When hoseok makes you look at yourself in the mirror while he fucks you from behind ⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚
Tags: this is so filthy… she in subspace🫠, as the title says . Mirror sex, manhandling, hes rough, fingers sucking, praising, she cry a bit, really descriptive creampie, he cums alot like omg, cum tasting, hes so sweet in the end.
Mdni 18+
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You were already soaked from making out earlier. Hoseok settled between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock between your folds making you shiver.
He took his time kissing your neck sloppily as he squeezed your breasts until you were squirming on your bed.
“Hobaa.. please,” you whine, needing him to put his cock inside already.
“I know, princess,” he whispered in your ears as he slowly slid into you with one smooth deep thrust.
You gasped, arching off the bed as he started immediately moving. A steady rhythmic pace that was almost lazy, Breathing so heavily on your face.
The feeling of his shaft sliding in and out, stroking your sensitive walls was so overwhelming, your eyes rolled back into your head. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, trying to get him deeper.
“Fuck,” He let out a a soft grunt feeling you squeeze around his cock.
He kissed you, swallowing your moans. His hands were everywhere—in your hair, on your face, gripping your hips to keep his slow, maddening pace. You were getting lost in it, in the feel of him moving inside you, in the heat of his skin, soft wet noises that your pussy makes.
He watched your face change. Seeing your eyes get a little unfocused, your mouth soft and slack. He saw the moment you slipped into that quiet, pliant headspace. He smiled nudging his nose and lips on your cheek.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with affection. He kept the pace steady, rocking his hips into you. Keeping you right there on the blissful edge.
His gaze drifted to the huge mirror in front your bed, and the corner of his lips lifted as an idea struck him.
Then, he slowed. Pulling almost all the way out making you whine at the loss. "Shh," he soothed, kissing your cheek. "I've got you. Turn over."
Rolling you to your stomach. you went easily, boneless. He arranged you on your knees pulling you hips up as you arch your back, his hands wrapped gently around your forearms pulling you back to him, supporting you as your hazy headspace made your entire body weaken.
“Eyes up, princess,” he said softly.
You blinked slowly, dizzy enough that it took you a few seconds to finally look up.
The mirror on the wall was right in front of you. You saw yourself—hair messed up, skin flushed pink, lips swollen. You looked fucked-out and peaceful.
You saw him move behind you. He guided his throbbing cock back inside with one hand as the other locked around your elbows like it was nothing, keeping you still. You moaned, your head dropping for a second.
“Look,” his voice firmer now. Setting a deep and hard pace, his hips slamming into your ass with a sound that filled the room. Your head was too heavy to hold up. Dropping forward, voice so small as you let out incoherent words.
“ i- i can’..” voice vibrating from the force of his thrusts.
He tsk a sound, wrapping one arm around your waist pulling you hard on his chest as his hand help your chin up.
“Open up,” he demands.
You opened your mouth, pushing two fingers inside. They pressed down on your tongue, making you drool on his fingers.
“Suck,” he said
You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked. Applying a weak rhythmic pressure. It was easy. Almost comforting as It gave you something to do.
“Yeahh..good girl”
“Now look at your pretty face on the mirror,” he said pounding harder into you.
You were trapped. In a good way. Your eyes went back to the mirror.
You saw it all. You saw your face, your cheeks hollow from sucking his fingers. Watching the tears that tracked silently down your cheeks from the sheer, overwhelming everything of it. You saw how your breasts bounced every time he pushed into you. You watched his face, a mask of fierce concentration and adoration, his eyes glued to where his fingers disappeared between your lips.
It was a lot. Too much. But you couldn't look away. He wouldn't let you.
“That’s it ,princess” he rasped, His breath was hot on your neck. “Juuust like that. See how pretty you are? See how well you take it?”
He was everywhere. Inside you. In your mouth. In your sight. He was the only solid thing in your soft, dissolving world.
“Good girl,”he rasped, the words vibrating through his chest and into your back. The praise sank into you, warm and steady, even as his thrusts became frantic, losing their rhythm. “Perfect girl. Just like that. Don't look away.”
It happened fast. One second you were lost in the rhythm, his fingers heavy on your tongue, your eyes glued to your own wrecked reflection. The next, a hot, sharp wave curled low in your belly, a clenching, electric pulse that stole your breath and your thoughts.
You didn't make a sound. Your mouth just hung open around his fingers as you held your breath. Your eyes went blank in the mirror. Your body locked up, every muscle tight, and he could feel your cunt pulsing around him, gripping him in waves.
“Oh fuck—” his voice cracked.
It sent him over the edge. slamming into you hard, burying himself deep, and then he was coming. The first spurt hit inside you, hot and thick. He groaned, a low, broken sound, his hips jerking against your against your ass.
It was so warm. So wet. It filled you up spreading deep in your belly. The feeling of it, the sudden wet heat, made your own orgasm kick harder. Your pussy clenched again, milking him, pulling more out of him.
“Shit—“ he gasped. “Keep doing that—“
He kept coming. Long, thick spurts that he could feel pumping out of him. Each one made you twitch around him. Your body kept squeezing, kept pulling. It was like you were trying to take everything he had.
The feeling was dirty and perfect. You were Stuffed. warm and slippery. It was too much to hold. Some of it leaked out around his cock, dripping down your thighs, wetting the sheets under you.
His chest pressed against your back, his breath hot and ragged on your neck. His cock kept twitching inside you, giving little spurts of cum even after he thought he was done. Your pussy kept squeezing back, little aftershocks that made him whimper.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, baby.”
You just stayed there, limp and used, your body still shaking. You could feel everything. The mess between your legs. The wet spot growing under you. The warmth of his cum inside you. The weight of him on your back.
He finally moved. He slowly pulled out, and the feeling made you gasp. Empty. Wet. A gush of his cum followed, warm and thick, sliding out of you and down your thighs.
He turned you onto your back. His eyes went straight to the mess between your legs. His cum was still leaking out of you, a slow white drip that pooled on the sheets. He stared at it. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark.
“Look at that,” he said, his voice rough. He reached down and ran two fingers through the mess, spreading it around. “Look at what I did to you.”
You looked down. Your thighs were wet. Your pussy was red and swollen. His cum was everywhere, slick and shiny on your skin.
He brought his fingers up to your mouth. “Taste.”
You opened your mouth and he pushed his fingers inside. You sucked them clean. The taste was salty and bitter and him. His eyes watched you, hungry.
“Good girl,” he said. “All mine.”
He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You could taste both of you mixed together. It was filthy. It was perfect.
When he pulled back, he was smiling. Soft now. His eyes looked almost doe-like, open and unguarded, filled with affection. He brushed your hair off your face.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
You shook your head. Words were still hard.
“Good.” He kissed your forehead. “Let's get you cleaned up ᡣ𐭩.”
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A/N: holy… this was so intense and im very proud of this one cuz it really effected me lol just honest emotions here.
could I ask for a BTS reacting to reader doing topless at the beach? thank you 💕
(not a minor btw!!!!!!!!!)
a/n: Omg I appreciate you telling me you're not a minor!
warnings: mdni, 18+, boyfriend! BTS, dirty talk, these are hc, suggestive touching, pet names (baby, my love, etc.), public beach, nude beach, private beach, a boat, allude to bj, allude to m-st-rb-t-ng (f. rec), allude to smut, mentions of dumbification, all boys down bad, skinny dipping, teasing, etc.
wc: 1.7k+
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
Namjoon - When you go topless, showing Namjoon your pretty tits, his mind blanks.
He knows deep down he should probably be worried about someone seeing you partially naked, or be smug to show you off to anyone who might see you, but Namjoon doesn't think.
He sees your breasts, and his mind shuts off, or better yet, goes into autopilot. He doesn't even give you a chance to reach for the sunscreen before his body is rolling on top of yours. The beach umbrella covers you both from the left, but Namjoon's body covers yours entirely as he finds his hips between your open plush thighs.
"Joon-" You can't even finish saying his name when you feel his cock harden, barely separated by his swimtrunks and your bikini bottoms. And then it's your turn to have your mind blank because Namjoon's lips are sucking one of your nipples into his wet mouth while his cock is throbbing against your covered, puffy folds.
He uses his tongue to flick, lick, and lap the nub until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your fingers are threading into his hair to pull him closer.
He makes you forget where you are. The only reason you two came to this beach was to relax, and Namjoon now planned to do that while sucking on your pretty titties. Once he was satisfied that you were wet and wanting, he planned to drag you back to the car to fuck you stupid and take you home to do it again. He wasn't going to last long for this beach day, but he was going to make it up to you.
Jin - You're at the beach, but on Jin's boat, far out in the ocean. You can see the many colorful dots of people lounging around on the sand, waddling into the ocean, or walking to find a place to tan, and you're happy that you get the privacy of relaxing with your boyfriend alone.
You knew that he most likely brought you onto this trip so he could go fishing while still spending time with you, and you were more than happy to come along. You didn't always fish with your boyfriend; sometimes, you would take advantage of the small yacht to tan or read inside, enjoying the soft waves lapping at the boat as you got lost in your latest book.
Today, you decided to tan first.
Jin was barely two feet away from where you lay, his posture relaxed as the sun beamed down on both of you. It was a perfect day. And you hadn't even realized he was watching you and not the ocean when you slipped your top off, closing your eyes and sighing happily. Your hand was resting just under your breast, and you were about to move it to your side when Jin spoke up.
He's soft but firm as his eyes rake over you slowly, his tongue licking his lips as he hums. "Move your hand up."
You furrow your eyebrows, blinking over at your boyfriend in confusion until you see the way his eyes hood and his cock twitch under your gaze.
"I want you to touch yourself for me, Baby. Move your hands up."
Jin's eyes stay on your pretty tits, ready to show you another way to relax, waiting for you to follow his orders. And you're always so good at taking his orders.
Yoongi - The strings to your swimsuit are already undone as you lie on top of your beach towel. You're lying on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as the sun rays beam down on you, and you're pretty positive you could nap just like this.
Yoongi is lying right next to you, but in the shade of the beach umbrella you two brought. His hair was wet from the ocean after you two had been swimming around for an hour before, trying to spot little schools of fish, and now, after another layer of sun lotion was rubbed on you, you were tanning as your boyfriend took in the beautiful day.
Waves lapped at the shoreline, the clouds were fluffy in the sky, and for the amazing day it was today, hardly anyone was on the beach but the two of you. It was perfect, and Yoongi didn't think it could get any better until it was time for you to flip over.
Your pretty tits grab all of Yoongi's attention the moment you turn over, making his lazy grin turn into an amused smirk. "If you wanted my attention, Baby, all you had to do was ask."
His teasing made you grin, your eyes rolling playfully as you shook your head. But then Yoongi was leaning closer, his thumb brushing over one of your nipples, and making you suck in a breath as he chuckled.
"I think you should take a break from the sun, c'mere, let me help you cool off."
Hobi - The day was warm, the ocean was cool, and Hobi was spending his free day with you on the beach. He wanted to have you all to himself; the long days of his job keeping him busy and away had taken a toll on him, so any chance he could have with you, he was going to take it.
It's why he lugged the beach towels, the umbrella, the sunscreen, etc., while you took care of the picnic basket full of snacks and drinks for both of you to share.
Hours of sun, sand, and swimming had left Hoseok tanner, his smile brighter, and your eyes gleaming as he swam closer to you. You two weren't far from the shoreline, but you were far from people, and it's why you forwent your top.
Your giggles rang in his ears as Hobi's eyes took you in. You were wet, hair drenched with ocean water, droplets sliding down your neck and into the valley of your breasts before joining back into the ocean. Your smile was mischievous, a knowing sparkle swirling in your eyes as you took in the way Hobi's breath caught.
He had pulled you in closer, his hands brushing along the curve of your breasts as your own hand teased the top of his swim trunks. He wanted to know if you had taken your swim bottoms off, too, suddenly wishing he was home alone with you instead of on this beach as your hand slipped under his swimtrunks in the ocean to grab his aching cock.
If you wanted to play, then Baby, he'll play. His cock was already growing hard under your touch, his pupils dilating as you gave him another playful giggle.
Jimin - Jimin is just finishing setting up your spot on the beach when you take your top off.
You two had taken a drive to a little trail that led to a private beach. It was the perfect getaway after both of you had the busiest workweek and had finally made it to the weekend.
Good weather, and belting to your favorite songs with your loved one had cured multiple long days at your day job, and feeling the sand underneath your feet had revived the energy you hadn't realized was depleted until now.
And it's how you end up taking a leap, untying the strings around your back and neck, and allowing the thin fabric to slip off your body as you look back at Jimin with a grin.
He watched as your grin grew bigger, his shocked face amusing you to bend over and slip your swim bottoms off next. "Catch me if you can!" You taunted, and then you were off, racing into the ocean with him short-circuiting under the umbrella he had carried all the way here.
It takes him three blinks to realize what you've said, and then his grin matches yours, and his swim trunks are pooling at his ankles as he chases after you. Your laughter rings in his ears, pushing him forward, eager to hear it again.
Taehyung - The moment you are topless on the beach is the exact moment Taehyung contemplates how he can convince you to follow him back to the car.
He doesn't care if anyone sees you; if anything, it makes a confident and smug grin dance on his lips because you're his, and he's proud to show you off.
Honestly, he isn't above fucking you in front of everyone if that's what you want. And he does ask you as he kneels between your legs, dipping his head down to lick a stripe up the valley of your breasts with a sparkle in his eyes. "You want to play, Baby?"
His tongue swirls the question mark over one of your nipples, his teeth grazing the little nub just to see you whimper in response.
"Are you going to take everything off? Want me to help you?" His fingers play with the strings of your bikini bottoms, brushing along your inner thighs until his knuckles are dragging over your puffy folds. "I can use my mouth, if you'd like?"
Taehyung forfeits the idea of sneaking you into the car. You're the one who caused his cock to harden, twitching pathetically in his swimtrunks as he presses it into your thigh. Now, he expects you to solve it.
Jungkook - Any thoughts in his head disappear the minute you take your top off at the beach.
You two were here to enjoy the sunny day, a little beach weekend if you will, where you two had planned to laze about on the beach and do nothing else.
But Jungkook's plan to swim around is immediately put onto the back burner in his mind as you lie back on your beach towel, topless, and looking like his wettest dream. "Fuck you're gorgeous." Jungkook is brought to his knees, his hands reaching for your waist and sliding up your sides until he can cup your pretty tits in his hand.
"Babe, I'm just trying not to create any tan lines." You giggle and then gasp as his fingers pinch your nipples, pulling them softly until your cute cunt clenches needily in response.
"Yeah? Are you gonna strip completely naked then, and show everyone your pretty body?" His hands move down from your tits and over your stomach to your bikini bottoms, teasing the little strings keeping the fabric covering the one thing he wanted most right now. "Are you gonna show me your pretty pussy, too? I've always wanted to fuck you on the beach, Baby. Want me to fuck you right here, right now?"
대박 - you made it to the end!
Tell me about it. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated ♡ . Tumblr is based on reblogs, not likes, and they help writers like me to get a better reach. Thank you for your support!
-> pairing. idol!jimin x fem!8th member!reader (with some hoseok x reader on the side)
-> genre. fluff, a tad suggestive
-> rating. 13+
-> w/c. 1,200
-> warnings. None!
-> a/n. Guess who’s finally posting her non-songfic BTS oneshots & ficlets… this gal! 🥴 It’s long overdue 😭✋. Going over these older fics is super nostalgic, but I’m also rethinking all my life choices bc why does this read better than all my current work 🥹
-> bts ficlets, oneshots & series m.list
-> started. Jul. 23rd, 2021 @ 22:55
-> fin. Jul. 23rd, 2021 @ 23:56
-> edited. Sun., Mar. 29th, 2026 @ 20:44
-> divider credit. @saradika-graphics
You've been failing to fall asleep and so you decide to do what you do best... review and monitor.
You go to YouTube and watch some performances, one of your earphones resting on your shoulder. You occasionally look up to make sure Hoseok and Jimin are still sleeping, adjusting the volume whenever one of them turn over.
You were supposed to watch group performances to monitor yourself, but—thanks to the algorithm—find yourself watching a Serendipity performance instead.
You have to hand it to the stylists... Jimin's outfit is spot-on: he looks heavenly in his silk shirt and tight jeans. You peek up and over your phone to acknowledge Jimin's sleeping form on the bed across from you, shaking your head in disbelief. The fact that you made it—with the biggest group in the world no less—baffles you.
Focusing again on the video, you can't help but rewind when you see him move his hand up his shirt and mimic the beating of a heart, the shirt so far up that you can see the word 'nevermind' drawn onto his skin in black ink.
Sure, you've seen most of the members shirtless at least once, but it's not like you openly admire them.
You shake your head, watching the particular scene a few time before moving on. No wonder ARMY scream so much. This choreography is devastating!
A slight shuffle from beside you and you freeze up instantly.
"Y/N? Why are you awake?" Hoseok asks in a low voice. His morning voice sends you spiraling but you push it to the back of your mind.
"Sorry. I've been having trouble falling asleep," you whisper, looking nervously at Jimin's bed.
"Again?" The older man grunts tiredly, reaching out to grab his phone and check the time.
02:32 a.m.
Hobi sighs. Your eyes widen when you hear the springs in his bed groan as he lifts himself out of bed with a tired mumble. "Yah—yah! What're you doing?" you whisper-scream, eyes larger than a saucer as Hoseok grabs your phone and gently tugs your earphone out.
He switches off the device, placing it on your shared bedside table before patting your side. When you stare up at him incredulously he simply begins lowering himself onto the bed, before he climbs under the covers, forcing you to shift over to avoid getting crushed.
He pulls the blanket over himself and wraps an arm around your side, pulling you toward him and intertwining your legs. What the fuck are you doing, Jung Hoseok?
"Language, missy—"
"Shit, did I say that out loud?" You chuckle sheepishly, your voice muffling when Hoseok suddenly brings your head into his neck, patting your hair before dropping his hand tiredly.
"You need to find a healthier way of falling asleep. Opening your phone anytime you can't sleep is very counter-productive,” the dancer chides you, voice husky. You sigh. He's right, and you have to admit that you're already feeling drowsy just because of the added body heat and strong hold around your waist.
Your eyes flutter closed after a few moments, Hoseok's natural smell of hot chocolate and warm nights lulling you to sleep.
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You wake up to the blaring of your alarm at seven o'clock sharp, groaning and hiding your face deeper into the crook of Hoseok's neck.
"When did this happen?" Jimin's voice urges you to turn around and open your eyes despite the glaring sunlight, catching sight of Jimin gesturing at the two of you. He stops your alarm, raising a teasing brow with a charming smile.
"Couldn't sleep. Hobi helped." You yawn as you pull away from said dancer, throwing your legs off the side of the bed and stretching.
Jimin laughs, nodding. "Ah, yes. The power of cuddles."
"If you two don't stop talking," Hoseok grumbles, "I'm going to crush you."
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"Wait, really? Hoseok hyung actually threatened you?" Jungkook asks with a shocked expression, looking from you to Hoseok, who’s talking with Jimin and Taehyung.
"I'm telling you, Kookie, Hobi can be really scary when he wants to be!"
"Sleep makes even the happiest of men grumpy," Yoongi sighs dramatically from behind you. Giggling at his antics you nudge him gently, earning a poke in the side.
"Right then, guys! Let's get started!" Your choreographer claps his hands, the atmosphere changing immediately to one of concentration and seriousness.
————————————————————————
"You were what?" Jimin asks now, panting as the two of you lay side by side on the cold practice-room floor. You had gone over the dance a few more times and Jimin had joined you, being the angel he is.
"I was watching the Serendipity performance, but that's not the question!" You sit up and plop yourself to sit on top of Jimin's stomach. He looks up at you with unimpressed eyes.
"I'm serious!" you whine, propping your hands unconsciously on his side.
"You asked if you could see the tattoo," he deadpans, as if that's some sort of enlightening information.
"Yes, and? Can I?"
"The tattoo that's halfway up my side?" Jimin clarifies again, smirking now as your cheeks turn red.
"Okay, yeah. It's kind of weird, it's fine if you don—"
"I'm just kidding, Y/Nie, of course you can have a look." Jimin chuckles cutely, making you pout and hit his chest.
Now that you have permission, the task seems a bit more daunting than you expected. You ghost your fingers over his shirt before grabbing at the hem, looking up at him with nervous eyes. Jimin only smiles gently, giving you an encouraging nod of his head.
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding as you slowly pull his shirt up, up, up. Until—finally—you can see the black ink adorning his body. Jimin can't help but shiver as the cool air hits his bare skin, his eyes focused on you.
You can't help but gape at him, ghosting your fingers over the letters and failing to notice how Jimin sucks in a harsh breath at the contact. "It looks good on you," you hum quietly, still staring at it mesmerized. Besides the fact that you're adoring the tattoo itself, you have to fight against the urge to drag your eyes over his toned abs... Up his sides and—get your head in the game!
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, definitely. No wonder ARMY love it so much." You chuckle darkly as you look up to meet Jimin's eyes, a bit flustered to find him already staring at you.
He chuckles, nodding with a smirk. "I'm just too hot for them."
You smack his bare stomach, hiding your smile when he flinches, sending you a questioning look. "Gross."
Jimin laughs. You pull his shirt down and get up with a quick pat on his side, helping him up. The two of you make some small talk as you close up for the night, eager to head home and fall asleep.
(Jimin finds it hard to get rid of the feeling of your hands on his skin.)
"If you have trouble sleeping again, can I climb in with you tonight?" he asks hopefully.
You let a small smile creep onto your face. "Of course!"
warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.
note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.
Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.
Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.
A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.
You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.
But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.
Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.
But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.
He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.
It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.
Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.
Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.
You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.
He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.
He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.
And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.
It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.
An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.
His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.
You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.
And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.
“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”
Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.
You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”
Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.
Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.
All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.
And it no longer shall.
If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.
“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”
And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.
You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.
So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.
But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.
Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.
The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.
He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.
You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.
You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.
You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.
And the process soaks your panties.
So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.
“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.
He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.
And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.
Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.
You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.
“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.
It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.
“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.
He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”
The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.
The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.
And you might as well give him what he asks of you.
Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.
“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.
He didn’t expect that.
Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.
Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”
The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.
If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.
And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.
He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.
Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.
The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.
Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.
And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.
“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.
Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.
The man likes feet.
You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.
And you let his following question consume you just as much.
“Were you in love with him?”
It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.
No need for long nights of overthinking.
No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.
“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”
Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.
“What’s it to me?”
There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.
Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.
“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.
A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.
How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?
You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.
“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”
He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.
“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”
He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”
He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.
And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.
“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”
He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”
Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.
“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”
What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?
A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.
How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.
“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.
“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”
“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”
He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”
The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.
But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.
A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”
Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”
Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.
He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”
You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.
“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”
He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.
Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.
The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.
And you do.
He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.
“Did you cry for him?”
Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.
“Stop fucking—”
Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”
Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”
He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”
And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.
The life in you throbs.
His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.
“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”
You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.
“Touch it, please.”
Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.
He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.
Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.
And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.
Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”
He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.
You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.
Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.
“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”
You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.
Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.
And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.
And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.
You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.
He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”
Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”
He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.
“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.
There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.
“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”
He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”
He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.
He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”
You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.
And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.
Your poor heart skips a beat.
“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”
He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.
Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”
You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.
“That’s so hot.”
He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”
Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.
And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.
And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.
“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”
He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.
You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.
Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”
“Then, have it.”
And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”
You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—
“Lay back down.”
You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”
Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”
Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.
“I want that so bad.”
He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”
You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.
“I didn’t bring any condoms.”
You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”
Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.
“I’ll give you a big load.”
You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.
“Good girl. Such good manners.”
And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.
“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”
Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.
“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.
He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.
“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.
“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.
And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.
“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”
Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”
He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.
“Say that again.”
Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”
Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.
“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.
“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.
But only one thing is clear.
“I’m yours.”
And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.
Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.
“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”
And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.
Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.
Blood-hot.
And you feel as though you deserved every drop.
Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.
Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.
They cease to exist.
You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—
“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”
His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.
But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.
“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”
He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.
Again and again.
Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.
And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.
Hoseok is that life.
And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.
In honor of Mona Lisa can we get a jhope fic please Mona Lisa inspired ofc😔👉🏾👈🏾
A/n: so sorry for how long this took but ohhhh my god I loved writing this lmao this was good. it was also lowkey intimidating to write this bc I kinda had to write "mona lisa" as closely as hobi describes her in the song but I think I did a pretty good job lol I hope you loved this!!
Mona Lisa, Yeah I Need Ya (Jhope)
Summary: After a painful breakup, Y/N cautiously reenters the nightlife scene, where an unexpected encounter with the charming Hoseok awakens new desires and challenges her emotional boundaries.
Themes: softdom!Hobi, PleasureDom!Hobi, Independent!Reader, Self-Possessed!Reader, Fem recieving oral and fingering, protected sex, alcohol consumption
Word Count: 5.2k
It had been a few months since the breakup, and by the second month, you had started to feel like yourself again—steady, clear-headed, no longer unravelling at the sight of old photos or mutual playlists. Still, you decided to lay low a little longer. There was no rush to be social again, no pressure to be seen. You gave yourself the space to rebuild in peace, focusing on self-care, solitude, and the small comforts that often go neglected in the wake of a relationship’s slow erosion.
The breakup itself hadn’t been dramatic—no screaming, no infidelity, no grand exit. If anything, the ending mirrored the relationship itself: quiet, slow-burning, and far too polite. You’d both simply drifted apart, pulled in different directions by work schedules, emotional needs, and that inevitable, unspoken disinterest. He had been distant for months, and though you'd noticed, you had never demanded answers. You didn’t issue ultimatums or stage a last-ditch confession. You were composed. Stoic, even. So when he ended things on a mild spring evening while the sunset painted your apartment in gold and coral, you simply nodded and offered him a drink before he left.
He had been neglectful, true—but mature enough to do the leaving himself. You didn’t mention that part to anyone. Too considerate. Too loyal, even after the fact. It’s a quiet tragedy: how often women swallow the discomfort in favor of appearing unbothered, offering their partner a gentle exit in the name of dignity. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say so.” But that wasn’t the line you fed him. You simply let go.
By the fourth month, the fog had lifted entirely. And when your best friend Gissele texted you an invite to a party at one of the city’s most talked-about clubs, something in you stirred. Not apprehension—readiness. Excitement, even.
There was a dress hanging in your closet you hadn’t worn yet—bought during an impulsive shopping trip when you’d told yourself you would have something to dress up for eventually. It was sleek and unapologetically bold, black silk and structured seams, still crisp with tags. Tonight was the night.
You and Gissele entered the club hand-in-hand, laughter already dancing on your lips as blue and violet lights swept over the crowd. The bassline of the music thrummed in your chest. A kaleidoscope of bodies moved across the floor, sweat-slicked and electric. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—the ritual of getting dressed up, the chaos of the night, the sense of belonging to your own body again.
“I am so ready,” you said with a grin, glancing at Gissele.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she teased, dragging you toward the bar. The two of you settled on stools, giggling as you sipped pink Whitney from dewy glasses.
“I’m glad you came,” she added, more serious now, swirling her drink. Her honey-brown eyes shimmered under the strobe lights, and her hot pink lacefront framed her face like a crown. Gissele never did subtle. That’s what made her so magnetic—every movement was intentional, every outfit a declaration.
“I just needed time,” you replied softly, shrugging. “To recalibrate.”
“I get it,” she said. And you believed her.
One of the many reasons you adored her was that she always made you feel safe. She had an eye for detail, a sixth sense for shady behavior, and could destroy a creep’s ego in seconds flat—all without smudging her lipstick. She was your shield, your chaos twin, your anchor.
Tonight, her look was a statement of its own. She wore towering white platform boots that wrapped just under her knees, layered shredded tights in blush and fuchsia, a silky white slip dress, and a structured harness that gave her an edge of danger. She looked like she’d stepped out of a cyberpunk magazine. In contrast, your style was more refined: a black dress with asymmetrical ruffles and heeled boots. Romantic. Reserved. A perfect foil to her explosive palette.
“I swear to god, the men here are insane,” she whispered, eyes scanning the crowd. “Wait—yup. That one’s staring at you.”
You blinked. “Which one?”
But she was already gone, abandoning her stool with a laugh and a wink. “Have fun,” she called over her shoulder, leaving you alone with your drink—and, apparently, under observation.
You didn’t have to wait long.
A few moments later, a hand gently brushed your elbow. You turned, startled, only to meet a pair of warm, expressive eyes and a mouth curved into a smile that was as soft as it was knowing.
“May I buy you a drink?” the man asked, voice velvet-smooth. He slid into the seat beside you—the one Gissele had left vacant—as though it had always been his.
You looked at him—really looked. The subtle shine of sweat on his brow, the warm bronze undertone of his skin, and the twinkle of his grill as he smiled, catching the light like a constellation. Elegant, refined—and yet there was a hint of mischief beneath his charm.
“I’m still working on this,” you said, lifting your half-full pink Whitney and licking the corner of your lip, as if to test his reaction.
A rejection, technically. But not a closed door.
His smirk widened just slightly, like he understood the game. “Fair enough,” he replied, his eyes not leaving yours. The air between you shifted, magnetic. He didn’t press—but he didn’t leave either.
You crossed one leg over the other, sitting up straighter, aware of the way his eyes briefly flicked down and back up. “Your friend seemed eager to disappear.”
“She saw you coming,” you replied, letting a slow smile curl your lips. “Thought she’d give us a moment.”
“Smart woman,” he said, clearly amused.
“I’m Y/N.”
You extended your hand, and instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—light, gentlemanly, deliberate.
“Hoseok,” he said. “Pleasure.”
You felt your stomach flutter—ridiculous, you told yourself. It’s just the alcohol. But you knew better.
“Is this your usual scene?” you asked, easing into conversation, trying to keep your tone casual despite the way his presence kept pulling your attention like a gravitational force.
“I show up when I feel like dressing up and flirting shamelessly with beautiful women,” he replied without a trace of irony. His gaze locked with yours. “So tonight, yes.”
You laughed. “That a line you use often?”
“No,” he said, “I save it for when it’s true.”
The banter had an easy rhythm, but it was laced with a sincerity you weren’t prepared for. He wasn’t just trying to charm you—he meant what he said. Every compliment had weight, every glance held intention.
And still, there was no pressure. Just presence. Just a man leaning in slightly, his fingers ghosting the rim of his glass as he listened to you speak. You told him about your job, your last girls’ trip, your recent obsession with 90s R&B. He told you about his travels, his work in dance and music, his deep affection for old vinyl records and lavender-scented candles.
The two of you slipped into a corner booth after the second drink. The crowd pulsed on around you, a blur of motion and noise. But the space you occupied felt insulated—separate, private, like a soft secret between the two of you.
He leaned closer.
“You have a way of being still in chaos,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s... rare. That calm.”
You raised a brow, caught off guard by the poetry in his tone. “You talk like that to all the girls?”
“No,” he said again. “Only when I mean it.”
This time, the blush crept to your ears. Hoseok watched the shift in your expression with barely concealed satisfaction, like a man who knew the power of words and wielded them carefully. He didn’t reach for your thigh. He didn’t try to kiss you. But every movement, every word, made it clear: he was interested. And he was in no hurry. This wasn’t conquest—it was intrigue. And the longer you sat with him, the harder it became to look away.
“Come dance with me,” he said, standing and offering you his hand.
You hesitated only for a second before slipping your fingers into his, letting him guide you onto the floor. The music shifted to something sultry and slow, the kind of rhythm that curled around your limbs and made the space between bodies feel charged.
And when he placed his hands—gentle, respectful—on your hips, guiding you to move with him, you felt the heat settle into your skin.
Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol after all.
The music thrummed low and seductive, a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with the beat of your heart as Hoseok guided you into the tangle of swaying bodies. His grip was light at your waist—two fingers resting just enough to suggest control without taking it. You settled into the tempo, allowing yourself to relax into the motion. He moved close, not too close, but close enough to feel the heat of his body through the thin black silk of your dress.
“You dance like someone who doesn’t come out often,” he murmured, leaning just enough that his breath stirred the strands near your ear.
Your lips curved. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” he said smoothly. “It means I get to watch you rediscover it.”
You turned your head to glance at him, amused and a little intrigued. “And what exactly am I rediscovering?”
His eyes flicked down, just once, before settling back on your face. “What it feels like to be wanted.”
That one hit deeper than you expected. But you didn’t falter. You just tilted your head with a coy, polished smile, like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach twist with heat.
“Is that what this is?” you asked, voice even. “You wanting me?”
“Undeniably,” he said.
A beat passed. You looked away first, the corners of your mouth twitching upward in unspoken amusement.
He didn’t press. Instead, he shifted closer—so slowly it was imperceptible at first. His chest barely grazed yours now, and his hand had migrated, palm resting against the dip of your spine. He kept the movement subtle, his other hand lifting to brush a stray hair from your cheek, fingertips skimming along the line of your jaw. Polite, still. But loaded.
“So,” he said, voice smooth as honey, “what brings you out tonight? You don’t strike me as someone who comes here for the drinks.”
Your gaze flicked up to his, your brow lifting. “I could say the same to you.”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying the push and pull. “Touché. But I asked first.”
You paused, just for effect, before answering. “I needed the reminder that I still exist outside my apartment. Outside my routines.”
“A reawakening,” he said, the word drawn out thoughtfully, like he was tasting it.
“Something like that.”
He nodded, hand pressing a little more firmly against your back now. You stepped forward slightly to keep your balance, and he didn’t move back. Your bodies were close enough now that you could feel the bass of the music reverberating between you.
“And the dress?” he asked, eyes sweeping over you again—but not lewdly. Thoughtfully. “Bought for tonight?”
“No,” you replied, tone playful. “It’s been waiting in my closet for months.”
“Ah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Then I feel incredibly lucky.”
You raised a brow. “To see it?”
“To be the reason it came out.”
Your laugh was soft, reluctant. “You’re smooth.”
“I’m honest,” he corrected. “And observant.”
His hand drifted just slightly lower, the heat of his palm lingering now at the curve where your spine met your hips. You felt the warmth climb your neck, but your expression remained neutral—poised.
“You move like someone who doesn’t just dance,” he said. “You move like you know exactly what kind of attention you command.”
Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard by the comment, but you recovered quickly, tipping your head in mock consideration. “Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a fact,” he said, voice dipping lower, lips brushing dangerously close to your ear now. “And a turn-on.”
This time, the flush threatened to betray you. Your stomach coiled with something sharp and satisfying, and though you didn’t respond immediately, your eyes met his again with that same unreadable smile.
He searched your expression, but you gave him nothing—just subtle amusement and polished restraint. That only seemed to intrigue him more.
“You’re good at this,” you said at last.
“At what?”
“This slow burn thing. Drawing people in.”
“I could say the same to you.”
A silence settled between you—thick, charged. His hand still rested against your lower back, and your arms had looped, almost instinctively, behind his neck. There was no distance left between your bodies. You were moving in sync, slow, deliberate, the music now secondary to the tension blooming between you.
You leaned in slightly, voice low. “I should probably check on my friend.”
Hoseok glanced across the floor, spotting Gissele leaning against a far wall, already deep in conversation with two girls and laughing over something shared on a phone screen.
“She looks... occupied,” he said, then turned back to you. “But if you want to leave, I’ll walk you both out.”
You studied him for a moment. His posture, his ease, the way he never once made you feel boxed in despite the magnetism between you. He didn’t ask for anything—but the possibility hung heavy in the air.
You took a breath. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
There was a pause—brief, electric.
“My hotel’s nearby,” he said, simply. No edge, no pressure. Just suggestion. “If you’d like to keep talking somewhere quieter.”
“Talking,” you echoed with a knowing smile.
His own smile widened. “I did say I was honest.”
You didn’t answer right away. You turned toward the crowd, eyes finding Gissele again. She caught your gaze immediately and raised a brow, already knowing. You mouthed something across the distance—going to head out—and she responded with a wink and a thumbs up before returning to her new entourage.
You turned back to Hoseok.
“Well,” you said, brushing invisible lint from your dress and adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Lead the way.”
He offered you his hand again—this time not for the dance floor, but for the descent into something far more intimate. You took it without hesitation.
As the two of you exited the club, the air outside wrapped cool around your legs, balancing the heat that still lingered across your skin. Hoseok pressed the hotel’s location into his phone with one hand, the other still cradling yours like it was second nature.
And all the while, you walked beside him, steady, unreadable—but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in places he hadn’t even touched.
Not yet.
Not quite yet.
The elevator ride was quiet at first. Not awkward—just charged. A kind of silence that hung heavy between you both, weighted by everything unsaid but fully understood.
Hoseok leaned back against the elevator wall, one hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other running through his dark hair as his eyes traveled over you again, unapologetically this time. The overhead lighting softened his features, casting delicate shadows across the sharp lines of his face. His bottom lip caught slightly between his teeth before he spoke.
“You know,” he began, voice lower now in the confined space, “I wasn’t expecting much tonight. A few drinks, some polite conversation. Maybe a dance.”
You arched a brow, arms folded loosely, your smile just barely present—soft, knowing.
“But then I saw you,” he continued. “And you were… still.”
Still?
“Everyone else was moving, talking, laughing. But you were just there. Still and deliberate. Like you didn’t have to do anything to be seen.”
He pushed off the wall just slightly, not closing the distance between you, but enough to shift the tension in the air.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “But it’s something else. Something about you makes me want more than just tonight.”
You tilted your head slightly, lips pressing into a faint line of amusement, not revealing much. Your posture hadn’t changed—you remained poised, calm, with that same unshakable grace—but the warmth that bloomed in your chest betrayed your exterior.
“I’m not saying I’m expecting anything,” he added, quickly but not nervously. “I mean that. I just want to talk to you. Maybe get to know what it is that makes someone like you walk into a place like that and look like you already own it.”
You glanced sideways at him. “Smooth,” you said, your voice light but your eyes sharp. “Again.”
His grin deepened, dimple flashing. “Told you—I’m honest.”
The elevator chimed, and the doors parted.
Hoseok stepped out first and held the door without needing to look back, like it was muscle memory. You walked past him with that same unbothered elegance, and he fell into step beside you as the two of you moved down the hall toward his room.
Once inside, he didn’t rush. The suite was wide and open, the lights dimmed low and the view of the city glittering through the glass balcony doors. You made your way there without needing an invitation, pushing them open and stepping outside into the night air.
The wind was soft, almost warm, carrying the sounds of distant traffic and nightlife up to the high floor. Hoseok joined you moments later, two glasses of something amber in hand—he offered one to you silently, and you took it without comment.
The silence returned, this time more companionable. The city stretched out before you in every direction, glittering like it existed just for the two of you.
“So,” you said, finally. “What brings you here?”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, sipping from his glass before replying. “Work. Mostly.”
You nodded. “What kind of work?”
He turned to you, leaning one elbow on the railing. “Creative consulting. For artists. A little bit of choreography. A little bit of producing.”
Your brow lifted slightly. “That’s vague.”
He laughed, the sound quiet and unforced. “It is. That’s on purpose. I’m not really supposed to name names.”
You hummed. “Discretion. That’s attractive.”
“And rare,” he said, eyes flicking to yours again. “But I don’t just come here for work. Sometimes it’s a reset. Different city, different pace. New people.”
You sipped. “New distractions.”
“Maybe.” He glanced sideways at you again. “You don’t seem like one.”
You smirked. “No?”
“No. You feel more like a disruption.”
That word hung in the air between you.
You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the railing, letting the wind lift the ends of your hair. The glass in your hand caught a glimmer of moonlight, casting tiny golden flecks onto the concrete floor beneath you.
He watched you. Carefully. And when you looked back at him—slow, deliberate—his gaze didn’t shift away.
You held it.
That’s when the space between you shortened.
He didn’t move all at once. Just a step, and then another. His hand rested lightly on the curve of the railing beside yours, knuckles brushing your wrist.
“I’ve been trying not to stare,” he said, almost under his breath. “But you make it hard.”
Still, your smile didn’t waver. You simply turned your face toward his, eyes locked, unreadable.
The kiss was inevitable.
It didn’t happen in a rush—it happened in the quiet pause between glances. His hand rose to touch your cheek, thumb trailing just beneath your bottom lip, eyes watching the way your mouth parted the slightest bit at the contact. He didn’t ask, didn’t need to. When he leaned in, your lips met in a soft, exploratory kiss—slow at first, like the two of you were testing gravity itself.
When you didn’t pull away, when your fingers found the lapel of his jacket and held him there, he deepened it.
The glass in your hand tilted dangerously. You broke apart just long enough to set it down on the balcony table, then turned back to him with a heat now undeniable in your eyes.
He took your hand, no words this time, and led you back inside.
The room was cool, draped in shadows and city light. He paused at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face once more.
“You’re sure?” he asked, quiet now.
You leaned in, your breath warm against his neck. “If I wasn’t, you’d know.”
That was all the permission he needed.
“I want to take my time with you,” he whispered, voice velvet. “Is that alright?”
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you let your hands slide beneath his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders in one smooth motion. It hit the floor with a soft thud.
Hoseok’s hands were reverent, moving to the hem of your dress but not lifting it—yet. First, his fingertips traced along the fabric, following the curve of your hips, the line of your thigh. His palms flattened over your sides as he leaned in again, lips brushing just below your ear.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been holding back,” he said, exhaling slowly. “How much I’ve wanted to touch you like this… see how far I can push you before you ask for it.”
You inhaled slowly, your lips parted in the half-light, but your expression stayed controlled—poised, as ever. “I don’t ask.”
And that thrilled him.
He knelt then, lowering himself with grace until he was eye-level with your thighs. Your breath caught—not from nerves, but from the gravity of the gesture. The way he looked up at you, hands now sliding under the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric slowly to your waist, was enough to make your knees threaten betrayal.
He pressed a kiss to your knee. Then higher. Then higher still.
“Sit back,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “and let me make you feel good.”
You obeyed without speaking. Still wordless, still elegant—but when you leaned back onto the bed and rested on your elbows, your eyes stayed locked on his.
The pleasure was slow at first.
His mouth on you was deliberate, exploratory, taking his time with every flick, every suck, every drawn-out breath against your most sensitive skin. His hands pressed down on your thighs—not to hold you still, but to anchor you. To remind you where you were. With him.
You bit your bottom lip, hard. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of the noises building in your throat.
But Hoseok could read the tremble in your thighs, the subtle curve of your back arching slightly more with every languid sweep of his tongue. He didn’t need the moans—you were giving him everything already.
He pulled back just briefly, lips slick, eyes hooded with restrained desire.
“You're doing so well,” he praised, voice rougher now. “So fucking beautiful like this.”
Your lashes fluttered, mouth finally parting with a soft gasp as he moved back in and kept going—more confident now, more focused. One of his hands slid up to hold your waist, feeling the way your stomach tensed and relaxed with every wave of pressure he delivered.
And when you finally let your head fall back and exhaled a soft, trembling moan—he smiled against your skin.
It wasn’t about power, not really. Not domination in the way most understood it.
It was about control—his of himself, and yours of how far you’d let go.
You came undone in his mouth, tension bursting like light behind your eyes. Still elegant, still quiet—but shaken in a way that made your hands reach for his shoulders, grounding yourself as you rode the high out in stunned silence.
Hoseok rose slowly, reverently, kissing the inside of your thigh one last time before pulling you gently up to meet him.
He kissed you again—slow and soft—like he wasn’t trying to erase what just happened, but let it linger.
“Not done with you,” he whispered into your mouth.
Then he stood, reaching back to unbutton his shirt, eyes never leaving yours. “But only if you let me keep going.”
You smiled.
A real one this time. No teasing, no mask.
“Go ahead,” you said, voice soft but steady.
He stepped back just enough to pull the shirt from his shoulders, the faint light catching on the hard lines of his chest and the soft sheen of sweat that had started to gather at his collarbones. Every movement he made was fluid, unhurried, as though undressing in front of you was its own performance—one he wanted you to watch.
And you did. Reclined now against the plush pillows, one leg slightly bent and the other stretched long across the bed, you watched him like art. Quiet, composed, with only the slight tug of your bottom lip between your teeth giving you away.
Hoseok crawled back onto the bed, his hands brushing the sides of your thighs as he moved over you. He leaned in to kiss you again—slower this time, deeper. Like he was memorizing your mouth.
“You taste like my name,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “And now I want to hear it.”
Your lips curled in a small, knowing smirk. “Then earn it.”
He laughed softly—low, rich, aroused. “Oh, sweetheart…” he exhaled, trailing his mouth along your jaw, “I already am.”
This time, he didn’t rush. He took his time laying you bare—unzipping your dress with care, helping you shift out of it like he was unwrapping silk. His hands explored in unhurried strokes, tracing the dips and curves of your body with open admiration. Every glance he gave you was appreciative, worshipful, but not the least bit cloying. It was honest. Hungry, but controlled.
He kissed your sternum. The curve of your breast. The space just below your navel. His hands pushed your thighs apart gently, and when you let him, you saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
He spent the next while reacquainting himself with you—like a second act to the performance before, only this time slower, deeper. His fingers were skilled, precise, coaxing out reactions you tried to smother, and his mouth followed wherever your body arched.
"That's it..." he whispered against your skin, lips brushing your inner thigh. "Just like that. Let go." His fingers gently reach deeper.
You were close again—faster this time. You could feel your composure slip, inch by inch, but not in a way that embarrassed you. It felt safe, wrapped in the cocoon of his body, his words, the sheer focus he gave to your pleasure. “Hoseok.” You nearly whined, surprising yourself.
And when you did come, he didn’t rush you through it. He kissed your trembling thighs as they shook, gently massaging your hips with open palms. His voice stayed low and sweet.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Every sound, every breath—you’re fucking perfect.”
You were still catching your breath when he hovered above you again. The weight of him between your legs felt like gravity—solid, anchoring. He was hard, thick against your thigh, and you could feel the tension in him, the restraint.
He kissed you again—deep, open-mouthed, and a little desperate this time.
You pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Your turn.”
That same smirk from earlier flickered on his lips. “Only if you still want more.”
You nodded slowly, letting your hand trail down between your bodies, fingers brushing over the outline of him through his pants. “I want it.”
Those three words flipped a switch.
In seconds, he was out of the rest of his clothes, and you were guiding him back between your legs. He ripped open a metallic packet and rolled on a condom. He pressed against you gently, pausing at your entrance, watching your eyes.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
You did.
He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and your breath caught in your throat. His hands gripped your hips, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered a near-silent curse.
“Fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”
You smiled, eyes half-lidded. “That’s a line.”
“It’s a truth.” He pulled out almost entirely, then pushed back in, deeper. “And I’ll prove it.”
What followed was nothing rushed. No frenzied thrusts, no hurried movements. Hoseok fucked you like he meant it. Like every slow grind of his hips was a conversation. Like every breathless moan from your lips was a secret he wanted to keep in his mouth forever.
He kept one hand at your waist, another tangled with your fingers, grounding you together. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, and he groaned into your neck.
“I could lose myself in this,” he breathed. “In you.”
The rhythm built—still slow, still controlled, but more desperate now. Like he was trying not to come too soon, and you were trying not to fall apart again. You kissed, gasped, touched, pressed—until the tension coiled tighter than either of you could stand.
When you came again, this time it was together.
Bodies trembling, breaths mingling, hands gripping tightly like you didn’t want to let go. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, his mouth parted in bliss.
The silence afterward was comfortable—thick with heat and something else you didn’t dare name yet. He slowly pulled out, then settled beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as you turned into his chest.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Then he kissed the top of your head, his voice softer than you’d heard it all night.
“Stay the night?”
You let out a quiet laugh against his chest.
“Didn’t realize I had a choice.”
-
The sun was barely up when you stumbled through Giselle’s front door, barefoot heels in hand, hair tousled and lips still tingling but still as put together as you could be. She was exactly where you expected her to be—sprawled on the couch in last night’s chaos of pink and white, a satin eye mask crooked on her forehead and a slice of cold pizza hanging limply from her fingers.
She peeled the mask off and blinked at you. “Oh my god,” she groaned, sitting up. “You look like sin.”
You grinned, tossing your shoes down and flopping onto the couch beside her. “You have no idea.”
She gasped. “Y/N—tell me everything. Who was that man? Where did you go? Did he ruin your life or just rearrange it a little?”
You laughed, burying your face into the throw pillow for a moment before lifting your head. “His name’s Hoseok. And...he’s dangerously charming.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Like—he kissed my hand when he introduced himself. Like, who does that?” You paused, smiling to yourself. “He made me feel like the only girl in the room without even trying. And he didn’t rush anything. He...listened. A lot.”
Giselle squinted suspiciously. “Was he hot?”
You let out a short breath. “He was beautiful. Like warm smile, honey voice, perfectly tailored pants beautiful.”
Giselle clutched her chest dramatically. “I’m gonna scream. Did you kiss him?”
“Giselle.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
You gave her a look.
Her mouth dropped open. “YOU DID.”
You laughed again, hands covering your face. “It was… good. Like, really, really good.”
“I’m so proud,” she said, hugging you from the side like she was sending you off to war. “Godspeed, you emotionally available goddess.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, still a little dazed. “It was just one night.”
She grinned. “Yeah. But sometimes, one night’s enough to shake you a little, right?”
You paused, thinking of Hoseok's hands, his words, the way he looked at you like there was no one else worth looking at.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “It really is.”
“You should have given him your number.” she sat up.
“Who says I didn't?”
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xvi.it only has to make sense to you - us, unscripted.
⠀⠀sugar-daddy!hoseok, may the stars be our guide.
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who asked to meet you first before you started the relationship. even before meeting you, Hoseok knew that the person he was looking for would start to be part of his life with a regularity that made him want you to be truly happy and make you happy. he had to be sure you were the ideal person for him. as such, before even talking about boundaries and rules, Hoseok invited you to a simple dinner hoping to learn more about you. yes, he had your name and knew where you worked; but Hoseok wanted to know more, something that wasn’t as superficial as your age and where you went to school. he wanted to get to know you: Hoseok wanted to know what you liked to do and all the things that made you happy; he wanted to know what your dream was as a child and what you still wanted to achieve; he wanted to know more about you – he wanted to know what your soul was made of. ‘thank you for agreeing to go out with me. i hope you understand that i’m not the only one who will benefit from our meeting. i also want you to get to know me before accepting me.’
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who arranged a private driver for you. although Hoseok enjoyed taking you places and outings himself, there were times when he was too busy or you simply wanted to go somewhere. therefore, to alleviate some of your anxiety about being behind the wheel, or the nervousness of chasing buses or taxis, Hoseok hired a driver especially for you. anytime, wherever you were, whenever Hoseok couldn’t reach you, he encouraged you to call this driver, knowing full well that, even though you were far from Hoseok, you would be safe in the hands of someone he trusted. ‘i promise to take you on one of those late-night car trips you love so much. but now i’m about to go to a meeting and i don’t know when i’ll be back. call him to take you today. tomorrow you’re mine.’
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who is addicted to kissing your skin. for entire mornings, the two of you enjoyed the first rays of sunlight wrapped in sheets of devotion. behind you, kissing every inch of you, Hoseok made a point of lingering in this little ritual of yours. one of his hands always held your waistband, caressing skin over skin, while his tender lips sanctified your skin. little by little, as the seconds called to you, you let your head gently lean back, eyes closed, a smile on your face. Hoseok always knew how to relax every nerve in your body. your shoulder, tired of carrying all the weight of the world – one, two, three kisses; your neck, tired of accumulating all the stress of life – one, two, three kisses; your jaw, tired of eating your emotions – one, two; your lips, tired of forcing so many smiles – one, one, one, one, one, two, three…
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who likes to shop with you. of course, Hoseok always thought of gifts to give you as a surprise, just to thank you for the simple fact that you were in his life. but what really excited Hoseok, what truly brought a wide smile to his lips and a bright sparkle to his eyes, was when he saw you wandering distractedly through the stores, staring intently at everything but him. he couldn’t explain it, and he’d never admit it to you, but seeing you in those huge stores, walking through aisles of colors and textures, always thinking about what you might want, what would catch your eye, made Hoseok dream. during that time, when you didn’t mind going for the most expensive shoes, or paying attention to anyone who might be by your side, you seemed to be part of Hoseok’s life. yes, you have a special relationship, and you’re present in each other’s lives almost constantly; but there, self-possessed, just asking Hoseok for his card, made him believe he was worthy of having a life with someone, with you. ‘tomorrow and friday, i have the days off. do you want to go shopping for some clothes so we can go to dinner on friday? you can choose the restaurant this time.’
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who wants to know everything you wanted when you were little so he can give you everything. a tree house with a sink that actually works so you can wash the fruit you stole straight from the tree. a trip to that theme park just to ride the attraction you never had the chance to experience. the complete collection of barbie movies with a wardrobe from each movie in doll size for you to play with in your big, huge, giant dollhouse. eating only ice cream for breakfast, tacos for lunch, and pizza for dinner for the entire weekend. even a trip to a country that wasn’t within driving distance. ‘how many times do I have to tell you? everything, everything, everything. don’t hide anything from me. even if it’s impossible.’ when Hoseok asked you for everything, he really meant everything. all your dreams would now be lived, and your inner child would heal, hug you, and tell you how happy they were that you’ve made it this far – you deserved it all.
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who always asks if you’re okay. after a smile, before a tear, during a silence, Hoseok was always thinking about your well-being. spending so much time with you, he wanted to believe he knew you well enough to pick up on all your little mannerisms when you were less excited. but there were still moments when he pondered. was that smile real? your laugh sounded fake, but your joke slid so smoothly from your mouth. no, that look in your eyes, you weren’t okay. right? he’d rather ask and be greeted with a smile than ignore that side of you and force you to live when you just want to rest. Hoseok’s priority was you. Hoseok’s priority was your well-being. he just wanted to confirm he was doing a good job. ‘you arrived earlier than we agreed. did i get the time wrong? what happened? your face. your eyes – you can’t look at me. what happened? are you okay?’
SUGAR-DADDY!HOSEOK who makes you the only person in his life. what else could Hoseok do? what else could Hoseok say? go ahead, tell him. give him exact instructions on how he should treat and love you. tell him word for word, letter for letter, everything he has to give you. please, just say it. there was no one else Hoseok wanted to please. there was no one else Hoseok wanted to keep in his life. only you. so, give him the exact ingredients so he can create the perfect recipe for your love. ‘it’s no big deal. nothing is ever too much when it’s for you. i’m sure i’d drain every drop from the oceans for you to build an empire of sand just because you want it. i know i’d go to the ends of the earth if it made you happy, and i’d add more of the world if that was what you wanted. let me love you.’
PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? CHAPTER WC 3k
WARNINGS AND TAGS smut, oral sex, angst
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chapter twenty nine: invitations
His hand drips with water. He waggles his fingers—an invitation.
His mouth, split in one of those cheeky grins you know far too well.
“I saw you scrubbing yourself raw in here. Come in. I’ll help.” Taehyung sends you a quick, playful wink.
His invitation hangs in the air.
If your challenge is to go towards the strange, swirling feelings within you, rather than run away, the answer about what you should do is easy. Even if actually following through is difficult.
“C’mon, I’m getting cold!”
With a smile playing at the corner of your lips, you drop your clothes on the floor and, taking his hand, step into the shower.
The water, pouring from a waterfall showerhead, is divine: hot, stark. Taehyung steps back to let you have the bulk of the stream. As it runs over you, it warms the chill you haven’t been able to shake since you found yourself outside last night, and eyes sliding shut, sigh into the sensation.
You feel the roughness of his fingers brush against your face, tugging a stray lock out of your eyes. You open yours.
“Hi,” Taehyung says, searching your face.
“Hi,” you whisper back, arms coming to wrap protectively—from the cold?--around your torso. “Is this allowed?”
“Of course it’s allowed,” Taehyung responds. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I dunno.” You take a step forward and trace a finger up his chest, collecting beads of water. Watching the water run down the broad planes of him is much easier than looking him in the eye when you say this next thing: “Here we are taking a shower together—when we were once in love. Don’t you remember?” You give him a teasing grin, trying to hide the sharp truth of your words that lays just beneath the surface.
Taehyung only hesitates for a moment. “How could I forget?” A softness tinges his voice. He takes your elbow in his hand as you continue to trace lines across his chest, flattening your hand against him.
“Does that make all of this strange?” You ask quietly.
“You tell me if taking a perfectly utilitarian morning shower with your ex is strange—when the rest of the house is fucking or falling—” He stops himself. “Well, you know.”
“Do I know?” You ask, brushing away the water falling into your eyes.
“If you don’t, you will soon.” Again, that cheeky grin. “C’mere.” Taking a clean wash cloth, he holds your hands in his and gently washes them. He does not scrub at them like you did—it’s more of a caress. Then he takes you by the shoulders and spins you around, allowing his touch to rove over your back. He is gentle with you as he washes you, the kind of care that only comes with years of love. You hum in satisfaction as the warm water encompasses you and his touch brings a shiver to your skin.
“Maybe this is a little strange,” he murmurs when he’s done, turning you around to face him again.
“It is,” you say.
“Well, I’ve never been a stranger to strange.”
“That—I know is true.”
Standing in front of him, looking into his eyes, it feels like you are looking back through time, to that first moment he stood under the awning to your apartment and dawdled so long, that it took you turning the knob and beginning to step inside for him to grab your hand, pull you back, and kiss you. Back then, his hair flopped into his eyes in a similar way it does now, dripping with water. Back then, his eyes held the same kindness you see now. Back then, they held the same desire you see burning behind his iris.
You look away from him, your gaze trailing to the floor.
He tilts your chin up. “Wherever you’ve just gone…let go.”
“What?”
“Whatever it is you’re holding so tightly to, you can let go of it.” His words are soft, kind. What is it you’re holding onto, after all? Is it what the two of you once had? What you’ve had between the two of you since then—tension, moments of uncertainty, and other moments of intense proximity? Or are you simply holding onto a veil of distance that has long since unfurled between you?
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. You nod, and, using the finger beneath your chin, tilts you towards him. “This all feels different than before,” he says, hesitating, stalling.
“I think it feels the same,” you whisper back, eyes flicking down to his lips.
“I mean, you feel different.”
And then he kisses you.
His lips are kind, soft, against yours. He is cautious almost, but only in the sense that you can feel him testing your edges—waiting for you.
With the cold air at your back, you find yourself chasing his warmth. Your hands slide around his torso as you press yourself close to him. Together, you find a rhythm—mouths moving in synch—that feels old and new all together. When he feels you chase him, he lets go of any hesitation, one hand coming to cup the side of your face, his other hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you even closer.
As you gasp against each other, he carefully takes a step forward, pushing you back, but never releasing the divine nearness of your bodies. Gently, he presses you against the cold tile wall with a sigh against your lips. With the wall at your back, the water streaming over both of your bodies you dive in even closer, your hands roving over his body.
You’re chasing his warmth: the hard shape of his body, the sweet, dark brown of his eyes which flutter open for a moment, the feeling of his attention on you, yours—again—finally. It’s more than pleasure though. There’s something building in your chest. It sings clear and sweetly and—
His fingers are between your legs.
You gasp, arch against him.
“Missed this,” he says, that youthful smirk dancing at the corner of his lips, and suddenly you are both young again and dumb and fumbling in the dark for each other’s bodies for the first time.
As he touches you, your body rises to meet his. You chase his touch. And as pleasure builds in your body, so does that lush warmth in your chest, it has you chasing more than just the delightful sensation of his fingers against you—it has you chasing him.
Through the valley of your memory. Through the space that’s between the two of you. You lean towards him to capture his lips and the kiss is rushed and deep and wanting.
You almost jolt back from him when you realize it: the love is still there. It still feels as young as when you were in a relationship, and yet, there’s something aged, more there. The friendship built over years. The trust. The care. It radiates out from the center of you like the sun would. It almost comes to your lips, easy, so careless.
Instead of speaking it, you kiss down his neck to where his pulse hammers with desire. You say his name with desperation, and he locks eyes with you as his fingers take you to the edge and let you descend into pleasure. As you call out, he smiles with that knowing smile, like you’ve just given him the best gift at Christmas.
“I’ve been waiting so long to get you alone,” Taehyung says, kissing your forehead as you come down from your high. “And now I only want more.”
When he touches you, it feels like an undoing, the years apart untangling between the two of you, your body unwinding beneath his touch, his voice—the one for months you knew only over the phone—toppling something hard and firm in your chest.
You gasp against his neck.
When you left each other it was with the understanding that the two of you, when fit together, didn’t quite add up to one whole. But now it’s been years. Now you’ve grown from adult by name to adult by trade, growing into your skin, your identity—your voice. When he hums against you, that deep tenor vibrating through you, you find a new body on the other side of the kiss. His—knowing, known. Yours—speaking back.
—
He comes up behind you as you’re tugging on clothes for the day. You’re yearning for something warmer today: thick, sturdy. Something that will hold you. After all, there’s a growing chill in the air.
The dirt has been scrubbed out from under your nails, Taehyung removed a leaf from your hair earlier, and now there is little left on your body from the strangeness of the night before—other than the cold that still lingers in your bones.
“Where did you go last night?” he whispers as the warmth of your kiss in the shower still pulses through you.
Coughing in frigid air. On your knees, soft earth beneath them. Dirt, smudged into the lifeline of your palms like you’ve been praying on the forest floor all night. How did you get there? How did you get here? The forest pushed you. Urged you back towards the warmth.
“I don’t know,” you respond. You wonder if you should tell him more. “Ever since we arrived here—I swear, there is something so strange about the forest outside this house.”
Taehyung nods knowingly. “I agree,” he says, his voice low in a whisper.
Your eyes widen. “You do?”
He nods.
“You see it too?” you find yourself whispering too.
“Yes,” he says.
You grab his arm and grip him tight. “Oh my god—” you gasp. “Oh my god. I’ve been thinking I was totally crazy this whole time. I should have just said something.”
He laughs. “Yes, you should have!” Something relaxes in your chest. Oh my god. Oh my god. You can’t believe it. Taehyung, too, has seen the ever-going forest, the trees that sprawl on and on—he’s seen the road, eaten up by the forest, maybe he’s even seen the dreams—“Jin keeps teasing me because I won’t shut up about how far the trees go.”
“Yes!” you exclaim, clutching at him. “Yes, exactly. It goes and goes, and it swallows up the whole world.”
Taehyung nods. “It’s especially strange when the sun is setting, and you stand where you can see the peaks and valleys of the mountain range. Living in the city for so long, I forgot what it’s like to be surrounded by so much nature. But god, when the sun rises in the morning—to see the sunrise hit the town and turn it pink and orange. That is just idyllic.”
The breath in your lungs freezes. “What?” you whisper.
“The town—It’s beautiful to watch, nestled in between the forest and mountains.” Your stomach drops. Your hands fall away from him. “I will never get used to this view, or what it’s like to stare into the unending wilderness in the middle of the night.” He faux shivers. “Especially when you know there are things looking right back at you.” He grins and ruffles your hair. “Hey, don’t be so serious about it. You’re safe—here in the house with us.”
He squeezes you, kisses your cheek, and with a whispered promise of all the things he still wants to do with you, disappears back into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
—
You slip out of Taehyung’s bedroom while he’s still messing with his hair, and make your way to the kitchen where Jungkook is cooking up a storm. There’s a dozen bowls out, all filled with a mysterious liquid. There’s the sound of swearing and pots and pans clanking. There’s even a little bit of smoke.
“Jungkook?” you say tentatively, as you step into the large room. He hardly glances up at you.
“You took your time,” he notes. “Busy with Taehyung?” He says it as if it’s just another day. Your cheeks are still warmed from your conversation—and ensuing activities—in the shower.
“Yes—no—I mean—”
“So you didn’t have sex,” Jungkook observes.
“...No.”
“Goddamn that’s surprising. Hasn’t it been like, two million years?”
“More or less,” you say.
“And here I was thinking that the two of you would be the first to hook up out of all of us. Aren’t you just dying for it?”
“Jungkook, you were the first.”
He shoots a shit eating grin over his shoulder. “Hell yeah I was.” Something sputters and spits from the stove, over which Jungkook is still thoughtfully hunched. He curses. “You know, I realized something very important while making breakfast,” Jungkook says over his shoulder as he stands at the stove.
“Something important? What’s that?”
“Well, in the middle of making that goddamn hollandaise sauce, the sauce broke. Tried googling how to fix it, re-emulsify it, whatever, and realized.”
You laugh gently. “What did you realize, Jungkook?”
He tugs you against his chest, your bodies pressed closely together.
“That I’d much rather lick the sauce off your body than feed it to everyone else at breakfast.”
Jungkook swipes his hand through some jam and dots it on your nose.
“What—”
And then he licks it up.
It doesn’t take long before your joking devolves into kissing, and then into stripping down to your bare skin, and then Jungkook pulling down your sweatpants until they pool around your ankles and getting to his knees.
“What the hell is taking so long with breakfast?” Yoongi’s voice sounds from the front of the kitchen. Your head snaps up to find Yoongi looking very disgruntled. Hangry, even. He doesn’t look one bit surprised to find Jungkook kneeled between your legs as you lean back against the counter. “Jeez, we charge you with making breakfast one time and you decide instead to pursue your vendetta of fucking our good friend as many times as humanly possible in the kitchen? The one space in this house that is supposed to be some mild level of sanitary? Are you trying to force feed the rest of the house your come?” He eyes a bowl of unnamed contents suspiciously.
Jungkook looks flustered.
“Sounds like a consent issue to me,” you whisper to no one in particular.
“Sorry hyung,” Jungkook begins. “But the sauce broke. And then I got distracted.”
“I’ll say,” grumbles Yoongi. He steps into the kitchen, tosses some bacon in a pan, and gets to cooking. “Stop all that. And clean up.”
“But hyung—”
“Don’t you worry,” Yoongi says. “I have a better idea, anyhow. Better than eating cold hollandaise sauce—disgusting by the way—off those tits.”
“Hey!” you hiss.
Yoongi looks you in the eye. “Darling, I would never call your tits disgusting." He nods to Jungkook. “That young man, however, I’d call him a lot of things.”
Jungkook wriggles out from between your legs and steps up to Yoongi. He plants a kiss on the back of the older man’s neck. From the counter, you can see Yoongi flush with surprise.
“What?”
“Our friend is no appetizer anyways, Jungkook. If anything—the main damn course.”
And that’s how you start the day, laughing, and kissing your two friends in the kitchen. Thank god no one except Taehyung shows up looking to be fed. He grins as he bites into his bacon, watching the three of you giggle and find pleasure in each other.
It all almost entirely clears the fog that’s been following you the last few days. It almost makes you forget that there’s one invitation you haven’t yet responded to: Namjoon’s offer.
As Yoongi wraps an arm around your waist and whispers into your neck the dirtiest of promises, you hear Namjoon’s voice in your head.Stay. Stay.
← || series m.list || →
(hi sweet reader. if you'd like to subscribe to this series, please follow me on AO3 to receive updates direct to your email. also, if you liked this chapter, i'd love to hear from you. see you next chapter!)
(p.s if you would be interested in getting chapters earlier, i am looking for a beta reader or two to discuss the next few chapters with. bouncing ideas around has always helped me get these chapters together quicker. if you're even slightly interested, feel free to dm me!)
Synopsis: You go to the club for your friend's birthday even though that is not where you would normally go you decide to break out of your shell a little bit by the end of the night. What you didn't know what that two handsome men; Namjoon and Hobi; had their eyes on you the whole time you were there and had a plan to open you up even more than you had planned.
Pairing: non-idol! Namjoon x Reader x non-idol! Hobi, au
WC:~3.2k (hehehe)
Genre: non-idol au, porn with a little plot actually
Warnings: MDNI 18+, a whole threesome! (MFM), unprotected sex, creampies, big dick Hobi and Namjoon, dick sucking, cum swallowing, alcohol consumption, Namjoon smokes, pet names (baby, pretty girl, sweet thing, baby girl), a mention of light (consensual) choking briefly. I think I got them all
The air in the club was thick and humid; you could almost taste the sweat and alcohol from everyone around you. The bass from the music was vibrating so loud in your ears that it was nearly rattling your teeth around in your skull; you had to lean against the wall near the bar to regroup for a moment, just to even feel the slightest bit steadier on your feet.
The entire club scene had always been disorienting for you, but it was your best friend Hanna's birthday, and she insisted you come out with her and her friends. She dolled you up in her slinky, black sequined dress and pumps. She winged your eyeliner and curled your hair and even made sure your tits were on ample display in the top of the dress before you walked into the club beside her. Unfortunately though, after the first round of shots her boyfriend bought upon your arrival, that was the last you saw of her, as she disappeared into the crowd with her group to go dance.
You sigh as you clutch your vodka soda and stare down at your figure in the dim lighting; you can't even argue; you did look hot tonight. It's just too bad this just wasn't your scene and you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb amongst everybody else around you. You awkwardly tug at the hem of your dress and then look around for your friend Hanna in the crowd of bodies dancing on the floor.
Hanna comes barreling into you a few minutes later, cheeks flushed with alcohol and a sheen of sweat from dancing. She wraps you into an overzealous hug, pressing her face close to your ear so you can hear her over the loud music. "Are you okay?! Are you having fun?!" Her lips pull into a tiny pout as she notices your clearly awkward stance, you're nearly melted against the back wall of the club, becoming one with the decor.
"Yeah, I swear I'm okay! I'm having a great time actually!" You plaster on a smile and shake your drink at her, but Hanna doesn't believe it for a second already raising her eyebrows, doubting your words.
"I never thought I would get you into a place like this. A library? Yes. A mall? Maybe, but a club? Absolutely not!" Hanna pulls back to look at you with a slightly challenging smirk on her lips like she's daring you to prove her wrong.
Hanna's words hit you like a slap in the face as you pucker your lips and furrow your brow, determined to show her that you can have fun. You tug her elbow, pulling her to the dance floor, much to her delighted giggle and to your disdain and your two left feet.
It's not as bad as you thought, dancing with your friend at the club; surprisingly, you didn't actually need any real dance moves, just a little understanding of how to wiggle your hips and a slight little sexy smile, and WHAM, you were golden.
What you weren't aware of, however, was while you were loosening up, giggling endlessly on the dance floor with your friend, two pairs of eyes had been watching you. They've actually been observing you this whole time; you just didn't even realize it.
You See, Club Hooligan was the place you would be able to find Namjoon and Hobi on any given Friday or weekend evening; they not only visited here, but they stayed so long they closed it down on the nights they were there. They were know to always order bottle service, tip large, and spend big money— but if you asked the service staff what they did for work to afford this lifestyle, though? Nobody could really tell you.
They were in good with the bouncers Jungkook and Taehyung; they knew all the bartenders, Jimin and Yoongi, and they, of course, went way back with the owner Jin. To say that they had the run of this place would be an understatement, but they really could get away with anything they wanted here.
—
-2 hours prior outside the club-
"You see her?" Hobi nudges Namjoon, nodding his head toward you as he stubs out his cigarette on the balcony of the club that overlooks the line leading to the entrance. They were both watching Tae and Kookie check IDs. Hobi's eyes rake over your figure, noting how the short black dress hugs your plush curves, your tits now perfectly positioned as your friend yanks and tugs the dress around.
"Yeah, I see her." Namjoon smirks, leaning his forearms on the railing, a wolfish gleam in his eye as he sucks his teeth. "We can't lose sight of her tonight, got it?" He taps Hobi hard on the chest, a clear plan forming in his eyes that makes Hobi nearly jump with excitement.
"On it!" Hoseok mock salutes and turns on his heel to head into the club. He's got a little extra pep in his step now with anticipation for the night ahead. Namjoon turns back to watching you and your friend in the line again. You're now approaching Tae nervously and handing over your ID. This place clearly isn't your typical scene, it's written all over your face.
—
As you enter the club, Hobi's eyes are fixated on your every movement from the hallway wall near the entrance where he decided to position himself, he just can't take his eyes off you. He watches as you reluctantly remove your light coat and hand it to the male that is accompanying you and your friend. "Hopefully not a boyfriend," Hobi grumbles to himself, eyes still following your steps down the hall and unknowingly right past him.
"Okay, so now what?" You ask Hanna, the bass from the music, a dull thump through the hallway, as she pulls you closer to let other people pass by, the music you know will get louder as soon as you step out of the hallway. Hobi uses the crowd to his advantage to get a little closer, but still stays within earshot.
"We grab a shot, of course!!" Hanna exclaims loudly, pointing the direction of the bar through the hallway's exit. You must make a face because Hanna continues, now adding puppy-dog eyes and a pleading pout to her lip. "Come on, just do like one shot. It's my birthday; you can't say no!" You roll your eyes and give absolutely no resistance when she grabs your hand and starts weaving her way towards the bar.
Hoseok is a few steps ahead of you, however, hearing that you would be drinking tonight. He practically launched himself towards the bar. Namjoon would have his neck if he found out that you were paying for your drinks tonight, so he quickly slides up next to Yoongi, nudging him in the arm between patrons.
"There's a girl coming to the bar with her friend in a black sequined dress, and she's absolutely stunning. You can't miss her. Make sure she doesn't pay for a single drink tonight, okay, Yoongi?" He slides a credit card over to the bartender, who acknowledges him with a quick nod before Hobi slips away from the bar and out of your possible sight, just before you and Hanna walk up a few moments later.
-1 Hour Later-
Namjoon and Hobi crowd around the security camera feed of the club in the owner's office. The screens show the hallway leading to the private rooms, the bar, the dance floor, and the back deck where everyone goes to smoke. Namjoon's and Hobi's eyes are scanning everyone in the crowd, trying to relocate you.
"I told you not to lose her, to keep your eye on her, Hoseok," Namjoon growls out as he switches the camera view again to the bar area, chewing on his lower lip. "What if she went home with someone? I had the whole night planned for us." His eyes move from Hobi back to the screens.
"There she is!" Hobi jabs his finger against the screen so hard the colors distort a bit, and Namjoon has to shove his hand off before he ruins the pixels. "She's there, back by the bar; you just have to look a little harder." Hobi grins triumphantly, like he didn't almost just ruin whatever plans Namjoon had cooked up.
"Why's she so shy? It's cute, don't you think?" Namjoon watches as your friend approaches you in the corner energetically; there's no sound to the cameras, so he has to watch what he assumes is a friendly exchange. But seeing you pull your friend to the dance floor, was unexpected and it made him grin. "Maybe not though." He says rubbing his chin, eyes still fixed on the screens.
Namjoon watches as your body presses and sways against your friend's, that black dress teasing the middle of your thighs, moving up just a little with each movement. He could feel his jaw clenching, his cock hardening at the thought of taking you into the private rooms tonight. He wanted to see how far they could get you out of your shell. Especially a shy little thing like you.
—
-10 minutes later-
The music and smoke from the fog machine, along with the pulsing lights as you danced with Hanna, just added to your already bewildered state on the dance floor. So, when a gorgeous tall man in a button-up and dark eyes that glitter with mischief comes up and presses himself behind you and asks you for a dance right into your ear, well, of course you're not going to say no to that. Your friends earlier words still ringing in your ears like the little devil on your shoulder
—
Namjoon had easily found you on the dance floor, making a beeline right to you after leaving the office, deciding to make his plans for the evening a reality. His approach is gentle but direct as he pushes against your back. Placing his hand on your hip, swaying with your movements, and then leaning down into your ear, "Can I dance with you?"
The smirk is undeniable in his voice; it makes you turn your head toward the mysterious, deep voice vibrating through your chest and down your spine. "Yeah, sure," you stumble over your answer, his looks stealing your breath away with just one glance. Namjoon's molten brown eyes are staring you down, mesmerizing you so much that you don't even feel the second body sliding up in front of you, the new man's hands brushing your cheek, pulling your attention to him now.
"Hi, pretty girl, can I join, too?" His smile is bright and inviting, making your already weak knees nearly buckle. "I'm Hobi, and that's Namjoon." He nods his head to the tall man behind you, whose hands are tightening on your waist as you all continue to sway to the music.
"I'm Y/N," you stammer out into Hobi's ear as he leans closer, his cologne wafting into your nose; it's deep and musky, a little woody, making a liquid heat start to burn in your stomach.
The three of you start to dance closer, and closer together, each passing moment pressing your bodies closer together. Namjoon's hands are getting bolder, sliding up your sides and then back down your hips, squeezing possessively. His lips are brushing faintly along the column of your neck, all while Hobi holds you from the front, pulling you closer.
Hobi's hands are circling your waist, holding you firmly as his forehead rests on yours. His lips teasing dangerously close to yours, and suddenly, he's pressing his lips to yours in a demanding kiss. It has you pushing back against Namjoon's chest more solidly, locking you in place between the two men. "You want to go somewhere else with us, sweetheart?" Namjoon's voice is husky in your ear as your kiss breaks with Hobi, words failing you; a small nod is all you can manage in response before they pull you off the dance floor.
The private room in the back hallway of the club is actually very luxe; the carpet is plush, and the walls are a beautiful deep mauve color. The lighting is dimmed but still enough to see everything comfortably; you can see a big bed with dark sheets and several plush chairs in a sitting area in the room. There's even a small mini bar and fridge with snacks.
Namjoon moves to the chair area first, starting to unbutton his shirt, as Hobi takes you back into his arms, resuming the kiss he started on the dance floor. This time it's deeper, more claiming as his hand slides down your hip, teasing the hem of your dress. His tongue is sweeping the inside of your mouth, swallowing every single one of your small whimpers and mewls, while his other hand fists your hair, tugging your head back just enough to position you for an even deeper kiss.
"Maybe we should get you out of this, pretty girl?" He says with a smile, tugging it up just enough to reveal your panties underneath showing that they're already wet, clingy to the outline of your pretty pussy. Hobi groans, "Hey Joon, come look at this; our shy girl is already soaked just for us."
Namjoon comes over and bites back a groan himself as he runs a finger over the sticky wet spot on your undies. "She sure is. Is this all for us, baby?" His eyes flick up to yours, sending more liquid heat to gather between your thighs. "I wonder if she tastes as sweet as she looks?"
He cocks an eyebrow at you. Namjoon guides you to the bed, laying you back gently; he pushes your thighs open and pulling your soaked-through panties down your legs. Your glistening, sticky,and slicked pussy is on full display for Joon now.
"Oh, sweet thing, look at you," he says with a low, gravelly voice as he leans in to lick a quick swipe, your sweet arousal spreading across his tongue. Your hips buck into his hands, slowly losing your mind with each drag of his tongue. You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging the strands a bit as he pushes you closer to the edge.
"Gonna cum? That's okay, baby; you can let go, wanna taste all of you." Namjoon mumbles between licks, right against your pussy. His eyes look to yours so he can watch the exact moment you fall apart under his tongue and he laps you up greedily, making sure to not leave a drop behind as his fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you even further apart for him.
When he finally lets you go, you collapse back against the pillows on the bed, closing your eyes. Your whole body feels like it's made out of jelly at this point as Namjoon leans back onto his heels, still licking his lips clean of the sweet juices you left behind. "Oh, my pretty baby isn't giving up yet, is she? Not too tired, right?" He smirks and crawls onto the bed next to you, his hand caressing up your sides and over your chest lightly. "You know Hobi has been so patient and waiting for you."
Namjoon nods over to where Hobi is sitting in one of the plush lounge chairs. His hard cock is already freed from his pants, his hand tightly wrapped around it, languidly stroking it as you meet his eyes. He’s got a hungry look in his eyes, and it makes you move, finally crawling towards him.
"Do I get to see what that pretty mouth can do?" Hobi asks with lust-filled hooded eyes as you approach, already dropping to your knees in front of him. You take his cock into your hand; the weight and girth of it make your eyes widen slightly. You even wonder if it'll fit in your mouth at all. And as if he could read your mind, Hobi murmurs, "it'll fit sweet girl, don't get timid on me now."
His words embolden you, making that liquid heat in your stomach even hotter as you lean in, taking the swollen head of his cock into your mouth. The salty taste of his pre-cum bursts on your tongue as you swirl it over the head, and your lips stretch to accommodate him as his hand reaches into your hair, gently and slowly coaxing you to move up and down.
Hobi hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back, his fingers tightening in your hair as you bob up and down on his cock. "I need… I need… I need…" He pants out, unable to even finish his sentences, trying desperately not to thrust into your mouth as you do your best to take him fully into your pretty mouth.
"Whatcha need, hm?" Namjoon asks huskily, he’s walking towards you both with his cock in his hand, stroking it as you suck his friend’s cock wetly. Namjoon’s cock is massive like Hobi’s and it sends a thrill up your spine at having both of them. “You need some extra help, Hobi?” Namjoon huffs out as he lines his cock up with your dripping wet pussy, the thick head notching at your entrance.
"Let me lend a hand," he grunts out as he slides his cock into you, pushing open your velvety walls with no resistance. "So wet, oh baby, you needed these cocks, didn't you?"
Namjoon starts moving, gripping your hips for leverage; he slams into you so hard you start to take Hobi's cock deeper into your throat. Every time Namjoon's cock slams forward and kisses your cervix, you nearly end up deep throating Hobi's thick cock.
The moment Namjoon’s thrusts trigger your gag reflex on Hobi’s cock, Hobi's fingers tighten in your hair. It’s too good, feeling your throat flutter around his heavy cock, and he holds you still as he starts to shoot his cum down your throat. "That's a good girl; swallow it all." Hobi growls throatily, his eyes swirling with lust, locked on yours as you work to swallow every drop.
Before you can show Hobi you swallowed every drop, Namjoon reaches down and pulls you off Hobi's cock with a wet pop. Your lips swollen and wet with spit and cum as he holds you up against his chest, his fingers wrapped around your throat gently, his teeth nipping your ear, as his deep voice echos down to your core. "You took Hobi's cum so well Baby girl. You're gonna take mine now, right?" His thrusts get harder and deeper, smacking against your g-spot now.
With the new angle, your pussy starts to grip and flutter around Namjoon’s cock, milking him with each thrust he makes, and pushing him closer to the edge until his hips stutter to a slow grind. He pumps ropes of cum deep into you with a curse under his breath.
When his cock stops twitching, he loosens his hold on your throat just enough to ease you down into the waiting hands of Hobi. He carries you over to the bed, and the three of you lie there together, catching your breath, and reflecting on the night so far.
After a few moments, Hobi rolls over and runs his hand along your thigh, giving you a smirk as he asks, “round two?”
Another huge thank you to @milk-moonbunnies @ahgasegotarmy116 for being my hype team again when I was so close to scrapping this lol.
