#But I really don't know how else to tag this

[thoughtfulfangirling]

I absolutely have learned to try and tone down any negative feelings I might have about a character or something on someone else's loving post. I don't know how often I see a shipping post of two characters I prefer platonic and am just appreciative in the tags or comments because that's something they love! I can prefer them be platonic and say it in other places on my blog.

Ofc that's just one example. It might be a post of a character I love in my least favorite outfit or a really great piece about them using a head canon I disagree with. I can still appreciate the fan work without adding my two cents that would come off negatively to the op or person I reblogged from. I can say my own shit on my own posts or posts where people agree with me.

Unless it's a mutual I know well enough that they'll understand that my take is not a reflection on them or we have an amicable feud on it or some such. It's just so important not to needlessly yuck someone's yum when we're all just playing with our dolls!

guys i need you to be less comfortable making super negative comments abt a character in the tags of a random post abt that character. like i support haterism but make your own post. please stop and think about whether op, a person who is interested in this character enough to make posts abt them, wants to hear all that. i see this too much from people reblogging from me and it makes me embarrassed that you’re reblogging from me. you are being rude

[jungkoode]

OUT OF LINE | 02

˗ˏˋ where promises go to die ˎˊ˗

"Grief doesn't rot like lilies—it evolves. Sometimes into walls that keep everyone out, sometimes into bridges you never expected to build. Madrid is teaching you the difference."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 8.5k

content: grief processing, mother's death aftermath, ferret therapy, university friendship dynamics, barcelona nostalgia, jungkook brotherly comfort, provocative physio session, inappropriate medical sounds, taehyung being insufferable on purpose, whatsapp group chat chaos, nike dinner setup, family obligation pressure, madrid vs barcelona culture clash

—author's note

Hello monsters, gremlins, goblins, and yes—you, the one under the table hoarding the peanut cookies like they're State Secrets. You've been reported to the Kiki Nation High Tribunal. Formal charges include: cookie hoarding, suspicious crunching noises, and bribing witnesses with chocolate chip alternatives. Justice will be served. Possibly with milk.

Now, AS FOR THIS CHAPTER. AHAHAAHA. Okay. So.

Right out the gate we start with That Scene. You'll know when you see it. Some of you may be tempted to go "Kiki why did you put your entire kikussy into poetic and ambiguous language???" and to that I say: THANK YOU FOR ASKING, MR. INVISIBLE. You see—my girl Y/N is grieving. And not in the cinematic way, but in that awful, quiet, dissonant way. The kind where everything looks almost normal, sounds almost right, but you're not in it. That suspended, floaty, untethered state where you're just... drifting. I wrote this opening with the intent to evoke, not explain. Because I don't think grief—real grief—ever makes clean narrative sense. It's messy. It loops. It aches. It dissociates. So her inner monologue reflects that.

BUT. I didn't want it to be bleak. So I slipped in a little light: female friendship. You guys know how much I value it. Sofia Chen = my babygirl already. Her screen time may be short but her impact is earthquaking. Also: brace yourselves for the physio intern. I'm not spoiling anything but AAAAA. The little scream I let out when writing him was medically concerning. Just know you're gonna love him. I do. I really do.

Then there's that Taehyung scene. The physio session. Yeah. That one.

Okay so—Coke Zero? TRACK IT. It is not a throwaway. Put it in your mental detective wall with the red string. That detail's doing work.

Now let's talk about what's really happening in that scene: you've got a man weaponizing his body as a final line of defense. He can't stand the thought of being unimpressive—of someone not reacting to him. So what does he do? He performs. Gets obscene. Pushes boundaries. Pokes at discomfort. He's like: if you don't like my mind, my attitude, my words—then at least flinch for my abs. Validate me with your silence, if nothing else. And she doesn't. And it bothers him. He's fishing. And if that doesn't tell you everything about the man's psyche—Listen. I said what I said.

Also. Can we collectively scream about how every private university is just a glorified capitalist PR firm?? I wanted to reflect that weird, fake "we're all a happy family :)" collaboration tone between institutions. The smiley emoji energy that reeks of Excel spreadsheets and nepotism. If you know, you know.

Finally: THE GROUP CHAT SCENE. My ✨ magnum opus ✨ Marco is literally an idiot and possibly irredeemable but I hate how funny he is. It's the banter. The banter is what gets him laid. Leo = my Shayla. I want to protect him so bad. Who knows if I will. Point is—I loved being able to start showing more team names and dynamics. There's something really special about letting a cast feel lived in. You're only seeing glimpses—but those glimpses are building a very specific emotional architecture for what's to come.

ANYWAY. That's enough from me. Enjoy the chapter. Scream in the tags. Track the Coke Zero. And for the love of Jungkook's tattoos, STOP HIDING THE PEANUT COOKIES. I SEE YOU.

– Kiki ♡

— read on

read author intro + tws (must)

lineverse guide

between the lines (jk’s story by @writesvani)

read on wattpad

read on ao3

Kiki Nation’s discussion thread for this chapter

Where do promises go when left unattended?

You wonder if they rot, like lilies left too long in water. Or if they just fade, the way the scent of your mother's perfume used to linger in the hallway—now gone, replaced by the sterile tang of Madrid tap water and overpriced detergent.

It's a question you've long buried, somewhere between the unpacked boxes in your Madrid bedroom and the ache that still sits heavy when you think of your dad's tired eyes.

Or maybe it's bigger than that—your whole damn life, a scrapbook of sweet nothings you swore you'd keep. Staying in Barcelona. Holding tight to Mom's hand in memory. Rooting for a team that felt more like family when yours got ripped in half.

Death didn't just knock that day; it kicked the door down, left the air thick with something sour, like rotting lilies.

Mom used to fill the house with them.

White ones from the market on Sundays, yellow ones she'd steal from the neighbor's garden when she thought no one was looking.

Now you can't walk past a flower shop without your throat closing up, without that familiar knot threatening to crawl up and spill everything you've been swallowing down.

University isn't the escape you hoped for. Not the endless readings on joint mechanics, not the sterile newness of a city that still feels like a borrowed coat, and definitely not the present, which drags like a bad hangover.

You're two weeks into this Madrid experiment, and every day is a reminder of what's gone.

But then, somehow, there are people. Small, unexpected pockets of something lighter that make it easier.

You just never expected easiness to have a name like Sofia Chen.

You're slouched in a lecture hall at UEM, campus filled with the kind of international crowd that makes you feel both invisible and exposed. End of September, semester just kicking off, and the air's got that crisp edge that doesn't match the heat still clinging to the streets outside.

Sofia's next to you, scribbling in her notebook with a focus that's almost annoying. Almost. Meanwhile you—well, you're scrolling through your phone, thumb flicking over a screen that's stubbornly empty of anything worth reading.

No messages from Dani.

Not that you expected any.

You told yourself the distance—geographical, emotional, whatever—would be the perfect excuse to untangle the mess of feelings you've carried for him since you were sixteen. Unreciprocated, unspoken, and now, unnecessary.

Doesn't stop the sting, though. Expected hurt still hurts.

Your fingers drift to Jungkook's chat instead. A few unread messages, probably memes or some random check-in. He's the only thing that feels like home lately, a tether to Barcelona that hasn't snapped yet.

You don't open it. Not here. Not with Sofia's voice cutting through your haze.

"I have never seen anyone our age swallow down those in twos like you do," she mumbles, not looking up from her notes when her pen scratches against the paper, somehow grounding.

You know she's talking about the pikotas in your hand, the sour-sweet candies you've been popping absentmindedly.

Two at a time, always. A habit from forever ago, when Mom would slip them into your pocket before school.

You don't miss a beat, tossing another pair into your mouth. "Just say you have horrible taste."

She snorts, finally glancing over. Her dark hair falls in a neat curtain over one shoulder, and her eyes crinkle just enough to show she's not actually judging.

"I'm half Chinese. Taste is like, our whole point."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smirk tugging at your lips.

Sofia's got a way of sneaking past your usual walls, not with force but with this quiet, persistent ease.

You met her two weeks ago, first day of classes, when the semester started and you were still figuring out how to navigate the sleek, expensive campus. Because it's just the kind of place that screams privilege—private, international, one of the most expensive universities in Spain, all courses in English to cater to the global mix of students who can afford it.

You were sitting alone in the back of a lecture hall, trying to blend into the polished wood and glass, when she plopped down next to you. No hesitation, just a quick "Mind if I sit?" and a grin that didn't wait for your answer.

She clocked your last name on your notebook, matched it to the buzz about your dad being Real Madrid's new physio, and didn't make a big deal of it. Just nodded like it was trivia, not gossip.

You appreciated that more than you let on.

Since then, she's been a constant. Study sessions in the campus library, coffee runs at the overpriced café downstairs, late-night texts about assignments. She's Madrid-born, Chinese-Spanish, a sports psychology major with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue when she wants. She knows about your dad's job, knows you're fresh off the boat from Barcelona, and hasn't pushed for details.

That's why you don't mind her sitting here, filling the silence with her quiet banter while you chew through candy and memories.

Madrid's like that. Too much of everything—light, noise, space—and none of it fits right.

Not like Barcelona did, with its narrower streets and warmer shadows.

Still, at UEM, you're just another face in a sea of ambitious twenty-somethings, most of whom couldn't care less about football. Real Madrid, Barcelona—it's not their world. They're chasing MBAs, tech startups, international law degrees.

That, however, does not mean they don't know who Kim Taehyung is.

"Hey, speaking of taste—or lack thereof—have you seen the news this weekend? That whole scandal with Real Madrid's golden boy? Taehyung?"

Fuck Sofia for ruining your peace. You take all the good things you said about her back.

Of course she'd bring it up. Not because she's obsessed with football—most people here aren't—but because Taehyung's mess is everywhere. A superstar, a celebrity, the kind of hot that has women tripping over themselves and brands clawing for a piece of him.

His whole 'can't keep it in his pants' routine isn't even a flaw to most; it's charm, a marketable quirk that somehow makes him more desirable.

You've seen the headlines (who hasn't?), the grainy party pics, the lipstick smear on his neck that's got half of Madrid's press losing their minds.

Nike's 'concerned,' apparently.

You doubt he cares.

You shrug, keeping your face blank. "Yeah, I saw. Not exactly news when it's him."

Sofia raises a brow, catching the edge in your tone.

She doesn't know about your first run-in with him, the way he loomed at the training ground like he owned the air itself, expecting you to melt under his gaze; and you… Didn't.

Just stared back, flat and unimpressed, until he looked almost confused.

Which was honestly refreshing. He needs to get humbled.

But Sofia doesn't need that story, not yet. You're not sure why it even sticks in your head. It's not like he matters.

"Fair," she says, tapping her pen against her chin. "Still, it's wild. Guy's got the world at his feet, and he's out there acting like a frat boy on spring break. My psych prof would have a field day with his impulse control—or lack of it."

You huff a small laugh, more out of habit than amusement. "Probably. But it's not like anyone's surprised. That's just… him."

Her eyes narrow a fraction, like she's filing that comment away for later. You don't like how she does that, reads the unsaid stuff in your pauses. Makes you feel seen in ways you're not ready for.

You pop another pikota, let the sour bite ground you.

The lecture hall's still noisy, a guy two rows down arguing with his friend in rapid-fire German, a girl across the aisle snapping a selfie with her overpriced latte.

Normal. Disconnected from the football bubble you've been dragged into.

You wish you could stay in this pocket of mundane forever, where no one cares about football or your dad's job or the way some prick keeps jostling his dick around like it's a birthday party and his junk is a gift.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, screen lighting up with Jungkook's name.

A distraction. A lifeline.

A… video of a ferret stealing an entire sock drawer, dragging socks one by one to build a nest?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜

You snort—actually snort—loud enough that Sofia looks up from her notebook with raised eyebrows.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚏𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾𝙾𝙾

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚋𝚌 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚒'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚝��𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 🤔

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He's talking about you, obviously. Those stupid chocolate croissants from the Barcelona training facility café that you'd get genuinely upset about when they sold out.

It feels like a lifetime ago—back when your biggest worry was missing breakfast pastries, not navigating the social minefield of Madrid's elite football culture.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

You swallow thickly, staring at your screen for a couple seconds.

Because Jungkook's always been good at checking in without making it feel like an interrogation. He knows you well enough to understand that direct questions about your emotional state will get deflected, but asking about Madrid in general? That's safe territory.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚊𝚍'𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗?

You chew the inside of your cheek, watching Sofia highlight something in yellow marker.

How do you explain that Madrid feels like wearing clothes that don't fit? That every day feels like you're playing a role you never auditioned for? That you miss the easy warmth of Barcelona so much it physically hurts sometimes?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒

Sofia waves at your phone like Jungkook can see her, which makes you roll your eyes.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙷𝙸 𝚂𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙰

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒 𝙰𝙼 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢

Your heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when Dani gets mentioned.

Even now, even with Carla, even with the distance and the time and the rational knowledge that your teenage crush was exactly that—teenage and over.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚊𝚍'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚒s

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚘

No, he didn't.

It's easier to pretend he didn't.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎'𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

You know exactly what you're asking.

He knows too, judging by the way the writing dots disappear two times before his next reply.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗…?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎? 👀

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒'𝚖 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The homesickness comes and crashes like a tidal wave.

It never quite goes away, the ache for the people who knew you before Madrid, before everything got complicated.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚐𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚘

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚓𝚔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

Family.

Something warm settles in your chest.

Not the grief, not the homesickness, but something warmer.

A reminder that distance doesn't erase the connections that matter.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: ❤️

You set your phone down, a sigh escaping your lips.

Madrid's still foreign, and two weeks in, and you're still mourning. Not just Mom, though that's a wound that never scabs over. It's Barcelona too. The team, the culture, the way Camp Nou felt like a second home. The way Dani smiled without agenda, the way Jungkook teased like a brother.

You're in Madrid by accident, by necessity, and every white jersey you see feels like a betrayal.

But then there's Sofia, a small, stubborn reminder that not everything here has to hurt.

You chew another candy, slower this time. Let the sourness linger.

Promises might wither when left alone, but maybe, just maybe, some things grow in their place.

You're not ready to name it. Not ready to trust it.

But for now, sitting here with Sofia's quiet scribbling as your backdrop, it's enough to keep you from sinking.

Traffic in Madrid is apparently a personal vendetta against punctuality.

Your dad's running twenty minutes late because some jackass decided the M-40 was the perfect place for a fender bender, which means you're here. Setting up his station. Organizing equipment you could identify with your eyes closed because you've been watching him work since you could walk.

The physio room's too clean, too sterile, too Real Madrid.

The Barcelona facility had character—scuff marks on the walls, that one massage table with the slightly wobbly leg that everyone avoided, the persistent smell of Bengay that had seeped into the paint over fifteen years.

This place looks like it was designed by people who've never actually treated an injury.

You're sorting through resistance bands when Namjoon appears in the doorway, looking like he's lost a fight with his textbooks. Again.

"Your dad said you might be here," he says, adjusting his glasses. "Traffic's insane out there."

Right. Namjoon.

You met him exactly nine days ago when he wandered into the wrong lecture hall and ended up sitting through your Sports Medicine seminar. Turned out he was supposed to be in another class but was too polite to leave once he realized his mistake. Also turned out he's doing his practicum here, shadowing the medical staff twice a week.

Small world. Smaller when your dad's the new guy everyone wants to impress.

"He's stuck near Cuatro Caminos," you say, testing the tension on an elastic band. "Should be here soon."

"Need help with anything?"

You gesture at the perfectly organized equipment. "It's just busy work. Dad's paranoid about first impressions."

Namjoon nods like he understands the pressure of being the new guy. Which he probably does, considering he transferred here from Seoul and still looks slightly shell-shocked by Spanish bureaucracy.

"I'll be in the film room if you need anything," he says. "Marco's apparently having issues with his hip flexor and wants to review some footage."

Of course Marco has issues. Guy probably pulled something showing off for whatever Instagram model he's currently terrorizing.

Namjoon disappears, leaving you alone with the antiseptic smell and the growing certainty that helping your dad was a mistake.

You should be back at UEM, pretending to study while Sofia explains the philosophical implications of biochemical reactions.

Instead, you're here. Instead, you're in enemy territory. Organizing equipment for people who think Barcelona is a quaint regional hobby.

The door opens again.

"Thought I saw the physio's…" The voice trails off.

You know that voice. Heard it exactly one week ago, asking if you knew his name like that was supposed to matter.

You don't look up. Keep sorting through the massage oils like they require your complete attention.

"…Daughter," Taehyung finishes, giving the Coke Zero in his hand one last sip. "Interesting."

"Riveting," you say to the bottles of arnica gel. "There's a Nobel Prize in it somewhere."

He laughs. Actually laughs, like you've said something amusing instead of dismissive. Then, leaves the can on the furniture near the door.

You look up.

Grave mistake.

He's shirtless again because of course he is. Apparently shirts are optional in his world, a suggestion rather than a requirement. Fresh scratch marks across his back, angry red lines that tell a very obvious story about his weekend activities.

Classy.

"Something wrong with your scapula?" you ask, because that's why people come here—medical issues.

Not to parade around half-naked making small talk with staff daughters.

"How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

He moves closer, traces of whatever shampoo he uses lingering in the air. It reminds you of lemons… And something else that's probably pheromones or whatever evolutionary bullshit makes objectively terrible men attractive to people with functioning ovaries.

"Your dad around?"

"Running late." You cap the massage oil, set it back in its designated spot. "You can wait."

"Or you could take a look."

You blink. "I'm not a physiotherapist."

"You know what you're doing." He's already settling onto the massage table, lying face down like the decision's been made. "Study the same stuff as your dad, should be the same no?"

"It's really not."

"How?"

Because studying and actually doing the work with your own hands is essentially different.

Because med students are not doctors.

And physio students aren't either.

But explaining that to Kim Taehyung would mean talking to a toddler. And you have better things to do than waste breath on a manchild.

"Because."

"Compelling argument."

You could leave. Should leave. Let him wait for your dad like a normal person.

But maybe it's the way he's so entitled, and acts like so. Maybe it's the need to put him in his place—especially when you don't even know where yours is.

So, you wash your hands.

"Where's the pain?"

"Right side. Under the shoulder blade. Been bothering me since Saturday."

Saturday. When he was making headlines for all the wrong reasons. When those scratch marks were being carved into his back by whatever random woman decided he was worth the trouble.

You approach the table, professional, detached. Just like you've seen Dad do a hundred million times before.

You place your hands on his back, feeling for tension, knots, the specific kind of tightness that comes from overcompensation.

His skin is warm. Firm.

The scratch marks are raised under your fingers, evidence of Saturday night's adventures literally written across his shoulders.

"Here?" You press against the scapula, finding the knot immediately.

"Mmm." The sound is low, almost a purr. "Yeah, right there."

You ignore the way he says it. Focus on the muscle. The problem. The solution.

"Probably compensation," you say, working your thumbs in small circles. "You favor your right side when you tackle. Puts extra stress on the stabilizing muscles."

"Hmmm." Another noise, drawn out and definitely unnecessary. "That feels… really good."

Your hands pause. "Are you making those sounds on purpose?"

"What sounds?"

But he's grinning into the table. You can hear it in his voice.

"The porn sounds."

"I don't know what you mean."

You resume working, digging deeper into the knot. He needs to learn that his little games don't work on everyone.

"Ah," he breathes when you hit a particularly tight spot. "Oh, fuck, that's—"

"Can you not?"

"Not what?"

"Sound like you're getting jerked off."

He turns his head, looking at you over his shoulder with that smirk that probably gets him everything he wants.

"Is that what it sounds like?"

"It sounds like you're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe I am."

"Well, don't."

He simply glances at you, smirk plastered all over his face.

You work in silence for a few minutes, focusing on the actual muscle tension instead of the idiot attached to it. The knot's stubborn, layers of compensation built up over weeks of training and whatever he does in his spare time that leaves scratch marks.

"Your weekend activities aren't helping," you say, pressing harder than strictly necessary.

"Mmhm." Another deliberate sound. "My weekend activities are very… thorough."

"I mean the scratches. They're affecting your posture."

"Ah." Like you've just told him something profound instead of basic anatomy. "The scratches."

"Unless you're wrestling with cats, you might want to tell your… companions… to be more careful."

He laughs, and you feel it vibrate through his back under your hands.

"I'll pass along the feedback."

The muscle finally starts to give, tension releasing under sustained pressure. You move your hands to the surrounding area, checking for related knots, secondary compensation patterns.

"Oh," he breathes when you hit another tight spot. "Yeah, that's… mmm."

"Jesus Christ."

"What?"

"Do you have to narrate everything?"

"I'm appreciative." His voice is muffled by the table but you can still hear the amusement. "Sue me for having good manners."

"This isn't appreciation. This you auditioning for a porno."

"Can't it be both?"

You press your elbow into the knot. Hard.

He chokes on whatever smart-ass comment he was about to make.

"Better," you say flatly.

"Fuck, okay, point taken."

The thing about Taehyung is that he's predictable. He pushes until he finds resistance, then pushes harder to see what happens.

Classic spoiled rich boy behavior—no understanding of boundaries because no one's ever enforced any.

You've met his type before. Barcelona had them too, though they usually had the decency to pretend they weren't entitled assholes.

"Turn around."

He does, and now you're face to face with his chest. Which is. Well. It's a chest. Perfectly sculpted, golden skin, the kind of definition that suggests both excellent genetics and obsessive gym habits.

You've seen better.

(That's a lie, but you're committed to it.)

"The problem's in your back," you say, positioning your hands on his shoulders from the front. "You're compensating with your anterior muscles."

"My what now?"

"Front muscles. Keep up."

He grins at that, like you've just confirmed some theory he's been testing.

"So you're saying I've been working too hard?"

"I'm saying you've been working wrong."

Your hands find the tight spots along his clavicle, pressing into the muscle tissue with more force than strictly necessary.

Indeed, he makes another sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and you seriously consider just walking out.

"That's definitely gonna leave marks," he says, looking down at where your thumbs are digging into his skin.

"Good. Maybe you'll remember proper form."

"Oh, I'll remember this."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl.

Not because it's gross—which it is—but because it sounds like he genuinely means it.

Which is worse, somehow.

You finish the treatment in relative silence, mostly because you've perfected the art of selective hearing. He tries a few more times to get a reaction, but you're done giving attention to his stupidities.

"Ice it for twenty minutes when you get home," you say, stepping back and washing your hands again. "Anti-inflammatories if the pain persists."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

You're already moving toward the sink, washing your hands again because touching him feels like it requires immediate sanitization.

"Your dad teach you anything else?"

"How to bill insurance companies."

He laughs. Again. Like you're actually funny instead of just sarcastic.

"Useful skill."

You dry your hands, not letting him out of your periphery because it feels dangerous, somehow. He's sitting behind you on the table. Shirtless. Fixed.

Still there.

Can he leave?

"Was there something else?"

"Just curious."

"About what?"

"You."

You muster all the oxygen in the room one breath. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly.

"There's nothing to be curious about."

"I doubt that."

You turn around. He's still sitting on the table, legs dangling like a kid at the doctor's office. Except kids don't usually look like they've been sculpted by people with advanced degrees in human anatomy.

"I'm the physio's daughter. That's it. That's the whole story."

"The physio's daughter who transfers from Barcelona and acts like Real Madrid personally wronged her family."

"I don't act like anything."

"You act like we killed your dog."

"You didn't kill my dog."

"But you hate us anyway."

The worst thing is—he doesn't ask it like a question, just states it like it's a fact. Like he knows more than you're letting on.

"I don't hate anyone."

"Liar."

He doesn't know you enough to accuse you like that, especially when it's imbued in such friendly tone, like he's commenting on your coffee order instead of calling out your entire emotional state.

"I don't know you well enough to hate you."

"But you know enough to disapprove."

"I disapprove of a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"People who think the world revolves around them."

He grins. "Guilty."

"People who can't take a hint."

"Also guilty."

"People who make everything about sex."

"Depends on your definition of everything."

You stare at him. He stares back, completely unashamed. Like this is normal conversation instead of him basically admitting to being exactly the kind of person you despise.

"You're unbelievable."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

He slides off, and it's always like this—moving like he's never doubted his welcome anywhere. Casually arrogant, lazily confident.

He's standing now, fingers tapping against the table in that absurd manner of people trying to look sexy.

Whether it works, you're not gonna comment.

But your dad's equipment suddenly feels very small, the space between you measured in inches instead of feet.

"I should go," he says, but doesn't move.

"Yes. You should."

He reaches for his shirt, hanging on a nearby chair. But instead of putting it on, he steps closer. Close enough that you can see the exact color of his eyes, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the small scar near his left eyebrow that probably has a story you don't want to know.

His hand moves, casual and way too quick, slipping into the pocket of your hoodie before you can react.

"Think I'll be borrowing one of these."

He pulls out a pikota, examining it like it's a rare artifact instead of candy you buy at any corner store.

"Those are mine."

"I know." He pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Sour. Interesting choice."

"Give it back."

"Can't. Already eaten."

"The rest of them."

"Finders keepers."

He's still standing too close, looking down at you with that smirk that suggests he knows exactly how inappropriate this is and doesn't care.

"Besides," he says, finally stepping back, "now I know what to call you."

"My name is—"

"Gominola."

Your brows knit in disbelief. There's just no way—no way—that Real Madrid's number two, Kim Taehyung, the arrogant prick standing in front of you, had the audacity to cut you off mid-name… only to nickname you Gominola.

"That's not my name."

"It is now."

He pulls on his shirt, covering the scratch marks and the evidence of whatever he does when he's not being a professional athlete.

"See you around, Gominola."

He's gone before you can respond—so you settle for cursing him inwardly, instead of outwardly.

But not quite gone.

Because the Coke Zero can is still sitting there on the counter like a monument to his casual disrespect for other people's spaces. Empty. Sweating condensation onto the pristine surface of your dad's equipment station.

Of course.

"Your trash," you call out, voice flat.

He pauses in the doorway, glances back at the can like he's seeing it for the first time.

"That's what you're here for, no?"

The audacity. The absolute fucking audacity.

"I'm not your maid."

"Hmmm… No?" He shrugs, casual as breathing. "Organizing equipment, cleaning up after people. Very maid-adjacent activities."

You stare at him. He stares back.

Neither of you moves.

Your eyebrow twitches—just once, a microscopic flicker of irritation that you can't quite suppress. It's involuntary. Reflexive. The kind of tell that gives away more than you'd like.

But he catches it. Of course he does.

"I like that," he says, leaning against the doorframe like he's settling in for a show. "That little frown you get. Right there." He gestures vaguely at your face. "Makes you look real cute when you're pissed off."

Cute.

He called you cute.

Like you're some pet that's learned a new trick. Like your irritation exists for his entertainment.

"Fascinating. I'll add that to the list of things I don't care about."

"Long list?"

"You'd be surprised."

He grins so bright, for a second you wonder if you just complimented his mother instead of basically telling him to fuck off.

"You know what? Keep the can." He straightens up, preparing to leave for real this time. "Consider it a memento."

"Of what?"

"Today. This conversation. The first time you touched me."

Your skin crawls inwards. Because the way he says it? It's not only sexual—though it definitely is—but it also sounds like he's already planning the sequel.

"It was a medical procedure."

"If you say so, Gomi."

And then he's actually gone, leaving you alone with his trash, his stupid nickname, and the lingering scent of lemons that somehow makes the entire room feel smaller.

You grab the can. Toss it in the bin with more force than strictly necessary.

The metal clangs against the sides, echoing in the silence.

Your eyebrow's still twitching.

Cute. Right.

You make a mental note to practice better facial control.

The last thing you need is Kim Taehyung thinking he has any effect on you whatsoever.

The thing about expensive universities is that they love attaching corporate logos to everything.

Like slapping a Nike swoosh on your degree somehow makes the crushing student debt more palatable. Or maybe it's the other way around—Nike gets to pretend they care about education while really just hunting for the next generation of athletes to exploit.

Either way, you're sitting in a lecture hall that's way too big listening to Professor García explain why this is such an 'incredible opportunity.'

"Nike has graciously agreed to sponsor a networking event for our Sports Science students," he says, gesturing at a PowerPoint slide that's probably older than some of the freshman. "This is exactly the kind of industry connection that makes UEM graduates so sought after."

You chew a pikota. Slowly. Let the sour-sweet dissolve on your tongue while Sofia scribbles notes like this is information worth remembering.

Corporate networking events.

Your favorite.

Right up there with root canals and Real Madrid training sessions.

"The event will be held next Friday at seven PM," he continues, clicking to the next slide. "Cocktail attire. Representatives from Nike's European division will be there, along with several prominent figures from Madrid's sports community."

Sofia elbows you. "This could be huge for internships."

"Thrilling," you say, not looking up from your notebook where you're not taking notes. Just doodling. Tiny ferrets stealing socks from faceless businessmen in suits.

"I'm serious. Nike sponsors half the football world. Imagine the connections."

The problem with Sofia is that she still believes in the system. Still thinks that networking and handshakes and business cards will somehow lead to meaningful careers instead of just more meetings with people who think they're important.

You've seen the system. Lived adjacent to it your entire life.

It's mostly bullshit wrapped in expensive suits.

"Plus," Sofia adds, leaning closer, "it's not like you have anything else going on Friday night."

What you hate about Sofia is that she is, often, not wrong.

And this time, she isn't either.

Your social calendar consists of studying, texting Jungkook, and watching your ferrets commit small crimes against your furniture.

Hardly the stuff of legends.

"Representatives from Madrid's sports community," you repeat, finally looking up. "That's vague."

"Probably Real Madrid players," says the guy sitting in front of you. Miguel something. Rich kid with a trust fund and opinions about everything. "My dad knows someone at Nike. Says they've got some big partnership thing happening."

Of course they do.

Because apparently there's no corner of your life that Real Madrid can't invade.

Not university. Not home. Not even corporate networking events that should theoretically have nothing to do with football.

"You okay?" Sofia asks, probably noticing the way your jaw's gone tight.

"Fine."

But you're not fine. You're calculating the odds that you can skip this thing without Professor García noticing. Or caring.

Except that would mean explaining to Sofia why you're suddenly allergic to networking events. Which would mean explaining about the move from Barcelona. Which would mean explaining things you don't have words for yet.

So instead you nod. Smile. Pretend like the thought of spending an evening making small talk with Real Madrid players doesn't make you want to crawl under your desk and stay there.

"Great," García says, apparently wrapping up his sales pitch. "I'll email you the details. Remember, this is optional but highly recommended. Nike doesn't offer these opportunities often."

The lecture moves on to muscle fiber types and you try to focus. Really. But your brain keeps drifting back to Friday night.

To cocktail attire and corporate representatives and the growing certainty that your life in Madrid is about to get exponentially more complicated.

Sofia's still taking notes. Dutiful, organized, probably already planning her outfit.

You draw another ferret. This one's stealing a Nike swoosh.

Seems appropriate.

Home feels different now that your dad’s working for Real Madrid.

Not worse, exactly; just… Heavier. Like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

You can hear him in the kitchen, moving around with the kind of agitation that means he’s either cooking something complicated or thinking through a problem. 

You have lived with him enough to know it’s usually both.

"¿Qué tal la universidad?" (How was university?) your dad calls out when he hears you drop your bag by the door.

"Educativa," (Educational) you say, which is technically true.

You did learn that Nike has tentacles that reach into every corner of Spanish academic life.

"Bien. Ven aquí un momento." (Good. Come here for a minute.)

The kitchen smells like garlic and something that might be steaks if your dad’s feeling ambitious. He’s standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan that’s definitely too big for two people.

Force of habit. 

He’s been cooking for crowds since your mom died, like muscle memory doesn’t understand that the crowd is gone.

"Tenemos que hablar sobre el viernes," (We need to talk about Friday) he says without looking up.

Friday. The Nike thing. Of course he knows about it. Probably got an email from someone at the university, or maybe Nike reached out directly. Corporate synergy and all that.

"Ya sé lo del evento de networking," (I already know about the networking event) you say, leaning against the counter. "El profesor García hizo el gran anuncio hoy." (Professor Garcia made the big announcement today.)

"No es eso—" (That's not—) He stops stirring what you now recognize as the veggies side dish. Looks at you. "¿Qué evento de networking?" (What networking event?)

Oh.

Oh, this is worse.

"Nike está patrocinando algo en la UEM. Viernes por la noche. Estudiantes de ciencias del deporte." (Nike's sponsoring something at UEM. Friday night. Sports science students.) You watch his expression change from confusion to something that looks suspiciously like resignation. "¿Por qué?" (Why?)

He sets down the wooden spoon. Runs a hand through his hair in that way that means he’s about to deliver news you won’t like.

"El Real Madrid tiene una cena programada con representantes de Nike. Viernes por la noche a las nueve, pero tenemos que estar allí a las siete y media." (Real Madrid has a dinner scheduled with Nike representatives. Friday night at nine, but we have to be there by seven-thirty.) He pauses. "Las familias del personal están invitadas." (Staff families are invited.)

The pieces click together immediately.

You want to throw something.

"Es el mismo evento." (It's the same event.)

"Eso parece." (Appears so.)

"Así que las 'figuras prominentes de la comunidad deportiva madrileña' son—" (So the 'prominent figures from Madrid's sports community' are—)

"El equipo. Sí." (The team. Yes.)

You stare at him. He stares back, apologetic but not apologetic enough to fix this.

"No puedo ir," (I can't go) you say finally.

"Sí, puedes." (Yes, you can.)

"No iré." (I won't go.)

"Sí, irás." (Yes, you will.)

It’s not a conversation. It’s a statement of fact, delivered in the tone he uses when discussing treatment plans with stubborn patients. 

Final and absolutely non-negotiable.

"Papá—" (Dad—)

"Esto es importante." (This is important.) He turns back to the stove, but his shoulders are tense. "Mi puesto aquí sigue siendo nuevo. Aún me están evaluando. Estos eventos importan." (My position here is still new. Still being evaluated. These events matter.)

Right. 

Because everything comes back to that—his job, his reputation, the delicate political balance of being the former Barcelona physiotherapist who now works for Real Madrid.

You’re not just his daughter at these things. You’re evidence. Proof that the transition is working, that the family has successfully integrated into Madrid’s football culture.

No pressure.

"¿Cuántos jugadores?" (How many players?) you ask, because you need to know the scope of the disaster you're walking into.

"La mayoría del primer equipo. Entrenadores. Algunos miembros de la junta." (Most of the first team. Coaches. Some board members.) He glances at you. "Es un gran evento para Nike. Anuncio de nueva asociación." (It's a big deal for Nike. New partnership announcement.)

"¿Y tengo que estar allí porque...?" (And I have to be there because...?)

"Porque eres parte de esta familia. Y esta familia se apoya mutuamente." (Because you're part of this family. And this family supports each other.)

The guilt trip is subtle but effective. Because he’s right. You are part of this family. 

The only family either of you has left.

And if supporting him means suffering through dinner with Real Madrid players while maintaining the fiction that you’re happy to be there, then that’s what you’ll do.

Even if it kills you.

Even if one of those players is as arrogant as Kim Taehyung.

"Vale," (Fine) you say. "Pero no voy a fingir ser fan del Madrid." (But I'm not pretending to be a Madrid fan.)

"No te estoy pidiendo que lo hagas." (I'm not asking you to.)

"Y no voy a hacer conversación sobre lo genial que es el equipo." (And I'm not making small talk about how great the team is.)

"Entendido." (Understood.)

"Y si alguien pregunta sobre el Barcelona—" (And if anyone asks about Barcelona—)

"Les dices la verdad. Que lo echas de menos pero te estás adaptando." (You tell them the truth. That you miss it but you're adjusting.) He turns off the heat, faces you completely. "Esto no tiene que ser una tortura. Solo... sé tú misma. Sé educada." (This doesn't have to be torture. Just... be yourself. Be polite.)

Be yourself. Right.

Because your ‘self’ is exactly who you want to be around a table full of people who represent everything you’ve been raised to view with suspicion.

Everyone keeps saying that like it’s simple advice instead of the most complicated thing in the world.

Your ‘self’ is a Barcelona girl in Madrid territory. A physio’s daughter who knows too much about football politics and not enough about corporate networking. Someone who misses her mom and protects her dad and has strong opinions about ferret care.

None of which feels particularly useful for surviving dinner with Real Madrid.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe being yourself is exactly what will get you through this.

Even if ‘yourself’ includes the part that finds Kim Taehyung insufferable.

Especially that part.

"¿Qué me pongo?" (What should I wear?) you ask, because if you're doing this, you might as well do it right.

"Algo bonito, elegante." (Something nice, elegant.) He pauses. "Tu madre tenía un vestido negro. Aún está en el armario de arriba." (Your mother had a black dress. Still in the closet upstairs.)

The mention of Mom never stops the dull ache from forming and stirring in your chest. 

Like lillies in full bloom. 

"Ya me las arreglaré," (I'll figure something out) you say, because the thought of wearing her clothes to a Real Madrid event feels like blasphemy.

He nods. Goes back to stirring.

You grab a pikota from the jar on the counter, unwrap it, let the sourness ground you while you process the fact that your Friday night just became infinitely more complicated.

"¿Al menos me dirás quién va a estar allí?" (Will you at least tell me who's going to be there?) you ask. "Para poder prepararme para el sabor específico de pesadilla que va a ser esto." (So I can prepare for the specific flavor of nightmare this is going to be?)

He rattles off names. Players you recognize from sports coverage and social media. Coaches you’ve seen on the sidelines. Board members you don’t know and don’t care about.

“Taehyung?” you ask when he doesn’t mention him specifically.

"Probablemente. ¿Por qué?" (Probably. Why?)

Because he called you Gominola and stole your candy and made sounds during a medical procedure like he was auditioning for porn. 

Because he thinks you’re cute when you’re angry and left his trash for you to clean up.

Because something about him makes you want to claw his eyes off and you’re not sure you’ll hold yourself back if you have to be in his space for three hours. 

"Solo preguntaba," (Just wondering) you say.

Your dad gives you a glance that’s accompanied by a small frown, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead…

"Estará bien," (It'll be fine) he says, turning back to the meal. "Unas pocas horas. Buena comida. Luego se acabó." (A few hours. Good food. Then it's over.)

Right. A few hours.

In a room full of Real Madrid players.

Including Taehyung.

Who will probably find new and creative ways to be insufferable while you try to maintain your dignity and support your father’s career.

What could go wrong?

You eat another pikota. This one tastes like impending doom.

"Voy a estudiar," (I'm going to study) you announce, pushing off from the counter.

"La cena está en una hora." (Dinner's in an hour.)

"Bajaré." (I'll be down.)

You head upstairs, leaving him with his meat and his optimism.

Up there, the room feels smaller than usual, like the walls are closing in with the weight of Friday night’s obligations.

Just as if your room represents exactly how you’re feeling.

Hari and Nube are there, watching you from their cage, probably sensing your mood through whatever weird telepathic connection you’ve developed with them.

“Esto es una mierda,” (This is shit) you tell them.

Nube chitches in what sounds like agreement. Hari just steals another sock.

Smart ferret. Some problems are best solved through theft and chaos.

You flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling while your brain runs through worst-case scenarios.

Taehyung will be there. Obviously. Because the universe has a sense of humor and no mercy.

He’ll probably make more inappropriate comments about your appearance or your attitude or your apparent cuteness when angry. He’ll probably find new ways to invade your personal space while maintaining plausible deniability. He’ll definitely do that thing where he acts like everything is a game and everything is fair and square. 

Everything is his prize if he so much wishes for it to be.

And you’ll have to sit there. Smile. Be polite.

Support your father’s career while maintaining your sanity.

Should be simple.

Should be.

Your phone buzzes. Not Jungkook this time—something different. A WhatsApp notification for a group you don’t recognize.

𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 - 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐝

47 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝．

You stare at the screen. Scroll through the participant list. Every name you recognize from training sessions, plus dozens you don’t. Players, coaches, staff, board members. The entire Real Madrid ecosystem crammed into one group chat.

And somewhere in that list—Kim Taehyung.

Of course.

"¡Papá!" (Dad!) you call downstairs.

"¿Sí?" (Yeah?)

"¿Por qué estoy en un grupo de WhatsApp con toda la organización del Real Madrid?" (Why am I in a WhatsApp group with the entire Real Madrid organization?)

Pause. The sound of a wooden spoon being set down.

"Cena de Nike el viernes," (Nike dinner Friday) he says, like this explains everything. "Todos los asistentes necesitan estar al tanto. Vienes, así que estás en el chat." (Everyone attending needs to be in the loop. You're coming, so you're in the chat.)

Right. Because your life wasn’t complicated enough.

You scroll through the chat history. Pure chaos. Forty-seven people trying to coordinate one dinner, and it’s exactly as much of a disaster as you’d expect.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝟽:𝟹𝟶

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙽𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛…?

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙵𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊?

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚗𝚘

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚜  

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘?

The typing dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

Your stomach drops. There it is. The question that’s not really a question.

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 👍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

You stare at that message. Blink in silence like that’ll somehow transcribe your response into existence.

God, why are they all annoying? 

The typing dots appear under your name. Everyone can see them. Forty-six people watching you not respond.

You delete whatever you were going to type.

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚜𝚘 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎?

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙾

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 💀💀💀

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙴𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷

The chat goes quiet for exactly thirty seconds. Then:

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎?

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝟷𝟿:𝟷𝟻.

Your dad appears in the doorway, probably wondering why you’ve gone quiet.

"¿Todo bien?" (Everything okay?)

"Solo leyendo el chat grupal." (Just reading the group chat.) You hold up your phone. "Es como ver un documental sobre machos alfa en su hábitat natural." (It's like watching a nature documentary about alpha males in their natural habitat.)

"¿Tan malo?" (That bad?)

"Marco acaba de decirle a Leo que su novia va a dejarlo durante los aperitivos." (Marco just told Leo his girlfriend's going to dump him during appetizers.)

He winces. "Marco es... directo." (Marco's... direct.)

"Marco es un sociópata." (Marco's a sociopath.)

"Es joven." (He's young.)

Young. Everyone keeps using that word like it explains away basic human decency.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙾𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

The responses flood in. Names, plus-ones, family members. A parade of people who belong in this world, who wear cocktail attire to corporate dinners without feeling like they’re playing dress-up.

You watch the numbers climb. Forty-seven becomes sixty-two becomes seventy-eight.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚃𝚊𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝙸𝚃 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕

The lie is so obvious it’s almost insulting. You’ve seen the headlines, the Instagram stories, the lipstick marks that make sports blogs. 

Taehyung’s focus is definitely not on football.

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 - 𝙻𝚎𝚘 + 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝙵 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘 𝙸’𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: ✅ - 𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒 + 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚊

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝙳𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚘 + 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊

The list grows. Couples, families, people who fit together like puzzle pieces in this Madrid ecosystem.

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 - 𝙹𝚎𝚜𝚞́𝚜 + 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛.

There it is. Your attendance, reduced to a line item in someone else’s confirmation.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 ❤️

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟽𝟾 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚜’ 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚘 👎

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠  

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐞𝐥: 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚛. 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙱𝙾𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚅𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝟷𝟾:𝟺𝟻

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐢́𝐚𝐬: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚜

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚊𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚊𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙰𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 not

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙾

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐕: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙽𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛.

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚛?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚖

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐞𝐥: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞́: 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚́𝐬: 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚́𝐬: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚́𝐬: 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐏𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐨: 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎��𝚊𝚟𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚗𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐢́𝐚𝐬: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚂𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐???

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙾𝚔 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚙

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝟷𝟾:𝟺𝟻 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚢

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢.

"Cena en diez minutos," (Dinner in ten) your dad says.

"Sí. Ya voy." (Yeah. Coming.)

You’re about to pocket your phone when one more message appears.

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝

Three words. Could mean anything. Could mean nothing.

But they feel like both a warning and an oath.

You’re not sure which would be worse.

The pikotas in your pocket suddenly feel insufficient armor for whatever Friday night’s going to bring.

Seventy-eight people. One dinner. Two many Real Madrid pricks whose entire personality orbits around their egos.

What could go wrong?

Your dad calls up the stairs. Dinner’s ready.

You pocket your phone, take one last look at the ferrets.

“Deseadme suerte,” (Wish me luck) you tell them.

Nube chitches. Hari steals another sock.

Some things never change—even when everything else does.

goal: 350 notes

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[alaniesims]

ID Templates for Canva [V1] 🪪

Lately I've been working on templates I've had saved in my drafts and ones I started and never finished. Completing those templates has been so fun and these ID templates specifically were really enjoyable. I'm super pleased with the outcome and I'm excited to see how they're used in everyone's stories and posts.

What’s included in this release: - Multiple passport covers - Multiple passport photo pages - Multiple stamped passport photo pages - Redacted passport photo pages - Multiple passports with boarding passes - Driver's & driving licences + learner's driving licence - Multiple career ID cards - Britechester & Foxbury student ID cards - Britechester & Foxbury student access cards - Copperdale High School student IDs

Please remember and respect my Terms of Use:

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FURTHER:

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Have fun with them and as always feel free to let me know what templates you’d like to see next 🩷

Download here 🩵

[leashybebes]

inspiration saturday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard, thank you love!

i am in the TRENCHES of post-heat exhaustion illness so this isn't super recently written, but i'm hoping it will inspire me to write something. here's some love in stereo which absolutely doesn't fit with the main fic, but will make for a cute outtake/extra someday.

for context, this is from the 'let's be the three of us' conversation from the main fic:

"How - how would that even work?" Evan asks, glancing between them. "We don't know," Sal says. "We don't exactly have a track record for it." "No? I mean, I thought you guys - w-well, you know - " Tommy shrugs. "We might bring another guy home occasionally. But we never wanted to keep one before." "A-and you do? Wanna keep me?" Evan asks.

and here is the outtake snippet:

"Hey," Buck says, his heart flip-flopping a little at the soft smile Tommy gives him. "I know I'm early, I just - really wanted to see you guys. Long day."

"Evan. Of course. Come on in. It's just me, but Sal's on his way, should probably only be a half hour depending on the traffic. You want a drink?"

"I want a kiss," Buck says, because he's learning that he can do that with the two of them - just say what he wants and ninety nine times out of a hundred, he'll get it.

Sure enough, Tommy holds out a hand and reels him in, the kiss that lands on his mouth almost unbearably gentle.

"You want me to draw you a bath or something?" Tommy offers between kisses.

"Or something," Buck says.

"Oh," Tommy says. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, c'mere."

"You think - you think Sal'd like that?" Buck asks, already gone a little breathless. "Walking in on us?"

Tommy laughs and squeezes Buck tighter against his chest. "Baby, I think he'll lose his damn mind. In a good way. Come on. Upstairs."

"Yeah," Buck says eagerly, lets Tommy tug him by the wrist across the living room and up the stairs. In the bedroom, Tommy doesn't hesitate, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it absent mindedly to one side. Buck, on the other hand, finds himself stalled out in the doorway, blinking hard because - god, it's fucking ridiculous - because his eyes are stinging.

"Hey," Tommy says, noticing. "What's wrong?"

"You, uh. You guys got a new bed."

"Oh. Yeah," Tommy says, with a glance at the ridiculously large bed that now dominates the whole room. "Sal's a fucking bed-hog on a good day, and you spend a lot of time here. Wanted it to be comfortable."

Buck's head spins a little as he reaches for Tommy's belt. God. They really meant it. They really want to keep him.

no pressure tags for @setmeatopthepyre, @ambernotember, @trombonechurchill, @chemistry66, and anyone else who has anything to share

[cheetahhappy]

THEY'RE DONNNEEEEEE!!!!

the goofy lil guys!! species inspiration reveal too!!

i think i made them perfect hugging size too :3 (i whipped out the measuring tape last night to get a roughly accurate length of them)

this was super fun to design and they will be going up as chars on my artfight if anyone wishes to draw them :D

they'd probably not be 'pure' nudibranch mers given their size, but who knows? tis a fictional world with fictional creatures so maybe they have a bit of something else in them... and their family relation eclipse has a little more to explain of that in the future....

i'm quite happy with how they both turned out!! i added the pale yellow to sun's design basically just now and i think that was what was putting me on them slightly (they didn't feel quite right before design wise), not quite enough design elements :D

side note, might be a little hard to tell but sun has a neck ruffle made out of the sticky outy thingys

moon!! fantabulious you! i like how they turned out how i wanted them to the first time around ˙ᵕ˙ i also appreciate the way moon's wrist cuffs look :3 they're very cool imo

also i might do something storywise in the future with them (ideas do be exuberantly pirouetting around in my head for stories, but i really don't like writing so tis a little bit of a predicament)

also apologies if you don't like to be tagged @sugarhog05 for something like this, but i just wanted to appreciate your mers for motivating me further to get these goobers done :D

they were supposed to be out for mermay but better late then never i guess ^ᵕ^

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬

>> digging through my own fics because i forget them ^^

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜

don't think twice - re-reading so that i can work on part two or more, whatever - i really like their dynamic, i just need to remember it's a slow burn (brother's bff!mingyu x bff's older sister!reader)

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 because literally i just re-read it since i posted it - i know i had ideas about it being wayyy smuttier but idk the characters didn't seem like it was the time for that ig (stepbrother!mingyu x stepsister!reader - fluff and angst)

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

this request that actually i absolutely love the way it turned out - why are they so hot and needy?? (student!mingyu x teaching assistant!reader)

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝:

>> alpha!mingyu helps omega!reader through her heat - it's very fluffy and sweet - i won't say there's a part two but they deserve a part two yk

a/n: yes, i do read my own stuff - how else will i get better?? besides, i like my stuff ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ master list & tag list

♡ [ 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ] ★ [ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

[majimaisms]

okay so, i'm going to address this here because i want more people to see it and weigh in, since it's something i'm not sure about and i want opinions.

i talked about this a little bit in the tags of another post, but i will elaborate on it here. it was also my interpretation for the longest time (and i still think it might have played a part in the whole thing) that he massively regretted hitting her and felt like a piece of shit for it, and that's the main reason he divorced her. realizing he couldn't protect her from himself much less anyone else, seeing no hope of being part of a happy traditional family for himself, and for mirei *with* himself.

i do think that still holds up as a reading. however. recently ive been considering whether or not he actually even regrets it or disagrees with it, like, ideologically. we all know majima has a huge soft spot for women (and children) and that he's very protective of them. that being said, the following things have happened in rgg:

-kiryu slapped haruka

-date slapped his daughter

i dont remember if they expressed remorse about it afterwards. but the fact is that "slaps" are considered by these characters to be.... acceptable? somehow? even a character like kiryu, *the protagonist*, sees it fit to slap a child. it's sort of done as a "get it together" thing, in their minds. (NOT saying this is okay.)

with majima's... entire worldview, i don't think its unlikely at all that he would consider a pregnancy a miracle and consider it a life, and, terminating it akin to murder. yes. i am saying majima might be pro-life. (see the point about his soft spot for children.) in addition, i think with his issues about agency, he might've felt truly betrayed by mirei. with a combination of these two factors, and how rgg treats slaps (and assuming that it WAS a slap), i can see majima doing it completely self-righteously and without remorse. i also don't know if he even has the emotional tools to think about things in terms of "escaping cycles". i genuinely dont. at least not at that point in his life.

i think it's still possible that the points you made played into it regardless, but i can't really explain why he *did* hit her in the first place without these considerations. and majima isn't wishy washy, he stands behind his decisions. obviously he wasn't like "fuck this girl" because he definitely still cares about her, but i don't think he would just consider what he did a mere lapse in judgment either. maybe he'd be like "yeah, i probably shouldn't have done that in retrospect", but in the moment and leading up to the divorce, i can see him not being bothered by the fact that he *hit his wife*. i do think he might genuinely be that far gone.

there's also the point of mirei being sort of a cautionary tale against getting an abortion -- she lost the ability to bear children because of it and it (and the events surrounding it) basically ruined her life. the way she talks about it, she seems somewhat regretful. compare this to a character like haruka who did get pregnant and keep the baby, and how that's portrayed in the series. my point being -- if the writers sympathize with majima in this because they condemn abortion, it is more understandable that they would choose to write majima this way

either way i totally agree he didn't want to admit to himself that this relationship was never going to work out. these are just some thoughts that have been floating around in my head

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

"My Shy Sweetheart" Twisted Ginger X Reader Angst No Comfort

OKAY I'LL GET JUMPED FOR THIS IK IK THIS A GIFT TO ONE OF MY PRECIOUS MUTUALS @heyguysijusthereforawesome THEY REQUESTED THIS, I DELIVERED, THEY WANTED ME TO POST IT PUBLICLY WHICH I DIDN'T EXPECT BUT HEY??? ANDBABSBAHSHA 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

Can't lie it's probably gonna be one of my angstiests(?????) fics so??? Uhhh please proceed with caution??

Y'ALL PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES AND DON'T FORCE YOURSELF TO READ, YEAH??? YEAH. YEAH?? WE GOOD???

TW: Violence, head injury, neck injury, blood/ichor, reader death, no comfort, no happy ending, lots LOTS OF ICHOR SOBS-

I'll be back to post silly fluff content trust me pls just been doing lots of stuff

Also please let me know if there is anything else I need to tag? I don't wanna cause any triggers or anything hhhhh..

-Anna

This situation really had you at its limits, toons would disappear left and right and turn into these so called "twisteds" you keep hearing so much. Now, you yourself have been into the floors under, you know the dangers, the disgusting ichor and how dead and abandoned the place looked overall. Where was the old nice and safe Gardenview you always knew your entire life?

Every single day, toons would come and go to find clues or resources to survive or any health kits, anything that could help back at the lobby. No one could exactly leave this place and it would just hurt whenever another friend would get ruined, not to mention just how lifeless it all felt without any of the kids or the staff around to make sure everything is okay again.

You were also worried about the holiday floors, specifically, the Christmas floor where you knew your lover was staying at. You did visit often to check on her and every single time, she'd look more concerned and scared about the situation. Ginger didn't know exactly what happened out there in the lobby as the holiday floor and rooms were not really for the public and were off limits.

But when you started to make your way to the Christmas floor, it felt.. empty. It didn't felt inviting like it usually does. Honestly it was one of the very few floors you loved to visit because it would feel normal.. for once. Sure, it wasn't Christmas exactly but it felt good usually. Though looking at the ichor splattered across the floor in various spots and weird sounds send a shiver up your spine immediately. It felt almost comedic, since the Christmas music in the background still played as usual. Almost as if the floor was telling you itself that everything is okay.

No greetings from Bobette, not even from Rudie, hell, not even a small "bworf" from Coal! You knew Ginger would usually do some activity by now to pass the time but she would always greet you the moment she hears you entering the floor. It felt so.. empty and it gave you such a bad feeling right now. Quiet usually meant trouble now or that something was horribly wrong, it would usually be both.

You carefully made it through the floor, debating whether you should actually call out to any of them but the idea of not getting an answer or a twisted popping in front of you made you feel complicated. You made it towards the locations you knew Ginger liked to stay in like the couches with the TV or the kitchen area where she would try her best to make delicious cookies.

Inspecting closer at the kitchen area, you noticed an unsual amount of ichor there that made your throat close once you realized what exactly it was. You always recognized that specific hand.. it was the arm of Ginger. It shook you so much that you took steps back and covered your mouth as you tried to grab something to keep yourself standing up. You felt dizzy and heavy and weakness was catching up on you.

Using the walls as support, you made your way out of the room and took deep breaths to calm yourself. It couldn't.. have been Ginger, right? But the amount of ichor and the arm.. you knew that arm all too well to really say. Then again, you did get dizzy fast enough to really check thoroughly.. not that you wanted to go back again though.

A soft growl made your eyes wide and slowly turn in the location of that sound, what you saw though made you freeze as all the color drained from your face. It was your beloved Ginger as a twisted. Her voice was raspy and her teeth sharp, her eye was red and Intense, one arm was missing and ichor was in various places. This wasn't the Ginger you once knew and said I love you to. She looked so different and the same at the exact same time, it was terrifying.

Before you could process what you were seeing, Ginger spotted you and immediately started to chase you. She was.. slow. You didn't realize how slow she was as your fight or flight response kicked in and you hurried somewhere randomly. You quickly hid behind some boxes as you tried to calm down, thinking you probably got away from her and could stay here to collect your thoughts properly. Though a shaky breath and a growl next to you made you jump and scram immediately.

That was so weird.. that strategy usually worked on most of them that you have encountered. You and those remaining had discovered that twisteds don't really see that far like toons can, it made sense they often gave up the chasing when they couldn't really see well nor far in front of them. Ginger seemed to not follow that rule.. or she was so good at focusing ahead of her and staying locked on her target even if they were far away, almost like she was putting all her focus there.

Some ichor on the floor made you slip and fall forward on a table with some chairs, coming face to face with old drawings of kids that used to visit here. Your stomach and chest really hurt as you tried to push yourself off, already feeling weak from before from all those events. When you turned around fully to check where she was, Ginger had managed to get insanely close. So close that she grabbed one of your wrists super tightly, a death grip that made you flinch as she tried to attack you with her other arm that just happened to be gone.

You fought back by trying to push her away while also fighting her sharp teeth that were trying to damage you by biting you. You were scared by just how much power she had in her grip, it really got to you. It was like she really hated you at this moment. Now you finally understood what everyone else had to go through with their closest friends or significant others, this really hurt like hell and you didn't have it in you to hurt her though you did have an idea.. was it stupid? Maybe..

"G-Ginger.. please.. I-It's me.. it really hurts.." You sobbed as you felt yourself tearing up and shaking. You just wanted Ginger back and everything to be back to normal. She was gripping your wrist so hard, you didn't feel the ichor flowing through properly, it terrified you. You feared that if she kept going, she would actually break your arm, it didn't help that you didn't have much energy anymore from all the emotions you felt. You felt your stomach drop by the idea of what will happen to you.

It seemed like whatever you said kinda worked because Ginger let go of your wrist and gripped her head as she exhaled shakily and groaned in pain. Almost like she got the biggest headache of her life. It gave you a chance to push her off and run away. It wasn't like you got far though, as you felt too overwhelmed by everything. Looking back and seeing how in pain Ginger seemed to be giving you at least some hope that you can get away without much damage. Your tears had blurred your vision and you feeling weak got to you as you tripped since your legs were very shaky.

You didn't think much of it though, as you tried to crawl away and stand up again but when you tried and failed for a bit, Ginger had caught up to you and had pinned you down on the floor, her strong arm pushing your shoulder down, making you pretty much unable to really move. Looking up at Ginger, her expression looked more furious than ever as she put more strength, making you gasp in pain as you grabbed her arm with both hands and tried to push it off. Though it was futile as you just simply lacked the power to do so.

Ginger was pressing her entire body on you as she sat on your lap, hunching over at you while her almost non-existent arm wiggled like it wanted to attack you as well. She growled under her breath as she tried putting more power into pinning you, though it didn't do that much and she could see that. Her head was twitching and her pupils were dilating as she groaned and grabbed your head before smashing it against the floor a few times harshly, making you start to bleed ichor from behind. You gritted your teeth and winced at the pain but the ichor you lost from you made you feel weaker and weaker.

Trying to push Ginger's intense grip on you away failed pathetically as she was too strong for you. To add salt to the wound, Ginger groaned in annoyance at you looking at her with those eyes before she leaned down and left a big bite at your neck as she tore skin off, making you start to bleed from there as well. It was enough to make you pass out, your last vision being Ginger looking down at you with ichor in her mouth. She watched as your eyes closed and just watched you fall flat as she finally let go of your head.

She stood there, staring at you as she watched you just die in front of her and instead of feeling glad that she got you finally, all she did was feel pain and guilt swimming in her. Her hand shook before she finally processed what actually happened. She tried to call your name but all that came out was gibberish. She tried to shake you, that maybe this was all a nightmare which she wasn't a twisted and you two were just playing but no. Only ichor came out of her eye as it landed on your now dead body. Her hand shakily pressed on your ichor that spilled out and she examined it, almost like she believed it was her own instead of yours.

But no, it was yours.

Thank you for reading! <3 (Are you okay-)

[cat-castors]

Scammer!reader x Jason

sort of a part 2 but not really bc it's more of a jason pov???

Jason Todd is a petty man. I think that much is obvious, he's petty, holds grudges longer than he should but most importantly he loves serving people their just desserts, loves to see the utter panic and breakdown they do when they realize he'd outsmarted them. So of course when a pretty little bird has the audacity to try and scam him—

Well, he's not going to take it lightly.

At first, he was just playing along, he's known from the start of course, your real name, your real childhood, the pets you'd grown up with, the name of your first grade teacher.

He didn't intend at all to do much more than string you along, see how far you'd push this farce pretending to be his spouse (truly, did he look that gullible to you, bird?)

but somewhere along the way, he found himself wanting to be closer to you, somewhere his fascination twists, an ache between his gums, hunger that can't be satisfied, an amalgamation of his darkest desires.

He wouldn't call it obsession, no—He just thinks, its such a waste not to take a bite, you'd already offered yourself up to him so willingly, (not that you'd realized it.)

Garnished, decorated and laid in a silver platter for him to sink his fangs into, (really bird you shouldn't have. You really know how to spoil a man don't you?)

What else was he supposed to do but keep you for himself?

Tagging; @urgentlyspicypoison

[brisquad-unit-4402]

unexpected kisses with krisis - zali

oog, been too long since i posted here, thank you all for having me 🥹 getting back into the swing of things with an old wip now finished!

i've had this draft for even longer, about 6 months now... that's because it's a series. i'll post vanta soon! and with luck, i'll finish wilson's in time with that! the types of kisses that make you all confused even more than when you started!

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, no closure, accidental getting-together, implied krisis hero!reader, pining, some tongue/finger stuff idk, reader is into someone else, unrequited feelings

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🧻 Vezalius Bandage

The sun is shining, the music is inviting, and the text you've been waiting on all day disappoints you. You flop down on Zali's bed with a melodramatic grunt. "Zaliii," you whine. "Why are men so difficult?"

Beside you, Zali focuses on the neck of his guitar. Music twists around his fingers. He plays a rendition of a love song, just as bluesy as the painted finish on his electric guitar, and only speaks up once he plays the bridge. “They’re quite simple, really.”

“Of course you’d say that. That’s the problem,” you mope. While you sink into the mattress, you hold your phone up as you reread your messages. This guy’s been texting you lately—well, more like you’ve been texting him. He’s cute, but he can’t carry a conversation to save his life.

Zali chuckles a bit, easing into a different tune. “What did he say this time?”

“Nothing. Just one dumb 'Haha.'” You hold your phone high in the air as if it were contagious. You set it to ringer instead of silent so you could read his texts immediately, even turned up the notification volume, yet... “So mid.”

“Very,” Zali says dryly.

Three dots appear. You return your phone straight above your face. “He’s typing.”

“Hm.”

Zali has a talent for hmm'ing in a way that makes you feel way too seen. You watch intently as the three dots hover under his stupid Haha. They collapse. A second later, they return, reigniting your hopes until they disappear for good.

The screen of your phone darkens. You can see the shape of your frown in the reflection. “I don’t think he’s texting back.”

Music swells next to you. Zali strums, trying to figure out how to console you. “This… person you’re seeing,” he begins. “He’s mid?” You nod. “So why him?”

“Okay, he’s not entirely mid. Just his texting,” you defend. “He’s funny, and he makes me laugh, and…” As you explain yourself, you trail off. A small, glowing smile slips across your face. “He likes when he makes me laugh, too.”

“Is that so unique?”

“He makes me happy.”

“Anyone can make anyone happy.”

You nudge Zali. “You are so unromantic, Vezalius.”

His next note comes out shaky from the contact, but he manages to recover by blending it into a chord. “I don't know what you are talking about," he proclaims, unfazed. "I'm hopelessly romantic."

You readjust to lay on your stomach. “Fine, Romeo. What are you thinking? About him, I mean.”

The once-dissonant chord evolves into a familiar melody. It's one of your favorite songs. Ever since he figured out how to play the hook by ear, it's become one of his go-to jams. Whenever he plays it, he improvises some of his own riffs over the parts he hasn't memorized yet.

His pick scrapes across the string, tossing a layer of grit over the smooth strumming. You haven't moved your finger from where you poked him, so you can feel the slight pull of his muscle as he plucks the string. "I don't think much about him. I don't know him." The song warps around Zali's fingers. Your muted humming blends in with his guitar. "All I can tell is that you like the feeling of being wanted."

“Go on.”

"Pursuing someone is only fun when they like you back. But he seems distant." Zali hesitates, letting a chord ring in the air as he thinks. As it resonates, he peers at you. You can see the sunlight in closed-blinds stripes against his eyes, crossing in shades of ochre. "You like spending time with him, but it’s hard to get his attention, so you have to convince him you're worth his time. His loss. Anyone in their right mind would enjoy your company."

You let out a short exhale like a laugh. "I think you lost the plot."

With all the confidence of a tenured professor, Zali declares, "Either he needs to step up, or he has no taste."

His fingers press down on the same frets, repeating the previous note. His eyelashes flutter closed. "But you barely described this person, so I'm uncertain what category he falls under."

"Did too."

"That told me nothing."

"It's his personality." You prop yourself up into a proper sitting position, leg flush along the body of his guitar. "He's fun to be around."

"You're supposed to point out what makes them so appealing."

"I already did."

"Should I provide a better example?"

"Such as?"

"Such as attentiveness. You are very attentive."

"Mm."

"You're sweet." The song softens. "And I like the way you think. You're very thoughtful of everything you do."

Zali's arm pauses, letting the last note hang with his hands over above the strings, uncertain. It's only now that you realize he's made no move to shake your hand off his sleeve.

“You are a very appealing person, Reader.”

Whoever leaned in first no longer matters. The memory had gone out the window along with your breath, not to mention your common sense. Zali lowered the neck of his guitar to get closer, but your hand clutched the fabric of his shirt. There were two guilty parties behind this kiss.

Regardless, innocence bleeds through. Chaste. The first kiss is pure enough, but curiosity begs further investigation once the initial surprise wears off. The curve of Vezalius’s lip is as smooth as the tuning on his guitar.

Now that the guitar wasn’t in the way, you could place your hand on Zali’s cheek. You peek out from drooping eyes, slowly losing your senses aside from pressing lip to lip. You refuse to address the jumble of emotions. If you let logic color your thoughts, they’ll splatter over the living painting in front of you. Rose-tinted cheeks. A mouth dragging watercolor. Dark hair brushes along your fingertips and his cheek, matching his eyelashes drawn in charcoal. Those lashes and the stitched scar give way to golden filigree as Zali cracks open his eyes.

You remember who this is.

Skimming along the heat of his blush, you savor the next kiss—you’ve lost count. A hand rests on your shoulder as Zali leans in. You’d mistake him as eager.

Your thumb is so distracted in circling his cheek that it makes contact with his lip just as he parts his own. His grip on your shirt tightens. Dew coats the petal of his mouth. Zali accepts your invitation, connecting lip to lip to finger in a strange triangle, an abstract expression. The triangle becomes a polygon. What shape, you’re unsure; it depends on the placement of the vertex. Briefly, perhaps accidentally or perhaps subtly, his tongue slots along your thumb.

He rests, waiting to see if this is okay, if this can go further. It is, he does. For as indulgent as you’ve been acting, he ventures with a sense of gentleness, soothing over the knuckle, lapping at your nail. Of course you react. Your thumb rises yet he closes the distance, painting the callus on the pad.

A sharp PINGGG assails your ears.

The sound of parting is louder than the alert. There’s a smack in the air as you’re both startled out of the spell.

Then comes the shock. The wide eyes, the dryness in your mouth even though his lips had felt so soft, his kisses evaporating from your thumb.

Zali pushes you back with a grunt, more dumbfounded than anything. His slender hand slumps to your chest while the other rises to his lip. Saliva sparkles in a line along his chin.

He stares at his lap, a shudder in his breath growing more prominent as he notices the drool. In a burst of realization, Zali clamps his mouth shut and swipes it away. The sudden movement makes his guitar inch off the sheets.

“Shit,” he curses, clawing for the guitar before it hits the floor. He catches it by the body. Twuung. The instrument sings mockingly; you hear an ugly strum. At least the guitar seems unscathed. Zali repeats “Shit” with a fleck of spit against his lip. A traitorous line of thought wonders if that was your doing.

He clutches the guitar close to his chest, as if keeping his hands close would offer an apology for where they previously touched. His sleeves muffle the clumsy strum. Now that the quiet has taken hold, awkwardness settles around your shoulders like an itchy blanket, nailing you in place.

Zali shuts his eyes and asks, “Did he text back?”

Fuck a traitorous thought. Your mind has gone full betrayal by now.

You look straight ahead and make no move. “I’m not sure.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[icedmochalana]

nagi was.... a lazy one to say the least. everyone knows it; it's literally his key personality trait. but you genuinely seemed so shocked at how truly muscular he was. im talking rock hard abs, tense thighs, bulging biceps, perfect calves. it didnt make sense. how did that man, whose deadliest sin was sloth, get so ripped? your eyes followed him on the field, vision locked on his incredible technique, and the way his jersey sometimes hugged his frame as he ran across the field. whenever he appeared on the big screen, panting, sweating, eyes ablaze with determination and grit, his muscles were simply amplified. not only that, he had stamina. crazy stamina. that was expected out of any soccer player really, but in his post-game interviews, despite his tendency to claim he was about to go take a very long nap, before anything else, before a celebration due to an awesome win, he'd run three, yes three, laps around the field. he called it his ritual for less hassles and more wins.

seishiro nagi. running. on his own will. in his own free time.

it was then that you realized that he had unlocked a new emotion long ago, when he first started the sport he now loved dearly: passion.

"you really love soccer, don't you?" a smile painted your lips as you ran one of you slender fingers across his upper arm. one eye fluttered open as he sleepily watched you. he was confused; were you trying to saw that he loved soccer more than you? he panicked internally, and opened his mouth to reassure you.

"i mean, you're so dedicated. you love resting but you always stick to your gym workout routine, making sure your body is in good condition. it's incredible, really." your eyes met his now opened one and you smiled. "makes me want to work hard too."

he just started at you, then pulled you against his chest into a warm hug. not once did nagi let you go that night.

the next time he went to the gym, he insisted you tagged along with him.

"wanna show you how i get my muscles. if you like it, then it's not a hassle anymore."

[ proofread-ish! ] [ feedback greatly appreciated :3 ]

[yuriko-44]

yearning for freedom

yuriko ✰ 19 ✰ she/he ✰ reality shifter

Welcome to my little corner of the internet!!

This is my reality shifting blog. I'll share things about my desired realities, my journey and all things shifting!!

I'm Yuriko, I'm 19 and I go by she/he pronouns!!

I'm a permashifter, in the sense that I won't be coming back here, who lives lots of different lives out there in the multiverse!! I haven't shifted to any of them for now, but that's going to change very soon.

I first found out about shifting between 2019 and 2020 from a youtube video about lucid dreaming. I didn't believe it at first, but here I am now!! I first started getting my information from tiktok, but things were starting to get so contradictory that I took an excruciatingly long break that lasted from 2020 to 2024. I came back to shifting on the night before the first of January 2025.

There was a period of my life in which I used to lucid dream almost every night, but after being fed a bunch of misinformation that led me to get extremely scared every time I'd find myself becoming lucid, I forcefully stopped myself from getting lucid dreams. But now I'm working on mastering lucid dreaming again, not only because it was fun, but because I'm interested in shifting through lucid dreams!!

For this reason I'll be posting some dream journal entries- not all of them, only the most interesting ones!!

During my journey, I didn't exactly have a main dr, since I used to change it every time I wanted to make a new script, but now I officially have one!! It's a bnha reality and it's probably the one you'll hear me talk about the most!!

With reality shifting there are infinite possibilities out there. All those possibilities and I still decide to script myself as 'pre-existing characters' in some of the realities that are about my favourite games/shows/etc...wow- I'm so original guys-

I don't know why that happens- actually I do, it's because I hate myself here and whenever I get attached to a fictional character I'm like "they're so fucking cool, I'd love to be like them" and since I know about shifting I end up making drs in which I'm them...yay-

Past the cut you'll find my dr masterlist, some useful tags and things like my dni list!!

Here's a list of the drs I'm comfortable sharing and talking about on my blog!! I've got more realities I'd be willing to share, but for now I only listed a few, I can always add more if I want. Here you can also find the links to the drs intro posts.

→ I'm still scripting most of these realities!! ←

[ 🔖 ] shifting hub reality

[ 📌 ] main desired reality

— Waiting Room Realities

🔖 Home :: main waiting room → 🔗 (this intro was made very quickly, I'll probably remake it)

TAG :: #🗺️ Home wr

This is my main waiting room that also functions as a shifting hub!! As long as this script is done, I could ignore doing all the rest, since I'll shift to this waiting room and make more scripts before going anywhere else.

In this reality, all animals, insects and whatnot are shifters!! We can all turn human though. I can turn into a grey wolf!!

— Desired Realities

📌 Symbol of Fear :: main bnha reality → 🔗 (this intro post is extremely old, I'm working on a new one)

TAG :: #🧤 Symbol of Fear dr

This is my main reality, the one I'll be spending 90% of my time in. In this reality I'm Shigaraki Tomura and, in short, after the war society changes for the better, me and the lov and everyone like us get to live and so on and so forth. It's extremely difficult to summarise- I'm sorry-

It's TV Time!! :: deltarune reality → 🔗

TAG :: #📺 It's TV Time!! dr

This idea is very recent (at the time of making this post), but god I'm already obsessed!! In this reality I'm Tenna!!- I saw him for the first time and my brain immediately went "yup, that's you in another reality, now make a script". There are some important differences from canon (how I treat my employees, for example) and...well, I can't really script this reality while I'm here!! I'll go to my main waiting room, I'll see how Toby Fox intended to continue and finish Deltarune and I'll decide what to script from there.

One Hell Of A Time :: cuphead reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🎲 One Hell Of A Time dr

This is the dr in this list that I had for the longest time. It's the third dr I've ever scripted, if I'm not wrong. I actually have a finished script, but it's really old, so I'm going to remake it. In this reality I'm King Dice- guys- he was my first actual fictional crush and after I found out about shifting my brain was like "...no...no, baby- that's not your boyfriend, that's you right there, now go make that script"...so here we are- in short, take Cuphead, deprive it of all cartoon elements, give it a religious-heavy lore and throw Dice in hell and heaven. "Why does this sound like the Divine Comedy"?...well, it's inspired, soooo- so yeah, horrible shit is going to happen-

Hopes and Dreams :: undertale reality → 🔗

TAG :: #❤️ Hope and Dreams dr

In this reality I'm Frisk. There's not much to say honestly, I just want to live one of my favourite stories ever. I grew up with Undertale so I had to make this dr. This is exclusively a Pacifist Run, by the way.

Friendship is magic :: my little pony reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🌈 Friendship is magic dr

My Little Pony was my favourite cartoon growing up, so you know I had to make a dr about it!! I'm still scripting it, but I'll probably add an element of friendship or make myself a princess/prince, I want to be important, ok?

Zampacity Sud :: catz petz 2 reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🐾 Zampacity Sud dr

Some of my best childhood memories are about this game!! I was, I am and I will always be obsessed with this game!! You basically play as a cat whose village gets damaged by an evil wolf, Ivlet, who also steals this powerful magic hat. Since it was your fault he escaped from jail, at first you get arrested, but then your friend, Victor, takes the blame for you (it was both your and your friends fault, btw- but it was his idea, so enjoy prison, Victor) and you decide to go and get the hat back- after you helped around the village.

Zampacity Sud is the Italian translation of the protagonist's village, South Pawville (and yes, there's a North Pawville as well)

Hero of Twilight :: twilight princess reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🗡️ Hero of Twilight dr

I remember watching my older brothers play Twilight Princess when I was little and I immediately loved it- well, at the time I didn't understand the story, I just thought Link was cool as fuck and I wanted to be like him...and in this reality I'm him because fuck you, that's why- jokes aside, I love this game not only because it's part of my childhood, but also because the story and everything about this game is just amazing. Literally my favourite Zelda game.

The journey begins :: pokémon reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🧭 The journey begins dr

I'm Italian, so I'm used to seeing the word 'Pokémon' spelled with an accent on the e, so no, it wasn't a mistake!! In this reality I'm an aspiring Pokémon Ranger!! My first ever Pokémon (and best friend) is a Sableye!! I still don't know what my team will be like, but I know I'll have a Staraptor, one of my favourite Pokémons and very good for flying, and an Arcanine, giant puppy who is also very good for on land transport.

Welcome to Berk :: httyd reality → 🔗

TAG :: #🐉 Welcome to Berk dr

I have to continue the childhood inspired drs with How To Train Your Dragon. It gave me the biggest brainrot of all time. I loved Toothless with all of my heart and I still cry from the first movie to this day. I'm actually not exactly sure of what I want to do with this reality, honestly, but I 100% know I want to make a httyd reality!!

I just realised that most of these drs are either about things that I loved as a child or things that my child self would love...and some that only my adult self would love, because I doubt my younger self would like my symbol of fear and one hell of a time realities-

Here are some other useful tags!!

#✨ yuriko yaps → posts that aren't about shifting.

#✨ shifting talk → posts about shifting.

#✨ dream journal entries → interesting dreams.

#✨ shifting journal entries → about my journey.

Tweaking over this post I made- sorry I needed to save it somewhere: 🔗

𝐃𝐍𝐈 anti shifters, haters in general, cringe/cancel culture, close minded people, homophobes, transphobes, pedophiles, zoophiles, racists, sexists, etc.

𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 feel free to leave asks!! Whether they're questions or just little messages and comments, they're all welcome. Also I'd be really happy to answer questions about my drs!!

𝐃𝐌𝐒 it'd be nice to make some shifter friends, so don't be shy and come say hi!! But if I don't answer please don't spam, I'm probably busy and/or I haven't noticed your dm yet, so please have a little patience. If I don't want to talk to you for whatever reason I'll make sure to tell you, I'd rather not ghost anyone!!

જ⁀➴ 𝟒𝟒𝟒 𝟓𝟓𝟓 𝟖𝟖𝟖

[honorhearted]

Recommend 6 Blogs? Ones you think should be followed and why.

//Oh gosh, well...this kind of thing makes me leery since I'm always afraid of leaving someone out (I tend to be forgetful, and it's nothing personal), so I'll preface this by saying that if I follow you, I 1,000% think you're worth following! <3 I'm also going to do this in alphabetical order, cuz I don't want to rank anyone either!

1) @brooklynislandgirl ~ Super sweet and friendly, with a very fleshed out, well-written OC. Turtle's pro se always makes me want to try 10,000x harder so that I can match her quality! If I ever wanted to roll in someone's writing like a pile of leaves, hers would be it. <3 I get a lot of joy every time I read her replies.

2) @dreaminganthea ~ A new friend, but no less valuable! I enjoy her OC, as well as the period drama m.emes/posts she reblogs. And it's also fun to chat OOC with her about Ben/Seth, cuz obviously, I need more outlets to be annoying about them lol.

3) @faithhearted & @retrograderesemblance ~ These two are getting tagged as a package deal, cuz they're my ride-or-dies (apologies in advance, and/or my c.ondolences lol). Anyone who's been following me since the beginning shouldn't be surprised to see their names, cuz...well...just look at how often they pop up on my blog lol. I'm always in awe of their diabolical plot ideas, and how much they bring to the table. They research SO much for their OCs, and it honestly puts me to shame. Can't give enough praise in the world! <3

4) @morgansmornings ~ Very kind and fun to talk to, and with a great OC who she's super passionate about. I love all the lore, and seeing how she interacts with Ben. Our thread is definitely more lighthearted than most of mine, and I love that little breather; though I also see the potential for more, which is always the best kind of writing experience. :)

5) @resolutevalor ~ Aly is my oldest mutual! <3 I only created Ben cuz of her Anna, so if you're sick of seeing me here, blame her LoL. I've really been enjoying our Ben/Y.elena interactions lately, and she has a great grasp and passion for all her characters in general. Always great to see her on my dash!

6) @savingthrcw ~ I honestly wasn't sure which of her blogs to tag, cuz they're all great! I first started writing with Ele on her Emma S.wan page, and the chaos began from there lol. She has an insanely intuitive grasp of every character we've ever discussed. Even though I've obviously been (obsessively) studying Ben since 2020, after I convinced Ele to watch TURN, I was always so impressed by her analyses -- and yes, she pointed out some things I'd never truly considered! With that said, she brings that same level of attention to detail with her own muses, and she always has a lot of passion and eagerness to interact with the RPC.

Bonus (cuz I said so!): @marisetcaelum ~ We've been mutuals for a couple years, iirc, but never really got to interact much until now. I'm really enjoying getting to know both them and their OC, Bird, and I have a feeling Bird's going to be too much for Ben to handle lol. Mun's yet another person I've suckered into watching TURN, and I'm not sorry at all. >:)

@ Everyone else: YOU ARE OVERFLOWING WITH TALENT, AND I ADMIRE YOU!!! <3

[cheesybadgers]

I was only going to ramble about this in the tags of another post, but I think it's indicative of a wider issue in being a fic writer these days, so I needed to vent.

Something I've noticed across multiple fandoms/ships on AO3 and Tumblr is people leaving comments that in the process of complimenting the author of the fic in question, they also manage to backhandedly insult every other writer for that particular pairing/character.

These comments are usually along the lines of "No one else but you captures their dynamic properly", or "This is the only fic in the fandom that portrays them accurately like they are in canon", or "I've tried reading other fics for this pairing but they all felt off/wrong, unlike this one which is perfect/correct".

I don't think malice is intended to all other fic writers in the fandom when people say things like this and I assume it's more thoughtlessness and getting carried away in the moment, but personally, when I see these comments in relation to characters/ships I've previously written, my heart sinks and I doubt I'm the only writer to feel this way.

To put it into a slightly different context, if you walked into a room full of people and went up to someone to compliment their outfit, would you really express this, in full earshot of everyone, by saying "You're the only person in this room who knows how to dress properly", or "No one else here has any fashion sense apart from you"? I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest no, because it would be considered rude and bad social etiquette.

It's entirely possible to show your appreciation for someone, to compliment them, to support them, without passing judgement on anyone else at the same time. It doesn't need to be some sort of trade-off. In other words, it's obviously fine to have personal preferences and favourites, but you don't need to be critiquing other writers when commenting on a fic, or pitting writers against each other, in order to big up a writer you admire.

If I'm leaving a comment on someone's fic, it's because I want to engage with the author about that particular story they have chosen to tell. What everyone else may or may not be doing in the fandom doesn't really have any relevance, and I wouldn't feel comfortable if my readers started tearing down other writers in the comments section in order to praise my writing.

Writers' (very valid, it would appear) self doubts, fears and anxieties are allayed with the 'two cakes' principle, that none of it is a competition, that there's room for everyone, that readers will happily lap up multiple versions of the same ideas/tropes etc. But I'm not entirely convinced fandom is having an honest conversation with itself on these issues at this point because words and actions are often not matching up.

[passionatefanficgirl]

Unexpected Encounters

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x Shy!Autistic!Reader

Summary: You run into Rodrick one day at the pool

Warnings/tags: Probably OOC Rodrick, soft Rodrick, fluff, shy reader, autistic reader, reader is about Rodrick's age, mention of overstimulation, reader has difficulty with speaking

****************************************************

How are sports considered classy? you wonder, as you watch a set of preteen girls playing tennis. You have nothing against preteens, of course, and they're actually pretty good tennis players.

It's the whole sports thing that gets you. Running and jumping around in this blazing heat can't be good for anyone. You'd rather be in the spa anyway, but your mum said she let you go to the country club to be outdoors.

That's the only reason why you're here. Your parents didn't want you spending all summer indoors, but the regular outdoor stuff like the pool were just too overstimulating for you.

That was when a wealthy family friend offered to take you to the country club, and your parents jumped at the offer.

It is a lot calmer than the outdoor places you're used to going to - but you've still got that awful block between your brain and vocal cords. You've been writing your orders and requests down for now, but you've got a nasty feeling that people are starting to think that you're not speaking on purpose.

And even if there wasn't that, you'd still rather be indoors, maybe sampling some of the food or getting a spa treatment.

Still, the people sitting around the pool have the right idea. They're relaxing, sunbathing, looking - well, maybe not classy, but not uncomposed.

You're about to go over and get a chair when you suddenly notice a guy sitting in one of them.

It's Rodrick Heffley.

You're still new to the area, so you don't know many people, but your mum and Mrs Heffley have become fast friends, so you've met Rodrick a few times.

You don't exactly dislike him, but you're a little afraid of him, even though he's never been mean to you.

You're not really sure why, though. He actually seems like an okay guy, but you just can't shake the anxiety.

You're about to slip away, but he notices you, gets up, and walks over.

"Hi," he says. "Y/N, right?"

You're shocked that he even remembered your name, but you nod.

"I didn't know you were a member here," he says.

You shake your head. I'm not wealthy. I'm here with a family friend... If only I could say it out loud.

"Family friend a member?"

You nod.

He grins. "Yeah, I'm piggybacking off of the Jeffersons' membership. Greg's friends with their kid Rowley."

You nod like you know exactly who he's talking about.

There's a slightly awkward pause. Rodrick seems like he's waiting for you to say something, but there's still a block between your brain and vocal cords, and you have no idea what you're supposed to say.

Finally, he says, "Do you - uh, do you come here often?"

You nod, hoping he doesn't think you're being rude. You're not trying to be rude, you just genuinely can't speak right now.

He smiles, but you notice he's starting to fidget with his hands. "Uh, do you think - I don't know, maybe we could hang sometime?"

Your heart leaps, and you nod. You try to force a smile, but quickly stop when you realise it probably looks weird.

He smiles again, and this time it looks more genuine. "Anyways, I better get back to my seat before someone else grabs it. But it was nice talking to you, Y/N, and it's great that you wanna hang sometime." He pats your arm before turning to go. "See you around."

You give him a little wave, which he returns with a smile.

As you watch him walk off, you feel a weird mix of emotions. You're still nervous around him, and you'd still rather be indoors in the spa than out here in the blazing sun, but you're also weirdly happy.

It's a strange development, sure, but you're happy that someone's talked to you. Maybe this summer won't be too bad after all.

****************************************************

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it elsewhere, etc. (reblogs are fine)

[mirophobic]

⌗ : I love writing for y'all I'm just so bad at ittttt, sorry this took so long...!

Warnings: y/n is used a couple of times - no Bakugo in this part, only mentions - slight angst??

part one , part two

Tags : @afterlife11 , @odetteskies , @feralwolfkat

Kirishima sits alone on his bed, his hands in his hair. He then hears a knock on his door, he jumps up hoping to see either you or Katsuki, but is quickly disappointed.

"hey!" Kaminari waves, inviting himself into his room, flopping down on his bed.

"hey, man." Kirishima pouts sitting next to the blonde. The boys eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead, "what's up with you?" He asks

Kirishima let's out a loud sigh, "my girlfriend and my best friend don't get along very well..."

"Y/N and Bakugo? Of course they don't, both got big ass tempers... Is that your type? bitches with anger issues??" He rambles on, Kirishima gets lost in his mind for a while.

Ever since him and you started dating, Bakugo had been really rude to you.

Until that day he walked in on the two of you.

But then he just ignored both of you?

Kirishima looks at Kaminari who stops talking when he notices the red heads face, "does bakugo like me?"

"... You didn't know?" Kaminari asks, and Kirishimas eyes widen "seriously?! No, I didn't!!" He's fingers brush through his hair.

"Should I talk to Y/N?? Or Bakugo?? Maybe I shouldn't tell either of them, that'd probably make things worse, why didn't you tell me, idiot!?" He shouts at the blonde, who flinches and stutters "s-seriously I thought you knew!"

The two of them sit in an uncomfortable silence, and Kaminari sits up, "I think you should talk to one of them... probably Y/N then figure out what to do from there...?" He offers his advice, Kirishimas heart pounds in his chest, and then he nods, agreeing with the blonde.

"probably..." He says with a sigh

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Almost a whole week passes, and that night with Kaminari hasn't left Kirishima's mind once since it happened.

How is he supposed to bring up the fact Bakugo has a crush on him?

'hey babe! Guess what? The reason my best friend hates you is because he loves me!!' Yeah right.

Kirishima stands in the dorms kitchen hands on both sides of the sink. He stares deeply into the drain until he feels arms wrap around his waist, he doesn't need to turn around, he already knows it's you.

"hey handsome, come here often?" You joke kissing his cheek, he laughs softly. "What's up? Why do you look down??" He turns fully, "I need.... To talk to you, it's serious." He watches as your face falls into a look of worry, "okay??" You take a step back, leaning on the island that's about a foot away from where Kirishima is standing.

A stiff silence falls between the two of you, before Kirishima breaks it, "listen, Bakugo has a crush on me. And I don't know what to do." Your eyebrows rise in surprise, "oh. Well do you like him back?" Kirishima stops, he didn't even think about that.. what will he do if he does, he loves you too much to leave you but if he admits he likes Bakugo that ruins everything between you two.

"Kirishima?" Your hand waves in front of his eyes, "do you?" There's a slight sternness in your voice. "I don't know." You huff, he can't tell if it's in annoyance or disbelief, but he can tell that it was not out of relief.

"then what do you want me to do, Ejiro... I can't help you figure out your feelings for someone else as your girlfriend" you try to be as comforting as possible without freaking out about the fact that your boyfriend has no idea if he has a crush on his best friend.

"I'm sorry.. I love you." his eyes look tired, this conversation has gotten pretty much nowhere, but it's made him exhausted.

"I love you too, I need you to think about this for a while, then... I guess tell me your verdict when you figure it out." You move your hand to intertwine your fingers "okay?" He nods, "I'm sorry."

You shake your head, pulling him into a hug slowly "don't apologize, it's not your fault."

You two stand there for awhile in silence, a small part of the heavy weight on his shoulders has been removed, feeling slightly better now.

You let go, pulling away from the hug. A hand caresses his cheek, no words were used but your eyes said a million things he couldn't make out for the life of him.

And then you walk out of the kitchen, your feet dragging behind you.