Sh. | Ot7 | Chapter Nine

sh. | ot7 | chapter nine

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?

WC 4.5k

WARNINGS AND TAGS nudity. exhibitionism. angst. no use of pronouns for reader. untimely erection. cuddling. sexual dreams.

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AN Lyrics from "Boy Meets Evil." Big thanks to M @madseok for this beautiful image used in today's banner. and of course to the ever-incredible betas: @thatlongspringnight and @calixwrites. i literally cannot conceptualize how my brain would function without you. thank you for helping me realize this story.

Also, HAPPY ONE YEAR OF SH.! I can't believe it. Thank you for coming along for the ride. I appreciate all of you so, so much. anyways, lets get this bread. If you enjoy this chapter, I'd love to hear what you think <3

CHAPTER NINE

Light spills out from beneath the door before you. Tonight, even the abyss below the glass-floored hallway doesn’t raise the hair on the back of your neck. Instead, it’s the light, it’s the door—no,—it’s the man waiting on the other side that sends a shiver down your spine. With a shaky breath you press the door open, walking straight into the unknown.

Enter: silence.

You’re not sure what you expected. Hoseok, waiting eagerly for you?

Instead, just the homey scene before you: Hoseok, wrapped up in a blanket before the fire, one arm poking out of the comfy mess and balancing a heavy book. He’s got a pen gripped between his teeth.

“Hey you, where were you?” he mumbles around the pen, not even looking up.

“The library.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“Ah, um—” You can’t help but think of the erotic image you saw earlier. Your face flushes with heat at the thought of those eight tangled bodies, pleasure drawn across their faces, hands gripping onto anything and everything in reach. The hands, oh, the hands, everywhere. “Picture books. And Jin.”

“Excellent pairing,” he says, a chuckle in his voice.

He keeps looking at his book.

You sigh. It’s been a long day. Maybe now’s not the time for this. Maybe now’s the time to crawl into bed and wrap yourself up with a nice warm man, an untethered voice in your head calls out. But the so-called warm man is currently busy with what must be the most engaging book in the whole world.

With a sigh, you make your way over to the wardrobe, opening it and begin to get undressed, combing through your thoughts, picking through the day.

What a day.

First the conversation with Yoongi, then Jungkook in the kitchen, Namjoon in the library, and finally that creepy fucking bear. All at once you feel the exhaustion hit you. It feels like it’s been five years since you got out of bed this morning.

Your mind, body, and heart all feel heavy and tired.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I—”

Hobi’s voice breaks through the grey reverie.

It’s then that you realize the door to the wardrobe barely covers your form and that you’re in direct view of Hoseok as you undress.

“I can leave and give you privacy,” he says quickly.

“No—”

“No?”

The two of you stop and stare at one another for a moment. You reach to pull your pajamas out of the wardrobe, searching for the right words.

Hoseok begins tapping a rhythm on the arm of the chair, a soft, nervous padpadpad. Your heart rate is rioting through your body, but when you listen, it matches the same tapping as Hoseok’s tic.

“I told you it’s okay to look, right?”

“Right, um. You did say that.”

Expressing that, god, it feels so awkward, you wish you could swallow your words right back up into silence, but you can’t, you won’t, and then, then he’s looking at you like that, not at your body, but at you, eyes burning like the fire that’s smoking behind him.

His fingers still.

And suddenly you are shy, wishing you didn’t have half a tit peeking out of your shirt. Your cheeks warm, and he notices, coughs, and looks away.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say. “I—” Deep breath. “I like it.”

It surprises you when it spills out, the truth of it.

“Oh.” Hobi glances up at your eyes one more time and there’s a secret smile dancing on his lips, one that you want to pocket for later, one that warms your chest. And then he returns to his book.

Jesus, now what the fuck was that?

You keep your eyes locked on the floor as you adjust your sleep clothes and pad barefoot to the bathroom. Your nightly routine disappears in a blur of mental fog and half-formed daydreams of bodies pressed closely against one another like the secrets might slip out if they were to allow themselves any space.

Somehow, you get everything done and wake up from the fog, staring at yourself in the mirror. It’s the same face that you stared back into every morning of quarantine. It’s the same face you know.

But now there’s something new flickering beneath the surface: fear. Hope. Desire. Exhaustion. You look older, in the way that experience can carve a person out of a body. You look sharper, the depth of everything you’ve experienced, swimming beneath your skin, bringing you to the surface.

After everything, you’re tired.

So tired. You just want to crawl into bed and scootch close to Hobi’s warmth. Maybe let him wrap an arm around you. So that, you decide, is what you’ll do.

Arms wrapped tightly across your chest, you return to the bedroom, only to find that Hobi hasn’t moved.

“Hobi?”

He doesn’t turn around, just hums.

“Hoseok.”

“Yeah?” He’s still engaged in his book.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

He doesn’t look up from his book.

“Yeah, soon.”

You move closer. He’s got a book, but he’s also scribbling in it. You peek over his shoulder and before he can notice, rest your head on his shoulder. He jumps at the touch, like you’ve shocked him, and then relaxes, leaning his head into yours. In the margins, his scrawling handwriting flows. Heavy-handed, but more words than you think he should be writing for simple marginalia. And lines, line breaks.

“What, are you some sort of poet now?” It’s a joke, but his ears redden. “Oh! You are!”

“Not a poet, I guess. But I’m writing. Writing lines.” He closes the book before you can read anything of significance.

“A poet!” you sing and pluck the book from his hands.

“Hey!” Hoseok laughs.

You spin away from him, holding the book over your head, and sprint to the bed, giggling. For a moment this level of comfort, it feels like comfort, it feels like no time has passed between you.

You flop on your back onto the mattress and open to a random page, prepared to read some old-timey poet of years gone by in a dramatic retelling. But instead, you find Hoseok’s handwriting and the words lift off the page.

“Hey give it!”

You ignore him and instead focus on the book. His handwriting sprawls across the page:

“Surrounded by people’s stares that can’t be touched I am getting out of breath at the twisted reality, I close my eyes every night, the music box of tragedy echoes

But to be free from this crime, it’s impossible to forget it, to give up.

Because those lips were too sweet.”

“Oh.” You breathe. “You are a poet. What’s that all about?”

You’re about to spin into a rant about just how beautiful the words on the page are when hands wrap around your ankles and you’re tugged down the bed.

“Hey!” You giggle as Hoseok crawls over you. His face is well warmed with embarrassment but there’s something darker, more meaningful swirling in his gaze. Your breath freezes in your throat when he settles above you, hands on either side of your head, looking down at you. The words of Yoongi’s proposal spring to the forefront of your mind then—suddenly—

It’s hard not to imagine him in the same position but in a different context. His shirt, loose from years of wearing it, swings low, revealing his chest. His face, pressed in concentration, his body,wrung tight in devotion, focus, oh. Your heart is racing too quickly. You set the words aside. Later, you tell yourself. This isn’t the right time.

You clutch the book tight to your chest.

“Give it back.” There’s a kind of nervous stillness, like a doe, unsure if she should bolt or stare straight into danger, in him that inspires the same in you.

Still, you push. “Say please,” you insist.

Silence hangs for a long moment before he speaks.

“Please.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a quirk of a shy smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Alright, but only because you asked so nicely.”

When you offer, Hoseok snatches the book out of your grasp and retreats to his chair again.

You’re left sitting on the bed.

Something like a tense silence settles over the room, electric, the air between you and Hoseok full of unspoken words. Unspoken want?

The day before you has been so long, so full, and yet you can’t help but think on the half answered questions and begun-but-not-finished conversations. They ring in your head like eager bells, yearning for answers, for closures, for the silence of a period at the end of a sentence. Hoseok, the ultimate question mark.

Staring at the ceiling, you lie there for a long while before it becomes too much.

“Hoseok.” The word splits the silence. “Come to bed.”

He looks up at you. Really looks. His gaze lingers perhaps a moment too long, and then he nods.

It’s a slow process, Hoseok getting ready for bed, and it feels like he takes his time. Like he’s shy or hesitant or— you dare not think what else. When he does finally climb into bed, he reaches over to shut off the light immediately. The room plunges into darkness.

“Goodnight,” he says quickly.

You ignore it.

You’re going to tell him. You’re going to repunctuate one of the hundreds of questions from the day with a period and you’re going to tell him that this whole proposal isn’t so wild, it isn’t so crazy, because it’s already there. That connection. That experience. That electricity. And you’re going to tell him that the only mistake back in January was not holding onto him tighter and longer right before the world ended.

“I don’t think it’s so wild, you know,” you blurt out.

“What?”

“Yoongi’s proposal.”

Hobi is silent for a long minute. “I know.”

“You know?” You’re a little shocked by his answer.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s not wrong. There is chemistry there. Yoongi’s never been one to incorrectly read a room.”

Your heart skips in your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I can’t deny it. I’m not the only one who feels it.” He says it so assuredly.

You don’t want to say anything, dare you let the whole moment collapse around you.

“You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you,” he asks, playfully mocking your pause. Still, there’s a genuine, nervous question in his prompt.

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper into the darkness. “I’m just...processing. I don’t know what the right thing to say here is.”

“Well, maybe there’s just not a right thing to say,” Hoseok says sagely. “What is it?”

“I mean. I’ve thought about it.”

“You have?”

“Same as you,” you add, cheeks warming in embarrassment as you think of what you’ve revealed.

The next thing Hobi says makes you suck in a quick breath:

“And have you thought about me?”

When a million thoughts flutter like falling leaves in your mind, rather than to sort through them, your impulse is to say no, hum a goodnight, and turn your back to him. But the ache in your chest wants to reach for him, wants to take his hand and thread your fingers through his, but maybe that’s too much maybe it’s always too much, so instead you whisper: “Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “And what have you thought?”

“That words don’t work for you,” you say.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” There’s a laugh in his voice, but an ache in his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Try.”

You look at him for a long time, like you might find your answer within his features. And then you roll on your back. Look up at the ceiling instead.

“Well. I suppose. You’re so many things at once — in the most beautiful way possible — but it can make it so that… that— I don’t know where to look. Where to begin.”

He looks back at you confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense, does it,” you say.

“Then begin at the start. Look at me. Tell me the first thing that pops into your head.”

“Hoseok…” you sigh.

“Seriously. If it’s a lot of things, start with just one thing. Start with my eyes.”

He turns towards you, rolling on his side. You’re still staring up at the ceiling, hands balled into fists, acid coursing through your veins. He reaches for you. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist and he tugs, softly, a gesture for you to roll on your side and face him.

You do as he bids. Your body feels too warm, hot even, for such a cool night. You can imagine the coolness swirling outside the window behind Hoseok, but here, here, it’s like a bubble of inescapable heat, your heart pounding, your breath coming quickly.

He’s so close too.

But you make yourself look him in the eye and look.

“Your eyes, wellthey'rebeautiful,” you begin, speaking too quickly. You take a deep breath. Start again. “But what I love about them is that when you’re laughing, it feels like they hold all your joy. And when you’re so serious or focused, it’s like, like, looking right into your mind. Like windows.” You can tell Hoseok’s face is warming, even in the dark, but you continue. “And when you want something, really want something, they shine in a kind of way that I don’t really have words for. But it makes me think that I don’t want the world to deny you a single thing.”

It’s then that you realize that Hoseok’s hand never left your wrist, and even though he’s struggling to meet your gaze, his fingers are tracing patterns along your veins. And you think he draws a sun there, right where your pulse is thrumming rapidly.

“Thank you.” He says it so softly you’re barely able to catch it. But then he brings his hand up to his eyes, his index finger gently running beneath one of them like he is experiencing them for the first time.

“And tomorrow,” you whisper. “We’ll do your beautiful nose.” You get a laugh from that, but silence quickly swims between you. Tense, full of questions, full of half said statements and half-sung songs. So you lean into it.

“Hoseok?”

“Yeah?”

“What was it that you were trying to tell me earlier?” you ask softly. The dark swallows your words. Doesn’t return anything.

And then it does.

“Earlier?” There’s a wave of unsureness in his voice. Like he doesn’t want to remember what you’re mentioning. But you push further.

“Earlier. Yes. Remember? You sent Jin to find me. You wanted to talk to me.” The words come strained. A ball in your throat. “You wanted to tell me something.”

“So did you?” Hoseok says softly.

Even though he lies just three feet apart from you, he feels impossibly far away.

“Hoseok.”

The moonlight is stark against him, illuminating half of his face. The way the light falls makes it seem like a mask has been drawn atop his familiar features. You have to remind yourself that he’s there, beneath the moon, beneath time, beneath all of the complications and fumbled words and silence.

“I feel like I’ve messed everything up,” he finally whispers. His voice cracks on the last word.

“Messed up—? how? What?”

He shakes his head.

“Sometimes it’s so hard to bring myself up to the surface.”

There’s a shocking kind of truth in his words and it shocks through your body like ice on a sunny day.

“Oh.” You know it’s not enough — not nearly enough of a response to someone trying to reach you through the fog. And yet even the single, simple syllable sticks.

Why does this feel like there’s a stopper in your chest? With all of the others, it felt as if there wasn’t a question in the world, though you do wonder if that might be an over-eager remembrance of the past couple of days.

Hoseok, before you, feels like the largest question of them all. And in the space of a millisecond, you finally understand. And in the understanding, the thing within you breaks open.

Hoseok is two sides of a precious coin: everything you have and everything you could lose.

But I am over it. I’m over it all.

The separation with Tae. That fateful January night. Everything that has come with the horrors of the pandemic, of isolation. I should be over it. But instead, where all of those things live in your chest, instead, you find ache. You’ve been floating through it all with blinders on and your eyes to the ground, never giving yourself a single moment to feel the deep cuttings of loss. It has been easier to power through, to keep your head down, to shift all of the pain residing in your chest up to the thinking parts of your mind.

There, within your mind, you turn pain to story. It’s the only way you’ve been able to survive it. Once it’s been molded and sculpted into pretty words that are easy to swallow, you wait until the stirrings in your heart quiet down. Though, now that you realize it, they’ve never really quieted down at all, have they? They’re still there within you, singing with the same sharp tremolo as they always have.

I never let myself feel it.

“Oh, Hoseok—” it breaks through the silence as a sob. He winds his hand up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair, and pulls you closer to his chest. You nestle your nose into the crook of his arm.

“Sh, sh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I promise it’s going to be okay. Just let it out.”

And you do. It’s like opening a damn, and your whole chest spills into the small space between you and your friend. At first, it’s just salt water, spilling onto your cheeks, but soon the mess comes. Globs of sorrow force their way out of your throat. Sobs wrack through your body, desperate, dying sounds.

You didn’t even know all of it was in you.

But it keeps coming, pouring out like the tide into bottomless sand and you realize Hoseok’s shirt beneath your face is soaked all the way through and so too is your hair except—

“Hobi?” you stutter through your tears.

“Yeah?” His voice is just as cracked and wet as your own.

“Why are you crying?”

He sniffles. Pulls you closer.

“I’m not.”

You look up at him then, arching your back so that you can see his face. As you take a shaky inhale, wetness still streaking down your face, you see it. It’s there. The grief. Sprinkled on his cheeks like stardust. You reach up and with your thumb, wipe them away.

With a sniffle, you say, “Tell me what’s going on in there.”

“I just—” It’s a long moment before he speaks. The silence weighs heavy.

“I feel overwhelmed.”

“What are you feeling overwhelmed by?”

He spits out the word: “me.” Then a pause. “You. Everything.”

“That makes sense,” you sniffle, drawing a smile onto your face. “Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by J-Hope’s hot body?”

You instantly chide yourself for making light of his sorrow, but you get a wet chuckle in response. Unfortunately it’s followed by another sniffle and some silence.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “Bad joke.”

“It happens to the best of us. But with all that time spent away from everyone, alone, in my little apartment… I feel like I went a little off the rails. Like all that silence, all that alone time. I don’t know. It did something to me.”

You nod into his chest, encouraging him to go on.

“And I thought being back here that I would just feel the same way I felt about everything—about everyone—as I did before. But it’s not that. It’s so much more.”

“More?”

“I thought the missing you, the others too, would stop. But it hasn’t, even when I'm here, it’s like the distance doesn’t get any smaller like there is a gulf between us. Like a gulf between who I was and who I am and now, except now, I have no idea who this brand new me even is.”

Long pause. You hum, and that seems to spur him on.

“Do you feel like you need to know who that person is?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then you will. With time.” You let your fingers drum against his chest. “Whoever you are, in there. I love you, you know that right?”

He gives a shuddering, tear-ridden laugh. But he doesn’t say “I know,” back. So instead, you just tighten your grip around him. He responds by doing the same.

You lay like that for a long, long moment.

It feels like the moon could have swung through all of her seasons in that time, and yet the two of you stay, interlocked, clutching onto one another like the other is the only lifeboat for miles, in a deep, dark, stormy ocean.

But at some point the ocean quiets. As if the storm within has been heard, she stills. The clouds roll back, but don’t vanish entirely. The waters, once rioting, still.

Your breath shudders to life.

There’s a certain kind of clarity to your mind, like it’s been dunked in ice water. But around it, a heavy weariness.

“Hobi, you know I love you, right?”

A long quiet. And then: “I know.”

“Good.”

“I love you too.” He whispers it into your hair.

“Good.”

Silence settles around you like a heavy blanket. Your eyelids feel weighted down, and when you peek them open towards the window, everything, the stars included, are blurred.

“Hobi, I’m so tired.”

Hoseok’s hand trails down your arm. His fingers wrap first around your wrist, lifting it up and towards him, and finally, they intertwine with yours.

“Then rest. Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

It’s as easy as that.

When you finally say yes, yes, to sleep, you know. Your body relaxes, and so does Hobi’s around you. And you know, if there was anything to be done, it was this: tangled up in one another, language falling silent, finally, finally breathing easy.

Most of the time, it’s hard to know if your dreams have colors.

But tonight, there’s no question. Dreamworld is alight with late autumn, leave flurrying down in rainbow hues.

That night you dream of not one, but all seven of your boys. They linger at the edge of your dream though, constantly out of sight. You wander through a dense forest. It grows darker and thicker the further into it you clamber, bushes and branches gripping onto your clothes like hands.

You can hear them calling out your name, and even as you keep on moving, it seems as if a question remains: Are you running towards them or away?

At some point the dream shifts. It’s winter, and you stand above the forest on some steep cliff. The height takes your breath away, makes your lungs tighten on the inhale.

You call out their names, and six voices answer from the forest beneath you. You can see them now, figures frolicking in the snow, laughing, throwing snowballs, but where’s—?

A hand snakes around you from the back as a body presses close behind you.

Your name, whispered in your ear, strung through with devotion, desire—

“Hoseok, is that you?”

Your question is answered when he spins you around and into him. He is leaning against the tall, black stone wall, looking down at you through full lashes. But there's a look in his gaze that you haven’t known before. Hunger, deep hunger, ravenous hunger, directed straight at you. And at the edges of it, sunshine peeks through.

Hands wash down your back, taking their time to reach your hips. Warmth swallows you, a pinkish, springtime glow you could bathe in for ages.

It’s snowing and when the flakes hit your skin, they immediately melt. But you’re not paying attention to the darkening sky, you’re paying attention to the way the man pressed against your body feels. You want to memorize it.

There’s a moment when you understand it’s a dream.

Knowing it, you grin. You lean into him, lips searching for lips—

But he stops you. Takes your chin between his fingers and tilts your head up. Looking at you. Examining you. And when he bends down, eyes fluttering shut, it’s not your lips he meets but the flushed and summer warmed skin of your neck, just below your ear.

You gasp, tangling your hands in his hair, back arching into him until there’s no space left between you.

Body, pressed to body.

This dream is so vivid it feels real. Feels so real that when your eyes blink open to find Hoseok’s skin pressed against you, it makes sense, and you lift his head from your neck to return the favor: like a gift pressed between secretive hands, you press a fluttering kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Letting your teeth graze against his warmth, you drink in the breath he sucks in so shakily with relish. Hands still tangled in his hair, you wonder when and how you moved to the ground. You’re tangled up in one another against the soft ground, and you can feel the winter air against your skin.

He moves a thigh between your legs, and as he tucks himself against you, it feels like puzzling yourself together.

Your eyes flutter open as you pull away from his neck. His eyes are still pressed shut, but your name quivers on his lips as he tries to pull you closer again. It’s dark out, and the moon leans in close to the window—

The window?

Breath stills in your chest as Hoseok’s eyes open too. Pupils blown wide, he reaches for you, trying to pull you back to him when the dream slips from his gaze too.

When breath returns, it comes quickly, like a river rushing. Hoseok’s gasps match the pace of yours. Your gaze flicks down to see that his neck is reddening quickly. His fingers trail to the spot you’re looking at and the both of you gasp. And that’s when you notice.

Against your leg. Something hard. Hot. Very much in the shape of—

Both of you move at the same time, detangling your leg from between his thighs, him pulling his hand from yours, and flipping to the opposite side at the same time.

Back to back, your breathing matches one another. Wide awake, you can’t calm the racing in your chest.

Fuck.

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《“If it’s quiet you desire, that can only be bought by the meeting of your tongue and mine.”

...

“And if I don’t desire your quiet?” Your words came out ragged, edged with a desperate ache.

“Then I will never stop telling you how much I love you, never stop showing you. You will never want for anything more than me, and if you do, I’ll know I have not done well enough.”》

Admittedly, I've read this story three times:

The first was when I was blessed with the opportunity to be asked to read this before you posted, and I completely and absolutely fell in love with it.

The second was a few days after you posted. I remember that it was a school night, and I had just finished taking my exams for the week, but I treated myself by rereading this gem, and I fell in love with the story for the second time. This was one of the sweetest gifts to me.

And finally, the third is now (well, technically, about a week ago by the time this is posted).

Each read gave a different emotion. A different response and visual image of the world slowly emphasized how dynamic and detailed this world is and the characters you created. Each read made me realize that I could honestly never get tired of this story, even if I had read it once or one hundred times. This is a story that I can genuinely and without a doubt call timeless.

Your writing is liquid gold, Kay. The world is so vibrant and alive, and the people are filled with so much beauty. So much magic that I loved living there with every chance that I had. Subtle things that I might’ve missed previously stood out, like how Seokjin was looking for the main character, he said he was looking for “the only person in the room that mattered” and how she was “easily the brightest spot in the room”. Reading these lines now just made my heart stop for a moment because of just how beautiful that line was. It also feels like I’m spewing poetic right now when I haven’t even really begun thinking back through everything, but your mind is truly remarkable, and I feel honored that I had the chance to read something so emotive like this story.

Okay, but to start this off, I do have to say poor Hoseok.

From the beginning, you could tell that there was a natural attraction between the main character and Seokjin rather than what could be felt toward Hoseok. Their thoughts made toward each other, for each other, were incredibly salient (and also so romantic and passionate and just so full of love). How they reacted to each other's presence, even though the feeling of being wrong veiled the point where the misunderstanding occurred, was intense yet soft. More so out of hurt than anything, and you wrote it so well. Especially this part:

Longing curled around your heart in suffocating tendrils, begging for another deadly dose.

UGH!!! It is one of the most beautiful and poignant lines I’ve ever read and one of the lines of the story that truly captures what this story is about and shows the seesaw of feelings that the main character experienced during the first half.

My favorite part though has to be, hands down, the entire sequence of the apology.

"For a princess of summer, your shoulder is rather cold from this side,"

The build-up to just getting the main character away from her family and out to the dance floor was astonishing. The back and forth shown between the mc, her dismissiveness, and Seokjin, his determination heightened by his own declaration, was one of the moments that truly made me clutch my phone a bit harder. Bring my face a bit closer to the screen to take it all in. It felt as though I were in a movie, both as an actor and an observer, watching them and listening to their conversation…

And then, the actual apology.

I wish I knew more words that could encapsulate all of the emotions and visions that flashed in my mind while reading that part, but it was so magical. From her siblings helping to the imagery of just all of the elements shown, to Seokjin’s singing...It was overwhelming in the best way. And then the fact that Seokjin calls the mc his “sunbeam” and literally gives her a sun drop?!!?!?!!?!?

Oh, Kay!! My heart.

The moments that struck me the most though were when the main character was explaining the concept of love in terms of Fey. How inconsistent and untethering it is between two people. But, for her, whenever she looks and thinks about Seokjin, the only thing she wants is him. The way she spoke about her love and affections for him made my heart swell out of my chest (it is honestly still making me quite a bit emotional even as I reread the passages. Especially the moment where Seokjin admits to wanting to tie himself to her and get married--with the human custom of rings!!!!), and I could only hope that one day I find a love that is as strong and devoted as theirs.

Sidenote: The moment when Seokjin tells the mc his real name, Astóir, was so touching. This entire piece was heartwarming and emotive and passionate, and I feel myself wanting to tear up right now as I am finishing my thoughts tbh.

Kay, thank you so much for sharing your incredible writing. This has been a long time waiting, but I’m happy that I can share my thoughts with you. I’m just so in awe of this story and your writing in this. Fey and Wilde will forever be one of my favorites from you (but everything you write is honestly a fave of mine). I am also very thankful for all of the behind-the-scenes you let me in on for this story. I feel so honored. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll always and forever be sending you my love, even if it has to come through the form of these (not so) little love letters💕

Fey and Wilde

Audacity takes on many forms in vampire High Lord Kim Seokjin. Daring to show his face at the summer court after insulting your honor was one. Finding his way back into your bed in spite of that was another entirely.

Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: Vampire!Seokjin; Fae!Reader; Fantasy; Established Relationship; Fluff; Angst but not really; Smut

Word Count: 16,000+

Warnings: Alcohol; Profanity; Explicit sexual content, Vampire biting, Blood drinking and smearing; Obscene, decadent, and purely indulgent romantic drivel; Purple prose

Related storie(s): Moonflower

Note: This story features a reader-character with brown skin and physical features similar to those of African descent

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi

“Join me for a dance then and I’ll explain everything,” he said. Your expression didn’t change.

“I’ll have to decline,“ you said. “I’m not in the habit of sharing dances with partners who gravely insult me with such indifference.”

Predictably stubborn to a fault and he would never expect any less. Instead, he had developed a taste for it, lapped up your incorrigible fey pride as he had every other part of you — the cold, and the soft, and the ever blazing.

“Only one dance,” he insisted. “And if I haven’t convinced you of my sincerity by the end, I’ll leave Southsong and never return. You have my word.” He felt the weight of his declaration lift into the air, the magic of the Feywild snapping it up with hungry satisfaction. It was a gamble to bet everything on a few moments, knowing that he truly would never be able to return if he didn’t convince you. But he was willing to take those kinds of chances if it meant he would win you back. He had to.

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I Don’t Like A Gold Rush || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Jungkook is the golden boy, an excellent student, the star of you college’s football team. Rumor has it, there’s simply nothing he can’t do. The same cannot be said about you, but you’ve never had an issue with that. You’re happy with your small group of friends and your lack of talent in sports. And then, Jin befriends Jungkook, and you find yourself spending a lot of time with him. Before you know it, you’ve taken an interest in him — and you’re sure you shouldn’t. There’s no way this can end well for you… right?

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 17.3k

Genre: College AU, strangers to lovers, slice of life, mostly fluff

Warnings & Tags: discussed insecurities, alcohol consumption, reader almost has a panic attack at some point, shy jungkook, jungkook is bad at Feelings, Reader is bad at feelings too, mutual pining kinda, Jungkook has long hair, sfw, New Year’s Day themed.

A/N: I don’t know how I would name my stories without Taylor Swift. Anyway, this is more or less centered around the New Year (it was supposed to be more and then… it didn’t happen), and I hope you’ll enjoy it! Happy New Year everyone!

The first time you hear Jungkook’s name, it’s in the sentence “Man, is there anything Jungkook can’t do?”. You look up at your friend Jin from the book you’re studying. You have no idea who Jungkook is, but that doesn’t mean anything. Jin is always complaining about how you don’t know anyone on the campus, which you think is quite unfair.

…but then you really don’t know that many people on the campus.

“What’s going on?” you ask him, because he sounds extremely annoyed, and he shows you his phone. On it, there is a score for a basketball game. You think.

Your college is famous for its basketball team… Right?

“Uh-uh,” you still say with a nod, trying to make it look like you have any idea what you’re talking about.

“This kid is crushing it at school, the girls love him, and now this!” Jin complains, a little too loud, and shushing noises come from a spot behind you. You turn around to give the group an apologetic look. “I really shouldn’t have bet against him.”

Ah, there you know what to say.

“You really need to stop making bets. You never win them.”

Jin glares at you.

“And you are a terrible friend. You’re supposed to comfort me!”

“I’ll comfort you when you stop making the worst choices imaginable,” you mutter, going back to your work. Jungkook’s name, his supposed excellence, and that basketball match — if it even is basketball — leave your mind as fast as they entered it, without leaving a trace behind.

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《"Naija, you better keep a close eye on those two. Especially that one,” he said, jerking his chin at you. “She hates following instructions.”》

Finally being able to take the time and write a review for this chapter was heaven-sent. I remember reading this fairly close to after you posted it, and about two months later, I'm sitting here, going back and forth from looking at my screen and the notes on my phone, wondering why the absolute hell I didn't do this earlier? And I know that this part was sort of a chapter that wasn't supposed to be a chapter, but I'm also realizing that every time I do look at my notes, the scenes and images you created here were just so salient, and I'm happy that you decided to write this.

I'm also glad that within the first few paragraphs of this chapter I was able to embed the images of Seokjin and Namjoon in my mind.

Seokjin, dressed casually in his t-shirt that exposes his beautiful shoulders paired with baseball, and Namjoon, oh Namjoon, with his giant, girthy, beautifully sculpted di- I mean thighs. Totally meant thighs for sure. But I have to be honest, even though I've read this part before, it still didn't stop me from sitting up in my bed in surprise and nearly choking because “thighs” was most certainly not the first thing that came into my mind after all of that.

Anyways.

Over the last few chapters, we’ve been able to see Seokjin in new lights. From manager to nearly certified sex god. From someone who is extremely funny and cheeky to more serious and sympathetic when it comes to more interpersonal relations, and now we see an extension of that. Of how Seokjin isn’t just this powerful figure, but how he is so willing to be so altruistic and compassionate even when he doesn’t necessarily have to and the story with Ara and her nieces, Hyeri and Hyorin. That scene was really touching to read. Every character and their background you introduce is full and fulfilling to the storyline, even if they might be there for a chapter or so. Through them, we get to see more of what Seokjin is like behind the scenes. How generous and caring he is to those who are around him. At times it doesn't feel like Seokjin is their manager, but an honest and true friend and my heart couldn’t become any more full. And like Ara said, “Being genuinely friendly goes a longer way than you think” and I genuinely appreciate seeing Seokjin being shown so multidimensionally so incredibly well. (P.S. - I loved the “Uncle Jin” bit later on. I laughed and blushed with Ara at that, but the girls are so cute, and Seokjin is amazing with kids. I was awing.)

I feel like it’s a bit strange to go from being sentimental to sensual, but the point when we see Seokjin in the kitchen when he’s all hot and sweaty made me shake. I don’t blame the reader for just standing there and staring because I honestly would’ve done the same. I don’t blame the reader for continuing to compliment him and call him “beautiful” and “gorgeous” to make him blush, and also don’t blame the reader for taking the time to be curious about the scar on his back, because I too was wondering how that came to be. I’m wondering if maybe it came from his past relationship, but I really hope not.

Sidenote: As I’m looking back at the story to keep up with my thoughts, I keep laughing at myself because of all of the back and forth that my mind is doing right now. Like, the fact that Namjoon has a phoenix tattoo….UUGHGGHGHGHGHDGHKNSKNKF. I just wanna jump inside of the story and be like “Can I touch it?” just so I can feel his bicep. Okay, I think that’s it- wait. NOPE. Because I just remembered that you put “threesome” in your tags and- I don’t think that I can deal with this right now. Please Kay!!! My heart was already hurting for Namjoon he admitted wanting to date the mc but that’s most likely not possible because of what’s going on with her and Seokjin, but atleast there might be something later on.

I’m just so ready to keep reading his series. Seokjin was so cute when he was spewing Shakespear at the shaved ice spot the scenes, and he was like “I have to be prepared for you.” A literal dreamboat. I got butterflies. I'm also curious as to what outfit is exactly in the bag that he handed her👀

You can’t see me right now but I’m smiling and giggling at my computer, and I can’t thank you enough for being truly amazing in every way, Kay. You’re so talented. I would give you my love, but you already have it, so I’ll keep writing to you for as long as possible just so that you are reminded of your beauty💕

éffleurer | 16

There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them.

Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: CFO!Jin AU; Smut

Word Count: 8,300+

Warnings: Profanity; Sexual objectification; Sexual content; Idk some flirting, this chapter is a whole mess

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi

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You hardly saw Seokjin on Friday, save for once just before lunch when he ducked into his office. He hurried out and back down the hall again, barely a glance spared in your direction.

It was fine. You and your willpower were fine. And you definitely weren’t angry. You merely wished you’d had some kind of warning for the times he planned to leave your needs unmet, that was all.

Just after lunch, while you were getting your things together to head to Namjoon’s office, you received a text.

Seokjin: You’re even beautiful when you’re sulking.

Y/N: I’m blocking you.

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more of jungkook being a shy, sweet boy please 😭😭

Jungkook is tiny when you first see him, legs carefully tucked in close on the train, sitting between two elderly women who are adamant on conversing over him. He doesn’t dare interrupt, leaning back as much as he can so they can see each other, before eventually giving into his embarrassment and scrambling out from between them.

He stands next to you then, by the left doors of the train, expertly placing his hand against the standing passenger pole so that he doesn’t have to crowd you anymore than necessary. Not that you’d mind if he did— he’s tall, broad, smells like flowers when the train jerks him forward. You know it’d be infinitely easier for him to stand closer to the door instead, that it’ll keep him from stumbling back and forth through the aisle, but he’s too polite to ask. Or maybe just too shy.

Eventually, you gesture him forward, pulling out one earbud to direct him to his new spot. “Thank you,” he says softly, switches spots with you with sparkling eyes, like he can’t believe someone would be so kind as to think of him.

From then on, that’s all you do. Think of him, that is.

He takes the same train as you every morning, likes to sit against the windows if possible, but is always the first to give up his seat for another passenger. Then, he’ll migrate towards you. Well, towards the door, but you usually stand by the door, so towards you. Ever since your first encounter, you always let him stand closer to the door, shuffling back and letting him slip past you. He always says thank you, sometimes a trio of thank you, thank you, thank you or sometimes just a nod of his head, soft cheeks pulled taut as he smiles.

He works at a daycare, this much you learn when he drops his faculty ID one day. It’s a few stops after yours (you Googled it) and is situated across a supermarket. He wears a similar ensemble of clothing each day, usually a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. You know it’s because he has a sleeve of tattoos— a little unexpected! —hiding beneath the fabric. You catch sight of something on his wrist one day, tell him it’s pretty, and revel in the bright red flush that settles over his cheeks. Another trio of thank yous, this one punctuated with a bashful quirk of his lips as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve.

One day, you catch him on his way home from work. It’s weird seeing him at this hour, the obnoxiously white lights inside the train painting his already fair skin an even lighter color. “Oh,” he says, the tip of his nose red. It’s getting colder now, a few months since you’ve started taking the train together. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you greet back, equally as thrown off by this unexpected encounter. It’s an odd hour, your cart only hosting a few riders. You and Jungkook both get a seat and, wordlessly, you decide to sit together. You’re not sure who decides to sit with who, just that you sit together.

Jungkook’s bag brushes your shoulder and he jerks it away. “Sorry,” he hurries to apologize, placing it on the floor between his feet instead. “Um, did you get out early?”

Your brain stalls. “Wha— yeah,” you cough, trying to remember when you ever told him your work schedule. Vaguely, you think you might’ve mentioned it. But that was months ago— there’s no way Jungkook remembered that, right? “Got sent home early,” you joke, nudging his side. Jungkook offers you a tiny smile, nose and cheeks as rosy as when you were outside.

There’s a pause as the train jostles the two of you back and forth, shoulders touching, souls feeling each other out. Eventually, Jungkook says, “so, you’re free today?” You nod, trying to catch sight of him through your periphery. He’s looking down at his lap, fingers twiddling nervously. “Well, if you’re free…”

{Kharli aweing over Rain episode 114,78?}

First...It's been a while. I know, I'm sorry. But Rain, this series has never left my mind while I was away, and I'm happy that I'm able to come back to this and resubmerge myself in this extravagant world that you have created.

If my memories are correct, I believe that this is the first time that we see Eunuch Kim (Namjoon) calling Chun-ja his wife and Han-Jae his son and my heart couldn't have gotten more full. I have loved watching their relationship bloom and blossom throughout the series and for it to come to this moment makes me so warm. They deserve this so much and I'm truly happy that they're able to love each other and spend the rest of their forever the way that they want to.

I love that you can feel the love and beauty from Namjoon’s words trickle into the uneasy tone the letter. There is uncertainty in the midst of bubbling turmoil that's lingering in the background as he tries to console his lover, and the way you wrapped these two contrasting images was amazing.

With this series, there's always been this seesaw event of losses and gains. Whenever there is a period of comfort and easiness, tension and strained relationships are never too far away. Now that we're seeing Yoongi step into himself and grow not only in age but mentally with each passing chapter, things such as lobbying due to the economic state of the kingdom and the marriage are a forthcoming notion. Sacrifices might have to be made. His happiness. Someone else's. The foreshadowing of what might come if an arranged marriage occurs definitely brings a lot of emotions, but as Namjoon wrote, things are different now and so I hope and have faith that things will get better. Eventually (because it's you and I know that I have to cry a little first before I see sunshine).

I'm looking forward to continuing this, Rain. You are the greatest and each chapter of this series entrances me more and more. I'm addicted. Sending you lots of love, dear friend. You deserve the galaxy 💕🌠

trivia: june 1870.

a hastily scribbled letter the sender wishes he did not have to write.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader words: 406 contains: our favorite eunuch returns!

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 32. start from the beginning?

My beloved wife,

I miss you and our son more than words can say. Not a day slips by without my thinking of your warm smiles and delicious cooking, but I am afraid I must stay here at the palace for some time longer. There is trouble.

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