#will be posting as soon as i finish writing it :DD

[russelliv]

gewis + charlos hanahaki disease au

[content warning: mentions of blood, vomiting]

It started with an itch he can't quite clear his throat from.

George thought it was just his annual pneumonia symptoms. God knows he's had those terrible, body-racking coughs seemingly always near the end of the season.

So of course, George concluded that was that and took his previously prescribed antibiotics from Aleix's med kit.

What it actually is, though, is far from the truth.

George is experiencing the weirdest pain in his life, with his lungs expanding but not getting enough air, with his roaring heartbeat over his ears but not causing it at all, and his whole being suddenly aches with longing.

He crumples over the back of his motorhome, knees digging on damp grass, with heaving breaths and aborted coughing. He absolutely hates throwing up, especially the build-up to it, but at least he's not going to do it inside where the stench can stick.

George swallows, trying to control his breathing and heartbeat back to normal when suddenly, a cough starting deep from his lungs takes control.

He quickly covers his mouth with both of his hands, coughing into it as he wheezes through breaths. Once the coughing stopped, he sighs in relief and quickly wipes at his mouth...seeing red.

George stares in horror, with cold sweat trickling its way down the back of his neck, at his bloody hands and three different colored petals: a bright magenta Brazillian corsage orchid, a beautiful golden Brazillian trumpet tree, and a haunting black English rose.

————

Carlos knows it's his.

Spending every minute of the day with someone throughout the year, attatched at the hip for almost 5 years...it's impossible not to get attatched.

Yes, maybe he got too attatched, but what can you expect with his too soft heart—the one that his papá strongly taught him to suppress—and mesmerizing verdant green eyes, whose owner gave him life amidst the constant pressure and disappointment among the rosso corsa?

Ironically, the rosso corsa that he associates with failure is also the color of his love. Petals of blazing red Italian poppies, bold yellow Spanish brooms and intense red Monégasque carnations living within him, taking up space in his lungs without care just as the thief of his heart did in his life.

Carlos has had it in him long enough to know love's symptoms—and knows he's the only one in the paddock experiencing it—so why the fuck is he staring at George Russell at the rear end of his motorhome, hunched over with three colorful petals and blood on his hands?

"Mierda."

[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist 

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you. 

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance. 

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic. 

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within. 

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home. 

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes. 

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties. 

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life. 

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you. 

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind. 

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders. 

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head. 

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid. 

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened. 

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence. 

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again. 

How inspiring. 

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home. 

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?” 

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather. 

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. 

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect. 

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly. 

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.” 

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man. 

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road. 

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward. 

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same. 

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness. 

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.” 

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire. 

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…” 

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin. 

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.” 

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most. 

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again. 

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard. 

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.” 

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue. 

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good. 

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze. 

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots. 

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely. 

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck. 

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.” 

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan. 

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.” 

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest. 

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life. 

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?” 

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.” 

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed. 

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating. 

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough. 

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch. 

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.” 

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it. 

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.” 

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?” 

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death. 

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.” 

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message. 

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?” 

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.” 

Fuck. 

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness. 

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans. 

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible. 

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you. 

With words, this time. 

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.” 

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.” 

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain. 

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it. 

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh. 

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that. 

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries. 

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there. 

And you would—had he not buckled you in place. 

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody. 

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him. 

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.” 

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts. 

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?” 

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers. 

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning. 

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.” 

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level. 

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way. 

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing. 

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder. 

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.” 

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible. 

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again. 

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether. 

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone. 

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.” 

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by. 

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.” 

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length. 

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal. 

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.” 

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?” 

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.” 

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?” 

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.  

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now. 

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.” 

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date. 

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him. 

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum. 

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand. 

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight. 

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago. 

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it. 

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside. 

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” 

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you. 

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper. 

“Swallow it, baby.” 

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after. 

“Good girl.” 

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.” 

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?” 

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed. 

“You do, baby.” 

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once. 

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray. 

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit. 

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy. 

He’s Father. 

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands. 

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil. 

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum. 

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering. 

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with. 

Sunny side up it is. 

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it. 

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs. 

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?” 

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten. 

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him. 

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it. 

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away. 

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon. 

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems. 

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers. 

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees. 

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month. 

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days. 

You’re not letting go of him. 

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner. 

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck. 

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around. 

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest. 

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him. 

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them. 

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again. 

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?” 

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him. 

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay. 

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry. 

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it. 

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue. 

And you do. 

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper. 

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso. 

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before. 

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?” 

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.” 

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand. 

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?” 

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.” 

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro. 

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?” 

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is. 

It’s what propels you to get on your knees. 

“Baby.” 

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder. 

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.” 

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat. 

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?” 

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time. 

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

“Down the hall. First door to the right.” 

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is. 

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own. 

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling. 

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before. 

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too. 

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face. 

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.” 

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves. 

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face. 

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?” 

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t. 

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura. 

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking. 

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.” 

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond. 

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.” 

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore. 

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back. 

You come and you don’t stop. 

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer. 

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.” 

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.” 

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises. 

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?” 

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.” 

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.” 

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say. 

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing. 

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do. 

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in. 

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way. 

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed. 

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.” 

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.” 

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you. 

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him. 

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do. 

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out. 

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake. 

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created. 

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again. 

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet. 

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?” 

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him. 

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.” 

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat. 

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?” 

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him. 

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.” 

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations. 

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.” 

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?” 

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently. 

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?” 

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle. 

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek. 

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves. 

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk. 

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?” 

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins. 

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.” 

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane. 

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do. 

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes. 

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

[factual-fantasy]

24 asksss :}}} ⭐⭐⭐

@ardent-38

You are my favorite person

@wolfie-777

Cassie does not exist in my AU. But hypothetically-

If Roxanne found this lost child she would report it to Vanessa and have her help Cassie. As is the protocol for children that are found on the premises after hours.

If Roxy found her while she had the "bug" in her system? She would have attacked and maybe even killed Cassie :x

Had to google what that was, <XD It looks beautiful! And I image that he has seen it before yeah :)

As for their favorite songs, I'm not sure :0

That's.. actually a really good idea.

For a long time I never went back to the comic because the writing I did was awful. Everyone was acting out of character, it was SUPER dramatic. I wrote Peso's character all wrong. Uhg, awful awful awful.

And then I was kept away from going back because people would not stop asking me to finish it. "Why did you abandon this comic?" "Are you gonna finish it?" "Why did you stop drawing it" "Go back and finish the crab comic" Like, it was so frustrating.

...Buuuuutt,, rewriting it? Hmmm... I'm way too wrapped up with projects to start this anytime soon. But I wont lie this ask really got me thinking about it-

Also thank you so much! I'm glad you like my art!! :DDD

@smilegirl64 (Post in question)

Thank you! I'm so glad you noticed! That was my favorite detail to add XDDDD

@elegysonnet

I dug into the series a bit and took a look around the fanbase. And I decided that it just wasn't really my thing.

Although I did love the character designs and I think they'd be really fun to draw, I didn't think I'd get along with the fandom. I can see myself huddled in my own little corner with all my headcannons and stuff, and I wouldn't really want to interact with anyone else. :/

Also my favorite character is probably Julie or Howdy XDD

I use an XPPen Artist 13.3 Pro. Its a tablet with a screen! :))

As for my drawing program I use FireAlpaca. Its free and really good for beginners and pros! Highly recommend if you're just getting into digital art. Also thank you!! :D

@baokim80

@burningmusicfunnygiant

I disagree actually. The "bug" aside, they are in no way programed to hurt anyone. They are programmed to have full obedience to staff and Managers.

They could try to stop them, and they could physically stand in their way. But you wouldn't see Freddy straight up punching an employee to keep him away from Bonnie.

Now with the bug in their systems? mmm.. Okay yeah they would. BUT ONLY WHEN THEY'RE NOT IN THEIR RIGHT MINDS-

@cudlycorncornsworthcoberson

XDD Offended Bibi noises can be heard in the background

@curiousskelekitty

<XD I'll do my best!

I feel that my responsibility as an artist on this platform is to tag my art appropriately. Tag it for blood, gore, injuries, things like that. So that people who are disturbed by those subjects don't have to stumble upon it and have their day ruined. :(

What is NOT my responsibly is to prevent little kids from seeing my bloody Octonauts artwork. That's the parents job. XD THEY should be keeping an eye on their kids and making sure they're not browsing sites like Tumblr XDD

Tangle and Lolbit are not a part of my AU actually.

But Mangle? Just because she hasn't made an appearance of any kind yet, doesn't mean she wont in the future.. 👀

Thank you! :DD

Thank you! I'll try to not rush through my projects so much <XD

Thank you for respecting that! :D

Also uhg. I hate pinterest. I would rather people just never found out about me then find me through a pinterest post with my stolen artwork.

@whereismycupofcoffee

YEESSS!!! I always love it when people decide to give Octonauts a try :))) Its a really neat show!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDDD

XD My first thought was Peso or Shellington for some reason. They're just too polite to make a fuss XDDD

@kymbird

Wanna know a good place to start if you genuinely struggle with that? Make 1 character that is based off of you. And then make a second character that is based off of someone in your life that you have 0 romantic interest in what so ever. Like your Mom, or your Dad, siblings, Uncle, dog literally anyone. It should be impossible to twist those 2 characters together because they are modeled after you and ur mom. You should look at them and say "thats me and my mom" or "thats me and my brother" Those 2 should then be characters that are 100% protected from becoming a ship. :0

This actually reminded me of my transformer ocs. I modeled the characters after the drivers/owners. And people wanted to ship them together and I was like "for 1 they are my OCs so thats kind'a odd but 2 those two characters are based off of siblings. They absolutely should not- in ANY universe, be paired together"

Personally not a huge fan of the bright blue color he has. Seeing his Bonnie Bowl artwork everywhere I expected him to be his usual purple..

As for my Bonnie I think he'd get along pretty well with his Glamrock counterpart! But when it comes to the Bowling ally they'd be rivals. >:)

Also thank you! :DD

@trains-of-thought

aaaa thank you so much!! :DD I'm so glad to hear that you've liked my Mario artwork!! And that you read the info aaaa!! I spent a lot of time writing all that so I'm glad to hear that you read it! As for your questions,

1: Yes! My Peach, Daisy, Wario and Waluigi are all the same species, which is not human. They are this incredibly tall elf like species that closely resembles humans and has many biological similarities.. but ultimately they are very different species.

2: Its hard to say.. I've been known to change my mind a lot so maybe? Honestly I hope that someday these feelings towards fanart will vanish and I will be able to engage with my fans more. But for now,, noooo fanworks :(

OH MY GOSH I LOVE THAT FNAF VIDEO XDD Very well animated and funny! Here's the link in case anyone is interested!

I drew it myself! :)

[tartagluvr]

soo i'm rewriting nightbringer...aha

have you found yourself confused with nightbringer? annoyed at the whole 'you don't remember anything except yes as the player you do'? unhappy with the plot and or unsatisfied with how mc reacts to everything? have you ever wished mc were more emotionally open with how truly trying this experience would be?

well i have. lolol. so i've made it my lifes mission to rewrite and expand on multiple scenes of the game. essentially all the way up to ch11 because lets be honest i'm in my mammon era and broke.

before i explain further let me just- *flashes credentials

to keep this short and sweet, i'm finally giving nightbringer a try after getting over the devs no longer caring for swd like...a year too late. and well! i've just really not liked how nonchalant mc is in game with the whole 'oh no whoopsie you're in the past now and everyone hates you' thing. lord the way i would've asked diavolo to kill me on the spot in the construction of RAD. so i've been writing out more detailed fully-fledged versions of certain lessons. and of course i want to unleash that pain upon tumblr. guess i'm back for good now until i burn out of nightbringer due to how hard it is to get grimm :DD

i'll begin publishing them as i finish them, and will attach them to this original post to serve as a masterlist of sorts. though i'm not covering every single lesson, so if anyone comes across this and has a request feel free to let me know!! inbetween rekindling my love for animating in-game cards (mamzgf on tiktok!) and writing think pieces on nightbringer, my creative passion has returned.

final notes: i will be including some of my own personal headcanons for the story in here. a few off the top of my head, just in case they aren't your cup of tea: mc does remember everything when they are sent to the past. mc's powers being in a weakened state exhaust them to use, sometimes causing physical harm from the pulling of magic they do not own. solomon can freely go back to the present with barbatos' help, and does so from time to time to update the demon brothers on the situation. and a silly one, but the brothers find random historical photos of the devildom sometimes with an all too familiar looking figure in the back of them all :)

see you soon mc! -tete :3

- ch1; lesson 1-1 through 1-12

-ch1; lesson 1-17 through 1-18

-ch2; lesson 2-2 through 2-3 (coming soon!)

-ch2; lesson 2-5 through 2-9 (coming soon!)

[vegaly-art]

And with that my character design series comes to an end!!! Wooo!!! :DD Thank you all for the support and such. I will try to start making more art (probably mostly sketches and such) with all these funky designs. Also I technically did not get to EVERY character and listener just because the rest are either from series I did not watch (Ollie, Guy, etc), or just didn't fit into the groups I made too well (Ex: Pet, Ivan, Baby and Baby 2.0, etc), or made groups bloated like a bunch of the extended family, the rest of the pack, other vamps and all that. But hey, who knows?? Maybe I'll get to em one day :P. Also if you guys have requests for silly situations or just have questions about any of my designs/listeners I would be happy to draw em out :DDD. I am planning next to probably do a "Magic 101" type post about how I see magic looking in all my characters :P. It's totally my own headcanon but it may be fun! I may open commissions somewhat soon I just need to get all my details in order. Also fanfics. I want to write and finish and update more ficlets or oneshots to share <3.

[black-arcana]

LACUNA COIL Is Putting Finishing Touches On New Studio Album: We Are 'Super Happy About The Result'

Italian metallers LACUNA COIL are putting the finishing touches on their new studio album.

Earlier today (Wednesday, July 24),LACUNA COIL bassist and main songwriter Marco "Maki" Coti-Zelati took to Instagram to share a photo from the studio, and he included the following message: "Getting closer to the end of the new album. I'm super happy about the result and super proud about my fellas! Few more days of editing, arrangements and mixing then finally we will be ready for the mastering. Thank you guys".

Last month, LACUNA COIL announced the departure of guitarist Diego Cavallotti.

Cavallotti, who joined LACUNA COIL in 2016, initially as a fill-in guitarist following the exit of Marco "Maus" Biazzi, later said in a social media post that "this decision is not the result of my dissatisfaction or desire to explore new opportunities."

When LACUNA COIL announced Cavallotti's departure on June 17, the band wrote in a statement: "As we step into a new cycle, writing and recording our next album, we are parting ways with Diego 'DD' Cavallotti. We thank him for the many unforgettable moments shared over the years and wish him the best of luck in his future endeavours.

"All future live plans remain unchanged and the new songs are taking form, we can't wait to share them with our fans."

LACUNA COIL recently completed the "Ignite The Fire" U.S. tour with support from NEW YEARS DAY and OCEANS OF SLUMBER.

In April, LACUNA COIL released another new single, "In The Mean Time", featuring Ash Costello of NEW YEARS DAY. The song's title is a reference to the mean times the world is living in, as well as a reference to the state the band itself is in, between cycles.

Last July, LACUNA COIL released the official lyric video for a new track called "Never Dawn". For the song, the band partnered with CMON, the renowned board game publisher behind the popular game "Zombicide".

In a recent interview with Brazil's Sonoridades Inc., LACUNA COIL singer Cristina Scabbia spoke about the progress of the writing and recording sessions for the band's follow-up to 2019's "Black Anima" album. She said: "I can't really tell you a lot. I can tell you that we are progressing very fast. We are almost, like, 100… We completed, let's say, the demoing. We still have to record the rest of the songs, but we will soon — probably after the tour, after the [May 2024] North American tour. And if everything goes as projected, before the end of the year [it] will be released. And that's already a big news, because we always say, 'We don't know. Maybe.' … I absolutely love the songs. I'm part of the process. But I'm very pleased."

Asked if "Never Dawn" will be on the upcoming album, Cristina said: "I think it will be. I think it will be, 'cause it will make sense. And it also fits with the other songs — it really fits with the other songs. Many heavy songs."

LACUNA COIL has spent some of the last couple of years promoting "Comalies XX", the "deconstructed" and "transported" version of the band's third album, "Comalies".

"Comalies XX" was made available on October 14, 2022 via Century Media Records.

LACUNA COIL celebrated the 20th anniversary of "Comalies", by performing it in its entirety at a one-night-only concert on October 15, 2022 at Fabrique in Milano.

"Comalies" was originally released on October 29, 2002 through Century Media Records. The LP, which featured the band's breakthrough single "Heaven's A Lie", has reportedly gone on to sell over 300,000 copies in the United States alone.

[peachesofteal]

just want to mention that since the last update of DD ive been reading it in a straight loop. as soon as i finish a reread i start over again, get through 2-3 chapters a day i think. sometimes ill take a little break and go reread all of the AU posts and drabbles again. dead disco has me by the fucking THROAT you have so much power

its fr like the GTA gif "ah shit, here we go again" i swear HAHAHA

also a question! whats your writing process like? there's so many flashbacks and jumping around (which works SO WELL, i havent read an author that does it like you and thats a damn shame bc its just so seamless and gives so much insight to the characters and the dynamics and gives the pacing a lot of interest, like it gives the main storyline time to breathe without forcing it to jump from Big Thing to Big Thing since we get little snippets of past Things UGH so smart)

im so curious how you plan it out and execute it!!! do you come up with the little events you'd like to cover when doing the full outline, write em out and slip em in where they fit best in the 'main' timeline? do you come up with the timeline, then write a note for yourself like "put flashback here about xyz" in where you want to emphasize the background/buildup of whats happening in the main timeline, then write the flashback after the main timeline part of the chapter is done? i cant imagine writing the chapters straight through like they are and keeping it all straight in my head, theres gotta be a method haha

thanks for the endless reading material ur a lifeline fr xoxo

Ahh thank you so much! I'm so flattered. Dead Disco is my ultimate personal comfort fic, so it means a lot that others enjoy it (and the AUs!) 🖤

About my writing process: Dead Disco has two outlines. Current timeline and past timeline. It's outlined by 'events' more than anything else, and I use that to steer me when I'm working on it. I write current timeline first, and then past timeline second, usually because I'm trying to figure out where to put the flashbacks in so they make the most sense. So a chapter will have two major events on the current timeline that are outlined to correspond with something specific in the past timeline, if that makes sense.

Sometimes it gets a little complicated and/or confusing, but I try to smooth it out for the reader if I feel like I'm not telling a cohesive story. I really enjoy writing this way, with flashbacks, and would love to adapt it to something like a book, but who knows. Basically everything I write looks like this in my head:

[suffarustuffaru]

actually here’s an interesting question that’s been in my head for a hot minute now: what do you think a crusch if/other faction if would look like?

one of my favorite characters has always been crusch (probably my favorite aside from julius?), and interestingly it was the moment after the battle of the white whale that sold her for me- her convo with subaru was so genuine and full of respect and it since then has stood out amongst my favorites since it’s one of the first times subaru outside of the emilia camp was recognized for his decisions ^_^

it also piqued my interest because there’s definitely implications/said somewhere that if subaru met crusch first he’d choose her, which makes me think about how that dynamic would play out, ya know? like we haven’t really gotten a huge expansion on crusch herself as we have with anastasia/pricilla and soon felt

also a crusch: if would toootally have different relationships defining wilhelm & felix too and basically everyone else lol

love ur analyses keep up da good work fam!!!!!!!

YO its cool seeing a crusch fan around :DD !! also thank you very much for liking my analysis posts pfft. also whew….. ive been writing my answer for this ask on and off for a while hah its super long oops wkdndnsn

but ok its super interesting to hear what drew you to crusch in the first place - crusch is a character im definitely interested in (i would LOVE to see her finally expanded upon!!) and shes such a respectable person for sure <3 and you definitely have a point that its one of the first time subaru outside of the emilia camp was recognized!! though i didnt know that there were implications that if subaru met crusch first he'd choose her - i suppose that makes sense in that subaru really respects and likes crusch, and hes such a moldable character - for lack of a better term - bc its sooo easy for him to go in all sorts of different directions. a crusch if is an interesting possibility and im sure it absolutely wouldve happened in some form in some other universe :O !!

alright. as for a crusch if - yeah youre right, thered be such a different dynamic between subaru, the crusch camp, and everyone around them. :o im not Entirely sure how a crusch if would go but i certainly have ideas!!! though im not sure if im entirely an expert on them given i still havent finished the wilhelm-centric ex novels or read many crusch camp stories, but i did read ex 1 and 4 and enjoyed them quite a lot <3 along with you know, the main route. but i do really like the crusch camp and i hope theyre expanded upon eventually.

gonna put More thoughts under the cut (note that i have a Lot of opinions on the crusch camp hah):

ok first of all. i think that the crusch camp Does have a little wasted potential in canon and i think that crusch if is the perfect opportunity to explore Everything with crusch camp. just in the sense that you know, crusch hasnt been expanded upon just yet. not that felt has been expanded upon much either but at least we get a lot of details about her and her whole backstory with being a member of the royal family + her relationship with rom opens itself up to a lot of possibilities (theres a lot of History going around in the felt camp regarding felt, reinhard, carol and grimm, rom, etc being in the same camp given their family connections, demihuman war history, etc).

and not that we Dont get details about crusch of course, but i feel that even in her Own centric content, shes a little overshadowed by Everyone else sometimes. like i WANT to focus more on crusch as a person!! she gets cool moments yeah, but as much as i enjoyed reading ex1 im forever gonna be salty that her plot in ex1 was like about people having problems with her gender expression (ill go into this again later bc i know its connected to that plot point of crusch as a noble leader vs crusch as. a woman.) for more than half the runtime and everyone around her was discussing about what to do with her. and then in main route shes put through the RINGER between being cut down by gluttony, having her memories erased, and the dragon blood in arc 5 - and yet it STILL feels like the story doesnt focus enough on HER own pain. how is SHE feeling about this????? shes getting her shit rocked left and right and her sense of identity is being shaken along with it (see: her becoming more shy and withdrawn after her memories are gone) and yet i feel like we STILL dont hear about her Directly enough T^T

and also i Dont like that in the main route, the crusch camps connections to the royal family (with wilhelm being assigned to aid the royal family and bc of that heinkel was assigned to the white whale and so theresia went in heinkels stead + ferris and crusch's relationships with fourier) ARENT that explored. esp when like felt comes into play publically in arc 3 and the crusch camp BARELY REACTS. YOU THINK THEY WOULD REACT MORE TO FELT BEING HERE AND REINHARD SPONSORING FELT. its especially kind of painful after you read ex1 and its like ?? so why didnt they react more to felt being there??? related to + looking exactly like crusch and ferris's dead boyfriend, nonetheless, esp when their goal is to kill the dragon bc the royal family all died as far as they knew and NOW theres someone in the royal family that actually lived???? whos a rival for the throne now??? also i feel like the potential of like. ferris and wilhelms dynamic isnt explored either. like i have to wonder how they seem like theyre on decent/good terms in canon when ferris is friends with reinhard, wilhelms role in the demihuman war, and also wilhelm fucking up his family (with ferris being Aware of a lot of reinhards family situation, of course). and also of course wilhelm has Things going on with rom and carol and grimm bc demihuman war... ex novel things...

so like i think that inherently the crusch and felt camps ARE kind of sort of intertwined in this way bc of ALL these reasons. so i think if youre exploring crusch camp content all of this SHOULD be acknowledged. or maybe thats the felt camp fan in me talking but i DO GENUINELY THINK THE CRUSCH AND FELT CAMPS ARE CONNECTED A LOT ☝️☝️☝️

and so ok back to crusch if things!!!! i have no idea how the Exact plot goes but like i think this is all very dependent on how the crusch if divergence even starts. which Makes sense but yeah :o i mean i feel like i can only see it happening right from the get go in arc 1. and also this goes with what you said - if subaru met them first he'd probs choose to join them. but tbh i also kinda sort of like the possibility that maybe at least Some of arc 1 still happened in another font so subaru can be like "yeah lol this blond girl with red eyes was there along with this giant dude and t -" and crusch and ferris are thinking "OK IT COULD BE ANY RANDOM GIRL WITH BLOND HAIR AND RED EYES THATS NOT A COMPLETE GUARANTEE ITS SOMEONE FROM THE ROYAL FAMILY RIGHT??" and also wilhelms gonna vaguely go "hey whats this giants name again....." anyway yeah gotta plant those seeds for future plot things???? yes. also its a good segue into subaru learning more crusch camp related history yes. maybe that (subarus arc 1 info) is what allows him to join crusch camp too????? yeah im having trouble brainstorming ideas on how he even joins the camp but im guessing its a “subaru accidentally stumbles across stuff and crusch camp is like well i guess we just Kinda have to let you in……. like taking pity on a stray kitten…… maybe youll be useful… and also we do pity you a bit yeah you seem very lost” thing. 👍👍👍

(or alternatively you could have subaru branch off into crusch camp at arc 3 or smth given hes like actually physically at their place and away from emilia camp now but at the same time i doubt that could even happen given the position he was in arc 3???? like post-royal selection drama?? yeah i dont really see it happening imo HAH)

anyway. yeah so its like. inevitably subaru is gonna figure out you know the history behind all of the others in the crusch camp. like whether thats by doing his own research - especially bc you know wilhelm, crusch, ferris are all very well known by this point and have all kinds of rumors and info on them flying around - and also like. by getting closer with everyone. i think that if subaru joined crusch camp early, either he knows hes got rbd bc of arc 1 and manages to avoid it for a while, is my guess, given crusch camp doesnt get involved in life threatening things until. the white whale.

but until then i think subarus probably not gonna die. and i think hes probs gonna be in Fear of that happening again, maybe he blocks out a bit of arc 1 some more bc ahhaah i havent died or anything in so long so surely that never happened. maybe he tries to tell crusch once he gets closer with her or maybe he doesnt try at all bc hahaha did that even happen???? or maybe he asks her about her dp and if its Only about truths from that persons pov rather than Fact and shes like "yeah no its personal truths only, so even if someone is completely wrong about a fact but Believes it wholeheartedly its still gonna register as the truth" and hes like FUCK ok. smth like that?? yes. gotta give him inner turmoil even when hes not actively in danger. bc he Would have that yes. but either way i think he’d be curious and wanna know the specifics of her dp anyway!!!

yeah so anyway the white whale happens and subarus whole shit gets wrecked oops.... and my guess is that you know hes gonna loop a whole shit ton of times and its gonna be complete and utter hell for him. but also this is kind of a little bit dependent on how exactly the royal selection goes for him - but i HIGHLY doubt itd go the same as canon. i doubt he’d even make a scene, tbh—i mean assuming subaru joins crusch camp very early somehow, between crusch and ferris and wilhelm the three of them are gonna Really whip him into shape. metaphorically beat his s1 flaws out of him. bc like—i mean in canon subaru Did learn and grow yes, but he didnt Have to learn everything so harshly (ok but canon subaru Did have to get beat in the duel though or he wouldve died skcbsnd but i still think that subaru can still learn the same lessons more Gently whenever possible. hes a normal teenage boy trying his best!!). i think crusch camp would be good for him in this way, i mean crusch is a very duty-focused person and ferris and wilhelm are blunt people. ferris especially is not gonna take any bullshit wkdndnd (ESPECIALLY when subaru could humiliate crusch and the entire camp) and wilhelm sees himself in subaru and is gonna go “ah…….. you should. not act like that. let me train you.” and ALSO im a firm believer and enjoyer in the reinhard-ferris-julius friendship and i think that reinhard ESPECIALLY must have communicated with crusch camp about felt before arc 3, otherwise crusch camp wouldve had a stronger reaction to felts grand entrance into the royal selection. also if subarus getting closer to crusch camp then of course he figures out stuff like the reinhard-ferris-julius friendship.

again not entirely sure about specific plot beats but depending on how things go emilia camp may or may not get royally fucked (as an emilia camp enjoyer im very saddened by this 😔) but i DO feel like subaru would still be sympathetic towards them in a crusch if. and also theres Definitely gonna be at least one loop during arc 3 where the white whale Does erase crusch and wilhelm and ferris goes insane (like how they end up in pride if. yeah.) so subaru gets to see the consequences if they lose to the white whale. but i DO think that the final loop should still have the consequences of crusch being targeted by gluttony and losing her memories. its interesting to explore!!! especially if subaru himself still becomes a victim of gluttony in some way—maybe they both become victims of gluttony there?? or it happens to subaru later?? and i feel like arc 5 is Definitely another opportunity for some crazy looping. for sure.

also roswaal may want to try some shit bc Why is subaru in another camp this is not according to plan. so more opportunities to torture subaru 👍👍👍 and also crusch camp in canon keeps taking one L after another so you know. familiar territory in terms of how subaru and co are doing 😭😭😭😭

but anyway. i think a crusch camp and felt camp alliance (or Almost alliance?) is in order bc. well we know subaru he tries to fix things. hes nosy. he learns eventually All the crusch camp history and is like ok so why arent we allies with felt camp at least for rn??? like urging wilhelm to make it up with reinhard and such, etc etc. and crusch and felt are the candidates that are both Very deeply unsatisfied with the current system of lugunica and want to remake everything to be better!! and also like. how does ferris even feel about wilhelm. i lowkey want crusch if to have a plot beat where ferris-crusch-subaru metaphorically beat up wilhelm for being Terrible. actually scratch lowkey i want highkey. and i think crusch is just like yeah sorry i do respect you in a lot of ways wilhelm and youre a very key member in our camp and i appreciate it but also fighting against demihumans in the demihuman war + being awful to your family was definitely. 😬 ESPECIALLY since she grew up with ferris too okay. she and her dad literally took in ferris after being stuck in a basement for the first nine years of his life. and while ferris and reinhards family situations are Very Different, the common thread is generational trauma and Passed Down abilities/traits that also relate to the trauma so. i feel like ferris at Least has some secret strong feelings about wilhelm ok i dont care what tappei has to say on this (actually i do care but i will care less if tappei has a bad take on this bc ferris and reinhard are FRIENDS + WILHELM WAS WRONG FOR THE DEMIHUMAN WAR ok ferris was horribly abused also bc of fantasy racism).

and alright ok im gonna talk about some more crusch-ferris-subaru dynamics bc subaru and wilhelm are most likely gonna fall into their weird grandson-grandfather dynamic again. especially now that subarus in crusch camp.

so—gender expression. the way crusch-ferris-subaru dress and their relationships with this part of their identities. personally i hc all three of them as nonbinary but of course u can have different hcs/opinions than me :o either way though, gender expression is Very important to all three of them and its given focus in the plot multiple times so im gonna try to examine how its handled in canon a bit!! theres this one bit from the arc 5 wn that i think about a lot:

so you know, subaru has his internalized issues, toxic masculinity for one, so hes struggling with like. being a man but also like he genuinely enjoys crossdressing but also hes been judged for it in the past and he has?? complicated feelings on it. hes struggling with his identity and who he is in many many different ways and gender is one key aspect of it. and then he comes along and crusch and ferris BASICALLY challenge him and his internalized ideas on it—crusch being a woman who dresses more masculine and ferris being a man who dresses more feminine. they challenge even the fantasy world’s society too—crusch more so, bc shes a woman and in the public eye due to her family and shes expected to dress and behave the way a noblewoman should. more feminine. but she refuses which is a point of contention in ex1 of course…

ferris seems to get less scrutiny from the public on this (at least for This exact reason, we only see subaru iirc judge him for it on screen) but my guess is bc he 1. can easily pass as a girl and 2. he has other more Noticeable traits to the public (having the Blue title and being demihuman for example). but also theres another aspect to ferris and its that he also dresses femininely to represent “the feminine side crusch lacks” iirc…. which. to be quite frank thats. that feels a little odd to me but anyway im gonna choose to look into it a bit regardless bc i think it could potentially be interesting maybe?? but also the fourier-crusch duel in ex1 already felt off to me wkfndnd it was such a fun scene but like??? why are we policing what crusch wants to wear??? but. anyway.

so about ferris being “the feminine side crusch lacks”……. ferris and crusch's gender expression are completely opposite, ferris being feminine of course and crusch being masculine. ferris and crusch are very much like each others equal halves in canon - you dont find one without the other, theyre basically a pair (especially given they fit together into this perfect trio with fourier and now fouriers gone :(( ). ferris and crusch balance each other out in a lot of ways, especially given ferris's mischevious yet perceptive personality and crusch being more serious but a bit airheaded with emotional matters. and also both of them being more blunt honest people. so like their gender expression balances each other out bc theyre opposites. ferris wants to keep balancing out crusch, whos so focused on duty that her needs and her desires and emotions sometimes go by the wayside (id personally attribute at least a tiny bit of her airheadedness with emotions to this too - when you have so much responsibilities to attend to, your emotions often take a backseat. especially when you take into account people judging crusch for how she expresses herself....).

but also ferris does note that "because crusch-sama said this suits ferris, what i am, i am, and this most suits the radiance of ferris' soul. crusch-samas words, ferris will repay with everything that i am". im gonna interpret this as crusch recognizing that ferris truly likes to express his appearance in a feminine way and providing ferris with the means and support to do so, especially since crusch herself growing up also prefers to express herself as opposite to her biological sex and also bc crusch and her family took in ferris so they grew up together. which i think is very sweet <3

and also more regarding crusch, in canon she expresses herself more femininely after getting her memories wiped by gluttony........... i think there might (emphasis on Might) be vaguely a kind of "feminine=weak and masculine=strong thats why crusch goes back to being feminine after memories gone" undertone if you choose to see it that way but im Electing to ignore it. i think crusch's change in expression post-gluttony though like emphasizes how her identity gets shaken after her memories are erased. she was a confident person before and now shes more timid and withdrawn bc she isnt sure of herself or her abilities anymore :(( which is definitely smth that should be explored in Any crusch camp centric content, i think.

anyway. yeah also i def think the ferris-crusch-subaru gender things should be explored. its already briefly touched on in canon with stuff like that arc 5 wn snippet i shared, but i do think subaru being friends with ferris and crusch will help him with confidence regarding how he likes to express himself as well. which i think would be very sweet to explore <3 (sorry this briefly derailed into a ferris-crusch-subaru gender expression analysis but this part of their characters is important i feel aljdlfjsldfj and its SUCH good parallel between them)

as for general dynamics stuff between the three of them. i think ferris is on the fence about subaru at first and goes from "hes an idiot..." to "hes an idiot <3" i have no specific thoughts on this at the moment thats just the vibe thats probably happening. maybe a bit of the same with crusch but yes im sure crusch and ferris of course grow to respect subaru, and im sure they notice pretty quick that subaru wears his emotions on his sleeve. hes an honest person in almost all things, or at least he tries to be, unless hes being held at gunpoint to keep things secret bc rbd lajdlfjl. and we Know subaru is a very respectable person whos Really good at heart, he just had all these hurdles to get through. and also - subaru is a tiny bit similar to fourier in terms of like Loud, Passionate, Determined, kind of an idiot in a few ways but a Lovable one, that sort of thing. of course ferris and crusch are VERY MUCH not going to be replacing fourier. absolutely not they would never in a million years. but fourier like Really fit in with ferris and crusch bc of the three of them having different personality traits, so i think subaru would fit well with ferris and crusch for similar reasons. if that makes sense. the energies just match up. ferris and subaru particularly bring a lot of fun and lightheartedness and ease weight on crusch’s shoulders, crusch supports them both, and all three of them reel each other in in different ways <3

ok also regarding any romance............ personally i dont see the appeal of crusch x subaru but thats just me lajsdlfjls and also my heart got stolen by fourier x ferris x crusch oops. plus i do enjoy the ferris and subaru + subaru and crusch friendship possibilities. but if anyones reading this and is a fan of crusch x subaru feel free to send me propaganda for it bc im very curious as to what makes you really like the ship <3

yeah so anyway. this has been my extremely long explanation as to how crusch if could maybe go and also all sorts of stuff id love to see explored when it comes to crusch if or crusch camp centered content in general <3 its hard to tell how a crusch if would go further down the line bc you know, the more that changes from main route the more things go Different, but i think its fascinating to think about. hope this kind of answered your question op? :O :D !!

ok but as for other camps. i have absolutely no clue how itd go but ana camp would Definitely have to involve subaru trying to invent things that carry on from earth and such and felt camp Absolutely involves more trying to solve more astrea drama. no specific thoughts on this yet (ALSO I STILL HAVENT CAUGHT UP ON ANA CAMP SIDE STORIES... ONE DAY. I SWEAR.) but you know, lots of interesting possibilities here!! :O

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

Since it has been two years since I started writing again and I'm getting closer to finishing at least two longfics, I thought it'd be nice to have a bit of an overview of my ongoing and planned fics

Peverell's Progeny: Ongoing and no real ending in sight yet. I want to speed along the storyline more than I have. I think I'll go up to at least 50 chapters but likely far more, I have a broad outline. I'm guessing this will be my longest fic yet if it progresses as I've planned.

Knight of Mine: I am starting to have the ending in sight but it is still some way off. More time jumps are ahead to focus on the actual conflict of the story and to work on the resolution. I really enjoyed the lore I got to build here. I also need to work on the AUs AU, and expect one or two more chapters there.

Love, I like a challenge: a micro-fic that has expanded past 100K words. Oops? I am planning to finish this fic in less than 10 chapters, and I have a firm outline.

That has a ring to it: Completely written and being posted.

Not your captain: Pirate AU I have momentarily lost sight of. I will start working on it again, but I don't know when. I have all the important plotlines but still have to decide the order of things here and there

Spilt blood: 'Regency' AU I am currently writing that was a challenge prompt that also has gotten out of hand. Plot is clear, I could finish this in one or two weeks but I am just struggling to find the time.

The Silver Lining of Dirty Dancing: A Dirty Dancing crossover, where the DD storyline is adapted to fit Hinny. Yes, Harry is Baby. I have a very detailed plot outline handwritten. I will work on this as soon as Lilac and Spilt Blood have been written, probably. I don't know how long that will actually take.

If I missed any, don't hesitate to ask about it!

[traumxrei-archive]

hello. *man standing emoji* i’m alive.

i moved countries successfully yipeeeee ^^ i would like to say it was smooth. but. a lot of different things happened. (like my luggage getting left in another country. but i have it back now so we are okay)

but as you can expect there’s still a lot to be done in order for me to be fully settled in. coupled with induction week, i’ve been kept busy with many things,,,,,

writing will commence soon, and i aim on finishing the 600 followers event completely in my next writing posts. i’m also working on another writing project which i’ll be able to announce hopefully soon, which is exciting :DD

but it’s good to be (semi) back, i hope that you have a lovely day / night if you’ve read this far ^^

[ashascoven]

Omg I just read you junkets fic AND ITS SO GOOODDDDD I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE HIMMM if you have any time I’d love some more junkrat stuff :3

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOUUUU !!!!!! i was honestly so nervous about if i did him dirty or not too.. SO IM VERY HAPPY TO HEAR U ENJOYED IT !!!!! <333

(here is the fanfic for other readers!)

id LOVE to try and get some more junkrat stuff out soon, for both you and any other rat man lovers out there !! it may be in the form of headcanons / scenarios with loooots of dialogue if that would suit your current fancy for now? :,D

because the thing is.. i also wanna finish my venture fanfic first and not overwhelm myself haha, SO, ILL WORK ON SOME HCS AND HOPEFULLY POST SOON!! and, ILL DEF KEEP U IN MIND WHEN I WRITE THE NEXT RAT FANFIC, TY ANON!! :DD

hope u enjoy ur day / night!! <33

[hoseoksluna]

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can. 

Or you wish you were as stony as them. 

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle. 

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning. 

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon. 

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them. 

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind. 

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined. 

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up. 

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to. 

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time. 

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too. 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you. 

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?” 

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did. 

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with. 

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.” 

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor. 

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens. 

This is good. 

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well. 

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.” 

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you. 

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve. 

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep. 

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.” 

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality. 

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart. 

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in. 

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you. 

Hoseok, the prince of peace. 

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him. 

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.” 

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere. 

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.” 

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well. 

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it. 

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall. 

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you. 

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips. 

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.” 

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him. 

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly. 

“You want it from the back?” 

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more. 

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin. 

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit. 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant. 

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later. 

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint. 

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?” 

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.” 

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for. 

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know. 

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised. 

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him. 

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp. 

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did. 

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole. 

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare. 

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks. 

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red. 

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger. 

A breath of fresh air, he is. 

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you. 

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok. 

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed. 

What would the angels do in your place? 

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms. 

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead. 

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared. 

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time.  “Go, I’ll get the car ready.” 

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you. 

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you. 

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him. 

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately. 

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand. 

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.” 

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time. 

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service. 

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness. 

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight. 

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do. 

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor. 

Doesn’t say anything. 

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?” 

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.” 

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe. 

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.” 

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.” 

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.” 

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly. 

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being. 

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go. 

Three weeks ago. 

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck. 

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love. 

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness. 

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat. 

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard. 

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” 

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?” 

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.” 

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.” 

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat. 

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them. 

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust. 

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. 

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?” 

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?” 

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care. 

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together. 

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to. 

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him. 

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi. 

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency. 

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it. 

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up. 

You don’t really think that’s a good idea. 

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.” 

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook. 

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more. 

But he surprises you with the words he says next. 

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.” 

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside. 

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[lucrezianoin]

Just read "Until nothing remains", and am absolutely blown away by ur writing. U wrote the characters so accurately that I practically heard and saw them as I read! The ending gave me shivers. I will continue to read ur writing and I'd like u to share reccs of ur favorite books/ media that I can read that inspired u (apart from bg3 ofc). Also, if u ever write a book, I'll buy it.

I AM SHAKINGGG I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO SAY

Thank you so so much!! This threw me into an evening of writing and I almost finished the new chapter now :'DD hopefully I will post it soon.

I am just speechless, and I AM I FEEL SO GRATEFUL. It means so much to me. Just knowing someone enjoys what I write and they thing it is written well. I have a lot of ups and downs, writing wise, so some days I feel like I am just writing garbage haha (but I had to learn that even if that is the case, I should still have fun writing garbage).

OHH WHAT INSPIRED ME?? I FEEL LIKE HONORED. THANK YOU. (Also I wish I could finish the book I wanted to write... maybe one day....)

I am not sure if I consciously find inspiration somewhere, I am quite certain I have some pieces of literature and stories that are so deeply settled in my mind that I cannot help by unconsciously being inspired by them.

My absolute favorite theme is trust. I love trust so much, the idea of people earning complete and absolute trust in each other's, trust betrayed, trust given with high difficulty. Untrusty characters learning how to trust etc. Everything about it *chef kiss*.

Also when I write I tend to latch to characters that settles into this dichotomy of "They (character A) were so kind to me (character B)" vs "I (character B) wish I had been kinder to them (character A)". I adore it. The quote is almost word from word from one of my fav romance novel which is "The Rifter" by Ginn Hale.

Regarding my absolute favorite stories: Watership Down (Richard Adams) and His Dark Materials (Philip Pullman) are my favorite novels in all existence! I also adore Les Miserables and many others, but these two I have read more times than I can count.

I am also avidly into arthuriana and have collected arthurian texts and novels for ages. That is how I learnt English (by reading medieval tales and stories). I love Exiled from Camelot (Cherith Baldry) and The Idylls of the Queen (Ann Karr) and I adore how angst, trust and comfort/plot twist are written in those novels. And for the theme of abuse, I think nothing hit me as hard as The winter prince (Elizabeth Wein). In general I have read about.... 200 king arthur novels, and always tried to look for Mordred in them. Mordred, my beloved, the traitor.

More than anything I adore seeing how the same characters (king arthur legends revolve around the same characters) are reinterpreted and especially how a plot wanted by an author needs to change a character. For me it is like a puzzle.

ALSO I LOVE MY HERO ACADEMIA! Characters who are their own worst enemies, my beloved.

also shamelessly linking my fic "Until nothing remains" here.

THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN!

[factual-fantasy]

23 ASKS! THANK YOU! :DD 🐟

@timestorm04

1: Captain Barnacles! :DD

2: One of the reasons why I redrew them suddenly was because I was thinking of re-writing my Octonauts Sea dwellers AU :0 But I'm going back on that now tbh.. :///

They didn't figure it out and they did end up booking it. I mean,, can you really blame them?

We know Papyrus, and all of us would absolutely give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was innocent. But Seam and Jevil don't know the Papyrus we know.

All Seam sees is an absolute mountain of bodies and an state of utter decay all around him.. with suspiciously the last man standing being a very clearly mentally unstable skeleton.. would you assume he was innocent?

Add onto that all the stress Seam was under, how unstable he was as well. Seam couldn't see the situation any other way and he was not taking any chances.

AAA THANK YOU!! IM SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU LIKE THEM!! :DDDD

@foxythefox711

I don't watch Adventure time currently and I don't know all the nitty gritty of the shows lore.. but my favorite characters from what I've seen is Simon! With Jake as a close second. :} Also Prismo is 3rd I think-

f...fank youu!!

(Also the protons joke got a laugh outa me XDD )

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad you like how I draw them!! :}}

@couchwow

oh ok

Wait are the characters from the game actually baked in an oven to be "born"?? I didn't know that--

@taizarack

:DD I'm glad you like them! And although I don't have either game, I hope to learn a little more about the games lore :0

@chickenheadguy (Link in question)

Oh! Thank you! Lemme just take a look an--

170 VIDEOS??

GORL THEY WEREN'T LYING THOSE COOKIES GOT LORE-

(Also thank you for the compliments and the link! :DD )

@luna-purple454

NO HE DOESN'T GET KILLED-- Seam and Jevil just jump to another AU as soon as Jevil had the strength to. Leaving Papyrus behind in the process..

(Also thank you!! :DD )

@torriderrelic44

I don't have any plans to draw any art like that, no.. sorry! <:/

YES. YES IT DOES. But its not the people who go "ohmygosh I LOVE this (AU/thing) you made! Its wonderful! Do you have any plans to continue it someday.? If not that's ok! Just wondering!" Those guys are fine and I take it as a compliment actually!

Its the people who say things like "When are you gonna finish this" "Why did you stop drawing this" "How long until you draw this again" "I don't like what you're drawing, now go back to this it was better" comments like THOSE, suck. And its always about the same comics/subjects that I stopped drawing months ago. Looking at you Octonauts crab comic

As for my AUs, its not too hard for me to remember all of them. I never have more than 5-6 per fandom. I can usually list them off by memory! :0

Tbh the animatronics would probably just register that as a mess/hazard and would notify an employee about the issue. In which the employee would dispatch a mop bot to go clean it up. I imagine it unfortunately happens often enough that the bots aren't really fazed. Kids amirite-

I have drawn her at least twice from recent memory! Once in this horror post, and she makes an appearance in part 1 of my FNAF AU recap/repair! :00

The reason why I rarely draw her is becuase of the plans I have for her in my AU. She is meant to be very mysterious and I want the changes I made to her in my re-write to be a surprise-

Also thank you! I'm glad you like my cookie run creatures! :}}}

WAAAA THAK YOU SO MUCH!!!😭😭💖😭

I'm not sure actually.. idk if the characters from the games are aware that they are "cookies" in the sense that they are meant to be eaten- So I'm not sure how my characters would react either-

Its related to the names of the drivers, I cant share anything else! :x

@mumble-jumble-gallery (Post in question)

Magic candy..? Huh- well I'm glad it isn't world shattering at least-- <XDD

@ravenslog

THANK YIU!! :DDD

:DD Thank you so much! I'll be sure to draw them again sometime XD

@beryl-shade

Sorry for the late reply! This ask got buried-

If you look to this post for reference, I was thinking that Fredbear would be as tall as Bonnie. Maybe a little taller.? And Spring Bonnie would be about as tall as Foxy :00

[fanfic-scribbles]

WiP Wednesday - Dinner Date Ch 34

(Lotta writing rambling; skip to the ~ if you wanna get to the good bit but warning that something big happens in the next Dinner Date chapter and I included it because it's fun so consider this your spoiler warning if you don't wanna know anything.)

So I swear I have been working hard. I've just been working hard on TWO chapters that are both becoming much longer than I expected :') I have a chapter of "Digestifs" I'm trying to get done first, since it happens technically on the timeline before "Dinner Date" but...I'm having a hard time focusing. So I continue to work on whatever catches my attention each day and if DD finishes first then I'll just put a note on "Digestifs." It's gonna feel a little weird if you follow both but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyways. Here's a snippet of the next Dinner Date chapter that I debated posting because it gives away a major Thing that happens, but...I'm not making a story for the plot twists, and it's going to be obvious that this is the main subject of the chapter probably from the summary. If you don't wanna know anything until the chapter is up I totally get it, I hope you don't mind my long-winded whining on why Writing Is Hard (BOTH of these chapters doubled in size what is wrong with me istg), and I will see you hopefully soon with something. For anyone who does want proof that I am Doing Something and doesn't mind a bit of a hook, click behind the cut :)

~

As soon as the door shut and Maria and Phil were buckling up in front, I leaned over the seat. “Is Steve okay?”

“He’s going to be just fine,” Phil said and started the engine. “Buckle up.”

At least I had that, so I sat back and did as he said. “Why did Natasha call me instead of him? Is he hurt bad? Why did you come to pick me up? What is going on?”

“Most of it I think I’ll let Captain Rogers tell you,” Phil said, sounding almost business-like. He’d never talked to me like this before, so I paid attention. “But the facts are this: there was an altercation with a potential enemy agent known as the Winter Soldier. Captain Rogers engaged him while Agent Romanoff and Falcon attempted to retrieve important intel.” Phil looked in the rearview mirror at me. Maria was pretending not to exist, so I focused on him. “Steve is in the hospital, but he shouldn’t be there for too long. Overnight at most,” Phil said, a little gentler. “But he was still hurt in the scuffle.”

There was so much I wasn’t being told I felt like I was fucking choking on the elephant. “He’s been hurt and in the hospital before. Why did you guys come to pick me up?”

Phil looked back at the road, and didn’t glance at me anymore. “We have more information now, on the Winter Soldier,” he said, going matter-of-fact flat again. “His past, his…identity.”

There was silence. I tried to peer around the seat. Maria looked at him sharply, but I couldn’t see Phil’s reaction. Just hear him as he picked up like he’d never left off. “And some of his movements over the past couple of years. We have reason to believe he may know who you are. Specifically, who you are to Captain Rogers.”

Well. That was unsettling. I sat back in the seat. “Does it really matter that much?” I asked. “And what does ‘potential enemy’ mean? Who is this guy?”

“It’s complicated,” Phil said. “Captain Rogers will tell you more.”

[crispn-n]

the girl on her first errand the mysterious [beast] who craves finer things. the young man whose role to keep the village safe. The moment the girl stepped in、that's where it all began an in·tro·duc·tion

Hapiharo au excitement!!:DD I'm so happy to draw this ideas that been roaming on my mind since last year! Allow me to ramble about the working process of this set

— 01/10/2024

As an opening to October... Initially I wanted to make animation out of this Wolf drawing. Like the classic scene whereas the wolf were caught doing her thing (re : munching her brunch). Yet she immediately noticed your presence few meters away. By the sound of your feet stomping on the leaves? Or perhaps your smell?

I figured out animations would took too much time. 😓 Regular illustration would be good enough with this time restraint!

Took a quite a while before I decide how the final art would end like. Asked my risma pardner for the wolf's eyes treatment. I decided to go w/ the 1st version this time. That eerie feeling... looks nice. At least to give an intimidating first impression before the truth unfolds >:)

This wolf drawing could be seen as her first encountered either with the red riding hood and/or the hunter. The prologue, for sure.

================

— 03/10/2024

Gun down or gun up?

I asked few friends' opinion on my sketches... Most vote went to the 1st one a.k.a gun down! I personally like that one too, i want to draw the hunter as hot cool as possible (trying! my best)

I like how the 1st choice got interpreted as "The Hunter is appearing cautious--all skeptical--as he searches for the feared beast. He lowered his rifle as soon as he realized something is off. Well, it's still the prologue after all!"

So I proceed with that first sketch. My only concern was that his holding-the-riffle pose wasn't clearly visible when cropped to the composition. I still keep the other two version of the sketches, I could still use it for something in the future. Also IDK how to draw riffle for real. JKSDAJKFS BUT thanks CSP gallery for having that free 3D asset. Huge lifesaver!!! I can draw hapiharo doujinshi!!!!

This Hunter drawing was finished and published 5 days later, irl coming in the way @ most of part oof.

================

— 11/10/2024

Finally getting the time to start working on Mikakazukin!! he he he. I came up with various sketches (there are 5 of them but I decide to only show these two!)

As usual, asked my risma pardner to vote again.. The 1st one has a pretty good composition and pose! I like it... but the foreshadowing-lore-accurate sketch was the winner. 😇 (aka the second sketch)

The Red Ridng Hood seemed like she was caught off guard. Looking down, realizing that she might've stepped...onto..something. That led to her first encounter with the wolf.

I thought the second one also has a matching vibe with the rest of the set. The first one is like.. good for aesthetic-purposes.

Writing "Red Riding Hood" takes too much space on the ribbon. So I decided to stick with "The Villager" title for her. It matched the whole set better 🤝😉 Since lil red riding hood wasn't the main focus on this AU, villager suits her too story-wise hehehe

The Red Riding Hood drawing completed the quickest among the other two. I didn't spend too much time pondering what to add or what to fix. It was posted on the next day.

===============

Ok maybe thats all the rambles for this set! Crosses finger I could somehow draw the stories as comics. I feel like I've been cooking quite well for this AU ^_^ if not this month, definitely next year.

Hopefully i'll be able to cook one more thing by the end of october :D

od im so slow... but thats okay i'd like to take all the time i can to pursue what i passion for. Commissioning someone else for this AU been a very hard to achieve due to lot of reasons. So i'll try to cook it myself!!!!

I'd like to thank all my friends that helped me going thru artistic indecisiveness in this creating journey <3 see u on next ramble