Hoseok Angst - Blog Posts

rm4lyf

3 years ago

i finished this entire series in a day, and i was working for 8 hrs on top of that. this series is so good, it had everything in it and for me the drabble Grief is the perfect way to end it. i mean, yeah its a sad ending but its the natural way of life. highly recommended!!!

💜💜💜😘😘😘

Run Little Rabbit Masterpost

; Wolf shifter!Hoseok x Rabbit shifter!Reader

; Genre: Angst, smut, fluff

; Synopsis: Jung Hoseok - the Alpha wolf of his pack and far out of your league. As a rabbit shifter who still jumps around predators, you fantasise about your dangerous crush from a safe distance, particularly as he doesn’t like you. But what happens when he goes into heat and you’re the only one he’ll accept?

-

Main Series:

Run Little Rabbit

Daddy’s Little Peanut (no smut)

Big Bad Wolf

-

Drabbles

Choices

Concerns

A Wish Fulfilled

Grief

close call | jhs x reader

🗝️summary: hoseok comes home in the middle of the night and it doesn't take long for you to realize something is wrong. very, very wrong.

🗝️pairing: reader x mafia!hoseok

🗝️rating: mature, 18+

🗝️genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🗝️warnings: standard smut warnings, feelings because apparently i know no other way

🗝️word count: 1.7K

🗝️notes: i've had in mind to write a series of these drabbles for the guarded AU involving all of the original story characters. all returning home from the same terrifying night on the job, each processing the trauma a bit differently. as always, thank you for reading and please talk to me about it! of course, i couldn't have written or posted this without the help and guidance of @ladyartemesia @btsarmy9593 and @hobi-gif thank you so much ladies. also a big thank you to the very sweet @diorggukie who was so kind to answer my questions!

He comes to you in the dead of night.

The bed dips under his weight as he slips quietly beneath the covers, pressing the length of his body to yours. You start to rouse when he wraps himself around you -- firm chest at your back, strong forearm banded over your waist -- and you open your eyes to darkness, disoriented.

“Hoseok?” You call out to him, not quite awake and not quite asleep.

No answer.

“Baby?”

Still no answer.

The fear comes over you slowly, pulsing from your legs to your chest to your arms. Finally then to your brain, sounding the alarm inside your head as the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s warm, far too warm, skin feverish and damp from what must have been a scalding hot shower. He’s breathing hard like he’s just gone for a run, his shuddering breaths ragged and rough behind the soft shell of your ear. And he’s holding you so tight he’s practically crushing his body to yours.

That’s when you realize he’s trembling.

That’s when your own heart starts to rattle inside your chest.

“Hoseok,” you call his name louder now, clearer, trying to suppress the panic in your voice. “Baby, please. Tell me you’re okay.”

He doesn’t.

You wrench yourself out of his stranglehold to turn over and curl into him, searching for his face in the dark. Beneath the lone sliver of moonlight that peeks through the blinds he looks blank, eyes open and unseeing.

“Hoseok -- “ you cup his face in your hands, grip firm as you try to rouse him from his stupor. “-- You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He stares back at you, quiet for a long time before he answers.

“Bad night, baby,” he whispers at last, “Real bad night.”

The words alone would be enough to make your heart seize, but the brittle, hollow sound of his voice is your undoing. He’s right in front of you, in your arms, but he sounds a million miles away.

“You want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Your answer is in his vacant expression, the shuttered look in his eyes. You know damned well the terrible things he’s seen -- the terrible things he’s had to do in this line of work. And you know that most nights he’s able to absorb that trauma, to contain and defuse it before he comes home to you.

This is not most nights.

“It’s alright, baby,” you whisper, leaning in to press kisses to his warm temple, his flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anyth--”

The words die on your tongue when Hoseok turns his face to capture your mouth with his.

The adrenaline lying dormant in his bloodstream roars back to life in an instant. In one swift movement he’s on top of you, pinning you down with his lithe frame, mouth and hands everywhere at once. His touch is rough, desperate, teeth scraping against the hollow of your throat. Fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass. He kisses you like he’s trying to consume you, filling the air in his lungs with the breath he steals from yours.

“Hoseok -- “ you pull away from him long enough to gasp for air, digging your fingers into his hair when he buries his face between your breasts. “ -- Baby, you’re okay. It’s over. It’s over.”

He’s not ready to listen.

He’s still too keyed up, too wild from whatever he endured out there tonight. He sucks bruises into the column of your throat as his unsteady hands grasp at the satin barrier between you, shoving the thin nightgown up your thighs. You draw in a sharp breath when he slots one leg between yours, pressing the hot, hard length of his cock to the soft curve of your stomach.

“I need you,” he chokes out, heart hammering wildly inside his chest where it’s pressed against your own. “Please.”

There will be none of his trademark finesse tonight. None of the sexy words he loves to whisper in your ear, none of the practiced touches he loves to tease you with until he’s certain you’re ready for him. And none of that matters in this moment.

His hips jerk when you slide a hand between your bodies to take hold of his rigid cock, guiding the blunt head to your entrance. You slide it against the moisture gathered there, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear.

“Take me, baby,” you whisper, “Take whatever you need.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Hoseok is surging forward, fusing himself to you in one devastating stroke. He’s so damned hard -- impossibly hard -- and you can’t help but whimper at the sudden, sharp intrusion.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, head dropping low between his shoulder blades. His arms shake with effort as he forces himself to hold still above you. “I didn’t mean -- “

You swallow his apology with a kiss, tearing a pained groan from him as you squeeze your thighs tight around his slim legs and skate your hands down his back to cup his ass. You tilt your hips up, rolling them against his in invitation.

“It’s alright, baby,” you promise, speaking the words against his lips. “I can take it.”

It’s like pulling the pin on a grenade. Once you speak those words out loud, he abandons what little control he had left, fucking into you with utter desperation. His fingers dig savagely into the cushion of your hips, pulling you in to meet each one of his unforgiving thrusts.

“Thought I was never going to see you again,” he pants, mouth latching to one stiff nipple through your nightgown. He sets his teeth to it despite the barrier, dragging it into his mouth through the damp satin.

You’re glad he can’t see the tears that spring to your eyes. You squeeze them shut, trying to push his words out of your mind, trying to think only about the steady rhythm of his hips against yours and the feeling of his cock buried deep.

“You’re here, baby,” you soothe, running your hands up his back. You can feel the faint tremor that runs just under the surface of his skin. “Here with me. You’re not going anywhere.”

At that, he fucks you harder. Hard enough that you have to press one hand to the headboard behind you to keep him from forcing you up the length of the bed. Hard enough that you know you’ll feel him everywhere tomorrow, know that you’ll see the evidence of his agony all over your skin.

He groans your name into the crook of your neck when he comes, shuddering as he empties himself inside of you for what feels like an eternity. And then he collapses onto you, shivering despite the warmth emanating from his skin, despite the heat that’s been generated between you.

You hold him close and trace your fingertips up and down his back until the shivering stops.

He’s still sleeping deeply when you slip out of bed.

The apartment is peaceful at this hour, the blue hue of the early light comforting in the quiet of the kitchen. You’re not much of a cook, never have been, but this morning that doesn’t matter.

You are going to make this man some fucking breakfast.

It’s easier to focus on brewing the coffee and buttering the toast than it is to think about the way he looked at you last night. The things he’d confessed to you in the dark. The way he held you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

You crack the last of your eggs into a bowl and walk to the trash can, prepared to drop the empty carton inside.

But when you press down on the foot pedal, the lid comes up and the carton in your hand falls to the floor below.

At the top of the trash pile sits Hoseok’s white dress shirt -- the one you’d bought him in Gangnam a few months ago. The one he was wearing when you’d kissed him goodbye before he left last night.

The blood smears splattered across it are a bit rusty now, oxidized and dull.

It’s so much blood that for a moment your heart stops before your brain steps in to remind you that this can’t be his blood. That you’d had your hands and mouth on every inch of his skin last night. That he’s sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom just a few feet away.

You’ve seen so many sides of Hoseok by now, his happiness and his passion and his melancholy and his fury. But you’ve never seen him terrified. Not until now.

You stare down at that shirt, willing yourself not to imagine the gruesome scenarios that come to mind. Willing yourself not to panic over events that are already said and done. Willing yourself not to collapse with grief.

He’d asked you to marry him.

He’d done it in that low key way of his, of course -- on a drive home from dinner, stopped at a red light. He’d cut the radio and reached across the gear shift to take your hand and he’d asked you to marry him. And you’d said no.

You’d argued that trauma begets trauma. That hearing the stories about your own parents’ volatile marriage had poisoned you against any hope for one of your own. That you still didn’t fully understand the damage done by years at the hands of an alcoholic father in the absence of a dead mother. That being a Kim at one time nearly destroyed you, but now it defines you.

And he’d accepted it.

In that low key way of his, of course -- stone-faced and jaw tight. He’d never made mention of it again, though you could sometimes feel it heavy in the air between you. Though at times you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest when you relived the memory of that night in the car.

This morning, you stare down into that trash can -- down at the ghastly red-orange stains that mar what used to be a pristine white canvas -- and your excuses echo through your mind, pathetic and small.

Hoseok would give his life for you. For your brother. For any man in this organization without second thought.

This is the life you chose and this is the man you chose.

And it is time you give him this.

tag list!

@japzalileo @dionysusrage @hey-itsmina @myimaginationsrunningwild @hauntedlilies @spring2787 @suppbeccc @veronawrites @minyoongiboongi @katbonv @pxy99 @ducktan-sonyeondan @juliaz1798 @babycoffeefire @oosnapitskat @taefect94 @kookiesspacebuns @royalmuffinsworld