The Hanahaki Series : BTS

Foxglove : jhs

In which, hanahaki is rare but not totally unheard of.

Warnings for: alcohol consumption, shitty communication skills, poor decision making, light smut and lots of sexual situations.

Foxglove, or Digitalis purpurea, is an ornamental biennial plant with bright, finger shaped flowers. It is also sometimes known as "witch's glove" in reference to its toxicity. The entire plant is toxic, and although mortality is rare, case reports do exist. Early symptoms of ingestion include nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, wild hallucinations, delirium, and severe headache. Depending on the severity of the toxicosis, the victim may later suffer irregular and slow pulse, tremors, various cerebral disturbances, especially of a visual nature (such as unusual colour visions with objects appearing yellowish to green, and blue halos around lights), convulsions, and deadly disturbances of the heart.

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"Oh my god, yes, Hoseok-" you moaned out, gripping the top of the headboard as you rode him, chasing your quickly approaching release.

"Come on baby, come for me," he growled beneath you, his fingers digging into the skin at your waist, his hips thrusting up into you at a fast pace. He knew exactly how to get you off, how to move inside you, when to let you lead and when to take charge. He was the best you had ever had, which is why you kept coming back to him again and again - even though you knew he wasn't interested in you outside of sex.

It made you crazy - the way he treated you in the bedroom was deceptive - always making sure you came at least once, even if it took all night, always up for trying something new if you wanted. Sometimes he held you close, his arms around you and head buried in your shoulder as he rolled his hips against yours, murmuring quiet encouragement. Sometimes he took you from behind, pounding into you mercilessly. Sometimes he spent an hour with his hand between your legs, his skillful fingers bringing you to tears. And he would do anything you requested, tie you up, take you to the bath, fuck you in the kitchen or on the couch - the only thing he wouldn't do was kiss you.

That was how you knew, he was just doing this as a way to spend his nights, as a way to get off. He would hold you close, make you feel good, even let you stay the night if you were too exhausted to make the trip home - but he refused to kiss you. Not even when you asked him shyly the first time, your voice hesitant and heart thudding as he walked you to the door in his boxers. His face had faltered, falling into something like a grimace at your request and he refused, politely but firmly.

"No, I'm sorry but I can't kiss you. Have a good night," he had squeezed your hand and then closed the door, and you stood there blinking in shock.

Can't kiss you? He didn't want you to develop feelings for him then. You thought you might cry that day, but you pulled yourself together and got yourself home, ignoring the painful tightening in your chest. You had assumed that the first time would be the last time after that - but the next time you ran into him and his friends at the bar he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off you. You wouldn't lie, it gave you a bit of a head rush to think - maybe he was regretting not kissing you last time. And when he had sidled up and asked if you wanted to go back to his place you had been almost too eager to fall into bed with him again. But he didn't kiss you then either.