#if you need me i am on discord. if you hate me because of this i Cannot care please don't announce your departure just Go

[thecircularsystem]

Okay, English teacher to the rescue, hopefully. Let’s try to simplify this.

OP: System posting is allowed to be silly.

Random Person: Yeah I hate the focus on trauma.

Korya: Hey, while I agree people are allowed to be silly, talking about the trauma part is still important, and too much focus on the sillies can be harmful.

OP: Actually systems owe you nothing. We don’t need to post about our trauma, I want to be silly.

Korya: Nowhere did I say you had to post about trauma. All I was saying is that everyone only focusing on the more fun aspects, like alters, and never discussing the traumatic aspects, like what CDD systems experience, can lead to misinformation.

OP: Sorry if I’m misunderstanding, but what you’re saying feels like you’re saying I can’t post about alters. It isn’t misinformation to share silly things. You can post about trauma, but you should be allowed to be silly.

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: The above statement is part of what Korya said originally! You are in agreement!)

Korya: Yes, you are misunderstanding me. To clarify, I wasn’t doubling down, and I was just trying to add to the conversation.

OP: You are not clarifying. I’m sorry I misunderstood. I said people can be silly, and you said they have to share their trauma or else it’s misinformation. All I said is we don’t have to focus on trauma. What do you think is misinformation about that?

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Korya never claimed you can’t silly. They just said that always and forever only being silly is kind of erasing the trauma part of a trauma disorder pretty frequently, and EVERYONE ONLY EVER being silly can lead to aspects of CDDs and disordered plurality being erased. They never disagreed with your premise and said directly in their first response that they agreed with it.)

Korya: I have clarified and I don’t know how to clarify more. You started a conversation and I added to it with more insight. I didn’t respond to just what you said, but to what everyone has said on this topic in the past. Like I’ve said a few times now, I wasn’t calling you out (or disagreeing with you). You keep asking me for clarification, which I have tried to give. I explained that you misunderstood and you continued to say the same misunderstanding. I will stop the conversation here because the communication barrier is getting frustrating.

OP: You haven’t clarified shit and now I’m mad. I tried to be nice and polite but you rejected clarifying and rejected a conversation. You disagree with me and you said it’s misinformation to be silly online. You talk weird and I am now going to make fun of you for it, because I feel like you made fun of me for my lack of English skills, despite the fact that I brought it up. Fuck off and I’m now calling this post harassment of a teenager.

Korya: Well now I’m going to point out you’re legally an adult, and you’re arguing in an adult space about adult topics. Also your language barrier is the issue here.

……..

Does that clarify? =_=

TL;DR: OP, Korya literally said “I agree with you” and then added more thoughts. You read that and immediately went “that is a disagreement.” The word agree means the opposite of disagreement.

To further the actual convo Korya was trying to have (and Korya, I’d love to take this to discord or a different post!), people are absolutely allowed to post about the fun aspects of their disorder, but I do wish the trauma aspects were also celebrated. Or at least fucking welcomed.

Seeing constant posts of “I can’t believe people focus on their suffering, stupid fucking miserable people” really hurts as someone who tries to hold their trauma close for understanding and healing. I can’t grow past it unless I embrace it, and being told that it is bad to do so sucks — and many individuals (not OP, but many) in this topic of conversation treat my trauma as if it’s bad to even mention.

“DID/disordered plurality isn’t just about having silly guys in your brain, it’s about TRAUMA AND SUFFERING”

yeah ok sure. but it can also be about the silly guys. that’s okay too

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[dipplinduo]

(❀◦‿◦) BYFILWM Chapter 6 Teaser

[hummingbird-games]

this sounds extremely fatalistic and especially insane to say during BHM from yours truly, but I'm spiraling and looking at data and the state of the world (& my country specifically) and the stories I want to tell and the people who stories are centered and...

I don't think I ever want to charge money for my games. ever. they'll be free for the unforeseen future because I'm not tanking my health further by stressing out over what hateful, racist, insane players think. I'm already catching strays from trying to have f!MC protagonists??? can you unpack why that makes you wanna lash out and be nasty?? but preferably with someone else that's not me.

people talk such a big game about diversity and being inclusive and listening to Black voices and then turn around do the exact opposite. every single time.

ugh, I have a queued post going up...tomorrow?? that's a reblog from last year, but a warning: I was a very different person with a very different well of energy when I wrote it and when I scheduled that reblog.

[keirawantstocry]

.

[nounpolycule]

River Song for the unhinged character bingo! :)

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii sorry this took forever unfortunately my brain has been sooooo fuzzy for the last month. And also I went a bit overboard. Oops. Anyway. River <3

[Image description: A bingo board titled "Unhinged Character Bingo" in all caps. The title has two emoji faces around it - a too-wide, strained smile and a sobbing face. The rows read as follow:

1

“Daddy issues” (This square is covered by a screenshot of the Doctor Who character River Song and her father Rory Williams in the episode A Good Man Goes to War, the screenshot is of the scene that is their last interaction before Rory discovers that River is his daughter).

“*Incoherent sobbing*” (This square is covered by a screenshot of River inspecting the spacesuit she had been regularly trapped in as a child in the episode Day of the Moon).

"They just like me frrrrr” in all caps (This square is not covered).

“Angst angst angst” in all caps, with each repetition of the word being larger than the last (This square is covered by a screenshot of River right before she dies in the episode Forest of the Dead).

“God fucking damn it let them be happy” in all caps (This square is covered by a screenshot of River holding her diary, looking off-screen at the woman who is about to kidnap her in the episode Closing Time).

2.

“My pwecious widdle bubbububbub bububb” with a teary face in the corner (This square is covered by a screenshot of River and the Eleventh Doctor laughing under an umbrella in the mini episode Rain Gods).

“I torture them because I love them” with hearts (This square is not covered).

“I torture them because I hate myself” with a smiley emoticon in the corner (This square is covered by a screenshot of lyrics from the song Stay Soft by Mitski which read “[Chorus]/You stay soft, get beaten/Only natural to harden up/You stay soft, get eaten/Only natural to harden up”).

A crude drawing of a person gripping a figure in their teeth. Their slanted eyebrows, bared teeth, and wide eyes indicate strong emotion. There is an incomprehensible caps-lock keysmash behind them. (This square is covered by the cover for the Big Finish audio I Went to a Marvelous Party, which is from their series The Diary of River Song).

“I want to cradle them gently in my arms” (This square is covered by a screenshot of River and the Twelfth Doctor gripping each others’ arms and smiling in the episode The Husbands of River Song).

3.

“Go to ~fucking~ therapy” in all caps, in a shouting bubble (This square is covered by the cover for the Big Finish audio Signs, which is from their series The Diary of River Song).

“Why are they like this” with the word “why” in all caps. (This square is covered by a screenshot of River holding her arms out addressing a crowd while the Twelfth Doctor looks at her, appearing somewhat confused, from the episode The Husbands of River Song.)

"I’m so normal about them” in all caps with “(free space)” below it in all lower case (This square is covered by a screenshot of lyrics from the song Venus by Anaïs Mitchell which read “She came curving, soft and hard/Carved out of marble, tall and fair/Her heart is a temple and/Lover you better kneel if you ever enter there/She don't need no one/Don't need no one/Don't need no one to hold her hand/I just want to see her face again/I want to see her again“).

“If anything happens to them I will blow myself up” (This square is covered by a screenshot of Melody/young River looking frightened in the episode Day of the Moon).

“*Puts them in a snow globe and shakes aggressively” (This square is covered by a screenshot of River during the scene in which she marries the Doctor in the episode The Wedding of River Song).

4.

“I would take a bullet for them” (This square is covered by a screenshot of River reading her diary in her cell in Stormcage Containment Facility in the mini episode First Night).

“I would try to hug them and they would punch me” (This square is not covered).

“They are insane" in all caps, surrounded by sparkles. (This square is covered by a screenshot of River jumping off of a building in the episode Day of the Moon).

“Crying and punching the wall: "I hate you. I hate you."” (This square is not covered).

"Leave. Them. Alone!!!” in all caps (This square is covered by a screenshot of River, who is visibly upset, trapped in a spacesuit being used to control her actions to force her to kill the Doctor in the episode Day of the Moon).

5.

“I will kill anyone who hurts them.” (This square is covered by a screenshot of Melody/young River regenerating alone in the street in the episode Day of the Moon).

“I need to dissect them under a microscope” with a drawing of a person with eyebags holding a scalpel (This square is covered by a screenshot of River drinking wine with her parents in the episode The Wedding of River Song).

“Mommy issues” (This square is covered by a screenshot of River kissing her mother’s hand as she is about to be taken by a weeping angel in the episode Angels Take Manhattan).

“Hey do you want to hear a ten hour speech about this character” (This square is covered by a blurred screenshot of a conversation between two people on Discord).

“Get the fucking adoption papers.” (This square is not covered).

The covered squares result in many near-bingos and two bingos (one down the first column and one across the third row).

End image description.]

(image description adapted from @chronicfandombrain)

[love-strikes-thrice]

[Image Description: screenshot of Tumblr tags on light mode.

Tags read:

Getting real suspicious about the conflation of fantasy with reality in fandom.

"You must only read good and pure things! Otherwise you're secretly evil (smiley face)" is the song of book burners and history revisionists.

The growing number of fans treating shipping as a sign of moral purity is troubling at best and terrifying at worst.

Never trust someone who tells you to police your thoughts.

Never trust someone who tells you that bad thoughts are the same as bad actions.

And most of all.

Never trust a purity spiral.

Fandom

ID End]

I really think everyone needs to truly internalize this:

Fictional characters are objects.

They are not people. You cannot "objectify" them, because they have no personhood to be deprived of. They have no humanity to be erased. You cannot "disrespect" them, because they are not real.

[bleuberrygliscor]

people talk shit about "insular communities" and "safe space bubbles" but literally the most vile shit goes down outside of my nice curated internet space and i really think yall need to grow the fuck up actually.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄!

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Warnings: Pure Fluff, Razors, Shaving

Summary: Toji refuses to shave, and his girlfriend refuses to kiss him. She takes matters into her own hands to kiss her boyfriend's beautiful face again.

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji has to shave at least once per week, or else kissing him becomes a hassle. Toji’s problem is that he’s lazy, and he doesn’t like to shave. He claims it’s a waste of time and energy, and you argue about it because it prickles on your skin when you kiss… Or do anything else.

Yet, Toji complains when you refuse to kiss him. Throughout the day you randomly kiss him, something that the man has grown accustomed to, but when you notice a stubble, you avoid it. Toji notices the lack of love, and he hates it. He isn’t the tender one in your relationship, but during the sudden decline of affection, he tries to be. However, when Toji tries to kiss you, you put your hand over his mouth.

“You need to shave.” You tell him, and he frowns. You have no idea what you’ve done by declining his kiss– Oh, you’ve started a battle that you cannot end.

Rejecting his kiss is a sin in his eyes, and he’ll make sure you repent. He’ll let his facial hair grow, and you assure him that you won’t kiss him until he shaves. One of you will give up after some time without kissing, and he’s sure that it’ll be you. He won’t kiss you until you agree to kiss him with a beard (a stubble since at the bare minimum he trims it, he isn’t sure that a beard is the look for him).

He’s right, you’re a weak weak woman. By the second week, you want to jump on him and give him all your love. But he won’t listen to your pleads of shaving. You take matters into your own hands after a month.

“What’s that?” Toji asks, eyes looking up from his phone to find you holding a white plastic bag. Maybe he wouldn’t ask if you weren’t dangling it in front of him. You grab his hand and attempt to pull him up from the couch, and he stands up, a bit reluctantly. He smirks as you lead him to the bedroom, commenting, “I like where this is going.”

But then you take him to the bathroom, and force him to sit on the toilet. You get two things out of the plastic bag: shaving cream and a razor. He furrows his eyebrows before shaking his head, “I’m not doing it.”

“But I am.” There’s a certain look on your face, and he doesn’t dare challenge you because he knows that if he does, your relationship might come to an end. 

You open the faucet, and you splash cold water on his skin, causing him to jump up a little. You get shaving cream all over his beard, before you grab the razor. You swipe the razor in an upward movement on his skin, and he whines, “If you’re going to do this, at least be careful and don’t cut me.”

You cut him again, and he whines again. It takes a couple more cuts before he grabs the razor from you, and goes to the mirror to do it himself. You smile at him through the mirror, and he swears it’s a demonic smile. You got what you wanted in the end.

You watch every movement through the mirror, and when Toji is finished, you squish his face. Toji scowls, and you peck his lips. You kiss him over and over again, and his face softens. You kiss his cheeks and all over his face. He would almost hate that you’ve won, if you weren’t so loving.

“I love kissing your little face.” You take a break between kisses before continuing, and Toji smiles. He has to push you off, although he’s a bit disappointed at his own actions. He wants to let you kiss him all day long, but he can’t. He has to interrupt you. 

He says, “I have to grab some bandaids.”

[ohdeerfully]

Man, I just need some more sleepy Alastor x reader. Honestly, I don’t know what the plot would be or whatever but I am a literal magnet when it comes to sleepy characters😋😋

Lazy Morning

Alastor x Reader (fluff)

TW: none!

join my discord!

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You stretched your arms up and out as you woke up, eyes flickering open at the bright red of Hell’s sky filtering through the curtains of your room. You let your eyes close again for a moment, sighing and going limp under your covers again. You had a long night, and just… a few more minutes…

Your consciousness started slipping again, and you felt so comfortable under your fluffy duvet…

Knock, knock knock

Your eyes cracked open and you couldn’t stop the groan that escaped your lips. You knew exactly who knocked on your door, because he had a particular way of doing so every time. You weren’t upset that he was here, but you were upset that he was rousing you from your comfortable bed.

“Let yourself in,” You called, unintentionally sharp. You tugged the blanket around your face tighter, staring at the door as it opened softly.

Alastor peeked the top half of his body in, looked at you, laughed lightly, and fully entered the room. 

“My dearest,” He said through a gentle grin. His head tilted to the side, as if he was confused to see you laying there. “It’s… rather late in the morning! Don’t waste your eternity lying in bed!”

You simply hummed in response, and you didn’t move an inch. He stepped forwards towards your bed, looming over you. You had trouble seeing his face in the long shadows cast by the violently bright morning beaming through your curtains. But, you could tell there was a disapproving look in his features. He hated unproductivity. 

“Could you close the curtains tighter,” You pleaded, ignoring his earlier comment. You were growing irritated at the light, and shoved your face into the pillow.

Alastor ‘tsked’ and walked towards the curtains. His sharp fingers dug into the fabric… before he sharply pulled them apart, blasting light into your room.

You shouted wordlessly at him, though an intelligible ‘you dick’ was heard in your otherwise mindless yells. Alastor only cackled at you, dramatically wiping a fake tear from his eye—the sound of a laugh track on his cane joined him. He was cut off when a pillow hit him square in the face.

“Fucking close them!” You practically screamed. Your voice cracked, still dripping with sleep. You were squinting in the light to the point your eyes might as well be shut.

Alastor obeyed with a hum, a pleased look in his eyes at his own antics. The room was swamped in darkness. The demon walked towards your bed again, his eyes slightly glowing in the darkness. You watched him as he watched you.

“Now, when do you plan on not being so lazy?” There was a hint of a tease in his voice. “It’s a wonderful day in Hell.”

You slid your arms out from the blanket and reached towards him. He looked at your arms strangely. You rolled your eyes at his cluelessness.

“I’ll get up if you stay with me for a few minutes.”

Alastor thought for a moment before gingerly setting himself down on the bed near you. “I’m not going to babysit you,” He began. “Just b-” You cut him off with a whine. His eyes narrowed at you.

“Get closer,” You demanded, your arms still outstretched. Alastor wasn’t the biggest fan of your childish attitude, but he bit back a comment and scooted a couple inches forward. You lifted yourself up slightly and slid your hands behind his back, tugging him forward.

With anybody else, Alastor would have probably yanked off an arm, or something. His heart held a strangely soft spot for you, though, and he was able to fight off his instincts to let himself get dragged by your hands. He caught himself from falling completely forward, his hands placed flat on either side of your head.

You smiled up at him, a sleepy look still affecting your eyes. He felt his chest squeeze while he looked down at you. It took him a while to get used to the strange, alien emotions you made him feel in the months after he confessed to “feeling a strange way about you”, but he was starting to become more acquainted with them. He clenched his jaw, his smile becoming low and watery as his eyes watched your hand drag a light finger down his cheek.

“You curse me,” His voice was low and intimate, and it lacked the sound of radio frequency. His face inched closer to yours as he spoke. “I feel so weak near you.” He kept the fact that he hated it to himself.

You gave him a lazy, lopsided grin. “I consider myself more like a hex, really.” This made Alastor smile a bit wider. He pressed his face into your neck, and you laughed lightly at the sensation of his hair tickling your skin. He inhaled sharply before sighing, settling his body next to you.

What a change in mood, You thought to yourself as Alastor snaked an arm under your head. You saw a tired look in his eyes, something that he would tend to hide in his day to day. You knew he didn’t sleep much. 

“It’s been a few minutes,” Alastor commented. His voice had a twinge of exhaustion in it, likely brought on by laying down. It was no surprise that sleep would jump on him like a rabid animal since he kept himself awake for seemingly days on end.

“Just a few more,” You pleaded. You pressed your face into his chest, and felt it rumble slightly when he hummed an ‘okay’ in response to your request. You curled your arm around his torso.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you know you did when you crack open your eyes and your body feels heavy, still waking up. You lift yourself, but stop when you feel the weight of Alastor’s arm around you. You smile when you look down and see a soft, sleepy smile on his lips and a relaxed look on his features.

You slip yourself from his grip, and his eyes crack open. His eyebrows furrow for a moment, and you watch as he stifles a yawn.

You wordlessly blinks his eyes open and looks at you.

“Ready to get up?” You ask him, leaning over to stare directly down at him.

He closes his eyes in response again and sighs, simultaneously lifting an arm to lightly wrap around your waist.

You watch him for a few seconds, before looking up and around your room. Your eyes settle on your curtains, an ominous glow of light emanating from the edges. A sinister smile peaks your lips, and you weigh the pros and cons.

It was a brief thought, though, because when you looked back down at Alastor all evil intent left your body. This guy never slept, you shouldn’t interrupt this just to get back at him.

Plus, how endearing he looked, so vulnerable underneath you. The Radio Demon, sleeping, guards lowered, trusting you. You leaned down and pressed a careful kiss against his forehead before lying back down. He was quick to swamp you with his arms once again, and you suddenly wondered if it’d be so bad to sleep the day away.

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[windrunner]

raw emotion if you're pissy about it i cannot care okay i am trying to leave my home for the second time this year and i do not give a shit. ledge time

i am locking the fuck in regarding getting shit done to get myself into a safe place where i can help my friends also come stay if they need a safe place in a sanctuary state but like.

i am going to be honest and say that i am sort of just accepting my own possible death today (from potential lack of access to intersex and trans healthcare), so if you find me very abrasive and rigid here i'm sorry! genuinely. there is no version of me who wanted to be saying any of this shit today.

i feel exactly like i did back in March of this year when i was almost made homeless by my ex and almost ended my own life because my grandma had died traumatically on the operating table 30 minutes before. i feel like i'm scratching at a wall with no handholds trying to pull myself up out of a pit. i feel so totally alone. i don't know who to reach out too and i'm frankly a little too busy to put myself first. so i'm going to word vomit here.

the only thing i am morbidly glad about is that i now see who i Shouldn't waste my energy or time on. and sadly that's a massive fucking majority of self-described ""leftist"" people i used to know (especially the people on my instagram. what the fuck is happening on ig) who seem to be... Gleeful? about the despair and genuine suicidal idealization so many people are experiencing. people who really do think this is going to "teach us a lesson". I'm glad I can at least kick those people out of my life for good. I'm sad that I've seen that here as well.

i now fully understand that you have viewed me as nothing but a useful idiot. I'm not your token hermaphrodite. I'm not your token faggot. I'm not your token tranny. Neither me or my loved ones are an acceptable sacrifice for whatever the fuck your ideals are, and I'm going to fight to create that safe place for us still. I hope and WANT you to prove me wrong with the "revolution!1!" shit but i have no confidence in anyone who thinks minority USians deserve this.

i hate that i had to see a highschool friend blaming the jewish and black american communities for this outcome (which is why i reblogged that post with those tags). i had to see so much fucking racism and misogyny on display. it's in my own house. i now know that my own father would not care if i'm barred from my medication because "at least now the mexicans will stop taking jobs." i hate how hateful everything is. i just want to crumple into a ball.

but I'm getting a car this week. I'm going to get any job that will take me and then transfer it to my nearest sanctuary state. I discussed it with my mother over lunch and both of us are genuinely scared about my republican father's (most likely violent) reaction to these results. it's not safe for me here.

i've already started downsizing my things. my christmas present will hopefully be a down payment on an apartment in a different state. i pray that the biggest thing i'll be complaining about in early 2025 is having to work doubles or two jobs.

i'm terrified and i'm numb and i HOPE the results shift in the coming days but today was just too much. something broke in my chest that i don't think i'm going to get back for at least a few years, if we're being optimistic.

i refuse to venerate suffering but i also acknowledge that i am suffering so badly right now. i really wish someone would give me a hug tbh

i don’t want this in the tags so buffer post

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ( a collection of unhinged and relatable things said on discord. feel free to change wording as needed! do not add to the list. )

❛  you know bullying is my love language and you’re still here so… ❜ ❛  i mean... who am i to say no to that. ❜ ❛  hey, some might be into that. i won’t judge. much. ❜ ❛  we can both be dumb but pretty. ❜ ❛  because you wanna know why? fictional men can't disappoint me like real life men can. ❜ ❛ i need someone that’d end the world for me.  ❜ ❛ can’t be sad with dick / pussy. or nice tits.  ❜ ❛  thinking of how they're all old in this movie like wow i love dilfs and milfs. ❜ ❛  he fucking is like a ROACH, CAN'T EVER GET RID OF HIM. ❜ ❛  [name] do not encourage their antics, I BEG OF YOU. ❜ ❛  don't bully me, i'll cry. ❜ ❛  [name]..... why are you such a people pleaser. ❜ ❛  i am an indecisive bitch okay. ❜ ❛  don't squish his TUMMY! ❜ ❛  fair enough but what did you do dumb bitch? ❜ ❛ i have a flyswatter, i will smack him.  ❜ ❛  oh god yeah, add that motherfucker as well... the hate list grows. ❜ ❛  he gets no peace in any universe. ❜ ❛  if they get hurt, they get hurt. ❜ ❛  no love… there is no love in this house. ❜ ❛  truly, the braincells are not in my head. ❜ ❛ i wanna grab his waist. ❜ ❛  they just… need to fuck the anger out. ❜ ❛  could be worse but i'm judging. ❜ ❛ yes, oil me up baby.  ❜ ❛  don't you shush me. ❜ ❛  how dare you make me NOT distracted. ❜ ❛  i'm sure you've seen each other naked before, this is nothing new. ❜ ❛  suffer. ❜ ❛  i ... fucking THIEF. ❜ ❛  old men are just superior. ❜ ❛  sometimes people just deserve to be stabbed. ❜ ❛  bisexuals don't sit normally. ❜ ❛  i never said i was smart. ❜ ❛  what am i to say about this? want me to kiss your booboos better? ❜ ❛  JOKES ON YOU, I ACTUALLY DO, AHAHAHAHA. ❜ ❛  we both know you have a mask kink. ❜ ❛  kick him six feet under. ❜ ❛  to be fair i only killed those at the gate. ❜ ❛  well sooooorry, can't all be goody-two-shoes like [name]. ❜ ❛  i'm gonna murder you. ❜ ❛  it's because you're OLD. ❜ ❛  we're just ... too nice for our own good. ❜ ❛  and then you got sweaty [name] out here going batshit crazy and killing a whole building of people. ❜ ❛  we are in fact too dumb and yet here we are. ❜ ❛  actually i'm a liar, i'd let a lot of men get it. ❜ ❛  oOP NOT ME SEEING ANOTHER VIDEO/PICTURE AND I THINK HE'S FINGERING HER. ❜ ❛  he's adorable when he isn't being a gremlin and trying to randomly bite me. ❜ ❛  it’s in my contract of existing to bully everyone. ❜ ❛  well clearly you enjoy it since you’re still here. ❜ ❛  feeling a little called out? ❜ ❛  anything can be a dildo if you're brave enough. ❜

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Sooo something has been brought to my attention that immediately needs to be addressed.

The user @asmodeus-682 (can @ them freely since they've already blocked me and I cannot reach out to them) is throwing around accusations that I'm a pro-shipper of Solar x Moon, a ship that's grown in popularity amongst some members in the TSAMS community. And is bashing anyone and everyone associated with it.

Gonna come out and call bullshit.

Yes, I did like some art of it from accounts I follow because I thought what was happening in said art was cute. But...that doesn't mean I ship it???

It's also NOT INCEST?????

Since when does liking something equate to supporting something else???

People can like Harry Potter and hate JK Rowling at the same time, so idk what logic is being used here.

Do I think SolarMoon is cute? Yes.

Do I ship it? No, it's personally not my cup of tea. Kidscove still has my heart and soul.

I understand some are hesitant to approach it or are heavily against it because Solar was given the title of "cousin" by Earth and has been accepted into the family. I, as a moderator in the official TSBS Discord server, have been cautious to not let any discussions of SolarMoon transpire BECAUSE of this fact.

But y'all...

This is so dumb.

So unbelievably fucking dumb.

I'm mostly pissed because I am having to delay progress on a thumbnail to have to type this out and yet I still feel the need to.

At the end of the day people like what they like. The ship isn't gonna affect the show in any way because it's never going to happen.

And don't drag the VAs into even more bullshit drama, they've had enough. My friends don't need more in their lives than what they've already gone through the past year.

Supporting an artist, does not mean you are a supporter of Incestuous ships. It means you like art.

And being personal friends with Reed, the VA for Moon, I can tell you with utmost certainty he does not fucking care.

If anyone has questions feel free to message me. Let's be adults about this.

edit: for the love of god DO NOT GO HARASSING PEOPLE. I DO NOT CONDONE ANYONE TO GO AFTER THIS PERSON OR ANYONE IN THE COMMENTS. THAT IS NOT COOL.

[audioroleplayconfessions]

i dont want to reveal my identity (youll see why in a sec lol) so im saying this here rather than my main account cause im relatively well known in redacted tumblr (annnd im a pussy and this is sort of weighing on me a bit).

i dont know how to say it but there are these chats?? like mainly on discord and instagram and i think some other places too (idk i dont have twitter or x or whatever but i think theres one there too) where people have lists of these accounts they dont like and resolve to 'punish them'. im sure im explaining this terribly but i cant really say much without the people in these chats instantly knowing who i am and adding me to their insane hate pile puritan police bullshit.

i got added to one of the discord chats in august by a mutual from a redacted server i was in (not the main one like some fan one from tumblr) and genuinely? it is fucking insane. think genuine csi shit. like sorting people into who supports 'problematic ships' and 'supports problematic characters' or who are 'rape apologists' or even just 'icky' and genuinely allocating certain people to harass and threaten them. and i mean seriously organising. as in scheduling when to spam anons or making hate posts or trying to work out their real identities to 'drill the lesson in' (actual quote).

whats worse is that many bigger accounts in the fandom are in these chats. like people ive been friendly with for months (if not years) who i thought were cool, but then act completely different there. i wont name drop or anything, mainly to respect the rules of this blog and preserve my own identity (cause god knows they dont deserve that after some of the shit theyve said and done), but if youre in redacted tumblr, you defintely know at least some of them. 100% you do.

ive gone out of my way to warn some of these accounts ive seen on there frequently (so if you got an anon warning you about these chats hello!! its me!!) but i cannot understate how fucking crazy they are. not only do these supposed 'progressive accepting people' resort to misogyny, transphobia, homophobia and racism (esp this one, jesus the slurs) towards any account they dont like, they also genuinely view themselves as these insane moral authorities set on 'cleansing the fandom of the filth' (another actual quote from one of the discord chats. i genuinely had to take a lap after reading it bc it was so cringe and insane it physically hurt)

i swear im telling the truth with this btw, i know it sounds so stupid and unbelievable but i just needed to get it out of my system because ive been lurking in this chat and i feel kinda responsible for all the hate these poor people are getting, since im not standing up against them. so to anyone whos received heavy hate for 'problematic opinions' im really fucking sorry man. i shoulda tried to put a stop to it but there were so many big accounts there i was afraid of getting ostracised from the community or targeted myself.

anyway, point is. be careful. watch ur faves. and god, everyone in this moral brigade stop being so fucking demented. youre making this unfun for everyone.

(thank you for giving a space for me to speak about this btw bc i genuinely dont know how i wouldve told people widescale otherwise. i really appreciate the space you provide for us all <33 )

.

[nipuni]

We went to see Phantom Madrid last weekend!! ❤️ Geronimo Rauch was amazing!! I'm going to write my thoughts on the whole performance under a cut for those interested 😊

I am going to be comparing it to the London version for reference since it's the only one I've seen live. I think my first impression was that It was better than I expected it to be! I read opinions about the Trieste production and I was a little worried but I found that I enjoyed a lot of the things I've seen being criticized.

The stage spinning around was awesome and added so much depth to scenes and made transitions very smooth. The backdrops were very nicely done!

As for costumes I think they were pretty good with the exception of Aminta's dress and the Masquerade costumes being kind of underwhelming.

The singing was good overall, although the translated lyrics are weird sometimes. The main songs translate well but some others become very confusing in Spanish, some wording seems forced and some notes are slightly altered to fit the phrases. Raoul is very calm and soft, maybe a little too much at times, Christine is very neutral and simple. Geronimo was amazing tho no notes!

Now the acting! I have opinions 😫 This show was very Christine and Raoul centric to such an extent that it flattened the plot for me 😬 Christine seems scared and disgusted from start to finish so there is no conflict in her character. She is never torn, she recoils from the phantom's touch during Music of the Night, and during Final Lair she sings the "pitiful creature of darkness" lines looking at Raoul the whole time backing away towards the phantom and steeling herself and only turns reluctantly at the last second to kiss Erik. She comes back to return his ring and just leaves it on the organ stool as soon as he turns around because she's scared to get close to him, when he sings "I love you" she shakes her head at him 🥹 like girl please give us something!!

Geronimo's phantom is a delight tho!! He whimpers, crawls, cries, screams, pants, it's great. He's acting his butt off and is the highlight of the show for me.

A thing that I really liked was in the end when the mob comes Erik is curled up in his bed crying and Madame Giry finds him there and tells him to hide under the covers and leads the mob away from him, I thought it was sweet and transitions into LND nicely.

OH also!! I really enjoyed the Phantom swinging on a rope across the stage during the ballet and Buquet's hanging, it's so good!! the flaming chandelier scene is also good!! in Final Lair they actually hang Raoul in the air which was very nice too! (and with his shirt still on) and even the angel wings and flying that I've seen people hating on was honestly so cool. It didn't look as goofy as I expected it to, it's very smooth and the lighting makes it scary, he casts thunder and flies!! the wings are not very visible since the scene is very dark. The light work was super good in general.

Masquerade and Don Juan were a bit of a let down, much simpler but not bad. I think my main issues were about the choices for Christine really 🤔 and I think some scenes needed more movement, especially the roof one (they couldn't move because they are sitting on a ledge)

The show in general feels a bit one note compared to the West End version but it was good!! I'm just nitpicky 😂 also I want Geronimo's autograph!! I love him 😭

Anyway if you want to see/hear more let me know on discord wink wonk 😁