soft yet filled with so much emotion that it made her knees weak.

For a moment, she froze, staring at the three men who had been her entire world years ago. Then, as if a dam broke, she launched herself into her father’s arms, tears streaming down her face.

“Dad!” she sobbed, clinging to him tightly.

Her father hugged her just as fiercely, his own tears falling freely. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Every single day.”

Y/N pulled away just enough to look at Jimin, who was already opening his arms. “Jimin-ah!” she cried, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Y/N-ah, it’s so good to see you,” Jimin said, his voice breaking.

Finally, she turned to Hoseok, who stood a few steps behind them, his hands buried in his pockets, as if unsure if he should step forward.

“Hoseok,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

He smiled gently, his eyes glistening. “Hey.”

Without hesitation, Y/N ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her easily, holding her tightly as if afraid she’d slip away again.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I promised I’d find you, didn’t I?” he murmured, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “And I never break my promises.”

She smiled through her tears, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of having them all back in her life.

The four of them sat together in Y/N’s small living room, catching up on everything they’d missed. Her father shared stories of home, Jimin talked about his travels and how much he missed their late-night ballet practices, and Hoseok recounted his journey to becoming the global star he was today.

“I’ve been following you,” Y/N admitted shyly, glancing at Hoseok. “I watched your performances, your interviews. You’ve come so far.”

Hoseok chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t just for me,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “Everything I did, every stage I performed on, I did it hoping you’d see me. Hoping it’d lead me back to you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and Jimin smirked knowingly, elbowing her lightly.

Her father, who had been quiet for a while, cleared his throat. “Y/N, I fought for you back then, but I didn’t fight hard enough. I’m so sorry I let you go. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N reached out to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly. “You didn’t let me go, Dad. You did everything you could. And now… we’re here.”

The reunion was bittersweet, filled with laughter, tears, and a renewed sense of hope. For the first time in years, Y/N felt like she belonged again, surrounded by the people who truly cared for her.

Later That Evening…

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm glow, Hoseok and Y/N found themselves alone on the balcony. The city stretched out before them, its lights twinkling like stars.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Y/N said, leaning against the railing.

Hoseok smiled, leaning beside her. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I never stopped looking for you. And now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go.”

She turned to him, her heart swelling. “Thank you, Hoseok. For everything.”

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Stay,” he said simply, his voice soft but resolute. “No matter what happens, stay with us. With me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she nodded. “I promise.”

Hoseok smiled, and in that moment, with the city lights shimmering around them and the promise of a brighter future ahead, everything felt right. Everything is now dancing in harmony.

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