#The sequel to the bath pic

[oodlesodoodles]

[hoseoksluna]

CRANBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and... hyeonwol)

genre: heavy smut, angst

word count: 18.4k

summary: the final breaking of the curse hurts, but pain brings fruit.

pinterest board: cranberries / taglist: join

warnings: physical violence, fight, daddy issues, alcohol consumption, smoking, thigh humping, female masturbation, use of a vibrator, squirting, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), raw sex, conception, fears of infertility, finger sucking

note: THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE BERRIES SERIES WHAT. i can't breathe, i can't speak. i wrote the moment i woke up and it's now 4pm. ran out of cigs. :( i was so emotional as i was in this world with them and i love them. so much. i'm so excited for you to read this. i had iffy feelings about this series in the beginning, but that has changed. i love every chapter, every detail, every moment. and i think i did a good job. so, enjoy this. i poured my entire heart into this. my issues, personal experiences, everything. it means a lot to me. i love you, guys. i'm happy to give this to you after two long weeks! HAPPY READING.

side note: please, do check out the pinterest board. i'll add pics of every place oc and hobi have been. <3 SPAM MY INBOX. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS.

The sleep lines are paused shooting stars across his back. The dips and definition pools of refreshment for those dimmed lights and when you cross over the threshold with Hobi right behind you, with his finger hooked over the waistband of your ivory mini skirt, your own fingers gain feeling. Much to your dismay, they remember the sharpness of those lines, the stickiness of his sweat as his body boiled during any weather he slept through. 

He must have been on the brink of awakening, for you didn’t wait long before he answered the door. His gray curtains are pulled in and Jungkook walks over them, invites in the light of the early afternoon. In your peripheral vision, you recognize that the easel, which holds the painting in all its glory, is right there on your left side, and you strain your eyes to remain fixed on his bare back, even as wrong as that is. Hobi’s word of advice regarding thinking twice before you look at the artwork are pink blossoms that begin to grow in your ribs, spreading down to your stomach—because whether you like it or not, the place you find yourself to be in used to be one of absolute safety. 

It used to be your home, once upon a time. 

Cold, cold home that only ever reached tepidity at best. It’s all you ever knew—as the home you grew up in with your parents invariably had the same temperature. The same energy, too, charged with silence, ignorance and very little care that seldom carried love. 

Which brings a certain thought to the front of your head, just as Jungkook is bathed in light, arms extended as if he bore wings. 

He never loved you. 

Because if he did, then his home and the memories that are rushing in would feel the way Hobi feels. 

And like Hobi carried the false beauty in his heart, in his life—in the form of the poetry book—you carried the false perception of safety. If Hobi wasn’t here, if the stability of his antique stature wasn’t a wall doused in rain-kissed humidity that you now feel your body gravitating towards, and even if his finger wasn’t hooked behind your skirt, you wouldn’t feel safe. 

But on the other hand, softness coats Jungkook. Strange, strange softness that you haven’t seen in ages. Since the first days of your relationship, the first dates, the first kisses and touches, for everything you did with Jungkook was different each time, never the same until his life story shared with his childhood best friend ended on bad terms and the guy moved across the sea. It’s what triggered his mental issues that in the long run ended your story with him. 

As it seems, Jungkook has been trying to write a sequel that was never meant to exist. 

He bends over his coffee table and it is only now that you notice the clutter of crumpled tissues that he now picks up. Bile scratches your throat as needles prick it because it dawns on you fairly quickly what those issues served him for. A blanket is strewn over the backrest of his leather couch and a singular, flat pillow is propped against the armrest. He slept on it during the night; had a perfect view of the painting right across from him. And if your mind serves you well, he sent that picture in the middle of the night, in which he deliberately showed you that creating the message sexually thrilled him. 

It’s not hard to pinpoint that he fist-fucked himself while looking at the painting. And by the number of tissues that he hides in his palms and throws away in the bin in the kitchen, it’s evident his gratification process took a long, long time. 

You anticipate the bile pouring out of your throat again, but… it never comes. Oddly, it’s second-hand embarrassment that you sense swirling in the cranberry lumps of your bloodstream, its fumes drooping your pink blossoms, your veins thick and ghastly on your wrists. And while you should feel disgusted, for some reason you don’t. 

The discovery added magnitude to the star of his softness, weightiness and substance. It made it more real, bigger. It envelops him, confusing your mind because the only way it allows you to remember him is through the pain he caused you, using the expression of his fury. He broke your heart. Degraded you. Handled you harshly. Threw away your vape. Made you lose the respect you had for him, the worship you carried in the back of your heart. This can’t be the same person, kissed by a good night’s sleep. 

You don’t recognize him and you feel so out of place, standing in the middle of an obscure, amorphous dream that you’re trying to remember. A bizarre, uncanny feeling. You wish to run—as it lessens your form into that milky blue aura of smallness, but not in the way you like. Your body pleads to stand behind Hobi and clutch the back of his shirt in your fists while he steps in and makes order. But the energy around is too light, too gentle for a fight. 

Which is why you’re not sure if it’s a good idea that Hobi should unfurl his plan here. 

Hobi looks down at you as Jungkook answers his phone in the kitchen. You didn’t hear a thing due to the way you were lost in your thoughts and your confusion deepens as you regard the crooked furrow of his brow and the pinpricks of his pupils. Hobi wraps his arm low on your waist, tugging you flush to his side, kissing the plane of your head, lingering there for a second more as he inhales the natural scent of your hair. One you didn’t wash today, for he kept you busy. You fear he can smell your puke on you from earlier, despite the fact you almost sprayed the entirety of your vanilla perfume on yourself that you carry in your purse before you and him left together. You grow insecure, lessening furthermore. 

“Do I stink?” you ask, hushedly, gazing up at him with intention, willing him to answer you truthfully. Hobi smiles down at you, tenderly, pleased with the hint of familiarity and normalcy in the middle of the battlefield. Inhaling your scent and touching you diminished the intensity of the bloodthirst in his eyes and you’re glad for it. You hope that he perceives the elephant in the room and doesn’t strike first, but knowing how smart he is, you trust that he will, if he hasn’t already. 

Hobi doesn’t answer you. His smile falls as briskly as it appeared and his head swivels in the direction of the kitchen, features tight and startling. Your heart ceases its beat for a second before it speeds up, thumping painfully against your ribcage. What did Jungkook say over the phone? You weren’t paying attention. 

He lets go of you and stomps over to the kitchen. His back faces you, bringing your consciousness into present time, shudders with long staccatos of breaths. He’s fuming. Concern crawls up your back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“So, that’s what you do? You traumatize my girlfriend while you have someone else on the side?” Hobi says, brusquely, placing his fists on his hips. “Does she know you paint degrading pictures of your ex in your spare time?” 

A beat of silence. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Your blood freezes over and you don’t know how your legs take you over to Hobi, weak and tingling as they are. You can’t feel anything. Can’t feel your fingers as they hook over his back pocket, your inner child’s deepest wish infiltrating through reality. 

Jungkook worries his bottom lip, his phone still held over his ear, and he exhales, shortly through his nose, dropping his gaze. “I’ll call you back.” 

He throws the phone over the kitchen island, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he so often does, staring Hobi down. 

There’s no doubt she heard it. Hobi said it loud enough. 

Good. 

Good of Hobi to take the ruination by its legs and launch it back at its creator. You change your mind by the shift of the energy, having foolishly forgotten the girl personification of the storm that you saw by Jungkook’s side in the museum. She has no idea how preoccupied he’s been with you, chasing you down ever since he laid his eyes on you after nearly a month. And you pity her. She doesn’t deserve this kind of unfair treatment, no matter the hostility she showed you and the fraction of the same emotion you felt towards her in return. 

Jungkook had it coming, that’s what you’re sure of now—sowing the seeds of his downfall in your orchard. What he didn’t know was that by staying around, hurting not just you, but another vulnerable person at the same time, he would also reap its poisonous growth. You hope his hands are red and burning, pulling out the weeds and poison ivy. 

He leans against the kitchen counter, the muscle of his pierced brow quivering with the onrush of anger. You find it so pathetic that you almost dryly snicker, backed by the continuous, fatherly act of Hobi standing up for you—your antique wall, the architecture of the old, Mediterranean times. 

Strong and unwilling to break under pressure. 

“My personal life is none of your business—”

“And mine is?” Hobi interrupts him, leaning forward due to the influence of his own anger and the sight is horrifying. If you were in Jungkook’s place, you’d be trembling like a sissy. Hobi laughs, scornfully, doing it for you and your heart rejoices. “You stalked my wife, touched her, painted that shitty—”

Wife.

“I didn’t stalk her,” Jungkook says, awfully calmly, as if he were bored, despite the tremor of his pierced brow that divulges the true face of his feelings. “Wife?” He laughs, humorlessly, and you bunch your fists, letting go of your private, personal link to Hobi. Even though you swore you wouldn’t raise them again when facing him, it’s all you want to do now for the way he mocked something so meaningful to you. Raise them and use them until they bruise. 

The concern that hung over your back fades into a discomposure that slices over your skin with a blunt knife. Over and over, maddened by the incessant rampage to cause you pain, incited by his mockery. Won’t let up until blood pours out.  

“Don’t talk over me, I wasn’t finished,” Hobi scolds and your second-hand embarrassment for the opponent doubles, abating your discomposure just like that. 

The knife is lifted in the air, paused. 

Jungkook’s jaw begins to tremble, disliking the easiness to Hobi’s overpowering tendencies, the way his stern words force him to become that aforementioned sissy that you’d be in his place. You think it suits him right. 

“You shamed my—” Hobi points to his heart, like Jungkook did last night when he bared his feelings for you and your throat dries, unbelief peculiarly setting your discomposure free at the rightful turning of tables. “Wife for moving on with her life, for becoming the person she needed to become without you controlling her. Sent her a picture of your dick while you were at it, belittling her, using sex to lure her back to you as if she wasn’t smart, as if she wasn’t mine. You did all that and you think you’re gonna come out of this unscathed? Let your girlfriend see what you’ve done. What, you were going to hide that painting under your bed like a little bitch?” 

It’s Hobi who laughs now, the sound full of that same mockery Jungkook used to inflict pain. You wrap a hand around his arm, coming over to stand side by side with him, sliding your hand down to his, needing it and not being afraid of it. Not to his palm, but over the back of his hand, slipping your fingers through his. And together you clench that singular fist, stronger. 

You thought all your life that you were stupid. Your own Father bashed you for it every chance he had; you, yourself, hated your being for it with all your might. Thought it was the root of the curse over your life, made strong by your bad decisions, bad actions, bad footfalls. Learning that Hobi doesn’t regard you as such cuts that majority of your life away from you. He binds up your wounds, cleaning them. And the fact he put two and two together apropos the meaning of the painting, the reason behind the punishment, using your recitation of the bizarre poem is a kiss to make the boo-boo better. 

You weep, silently. Your love for Hobi trickles out of your tear ducts, doesn’t touch your makeup, doesn’t steal the attention of the two males away from each other. It dips into your ribcage through your chest, sprucing them until they can breathe again and fill your lungs with sweetened, poetic air, with a will to live on, reminding you that you have a future ahead of you that is beautiful and bereft of the curse and all you’ve ever known. 

And you wash that breath, purposefully, over the bare skin of Hobi’s warmth. Remind him, too, as you press your lips over it. He squeezes yours and his united fist, hearing you. 

Lifting your gaze, Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, devoid of those sleep lines. His biceps bulge, but it does nothing to you. Hobi’s fixing of your dignity, heart and life has taken care of that, all via that sonnet of his that he spat in Jungkook’s face, one that contorts in envy upon seeing your intertwined hand with Hobi’s. He nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes wetting, but the following words he says sting as if his face never wore those softened emotions. And the discomposure returns in the form of a colossal spider on your back. A slimy, heavy, breathing spider. 

You cringe, tensing your muscles, nuzzling your body deeper into Hobi’s arm. It only menaces your vivaciousness, but the fluff on your body stands on end, nonetheless. 

“She came here to look at the painting. I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he mutters, crossing his leg. Double protection. He’s stuck in a peril—feels vulnerable and threatened, just like Hobi said. “She likes being spanked, being punished. That’s why she’s here.” 

It takes two seconds for Hobi to release your hand and slap him like the little bitch he is. A fatherly discipline, that hard swoop of the back of his hand, a new line indenting his carmine face, one belonging to the ring on Hobi’s middle finger. Absolutely humiliating, that act you are a witness to—but you don’t feel a slither of pity for him. The joy from your heart springs to your eyes and you feel yourself blinking unorthodoxly—more briskly, serenely, femininely. 

The spider jumps off your back, afraid of Hobi. You sigh in relief, willing strength into your knees as they signify their giving out on you, boneless as they are. 

And Jungkook is afraid, too, once he recuperates from the hit, straightening, but not facing the king. His mouth rounds as if he were on the verge of crying, and maybe he is. He focuses on stalling the natural flow of his emotions, his pride forbidding him from being weak, even as he’s getting hit like a teenage boy. 

But Hobi makes him look at him. He grabs his face, repeating the motion of last night; squeezing his cheeks until his knuckles turn white, although this time Jungkook doesn’t moan in pain. He scrambles the last of that pride of his, threading it into the stiflement of his reaction. 

“Are you that dumb that you forgot about what I told you that would happen if I heard those words come out of your mouth again?” he seethes in his face. Jungkook sucks in quick breaths, a caged animal, furious. “You degraded her again. You’re asking for it at this point.” He slaps him again, harder this time, still with the back of his hand. Doesn’t give him time to shake it off. Grabs him in the same way. “I’ll let you know that those words you read in that little message? That probably made your dick hard? Those were my words, boy. I came here to break that painting, but I changed my mind. I want your girlfriend to see the work of your hands.” 

Hobi told him the true story while he omitted the detail he could’ve used to inflict further pain on him. He could’ve said that he told you to write that message after he was done fucking your trauma out of you. He could’ve rubbed that in his face and you wouldn’t mind. 

But he didn’t. 

He respects you. Protects your dignity. Doesn’t need to flaunt his private life with you; isn’t insecure to do something like that. And along with joy, he installs something within you that you lacked all your life. 

A respect, a high regard and an expensive love for yourself. 

You stand straighter, all of a sudden. 

Jungkook looks at you. A rawness of pain daubs his even softer eyes, but you recognize that it’s all pretense, a manipulation technique that you see right through. You lift your chin higher, interlocking your hands behind your back. A powerful, feminine stance. His eyes descend to your pride in the middle of your breasts, drench as he mumbles something your way that you can’t comprehend due to the way Hobi squeezes his cheeks harder, that moan of pain slipping through, at last. 

You smile, sensing the end of this chapter. You can see the door to it, wide open, Hobi standing by it, gripping the doorknob. And he shuts it with his following words. 

“Don’t even look at her. It’s over. The little game you’re playing? You lost,” Hobi says and lets him go. Jungkook grumbles, baring his teeth, his hand shaking as he lifts it to his jaw as if to rub away the pain, but he changes his mind at the last minute. Doesn’t want to show his weakness. His hand falls, flaccidly, to the side. Throws Hobi’s way a dirty look that makes you laugh. 

“It’s over,” you intone along, lips stretched in a glinting grin, the crown of your victory. You’re the queen to your king. Jungkook gazes at you with a puppy’s sadness, for a mere second before Hobi pushes his head away from your direction with a poke of his fingers. His inhales are sharp and thunderous and you think he’d be a perfect match to his companion, that is if he were a good guy, deserving of her. 

“Did you even see the painting?” he hushes out, head still turned towards the windows, and the redness on his face inflames in vibrancy, darkening. Why he thinks he needs to keep fighting, in spite of the way Hobi overthrew him, is beyond you. His head slowly swivels back to face you and tears cloud his eyes. It inspires no pity in you, no curiosity to look behind you at the painting. “I made the background an imitation of Monet’s waterlilies. The green ones, the ones you’ve always liked. Does that mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that I still care—” 

“No,” you interrupt him and you bask in it, inhale the power. Your pink blossoms grow in abundance, becoming a collection of beauty and strength that will live on forever, never to wither. “I didn’t look at the painting and I refuse to because I don’t care.” 

You open your mouth to continue, but he outruns you. 

“So, you lied to me? Why are you here, then?” 

The wheels seem to whirr in his brain, at last. 

“My husband and I came here to make one thing clear,” you explain and you flick your eyes to Hobi just in time to catch him smiling at you, fondly, his loving pride bursting through his own pools. “It’s over. You’re not gonna bother me anymore; you’re not gonna text me, call me. In fact—” You pull out your phone out of your front pocket and unlock it, tapping on Jungkook’s contact and blocking him, deleting the number right away. “You can’t anymore.” You smile, satisfied with your decision. “I live a happy life without you and it’s going to stay that way.”

Jungkook’s posture slouches and he wrinkles his brows, mouth agape, downturned. “Husband? What the fuck is this?” 

You only lift your hand in the air, for Hobi to take, dismissing him once and for all. “Let’s go.” 

You take a step back as Hobi rushes to you in a comical, endearing way, a huge smile engraving crinkles by his glimmering, pearlescent eyes. He takes your hand and when you look at Jungkook one last time to say goodbye to him, he whimpers like a wounded animal. 

Your heart constricts, not touched by pity, but by discomfort. It’s time to leave; you don’t want to be here anymore.  

Hobi leads you towards the door and you follow him, but Jungkook’s final words halt your footsteps. Hobi’s too. 

“I can be like him and better when he drops you. Don’t forget that.” 

You frown at him, your mouth pressed in a tight line. “There’s no when to me and you. I never want to see you again. Goodbye, Jungkook.” 

He mewls, the final kick to his bruised body and you leave. 

You leave his life for good. 

The air of the afternoon’s breath is floral. You thought the clouds would’ve smothered the last remains of the summer, but it is still, most strangely, in full bloom. You feel hot in Hobi’s linen shirt and the sun is scorching hot, balmy and paradisiacal on your bare thighs, though you wish you hadn’t worn your Nike’s. Your toes are asking for some sand, for the pecks of sea waves and the entanglement of seaweed around them like tropical adornment of toe rings. 

You met the girl, the personification of storm, behind the door to his apartment. She was about to rack her knuckles on the wood like you did, but Hobi opened the door for her. Her breath hitched in her throat, hard and heavy like the wind during that storm she resembles so much, and you felt bad for her. So much that you told her to leave him, unabashedly and plainly, and didn’t stick around to hear her response. 

But you did hear muffled sounds of vocal violence and you prayed, for the first time in your life, to someone in the sky, who has always been a witness to your curse and never did a thing about it, to guide her to break that painting in two. 

Not for your healing, not at all. But for the curse to be unleashed on him, turned to him and fixed on him.

You’re not ashamed to carry such evil in your heart. You know, full well, that it will dull overtime. Your mother would’ve rebuked you, told you to forgive your enemies and wish them well, but bricking up your heart for him to feel safe is something she would never understand. Because if she did, she wouldn’t share the same home with your Father. And if she did, you would’ve never ended up with a guy like Jungkook that was the raw epitome of him. 

It’s a good thing she’ll never learn of your secret. She never met Jungkook but she looks at his face every day, and you’re not so sure if the idea of introducing Hobi to her is pleasant. You sense the time you find yourself to be in is meant to be a solitary one, spent in a bubble with your husband, and there’s nothing you want more. 

You and Hobi, alone. 

For a little while before a little creature comes along. 

The mountain peak is awaiting—you feel it profoundly in your bones. 

Hobi opens the door to his car for you, places a hand on the edge of his vehicle so you don’t hurt your head as you sit down—like he did on your first date. But he doesn’t close the door and walk over to the driver’s seat. No, he straddles you. Pushes your seat back a little in order for you to have a perfect and comfortable view of him. You sputter out your giggles, felicitously confused by his actions, and when he props his hands by your head, his smile quivering in effort to not laugh along with you, your giggles rise in volume. 

And then his gaze deepens on you, lessening the pitch. Seriousness shrouds the energy, your little giggles ringing, faintly, and you press your thighs together between his legs. 

“I’m not fucking you here,” you whisper, the sound full of humor, your eyes feignedly widened, but Hobi is deep in thought, his imaginary wings furling and unfurling in the spaciousness of his car. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, steeped in that earnest, warm and lightweight solemnity. It feels like home. That question, too. 

You relax, your expression of joy fading into a comfortable silence and you take a moment to focus on what you’re feeling right now. 

A graze of the pink blossoms on the inside of your ribs. Relief, a wave sloshing over them. Freedom, the sunlight that heats up that body of water. Joy—a full rainbow of joy after a century-long rainfall. 

And you tell him. 

“I feel free. Happy. I feel happy, Hobi.” 

He smiles, fondly, that blush rolling over his cheeks like it always does. And you love him, irrevocably. You love him, you love him, you love him. 

He did this, your God. It’s the creation of his clean hands. 

And as he kisses the tip of your nose, you thank him with the same earnestness he brought in. 

And you mean it. You would’ve died, had he not found you. You would’ve died, had you not taken him to that museum. You think about what your life would’ve looked like if you never suggested that place, but your mind stumbles upon a dead end. You can’t—there’s nothingness up ahead. 

It was meant to happen this way. Along with the pain, the tears, the scars. If it never ached this much, it wouldn’t matter; it wouldn’t have the gravity, the substance, the meaning. It would’ve been plain and it wouldn’t change your life so devastatingly, so beautifully. 

You wouldn’t have wings and neither would he. 

You kiss him right back on that slender nose of his and much to your surprise, he gives his voice over to your heart. 

“I love you,” he confesses, the pearls in his eyes wetting, and he cradles your face. Your heart stops and then beats differently—in a way you never heard it sing before. “Is it too soon to say that?” 

Another surprise comes. A tear trickles down your cheek, a happy, elated, small rivulet that cleanses the last, difficult events that just ended. Down your cheek that stretches and aches, blissfully, as you smile up at him. 

“Is it too soon to say that I love you, too?” 

The song melts into another poetic stanza and Hobi kisses you. But he smiles as well, so the kiss is full of clashing of teeth and sudden hunger to express the fulfillment of that love. You and him try and try again until your lips mold into his and the hard kiss, filled with passion, respect and devotion, splits the curse in two. 

Now the residue, the smithereens only need to be fucked out of you.  

Hobi will do a good job, no doubt. 

“Let’s celebrate.” 

Hobi was eyeing a bottle of soju in a market nearby his house, but settled eventually for a bottle of spirits that he’s now popping open and drinking right from the lip of the tall, glass container. He’s sat on the ground of your bedroom, back propped against your bed, the bottle between his outstretched legs as he watches you strip out of the combination of yours and his clothes. A blackberry vape might be in your hand, the fume curling around the curds of cranberries that your blood still consists of, but a pack of cigarettes lies crooked on your bedding.

You told Hobi you needed something stronger after that happened. And he brushed a wisp of your hair away from your face and said he’d willingly have a cigarette with you as he still felt adrenaline coursing through his smooth bloodstream. Bought a pack of gold Davidoff’s for you, the ones you shared with him that you used to smoke until…

You haven’t voiced your panic, though. Not in the market, not in the car, not right now as you’re standing in front of your closet, searching for a lounging outfit to wear, similarly like Hobi did back at his house a few hours ago. Jungkook forbade you from smoking. Hated the sight of it. Hated it even more when you switched to vapes. And as you recollect his anger whenever he saw you with it, you can’t believe you let him do it. Can’t believe you stopped smoking just to please him. 

And you can’t believe Hobi bought you a pack. With his own money, by his own will. To please you. 

You should be feeling happy right now, but the panic… it stands behind you, the silhouette of Jungkook’s form, waiting for you to take that cigarette between your fingers and place it between your lips, daring you, taunting you, waiting for the right moment to strike, to rebuke, to untether its anger. It’s what keeps you planted on your feet, whisking your eyes up and down along the corner of your closet, where your comfortable clothes are neatly folded. 

You’re afraid to turn around. Afraid to see Jungkook there—

“Come here.” 

Hobi’s voice. Not Jungkook’s. 

“I need to get dressed,” you say, softly, staring down a pink wisp of your sleep shorts. 

You hear the sloshing of alcohol in the bottle. Hobi must be taking another sip. 

“You don’t, really.” 

You laugh through your nose. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here.” 

Hobi lets out the same sound, making a smile curl on your mouth. “Come here, pup.” 

It’s the gentleness sunk within his intonation that is a force of the same nature that turns your body around. Hobi is staring at you as if he were looking up at an angel—those pearlescent eyes of his bright and swimming, but not prematurely under the influence of the alcohol. They’re swimming with love. 

You used to be an angel. Now you’re you. 

And Jungkook isn’t standing there; Jungkook is gone. 

You walk over to him with ease, the panic dispersing and flying out your wide open window, your rosy curtains guiding it out. You sit on his outstretched thighs and as your bum plops down, you take off his green beanie. Run your fingers through his hair, fluffing them. Cradle his face to your naked bosom as you inhale him, tracing patterns on his scalp. 

Hobi begins to purr and you melt, becoming a liquid form of you, making his hands shine in the ever undying stark sunlight as he wraps his arms around your torso, tightly. 

You’re not going anywhere, the act says. 

This is what deserves to be painted, you muse. 

Listening to him emit that sound, your heart notices the absence of Luna and it craves her, awfully missing her. And the more you receive it through your ears and it settles within the chambers of your softened muscle, you realize that you’re holding her in the form of a human. 

He’s so much like her. You recollect the way he tilted his head into your touch, join it to the memory of how she did it when you petted her head for the first time. And you test him—withdraw to pat his cheek and he does it. Leans into your touch, lingering there as you cup him. 

He’s a God and a kitty. And you love him. 

Hobi reaches for the bottle of vodka. Takes a sip as he locks his gaze with yours. Your hand slackens at the sight, dropping to the crook between his neck and his firm shoulder, and you can’t hold it. Like your limb, your eyes descend to the way his mouth is wrapped around the rim of the bottle, to the bottle of his throat as he swallows and doesn’t make a face. Lift back up to catch a glint bouncing off his wet lips and abruptly, you want a taste of that heady sting of your own. 

He can read you, and fairly well—because he drinks again, but this time he doesn’t swallow. No, he pushes your head to his in one swift, brazen motion. Parts your lips by tugging your chin down with only his thumb while he cups your cheek and, sitting up so he can once again take advantage of the size difference, he pours the pungent liquid beyond the arc of your mouth. Remains there, a breath away. It seems as though he wants to feel you swallow, wants to inhale that sharp scent of the alcohol; wants to sense in his bones that principle of him giving it to you in a profound, private way. 

And you swallow it, fixing your attention on the burn coursing down your throat, softened by his saliva. This—this was your first drink, a safe occurrence, watched over by your Father. The ones you had before in your past life didn’t have a sliver of the magnitude that you feel suffusing your lungs. This is your first life with him. 

“That was so hot.” 

You agree with him, liquid heat pooling low in your core, and you need that cigarette. And his dick impaling you as you take that deep, heavy drag that you haven’t inhaled in months. 

And most peculiarly, there’s no panic, nor fear, as you snatch that pack of cigarettes from your bedding behind his head and look for the little flap that will help you open it. Hobi lifts his hand from your cheek, though, and steals it from you—finding the flap with ease and opening it as if he spent the last decade faithfully smoking. 

Your panties are ruined, just like that. 

Drenched when he pops the butt of the cigarette between his wet lips, rummaging in his pocket for the pink lighter that he got you along with the pack. 

Soaking when he lights it up for you, blows the first smoke into your mouth, pecks you softly, and places the butt between your lips. 

But he doesn’t place his hand back on your face—he keeps his thumb and forefinger on the body of the cigarette, the burning tip facing him, holding it for you as you take a drag. The thick smoke billows around his palm, milky blue in the golden light, and as soon as its heaviness caresses your lungs and you exhale it into the air, he returns the cigarette back to its original place. Puffs it one more time before he lets you have it, coughing a little, blowing the fume onto your bare breasts, lips opened halfway in a tiny circle. The warmth tickles and your body naturally curls forward in reaction, your arms pushing your breasts together. Hobi makes a sound that is a godly synthesis of a coo and a moan, uttered from his weakening grin, eyes gliding over your squished breasts. 

Eyes that never darken when regarding your nakedness; eyes that remain full of that celestial, sea-kissed light. 

Do they have the ocean in heaven? He must know, for he’d been formed by it. 

And you want to be stuffed full in it. 

Hobi must like the sight he sees because he takes a finger and drives it down the right side of your body. From your clavicle, down to your breast, your stiffened nipple that he stops at, pinching it, heightening the pressure until you squeak, the pool bursting in your core. At that sound, he continues on his path down your stomach and you let him feel the contraction of your muscles there as your body reacts to his touch. He ends his venture at the waistband of your panties and he tugs it towards himself, peeking inside. 

“Someone’s wet,” he comments and you cough, embarrassingly, caught off guard, as you take a drag of your cigarette, not expecting him to say that. Hobi smirks and the growing moistness on that fabric becomes uncomfortable. He rubs your back, helping your lungs to quiet down, the waistband snapping back making you jump—and incredibly horny. 

He steals the lung burner and you love it, your obsession with it construed by his apparent need to smoke in this heavily sexually-charged situation. You wonder if he’s holding himself back from breeding you right here and there. 

He could, if you wanted him to do it here—all things are settled, after all. But you don’t. You don’t want to reach the peak in your bedroom, where Jungkook has been so many times. 

You want it to happen at a place, where his footfalls never ventured. 

“Someone’s wet from watching their man smoke,” you flirt, looking at him through your lashes, hips instinctually drawing closer to his crotch and beginning their dance. Back and forth, the rhythm of the sea. 

“Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you,” he threatens, flicking his eyes to the rising peak of the cigarette ash and he bores them into yours with a challenge. “Be a good pup and get me an ashtray, please.” 

Please? 

Yes, Daddy. 

Ashtray? No. 

That would mean going to the kitchen and flipping it upside down in search of it. You stand up to your feet, your wetness flowing down your inner thighs with the movement, and you fetch the empty glass from your bedside table, lonesome and dust-scattered. You can’t really remember the last time you put it there. 

Sitting back down, you straddle his thigh as you hold the glass for him to flick the ash there. And once he does, you start to move back to your original position, but he stops you. 

“Stay here,” he says, enveloping an arm around your waist. “Ride it. Make a mess for me.” 

You don’t hesitate to do so, your body begs you for a release, weakened yet enlivened by his command. But the question of why he doesn’t want to fuck you bothers you and you decide to voice it out, willfully. Unafraid, safe, comfortable. 

You roll your hips forward on his thigh, which he flexes for you. The curves of his toned muscles hit the right spot and you throw your head back, using his throat for support, mewling little sounds that make him bite his lip, abandon his cigarette, let it fall into the cup that he forces away from your grip and sets it down. The smoke still billows out, twirling around your form, magnificently. 

“Why don’t you wanna fuck me?” 

Hobi sucks in a breath, leaning his head back against the mattress, hands following the movement of your hips. Drunk not on the alcohol, but on you. 

“Because I’ve been nonstop fucking you and I don’t want your little pussy to be sore,” he says, truthfully, adding vigor to your dance with his words, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Which is why I want you to use me like this when you need me.” He breathes, raggedly, and you’re dazed. “And because—” He fists the front of your panties, squeezing the fabric between your folds, stimulating your clit with the pressure. “The next time I fuck you, we’re making a baby.” You cry out, your pleasure heightened, and, meeting your thrust, he slides the knuckles of his fingers down to your clit, letting you ride them, letting himself feel the swollenness, softness and wetness of your flesh. He moans along with you—the feeling divine. “You said you didn’t want it here. Tell me where.” 

You can’t. Your orgasm quickens as do your grinding motions and you can’t see, you can’t speak, you squeeze your eyes shut—

“No, pup.” He stretches the fabric towards himself, essentially moving his hand away, and pushing your stomach back, your hips rolled forward, pussy throbbing and dripping in the air. You pant, gripping his hair at the crown of his head, eyes flung open, yet lidded. Terribly, terribly lidded. Sultry, dreamy, mesmeric. Despite the fact he ripped your orgasm away. “You don’t come unless you tell me where.” 

He holds you in place, immobilizing you. You try to grind on him again, but to no avail. You expect him to click his tongue at your brattiness, but he doesn’t. 

He does something else entirely. 

“Take your time. I know. That was really intense.”

It’s a stark contrast to the restraint he has you in—your slowly sobering brain makes a note of that, only to dip back into the stupefying pool of your arousal. 

And you whine, electrified by the pleasure that comes from all directions, that pushes forcibly against your neediness, heightening it. 

You can’t take your time. You can��t tell him right now. You need to come. 

“I can’t, Hobi.” Your breath shudders. “I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he rasps and you can see the way your neediness affects him, his chest heaving with almost identical staccatos, as though he was zapped with the delight he gets from it. His pupils are so dilated as his eyes melt into yours, a black pearl, but still enveloped by light. Cheeks flushed, mouth wet. The scent of patchouli, cigarettes and vodka, the remote corner of heaven. 

You try to breathe, fluidly, as you take it in and Hobi helps you. Breathes with you, steadies the cadence of your recuperation. Doesn’t stop until he’s assured that your lungs are calm. And as a reward, he lets your panties slap back against your pussy, coaxing a moan out of you. 

Doesn’t remove his hand from your hip, though. 

A quid pro quo. 

All right. 

“I don’t want to get pregnant here. Not in Seoul, not in Korea,” you start, your lungs in a perfect rhythm. Hobi’s eyes enlarge as he listens, fingers spreading over your bum, just holding you there, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. The gesture soothes you, blesses you with tenderness that helps you continue with your words. “I want you to take me overseas, where I’ve never been.” 

He hums, nodding, thinking for a mere moment, his eyes distracted on your belly button. And when he lifts them, he smiles. “Any particular place in mind?” 

The country slips off your tongue, naturally, on its own, and you think that’s the one. Your heart spoke it, so it must be the place. You haven’t given much thought prior to it, just knew you didn’t want to conceive a child on this soil that remembers nothing but your pain and anguish. You held this within the chambers of your heart before you met Hobi—and way before you met Jungkook. And you figure that in the process it acknowledged itself with Hobi, studied his face, learned the ins and outs of his heart in such a short time, it riddled out the place, where the curse is meant to be broken in. 

Once and for all. 

“Turkey.” 

You’ve seen the videos. Seen the dramas. The pictures. It met you and kept meeting you throughout your life, but you never gave much meaning to it. And now you perceive why. 

You reckon that’s how life works. And it feels nice—to get to know life, to get to know its mercifulness. 

“That’s a beautiful place, pup,” he whispers, taking his hands off of your body and cradling your face, pulling you closer and kissing you, lingering there for two, three, four seconds more. Your heart jumps, delighted to be validated, and you feel like weeping happily. 

“You’ve been there before?” you ask, the wetness of your eyes gracing it with a glint that very seldom finds your usually saddened pools. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

“I’ve had business meetings with Turkish companies that do their job well. Good people, good atmosphere.” Hobi smiles, reminiscing on something private and his cheeks warm. 

You wish, intimately, that he would tell you everything. 

“Will you tell me about them when we get there?” 

Hobi nods, pecking your chin. “Yes, and then I’ll fill you up.” 

You grin as he lingers there beneath you, eyes so bright and big, becoming crinkly at the corners once he reciprocates the grin. He kisses the front column of your next, tasting the layer of sweat that has enveloped it during your oh so evident neediness and you dip your head in your pool of arousal all over again—as soon as he withdraws and slaps your thigh, signaling you to hump his thigh. 

You can’t wait to get knocked up. Hope time passes quickly, transforms into a substance that lifts you up and carries you all the way to Turkey, mercifully, kindly. 

It’s this notion that you focus on as your hips begin to roll forwards and backwards on his thigh, but this time, as Hobi watches you with intention, he pulls your drenched panties to your side, his hand coming over to your bum and doing the same thing there, so the fabric doesn’t get in the way. 

You kiss him for it, hungrily, licking over his tongue, and he moans into your mouth, the sound traveling down your body until it roots in your clit, where it spreads and drums a hymn for your feminine titillation. 

And the feeling is divine—the sparks of pleasure that shoot up your core while your bare pussy rubs against the fabric of his pants, darkening it ever so quickly with your wetness. The feeling that he enjoys it, even more so when he voices it out. 

“This is what it does to me,” he murmurs so terribly close to your puffed lips, grasping your hand and leading it to the place between his outstretched legs that he speaks of. He presses it against his painfully hard imprint and your fingers automatically wrap around it as much as they can, as if they recognize it’s their own toy. “To see you get turned on like this. To watch you use me because of it. I’m crazy for you—”

His phone rings in his pocket and your heart stops—as do your motions. 

And you fear, rottenly, that it’s Jungkook who’s calling him. That he somehow found his number and is back at it again, clutching the curse like a sword in his hand. Ready to ruin, ready to devastate. 

The feeling paralyzes you enough that it dries up your pool of arousal and you can’t blink, you can’t breathe, you can’t move. Your mouth parts, but no breaths come out. 

At the sliver of freedom and joy—

“Jung Hoseok speaking,” Hobi answers the phone, the device slender and way bigger than his monumental hand, gazing into your eyes. Unblinking, too. 

He listens to the other side spilling information in and once you catch his mouth flattening, those dimples gouging something unpleasant onto the smooth surface above his top lip and the brightness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly, the cranberries of your blood crumble, uncomfortably, beneath the skin of your forearms. 

You pull your hand away from his crotch, slipping out of his grasp. He stops you before you get up on your feet, holding your strayed hand as he listens some more. 

It can’t be Jungkook. 

Hobi wouldn’t listen to a word he said and that phone would’ve long been flung across the room, if it were him. 

You sigh a breath of relief, your body relaxing and slouching. You run a hand through your hair, gripping it at the back of your head to will some feeling into your muscles—as there’s nothing to fear. 

It’s over. 

It’s fucking over. 

No ruination. No devastation. No impending curse about to absorb your life. 

Nothing. 

“I understand what you’re saying and I appreciate your work and thought, but allow me to remind you that it’s Sunday and I don’t work on Sundays, neither do my employees—”

Oh, the big bad boss. 

The person on the other side interrupts him and Hobi scrunches his brows, mouth parting at the disrespect. Then, a smirk crawls over his mouth and he rolls his eyes, directing that smile towards you as the brightness in his eyes blossoms back. Playfully, he rolls his eyes again now that he knows he’s got your attention—and silently, he mimics the words the other person is saying, mocking them. 

You laugh, softly, your relief expanding in you and shifting you back into your comfort zone. Hobi’s eyes widen and, using his intertwined hand with yours, he presses his index finger to his lips to signal to you to be quiet. 

And he shouldn’t have done that. 

He refreshes your pool. 

And he seems to be aware of it by the way his countenance grows serious. It does something to you—the way he’s listening, working essentially, while being attentive to your feelings and state of mind. It’s attractive, the splitting of his attention. And you don’t have to rock your hips first—he encourages you to do it by curtly nodding his head at your hips, untwining from your hand and guiding your pelvis to dance again. 

Not for him. 

For you. 

And the pleasure is much bigger this time around. 

You can’t stifle your noises. 

“That sounds absolutely great,” he says, quickly, in order to camouflage the volume of your delight as you hump his thigh faster, more vigorously, your breasts bouncing and slapping against each other. Hobi watches them with a deep furrow of his brows and his bottom lip caged between his teeth. Tortured, absolutely tortured. 

It only urges you on—and you find yourself in a vapor of horniness. 

“Yes, Da—”

He clamps your mouth shut with his hand, your moan caught in his palm. That act alone drives you prematurely to the peak of your orgasm and you know, you know, that if your clit rubs against his toned, clothed thigh just once, you’ll be coming all over him. 

But Hobi manhandles you, pushes you down, gently, onto the floor. 

You’d think he was angry with you, hadn’t he smiled at you—and your vapor thickens, your hormones fucking with your brain. Hovering above you, he grips your throat, merely holds you there without any pressure, and he kisses the tip of your nose. 

He fucking kisses the tip of your nose. 

Your pool leaks onto the floor. 

“Be quiet,” he mouths and does it again, more prominently, to make sure you understand what he’s voicelessly saying to you. “Yes, I have about five employees in that department who would be willing to work on that. Very diligent and dedicated. One of the best people I’ve ever had under me.” 

He cringes, realizing the wrong string of words he used in that silence, and you burst out into laughter—one he has to silence by clamping your mouth shut again, looking away to focus on a fixed point somewhere in your bedroom while smiling himself. 

And you get his attention right back at you when you lick his palm. You expected him to be repulsed by it, but his eyes enlarge and his mouth falls agape as strange feelings wash over him. Then, he ruts against nothing and plunges two of his fingers, index and middle, into your mouth. 

Your slick is warm as it trickles down your flesh and onto the floor; your body hot all over from the situation, the secrecy, his dominance and his fingers alone. His eyes deepen when they slide over your full mouth and you can see, even through your thick vapor, the way he’s swallowing down his growls. He strokes your tongue, barely, softly, plunging them further until he hits the spot that makes you gag. It sobers him quite rapidly, the sound. Swearing—still voicelessly—he starts to pull out his fingers, but you wrap your hands around his wrist, keeping him there as you suck on those long, slender digits, focusing on not making a sound. 

His eyes lid, heavily, at your diligence. 

“Three months, you said?” He tugs his fingers out, that anger evident, but not towards you—towards the other person. And he lets it out by ripping your panties away from your body in a blink of an eye. “Can we make that two?” He caresses the silky skin of your mound with his knuckles, without venturing downwards, and you shudder, needing him there. “Rub your clit,” he mouths and you gasp, even though you don’t know why. You’re so overwhelmed by the respect he emanates, horny and sensitive that any word he’d throw your way would make you react this way. You feel like a schoolgirl; small, submissive, breedable. And you want to please him, make him proud, do as he says. But you don’t share the same hastiness as him—because before you can get to the end of your thought process, he takes your hand and places it on your pussy. 

He must be getting the same thrill out of it. 

You rub your clit, obeying him, and watching him watch the work of your fingers as you twirl them on that swollen, little flesh—it’s nothing you ever experienced before. Your pleasure quickens, as hasty as Hobi to get you to your peak, and you have to lift your fingers in order to not come quick, your lungs heaving, your mouth letting out short breaths that make him absolutely feral. 

“Oh, pup,” he mouths, the wrinkles on his forehead divulging the depth of his torment and pleasure from the sight. “Good job. So good. Yes.” He nods, encouraging you—and you almost come right then and there, but you lift your fingers just in time. Fists clenched, you throw your head back, frustrated but pleasured just the same. And you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. 

He runs his hand down the middle of your body, stopping at your thigh, wrapping your leg around his torso. 

“If you can’t make that work in two months, then we have nothing to talk about,” he bites, panting, but he hides it well, his voice untouched by it. Firmness and respect coats it, strengthens it, gives a new instrument to the hymn of your clit. “I have things to do and places to be outside of Korea and I can’t afford to be held back by three months. I’m sure I can find business partners who’d be able to make everything work in just one—”

Seething, he leans over, grabbing your vibrator. He turns up the intensity, the sound growing louder and louder and you shriek, soundlessly. 

You’re going to explode if he uses that on your tortured clit—

“Apologizes for the noise.” Hobi spits on your clit, the long string of his saliva plopping onto your flesh, making you quiver and moan, quietly. “There’s construction work outside. I guess you’re not the only one working on a Sunday.” 

The bitterness, the snide comment—you feel like screaming, in the most delicious, exhilarating way. And you do, when Hobi places the vibrator down on your needy clit. 

He moves it, rapidly, from side to side while he’s still talking on the phone, but his words are a blur that you fail to understand, your whole being fixed and concentrated on the adrenaline blended with fireworks of intense pleasure that create an orchestra of passion. His imaginary wings unfurl and beat in the air, opulent and dusky black. His eyes never falter their hypnosis as they bore into yours, coaxing your orgasm out of you, while his mouth keeps silently telling you to be quiet, praising you to motivate you. 

And you do explode. 

In his face when he explains something you can’t comprehend. 

And you come again when he takes a deep breath, stopping short in the middle of his sentence, shocked, zestful, wet and ecstatic. You sprinkle his chin and his neck, ruin, most beautifully, his polo shirt and devastate, even more so, his pants. 

And he’s grinning, so awfully pleased. 

Lifts the vibrator. Doesn’t turn it off. 

“I’m sorry. I’m getting an important call from a family member, who comes first on days such as these. Please, don’t hesitate to contact my secretary and make an appointment with me. We will discuss further on the matter. Have a nice day.” 

And he’s smart. 

Ending the call, he turns off the vibrator and tosses both things sideways. Props both arms beside each of your shoulders. And the flush that was stifled during the entirety of the work phone call now peeks through the surface, the petals of roses licking across his skin. Your own flush promenades hand in hand with him in this close proximity, your golden aura, gained from your exquisite orgasm, bathing you in holiness. 

And you still can’t speak, tongue-tied. 

He sweeps away your flyaways matted to your glistening forehead, brushing his knuckles down your face. And when he reaches your jaw, he cups your chin and kisses you, tenderly. Gives you a hundred more. Little, hungry, yet pure kisses. 

“What did we just do?” He laughs, softly, in disbelief, shaking his head. You laugh along with him, your still lingering and heightened vapor causing you to nearly levitate underneath him. 

He kisses you again, deeper this time, more slowly. Your nectar gets smeared on your cheek from his with each voracious movement of his mouth, his head. And it’s an element that makes this become real for you. That helps you fathom that you just experienced an adventurous event that wasn’t a part of the curse—that was good, through and through. 

And it’s yours. 

No one else’s. 

And he makes it even better when he shares the details of his phone call with you. Lifting you up and carrying you into the shower, he tells you of the way the “motherfucker” tried to keep him from breeding you for three months. Was cocky enough to promise him he won’t find a better business partner to work on a project that Hobi’s been passionate about for weeks—a way to get older children better education in schools in terms of things that aren’t normally taught: surviving skills, basic medical skills, cooking skills and life skills regarding various of things that they will need during and after high school. His organization also offers a form of preschool and elementary babysitting, therapy, library, game activities, singing, dancing, language learning—anything to keep those kids busy and away from their phones. It’s a place of rest, a place of safety and comfort and Hobi works hard to maintain that. 

The guy offered his premises and means of educational materials, even though Hobi makes do just fine—but it wouldn’t be available for at least three months. He explained that he needed them for the semester, wanted to elevate his ways, which is why he sent out a word. 

He told you all this while washing you clean in the steamy, hot shower. And it wasn’t until a week later that you found out the guy truly wasn’t able to make it happen sooner, but upon talking with him in person, Hobi was so satisfied with him and his work ethic, that he was willing to risk it. What he didn’t tell him over the phone was that he specializes in a group of orphaned children, homeless, and those who live in children’s homes. And Hobi’s mind was blown, his heart moved and softened, enough to shake his hand and start working on this renewed, expanded project. He put the kids that weren’t his first—and you fell in love with him deeper than you ever had before. 

And it wasn’t until spring came about and the first heat waves of the sun caressed your skin that he booked the flight, paid for a luxurious hotel resort in Antalya, paid for your mani, pedi, your Shein order and shopping sprees in malls, where he found you the simple dress he was apparently going to marry you in, and held your hand the entire way there. It took half a year to fulfill his longing and his biggest dream—and half a year to break your curse. You spent it visiting him in the office to bring him snacks, eye patches and face masks, distracted him with quick fucks, strip-teases, blow jobs underneath the table while he kept his suit on, smeared makeup and lipstick on his face and collar whenever you were in the mood to make out with him. 

It took such a long time, but you didn’t mind at all—because at night, you and him would pretend. Hobi didn’t want you to get on birth control; cared enough for your well-being by not wanting to confuse your body for a few months. Settled for the play of pretending—for condoms and nutting inside, going through the motion that there’s no latex preventing his longing from erupting. And during the day, you got to know him on a more meaningful, profound level. 

He loves to dance. Has danced with you in the living room on multiple occasions. Slow dancing, bachata, lambada. He wasn’t shy; enjoyed every minute of it and you watched him shine like the heart-shaped sunlight he is. You found the core of him, like a seed within a cherry, when you had your arms locked behind the nape of his neck and he led your hips into the rhythm of the sensual song. 

He loves children because he was loved right as a child himself. Wants to pass that on. Wants the kids to know that love exists, no matter what they’ve done. You broke down when he shared that with you and wished a place, like his organization provides, existed in your forlorn girlhood. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have been so broken. So prone to bad decisions, imbecility. So liable to the poisonous kisses of curses, to their tempting touches and their manipulative sounds of sweet nothing. 

Hobi had given you a promise ring right after he told you that there was to be a long waiting period for the baby. And when the time came and spring opened their buds of flowers, Hobi proposed to you. A grandiose diamond ring on your finger; plane tickets and more wons that you ever held in your hand, safely tucked in a white envelope. That’s how he announced it to you. And he didn’t get on his knee on the beach, where you glued your heart together. 

Not in Seoul, not on the island of Jeju. 

He proved his devotion to you and his irrevocable love for you amidst the surrounding mountains in Juwangsan national park by the Yongchu waterfall, five hours away from Seoul. Scraped his leisure pants because for a while you were paralyzed before you burst into tears and started running around, your first reaction of shock dispersing and turning into a holy euphoria you never experienced before. He laughed as did many people who were witness to the engagement, his hands that still held the ring box shaking as the audience clapped and cried along with you. Your white, linen dress billowed in the warm, spring-breathed wind, but you didn’t care much for it—because when you gained feeling in your muscles and your hunger to kiss him overpowered you, you stole and drew all of his patchouli-filled breath. 

You made it yours as he became yours, too, eternally. 

And when you gave him your yes, the mountains glorified yours and his love, exalted your unified souls, worshiped your hearts that beat for one another. Sang the praises of your unborn child.

You inhaled it, with gratitude and great importance, and it swirled within you even as you continued on your hike. Even as you visited the Daejeonsa Temple, where you spent the most time, dwelling in that thankfulness. You took in the beauty of the greenery, fresh air and mountains differently, more thoroughly and tremendously because you sensed they were there for you. Flaunted their earnest opulence and fervency for your happiness, for they knew you were looking back. 

Life gained feeling, too.

And Hobi wouldn’t stop fondling your ring while he held your hand. 

It’s what he does now as he presses the hotel room card against the device by the doorknob, a half month later. And it’s not lightness that is intertwined in his shoulders, but immense heaviness. Your flight was delayed by two hours and you waited another two hours for your luggage. Hobi didn't have to say a thing—it was written all over his countenance and figure, the weight of his perturbation. From his solemn look, tense features, lack of speech to his slouched shoulders, slightly shaking hands and deep breaths. 

You don’t want to poke the beast, but you do want to pet it—make it feel better. Because despite the misfortunes, you don’t consider them setbacks or ruination. You are here, with him, engaged and about to get filled with his baby. No troubles can take that away from you and they can try as hard as they want. 

You are about to carry his berry baby, conceived from the orchard he built in you, in the middle of Antalya, Turkey. 

Nothing could be better than this. 

Thinking about it, it paints a smile on your face. Hobi plants your suitcases on your king-sized bed, paying very little attention to the swan, made out of towels, sitting prettily in the middle of it, surrounded by rose petals, the ones that live beneath his skin so joyously and most comfortably. Feeling pity for him, because you know why he feels the way he does, you take his arms and slink through them, hugging his torso from behind, nuzzling your face in his oversized shirt-clad back that he wore for the first time in your presence. 

Hobi? Oversized clothes? Strangely, it works, even though you’re so used to his suits, his well-fitted classic clothes that accentuate his buff figure. 

He sighs, running his hands down your sides like he always does. You kiss his spine, without fear as you chose to wear zero makeup for the flight, but then he clasps your hands in his—right there in the center of his chest—and you swoon, tender and in love, appreciating the gesture, even though he’s done it many times before. 

It’ll never get old. 

“I can’t breathe in this room,” he murmurs, sighing a little louder this time around, and you furrow your brows, a wisp of worry curling in your gut. 

You’re about to let go and open the balcony doors to let some fresh air in, but Hobi acts faster. He swivels halfway, takes one step back with you, and turns on the air conditioning. Waits a little bit, stares at a fixed point on the ceiling—only to discover that it’s not working. 

Hobi punches the wall, startling you. 

“Hobi?” you call out his name, the wisp fading into a strong wind that moves your organs to and fro. 

He pinches his forehead, seething, and your instinct is to put a stop to it. You take his hands, notice they’re trembling, and the wind is knocked out of you. 

Trembling hands… What are they portraying? Anger? Anxiety? 

You sit him down on the bed, coming to stand in between his legs, and you cradle his face. Even the muscles in it quiver. Feebly, but they’re there. Pity constricts your heart. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, searching for his eyes, and when he meets you halfway, there’s unbelief that paints a murky landscape across his darkened pools. The brightness is dimmed. Your heart laments it. 

“Everything is going to shit. I wanted this to be perfect for you, but the air conditioning isn’t working. We waited for hours at the airport—”

You kiss his forehead, silencing him, and you linger there, even as you reassure him. “I’m so happy to be here with you that I couldn’t even give two shits about that.” 

The unbelief deepens and you figure he expected you to be as disappointed and as cranky as him. He doesn’t understand that the time you’d been graced with, the absence of your ex and the opportunity to be in a place your heart had quietly dreamed of conquers any obstacles that have tried to get in your way. 

You can’t be shaken. 

Not anymore. 

“We’re not at the airport anymore, we’re here. You can make a call to the reception and they will send a guy to fix it. It’s already perfect because I’m about to hear your English, first of all. And second of all, you’re gonna—” Your tone lowers to a whisper, “—breed me. Do unspeakable things to me here. Are we gonna fuck in the ocean? Oh, my god. I want that so bad. We can go to the beach at sunset with very few people around and you can nut in me. We’ll have a sea baby.”

This time, his sigh is dusted with relief and he slides your thighs over his, making you sit on his lap. The brightness in his eyes begins to flicker, shining through the murkiness, making its way back, and you’re happy to see it—relieved just the same. Though, you note something else, something new appearing in those pools. 

The moon. Night-caressed pearls. The waves of the turbulent, passionate sea at midnight as they wash out that terrible landscape. 

The same moon he carved into your thigh on your first date. The same moon that you hope will be lining your skin once he smothers you in his longing. 

“I’m so grateful to have you. I’m so grateful to have you as my wife. No one compares to you,” Hobi says, the moonlit pearls in his eyes wet as he’s overcome with emotion. He rests his head on your bosom, hugging you tight. “I love you, pup.” 

You bury your face in his silkily soft hair, reveling in the fresh undercut he got for this baby-making vacation. He purrs, happily, like a kitten, when you gently scrape your long acrylics upon that gritty surface. 

“I love you, too.” 

It’s time for dinner by the time you both come out of the shower, sharing one humongous towel. You push him down onto the bed and massage his back, helping him unwind on a deeper level—until his body is light and soaring, his eyes drowsy and lidded. Arm shading the lower half of his face, he studies the way you make love to your body by lathering it in shea butter lotion, then dressing it in a skin-tight, pale green, sleeveless dress with a slit in the back, its hem almost reaching your ankles. You put on some Aretha Franklin and open your clear makeup bag, reciprocating the eye contact in the mirror in front of the bed as you squirt foundation on your flushed cheeks. 

You didn’t realize he was watching you. 

“No panties, no bra?” he asks, his tongue dry as he licks his lips, still naked, glistening in the sundown from your lotion. Your eyes wander to his lower regions and find him hard. 

You smile, tapping in your foundation with your beauty blender. 

“I made the mistake of accidentally ordering extra small instead of small, so it’s tight on my body,” you explain your lack of underwear, your mouth ends quivering as he just keeps looking at you with bottomless devotion. “So I don’t want any panty lines or straps.” 

“I think that’s no mistake,” he says, his hand gripping his shaft for a moment before it relaxes, concealing his weakness for you. “I’m gonna rip it off of you with ease once your belly’s full. And I’m gonna make it fuller.” 

You bite your lip, blending your concealer, feral. “Careful, or no dinner for you.” 

Hobi chuckles, his body twitching, and you sink your teeth deeper into the pillow of your bottom lip. “Why?” 

Cream bronzer—you suck in your cheeks, making him suck in a breath. “If you keep talking, we’re skipping dinner and I’ll force you to make good on that promise.” 

He scoffs, the sound full of humor. “There’s no forcing when it comes to you.” 

You put on cream blush for nothing as your own natural blush resurfaces under that layer of makeup. “Your game will never not get to me, Hobi.” 

He hums in response, a tinge of embarrassment coloring that sound, and you coo, finishing your make-up with a thin eyeliner, mascara, brows and a brown lipstick. You brush out your hair, letting it cascade down your back. Put on some gold hoop earrings. Spray on your perfume. Crawl over Hobi’s lap to show yourself to him. 

“What do you think?” 

He fails to cup himself now that he’s turned on his back, with how long he is, and you pry his hand away, kissing his palm, marking it with that brown shade. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes out and your smile aches. “I’m gonna fight anyone who looks at you tonight.” 

You laugh, softly, leaning over to plant that same mark in the middle of his chest—just like he marked you all those months ago. “No need to fight for me. Are you gonna get dressed?” 

His shyness comes through, his flush reaching his neck and collarbones, and you salivate. 

“I’m hard,” he says, nearly pathetically, and you coo, endeared by him. Grasp him with your left hand, purposefully, and his eyes flick to your ring, moaning. “Oh, pup.” 

“What are we gonna do with you? I just put on my lipstick,” you whine, pouting feignedly, and Hobi whimpers, enveloping your hand with his fist, leading you to fuck him in a fast rhythm, the left over lotion on your palm making it slick and easy. 

“Just lick my tip and stroke me like that,” he croaks out and you feel your folds soak with your nectar. You were fine with him marinating your makeup, but this is better. “You don’t have to suck it. Just lick it with that tongue of yours, pup.” 

You swear, moaning, darting out your tongue and kitten licking the ridge of his head like he asked, twisting your wrist as much as he lets you in the deathly grasp he has over your hand. 

“That’s it, baby. You know how to do it. You’re my smart girl. My smart wife,” he praises, throwing his head back as he takes the pleasure you give him, going as far as hollowing out your cheeks on that sensitive part of him, despite the fact he told you that you didn’t have to. He groans, deeply, lifting his shoulders from the bed and gripping your hair, his hand trembling all over again. “Fuck, you make it so hard for me not to fuck your mouth.” 

You moan around him and he pulls you away from his cock and smashes his mouth against yours, kissing you so devastatingly ravagedly that you can’t breathe and you grow slack in his hold, sinking onto your knees on the floor. 

He holds your face as he lets you go, your foundation and lipstick smeared all over his chin, lips and cupid’s bow. You gasp at the sight, gulping. 

“I’m sorry, pup. You’re gonna have to redo your makeup. I couldn’t help it. You’re just so good,” he apologizes and you can see it on his face, how serious he is about it. “You deserve to be kissed like that. Hm, you’re such a good pup for me.”

You mewl, missing his lips already, and you quicken your pace around him. He lets you, matching you, and his sounds rise in volume. 

“I’m gonna come so quick for you, just because you look so good like this.” 

You hiccup, squeezing him. “Like what?” 

He hums, licking his lips, tasting your girlishness, and he grins, lopsidedly. “So pretty on your knees for your husband with your makeup ruined, knowing he did it because you sucked him so well.” 

The third person. You die—you die a beautiful death. 

“Oh, fuck, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, baby. I know. So good. Like always with you.” 

And you come back to life. 

You moan, giving him your all through your motions, sucking him, licking him, going even as far as taking his balls into your mouth, spreading your noises all over them, divulging how much you love that part of him. And he warns you before he comes. Doesn’t want to ruin your dress. And you watch as he spurts his cum all over his stomach while you milk it out of him—bedazzled, in love, fucked out and absolutely mesmerized.

And you rub his cum into his skin in the way you’ve noticed he likes to do on yours. Dig a grave for all the negative things he had to go through because of you and for you. You didn’t do that all those months ago, focused as you were on forgetting. But now that you’re healed from it and so is he, you dig that grave deep. Throw in his rightful anger, your ex, the painting. Sweep the soil back over it. And never look at it again. 

He thanks you for taking care of him. Tells you that it was all because of how beautiful you are. Cleans the little you left behind of his own nectar while you fix your makeup. Dresses himself in black pants and a shirt that makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. 

A black and white shirt with a pattern of condoms. 

“What?” he asks, but laughs along with you. “We’re saying goodbye to condoms once and for all, pup.” 

You blush, terribly. He leaves the top buttons undone, letting all eyes see the way you marked him with your brown lipstick. 

And he gets stared down at dinner. Cares very little, as smitten as he is with you—can’t lay his eyes off you as you walk, even as you eat and drink your Turkish tea, as you sway your body to the live, foreign music while your cigarette smoke dances along with you. Can’t stop touching you either—has to have his hand on you under all circumstances. On your forearm, the back of your hand, your knee or your thigh under the table. 

Your belly, after all that food. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” he says after a long moment of balmy silence. The spring wind, drifting from the palm trees, chilly ever so faintly, brushes your hair away from your face, caressing so coolly your freshly washed body, and you’re obsessed with the feeling. With his reminder that he’s gonna marry you. With him. With the fact you’re here with him.

There’s no other place you’d rather be. 

“I know,” you intone, shyly, grinning, so terribly happy that its sparks detonate on your face, your thumb mindlessly playing with your ring. “I feel at home here.” 

He seems to be touched by that. But you didn’t understand the gravity of his words. 

Not until later. 

Two strong cocktails in, the night falls. The musicians gather their instruments to leave, but Hobi, with a mind of his own, pulls you up to your feet to dance with you to the song of that balmy, restful silence. And the ardent dance, filled with twirls and sways, catches the eye of one of the musicians. An elderly man, with ebony hair, mustache and tender wetness in his eyes, picks up his decades-loved violin from its case and starts playing a song unheard by the night. A song made, intimately and privately, from his own gentle, but kindled heart for you and Hobi. The fervid song, tied with the fire of a passion shared between a husband and wife, moves you to tears and once the man sees them, he weeps along with you. 

With your face pressed against Hobi’s, he barely leads you in the dance as you still ever so slightly to listen to that expression of love and marriage, paying your full attention to it. And if there ever were any forgotten crumbs of cranberries in your blood, the man’s mastery and Hobi’s touch smooth it out, completely. Order it, wordlessly, to swim out of your tear ducts. 

The man ends the song and you and Hobi clap for him, bowing in all respect and sincerity. He sends you a heartfelt kiss and a thumbs up Hobi’s way, pointing at his shirt and you wave him goodbye, laughing. 

No need for words. 

All was said. 

And Hobi senses it, a changed man. Because when you walk up to your hotel room and he sets you down on the bed—he doesn’t rip your dress away from you like he promised he would. No, he takes his time, revealing your skin little by little, kissing and licking every inch that opens for him. He’s that embodied passion and he unravels himself on your body, sucking on your perked nipple as he holds the rim of your dress beneath your breasts. Sighing, humming. Circling the tip of his tongue around that sensitive trigger. Your moans echo around the spaciousness of the room and he answers each and every one of them with his own. 

“Do you want it now? On your first night here?” he asks, pools whisked to yours, grazing your nub with his teeth. You cry out, spreading your legs as far as the tightness of your dress lets you while Hobi’s body compresses them down with his weight. 

You want it every night, every day until you have to return back to Korea. Want to be so full of his nectar that you’ll still feel it, even at home. 

“I want us to try every day,” you say, stroking his hair, shuddering as he rolls his tongue up and down on that nipple of yours, nuzzling his face in your breast as he sucks it. Makes your brain malfunction a little bit. “Do you think they sell pregnancy tests in that little shop? I should’ve brought some from home.”

Hobi grows serious, popping your nub free. His puffy lips search for yours, enveloping them in a deep kiss. And he spreads tiny kisses on your cheek and jaw as he responds. “We can say fuck it and take that test when we get home.” 

The same seriousness closes down upon you. “What if we fail? What if there’s something wrong with me that I don’t know about?” 

He cradles your face, his thumb fondling your skin, your black eyelashes, sturdier than they usually are due to your mascara. “You’re young, you’re healthy. You have nothing to worry about. I’m older. What if my swimmers are blind, hm?” 

Your eyes wet at the thought, but a sweet reminder seizes you—the softness you saw wrapping around him when he told you about the renewal of his work project, the amount of poor children without parents or homes that have won over his heart. And your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue. 

“There’s always the children from your work. We can adopt. As many as we want.” 

Hobi looks into your eyes, deeply, for a long time. And you don’t catch the drenching of his pools, nor the tender glint, the wetness of the pearls. No, you catch a single rivulet trickling down on each of his cheeks, plopping down onto your chest. The hard sucking in of his breath due to that softness swathing him all over again. The tremble of his lip. The petting of his hand over your hair as he exudes gratefulness. 

“I love you, you know that?” he whimpers and you burst, your own tears dripping down the sides of your face as you take him in. The raw, compassionate and humane version of him that only few, selected people are allowed to see. You, his mom, his dad, his sister and… little Luna. And you sob, your whole body warm from the amount of love that boils in you for him. “You’re my good little pup. I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice broken owing to the intensity of your feelings. Hobi kisses your neck and your hand brushes down his back, scattered with myriads of condoms. Try to feel for his wings. Want them as sensitive as his heart. “Your swimmers aren’t blind. They have 20/20 vision.” 

Your little joke causes him to chuckle, adorably, and he makes that sound travel down your throat as soon as he kisses you again. Slowly, carefully—as if engraving the shape and the feel of your lips deeply into his brain, into his system that he will give to you. You want more of him, the intangible things as well as the tangible ones. All of him, all that put his being together; all that helps him get up in the morning and lay his head down at night. 

And it invigorates you, the knowledge that you will get just that—once he fills you up with his nectar and his swimmers find you, perfectly. Yours and his berry baby will grow amidst the orchard he will continue to take care of; and you will have him. 

Eternally. 

Beyond death. Beyond the end of time. 

You will have him—and you will have a little him as well. 

“I want you,” you whisper onto his lips, perking up your breasts for him by squishing them together and he sees you, sees what you’re doing and he licks your nipple again, both of them at the same time in fact, torturously slowly, humming. “And I want a little you.” 

Lifting his head to kiss you, nastily, he groans. The smack of yours and his mouth, the ridding of your dress—still slow, still sensual. He studies your body for a moment, shuddering, full of longing for him and his nectar, ready for him with the way it’s glistening in sweat and arousal. And he sighs, differently this time. 

The sound is coated with as much longing as your body is. 

You love being looked at by him; love the knowledge that he’s looking at something that’s his. Always been his to transform, make new, clean and heal. Always been his to love. 

And he kisses his pathway down your tummy as if he thought about the same thing, his hands following every inch of your skin, fondling the places he kissed, licked and sucked. Not hard enough to create a mark, but lovingly enough to moisten you even more, to make your heart swell—and something else, too. 

He stops at your navel. Squishes the lower belly fat, biting it as he coos—and you can feel how much he loves that part of you; always has. Because of that, there’s no insecurity tightening your lungs or worrying your brain. Only balminess, the sound of cicadas, the dance of the palm trees as the wind blows through it, the faraway sea sloshing upon shore and his noises caked with yearning—for you, for the baby. 

“Our baby is going to live right here,” he says, as if he was coming to terms with it, now that he’s about to make it happen, and you soften, running your hand through the tufts of his windswept hair. “It’s going to grow and feel our love. Feel how much I love him or her. How much you do.” 

You nod, a liquified softness. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” 

He gazes at you through his lashes and butterflies zap your stomach. “I want a baby that looks like you.” 

Your heart, too. 

“So, a girl?” 

He rubs his face in your tummy, breathing evenly against it. “Even a boy can have your features. Your hair. Your hands.” He takes it, the one closest to him, and drifts his fingers through yours. “I want to hold their hand and know I’m holding yours. And I want to give them the love I have for you.” 

A film flashes through your mind. A little boy, sitting on a sofa next to resting Hobi, watching TV while his Daddy absentmindedly plays with his small fingers, kissing them, biting them playfully to make him growl in that adorable way. The same little boy growing into a young man, having been watered by the love Hobi has for you and the new, fatherly love he gained for him. One that does not cease even as he’s older. 

A boy, a man loved by his Father—ceaselessly. 

Something you never had, but your child will. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Hobi wipes your tears away. Your heart thumps so rapidly against your chest that you believe it could poke through the flesh. 

And you fall for him, all over again. 

“That’s the most beautiful thing you ever said to me,” you whisper, high on your heightened feelings for him, high on him. “Besides, ‘will you marry me?’”

Hobi smiles. Moves you so your head reclines on the pillows, knocking towel swan off the bed, making you giggle. And he sits on his legs, clutching your waist, thumb rubbing circles on your tummy, squished and overspilling in your position as you wrap your own legs around him. 

Comfortable, safe, elated. 

“Two days from now, I want you to wear that dress I bought you,” he says, his smile blossoming wider and your lips mimic the same movement for some reason, despite the fact your brows furrow in confusion. 

“What dress?” 

He slides his hands up your highs. “The white one. The one I told you I was gonna marry you in.” 

A soft gasp leaves your lips and a mist of tears thicken in your waterline, understanding what he’s saying. “Are we—?” 

“Yes, pup.” A stream, not a rivulet, cascades down his cheeks and you break, you break beautifully and happily. “We’re getting married in two days. I prepared everything. Your parents and mine are flying in. I paid for their plane tickets. A small wedding with the closest. My sister slapped me when I offered to pay for hers—”

An alarm rings loudly in your sternum and you don’t think before you voice it out. Hasty in a way you don’t like, but it’s due to a certain fear that you feel expanding throughout your body. 

“What did my Dad say?” 

Hobi’s smile doesn’t fade and it spurs a fragment of ease to shoot down your form. 

“Your Dad gave me his blessing.” 

A brand new shrub begins to grow in your orchard. The final one. A shrub of goji berries, healing, beneficial to your Father complex, the very means that will treat your scar caused from it, rejuvenate the skin that bears his ignorance, lack of love, care and attention. 

And you can’t breathe.

Hobi lays the front of his body against yours, propping his chin against your chest, holding the side of your face in his hand, tracing your shock and unbelief with his thumb. 

“He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me, but once he heard that I mean well with you and that I make good money at my job—actually, once he heard that I work with children, his whole demeanor changed—”

“He loves children,” you blurt out, your vision unfocusing. “He just doesn’t love me because I grew up. It’s some kind of block in his body, I don’t know.” 

Hobi pauses for a moment, thinking about your words, his thumb now tracing your lost eyes—your eyelids, your eyelashes. 

Your Father played with you when you were a little girl. Took you on walks around the city. Bought you McDonalds. Taught you how to count money when you were struggling, unsure if you had enough from the paper Wons he gave you. But once the sadness of your girlhood absorbed your life, his presence in it shifted and moved away. 

And never returned. 

“He does love you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. That’s what I sensed,” he whispers, his hand descending to your neck, and you wonder if he feels the twigs of those goji berries underneath that skin—that quickly they grow. “If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. He wouldn’t have asked me if there’s anything I needed from him in terms of the wedding. And he wasn’t mad about the fact that it would be non-traditional and in Turkey, though your mom insisted she’d wear a hanbok anyways.” 

You’re so overwhelmed that you can’t speak, the notion that your Father always knew you strayed away from your heritage and preferred the West sneaking into your heart. He accepted it; and he accepted Hobi. 

You reach within yourself, pluck a goji berry and feed it to the emptiness that lived within you for too long. And you do it again and again—until there’s no hollowness that eats at your insides. 

You’re whole.

“Thank you for telling me,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles down his cheek and Hobi leans into your touch like he always does. “That healed me. I can’t wait to marry you.” 

Hobi mirrors your softness and kisses you with it. And it’s now that the dip of the scar in your skin replenishes—through each and every moment of his mouth against yours and through his shifting to the place between your legs once you coyly ask for him there. He eats you as if he were starving, and it has great meaning to you—the fact it’s someone you love that is consuming you and not your emptiness anymore. Your feet slide across the pattern of the condoms on his back and it quickens your orgasm in the middle of his sucking and finger-fucking, all owing to the fact that Hobi made order in your life; healed your Father’s complex and now is preparing you to impregnate you, only to marry you two days later. 

You come so hard that you don’t sprinkle him, but drench him whole, your nectar painting him in glimmering light that becomes holy in the moonlight that streaks through the balcony. 

He heaves, ferally, kissing your clit over and over again—so hard that he’s essentially sucking it and you cry out in overstimulation. 

“Taught you how to squirt, didn’t I?” he growls, hovering above you as the drops of your nectar pitter-patter on your chest and within your shyness due to his words, you’re ready for him. 

He did teach you that. Since the fateful day of his work phone call, before and during which you edged yourself so painfully that when he pleasured you with your vibrator, you exploded just the same, you aren’t able to have dry orgasms. He has triggered something within you, using his businessman voice and respect, that rains for him and it has changed your sexuality once and for all.

“You did,” you try because of your shyness, your hands instinctively popping the button of his pants open, and Hobi hums, wiping his face clean and pushing his soaked fingers inside your mouth. 

You didn’t expect it and the loud moan that slips out of your throat comes as a surprise to you. Hobi’s length twitches beneath your hands and twitches again when you suck on his fingers, just as loudly. 

“I love it when you squirt for me, but pray to God, pup, that you don’t squirt around my dick because I’m not pulling out, you hear me?” he rasps, his voice deep and solemn, causing your walls to clench tightly and your heat to reach a boiling temperature. Your hand, mindlessly, slinks to your pussy to rub your clit and he tips his head, noticing it. “Move your hand.” You do, your heart bouncing in your ribcage. Hobi begins to thumb your clit and you writhe your body against the mattress, following each circle with your hips, the pleasure faint but so good. “Do you think you can hold your orgasms for me once I fuck you, hm?” 

You whimper, regarding the idea impossible, knowing how well he does it. Impossible and rapturous. “No.” 

He chuckles. Stops his circles. Lets you use his thumb. “I’ll make you, then. I can stop anytime.” 

You roll your eyes back, his dominance-tinged words better than the stimulation of your clit. “Can you?” you bite back, playfully, your shyness vanishing. 

Hobi bites his lip, intoxicated by your new confidence. Pins your hands above your head, leaning his weight on them. Brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t go bratty on me now. Don’t do it to the baby.” 

You choke out a curse and Hobi digs his half-moons into your forearms. The moonlight anoints them, purifying the atmosphere. 

“I’ll be good for the baby,” you whisper, curling your hips to feel more of his manhood, eager for it. “And good for you.”

Hobi growls, kissing the skin beneath your jawline just once. “A good what?” 

You know what he wants you to say and your eagerness lengthens. “A good pup.” 

Shifting so he can hold both of your wrists in his singular fist, he glides the tip of his cock along your feminine flesh—up and down, up and down. 

“That’s it. A good Mommy for the baby and a good pup for me.” 

He buries himself in your heat and it’s the breaking of the curse upon your life, for the intention is there. The final installment to your healing of your Father’s complex because you’re not a little girl anymore, walking in the withering forest of your saddened girlhood. 

You’re a tender woman and you’re being made love to. 

There’s respect to the languid and dionysian movements of his love, no matter the hardness he uses. A breath is choked out of you and he inhales it, letting your hands free to cradle your neck, pressing his forehead against yours as he moans. Your mouth is parted and Hobi plays with your tongue without closing down his lips on yours, which causes you to mark your nails down his lats. Goosebumps decorate his skin at the feeling and he speeds up, beckoning out your whiny noises as you take it. 

His cock, the healing, the respect, the love. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, consuming your noises as soon as he kisses you. Doesn’t stop ramming into you. “I love you, my pup. You’re my life.” 

You cry out and he rips the coil of your orgasm by filling you to the hilt and lingering there, stimulating your clit by giving you fast, little strokes that makes his mound rub against it. And the orgasm overtakes you, your whole body limp and delighted as the heavenly pressure courses down every nerve ending, spreading that healing, respect and love, sealing it there. 

“God, that was beautiful,” Hobi comments, stunned by the explosion of your pleasure, and he begins to give you long, hard strokes that empty out your brain and try to push out your sudden guilt for coming when he wanted you to hold back your orgasm. 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, pup,” he groans, the muscles around his eyes tightening as he pants. “You’re good. Just keep coming for me. I was only kidding, pup.” 

He takes your nipple in his mouth, his back strong and monumental and you sink your nails into it, marking him with the same half-moons, blushing, joyful. Hobi returns to your neck, your jaw and lips and you whine at the principle of him returning. 

The feeling of it is so enormous that you come again. 

“Yes, pup, that’s it. Come for your Daddy. So pretty, yes. I’m so close. I’m right there with you. Gonna make you a Mommy.” 

The words that are true, at last. Not a pretense. 

And then he’s fast, fucking you into the bed. Changing his mind at the last minute and lifting your hips into the air, slamming into you so hard that you have to hold onto his forearms, scattering your half-moons there and you take it all, ravenous, yet tender as you are. The squelching noises, his growls melting into soft mewls as you squeeze around him and it’s him who can’t take it. 

Who can’t take the distance. 

Who places your hips back down and eats your mouth, plunging his tongue inside while keeping up his rhythm. Never once faltering, nor wavering. He kneads your breast, sucks on your lip, bites it. Holds you by your throat, pushing his thumb inside your parted mouth and you have a feeling, amidst the haziness of your mind, that’s your trigger. One of them, at least. 

“Suck on it.” 

You clamp down on his length, obeying. Your orgasm inches closer, your fourth one of the night. 

“Good pup,” he husks, closing his eyes for a split second, slowing down, rolling motions. “Are you ready to become a Mommy for our baby? Daddy’s so close.” 

The sound that leaves you is of such a desperate kind that he grunts, delighting in it. Buries himself inside you to the hilt, stopping there, giving you tiny strokes that scramble your brain, plays with the haziness. Your arousal and your yearning is so raging and feverish that the pain of his tip osculating your cervix feels divine. And all you can think about is how it’s going to widen over time for yours and his baby. 

“Yes, yes, please. I want it. Give it to me, please, please, please,” you beg, your lungs and your pulse quickening, muscles taut and Hobi moans in a way you’ve never heard him before. 

The longing at its peak, sensitive, delicate and frail—yet he still remains as strong and monumental as he is. His Achilles’ heel has been struck and he begins to twitch inside you. 

“Oh my God, pup, I’m coming so hard for you.” Long strokes, whimpers. “Are you gonna take it like the good little wife you are?” The ultimate hard thrust—the blooming of his longing, your agreement, and it’s happening. He comes. “Fuck, fuck, yes. It’s all yours. It’s all yours, pup.”

He paints you anew with the warmth of his nectar, fucking it deeply into you. And the title you utter is not one construed out of your lack, but it’s a crowning of his new role. 

“Daddy.”

The final breaking of the curse. 

The conclusion. 

He continues to ram into you, softly, his thumb finding your clit—and it’s over. 

Everything. 

You step into a new life with him while you’re still connected and he keeps coming for you, his swimmers antsy and desirous to find your egg. And crossing the threshold, you come—devastatingly intensely, your body trembling and his mirroring the same shakes while he gives you the last of his all and a kiss that lasts a lifetime. 

A clean slate, a clean heart, a clean body. 

A clean life.

An orchard, brimming with fullness and ripeness. 

Ready for your berry baby. 

He looks at you for a long time, then, grinning so widely that you can sense the entirety of his joyful heart in it. His eyes wet and his smile softens as the gravity of what just happened washes over him. You feel the same process collapsing over you, splendidly, and you think that you and him must have become one. 

“We did it,” he whispers, a tear pouring down his cheek and another one following. 

You nod, your cheeks stained with the same tears. “We did it.” 

And the newness of your life and being feels natural—just as though it has been there the whole time. 

On the day of your wedding, bright early in the morning—after Hobi woke you up with his sensual The Weeknd playlist and ate you out so calamitously that you had to give it back to him by riding him into oblivion—you sit down for breakfast and discover something about him that almost makes you call it off. 

Hobi put strawberry jam on his butter toast with scrambled eggs. 

The Turkish sun envelops him bewitchingly, makes his tanned skin glow in its light as he enjoys, provocatively, every bite of his strange breakfast, focusing all of his attention on it. His eyes never leave it and his mouth smacks so loudly that it as irks you as it makes you laugh. 

Your unbelief towards that combination is so strong that it took you some time before you could speak up. 

“What the fuck, Hobi?” 

His eyes flick in your direction, innocently, cheeks full and squirrel-like, layered in sweat. His hands hold a half of the toast, despite the fact you and him just sat down. Does he really enjoy it that much? He inhaled it. 

“What?” he asks, mouth full, and you chuckle. 

“Jam and eggs?” 

He swallows, making a sound that divulges just how much he loved that bite. “Pup, it’s so good.” 

You widen your eyes. “I’m not marrying you today,” you say, but you don’t mean it. You’d marry him even if he forced that abnormal toast down your throat. 

He’s not one bit perplexed by your sentence. Stares you down as he runs his tongue over his teeth, mouth closed. “Be quiet.” 

Heat comes apart in your body and you blush, squeezing your thighs together under the table.

“How could a combination of eggs and jam be good?” you ask, standing your ground, despite your feelings. 

Hobi smiles. “One time I accidentally put sugar instead of salt on my scrambled eggs and it changed my life forever.” 

Your eyes might pop out of your sockets. “What?” 

He laughs, extends his hand towards your face. The sweetened, yet buttery smell of the toast hits your nostrils and your repulsion towards it dissolves. “Try it.” 

You don’t trust it, though. “I’d rather die.” 

He tightens his lips. “Be quiet and take a bite.” 

Taken aback, your instincts win and you don’t realize your head is leaning towards the toast until your teeth sink into the crunchy tastiness. You take a small bite and thoroughly chew, the mixture of sweetness and a little bit of saltiness, wrapped around the crispiness of the toast and the slight mushiness of the eggs creating something metaphysical in your mouth. 

Hobi watches you with a proud, lopsided grin. Knows you like it before you say it. 

“What the fuck?” 

He bursts into laughter and lets you have it, places it on your plate before devouring his second one, your liking for it elevating his. 

And you devour it just the same. 

“Life changing, isn’t it?” he intones, smacking his mouth in all the pleasure of the world. “Expect this kind of breakfast every morning when we get home. After I eat out your little pussy.” 

You choke on it and hide your feverish face in your hands, your stomach doing somersaults. “Oh my God, Hobi.” 

He laughs again, tenderly, and the sound travels all the way to Cappadocia, where he marries you at sundown. 

On the rooftop of a cave hotel, overlooking an immeasurable amount of kaleidoscopic hot air balloons that magnetically travel to the heat of the orange sun, the mountains and volcanic peaks darkened by its overpowering magnificence. It encourages the sleepy walk of camels and tightens the hearts of the witnesses below and the hearts of your parents, parents in law and Hobi’s sister. 

The simple dress Hobi bought you ripples in the compassionate late afternoon wind. Silky, pearlescent like his eyes in a certain light, caressing your tanned skin. So very akin to the one you wore on your first date with him, but longer, sleek, homeric in its significance.

And he matches you, all white, in his tuxedo, a stark contrast against his bronze skin and black hair, a wispy strand softly being blown sideways from his forehead by the wind. He holds his tears back in the same way he holds your hand—with all his might. And you do the same. 

You share your vows. 

He shares his, intertwined with the first poem you recited for him. 

“I’ll carry your heart with me ‘til my last day on this Earth and I will fear no fate because you are my fate.” 

Through your tears, you can see the way he’s stifling his habit of saying your pet name. And when he catches your quivering smile, he breaks into more tears. 

And when you proclaim that you do take him as your husband and when he proclaims that he takes you as his wife, your tears conjoin as do your souls in a kiss that makes the mountains quake. The heat of the Turkish sun perpetuates the act of love. 

The audience cheers. 

Your Father weeps.

And you believe no sadness, no ruination will ever come close to you again. 

You and Hobi celebrate. Dance throughout the night to foreign, passionate music that your heart seems to know. Fly in a hot air balloon, where he gets drunk and kisses you until your lips get numb. 

Almost throws up all the dark liquor he drank once he sees how high from the ground he is. 

And you can’t stop laughing. 

Not as he takes you to the Valley of Love the next day to look at penis-shaped rock formations that nature apparently formed out of the blue. 

Not as you give birth nine months later and he makes his sound effects as you push out his child. 

A baby boy that has your hair, your hands, your mouth and your chin—and a whole lot of Hobi’s pearlescent eyes and slender nose. A delectable, heavenly concoction. 

And certainly not as you take the five-year old boy to the Yongchu waterfall, where his Father proposed to you, and he starts sputtering out uncontrollable giggles when Hobi tells him that you ran around when he popped the question and precisely, with utmost detail, shows him how. 

On your way back, when little Hyeonwol’s legs hurt and drowsiness weighs him down, he surveys the mountain peak, transfixed by it. You and Hobi notice it at the same time and share a look that could never be described through any poetry, through any beauty of words, not even the ordinary kind. 

And it’s automatic, a silent, collective and simultaneous decision to break Hyeonwol’s spell by kissing each of his cheek. 

The dream came true. 

All dreams have, even those undreamed. 

And you believe that even as you grow old with Hobi, you’ll never stop laughing. 

You’ll never stop eating strawberry jam toasts with scrambled eggs with him. 

With Hyeonwol, too. 

And you'll never stop feeding the berry boy the fruits from the orchard that Hobi continues to take care of within you.

HYEONWOL — HYE-ON-WOL 

賢월

Meaning: worthy moon 

This name is given to a worthy person who is as precious as the moon. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four | READ part five

[ealvara7]

Here is my Beetlejuice Collection! 🪲 ✨️

I apologize for taking so long on this post! What was originally supposed to be a small musical collection has now expanded to include the cartoon and movies! Because of this, I had to condense the amount of items shared in this post, so not all of them will be shown here-

I'll leave links to previous posts related to the collection under the "read-more"! I feel like they do a much better job of detailing some of those items, anyway-

I will also add a few details to any of the items I have not made a post for prior! I will section them out as different parts!

Thanks for reading! ��

-

Playbills -

Here are the links to previous posts where I talk about my Playbills!

So… I got some Beetlejuice Playbills! 🪲

I Saw Beetlejuice the Musical on Tour!!! 🪲 ✨️

Update on my Playbill Collection! ✨

I originally planned to keep all my Playbills in this folder, but after the collection got bigger, I decided to move them to a Playbill binder instead!

Signed Prints -

Here are the links to previous posts where I talk about my signed prints!

I got my first two signed prints!!! 🪲

I got my livestream print!!! 🪲 ✨

-

This is my ita wallet! If you're interested in any of the charms, I recommend looking at this post!

Not shown in this post is the entire Beetlejuice and Lydia mystery lanyard set, created by Keyboredom! I will leave a link to one of their posts right here!

Also not shown are my Beetlejuice high top sneakers from Walmart! I... actually have two pairs- Not mine, but here's a pic a I took of one pair in the store-

-

This is my DVD collection! I've already shared my cartoon set, but I wanted to show it next to the original movie! I bought a Blu-ray so I can go back and watch it for reference-

In terms of movie-related items - I have several, mostly related to the sequel-

I have two Beetlejuice Build-a-Bears (which I got back in April) and three Beetlejuice Squishmallows, but only one of each are shown here-

I also got the sandworm bucket! Two of them, in fact! ✨️

They came with a Ghost House cup and poster in a merch set I got from when I went to see the sequel! (My mom gave me her sandworm bucket cause she wasn't a fan of it- 😭)

Another last minute addition - I got the Handbook for the Recently Deceased popcorn bucket from AMC! This was from my second time watching the sequel-

-

I got some Handbook for the Recently Deceased candles from the Goose Creek x Beetlejuice collection! This is what the candle looks like-

Thanks to @kokehitsugi for letting me know about these! I'm a huge candle lover, and I've been wanting to get something Beetlejuice-related for a while now! I probably would've gotten the Maitland House and Here Lies Betelguese from the line as well... but they were sold out once I checked the site. That being said, I love this candle! It has this nice, cologne-like scent and it is strong for my tiny room- 😭

Also last minute - I got some items from the Nyx and Lush Beetlejuice Collection! I don't use makeup or bath products all that much... but I have a couple things that I do like to use for myself every now and then!

-

This is my haul from the musical! ✨

I got a hoodie and a logo tee (once again, two of each), three beetle pins, three Lydia pins, a physical copy of the Beetlejuice Musical album, and two show art magnets! I also got four pride beetle pins online! One of each pin has been attached to the ita wallet!

Unfortunately, they did not have the sandworm plush when I went to see the musical... twice, but I did get a different one to add to the collection!

Here's a bonus item - I've got two Lydia Necklaces from Scenery! They're a shop that upcycles theatre pieces to create beautiful accessories!

According to their site, the Lydia Necklaces contain a piece of the purple and black swirled show curtain from the DC run of Beetlejuice the Musical! I've got #11 - a predominantly black curtain piece, and #13 - a predominantly purple curtain piece.

-

Here are my crochet dolls!

The sitting Beetlejuice, Melody, and Bettyjuice dolls were created by StitchyWitchCrafts! Melody is a 4 inch doll (which is the artist's average doll size), while Beetlejuice and Bettyjuice are 6 inch dolls! I feel like they did a nice job of capturing the general look of each character! I particularly love how they added some moss and dirt to Beetlejuice!

The Toonjuice doll was created by TheGrumpyGranny! I'm really fascinated by the way they created the hair! It has this really nice pattern to it! I also love the expression they gave him! I feel like it really suits him!

And of course... this is my plush! ✨

This plush was created by AppleDew (who is also on Tumblr!).

For a while, I had been searching for a plush maker who could bring my design to life. The artist that I've been fond of has been on hiatus for some time, so I needed to find an alternative. Lo and behold, AppleDew comes to my view and I was completely enamored by their work!

Their immense care and attention to detail is something that I can't thank them enough for... The design, their choice of fabric colors, and the overall structure of the plush is so shockingly accurate to my references that I'm still in complete awe that I have this gem. I highly recommend their work, and I definitely would like to commission them again in the future!

-

I never planned to amass a collection this big, but when the sequel came by, there was just so many things I wanted... I'm so grateful that I got a chance to gather all these, because are the things that make me happy. These items represent a collective of moments I'll never forget-

[wa-royal-tea]

Previous | Beginning | Next

(Transcript under the cut - Click Pics for HQ Version!)

@thebrixtons

Magnolia House, Holan (10:58pm)

Alfie (text message): I’m home. I’ll wait for you in the living room. Don’t come home too late.

Alfie: You’re home early. I thought you’d stay at the party longer.

Catalina: Huh? Oh. Wasn’t in the mood for it. I’m tired.

Alfie: Are you okay? Do you feel sick?

Catalina: I’m fine. Just really really tired.

Alfie: Let’s get inside then. I’ll run a hot bath for you. We can watch Simflix tonight too if you want.

Catalina: That sounds great. You’re a lifesaver.

Alfie: *chuckles* I try, my dear.

Catalina: What’s on the menu?

Alfie: “Crash Landing on You”, “Dr. Cha”, “King the Land”, and-or “The Red Sign”.

Catalina: Isn’t that Carlos’ movie? I thought we already watched it.

Alfie: Yeah, this one is the sequel to “The Red Dress”. We haven’t watched it yet.

Catalina: Hmm, we can go for that one then.

Alfie: Aight. Your wish is my command~

Catalina: *inhales deeply*

Alfie: What are you doing?

Catalina: Nothing. You smell good by the way. Are you using a new cologne?

Alfie: I didn’t. It’s just the shower gel you got me last Winterfest. I’ve been using it everyday.

Catalina: Really? I never noticed it before.

Alfie: L-Lina—

Catalina: Shhh~

Alfie: Y-you said you were tired.

Catalina: I don’t feel tired anymore.

Alfie: But the movie—

Catalina: We can watch it later. I want you, now.

Alfie: Wait, hold on—

*rustling sounds from the kitchen*

Alfie: *yawns* Lina?

Catalina: Alfie? Did I wake you?

Alfie: Yeah. It’s four in the morning. What are you doing up?

Catalina: Sorry. I was just very hungry. I had to look for something to eat.

Alfie: You could’ve woke me up. I can make something for you.

Catalina: You seemed tired. I didn’t want to bother you.

Alfie: It’s not a bother. Next time just wake me up.

Catalina: Hm, okay.

Alfie: You’ve been acting weird lately.

Catalina: Why’d you say that?

Alfie: First of all, what we did earlier…rarely happens when you’re “tired”. And second of all, you’re eating my onigiri. I thought you hate sushi.

Catalina: Onigiri is not sushi.

Alfie: Okay, but you don’t usually like onigiri too.

Catalina: Whatever. I’m hungry, okay? We don’t really have any leftovers from yesterday.

Catalina: What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Alfie: Sorry. I was just thinking.

Catalina: About what?

Alfie: About what Dira told me. She said you’ve been getting stuff you don’t usually do when you guys went out to eat. And she told me that you complained about your chest being tight at the fitting too?

Catalina: Urgh. It’s nothing. She’s just overthinking it.

Alfie: Is she though?

Catalina: Alfie, everyone in our family knows we’re trying for a baby now. So they could be seeing these “symptoms” as a sign because they’re excited.

Alfie: I mean, what if they’re right?

Catalina: But what if it’s not? I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.

Alfie: It doesn’t hurt to try, right?

Alfie: Look, I know you don’t want to disappoint anyone. I understand that.

Alfie: But it wouldn’t hurt for you to get a test and check it first. If it’s positive, great! We’re having a baby. But if it’s negative, it’s okay. We can try again.

Catalina: I…I’m scared.

Alfie: I’ll be there with you. I promise.

Catalina: Can you give me some time before I check it? I still have a few days before my period is supposed to come. I don’t want to jump the gun yet.

Alfie: Of course. If that makes you feel better.

[riaaanna]

Paywall ahead so here is the full thing below!

I want to 3D: Brian May enters yet another dimension

After nearly dying after a heart attack in lockdown, the Queen rock god and badger advocate has one more vision: a book of ‘stereoscopic’ photos.

“I suppose that everybody thinks I’m mad,” ponders Brian May from his study in Surrey. He’s in a black hoodie and beanie hat with his trademark bushy grey perm poking out the bottom. The hat has a bright rectangular light in the middle of it, which is, he says, great for working in the garden. “I just got this the other day and then I got one for all my friends. If it’s getting dark you’ve got your light here.” He pushes it twice and it flashes at me furiously.

Queen’s 75-year-old guitarist is a bit of a nutty professor. He’s the only man in rock to have played the Olympic closing ceremony in 2012 and the actual Queen’s golden and diamond jubilees, and who also has a PhD in astrophysics.

He’s glad to be performing again after having what he calls a “pretty terrible” lockdown, in which he had a heart attack followed by stomach problems that led to him coming “close to dying”. Performing mini concerts on Instagram and pottering around his garden and workshop kept him going.

Out of that pottering comes his latest project, reflecting another of his quirky hobbies: the Victorian invention of stereoscopy, a technique that produces a 3D image from two photos side by side when viewed through special glasses (of which May has, of course, designed and patented his own brand). He’s just released a book in time for Christmas, Stereoscopy is Good for You, which he compiled from hundreds of submissions from around the world after he put out a call on Instagram during lockdown for the best pics deserving the 3D treatment.

If you’ve seen the new Avatar sequel, lower your expectations. “I’ve met [director] James Cameron and discussed all this with him. It’s the same technology, just that the actual apparatus of looking at it is slightly different.”

May got hooked on stereoscopy as a child in the 1950s. He remembers opening a cereal packet and finding a toy inside (“It just doesn’t happen these days does it?”). It was a card with two near-identical images on it, side by side.

“There were two little flat pictures of a hippo. Suddenly with the 3D glasses, I’m looking at an image so real it feels like I could almost fall into its mouth,” says May, gesticulating wildly. “It took my breath away.” He tells me it’s a feeling that’s never left him. “I get very impatient with flat pictures,” he says.

He looks a bit sheepish when I ask how many stereoscopic images he’s collected over the years. “It’s several hundreds of thousands,” he admits. “Which might sound dull to you, but the Victorians were able to see the world through their stereoscopes and travel to places they could never go. They had 3D images of famous politicians, theatre actors. I have a stereo of Charles Dickens in my collection.”

He is, by his own admission, “pretty old school”. At home, which he shares with his wife, the former EastEnders actress Anita Dobson, he saves things that “look like junk to most people” but which might one day become useful. He enthusiastically explains how he recently invented a device to stop the bird bath in his garden from freezing over using a few transistors and a portable camping immersion heater coil used to boil water: “Hopefully it saves a lot of birds’ lives because they need to drink,” he says. Thankfully for the birds, he got the voltage right.

He loves the art of creating a spectacle. May is very involved in the band’s performance and stage design. “If Freddie had been alive, I would definitely have been designing them for him,” he says.

In recent years, May has turned his energy to becoming a vocal environmental campaigner and is especially passionate about badgers, who are culled in “a tragedy of epic proportions” to supposedly prevent the spread of bovine TB. He calls Rishi Sunak “an intelligent and sensitive man” — though the jury is still out on his eco-credentials.

He’s also working with Nasa to produce stereoscopic images of the Bennu asteroid, which was discovered in 1999. His heart attack has put life into perspective. He’d like to do another Queen tour but “it depends on how long we last”, he says, laughing. “If we’re still alive in a year, we’ll do another one.”

May says “it’s always tempting” to want to use a hologram to bring Freddie Mercury back to the stage — like the new Abba Voyage show. “There’s one song I sing, Love of My Life, where Freddie’s vocal comes in to sings the final verse,” he says. “It’s a lovely moment. It’s like having him beside me.”

Stereoscopy is Good for You: Life In 3-D is available from londonstereo.com at £30. An exhibition at Proud Galleries, London, runs until March 25, 2023

[loganslowdown4]

Incorrect Quotes July - October 2023

Learning Spanish

First Date Ideas (prinxiety)

Ugly Monster

Where’s My Sword?

Flames Of Passion (prinxiety)

Text pic (prinxiety)

Hot In Herre

Toe Stub (prinxiety)

Rumour Mill (logince)

A Bit Busy (intruality)

Not Knot

Talk To Myself

Midnight Snack (prinxiety)

Dragons (royality)

Smoking Sad

Painting (Intrulogical)

Mermaids

Pick Up Snack (dukexiety). ART!

Addressing a Crowd

Not Awkward

Dressed To Impress (Demus)

Cute Wacky Face (Moxiety)

Who’s The Boss

Raining Men

Highlighter (analogical)

Rip Off (analogical)

We Made A Mistake

Remus’ Enemies to Lovers Pain (anxceit)

Jail Time (anxceit)

Nerdy Little Loverboy (logince)

No Cookies For You

Sticks & Stones

Pick Up Virgil (moceit)

Can’t Get Hurt

Cheer Up Threat

Shoo Naughty One (Intrulogical)

((Thomas’ Quote: Pat On The Back pun))

Bugging Thomas

Two Happy Losers

Saint Roman

Pat’s Boyfriend

Do That Guy

Star Time

Tense Coffee

Ice Cream Snake

Logince Quote Pt 1&2

Logince Pt 3

Logince Pt 4

Logince Pt 5&6 (end)

Uncrushed

Grounded

A Quickie

Good and Bad Creativity

Crossword Disappointment

Haunted House

Dating Advice (logince)

Sweet Dreams (loceit)

Bravely Ran Away (roceit)

How Do You Plead?

Put Up With Me (logicality prinxiety)

Roman’s New Job

Chicken Jokes

I Spy

State Your Gender

He or We (logince dukexiety)

Trick or Yeet

Dream Fight

Snake Bite What To Do

Ghost Spiders

Separate Paths

Boop Blep

Lost Map royality

Bath Bomb

Respect The Drip

Will To Live (analogical)

Statistically Impossible (logince)

Fortune In Your Cookie

Trombone Teacher

Box Of Cookies

Don’t Leave Us

First Rule Of Cooking

TakeOut (logince)

Guy Problems

Demon Emergency (RWR)

Cursed For Eternity (RWR)

Doing Stuff (Happy 7th Anniversary)

Gatorade Nerds

Stop?

Arrested

Party Invites (prinxiety)

Bowling For Tom

Morality of Vampires

Emergency Contact

Beauty and the Beast The Sequel

Glitter Ideas

Sneaky Hugger (logicality)

Perfection

Hallowuss

[emetogirl]

Part two!!!

Here’s the a sequel to this fic! Enjoy🥰🥰

By the next day I had started to become really weak from the fever, couldn’t eat anything because my stomach was too upset and my throat hurt too much, and was starting to have some pain in my neck along with a raging headache. I finally forced myself to eat some plain pasta in the afternoon, which would be the next meal I’d be able to eat for awhile. The pasta actually felt okay in my tummy for a little bit, but I soon felt more intense nausea flare up inside me. It was uncomfortable, but I tried to settle my belly with cold water and popsicles, which worked for awhile. I started feeling more and more sore in my head and neck, and the pain didn’t do anything for the nausea. They were both setting each other off. I texted Anna @supersecretsickplace relentlessly to complain to her, since talking to her when I’m sick is always a good distraction🥰 eventually the nausea settled down some and I took a nice, hot bath. Even though my belly felt better, the rest of my body was decidedly worse. All of my joints were on fire, but most of the pain was concentrated on my neck, which felt stiff and incredibly sore. I couldn’t turn my head or move my eyes without a burst of sharp pain. I was really starting to worry and made a plan to go to urgent care first thing in the morning. I turned on Nightmare on Elm Street to distract me, since oddly enough horror movies are my comfort films. There’s nothing that’ll distract me from my pain more than watching Freddy Krueger torment a bunch of kids😂😂 I spent the rest of the night distracting myself with movies and cuddling my sweet little kitty, but I could tell I was getting worse by the hour. Thank god Anna made me take fever reducers, which for some reason I hadn’t done yet. I really needed them. Everyone get you an Anna. The medicine helped bring my fever down to an acceptable temp (leveled out around 101), but it did nothing for the awful sore throat and neck pain. I got maybe 2 doses of medicine in before my belly started acting up again. At first it was a low, gnawing, queasy feeling in my tummy that made me feel uncomfortable but could be ignored. Soon, the nausea in my belly couldn’t be ignored and it was the only thing I could think about. I was completely miserable. By that night, I was curled up on the bathroom floor with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me as I shivered. I hadn’t thrown up yet, but the pressure in my belly was so intense I knew it could happen any minute now, and the safest place for me was to be by something I could throw up into at a moments notice. The feeling in my stomach was pretty bizarre. It was a churning, overfull sick feeling, accompanied by a feeling of malaise that washed across my whole body and a fluttery feeling in my throat every few second. I felt so sick and knew that puking was going to happen whether I wanted to or not🤢

Cute little side note, I was chatting with a mutual and they asked if my belly was distended and bloated like it was in these pics. It wasn’t, but I snapped this picture so you guys can see what my upset little tummy looked like. There’s definitely a huge comparison to what it looked like when it was bloated versus now.

This is my belly after having to throw up lots🥺

[joheunsaram]

platonically in love (ksj)

check out the platonic collection masterlist

Summary- “We can’t be platonically in love...” 

A little sequel to platonic because @ressjeon wanted it hehe.

word count -  1.8k

pairing- fwb!Seokjin x Reader

rating- PG-15

genre- fluff, fwb2lovers, bff2l

warnings- none! (I am an idiot and left the warnings from the original pwp on haha sorry friends 😅😅)

a.n- Well guess what... my self indulgent bullshit turned into more self indulgent bullshit ayoooo 🤪 special thanks to @ressjeon, @moccahobi, and @agustdjoon​ for their guest appearance as the gang’s girlfriends hehehehe

A big warm thank you to @hobiandsprite, @sugasbabiie and @taegularities for beta reading! ily guys 💕 also almost forget but thank you @casuallyimagining​ for the perfect seokjin pic for the banner 🥺

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

-

You could hear the chirps of the tiny birds resting on your window sill as you opened your eyes, the morning chill warded off by Seokjin’s warm body wrapped around you, his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You smiled, relishing the moment before opening your eyes, the hazy early sun greeting your eyes as it bathed your room in a soft glow from the drapes you had left undrawn the night before.

Yawning contentedly, you loosened his grip around you to sit up, only for him to cling onto your legs, humming as he snuggled his face into your hip. Mornings were his favourite. He savoured the quiet times he could lose himself next to you, tethering between consciousness as your scent engulfed him. No matter how many times he had woken up next to you, it never got old for Seokjin.

You reached for your phone on your bedside table, starting your routine of checking your notifications as your fingers aimlessly caressed Seokjin’s bare back, making him smile as he placed a little kiss on your hip. You had never felt more comfortable as you scrolled through social media, liking your friends’ adventures from over the weekend.

👹 Clown Posse 👺

Jungkook: couple brunch? 🤪 yan wants to get waffles Alyanna: and mimosas! 🤧 Jimin: Thought you’d never ask! 💕 Jungkook: no whores allowed 💕 Jimin: That is discrimation. 🤬 Yoongi: I’m down. Nita is too. Jungkook: sweet! hobi and lil? jin and yn? Taehyung: this is so fucking dumb! Taehyung: WHY CAN’T I COME? Taehyung: i never expected this from you jk 😔 love has changed you  Lillia: its cause last time you hit on a waitress and we had to pay like 35% tip to make up for your ass 🙄 Lillia: count us in jk Jungkook: dope. yn?  Jungkook: hurry up and answer!  Jungkook: im gonna add you two to the resos anyway. Taehyung: u guys are srsly gonna go without us????? Jimin: its okay tae let the losers go to brunch 😴 wake up joon we going to hooters Taehyung: fuck yeah! i love you mr parkkkkkkkkk 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 Jimin changed the group name to JUNGKOOKS A SIMP Yoongi: Oh? New couple alert? YN: lol why are seokjin and i part of couple brunch? YN: also wtf is couple brunch? Jungkook: ha hilarious 🤡 summer lane at 11

Your brows furrowed in confusion at Jungkook’s response, your hand pausing where it was running through Seokjin’s hair as you tried to parse through the bizarre conversation. Next to you, Seokjin groaned, his hand on top of yours as he tried to coax you back into stroking his scalp. You instead opted to smack him, making him whine as he pulled away from you, looking up at you groggily.

“Seokjin, wake up!” you demanded, shoving your phone into his face, so he could familiarize himself with your friends’ musings this morning. He pinched your thigh in rebelion, earning another swat from you before leaning up on one elbow and reading the chat from your phone, squinting at the abnormally bright screen. He wondered how your eyesight was still intact.

“It’s at eleven!” he whined, falling back onto the pillows, rubbing his face with both hands. “We have like two hours!”

“What? Not that!” you exclaimed, hitting him once again on the stomach, the skin on skin contact making a satisfying smack. 

“Stop hitting me!” he groaned, finally sitting up, his dark hair sticking up in odd angles around his head, and you had to stop yourself from cooing at his sleepy state. 

“Why do they think we’re a couple?” You turned to face him, arms crossed with a scowl on your face and Seokjin rolled his eyes at your antics.

“Because we are… Did you hit your head?” he asked condescendingly, a small smile puffing his cheeks as he patted you on top of your head. You shoved his hand away, glaring at him.

“Since when?”

“Like six months ago? Are you serious?” Seokjin couldn’t believe he was dealing with just a dumb argument right after waking up, his brows furrowed in irk as he crossed his arms. Were you just trying to get some angry sex? He wanted to go back to cuddling. Although, he wouldn’t mind some sex right now. The way his shirt molded to your breasts was enough to get him going.

“Am I serious? Are you serious?” you asked, flabbergasted, pulling his attention away from your chest to your face, just in time for him to see you roll your eyes. 

“How do you not know we’ve been dating for six months?! We live together!” Seokjin moved his hands as he spoke, fully exasperated at his girlfriend’s early morning senseless interrogation.

“We do not live together!” you argued, mirroring Seokjin’s aggravation as you fully turned to face him.

“When’s the last time you went back to your apartment?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“That is not the point!” you yelled, lifting your hand to smack him again, only for Seokjin to catch your wrist before you could reach him.

“Careful baby, you don’t want me to punish you now, do you?” he said with fiery eyes as his grip tightened, and his sudden dominant tone made you want to forget about a certain development in your relationship and let him spank you silly. But you were still too hung up on semantics to let your lust take over. Why did everyone think you were dating? You were just friends with benefits who just happened to hang out everyday in between having sex. 

“Seokjin,” you whined, prying your wrist from his grip. “When did we start dating?”

“After the cockwarming thing? Did you actually think this was still platonic?” Seokjin asked, finally realizing that you were in fact, very serious about not knowing that the two of you were dating. He thought it was pretty obvious. Friends did not just randomly kiss each other whenever the mood struck, or go on dates, or just cuddled when they slept.

“I mean… I don’t know…”

“Y/N, I took you to the best restaurant in the city for Valentines, I bring you flowers every time I go to the grocery store. We have matching rings for crying out loud!” He exasperated, grabbing your hands with his, the two platinum rings shining side by side in the morning sun. You stared at your intertwined hands in awe. Oh, so you were actually an idiot.

“I thought… I thought they were friendship rings…” You trailed off as Seokjin let go of your hands, falling on the bed with a defeated groan, hiding his face under a pillow. You felt the pieces finally falling into place, the way he always woke you up with a kiss, the way he picked you up from work every day despite it being fifteen minutes out of the way, and the way his eyes glimmered every time he looked at you, shining with adoration. You couldn’t believe you had been so blind.

You called his name, trying to pry the pillow off his face, but he hugged it tighter, refusing to let go. Burrowing into the covers, you laid on top of him, opting for a new strategy and burying your face under the pillow as well. His hands finally let the pillow go, resting on your lower back as he hugged you closer, and you sighed against his neck, making goosebumps erupt. He hated that you had this effect on him, hated that it was seemingly one-sided, even though he was sure it wasn’t. He didn’t think he needed to ask you to be his girlfriend, he didn’t think you wouldn’t be on the same page as him. You were always on the same wavelength; ten years of friendship had that effect.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your lips trailing on his neck as he tried to hide the way a blush seemed to blossom on his ears. He only grunted in response, a hand coming to remove the pillow from over your faces as he looked away in embarrassment, choosing to focus on the little birds nesting on his window than the way you felt, so soft and plush on top of him.

You moved up, resting on your forearms around his head, and you gently brought his face towards you, watching the way he pouted, not looking you in the eye. You chuckled at his grumpiness, kissing him gently, and he wrapped his arms around you tighter in response, deepening the kiss.

“In my defence, you never asked,” you joked, and he scowled in response.

“You could’ve asked,” he said petulantly, pinching your butt.

“I mean, I still thought we were platonic,” you giggled, but instead of the smile you expected, his face fell, looking away once again.

“We can’t be platonically in love, Y/N,” he said quietly, his hands falling away from you, but you were too busy focusing on not going into cardiac arrest. His words were like a chorus in your head, singing ethereally, a lump forming in your throat.

“We’re in… love?” you whispered, and Seokjin felt a weight on top of his chest. He hadn’t meant to just blurt it out. He had planned a romantic picnic with kimbap with extra pickled radish just the way you liked. He wanted to show you that you were it for him, the only one he would ever want, the only one he had ever wanted, but the shock on your face made his blood run cold, his confidence faltering.

“I am… aren’t you?” He turned his head, closing his eyes, wanting to delay the inevitable way you were going to break his heart.

“Yes,” you whispered, and the speed at which he looked at you probably rattled his brain. Perhaps that was the reason his eyes were starting to water, and his heart was trying to escape his chest. You smiled at his reaction, overwhelmed with an urge to coo at your usually guarded friend — well, boyfriend now, you supposed.

But before you could act on your desire to pinch his flushed cheeks, his hand was behind your neck, pulling your face to his and crashing your lips together in a flurry of tongue and teeth. Although the kiss started rough, it quickly melted into a gentle slurry, his tongue roaming yours, savouring your taste as if he hadn’t kissed you before. His hand moved down your spine, softly caressing your skin over your shirt as if stringing the strings on a guitar, your blood thrumming to his melody. When he reached his other hand on your hip, he flipped you over, hovering over you, and finally breaking your kiss.

“I can’t believe you thought we were platonic while literally being in love with me,” he huffed, still annoyed but still kissing your cheek at the sheepish look you gave him in return. You recovered quickly, cupping his face as you gazed into his eyes, finally realizing that the way they softened was indeed him looking at you with love.

“I love you, Seokjin,” you murmured, enjoying the grin that pulled his plush lips apart, puffing his cheeks and scrunching his eyes.

“And I love you, Y/N,” he replied, kissing you once again, never wanting to stop.

Needless to say, you both were late to couples brunch.

-

taglist: @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi, @awhnamjoon, @agustdjoon, @codeinebelle, @hobiandsprite​

check out the platonic collection masterlist

I hope you enjoyed this! For more fics of mine check out my masterlist

[deepspacedukat]

Here I sit, first day of grad school, tired and pissed off because people don’t answer the phone (😭😭😭) looking at all the nice gifs and photos on your blog. The Romulans are getting me through this! I’m tempted to reread Chin’toka but I’m on school WiFi. So that’s not happening. I absolutely adore you 💜💜💜💜💜

You know what? I’m gonna read that nice Damar fic again for happy vibes until class starts. And to whoever was being nasty about Dukat? HE’S NOT REAL so can it. Next they’ll be yelling about the forbidden Vulcans cough cough Romulans. And the Klingons.

-Horta-in-Charge

Please tell me you got some sleep (and I do mean a good 8 hours)

HORTA! 🌹❤️ Oh friend, I’m sorry the first day is already so rough for you. I’m glad the pretty alien pics and gifs are helping, though! Romulans are the secret to college, trust me, I know! I adore you too, my friend!!! 💖💜💙✨

Ooooh, yeah! Have a little reread of “Tiny Dancer”! I swear one day I’ll finish the sequel. I have it started but I have so many drafts that I’m working on that it kinda gets lost in the shuffle.

I’m just amused by that person, tbh. I mean, they were like “wtf who would ship this” but my whole brain was like “um, what were you doing in that tag if you dislike it so much, hm??? 👀”. I mean...they had to physically go to AO3 and locate that tag specifically for the screenshot, soooooo... 🤷‍♀️

Pffff, ‘forbidden Vulcans’ 😂 Speaking of, I re-watched the Bochra episode of TNG last night and my brain is in feral mode for that scrunkly, dirty, bath-needing lil man.

I promise I slept!! I’m good! Not necessarily eight hours, but something kinda close to that (which is good for my insomniac ass).

[inseongsfoxybae]

It’s gone

Pairing: Husband Inseong + Female Reader

Genre: Angst + Fluff ending

Warnings: Miscarriage, mention of bleeding, mention of sex... It’s just the saddest text I’ve ever wrote TT

Words: +4,3k

Author’s message: Hey, foxies! So, I decided to write this scenario after a bad dream I had with Inseong and I couldn’t just let this plot disappear of my mind. Also, I’m taking this writing as a sequel of 00:00, so I put the link down here. Hope you enjoy it *and cry*. Foxy kisses 😘

P.S: As english is not my mother language, it may contain misspelled. Also, sorry for any other mistakes :)

Part 1 - 00:00

this pic breaks my heart 😭

You and Inseong can't be more happy with your life. You love each other more than anything, both of your parents are always by your side, your baby is healthy and your four-months tummy is getting bigger so beautifully. 

You woke up especially clingy that saturday and everything led to a lazy morning sex, Inseong carefully taking you from behind while spooning you. After both of you came and shared some cuddles and kisses in bed, you took a bath together, softly making out in the bathtub as Inseong played with your little round tummy. 

"Let's have breakfast now. I need to feed my little baby" - he kissed your stomach - "and my big baby", he kissed your lips, while you smiled lovingly at him. You ate pancakes and fruits, playing around while feeding each other. Yes, you were the perfect definition of a cheesy couple and you loved that. 

You'd have dinner with Inseong's parents that night. However, you still have the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon just for yourselves. 

But you felt sick after breakfast and ran to the bathroom to vomit. "Morning sick again?", Inseong approached you and rubbed your back while you put out all the food in the toilet. "Yes, I thought it's already done, but it seems I was wrong", you said weakly. 

"It's okay, it's okay", Inseong reassured you. "Let's take some rest, huh?", he suggested and you nod. He helped you to get up and wash your mouth and carried you to bed, where he laid you as he moved closer to your stomach. 

"Hey, mini us, it's dad. Let's take it easy with mommy, hum? She's doing her best to take care of you, so we have to treat her well too, okay?", Inseong said softly, rubbing the warm skin of your firm tummy before slowly kissing it. You smiled sweetly at him while your fingers ran through his hair. 

He grinned back and whispered a "I love you" when you pulled him to lay with you. "I love you too, Seongie", you answered and pecked his lips. Inseong snuggled closer into your body, holding you against his broad chest as one of his hands massaged your hair and the other one caressed your belly. 

"Can't wait for tuesday to come, so we'll know the gender of our baby", Inseong said with a bright smile gracing his face. "I know, right? I'm so excited to choose a name for her or him!", you exclaimed happily. "Love, what do you think it will be?", you continued. "I have no idea, but I hope it's a girl. I want to see a mini you running through the house", he giggled. "But a boy would be nice too. He could protect his little sister later", he completed and looked at you. 

"Yeah, and a mini you would make me company during your schedules", you laughed pinching his nose. "But something tells me it's a girl", you confessed and smiled, placing your hand over his on your stomach. "Doesn't matter the gender, she or he will be our precious baby", his smile was so sweet and sincere before his lips started to plant soft kisses all over your face, making you giggle and melt between his arms. 

When he stopped his kiss attack, you cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. "Thank you, honey, for making me the happiest woman, for planting a baby inside me, for loving me so much", your voice shook as tears formed in your eyes. "You're my universe, darling. And our little one here is our first star", Inseong murmured against your lips pressing your foreheads together. 

You stayed in silence for a while, just hearing each other's breath and heartbeat, feeling the warmth of your bodies, just the three of you. "Baby", you broke the silence and looked at him, "will you be there with me during delivery?", you asked while your lips formed a little pout, that Inseong kissed away before answering. "Of course I will, so you'll be able to hold my hand tight until it breaks and pull my hair until I go bald", his answer made the two of you laugh. 

"Seriously, babe. I'll be there with you, right by your side, holding your hand and caressing your head and your back, until our baby is in your arms". This time, his words hitted straight on your heart and he hugged you tighter when he saw you were about to cry, firmly kissing the top of your head. "Don't cry, baby", he pleaded into your ear. "Blame the hormones", you whined against his neck. "Okay… It's okay", he chuckled, rocking you side to side. 

"Y/N, do you want me to cook your favorite food?", Inseong asked after you calmed down from your comotion. "No, I'm still sick and can't think of food right now", you whimpered. "But you need to eat to be strong and healthy, princess", he insisted, trying to pull you off the bed with him. "But I can't do this right now", you whined laying on top of him, burying your face on his chest. 

Inseong gave up on cooking, but was still making you eat something, so he reached for his phone and ordered your favorite dishes without you noticing. About half an hour later, your doorbell rang and you looked suspicious at Inseong. "Lunch time", he exclaimed, carefully taking you off his chest. 

He grabbed the food and placed it on the kitchen table, before walking to you who was reluctantly watching him leaning against the wall. "Inseong, I don't want to", you pouted as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him. "Please, Y/N. Just try it, just a little, huh? For our baby", he pleaded and looked down at your tummy, your gaze following his. "Okay", you whispered and let him drag you into the kitchen. 

Inseong plated the food and handed you your portion, for which you observed feeling your stomach churn. Your eyes met his, looking for some ground before taking the first spoon of rice into your mouth. “Just a little more”, Inseong encouraged you, squeezing your free hand over the table. You were struggling to chew and swallow, but persisted in eating as much as you could, before the food came back up your throat and you rushed to the bathroom to throw it up. 

Your husband sighed defeatedly on his chair, looked down at his own untouched plate before getting up and cleaned the table so as not to make your condition worse. Then, he walked into the bathroom where you were hanging on the sink to wash your mouth and sweaty face. Inseong got closer and hugged from behind, you leaned back into his chest as your legs were a little weak and you felt dizzy. 

“You’re not keeping anything inside today, right?”, he wondered, not exactly waiting for an answer, but you still shook your head. “Are you feeling anything else?”, he softly mumbled, kissing your shoulder. “Just some cramping, but it’s not a big deal”. Inseong looked at you through the mirror, his expression full of concern. “I’ll call my mom and cancel the dinner tonight”, he said after a moment. “No, honey, we have to go. It’s been a while since we had dinner with your parents”, you protested. “Y/N, you need to rest. They will understand. And if something happens to you because of this dinner, I’ll never forgive myself”, he confessed under his breath and held you tighter. 

You turned around in his arms to face him and embraced his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, Inseong. I’m pregnant, not ill. And I’ll go to rest, I’m gonna take a nap now and I’ll be much better when I wake up”, you said trying to calm him down, but he was not convinced yet. “Baby, please. Don’t worry too much. Just pregnancy things. I’m okay”, you insisted and he nodded, hugging you tighter but carefully, as you played with the hair on the back of his neck. 

"Go to eat. I'll wait for you on the couch", you softly said breaking your embrace. 

“Go to bed, it’s more comfortable”. 

“Inseong, what did I just say to you? I’m okay”, you sulked. “And we can watch a movie before taking a nap. What do you think?”, you looked at him with your best puppy eyes and he gave in. “Okay”.

When Inseong finished eating and joined you on the couch, you were already soundly sleeping. He chuckled softly and spooned you, pressing sweet kisses on your exposed shoulder, quickly dozing off as well.

Both of you slept deeply for some hours into the afternoon, lost in each other’s embrace, molded bodies. It was already getting dark when you opened your eyes and found yourself cradled between Inseong’s loose arms. Your mouth curled up a little, but the pain on your low stomach limited your joy. Your cramps got worse over the hours, just like your nausea. 

Inseong felt you moving and woke up, bringing you closer to him. “Did my babies rest well?”, he mumbled softly, pecking the side of your neck. You smiled and turned slowly into his arms to kiss him properly, his hands rubbing your back under your shirt. “Are you feeling better now?”, he asked when you broke the kiss and you shyly shook your head negatively. 

“Baby, let’s cancel this dinner”, Inseong tried to convince you one more time and you said no again. “I’m okay, darling. Let’s take a shower and get ready. We have to leave soon”, you insisted and he stared at you for a while, trying to get any glimpse of how bad you were feeling. “Please… Let’s go”, you whispered one last time as he nodded, helping you to get up. 

You took a quick shower together and got dressed, but you were feeling so sick that you didn't have the mind to put on any makeup. "It's okay, baby. You're beautiful anyways", Inseong whispered into your ear, trying to smile even if his concerned eyes weren't happy at all. 

You gave him a weak smile and left your room while he finished to get dressed. You stared at that door in front of yours for a while, your baby's bedroom, and felt an urge to enter it to analyze the few furniture in there. A white crib was placed on a corner, near the window, with a stuffed fox Inseong had bought after your first appointment resting inside. 

You smiled as you got closer to the crib and took the plushie in your hands, rubbing its soft fur. You heard a knock at the door and turned to see Inseong standing there, looking lovely at you. "What are you doing?", he mumbled, approaching and pulling you into his chest. "Nothing. I just wanted to be here for a moment", you answered, playing with the little fox still in your hands.  

"Are you sure you're fine?", Inseong looked deep into your eyes, and you nodded. "We'll be okay", you whispered softly, placing a hand on your belly as Inseong gently pecked your forehead. “Let’s go”, he took your hand and you left. 

You stared at the three icicles in his bracelet while he drove, imagining how it will be when you have your child in your arms. You opened a little smile through the pain that was getting stronger at each moment, feeling weaker and weaker. Maybe you should have stayed at home, but you knew it wouldn't make much difference now, so you tried to ignore your sickness the best you could.

"Sweetie, you’re so pale”, it was the first thing Inseong’s mother said when she laid her eyes on you. “Are you feeling bad?”, she asked, helping you to sit. “I just have nausea and cramps, but I’m okay”, you quickly answered, trying not to focus on how bad you were feeling. Your mother-in-law looked from his husband to Inseong, concerned expressions filling the table. 

“Please, don’t worry too much. I’m gonna be fine”, you reassured them as they sat down and ordered the food. The mood was a little tense among you, mainly when your dishes came and you didn't take a single bite of your food, staring at your plate disgusted. Your cramps were so terrible now that you shifted constantly on your chair, your head heavy and spinning. 

“Baby, let’s go home”, Inseong murmured very close to your ear and you realized your eyes were shut and you were grabbing your fork with too much force. “You can finish eating first. I can handle this”, your answer was just above a whisper as you struggle to control your weak body. 

Suddenly, an excruciating wave of pain tore your belly and you reached out for Inseong’s arm as you cringed in agony. “Inseong…”, it was the last thing you managed to whisper before your vision got dark and your mind went out. 

Inseong caught you, but didn't understand what was going on until he saw blood soaking your white dress. "Oh no, baby… No, no, no… Please, no", he kept repeating desperately, taking you into his arms and rushing to the car. 

While his father drove fast through the streets towards the hospital, Inseong sat on the back seat, holding your weak body against his, repeating "please’s" and "no’s" like a mantra, his crying filling the car while he watched the stain of blood getting bigger on your dress and tarnishing his own trousers. 

As your mother-in-law had called your doctor while you were on the way, when you arrived at the hospital, she was already waiting for you. Inseong carefully laid you on the stretcher and some nurses took you to a room. He was shaking and sobbing as he watched you being taken along the white corridors, knowing that something wrong was happening with you and your baby and he couldn’t do anything to help.

Some minutes later, a nurse appeared to tell your family about your state, your husband quickly walking to her. “She had a miscarriage and now the doctor is removing the fetus. I’m so sorry for your loss”, she said cautiously, an empathetic expression on her face.

Inseong’s legs lost their strength and he fell on his knees, sinking in despair. His mother hugged him tight and his father helped him to get up, leading him to the nearest chair, his cries echoing throughout the empty corridors. “Calm down, son. We have to be strong for her now”, Inseong’s dad comforted him, but his eyes were full of tears too. 

It took an eternity for the doctor to leave the operation room and show up to talk to Inseong. His head was resting on his mother’s shoulder, holding hands with his father, sobbing softly now as tears couldn’t stop rolling over his face. Your doctor watched that scene for a brief moment, her heart aching to see both of you suffering like this. 

She knew how passionate you were for each other and how much you wanted this baby. She felt your love every time the two of you entered her clinic for your monthly appointment, Inseong always by your side with a huge smile on his face. But now you ended up like this and she didn’t even know how to tell Inseong the details of your state. 

Your doctor slowly approached those three miserable people waiting in the corridor. “Mr. Kim Inseong,”, she called softly, “can we talk in my office for a moment? You can see your wife right after”. But Inseong didn’t move, only whispered a weak “It’s my fault”. 

“Inseong-ah, it’s not your fault. Come on, get up and talk to the doctor. We’re gonna go home and back with clean clothes for you”, his mother said, cupping his cheeks. Inseong looked down at his jeans soiled with blood - your blood, your baby’s blood. It made him cry even more.

“She will be okay. You can try again in a few months”, the doctor said, taking his hands on hers, trying to calm him down. “Let’s talk in my office. I have some things to tell you”. Inseong struggled to get up and follow her, fearing what he would have to hear. 

Inseong sat down in front of the doctor, her table between them, but he wasn’t able to face her. “It’s all my fault… We had sex this morning… That's why, isn't it? I hurt Y/N and made her lose our baby?”, he whispered, choking on his own tears, his heavy body weighing a ton. 

“No. It’s not your fault, nor hers”, your doctor calmly said. “It wasn’t because of sex or any other activity you did. It was her organism that rejected the fetus. Her immune system detected it as an intruder and expelled it”, she explained, trying to find easy words to say. 

Seeing that Inseong didn’t react, she continued. “We did a washing in her uterus and it didn’t suffer any trauma, so you can try again in two months”, she paused, gaining courage to tell her next words. “Also... we detected the gender of the baby”, she stopped, carefully waiting for his reaction. 

“It was a girl, right?”, Inseong mumbled, still staring at the floor. 

“Yes. I’m so sorry, Inseong”, her final words were sincere, watching your husband sobbing helplessly in front of her eyes. 

~

You woke up hours later, in the middle of the night. You slowly opened your eyes, understanding where you were. Inseong was sitting on a chair by your side, holding your hand, his eyes puffy and red from crying. “Hey”, he weakly said when he saw you awake, giving you a sorrowful smile. 

“What happened?”, you asked looking deep into his eyes, your free hand resting on your now flat belly. Feeling the difference and a slight pain on your low stomach, your heart sunk in your chest. “Inseong… what happened to our baby?”, your shaking voice came as a broken whisper. 

“Our baby is gone”, Inseong struggled to tell you after a couple of seconds trying to hold his own despair. “We lost her, Y/N”. 

His words broke your heart in a million pieces and your eyes exploded in a whirlwind of desperate tears. Inseong sat down on your bed and pulled you into his body, your cryings filling the room and echoing through the silent corridors. All the pain of not being able to keep your baby crushing both of you. 

You kept crying until exhaustion invades your body and you fall asleep in Inseong’s arms. Obviously, he couldn't close his eyes that night, still blaming himself for your miscarriage and worried if you feel some pain - dark bags under his eyes in the morning. 

You were discharged in the afternoon and your parents-in-law took both of you home, Inseong holding you against him in the back-seat, a heavy silence filling the air. When you arrived, you changed clothes and went to bed to take a rest, your husband laying with you until you fall asleep. No words exchanged, no small smiles; only guilty eyes and a heavy feeling suffocating the two of you. 

~

The sun was already gone when you opened your eyes. You didn’t feel any pain, at least not physically, because your heart was broken and now your body carried the emptiness of your baby not being anymore. And all of that was much more painful than anything else. 

Your shaking hands reached for your belly, feeling nothing where there was a life before, tears slowly falling from your eyes while your body curled up into your sheets. Inseong wasn’t by your side anymore. Actually, you were on his side of the bed, his pillow smelling faintly like him. 

You got up and left your bedroom to look for him, stopping when you saw the door of your baby’s room ajar and low sobs escaping from its dark inside. You carefully opened the door and turned on the lights, only to find the miserable state of your husband sitting on the floor at the foot of the crib, the plushie fox in his hands, his bracelet hanging from his fingers. 

Inseong didn’t lift his face, didn’t look at you, didn’t say anything, just held his breath in a failed attempt to stop his sobs. Your heart ached for seeing him like this.

“Oh, baby”, you sighed, feet taking small steps towards him, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his shaking shoulders. “Inseong”, you called him, but no responde. “Baby, please, look at me”, you begged, crying, but he only shook his head and leaned down to rest his head on your chest. 

“That’s all my fault”, he sobbed, not being able to hold himself anymore. “I’m so sorry, Y/N”, Inseong cried desperately in your arms as his heavy body relaxed against yours. You couldn’t speak, your voice choked in your throat as uncontrollable tears ran down your cheeks. 

You wrapped your arms around Inseong’s neck, pulling him closer to your chest, trembled fingers carded to his hair, his hands still holding the plushie. 

“I’m sorry for being like this, darling, so weak, so fragile”, he managed to murmur against you, his arms struggling to hug you. “I’m sorry for not taking care of you properly”, he sobbed, grabbing his shirt you were wearing with all this remaining strength. “I’m sorry”, he sank into your body, shaking hard, destroyed. 

His desperate cries made the pieces of your heart ignited, and a painful wave of despair took your whole being, your own sobs mixing with his. Your body curved over his, weak, strengthless, hurt. 

“It’s not your fault”, you quickly whispered against his shoulder, “It’s mine”, you broke down, tugging in his shirt like it could save you. 

Inseong gently released your arms from around him and brought you closer to him, caging you in his chest, that warm place that always makes you feel better. But it was different this time: his usual calm heart was now as broken as yours, trying to collect some hope from you, trying to comfort itself through you. 

Your legs were over one of his as you sat between his long limbs, your arms resting weakly on his stomach as your head were buried on his chest. Neither of you couldn’t say any more, only cry and take deep breaths. Inseong calmed down before, but stayed quiet, giving you time to relieve yourself while he ran his hands through your hair and back. 

“Inseong”, you barely whispered, “I’m sorry for not being able to keep our baby”, you choked your last words. 

Inseong squeezed you tighter, placing a slow kiss on your temple. “None of this is your fault, babe”, he tried to reassure you. “We just… just…”, he couldn’t complete his sentence as his tears got stronger again.

You leaned back from his chest to look at him, his hands gently cupping your face, caressing your wet cheeks as you took a deep breath before talking. “Until yesterday, I was pregnant, Inseong”, you paused. “Now there’s nothing here inside”, you sobbed, touching your belly. “Our daughter is dead, Inseong”, you broke down once more, grabbing his shoulders for some ground. 

Inseong didn’t know what to speak, didn’t know what to do, struggling to not break himself in tears again, pulling you even closer and tighter against him, desperately trying to comfort you with these gestures. 

After some minutes, when your cries stabilized, he caged you in his arms, grabbing the fox plushie on the way, and took you to your bed. Inseong cuddled you tight, holding you like he wanted to merge your bodies, protecting you from anything that could harm you. 

“Baby”, he softly called you, “it’s okay now. I’m here with you”, he told you. 

You sighed against his chest, trying to regain forces to speak. “Inseong… Do you still love me? I mean, am I still the love of your life?”, your voice cracked with every word. 

“Honey, of course I still love you”, Inseong firmly kissed the top of your head. “You’re my everything, my wife, my woman, the only one I love and will ever love”, he reassured you and you felt sincerity in his words and in his heartbeat under your ear.

“Please, stay with me”, you begged, moving to look at his face.

“I’m not going anywhere”, he mumbled, kissing your forehead. “I’ll stay by your side until my last breath”, he confessed, leaning down a little to place a soft peck on your lips.

“We will overcome this, okay? We can do anything since we are together”, Inseong consoled you, tugging some strands of hair behind your ear. “We can try again very soon and I’m sure we’ll have a bunch of healthy kids playing around the house”, he said, giving you a small smile. 

You slightly chuckled at his words. “Oh, you’re laughing”, Inseong gave you a cute grin, brushing his nose against yours. “We shouldn’t blame ourselves anymore, promise?”. 

“I promise”, you whispered and you both smiled. You watched attentively when Inseong moved one of his arms behind him and reached for the plushie, bringing it to you. 

“Hey, mommy and daddy, be strong, right? Give me brothers and sisters soon. I love you”, Inseong mimicked a cute funny voice, making you laugh. He pressed the little nose of the fox all over your face multiple times, as it was kissing you, just before he moved the toy away to use his own lips.

“I love you, Seongie, so, so much”, you whispered against his lips, eyes closed, feeling him grinning into the kiss. 

“I love you more, my love”, he murmured, deepening the movements of your lips together. 

It was still hard to accept and painful, but you had each other and had dreams and hopes together, and that’s all that matters. You were sure you’d still make a beautiful family in the future, full of mini Inseongs and mini Y/Ns, and you were willing to achieve all of this pure happiness soon with Inseong by your side, always taking care of you, supporting you, comforting you. You’d be strong for him and for your beautiful love until your last breath. 

~

Part 3 - Try again

[littlemessyjessi]

Oooh OH OH Valentina sounds so great!! I’m so happy that you’re happy :’)

Is there anything you can (or want, it goes without question that you don’t have to) to tell us about her!

Ooooh! Of course! Any chance to talk about my baby! Even if it embarasses her when I gush but I don’t care because she’s a goddess and I’m very lucky to have her.

She is great btw.  An angel.  A gift. Love my life and enabler of my snack addition. 

So yeah! 

Valentina, or Val, is my lovely boo of quite some time now.  We actually met because she wanted a tarot reading and booked an appointment.  Well, actually that’s a lie.  We met once at roller derby.  I was skating and being a little gremlin and she was in the crowd.  I got one look at her and promptly plowed into the siding and then crashed on my face. 

But sadly she’d been dating someone at the time and truthfully so was I. 

So we didn’t talk about for quite some time.  But THEN she heard that I did witchcraft and art professionally and booked an appointment.  We did her reading and then later she calls me up and she was like, I just really enjoyed talking to you and I didn’t know if you were doing anything.   I was like, it’s cool what’s up? 

And she was like, you wanna watch a movie together? And it was like eleven at night and I had my bonnet on and I didn’t plan on leaving the house. So we legit pulled up Coming to America on Amazon Prime and watched it together over video chat.  

Which, by the way, have you watched the sequel ?   Highly entertaining lol. A little silly in parts but it’s Eddie Murphy.  It’s to be expected. 

Anyway, we clicked and we’ve been inseperable ever since. 

So let’s talk Val.  Well, she’s Cuban and she’s very proud of this. 

My stomach is very proud of this as well because she feeds me well. 

She is fucking brilliant.  Absolutely marvelously clever.  

She loves her job and I love that she loves her job.   

She works in architecture and I salivate at her blue prints and then watching her sketch out her visions.  I fucking die.  I’d share some if it weren’t for the fact she designs for people’s home and that’s kind of an infringement of privacy and we can’t really do that.  I’ll ask if I can show some of her sketch books maybe though.   Idk.

Let’s see she is a Taurus and true to being a Taurus in a lot of ways.  My high strung Cancer ass will freak out but she can bring me back down to reality really easily.  

She’s beautiful.  So beautiful.   She used to have super long dark hair but she recently did the big chop so she could donate it.  We’ve bleached it and hopefully are dying it lavender in a couple of days.  Which I think will look lovely with her big beautiful brown eyes and her sweet caramel skin.   Also, great with her cheekbones and her gloriously chubby cheeks and her perfect little double chin.  Ugh, she’s an angel, I tell you.    

I’d show you a picture but I never post pics of myself just due to my job (outside of pro witch and artist) and she feels about the same.  It’s just a personal thing I reckon.  

Let’s see, she loves to swim but is deathly afraid of jellyfish for some reason.   She thinks mice are cute but if one runs in front of her she will jump on the table. 

Her favorite color is purple but she secretly has an obsession with orange for some reason.  I think she has a ginger kink b/c of my hair lol. 

She is really chill most of the time but good lord it’s a long fuse on a big bomb if you ever piss her off.  Fiercely protective.   

She is tol bean.  I am smol bean.  She calls me Tiny.  I resent this. 

She picks me.  I resent this..... although secretly convenient when I pass out and she carries me to bed.   My back thanks her for not letting me sleep upside down on the couch when I sugar crash.   

She loves bubble baths more than anything on earth. Her favorite scent is blackberry so I constantly scour the etsy for anything blackberry scented. 

She still uses that violet baby cologne that her grandmother used on her when she was a baby.   She claims if we ever produce that our spawn will have it to. 

I don’t argue because i know better. 

I could go on and on because I love her so much.  I can’t wait to marry her.  We’re trying to wait until the rona situation is a little better for the wedding but we don’t want a big one anyway.  So who knows?   

I don’t really care what we do as long as i get to spend the rest of my life with her.  

We can get married in a trash can for all I care. 

Anyway, that’s just a peek at my Val. 

I hope you liked it. 

Also, Val if you see this, I know you ate the last oreo.  I forgive you but I just want you to know that I know it was you.   My godson doesn’t have any teeth yet, babe.   Try again. 

Also, I’m sorry about the hyperactive rant earlier and drinking all the kool aid.  I’ll make more and I get you a Reese’s later, my love.  

=====

Anyway, thanks for asking that question.  I’ll always gush about my boo. 

All my love, 

Kenny

[sunflowrhaz]

I was tagged by @theleavesoflorien​ to answer a few questions that dig a little deeper. thank you darling!! (this is literally months old oops) 💛

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen?

both really, i don’t have a preference

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or in the city?

country! i hate cities so much! i grew up visiting my grandparents farm all the time growing up! although instead of the country preferably a seaside town such as the one i live in. it’s not too busy but not far away from everything.. plus i couldn’t part from the sea! 

3. If you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

picking back up painting, continue learning norwegian (don’t look at me like that marianne i keep saying i’m learning it but i’ve been so slack asdfdsasdf), get back into marimba

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

tea with sugar is so gross! i only drink herbal teas. my favourite is spearmint

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

the harry potter series!! and the rainbow magic books asdfgfdsa, the princess diaries series, anything roald dahl, anything dr suess, captain underpants lol, hairy maclary, mr mcgee and the biting flea asdfdsadf soo many i was such a loner as a child and literally read every single book i could find

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

showersss

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?

a mermaid so i can live my h2o fantasy adfasdfds or a dragon 🐉

8. Paper or electronic books?

paper always! i love the smell and i would love to have a giant bookshelf filled with books one day! i read on my phone for fics of when i get a free ebook but my right eye is so blind it’s like bitch no stop please lmaoo

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

all my flowy boho cotton blouses and pants! and my fave blue jeans and grungy tshirts

10. Do you like your name? Would you like to change it?

i used to wish it was a little more unique like shortening it to ren/wren instead of lauren because i had 4 other lauren’s in my grade at school 😂i was literally friends with two lauren’s asdfgfdsa

but in the end i do love my nicknames lozz,lozzy, lozza so it’s not so bad!

11. Who is a mentor to you?

my mother and my grandfather! my grandfather is my biggest inspiration 💛seeing all that he has achieved and his views and mentality on life.

12. Would you like to be famous? If so, what for?

nooo thanks. the only famous i would want to be is for activism/humanitarian/environmentalist stuff but even then i wouldn’t want to be super famous and known?

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

nope! once i’m out i am out! i love my sleep and do everything i can to ensure i get the best sleep ever! now if you’ll excuse me i’m off to listen to harry’s calm meditation 😂

15. Which element best represents you?

fire and air

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

my brother! i feel like i don’t see him as often anymore what with his work and living in seperate houses. he is my best friend so i miss just always having him near me all the time.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

no one so much as just not seeing my family as often even though i do see them every week. i just want a big family holiday to spend time with them. and i’m missing some of my mutals atm who are busy lately 😞

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

i blocked out so much of my childhood eeep ummm probably visiting my grandparents farm, riding horses, my grandfather driving us around on a trailer on the back of a tractor, collecting cicada skins with my brother and starting a collection of cool bugs, stealing berries off the mulberry bush ahaha, finding snake skins (why did we like collecting skins wtf asdfd) 

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

snails? crocodile? i don’t even know ahaha (snails are amazing btw yummm i used to eat them all the time in vanuatu growing up)

20. What are you most thankful for?

my family, my health, the beautiful country i live in, the friends i have made on here 💛so many things

21. Do you like spicy food?

yummmmmm yes! just not super duper spicy i can’t handle that asdfgfsa

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

no i don’t think so? wait patty walters from as it is i got a pic and a hug from him <3 other than that no i don’t think so i mean i’m in the middle of nowhere asdfdsa woohoo australia

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

i kept a super embarrassing diary at 12 but apart from that nope! like seriously that diary haunts me i don’t know what happened to it please for the love of god i hope it got thrown in the trash asdfdsa the CRINGE 

24. Do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

pen! 

25. What is your star sign?

sagittarius sun, capricorn moon, libra rising 

26. Do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

CRUNCHY! wtf who is eating soggy cereal you are seriously disturbed asdfgfdsa

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

this is so tough ummm just bettering humanity and the environment idek 

28. Do you like reading? What was the last book you read?

yes!! i was the loner kid in school who sat in the library at lunch reading all the books asdfgfdsa. the last book i read was the raven king by maggie stiefvater because LIBBY got me totally obsessed with this series god dammit what have you done to me and i am currently reading call down the hawk which is a sequel to the raven king (dammit libby asdfdsdfdsa)

29. How do you show someone you love them?

i always seem to cater to them with acts of service? so like cooking for them etc.. just doing stuff for them and looking after them in general? idk how to describe it. also sweet little messages and notes and cuddles! oh BOY will i tell you how much i love you in a birthday card or message asdsa like i will bring a tear to your eye baby just made my grandpa cry with his bday card asdfdsa

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

crushed ice mmmmmm

31. What are you afraid of?

losing my family, never travelling, being stuck/tied down

32. What is your favourite scent?

the ocean, rain, books, sea breeze, wet grass, coffee, lavender, clean sheets, spearmint

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

mostly their name? i mean i feel like where i live in australia it’s pretty chill and not so formal? i even call my grandparents by their first names adfgfdsa mainly because my grandma did NOT want to be called grandma 

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

OH BOY! i would be travelling non stop! i would literally never come home, i would be travelling around the world, living overseas etc... literally i would just be living on a boat sailing around greece or wherever. omg how i would love to do that :(

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

it depends. i would say the ocean (i love her so much) but also i was a swimmer for over 10 years so i love the pool too. i love sitting on the bottom of the pool, it’s so calming

36. What would you do if you found $50 on the ground

keep it but if i knew whose it was i would return it

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Did you make a wish?

no :( hopefully one day

38. What is one thing you would want to teach your children?

i’m not having children

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

maybe a quote/word or something on the back of my arm above my elbow idek i have an entire tattoo board on pinterst asdfdsa even though i know i would never get one i am too indecisive  

40. What can you hear right now?

 i’m listening to a pop punk playlist on spotify

41. Where do you feel the safest?

at home with my family

42. What is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

my procrastination habits omg i am the worst!! certain family relations

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

dinosaurs mate, straight up, jks jks... no but really dinosaurs would be soo cool though, or maybe ancient greece?

44. What is your most used emoji?

💛✨😂

45. Describe yourself using one word.

more than one came to mind so giddy, optimistic, cheerful

46. What do you regret the most?

not travelling heaps after school ( i mean i was broke but still i should have worked more *sigh*) travelling looks really bleak now thanks to covid :(, losing touch with 3 certain people from high school i suck at staying in touch with people i am such an introvert 😞

47. Last movie you saw?

enola holmes and i loved it so much!

48. Last tv show you watched?

the mandalorian

49. Invent a word and its meaning

wobmap - intense affection and wonder for nature and the world

asdfgh what even

i tag: @pridesobright @sunflower-vol14 @rnbziamau @dailylouis @boobear-harold @princessparkhl @rosegoldeyelids @echoedsparks @angelharry (it’s been a while my secret santa pal ahaha hello!) and whoever else want’s to do this please feel free to say i tagged you! :) feel free to ignore 

[filhadoboto]

Chapters: 28/28 (E) Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Kaydel Ko Connix/Jannah/Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Din Djarin

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Hate Sex, Kinda, Miscommunication, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, So much smut, Textfic, Pining, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Masturbation, Sexting, Nudes, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Begging, Cunnilingus, Dominant Ben Solo, Bratty Rey, Trust Issues, Abandonment Issues, Unsafe Sex, Breeding Kink, Vibrators, Dom/sub, Spanking, Rough Sex, references to past emotional abuse, Ben has a dirty mouth, Mirror Sex, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Woman on Top, References to Child Abandonment, blowjob, Come Swallowing, Self-Indulgent moment where Ben and Rey watches Goblin together, Non-Consensual Touching, Not between Ben and Rey, Sexual Harassment, Mentions of Drug and Overdose, Sex Crime, revenge porn, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Engagement, Mention of pregnancy, but no actual pregnancy, Ben’s POV in a few chapters, if i miss a tag pls lmk in comments and i will add!!!!

Summary: In which Rey accidentally sends a lingerie pic to Ben, the coworker she despises.

[bangtanscenariosblog]

Masterlist (March 11th 2019)

Request me all the scenarios you want! :) ♥

Scenarios:

Fireworks - Rap Monster fluff.

I will color your sky - J-hope angst.

Let me love you - J-hope angst-fluffy-philosophical

Lose control - Jimin smut.

Love you to death - Jungkook fluff

Rewind - SUGA angst and philosophical.

Speak it up - Rap Monster angst and fluff

Stuck in his hurricane - Jimin hot and fluff.

This is what I wanted to tell you - V fluff.

You’re a work of art - Rap Monster angst and fluff.

You only love once - Jungkook fluff

Sequel scenarios:

Jin fluffy one: Follow me.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Jin historical-cultural-angst-fluff: Only one - Only one (sequel)

J-Hope and Jimin angst and fluff: Foolish Feelings. Part 1 - Part 2 coming soon

Requested scenarios:

A smile like his father’s - J-Hope angst- fluff

Braid your hair - V fluff

Can you smile - V angst and philosophical with Jimin as a second character.

Can you smile (alternative version) - V angst-philosophical-fluff (still with Jimin.)

Childish fights - Jungkook fluff

Did you know I meant it? - J-hope angt-fluff

Don’t change - Jimin angst-fluff-philosophical

Fake lies - Jin angst-super fluff-a bit philosophical

First - V fluffy smut

How much did you miss me? - SUGA fluff

I’ll be standing by your side - SUGA angst

I’ll protect you - Jimin angst

Imperfect life - Jin angst- super fluff

Insane driver - Jimin fluffi

Insecurities - SUGA angst- fluff

Jealousy consumes you - Jungkook angst-philosophical-fluff

Just once - SUGA fluff

Kid’s like love - V fluff

Light; take me away - V fluff- angst- philosophical

Morning kiss - V fluff

Mute - V smut

Not that lovable - SUGA angst - fluff - philosophical

Our passionate weakness - V fluff - angt -philosophical

Photographs - V angst-fluff

Rainy day - V fluff

Recall - Jin angst and fluffy in the end

Rude - Jimin angst- smut

Someday seems impossible - Jungkook fluff

Warm hugs - Jimin angst-fluff

Warm whispers - SUGA fluff-angst-philosophical-smut

You’re beautiful - V philosophical-angst-fluff

Song Requested scenarios:

How you got the girl - V angst (based on How you get the girl by Taylor Swift).

Slave to our hormones - V fluff (based on War Of Hormones by BTS).

So close yet so far - Jungkook angst- fluff (based on the For You mv by BTS).

Special scenarios:

I mean the opposite (Jimin’s 21st birthday)

Not ready yet (Jungkook’s 19th birthday)

New love (Rap Monster’s 22nd birthday)

Pray for humanity

Spiritualism (Halloween scenario)

Christmas Day (For Christmas)

Imatexts and quotes

Basically for the imatexts I have made, since they are pictures posts, you gotta “search on the blog”. Just search “imatexts” or “imatext” and if you scroll down, you’ll find all of them!

Their type of…

Kisses

Hugs

Reactions

Dating a gender fluid (without gifs)

Hurt during sex (NSFW)

You don’t want to marry them

You being feminine

You being ill

You’re a drummer and can do V’s voice

You’re more attractive than before

You’re drunk and cry at a party

Someone’s flirting with you

You being scared after seeing a scary movie

You don’t want him to meet your parents

You being dominant (NSFW)

Your hair being fluffy

Starting a dance battle between the members for you to judge

You sleeping with a plushie

You being embarrassed after two members had some skinship

You sneaking into their dorm

You both being horny (NSFW)

You being insecure about your weight

You doing too much sports

You cooking with their moms

A stranger kissing you

You accidentally facing their intimate part

You trying some clothes on in the fitting rooms

You singing for the first time

BTS asking you out to prom

Staying late at school (written)

You dodging their kisses

You having an origami collection

Other requests

Rap Monster’s type of girl

Which BTS member would date a black girl

Which BTS member would date a non-asian girl

Which BTS member would date a 00 or 01 liner

Which BTS member would date a 98 liner

Which BTS member would date a 97 liner

How would Jungkook date a short and loud girl

Here, you can find every single daily preference I have made from now on. I upload a preference everyday and I also take requests for them. If you wanna request me one, please tell me the member you’d like and the plot.

Here they are, enjoy reading!~♥

#1 Falling asleep in front of a movie

#2 Napping after work

#3 Playfully making your bed

#4 Ice cream date

#5 Woke up by a kiss

#6 Jealous Jin

#7 Babysitting help

#8 Midnight snacks

#9 Hot hugs

#10 Brain Dots

#11 After school surprise

# Cheering you up

#12 Periods cramps

#13 Stare game

#14 Hot chocolate kiss

#15 Jealous of your male best friend

#16 Scared of storms

#17 Scared of spiders

#18 Kiss cam

#19 Playing video games

#20 Horror movie

#21 Unexpected kiss

#22 Ordering pizze

#23 Study support

#24 Lunch date

#25 Introducing you to his friends

#26 Nail polish kisses

#27 Cinema date

#28 Chocolate bar

#29 Studying kisses

#30 Bowling date

#31 Vacation ride

#32 Cuddling day off

#33 Push ups

#34 Forbidden diet

#35 Changed homescreen

#36 Nap on his knees

#37 Waiting room

#38 Taking the underground

#39 Home after a tiring day

#40 Accidental skype confession

#41 Bless you

#42 After-shower routine

#43 Water bottle

#44 New hair cut

#45 Waking up on a Sunday morning

#46 Just dance

#47 Surprise visit after your shower

#48 Late night Skype

#49 Receiving your scholar books

#50 Changing contact name

#51 Going back home at night

#52 Music festival date

#53 Kisses; stress reliever

#54 Spending your birthday (and Jungkook’s birthday together) (Requested)

#55 Protecting you from the rain

#56 He randomly knows your name at school

#57 Exchanging glances in class

#58 Parrot

#59 Note into your locker

#60 No longer your seatmate

#61 Taking the bus after a long day

#62 Missing him to sleep

#63 Snapbacks

#64 Struggling to stay awake

#65 Basketball game with your boyfriend

#66 Falling asleep on a rainy night with your boyfriend

#67 Feeling low because of your look

#68 Staying up late to study

#69 Being cold so he warms you up

#70 Too lazy to get up to go to work so he gently wakes you up

#71 Missed the bus

#72 Having a good time with your boyfriend while watching a basketball match

#73 Shy bathing time

#74 Playfihting because of your wet hands

#75 Learning to us chopsticks

#76 Ill

#77 Restaurant date

#78 Running motivation

#79 Carry you to bed

#80 Finishing your homework earlier

#81 Can’t find your glasses

#82 Schoolmate staring at you

#83 Attempt to make you smile

#84 Sporty date

#85 “Perfect date”

#86 Studying pause

#87 Bike riding

#88 Legs tickling

#89 Airport meeting (Requested)

#90 “I don’t need make up” (Requested)

#91 Come over on a Saturday night (Requested)

#92 Bubble gums

#93 Lazy day in bed (Requested)

#94 Dancing with Namjoon

#95 Your best friend helping you to go through your heart break

#96 Surprise picking up (Requested)

#97 Late phone call and silly conversations

#98 Cheerful text

#99 Pregnant announce (Requested)

#100 Wedding propose (Requested)

#101 Cheating rumors (Requested)

#102 Taking a pic of you but you feel insecure

#103 Tying up his ties

#104 Jealous and protective when you leave the house

#105 Cold

#106 Mental breakdown

#107 Twisted ankle

#108 Cute when…

#109 Men in the street

#110 Drunk in love

#111 Jealous crush

#112  Emperor

#113 First date

#114 Craving for kisses

#115 Cheesy halloween

#116 Comforting boyfriend

#117 Drunk with stranger

#118 Break up

#119 We could (based on Do I wanna know by Arctic Monkeys).

#120 Master (NSFW).

#121 Shattered

#122 Just a lifetime

#123 Ditch class

#124 Confidence

#125 Meet again

#126 Pretty hot though

#127 Even more tomorrow

#128 What would you do?

#129 You like me, don’t you?

#130 Possessivity

#131 Your most prescious dream

#132 Be your last

#133 Not born to fight

#134 Feel the same

#135 Close enough

#136 Unexpected kiss

#137 Stress relieving session

#138 Run

#139 “You’re the one that’s annoying!”

#140 “I will think about it.”

#141 Cheater

#142 “I am not sick!”

#143 Uninspired

#144 Bakeries

#145 Christmas ice skating

#146 Sky is the limit

#147 Protective brother

#148 Torture

#149 Psychotic boyfriend

#150 Supportive father

#151 Routine

#152 Garlands

#153 Holidays

#154 Art teacher

#155 Revelation

#156 Awkward firt kiss

#157 Shamefuly attracted

#158 Hard to concentrate

#159 Serious when it comes to you

#160 Have a nice day

#161 Still can’t get enough

#162 Steamy atmosphere

#163 Plushie gift

#164 How much do you love me?

#165 Sexy teasing

#166 You so love hate him

#167 I don’t care what you think about your beauty

#168 Not as a friend anymore

#169 seems like I forgot this one, oops! Sorry x

#170 Couple silliness

#171 Surprise meeting

#172 Art project

#173 Play fighting

#174 Scared of love

#175 The little surprise

#176 Meeting family

#177 Love is a cycle…

#178 Garden of Eden

#179 Massage session

#180 Cart race

#181 Touch our dreams

#182 What’s your wish?

[seven-oomen]

I’m sorry you’re still feeling exhausted.  I hope work wasn’t too terrible today, and that the weekend lets you rest up a bit (if you get normal weekends.  working in retail I try not to assume.)  Also, this is likely to just be a short(-ish) collection of unconnected musings, but I felt like sharing them anyway, and really you should be used to that from me at this point.  XD  So, first off that tree painting is GORGEOUS.  I mean, I tend to be kinda partial to that whole tree silhouette type aesthetic, so I’m probably slightly biased.  But still.  (And the background shading… <3 )  Also, ngl, the backlit keyboard keeps making me think of that video of Henry Cavill assembling his new computer that’s making the rounds.  That is not meant as a complaint of any sort, mind you, merely an observation.

Speaking of hot scruffy dudes who are actually massive dorks, did you SEE Ian’s most recent Insta pic?!  (the non-cowboy hat one)  Omg, I don’t know why he keeps complaining about how it’s starting to look like TW Season One hair like it’s some sort of bad thing.  (The longer the hair, the better the grip you can get. […uh…wait, what?… ’>.> ])  That pic just screams OUAT sequel to me.  Out here looking all shaggy and windblown and peaceful and content.  Proud Alpha Dad Peter spending quality time with his family/pack.  How very dare he spring this on an unsuspecting public with no warning?  I was not prepared.  (Also, Sinqua and Holland commenting on it just ups the adorable factor that much more.)

Also, was looking at a few sites lately in consideration of ordering a few more masks for work, found this print on one of them and almost laughed myself absolutely stupid.  I don’t know why it was just so funny to me, but I hope it cheers you as much as it did me.  Btw, it’s available on an impressive variety of items, including two types of notebooks, t-shirts, mugs, blankets, pillows, beach towels, shower curtains, rugs, bath mats, several styles of bags, phone cases, and assorted types of wall art (sadly not on a mask, however.  I was deeply disappointed.)  I can see any number of items ending up in the Haleargentski household, bought by assorted non-wolf members for assorted wolf members, because they are a family of assholes.  (I feel like the first gift was a travel mug to Peter from his darling husbands, then a t-shirt [on black ofc] from Peter to Derek, and then it just all snowballed from there.)

Today’s literally-just-appeared-out-of-nowhere-wtf-brain thought is (much like the French maid thing) definitely of the nsfw variety, so consider yourself duly warned if you have a shift today.  Because I mean we talked about Chris and Noah using toys on each other, but why should Peter get left out of the fun?  There are plenty of ways for him to enjoy them, too.  Like, pretty much the initial spontaneous thought was “Peter getting pulled into someone’s lap and being pegged within an inch of his life until he comes screaming down the throat of whichever one is going down on him at the same time."  And I was just like "not sure what this has to do with this video of how to make a ukelele out of colored pencils, but continue."  But like, no really.  Peter being knotted in one of them while the other uses beads or a (vibrating) plug on him?  (Which one is the asshole who momentarily turns the vibration up high enough that they BOTH can feel it?)  Or using those, or some kind of prostate massager, while he’s tied up and watching them with each other?  Bonus points in that situation for anything remote controlled.  See just how good his control really is.  Equal opportunity toy usage is what I’m saying, basically.

Also had a thought inspired by a pregnant friend and her fiance raving about a local pizza place’s monthly special, which is a pickle pizza (no really).  I may or may not have asked her if she had it with ice cream (I totally did, but apparently she’s past that point.)  So I was wondering about any weird or specific cravings the boys have while pregnant.  I remember Chris having a thing about chocolate pudding in the flashbacks.  Was it only a certain type of pudding, or would any kind do?  Were there any others he had?  Did he have the same ones with Ben or different?  What about Noah?  What sort of cravings did he get, if any?  And did they vary between sets of twins?  Did anybody go the aforementioned pickles and ice cream route?  Anybody dipping fries in Nutella?  Onion straws in peanut butter?  Doritos in cottage cheese?  Anybody eat salsa straight out of the jar?  Did anybody get any sudden absolute need for a specific fast food at two in the morning?  Or suddenly want a type of snack food only carried at one truck stop halfway past the next town?  Anybody spend several days eating nothing but veggie trays, including ones they normally can’t stand?  Anybody develop a temporary aversion to certain things, like coffee (feels like it would be a terrible thing for either of them)?  Did Peter cater to their every whim in any and all of these situations?  (I already know that answer.)  Did either one ever get demanding about it, or did they go the more passively-wistful-won’t-stop-mentioning-it route?  Side note; did anyone (not family) ever catch the wrong end of hormones now backed by even more combat and/or magical ability?  (Debbie at the bake sale best step off or she gonna regret a number of her life choices.)

Uh…I think that was the last of the random swirling questions/musings/headcanons for now…  I hope you feel a bit better today, and that the time off (I think you mentioned some time off?) is helpful.  Enjoy your time with your friend (that was this weekend, right?).  If you’ve got ideas for writing stuff, but are having trouble getting them down, would making quick notes/reminders, or voice recordings, for later help?  Like, so you don’t worry about losing them, but aren’t forcing yourself to do something you don’t feel up for at the time?  Either way, congrats on keeping up with the journaling (and the pretty, pretty art), and I hope tracking everything proves helpful.  And remember, other people’s bullshit issues and hang-ups are in no way your fault (no matter what they try to tell you), and you deserve all the good things.  Take care!  *Hugs to both of you!* 

Yeah, honestly I think I hit that point in my life again where my battery is drained and I can’t restart it. Which is how I got my burn out at first and working towards another one. Heh but I also don’t want to give up now and just keep working for a little longer because my contract expires at the end of September and yeah.. 

Stress.

Aww gosh thank you, yeah I really like how that one turned out! It was better than expected.

Btw if you’re into Zombie apocalypse stories (I am) you should definitely check out The girl with all the gifts. It’s so brutal but also interesting, I definitely enjoyed that. (And it was research for my own book)

Lol I love this keyboard and this laptop, really, it was the most expensive thing I ever bought but it’s so worth it. Still runs super smooth after 2 years. I don’t think I’ve seen that video of Henry though. 

And omg yes I did and it’s the best thing. he looks so SOFT omg. I def got  OUAT S2 vibes from that. And OUAT vibes. Also that pic of him with Colton, omg. Those were the best!

THAT PRINT!!!! I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose this morning but managed to swallow it down just in time. My work computer would have suffered caffeine damage otherwise XD.

But yeah, that becomes a running gag for sure!

Because I mean we talked about Chris and Noah using toys on each other, but why should Peter get left out of the fun?  There are plenty of ways for him to enjoy them, too.  Like, pretty much the initial spontaneous thought was “Peter getting pulled into someone’s lap and being pegged within an inch of his life until he comes screaming down the throat of whichever one is going down on him at the same time."

*cheff’s kiss* 

Yes.

Oh the images are so good. Remind me to write them out in detail tomorrow after the zoo trip.

Also parking the pregnancy cravings to answer tomorrow since it’s past midnight and I should catch some sleep before I need to be up again. But I will definitely type that HC out.

Side note; did anyone (not family) ever catch the wrong end of hormones now backed by even more combat and/or magical ability?  (Debbie at the bake sale best step off or she gonna regret a number of her life choices.)

Ohhh Debbie’s toast. Because yes, Noah’s magic is that much stronger when it’s fueled by pregnancy hormones and Chris turns into a very protective hormonal fighting machine. Low center of gravity has advantages when you’re in a squabble with the Karens.

And yeah, I have four days off right now. Which means I don’t have to work until Thursday again. Which is awesome!

But yeah work wasn’t too bad, I had to do one bad news conversation which fucking sucked since there was nothing I could do and nobody I could get a hold off to fix the problem for that customer and it was just a waiting game. I hate those conversations. I honestly do.

Most of it was quiet though and I got to leave an hour earlier due to the quiet day. So that was good. And I watched a movie while being paid (The girl with all the gifts) so that was pretty fun too XD

I actually voice record a lot already. I find it really helps with clearing my mind and I write a lot of stuff down. But I appreciate the tip!

Lots of cuddles from me and Mo and I hope your day went by well. <3

[imma-lil-teapot]

Each TMNT Incarnation and Where They Stand With Me :)

(Nervous chuckle) ... Yeah no, I suck at titles. Moving on! 

Y’all can go ahead and skip this part if you’re not interested in senseless rambling and just wanna get to the TMNT fun~ ;) 

Soooooo, I’ve recently updated my Tumblr page to a blog dedicated to all my fandoms (musing, headcanons, writing, gifs, pics, the works, basically anything and everything in relation to them) since I wasn’t really ever doing anything with it other than using it to share pics mostly. But ever since I stumbled back into the TMNT fandom, I’ve been searching Tumblr for fan content and OMGOSH, did I hit the jackpot! Headcanons, fanfics, Turtle x reader stories, so much juicy stuff! Am hooked! Dunno why I never tried searching for similar stuff in the past for my other fandoms! I guess I just... didn’t realize there was so much content here. :O But anyway, I always wanted a place to share ideas and thoughts regarding my fandoms outside of sites like Deviantart and Fanfiction.net, and heck, it’s been here under my nose all this time... Y’all gonna have to forgive me; I’m an old fart. ;P (Insert image of Slowpoke for reference) So without further ado... 

LET’S GET THIS PIZZA PARTY STARTED! 

Imma start this blog off really simple and, as the title states, just give you all a small-ish idea of where each TMNT universe stands (or ranks?) with me, personally... Note the ‘personally’ part so please don’t feel offended if I don’t share the same opinion as you on a particular verse. ^^; I have my own tastes and will respect the next person’s when it comes to them. ;) Also, please beware the typos (which there most definitely will be)...

IN RELEASE DATE ORDER: (Hopefully they’re right)

MIRAGE COMICS~

Imma just say it: I haven’t read any of them yet. :/ There probably are sites out there that would allow you to view them online for free, but in truth, I’ve been a little slack about trying to find any... That may however change someday as I always tell myself I should really seek out the source material so it’s only a matter of time. What I do know, however, is that they’re of course a lot darker than most incarnations (which I don’t have a problem with personally) and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious as to exactly how much darker. X’D The closest I’ve come to ‘knowing’ these Turts comes from watching the Turtles Forever movie and they weren’t in it for a long time so it’s very difficult to say what they actually mean to me, so we’ll just put these guys down in the ‘not sure’ column for now. ;)

1987 CARTOON~

HAHA~ I think any fan of the franchise as a whole knows this little gem! The series that really hit it off and spawned over a 190 eps! Quite an impressive feat for a Saturday morning cartoon! It made its way to TVs the year before I was born, but it would take another few before it would reach our tubes (we’re always a few years behind the rest of the world :/ ) so I was around four when I was first introduced to it and needless to say, I loved it back then! Michelangelo was initially my fav due to him being my older brothers’ fav and the one they mainly spoke of, but it didn’t take long before my favering gravitated towards Leonardo (even at such a young age) and has been that way ever since. ;) But where exactly does the series stand with me as an adult nowadays with so many other verses we’ve been exposed to? I do hold a lot of nostalgia (as many older do) for it, and I mean, come on, that theme song is ageless, and I even started watching a lot of vids involving the original VAs and the shenanigans they get up to and seriously, it’s so heartwarming and fun to see them! But I have to be honest...

It’s not my fav verse, honestly. I will always adore them, of course, because of the nostalgia and the goofiness... But it’s the latter that’s mostly the reason for it being placed a bit lower on the favoritism ladder. While its a fun watch if you want something lighthearted, I still prefer the idea of the darker undertones that comes with being associated with ninjas. It’s just a preference. Plus, the Turtles designs are big one for me, and I’m sorry to say, but I keep seeing these fellas as more frog-like than turtle, despite the shells. X’D So yeah, no big reasoning for it, and even if someone were to ask me if I like these guys, I’ll still say yes, just that they’re not my ultimate fav is all. ;)

Also, we won’t talk about the Japanese Anime Ninja Turtles: Superman Legend or something to that extent... We’ll just let that one be gently swept under the carpet. ;) Only ever saw the trailer for it and that’s all I’ll ever need to see in my lifetime.

1990 MOVIES TRILOGY~

Now funny enough, I really don’t remember ever seeing these movies as a kid, though it’s possible I did and just maybe blocked the memory, but I highly doubt it... So yeah, I saw these movies as an adult already. The first is praised by most fans, and honestly, I can see why: it’s pretty good! :D The acting is very decent and the humour’s brilliant! The two sequels... not so much but still okay. ;) Where they sit with me... Not too far on the ladder again I’m afraid. :/ While I do really enjoy and appreciate the acting and that humour (”I made a funny.” X’D) it mostly comes down to the Turtles designs again... I really can’t see past them being actors in costumes rather than characters. :’( Granted, good actors. ;) And heck, Jim Henson did a phenomenal job! They’re just not really the movies for me is all, even if I do go back and watch ‘em every now and then. X’D I do however melt every time at the scene in the first movie where Raph wakes up in the bath and Leo’s there and apologizing and all... Makes me all gooey inside! X’D The feels are real! Speaking of Leo, though, he sounds even younger than Mikey. Small nitpick, that, but... why? X’D

But yeah, let’s just say, they’re good movies, just, not my favs.

Also, Coming Out Of Their Shells tour... Yeah, I’m gonna just... pretend that doesn’t exist for a minute. 

THE NEXT MUTATION~

Nope.

Saw one ep as a kid and am not interested in seeing anymore.

Although, VA Matt Hill voices Raph. That’s one good thing.

2003/2k3~

Well it wasn’t already apparent by my avatar... Ladies and gents, I present to you... My fav TMNT verse to date! Oh my goodness, where do I even begin with this delicious series?! :D Firstly, animation: so appealing, comic book-y style! Their designs: without sounding pervy, veeeeeeeery appealing (hehehehehe), no seriously, they sometimes have a bitta bulk to them but it honestly works, and dem muscles, and the cool eyes! The VAs: spot on! Perfect! Wouldn’t have ‘em any other way! Make me melt, Mr. Michael Sinterniklaas~ (cough) Their personalities: Omgosh, just yes! So perfect! They’re easily differentiated and yet still work together so well. Leo’s mature and level-headed (well, most of the time ;P ) yet still gets tested a lot and even has a fun side that’s shown on occasion. Raph’s grouchy and violent but is shown on more than one occasion that’s he’s total softie and really does care. Don’s just a sweetheart and freakishly smart and even has slips ups from time to time. Mikey... omgosh, best Mikey ever! So much fun! So hilarious! And just a bundle of energy, but not at all an idiot like he’s sometimes portrayed in other verses. He’s witty, mischievous and just so adorable! Heck, even Master Splinter, April, Casey, the lot of them are just awesome in this series! And wow, they really do lean more towards the source material (or so I’m told) when it comes to the plots! It’s darker than the other previous verses yet still remaining kid-friendly (although I question it at times XD) and omgosh, it’s just everything I want in a TMNT universe! Granted, it’s not perfect perfect, but it nailed it for me. ;) It really showed so lovely character developments, alsortsa different genres, the humour will leave you in stitches, the Turts are all just so lovable, I can’t get enough of them! This series was really my high point and I’ve yet to find one that tops it~

Btw, this even includes Fast Forward and Back to the Sewer (BTTS). The former being my least fav of the series simply due to the setting and again, it’s just preference. I even liked BTTS, even though I’m not overly fond of a cyberspace setting, but I found myself really liking the art style and the general plot. :D 

2007/2k7~

As with the last, if you’ve picked up on the page’s header/banner, you’d have probably guessed that the 2007 movie is also a good candidate for one my favs... And you’d be correct. ;) I’m actually very fond of this movie, and it’s largely due to the Turtles designs. I love how they were done! They just look so cool! <3 Subtle differences tell the viewer who’s who even if they didn’t have a mask or weapons. The VAs were also pretty good~ Now, the story isn’t the greatest, I’ll admit. Personally I thought it was okay, but know many fans think otherwise. But I did like the confrontation between Leo and Raph! It got real there, peeps! :O Now here’s also where it falls a little on its face for me: I didn’t really like how they handled Leo’s personality (if you haven’t already picked up on it, yes, I’m a Leo fangirl and I’m picky when it comes to how they handle his personality) but it’s a nitpick again, yet, I still feel compelled to state my opinion: the whole “I’m better than you.” comment really took me back and made me think they pushed it. I honestly like to believe he’d never actually say something like that... at least, 2003!Leo wouldn’t. X’D But that’s just my problem: I’m comparing a different verse’s Leo to this one and whether I like it or not, he said it. :/ Oh well, it still made for some fun action scenes and I’ll still always like the movie.

Bit of a goof on my side: I honestly thought that this movie was made to tie in with the 2003!verse due to the timeline in which it was produced, but turns out, it’s actually closer to the 1990′s timeline although still considered it’s own verse.

2012/2k12~

Oooh boy, lemme prepare for the backlash real quick... I’m uhhhh... not a fan of these boys. :/ I don’t mind them, but I’m honestly never gonna watch the series again. It’s hard to top your fav when you’ve kinda already hit your high point, ya know. Now before you light your torches and sharpen your pitchforks, hear me out: I will never bash the series, or make fun of anyone who likes it! Or anything to that extent! It’s just wasn’t for me, plain and simple, and it’s got nothing to do with it being ‘new’ or I’m just an old fart stuck in my ways. Heck, If you’re still reading, you would’ve found out that even nostalgia couldn’t beat the series that grasped me in my teens! So no, it has nothing to do with age. But if you do need a reason: I wasn’t overly fond of how they handle the characters. For one, they look and act a bit too young, Mikey is just... wow, something else. Donnie’s... sheesh, pretty snappy and antagonising. Raph’s well... okay, he’s meant to be angry half the time, and they did give him some more layers with Spike and Mona Lisa and whatnot, but he still kinda never learns his lesson if I can say that? He’ll learn that he shouldn’t cause issues with others, yet next episode he’s back at it again. :/ Leo’s... wow, just not like other Leos. X’D Best way I can describe him is... young? Very childlike. And even when he was progressing to becoming this better leader, I honestly couldn’t even see the change. My mind was just stuck on this “He’s a babeh.” notion. Also, I’m not even gonna start on this April and Casey. Just. No. Most of the characters were annoying and I just kept seeing recycled plot after plot. What I did like was the romance that blossomed between Raph and Mona (albeit far too rushed) and even Donnie liking April was adorable (but seriously Donnie, you can do so much better), and there were some really heartfelt moments, like Splinter telling Leo to leo his brothers with his heart and not his head, and the scenes when they were Tots will always make me squeal... But yeah... without leaving any spoilers.... about Splinter... just... thanks, Nickelodeon. Y’all know what I mean. Not once... But twice.... Really? So yeah, look, I realized some of those reasons might even be petty, but again, it’s just not the series for me, but anyone who’s a fan... You keep being a fan! ;) I’m glad you can enjoy something I can’t. ;)

2014/2k14/2016/2k16 AKA BAYVERSE~

HAHA~ Every fan’s favorite... If only. X’D Jokes aside, despite many fans claiming the Bay movies ruined the franchise, these two films gathered a small following... And I’m apart of it. :) Funny enough, I honestly didn’t know what to think of them when the movie first came out. I think I was just taken aback by the sheer amount of detail and all that went into their designs. I didn’t not like them, but again, their designs were a lot to take in. :O Even now after seeing the movies quite a few times over, I find myself constantly discovering something I didn’t notice on them before, be it a strap or a scar etc. And it honestly took some getting use to their sizes, I mean, sheesh! :O Not to mention the different background story, and Megan Fox’s wooden, expressionless acting, but despite all that... I found myself actually growing attached to these hulks of Turtles. They still have a lot of that heart in them and plus they’re just so much fun, I mean, can we say ‘Elevator scene’? X’D Now again, not perfect by anys mean, but still fun and pretty decent incarnations to add to the franchise. Again, Leo’s been given this ‘Better than you’ a bit which irked me to be frank. Not always but it’s there sometimes, but otherwise alright. Raph’s a decent Raph. Even had some tender moments. Donnie’s adorable! X’D This slightly potty mouthed geek that you just gotta love. And Mikey... although given that bitta ‘idiot’ feel, is also just as lovable and you want to hug him every time he’s onscreen! 

In short, I like ‘em. :) They’re actually closer to the top of the ladder than some others.

RISE OF THE TMNT/ROTTMNT/2018/2K18~

Yeeeeeeeeuuuuuuh... no. Sorry. Not for me. :/ Again, gonna remind y’all, nothing to do with age. Nothing to do with change. I will say that the fluid animation is nice, and the fact that they chose 2D animation. :) Buuuuuut, wow, they were certainly a lot to take in. Almost as much as Bay’s Turtles. After watching a few eps, I will conclude that they really just aren’t what I’m looking for. I found that the constant joking, while sometimes funny, got a little bit much, plus such short eps. Raph being leader was a switch and one that took awhile to get use to and honestly, I’m just not for it, I don’t even know where to begin with Donnie, Mikey’s okay, Leo... (deep breath) I don’t know what they were thinking... Let’s not even go to Master Splinter. But anyways, I get that change was what they were going for and that it was more so based on the 1987 toon with the silliness so that’s fine. I’m glad it’s got so many fans. :) And honestly, I wanna end off just by saying...

That no matter what your thoughts on what I’ve said, I hope you can respect my opinions and choices cause at the end of the day, they’re just my own, and I will always respect yours! :D If you adore the verses I’m not too crazy about, that’s great! :D I want you all to love the heck out of them! And honestly, this is what’s so great about this franchise: there are so many verses to choose from! So many options and tastes to suit any and all! You don’t have to follow the masses! You go enjoy whichever incarnation(s) you want to! ;) 

And there we have it, my first fandom bloggy thingy~ Hope there’ll be many more where that came from! :D

This is Drag0n-Mistr3ss signing off~