#i think the struggle with them is that both of them think they have the most to lose

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (3)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 8k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, resentment, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, co-parenting, long distance, growth, comfort, vulnerability, domestic, resistance, fighting/arguments, fear of reattachment, time skips, bad flirting explicit: praising, kissing, missionary, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, flirting

A\N: hiii bbys 🫶 i am (tentatively) 80% done writing for daddy kookie

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I didn’t expect the message when he landed.

Jungkook: Wheels down. First thing I saw was a vending machine that had banana milk and I thought of you. I know you hate it. But I smiled anyway.

I didn’t respond.

But I smiled, too.

He sent a picture of his hotel room next. A messy corner, a pair of AirPods, a hoodie on the floor. Nothing special. Except it was.

Because it meant he was thinking of me.

Of us.

That night, he FaceTimed just before Eun Ae’s bedtime.

Her face lit up when she saw him.

“MR. KOOKIE!!”

He grinned like she’d just handed him the stars. “There’s my girl.”

I watched from the kitchen, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other pressed against my ribs where my heart felt too big for my chest.

He read her a bedtime story- one she picked out herself. She held the book up to the camera so he could follow along.

He stumbled over the voices.

She corrected him, dramatically.

They laughed.

I felt like I was watching something sacred I wasn’t allowed to touch.

After the call ended, I found myself staring at the empty screen like it had more to say.

The next day, he texted both of us good morning.

Jungkook: Hope today’s full of soft things and fewer meetings.

Jungkook: for Eun Ae- Don’t forget your snack. Eat the grapes. Not just the crackers.

She giggled when she read it.

“I like him,” she said casually.

My throat tightened. “Yeah?”

“He’s funny. And he knows I don’t like raisins. That’s cool.”

I nodded, fighting the part of me that wanted to cry.

Because this? This felt like the part I never thought she’d get.

A dad.

A person.

Someone who stayed.

And I hated how easy it was to get used to it.

═══════

By the third day, he called at lunch just to see what she was eating. She showed him her juice pouch and half-eaten sandwich. He pretended to cry dramatically about the lack of crusts.

“You cut the best part off!” he whined.

“You’re a crust,” she said, unimpressed.

He laughed so hard, she laughed harder.

Later that night, after she was asleep, he called again.

Just for me.

He looked tired. Makeup-free. A hoodie pulled tight around his head.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Neither of us said anything for a second.

Then he whispered, “You looked really beautiful the morning I left.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I know you didn’t say anything,” he added. “But… you let me stay.”

“I did.”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

I stared at him through the screen.

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Not yet.”

He didn’t ask for anything else.

Just watched me.

Just stayed.

And I let him.

For an hour.

Without speaking.

Just breathing.

Like maybe this wasn’t a screen between us.

Like maybe the world was a little bit smaller when he was on the other side.

═══════

Tour life was supposed to be a blur.

And it was.

Call times. Sound checks. Hair and makeup. Interviews I barely remembered giving. Airports I couldn’t name. Cities that blurred together through tinted windows and hotel glass.

But no matter where I was, what time zone, what country…

I called her.

I called them.

Every single day.

Sometimes twice.

Sometimes three times.

Didn’t matter if I’d just come off stage dripping in sweat with an hour of sleep. I’d FaceTime and wait for that little beep that meant she’d picked up. That meant Eun Ae would come into view with bed hair and peanut butter on her cheek and a smile big enough to make me forget how tired I was.

“MR. KOOOOOKIE!!”

She always screamed it.

Always made me laugh.

She told me what she ate, what she wore, who she sat next to in school. She told me what color her mood was and what new word she learned and that the moon was her favorite planet because it followed her home.

I wrote every word down.

Had a notebook I kept just for her.

Eun Ae: Day 5. “Do bees have moms?”

Eun Ae: Day 9. “I drew you in my picture. You have big ears but it’s okay.”

I’d stay on the call until her eyes drooped and she rolled into her stuffed tiger.

Sometimes Y/N would come on after.

Sometimes not.

I didn’t push.

But when she did… God.

Her voice in the dark was the only thing that made this feel real.

She’d tell me about her day. Her boss. Her stress. Her coffee order. Her favorite new nail polish.

And I’d listen like every word was a verse.

I didn’t flirt.

Not really.

I didn’t want to break this.

Didn’t want to scare her.

I just… showed up.

That’s all I knew how to do now.

And in the quiet moments, when the lights went down, the crowd noise faded, the crew packed up and the hotel room settled, I stared at my screen and whispered:

“Goodnight.”

Even if she’d already gone.

Even if it was just me.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

And sometimes, I swear…

I could still hear them say it back.

═══════

I wasn’t expecting much from the panel.

Just another industry event. A half-full auditorium. Stale coffee. Small talk with men who thought “event coordinator” meant I arranged party balloons.

But I’d been invited to speak- one of five women in venue management across the region. I had notes, a blazer I hadn’t worn since college, and a pit in my stomach that only grew deeper the closer I got to the podium.

I hadn’t told Jungkook about it.

It wasn’t a secret.

I just… didn’t think he’d care.

He had a stadium full of screaming fans in Singapore last night.

My keynote about budgeting for backline crew wasn’t exactly Billboard material.

But the morning of the event, while I was brushing my teeth with a knot in my throat and lipstick half-smeared on my palm, my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: There’s something for you in the lobby. Happy Panel Day.

I stared at the screen.

My stomach twisted.

I almost didn’t go.

But I did.

And when I got to the front desk of the building, there it was.

A vase full of wildflowers.

No roses.

No lilies.

Just crooked stems. Sun-warmed color. Survivors.

And a note, scribbled on plain hotel stationery.

“First time I saw you, you were holding a bouquet of these. You’d just moved and it was your first day. You said they reminded you that growing was hard- but still worth it. You’ve been growing ever since. I see you. I remember. - JK”

I didn’t cry.

Not right away.

I carried the flowers to the greenroom, set them next to the bottled water, and stared at them like they’d speak first.

They didn’t.

So I did.

I sent him a picture. Then a message.

Y/N: Thank you. You remembered.

He replied almost instantly.

Jungkook: I remember everything.

I should’ve closed my phone.

But I typed again.

Y/N: It’s nice. Being seen.

Three dots flashed on the screen. Then stopped. Then flashed again.

Finally:

Jungkook: I’ve never stopped seeing you.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I didn’t say anything.

Not until the panel ended and I stepped offstage to applause, blinking under the house lights.

I checked my phone again.

One new message.

A voice note.

I almost didn’t play it.

But I did.

His voice filled my ear.

Soft. Breathless. Like he was recording in the dark.

“You looked incredible today. I know I couldn’t be there. But I’m proud of you. I hope you felt it. Because you should. You should feel proud every day. You’re… everything I wish I’d been brave enough to love right the first time.”

I closed my eyes.

The tears came then.

Quiet and fast and real.

Because it wasn’t just the words.

It was the fact that this time, for once,  he was saying them when it mattered.

When I needed them.

Not too late.

Just… in time.

═══════

She was humming when I picked her up.

Big skip in her step. Hair falling out of her pigtails. Glitter marker smeared across both hands.

“Hi Mama!” she beamed, leaping forward like I’d been gone for a year and not just six hours.

“Hi baby,” I said, catching her as she wrapped her arms around my waist. “Did you have a good day?”

She pulled back, nodded furiously, then shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand.

“I drew our family.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Uh-huh! It’s us. Me. You. Mr. Kookie. And Kookie Tiger.”

I unfolded the paper.

Crayons. All the colors. A stick figure with my hair. A smaller one with pigtails. A third with a lot of black swooped across his forehead and stars drawn around his head. The stuffed tiger was hovering next to him, smiling.

My chest squeezed.

“You even drew Mr. Kookie’s earrings,” I said.

“He has sparkly ears,” she explained. “And he’s tall. And he always says my name right even when the internet is bad.”

I knelt down.

“Baby… what did you say when the teacher asked who that was?”

She blinked at me.

“I said it’s my daddy.”

The air left my lungs.

“Oh.”

“She asked me if I had one. And I said yes. I have Mr. Kookie. He’s my daddy and he’s on the phone a lot, but he always says goodnight. Even if I forget to say it back.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I said nothing.

We walked to the car in silence.

That night, I sat on the couch and watched her fall asleep on the video call- phone propped up, stuffed tiger under her chin, cheeks pink and eyelids fluttering.

Jungkook whispered, “Goodnight, my little star,” before ending the call.

He didn’t even know I was still listening.

When the screen went black, I stayed in the hallway for a long time.

Just watching.

Listening to her breathe.

And thinking.

About the way her arms flew open when she saw his face.

About the way her smile bloomed when he laughed.

About how fast she’d drawn him into her world.

And how easy it would be to follow.

═══════

It came in the middle of the night.

No warning.

Just a notification.

Video Message: Jeon Jungkook

I was still awake.

Still replaying Eun Ae’s words.

Still watching the ceiling breathe.

I almost didn’t open it.

Thought maybe it was another bedtime moment. Another drawing. Another “Hey, I miss you.”

But it wasn’t.

It opened with static.

Then a soft flicker of lamplight.

His hotel room.

The camera was set up on a chair.

He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. No makeup. No filter. Just him.

He cleared his throat.

And then he said:

“This is something I wrote right after I left. When I couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t have the guts to reach out. I never recorded it. Never sang it out loud. But I found the notebook last week. And it still sounds like you.”

He picked up a guitar.

His fingers shook a little.

Then he started to play.

It was rough.

Unfinished.

But it was us.

Every word.

Every verse.

Lyrics about sidewalks and wildflowers.

About long-distance silence.

About the girl he loved before he knew how to love.

I pressed the phone to my chest halfway through.

And I cried.

Hard. Quiet. Shaking.

Because he didn’t have to do this.

Didn’t have to open this wound. Didn’t have to let me see what he never showed anyone.

But he did.

Because he meant it.

Every second.

When the video ended, I sat in the dark for a long time.

Longer than I meant to.

Then I opened our thread and typed one message.

Y/N: I’m proud of you. We are.

The dots blinked on screen.

Then stopped.

Then blinked again.

Jungkook: I love you.

I didn’t reply.

But I whispered it into the room.

Not for him.

Not for anyone else.

Just for me.

Just once.

“I love you too.”

═══════

I’d been outside her door for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.

Not that I was counting.

Okay- I was.

I’d rehearsed this moment in every city. Every country. Every hotel bed where I lay awake listening to her voicemail on loop, wondering what it would feel like to knock again.

To be let back in.

I was sweating through my shirt. Holding a bag full of small gifts I picked out like a man on a mission- stickers for Eun Ae. Bracelets. A tiny globe. A t-shirt with a cartoon tiger on it. A notebook for Y/N. Local coffee she once told me she missed. Wildflower seeds. And a letter.

I hadn’t given it to her yet.

Didn’t know if I would.

I raised my hand.

Dropped it.

Raised it again.

Then knocked. Soft, twice, like muscle memory.

The door opened before I could breathe.

And there she was.

Hair pulled back. No makeup. A sweatshirt I’d left years ago wrapped around her waist like she forgot it wasn’t hers. Bare feet. A guarded expression that just slightly melted when her eyes landed on mine.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

She raised one eyebrow.

“Took you long enough.”

I huffed a breath. Half-laugh. Half-collapse.

“You counted the seconds too?”

She didn’t answer.

But she stepped aside.

And I walked in.

Her apartment hadn’t changed.

Same chipped tiles. Same coat hooks. Same coffee smell.

Except now it had toy dinosaurs on the counter and a child’s jacket hanging beside her own. And a pair of little shoes by the door.

She caught me staring.

“She’s at school.”

I nodded. “I brought her something.”

She gestured toward the table. “You can put it there.”

I set the bag down gently like it might explode.

She moved to the kitchen.

I followed her with my eyes, not my feet.

She poured coffee.

Sipped it once.

Then leaned against the counter and said, “You look tired.”

“I am.”

“You look good too.”

I blinked.

“So do you,” I said, too fast.

Her lips twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But not not a smile either.

Silence settled between us like something sacred.

Then I took a step closer.

“I missed you.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Good.”

That made me pause.

“Because I missed you too,” she said.

Something cracked in my chest.

She took another sip. Set the mug down. Then walked past me, slow and steady, until she reached the table.

She picked up the bag.

“You got her another tiger shirt?”

“She calls me Mr. Kookie. I figured it was time to commit.”

She laughed. Soft. Real.

I could’ve cried.

But I didn’t.

I just watched her.

Watched her fingers run over the handles of the bag.

Watched her shoulders drop by a fraction.

Watched the smallest piece of her let go of something she’d been gripping for too long.

“You’re staying for a while?” she asked.

I nodded. “If you’ll let me.”

She turned.

Met my eyes.

And whispered:

“I think we both know I already have.”

═══════

It was weird how fast it became normal.

Him being here.

The sound of the front door unlocking at 3 p.m. right after Eun Ae got dropped off from school.

The way she sprinted down the hallway yelling “MR. KOOKIE!” like she hadn’t seen him the day before.

The way his jacket hung next to mine now.

I told myself not to overthink it.

He wasn’t staying over. That was the rule.

He left at night. Always.

No lingering. No wandering into my room. No lines crossed.

But every morning, he brought coffee.

Every night, he made dinner.

He loaded the dishwasher like he’d done it a thousand times. Played background music from his phone while he stirred pasta. Let Eun Ae sit on the counter even though she wasn’t supposed to.

He laughed when she dropped carrots on the floor.

Groaned dramatically when she told him she liked Yoongi’s part better than his in a song.

He helped her with homework, even when the math confused him.

He held her hand crossing the street.

He braided her hair one morning - terribly - and she wore it proudly all day.

And at night, when she fell asleep on the couch, he’d carry her to bed with the same careful touch he used when we were kids sneaking out at midnight.

I pretended I didn’t see it.

Pretended I didn’t melt when I caught him humming the song he wrote for me under his breath.

Pretended it didn’t feel right- him here.

Like he’d never really left.

Like this was the version of us we were always supposed to be.

But I still didn’t let him stay.

He’d gather his things by the door, hoodie over one shoulder, keys in hand.

“Thanks for dinner,” I’d say.

He’d nod. “Thanks for letting me cook.”

And every time I watched him walk down the hall, I’d wonder why I didn’t ask him to stay.

One night, I found him asleep on the couch.

Eun Ae had already gone to bed.

I came out to grab my laptop and there he was, curled up with a storybook half-open on his chest. His mouth slightly parted. Eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

He looked younger.

Softer.

Like someone who still had pieces to offer.

I pulled a blanket from the armchair and covered him gently.

He didn’t stir.

I stood there a moment too long.

Then whispered, “You’re doing better.”

And walked away before I said more.

═══════

She held my hand the whole time.

We walked out of her school building and she didn’t even hesitate- just latched on like it was something she’d always done.

Her backpack bounced. Her little braid was crooked. And she talked so fast I barely caught half of it.

“Okay so today we got cupcakes and they were chocolate but the frosting was vanilla and I don’t like vanilla but I ate it anyway ’cause Mr. Peters said no wasting. oh! and I told Maddie I was gonna go to the zoo with you and she said that’s cool and I said duh because you’re cool and she said cool people wear leather jackets and I said you have a lip earring so you win.”

I blinked. “You said what?”

She giggled. “Never mind.”

We stopped at the park first. She made me push her on the swing for twenty full minutes. Then the slide. Then the monkey bars, which she insisted she was a champion at, only to fall dramatically into the sand.

I caught her. She laughed harder.

We ate sandwiches under a tree. She stole my chips.

Later, we went to the library.

She picked three books. I picked one. She said mine was boring and I said hers were brilliant and she looked at me like I’d just given her a trophy.

Then came the bakery.

She marched to the counter, slammed two crumpled dollars on the glass, and said, “One tiger cookie and one smiley face for my daddy.”

I froze.

The cashier smiled.

My heart did something I don’t know the name for.

When we sat down, I asked her- quietly, gently- “Do you know who I am?”

She took a big bite of her cookie and nodded.

“You’re Mr. Kookie. But you’re also my dad.”

I couldn’t speak.

“I think you are,” she said, licking frosting off her fingers. “You look like me. You smile like me. You laugh like me, y’know?”

I blinked fast.

“Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just… happy.”

She grinned.

Then reached over, tiny fingers sticky with sugar, and grabbed my hand again.

That was it.

No fanfare.

No tears.

Just a six-year-old who already knew love when she felt it.

═══════

When we got back to the apartment, she tugged me to the living room, pulled out a coloring book, and curled up beside me like she belonged there.

And she did.

Y/N stood in the hallway, watching us for a long time.

She didn’t say anything.

But when I met her eyes, I knew.

Something had shifted.

Not just in me.

Not just in our daughter.

But in her, too.

═══════

It was getting too easy.

Too natural.

Too good.

He knew how I took my coffee now. With oat milk. One sugar. No questions.

He made it before I got out of bed, without staying the night. He’d come by early, just to start the day with us. Pretended it was for Eun Ae. We both knew better.

He made space without asking.

Claimed a drawer.

Bought the kind of cereal she liked and refilled it when it ran low.

Cleaned without being told.

Listened when I vented. Laughed when I snapped. Stayed when I went quiet.

It was good.

And that’s what scared me most.

Because I remembered what good felt like before it broke me.

Tonight, the apartment was quiet. Eun Ae was asleep. The dishes were done. The lights were low. It was just the two of us on the couch, a movie playing, barely watched.

He sat close.

Not too close.

But enough that I could feel his warmth seeping through the space between us.

I was curled in the corner, legs tucked under me. He had his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers inches from my shoulder.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

Until I did.

“What do you want?”

He turned.

“Right now?”

I nodded.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You. Still you.”

My breath hitched.

It wasn’t said with expectation. Or desperation. It was just the truth.

Like it had been sitting in his chest for years, waiting to be named.

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

The curve of his jaw. The dip beneath his eye. The scar on his lip that only showed when he was tired. The way he always looked like he was about to ask permission, even when he wasn’t saying anything.

And I wanted to kiss him.

God, I wanted to kiss him.

But I was still afraid.

Afraid that if I let myself want it - really want it - I wouldn’t survive losing it again.

I shifted.

Closed the space between us.

Let my hand drift to his.

He looked down.

Met my eyes.

And leaned in.

Just enough.

Just close enough that his breath hit my cheek.

I held mine.

Then I pulled away.

Stood up.

And whispered, “Goodnight.”

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the way his shoulders dropped.

Didn’t hear the breath he let out when the door to my room clicked shut.

But I felt it.

All of it.

Pressed tight against my ribs.

Too full to carry.

Too heavy to ignore.

Too late to stop.

═══════

He was gone before I woke up.

No text. No call. No mug on the table with a bad pun on the side.

Just quiet.

And a note.

Folded once.

Tucked beneath my coffee cup like he’d hoped I’d find it before I noticed he wasn’t here.

I stared at it for a long time.

Didn’t touch it.

Didn’t want to.

Because I already knew.

It wasn’t an apology.

Wasn’t a plea.

It was him- leaving something behind.

Eventually, I picked it up.

His handwriting was messy. Familiar. Like he’d written it fast, before he could change his mind.

Y/N,

I’m not writing this to ask for anything.Not forgiveness. Not answers. Not even hope. I just needed to say a few things. Without waiting for the right time. Without hoping you’ll say anything back.

You’ve always been better than me. Stronger. Smarter. Braver. You kept going even when I disappeared. You kept your heart beating while mine hid behind silence. You didn’t need me. But I need you to know. I always needed you. I just didn’t know how to say it.

I still don’t, sometimes. But I see you now.

Not just the girl I loved. But the woman you are.

The one who raised our daughter alone. The one who learned how to laugh without me. The one who still makes my chest hurt when she smiles.

I’m not here to fix the past. I’m just here now. And I’ll keep being here. Even if it’s just as someone who brings coffee and folds laundry wrong and says the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I’m here because I love you.

Not the memory. Not the version of you I broke.

You.

Right now.

If that’s all I ever get to say- fine. But I meant it. And I’ll mean it every time you wake up and I’m not at the door.

Always,

JK

I read it three times.

Then a fourth.

Then I folded it back the way he’d left it. Carefully, like it might tear.

I didn’t cry.

Not this time.

I just placed the letter inside my notebook. Poured my coffee. Sat at the table with my feet tucked under me.

And breathed.

Because for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for someone to come back.

He already had.

═══════

She asked me when we were brushing our teeth.

One of those moments where your guard is down, where the day is done and the world is quiet, and suddenly your six-year-old asks a question that guts you.

“Why wasn’t Daddy Kookie here when I was a baby?”

I froze.

The toothbrush in my hand stopped mid-circle.

She stared at me in the mirror, foam on her chin, eyes wide and waiting.

Not angry.

Not sad.

Just… waiting.

I rinsed my mouth. Toweled her clean. Sat us both on the edge of the tub like we were about to plot something secret.

And then I said the words I’d been avoiding for six years.

“He didn’t know how to stay.”

She blinked.

“But why?”

I breathed deep.

“Because we were young. Because we were scared. Because sometimes people don’t know how to do the right thing, even when they love you.”

She frowned.

“He left because he was scared?”

“Yes.”

“Did he stop loving us?”

“No,” I said immediately. “No, baby. He didn’t stop. He just… forgot how to show it. For a long time.”

Her little mouth twisted, processing.

Then she asked, “Are you still mad?”

That one took longer to answer.

“Yes,” I admitted softly. “Sometimes.”

“But you still let him come over.”

“I do.”

“Because you love him?”

I looked down.

At her small feet swinging under the tub’s edge. At her tiny fingers curled in her lap.

“I don’t know,” I said.

And that was the truest thing I could say to her.

She nodded, like that made sense.

Then leaned into my side and rested her head on my shoulder.

We sat there for a while.

No more questions.

No more stories.

Just silence.

And the quiet strength of a little girl who somehow already knew that love didn’t have to be perfect to be real.

═══════

She confirmed it.

I don’t know how I knew.

Y/N didn’t say it.

Eun Ae didn’t say it.

But something in the air shifted- subtle, sharp. Like the sound of a glass cracking under pressure before it actually breaks.

Eun Ae looked at me different the next morning. Not bad. Not cold.

Just… clearer.

Like she’d connected something in her head. Like the puzzle finally made sense.

We were sitting at the table. She was eating cereal.

And she said, “I think Daddy Kookie just didn’t know what to do when I was a baby.”

I blinked.

She took another bite.

Then said, “But it’s okay now. ’Cause you’re here. And I like when you make the dinosaur eggs.”

I smiled, because what else could I do?

But inside, I was splitting open.

Y/N passed by behind her, brushing her hand gently across Eun Ae’s hair.

Our eyes met.

She didn’t look away.

And I knew.

She told her.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t go to the hotel either.

I just walked.

I ended up at the river, hoodie pulled up, air sharp in my lungs.

I sat on a bench and opened my phone.

Scrolled through our message thread.

Watched a couple of the videos Eun Ae had sent - her singing off-key, showing off her school shoes, giggling uncontrollably while calling me “Banana Kookie.”

Then I opened my Notes app and stared at a blank screen.

I wanted to say something.

To her.

To Y/N.

To anyone.

But what could I say?

That I’d earned it?

That I understood?

I didn’t.

I just felt sick.

Guilty.

Heavy.

Like I’d been borrowing time I didn’t deserve.

The sun came up and I was still there.

Still writing nothing.

Still waiting for a peace I wasn’t sure would ever come.

By the time I made it back to their apartment, my chest was tight with apology.

I didn’t even knock.

I texted.

Jungkook: Can I come up?

A pause.

Then:

Y/N ❤️: She’s waiting for you.

I swallowed hard.

Stepped into the elevator.

When the door opened, Eun Ae was already running down the hall.

She launched herself into my arms like she’d never questioned me. Like she didn’t care about mistakes or time or what I should’ve said six years ago.

“Daddy Kookie!”

Two words.

So loud I couldn’t miss them.

And they hit harder than anything I’d ever heard.

I closed my eyes.

Held her tight.

And whispered back:

“Hi, baby.”

═══════

It started with something small.

They always do.

He offered to pick up Eun Ae from her sleepover and take her to the museum Sunday morning. Just the two of them. Said she’d been begging to go and she’d love the new dinosaur exhibit.

He said it casually. Smiling. Warm. Hopeful.

And I froze.

“Just you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “I figured you’d want a break.”

A break.

Like that’s what I’d been doing this whole time- waiting to clock out.

I set down the dish I was washing a little harder than necessary.

“I don’t need a break.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, confused. “I just thought-”

“You thought you could just pick up like nothing fucking happened?” I snapped.

The words came sharp. Loud.

He blinked.

“No,” he said carefully. “I thought I could help. You’ve been doing everything for years-”

“Because you weren’t here!” I cut him off.

Silence.

Then he stepped back, hands raised slightly, voice lower now.

“I know I wasn’t.”

“Do you?” I said, breathing hard. “Do you really understand what that did to me?”

His face shifted, not anger, just ache.

“Y/N…”

“You left,” I said, voice cracking. “You didn’t just leave me. You blocked me. You fucking vanished. You didn’t wonder if I was okay. You didn’t care. I was pregnant and alone, and every day I woke up and hoped maybe you’d remember-”

“I did remember,” he said sharply.

“Not enough.”

He swallowed.

“Not soon enough,” he admitted. “But I never forgot.”

I crossed my arms, cold all over now.

“I still don’t know how to forgive you,” I whispered.

He looked at me like I’d pulled something out of him he wasn’t ready to name.

“I don’t know how to forgive me either,” he said.

And that-

That stopped me.

Because there was no defense in his voice.

No plea.

Just… shame.

Heavy. Real.

He looked away. Then back.

“I think about it all the time,” he said. “What I missed. What I ruined. What she could’ve had if I’d just been better. You… you could’ve had a different life. And I ruined that too.”

“You didn’t ruin me,” I said softly. “But you broke something. And I’m still finding the pieces.”

He nodded. Slow. Like that hurt more than yelling ever could.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “I’m just asking you to let me stay while you figure out if you ever can.”

I looked at him.

And for once, didn’t know what to say.

So I didn’t.

I just walked to the bedroom door.

Opened it.

And whispered, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His eyes widened.

“I won’t leave.”

“I mean- ” I hesitated. “Stay. But don’t go to the couch.”

═══════

I followed her.

Not because I expected anything.

Not because I thought this would fix it.

I followed her because I’d follow her anywhere.

She didn’t look at me when she closed the door to her bedroom. Just stepped to the window, tugged the curtain slightly, checked the streetlight like she needed the outside world to stay still for one night.

Then she turned.

Met my eyes.

And in that moment, I knew.

This wasn’t forgiveness.

This wasn’t closure.

This was her choice.

Right now.

Not because she owed me anything. Not because I deserved her.

But because she wanted me.

Still.

She crossed the room slow, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The air between us crackled with the weight of unspoken words, of years apart, of mistakes and regrets. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat calling her name.

She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt over her head, tossing it aside without a second glance. 

No fanfare. No tease. 

Just skin. 

Real. Warm. Familiar in ways that made my breath stutter. 

I stepped forward, my hands shaking more than I wanted them to. 

She didn’t stop me. 

Didn’t rush. 

Just let me reach for her. 

My fingertips brushed her waist, my palm cupping her cheek. Our eyes locked, and in that silence, I saw everything- the pain I’d caused, the love she still carried, the question of whether we could ever truly come back from what I’d done.

Then-

She leaned in.

And kissed me.

Soft.

Certain.

Like the space between us had finally run out of time.

I kissed her back, pouring every ounce of regret, every whisper of longing, into that touch. Let her press me into the edge of the bed, her hands sliding beneath my shirt, her nails scraping my skin in a way that felt both punishing and forgiving.

I whispered her name against her jaw, my lips brushing the delicate skin there. She moaned quietly, her hips tilting into mine, a silent plea for more. 

I wanted to give her everything- to make up for every missed call, every unspoken apology, every night I’d spent wishing I could take it all back.

With a gentle push, I flipped her onto the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow like a halo. She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire, but also something else. A vulnerability that made my chest ache. I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her lips against mine.

I kissed my way down her body, tracing the lines of her collarbones, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her stomach. Her skin was soft under my lips, her breath hitching as I sucked gently on her nipples, teasing them until they pebbled against my tongue. 

She arched into me, her hands tangling in my hair, her moans filling the room like music.

I kissed her hips, her thighs, my fingers brushing the edges of her panties. She was already wet, her scent intoxicating, a reminder of how perfectly she fit me, how perfectly I fit her. 

I hooked my fingers into the lace and slid them down her legs, tossing them aside without breaking eye contact.

“Jungkook,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t answer. 

I couldn’t. 

Not yet.

Instead, I settled between her thighs, my hands resting on her hips as I kissed her inner thighs, my breath ghosting over her core. She squirmed, her legs falling open wider, inviting me in. I teased her, my tongue tracing lazy patterns along her folds, my lips brushing her clit before pulling away.

“Please,” she begged, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I smiled against her skin, then finally gave her what she needed. My tongue plunged deep, lapping at her eagerly, savoring her taste, her sounds, the way her body trembled under my touch. 

I fucked her with my mouth, relentless and worshipful, my fingers joining in, sliding inside her as I sucked her clit into my mouth.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body arching off the bed, her cries echoing through the room. I held her there, drinking her in, my tongue never stopping, even as her body shook with release.

When she finally stilled, I kissed my way back up her body, my lips brushing hers softly. 

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, telling me to keep going without saying a word.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I kissed her deeply, our tongues tangling as I positioned myself between her legs. She was still trembling, her body open and willing, her trust in me a gift I didn’t deserve. 

I pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, teasing her, my lips never leaving hers.

“Jungkook,” she murmured, her hands gripping my shoulders.

I thrust into her slowly, savoring the way she enveloped me, the way her walls clenched around me like a promise. She gasped, her head falling back, her chest heaving as I filled her completely.

I held her there, my forehead resting against hers, our breaths mingling. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, her lips brushing mine. “Show me,” she whispered.

I began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, each withdrawal agonizingly slow. I kissed her, touched her, praised her, my hands roaming her body as I fucked her with a desperation born of years of longing.

Her nails dug into my back, her moans growing louder, her body meeting mine with equal fervor. I sped up, my hips snapping against hers, my cock pounding into her relentlessly. She was tight, so tight, her walls milking me, her clit rubbing against mine with every thrust.

“Kook,” she cried, her body tensing as she neared the edge again. “I’m-”

“Cum for me,” I growled, my voice rough with need. “Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing around me, her cries filling the room. I followed, my own release crashing over me like a wave, my cock pulsing deep inside her as I whispered, 

“I love you,” against her neck.

We lay there, tangled together, our hearts pounding in unison, our breaths slowly syncing. I kissed her shoulder, her cheek, her lips, unable to stop touching her, unable to stop apologizing.

She curled into me, cheek pressed to my chest.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her like I never had the chance to before.

And when she whispered, “Don’t leave,” into my skin-

“I’ll never leave you again,” I promised, my voice thick with emotion.

I kissed her forehead and said:

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

═══════

The sun woke me before he did.

It stretched through the blinds like a whisper, soft and gold, warming the blanket tangled around my legs.

His arm was still draped across my waist.

His nose was tucked behind my ear.

And the rhythm of his breath was the calmest thing I’d felt in years.

I stayed still for a long time.

Not because I was afraid to move.

But because I didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to break the spell.

Didn’t want to face the real world when this one- this quiet bedroom, this borrowed peace- felt like something I could actually believe in.

Eventually, his fingers flexed against my hip.

A slow inhale. A stretch. A groggy hum.

Then-

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Mm.”

“That’s all I get?”

I smiled against his skin. “You’re lucky I’m giving you that.”

He chuckled.

The sound vibrated through me. Calming. Familiar. Right.

I rolled over to face him. His hair was a mess. His smile wasn’t.

“You hungry?” I asked.

He nodded. “For food, yeah. Also for you.”

I snorted and smacked his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m honest.”

In the kitchen, I pulled out pancake mix. He tried to steal it. I smacked his hand with a spatula.

“You’re not allowed to mess these up,” I warned.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I only flip when I’m told.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you eat.”

“I already ate,” he said with a wink.

I threw a towel at him.

We laughed.

Really laughed.

The kind that felt like it came from a version of us that still believed in soft mornings and shared sunlight.

He burned the first pancake.

I made fun of him.

He blamed the pan.

I called him a liar.

He kissed my cheek when I wasn’t looking.

And for a second…

For one suspended moment in the middle of a too-quiet apartment with pancakes on the stove and sunlight through the blinds-

I forgot we’d ever been anything but this.

I didn’t say “I love you.”

He didn’t ask.

But when he reached across the table and took my hand…

When his thumb brushed over my knuckles like he could still feel me from the inside out…

I knew he already knew.

And I knew that someday…

I’d say it again.

And I’d mean it.

═══════

Eun Ae came home from her sleepover mid-morning, bouncing through the door like she hadn’t slept at all and telling stories at a mile a minute.

“Daddy Kookie!” she shouted when she saw him, dropping her backpack to barrel into his legs. “You missed everything! They had a movie and pizza and a game and I won and I told them you’re my dad and they said you’re famous and I said ‘Duh’- ”

He picked her up and spun her once.

“Whoa, slow down! You’re gonna run out of breath.”

“I already did!”

I laughed from the kitchen.

═══════

We spent the afternoon at the park.

Eun Ae insisted on sitting between us on the swings. Then made us race. Then sat on Jungkook’s shoulders for the entire walk back.

He carried her like it was nothing.

She fell asleep on the couch before dinner even started.

We let her stay there.

Jungkook helped me plate the food, just something simple. Rice. Fried eggs. Kimchi from the corner store.

We sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed, sharing chopsticks.

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

I glanced at him.

“This?”

“This… life. This ease.”

I didn’t answer right away.

But I reached out.

Took his hand across the table.

He didn’t flinch.

He just laced our fingers together like it was natural.

Like we hadn’t fought. Like we hadn’t broken.

Like maybe - somehow - we had always been coming back to this.

═══════

I almost didn’t say it.

Almost kept pretending we had forever- that my time off didn’t have an end, that the clock wasn’t winding down on this borrowed miracle of a life.

We’d had a good day.

A perfect day.

And I didn’t want to ruin it.

But when I saw her brushing her teeth beside me- head tilted, foam at the corner of her mouth, one of my old shirts hanging off her shoulder, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, setting my toothbrush down.

She looked at me in the mirror.

Not startled.

Just waiting.

I stepped into the hallway as Eun Ae’s door clicked shut behind us. She was already asleep, full from dinner, exhausted from laughter. Safe.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

She nodded, drying her hands.

We sat on the edge of her bed. Not touching. Not tense. Just… not easy.

I cleared my throat.

“My break ends in a week.”

She didn’t look at me.

“I know.”

“I have to go back to Seoul.”

A pause.

Still no eye contact.

“I know that too.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’ve been thinking…” I hesitated. “I wanted to ask if you’d ever consider moving there. You and Eun Ae.”

That did it.

Her head turned sharply.

“What?”

“I mean- not right now,” I said quickly. “Not even soon. Just… if it’s something you could ever see. For her. For you.”

She stared at me.

Like I’d just kicked the legs out from under a table we’d been building together.

“Jungkook…”

“I’m not asking you to decide anything,” I said, softer now. “I just- I want to be a father. Fully. I want to come home to her. To you. I’m not asking for marriage or moving in. I just want to know if - someday - you’d think about it.”

She stood up.

I froze.

She walked to the window.

Opened it.

Let the night air in.

Then whispered, “You waited until everything felt good to say this.”

I didn’t respond.

“Do you know what it feels like to hear that the second I trust you again, you want to take me away from everything I rebuilt?”

“I’m not trying to take you,” I said quietly. “I’m trying to give us somewhere to grow.”

Her shoulders tensed.

And just like that, the perfect day was gone.

═══════

I didn’t sleep.

Not even for a second.

I stared at the ceiling while he breathed beside me- slow, steady, unaware that my mind was tearing itself apart in real time.

Seoul.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

But I was.

I thought we were safe here. In this apartment. On this couch. In this version of life where things were small and quiet and real.

But maybe that was naive.

Because Seoul meant everything we weren’t.

Cameras.

Schedules.

Airports.

Secrets.

Distance.

It meant the version of him that ghosted me. The version of him that chose ambition over love and couldn’t even say goodbye.

I watched him sleep for an hour before I finally moved. 

Slipped out of bed. I walked barefoot to the living room and curled up on the couch with a blanket and a hundred racing thoughts.

═══════

By the time the sun rose, my chest ached.

When he padded in wearing a hoodie half-zipped, hair wild- I was still curled there, staring at nothing.

He sat on the floor beside me, quiet.

Then:

“I’m sorry.”

I turned slowly.

“For what?”

“For saying it last night. For how I said it. For not asking if you were ready.”

I nodded once.

Then said the thing I’d been avoiding for hours.

“What happens when the spotlight comes back on?”

He blinked.

“What?”

“What happens when the fans scream louder than me? When you’re booked for twenty hours a day and Eun Ae forgets what your voice sounds like? What happens when I ask for more and it’s inconvenient?”

His face fell.

“I’m not that person anymore.”

“But you were,” I whispered. “You were, and I forgave you for me. But now I have to protect her. And I don’t know if I can trust you not to break her heart the same way you broke mine.”

He looked down.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t fight.

Just… let it hit.

“You want me to move across the world for you,” I said, voice shaking. “And I’m still trying to figure out how to stay in the same room as you without crying.”

That one landed.

Hard.

He looked up.

“I don’t want you to move for me. I want you to move because it might give us a chance to build something together. For her. For us. But I’m not asking you to pack a bag.”

I closed my eyes.

“I’m asking you,” he continued softly, “to think about it.”

I stood.

Backed away.

Then said- because it was the only thing I could say:

“I need space.”

He nodded.

“I’ll pick her up from school,” he said gently. “You rest.”

And then he left.

No door slam.

No fight.

Just quiet.

Too quiet.

═══════

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/29/2025

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[doberbutts]

I think it's... interesting how despite being a white trans guy I tend to feel a lot safer in nonwhite and black-run progressive spaces than in white ones.

Like if I say 'oh it sucks as a guy to be perceived as overly hostile because of my gender' or 'isn't it super fucked that from the age of 10 I was warned I could go to jail for my anger issues', I feel like I'm much more likely to get a 'damn dude, same' from those spaces versus majority white ones where a lot of it feels like a massive dick-measuring contest.

I don't really have any major coherent evaluation on it, but if I had to guess, I think the idea of someone who is white suffering for one reason or another is just not seen as 'normal' in a white supremacist society, so when it does happen people get really insecure about the 'legitimacy' of their oppression and start doing logical backflips to justify why they have it worse than everyone else and the end result is it just doesn't make a pleasant space to be around.

This is, in fact, a conversation I've heard repeatedly in black spaces and in political speakers of color. Like this is an established talking point that many white but otherwise marginalized people really struggle with reconciling their white privilege with their status as marginalized due to gender, transness, sexuality, ability, etc. And how many times these white but otherwise marginalized people will band together to use their whiteness as both sword and shield against people of color.

Recently I was watching a video essay discussing this problem from a black perspective and he touched on how many times white queers will be one of the major driving forces of gentrification in poor black neighborhoods and how black queers end up torn between solidarity with their black peers (which may or may not be homophobic) and solidarity with their queer peers (which may or may not be racist). This creates a lose-lose domino effect situation which ultimately drives black trans women to be killed at astronomical rates while effectively erasing black trans men from the narrative entirely.

Another video essay by black trans men also discussed this- how hanging out in "trans spaces" felt as though many of the white participants (and frequently white trans men) were struggling to reconcile their overall white privilege with the rest of their experiences, and how often that contributes to intra-community problems re: transmedicalism, nbphobia, internalized transphobia, etc. And how their complaints mostly resolved when they joined black trans spaces instead, and not really don't fuck with nonblack trans people or nonblack trans spaces anymore.

There are a lot of black and even nonblack people of color who have done really intelligent deep dives into the various factors of what makes this phenomenon happen, but I think a lot of it boils down to having to unlearn the way white supremacy sells itself to white people and how distancing yourself from the white lens is what will allow yourself to see other perspectives without viewing them as a threat.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

It’s not stereotypical to say white people enslaved Africans; it’s just a half-truth where the other half isn’t brought up until it’s in defense of someone’s racist actions, making people not want to believe it.

Personally, most of the people I see who bring it up are doing it to counter a factually inaccurate idea of race relations.

IMO, that's racism.

Also, I've bought it up lots of times to counter people who were spouting the mainstream, racist perception. And I'm a black non-American.

True facts don't become racist just because they're inconvienient, or because you think the other person has a racist reason for bringing them up.

Especially if those facts give a broader, more comprehensive, and therefore more accurate picture of the situation.

I feel like you're describing your own rationalizations here, but in a deflecting way.

But yes, it’s true, and maybe things have changed, but the knowledge that Africans sold other Africans is common, as in like, it’s taught in academies now.

And yet I still see more people claiming white folks "enslaved" Africans.

African people were decided upon and were stolen until a few tribe leaders started selling their own people. These sold slaves consisted of criminals, outcasts, poor people, or Africans from other tribes (if they didn’t want to give any from their own).

Hold up.

AFAIK, slavery had been going on in Africa for a long time before Europeans showed up. Including war slaves.

I feel like you're glossing over the part where Africans captured and enslaved other Africans. Up to and including active raids to capture slaves.

As to why African tribes sold their people? Well, it’s a mixture of fear and power struggle. Either the African kings and leaders were scared that their own family and friends would be captured and sold if they didn’t intervene, or they sold their people to gain artillery and weapons.

I've never heard the first reason given, ever.

Also, "trading with other people for stuff you want for an advantage" doesn't make them victims.

I also want to add that the guns given were either faulty and half-working, or worked just fine, but were outdated. That’s like if I gave someone a prototype and kept version 3 all to myself.

So they sold Africans the surplus guns that wouldn't sell to Europeans. That doesn't seem like a sinister plot, that seems like getting rid of old stock.

Also, I rarely see anyone give this level of nuance to the white people who bought slaves.

No one is going "gee, they had to get black slaves to work their colonial plantations! They had to be economically competitive!"

>Basically, yes, white people stole Africans, and yes, Africans sold other Africans to white people. Both statements are factual and can exist coherently.

So why do you describe Africans as just "selling" and say white people "stole"?

There was a lot more "stealing" going on by black people than white people, even by your own argument.

You can't even be objective in your basic descriptions.

>It’s not stereotypical to say whites enslaved African people; it’s just half of the picture, but still a fact.

Again, the statement usually implies white people alone enslaved black people, and leaves out who did the majority, assuming the speaker even knows most of it was black on black.

And I don't think most people do.

In most mainstream discourse, the role of black slavers is entirely ignored.

If white people are held responsible for something actually done by black people, that's racist and should be corrected, just like the converse.

So a black woman was released from jail five months after she was arrested for "abusing a corpse" because she had a miscarriage in a restaurant bathroom.

Her name is Mallori Patrice Strait, and she is 33 years old. This is her.

I distinctly recall raising concern that this would happen to women in anti-abortion states when this happened to Brittany Watts in Ohio and I distinctly recall pro-lifers saying this wouldn't not lead to women getting arrested for miscarriages.

It's also not lost on me that these two women are black, and pro-lifers spent years arguing that their policies were meant to "protect the black population."

While you all justify Adriana Smith's case in Georgia, I wanna hear the 'pro-life' explanation for this.

I want all the "protect black babies" people and the "abortion is black genocide" people to step forward.

I just want to talk.

[kdh-tally]

HIIIIII! Love your blog! I Love how you'd characterize these characters so much!

But out of all the characters in the movie, my favorite is Bobby! So if it's not too much trouble, how would Bobby handle the Saja Boys since you'd mention how he was their acting manager before they find a proper one? Like how'd he'd take the news? how'd he treat the Saja Boys and how did it feel like working on two KPop Groups?

Bobby Needs Therapy

Prompt : How is Bobby taking the news?

Author’s Note : I’m so glad we all love Bobby. He deserves the world!! I actually had two very similar requests so I just combined them both into this! The other request was from @marigoldbuzzing : But I want to know how is Bobby taking all of this, like with the Saja Boys and Hunter/x being under the same company, to being coworkers/working together to eventual romantic relationship?

This occurs after “This is what it sounds like”

Gwi-ma is defeated, the boys have temporarily disappeared and everything and Rumi has some magical/glowy/pretty patterns.

Bobby FORCES the girls to take a break and to explain everything to him

Imagine all of them in the penthouse. 

Rumi, Mira and Zoey are all squeezed onto their couch, Rumi in short sleeves (Bobby was so surprised). 

He’s just staring at the three of them and they all look so disappointed in themselves.

Whats wrong with his girls???

He asks them to explain what happens

They lie at first.

Telling him they had a past with the Saja boys and they’re sworn enemies.

Telling him the special effects are truly just special effects

Telling him that yes they may have jumped out of an airplane but they had invisible parachutes strapped to them?....

Telling him that no, they did not kill the Saja boys with magical weapons or anything the boys just left on their own.

But Bobby points out every single flaw he normally would have ignored.

He fell victim to the Saja Boys song and feels so responsible for the girls getting hurt too.

“I know what I saw girls,” he sounds so tired and defeated and worried.

Sure they’re safe now but how does he know they always will be?

Mira and Zoey look to Rumi, their leader. After the whole event, the girls definitely had a talk about keeping secrets from those they loved.

Rumi explains everything about her parents and the marks and her and Jinu.

Bobby, as vulnerable and human as he is, is someone they love.

��We’re magical demon hunters who kill demons by singing,” Rumi says slowly, almost like how one speaks to a frightened animal.

Bobby doesn’t speak at first and the girls think he must think they’re joking. 

Then he’d ask them to summon their magical weapons.

They’d look at each other before hesitantly summoning them. 

This is all the proof Bobby needs before he breaks down crying.

“You—you’re telling me you were out there killing demons while I was worrying about stupid concept photos?!” Bobby cries, grabbing a tissue. “I was booking you a showcase during an apparent demon apocalypse. I was printing photo cards when you were fighting evil, girls!”

“You could've gotten killed so many times,” he sobs. They quickly move over to where he is on the opposite couch before engulfing him in a hug. 

He’d just get so worried that his daughters had been fighting demons.

Then he would cry even more when finding out about Rumi being a half-demon and hearing her own struggles.

This would cause Zoey to cry, which would cause Mira to cry, which would cause Rumi to cry. So now everyone’s crying.

Once they calmed down a bit, Bobby asks about where the Saja Boys were now. 

The girl’s weapons then levitate, begin to glow and point out the window to their company building. 

“They’ve never done that before...” Mira eyes her guandao in suspicion.

“Okay,” he says slowly, still very cautious of the pointy weapons. “I know I’m not crazy. But I’m also not equipped for this. Do I need a magical weapon too?”

They all agree to follow where the weapon pointed, answering Bobby’s questions along the way.

By the time they get to the building, Bobby more or less understands 80% of the demon world as well as the whole singing hunters thing.

They enter the company building and follow the weapons into a dimly lit practice room where the weapons finally stop glowing.

“This place looks haunted,” Rumi mumbles, reaching around the wall for a light switch. 

The lights suddenly flicker on by themselves to reveal the 5 demons on the floor. They are all in a pile, like they were dropped on top of each other, and are half conscious.

Rumi, Zoey and Mira are staring at them. Jaws dropped.

Bobby’s just happy no one is actually dead.

When the boys finally awake, they’re terrified cause they expected to reform back in hell. 

They really didn’t want to go back to Gwi-ma.

But they’re all alive.

And like half of their powers have gone missing??

The group comes to realize that by killing the demons, they kinda stole their soul. 

Hear me out!

Jinu says Rumi gave him a soul so he gives it back to her. So what if! Jinu is really just in Rumi’s sword waiting to reappear?

This then brings up the question, why are the other boys alive???

Well, if we can assume that Jinu only gained a soul kinda after meeting Rumi (and more or less falling in love with her cause she gave him something to live for that wasn’t his selfish ambitions) then i think it's fair to assume the same works for the other boys.

Romance (not confirmed to be dead in the movie but we’ll say he was) and Abby (confirmed kill) more or less have “crushes” on Mira.

They therefore have a reason to live (even if it's just to annoy her by flirting) and therefore have a soul and are captured in her guandao.

Same thing applies to Mystery, Zoey and Baby (though I believe Baby just enjoyed being human and pissing people off and it kinda gave him a purpose). 

Anyways!

Their souls got released by the weapons (for reasons unknown!) and now the boys remain in the human realm.

Time skip!

The girls are back! Producing music and what not.

The boys are on a hiatus as Bobby attempts to find them a manager. 

He does act like their current manager though, because he’d come to enjoy hanging out with them.

He sees them as an extension of the girls, and they’re just new little babies to the whole world of kpop idols.

He is shocked that they did manage to drop two absolute BANGERS with no management at all. Its demon logic.

They boys like Bobby too, he teaches them all about human customs and cultures and takes them to watch movies with him

Bobby is like everyone’s wonderful sweet dad.

Huntr/x, wanting their awesome manager to themselves, keep on hiring managers to work with the boys.

No one ever lasts.

“That group is haunted”

“They never do any work?”

“I don’t understand how they’re famous”

The Saja Boys sabotage every single attempt the girls make to find them a manager. They don’t trust that many humans and would rather not be found out as demons. 

Also, Bobby interviews all the applicants and half of them are only applying so they can be SUPER close to the Saja Boys.

The other half are just trying to get close to Huntr/x

For this reason alone, I think Bobby would become the official manager for both groups. He’d just hire an assistant. 

The first person that comes to mind is the girl from the fansign who said “Your secret’s safe with me” to Rujinu 😭

She seems like she’d make a good manager, and she can keep secrets apparently lmao.

Of course at first the boys struggle against Bobby too.

He’d schedule them for vocal training, and instead they would just sit in the studio discussing if there was any true meaning behind random movies.

He’d send them to dance practice, and the boys would somehow convince the choreographer to turn it into an interpretive piece on redemption.

He books them to appear on a variety show and finds them halfway through writing a diss track about the girls instead of prepping for the game show.

It's their revenge for takedown and to be fair, it kinda slaps so he lets them finish.

Everytime they think they’d pushed Bobby to the end, he just snaps back into his bright energetic and supportive self. 

“Okay. I have five former demons with unclear moral alignments, my girls have glowing weapons that they seem emotionally attached to and these two K-pop groups keep flirting instead of focusing on their comebacks. But… no one’s dead yet. Great! :D”

The boys stop trying to get him to leave and just accept him as their manager, they love Bobby already, they just hate the idea of being babysat.

But Bobby gives them freedom.

And they love that they now have to live in a mega dorm (penthouse is for the weekends and vacations) with the girls.

He genuinely loves all of them.

Even if he sometimes has to drag Baby away from the spice aisle when they go for snack runs together.

Even if Romance keeps sending him “accidental” texts like: “Hi Mira 😘 I mean Bobby. Hi Bobby! Please tell Mira I said hi~”

Even if one time Zoey and Abby disappeared during practice and came back with some random dog they’d dressed in a Huntrix crop-top.

When finding out about their relationships he would not be surprised AT ALL.

After learning about demons and hunters nothing phases him anymore.

He’d seen the way Jinu looked at Rumi like she was the only girl left in the universe.

The man gave her his soul bro. Bobby has major respect for him.

He saw Mira, Romance and Abby bickering like a married couple.

He saw Zoey pretend not to blush every time Mystery helped adjust her mic.

He just decided not to get involved. He tried his best not to get involved.

“Mystery, you have to stop teleporting into Zoey’s room. It’s weird.”

“I didn’t mean to call her my girl it just slipped out!” <- Romance

“Sureeee Romance. Keep telling yourself that” <- Bobby

He definitely has questions though. 

Has a folder in his notes dedicated to things he needs to confirm. 

The number one thing on his list is “Confirm if ‘Zoey’s demon’ is a real title or just Mystery’s pet name.”

He has Mystery’s attempt at poetry saved in a folder titled “Confessions”

He’s got Abby’s “accidental” shirtless mirror selfies sent to Mira.

He’s got literal surveillance footage of Jinu giving Rumi a forehead kiss post-rehearsal.

He takes all his questions to Baby (cause Baby’s known longer than anyone).

He’s just waiting for one of them to slip up in front of them so he can bombard them with all his evidence.

That never needed to happen. One day, Zoey shyly comes up to him like “Bobby, there’s something else I think you should know…” and he just cuts her off.

“You and Mystery are dating. He smells like your shampoo and you made him a playlist titled ‘sexy emo boy’ I know.”

Zoey: 🧍

“Tell me something I don’t know next time,” he laughs before going back to watching some food eating challenge with Baby on his iPad.

He is really invested in the relationships, but gets really sneaky about it.

If you look closely at the schedule for vocal training, it somehow always pairs:

Rumi and Jinu for duets.

Romance, Abby and Mira for tension-heavy choreographies.

Zoey and Mystery for producing practices.

Coincidence? I think not

He gives Jinu pep talks like, “If you’re gonna love my girl, you better know how to harmonize with her in both life and song.”

The day he finds out “Free” exists is the day he tries to get them married.

“You can’t just make a beautiful song like that and not be married,” he’d insist while looking for a wedding dress with Baby.

He and Abby help Romance write his apology texts to Mira for his flirtiness.

He teaches Mystery how to express emotion through his words so the boy can feel more confident in his relationship with Zoey.

He also buys lollipops for Baby, his partner in crime.

He will be using their relationships against them though. 

“You don't want to dye your hair for the comeback? Shame.... I heard Rumi say she’d love to see you with blonde hair....” to Jinu.

“Funny how you had no energy in rehearsal, yet I saw you doing push-ups with Mira on your back.” to Abby.

“You’re grounded. All of you. No date nights until you finally learn this dance.”

He loves them so much.

Would just like to add that Bobby and Baby would definitely dox anyone who hates on the group or any of the Huntr/x or Saja Boys members.

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

We're Here

BangChan x fem! reader. 9th member.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. MamaBear Collection.

Summary: Sometimes you're the one who needs to be comforted.

You always did everything you could to keep the boys happy. Their happiness was important to you. Whenever one of them was upset or their mood was down, you always did your best to comfort them, to dry their tears, put a smile on their face and make sure they felt safe. You did this both privately and publicly. It just added to your ‘Mama Bear’ persona. Though, could anyone call it a persona when it was just you being you?

But of course, like every other person in this world, you had your bad days too. Days when getting out of bed felt harder than climbing a mountain. When smiling felt so out of reach. You had days when you were surrounded by people but felt lonely the entire time. There were days when you’d just burst into tears. Sometimes you didn’t even know why you were crying; it was happening, and it was needed. There were days when you were dance moves wouldn’t stick, when your verses felt like a jumbled mess, and cooking seemed like an impossibility. There were times when your anger took over everything or when your silence became a worry.

You weighted the world on your shoulders. You were always trying to be better, to do better. To be as close to perfect as you could be. You had a loving boyfriend, and together you looked after seven men who saw you as a friend and a pseudo-mum. So when they saw you break, when they saw you crying and struggling to put the pieces back together, they were there to help you.

—------

Chan knew instantly something was wrong when you walked into the studio. You didn’t greet him with the same smile. Sure, you kissed him and said hi to him, Changbin and Han, but it was off. You called the boys by their names. There were no sweet pet names like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘hun’, or ‘baby’. Binnie and Han took notice of this as well. The three watched you walk into the booth and started preparing your warm-up. 

Chan turned to look at Binnie, who was sitting beside him. Together, they both looked at Han, who was sitting on the couch, a puzzled look on his face.

“She looks tired. Really tired.” Binnie spoke to the two males. 

Chan nodded in agreement. You both got home late last night. He had been working on some tracks, and you had been cleaning up the choreography. However, what wasn’t usual was him waking up to an empty bed. He found you that morning, having made breakfast, enough to feed an army. Sure, you always woke up to make breakfast for everyone, but not this early. Never this early. You also didn’t tend to bake this early unless it was for a birthday.

“She is. I’m starting to think she didn’t sleep last night. She said she did, but I don’t know. She made enough breakfast to feed us all for the rest of the day. Plus, she baked. She doesn’t bake that late or early unless it’s for something important or she’s stressed. She was surrounded by cupcakes and cookies, and brownies this morning. She never makes brownies without Felix.” Chan turned to look at the window to the booth. All nine of you had come to work that day, each with a bento box filled with leftovers from breakfast.

You blinked and let out a small sigh. The palms of your hands came to run your eyes. You slept last night. Just not for long. You got an hour, maybe two in. You had gotten up to use the bathroom. But you just couldn’t fall asleep after that. So you spent the night cooking and baking for your boys. Sure, maybe you had gone overboard. But your boys had been well fed. Plus, Felix and Han had fun giving out the sweet treats to the staff members. Of course, each of the boys and you had your own supply of sweet treats, so they wanted to give out the extras.

“Chan. Are you ready to start?” You asked curiously as you looked at him, Binnie and Ji through the window. You waved at them, trying to put a peppy smile on your face. It didn’t work. 

Chan pressed the red button. “We’re ready, baby. Are you sure you want to do this today?” He asked, giving you the option to back out. 

You nodded your head. “Yeah.” 

Chan licked his bottom lip but agreed. He knew he couldn’t force you to stop. He needed to wait for you to be ready to finally let go of all the control. 

“What do you want to start with?” He asked you curiously, wanting to do this at your pace and with your input.

“Chorus, please.” You rubbed your eyes as you tried to focus on the words in front of you.

Chan nodded and played the music. You sang. But you messed up on the first go. You've got some words jumbled. It was okay, mistakes happen. 

However, you were starting to get upset with yourself once you had been in the booth for half an hour. Your voice had cracked, you jumbled your words up, and you had missed a cue. You just weren’t feeling it, and you couldn’t focus. 

You tipped your head back and closed your eyes as you tried to wrench the tears away. But as your body shook, it gave it away that you had started crying. Chan stood up and walked into the booth. He took the headphones off your head and wrapped you up in his arms. 

Your head was cradled to his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt that was becoming wet with your tears. His right hand gently stroked your hair. His left hand came to rub your back in soft circles. He looked up for a moment and blinked back his own tears. Seeing you like this always made him feel like his heart had been ripped right out of his chest.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let it out.” And you did. You sobbed as you held onto him. 

After a few minutes, you slowly pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” Your voice broke as you spoke.

Chan shook his head. “Don’t apologise. All I ask is for you to take a nap, okay? We can do your part tomorrow.” His hands cupped your cheeks. His thumbs wiped your tears away. He then lifted you bridal style into his arms. You clung onto him. 

Chan walked to the door, ready to open it, only to see Changbin opening it for him. He nodded at him in thanks. He walked over to the couch. Han patted his lap as he looked at Chan. Chan then lay you down, resting your head in Han’s lap. The younger male immediately began stroking your hair. Just like you always do for him when he falls asleep on you. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you.” You mumbled out before falling asleep.

The rest of the day, the boys took it in turns to be a pillow for you. But none woke you up. You were finally asleep, and they couldn’t be more grateful.

—------

Minho noticed you were having a bad day during dance practice. You were struggling to keep up with the dance. However, he chose not to draw attention to this. Instead, he had the group practice one more time before deciding to call for a break. Of course, the rest of the members had noticed too. But no one had said anything after the fourth time. 

Everyone quickly got their water bottles and sat down. Some of the couches, some of the floor. You let out a small huff of air as you turned to grab your water bottle. As you opened it, Minho came up to you with his phone in his hand. 

He turned the phone to face you, showing you an adorable picture of Soonie, Doongie and Dori. All three were cuddled up together, sleeping. 

“Aw, they are so cute.” You were always excited to look at pictures of Minho’s three gorgeous cats. You also enjoyed seeing pictures of Chan, Hyunjin and Han’s dogs. They always seemed to make you smile. 

“I knew you’d appreciate their cuteness.” Minho nodded in appreciation and satisfaction. 

“I always do.” You had a smile on your face. Minho saw that as a win. He knew how to make you smile, even if it was just for a moment. 

“Yah!” Changbin’s voice came, drawing your attention to the male. You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“We’re ordering lunch. What do you want?” Changbin passed you Chan’s phone. “Dad’s paying, so go nuts.” 

“Why does it always go nuts when I’m paying, but you always say ‘thank you, Mama. You didn’t have to.’ when she’s paying?” Chan asked, throwing his hands up.

“Because we love our mother,” Hyunjin said, pulling a face like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He walked over and wrapped his arms around you. His chin was on your shoulder as he looked at the phone in your hands. “Oh, you should get that. It looks yummy.” 

Minho looked at the phone and grinned. “And it’s expensive.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to spend too much of Chris’ money.”

“Sweetheart, you can get yourself whatever you want. Food, drinks, and desserts. Whatever your pretty heart desires.” Chan told you with a warm smile as he looked at you from his spot on the couch. 

Hyunjin looked between the two of you for a moment. He then turned to look at Minho. “Our mother has a sugar Daddy.” 

Minho sucked in a breath. “We can use this to our advantage. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes or call him Chris or Chan in that sweet voice, and he’ll give her everything she wants. Which means, we can have whatever we want.” He clapped his hands together once. 

He could see that you had long forgotten about the dance practice. So he continued to play into all this. He and Hyunjin stood in front of you, quickly joined by Seungmin and I.N. The four are happily trying to figure out everything they wanted and the best way to get you to convince Chan that you wanted all this stuff. 

Chan let out a groan from his spot on the coach as he watched the four plotting menaces. “Stop trying to use my wife for your schemes!” 

“She was our mother first.” Minho challenged. 

“She really wasn’t. I met her first.” Chan told him, a proud smile on his face. 

“Please, she prefers her children over you.” Hyunjin let out a scoff and waved his hand in dismissal at Chan. 

“We don’t need to use her for anything. All we need is for Felix and I.N. to say please to her, and she’ll melt. She can’t say no to her babies.” Minho added as he placed a hand on I.N.’s shoulder. 

You looked back and forth between them all and let out a laugh. At that Moment, Minho knew his job was done. But that didn’t stop him from continuing to play the role of the overprotective son who wanted to give his mother the world.

—------

Changbin had led you out of a room after you had shouted at some staff members. It seemed like the whole day you had been snappy and angry. So, he reacted and got you out of a situation that was causing even more stress. 

Binnie helped you outside. The air outside felt nice. Changbin sat down on a bench and looked at you, waiting for you to figure out your next move. 

“I lost it.” You said as you paced in front of him. 

Binnie nodded his head. “Yeah. You did.” He said.

“I should’t have. It was rude.” You added. 

“It was, but you have had everyone pulling at you all day. The stylist made I.N. uncomfortable. There was an issue with Han’s shoe. Scheduling had been pushed back more times than I can count. Hyunjin tripped over a roge wire. Seungmin forgot the dance. You had to do the same take for thirty minutes. Everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong.” Changbin explained to you. Showing he understood why you had lost your cool. 

The whole day had gone wrong. You had woken up later than usual. You and Chan had accidentally left your coffee at home. When you had all ordered lunch, some of the food was misplaced. Felix had gotten a migraine during filming. Minho had tripped and bruised his knee. Changbin had an issue when his makeup was being done. The Music Video you were all shooting was draining. Today had gone wrong for everyone. 

You let out a huff of air and crossed your arms over your chest. “Today had been utter shit.” 

Changbin nodded in agreement and patted the spot beside in. You looked at the male for a moment before sitting next to him. 

“How about this? This weekend, we all have time off. So, how about I take you to a rage room? Or we can all go. Either way, you can let all of that pent-up rage and anger out in a safe way. Plus, this way, you won’t have any lingering feelings of guilt.” It was a good idea. A really good idea.

You looked at Changbin and smiled lightly at him. “I’d love that. Thank you, Binnie.” 

The male opened his arms, ready for a hug. And you did. You hugged him tightly as he hugged you back, matching your tightness. 

—------

Hyunjin spotted you on the couch in your dorm. It was that time of the month, and all day you had been in pain. Hyunjin has become your official period partner. It wasn’t that the others didn’t want to; Felix often joined, as did Chan. But Hyunjin always seemed to make it all seem easier in a way. Whilst Felix smothered you in cuddles, massages and brownies. Chan would worry over you for the first day before relaxing; he always had a bath ready or had the painkillers you wanted. 

Hyunjin was always ready with a hot water bottle or a heating pad for you. Sometimes both, so you could have one on your stomach and one on your back. He was always there to distract you with dramatic stories or gossip he had heard. Or the two of you would snuggle up and watch whatever piqued your interest. 

Hyunjin poked your shoulder. “I got the snacks. Felix will be here soon with that blanket you love so much. I told him to borrow a different one next time.” He said as he rounded the couch and sat down beside you. He placed the bag of your favourite snacks, foods and drinks down. 

“Thank you, Jinnie. I really appreciate all of this.” You smiled thankfully at him. 

The male shrugged. “What kind of son would I be if I didn’t help you? Now I’ll go make the ramen and your hot water bottle…oh, and maybe hot chocolate?” He let out a small squeal, getting suddenly excited at the idea. “We have whipped cream and marshmallows. Oh, and I’ll get some ice cream. Put something good on.”

You let out a laugh as Hyunjin practically bounced to the kitchen. You turned on the TV and went on YouTube. You immediately looked through some of Nigel Baker’s videos before you decided which one you wanted to watch. You enjoyed this guy. He was hilarious, and he always had nice things to say about your boys.

Hyunjin came back a while later, carefully balancing a tray in his hands. Every step was slow. He didn’t want to risk dropping anything. He let out a sigh of relief as he set everything down on the table. 

He sat down beside you and gave you your hot chocolate. He turned to look at the TV. “Ah, yes! Binge-watching Nigel. Let's see how many of his videos we can get through. Good call, my muse.” 

You let out a giggle at the nickname as you set the hot chocolate down on the table to your side before grabbing the hot water bottle. You placed it on your stomach. 

“I thought we could start with him watching ‘Giant’. It's a good one. Plus I love that song.”

Hyunjin nodded in approval and pressed play. You both settled in, eating your ramen. 

Felix walked through the door with your blanket and a box full of brownies.

“Oh my god, the visuals of this man. Shit needs to be studied in a lab.” 

You let out a cackle. “He loves you, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin puffed out his chest. “Obviously. Everyone loves me.” 

Felix looked between the two of you. “I bought brownies for you. I know you always want extra when you're on.” He put the blanket on your lap before setting the box of brownies on the table.

“Thank you, baby.” You smiled up at him. “Would you like to join us?” You asked him.

Felix nodded and sat on your other side of you, so you were between the two boys.

You cuddled into Hyunjin's side as Felix cuddled into you. 

You continued to watch Nigel's videos. You all had a good laugh at the SKZ code stuff and the compilations. You all enjoyed watching him lose his mind over the music videos. 

You were currently watching him react to the music videos for your song ‘Mama Bear’. It was a song that 3Racha wrote for you as a birthday present. You, Felix, Seungmin and I.N. sang the song. Leeknow and Hyunjin helped with the choreography. It was a song you were very happy and proud of. The guys had all been in the video, of course. The whole vibe of the video was just showcasing the group as one big happy family.

“Honestly, look at this beautiful woman. She's holding her own. Her vocals are shining, and look at her moves. This whole MV is her. She has eight men worshipping her. You can see how much they love her. Mother of seven, taking care of her children in her own MV. Look at them all. They look like an actual, real family. It's crazy but so wholesome, man. Chan, if you're watching this- you're not. But if you are. You need to wife Mama Bear up.” You watched Nigel pick up his water and drink some of it. “Mama Bear, if you’re watching. Stay, love you, and obviously so do your boys. You work so hard. Thank you.” You were tearing up a little. You were here for the jokes, but now here you were, feeling so incredibly appreciated as you were snuggled between two of your favourite people. “Aphrodite, who?”

—------

One minute you were walking, and the next you were on the floor. It hurt a lot, your ankle. You supposed maybe you had stepped wrong and ended up rolling your ankle. You and Han had just gotten home after doing a big shop together. Han was by your side in an instant. 

“What happened? Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked you hurriedly as he held up three fingers.

You looked at the male. “I’m fine, just hurt my ankle.” 

Han nodded. “Alright, umm umm.. Let me think.” He tapped his forehead for a second before he picked you up. 

You let out a small yelp of surprise as you held onto the male. Han walked to your dorm and kicked the door. 

The door opened, and I.N. stood there with a confused face. “What are you doing?” 

Han walked inside and set you down on he couch. “She broke her ankle.”

You groaned. “It’s not broken, Ji.”

Han shrugged as Chan came out of your room. He raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to ask?” He asked curiously. 

“I fell. I’m okay, but my ankle hurts. We haven’t brought in the shopping yet.” Chan nodded at your words and gave you a soft kiss. 

“Han, grab an ice pack from the freezer. I.N., come with me and we’ll sort out the shopping.” The boys quickly went off to do their tasks. I.N. put on his shoes whilst Han went to the kitchen. Chris smiled at you and shook his head. 

“At least we know where I.N. and Hyunjin get their clumsiness from.” He chuckled. 

You smiled at his words and shook your head. “Be quick. There is ice cream in those bags, and I don’t want it to melt.” You and Chan shared another kiss before I.N.’s voice came from the door, telling Chan to hurry up.

Han walked into the room as Chan left. He put the ice pack, which was wrapped up, on your ankle carefully. He then took off your shoes and shook his head.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for helping me.” You said as you squeezed his hand. 

“You’re welcome, and I’ll keep helping you. Whatever you want, I’m at your beck and call. Want some tea? I’ll make it. Want me to get you food? I’ll do it. Want me to boss any of the guys around? I’ll do it. Please ask me to boss them around.” 

That made you laugh. 

—------

Felix found you in the kitchen. It was a family dinner night. Chan and Minho were both at the store to pick up some things. So you were cooking dinner on your own. Which is something you have done many times before. However, it seemed you couldn't get anything right. Nothing was going your way.

As Felix stepped into the kitchen, he saw you hunched over the kitchen table, sobbing. He immediately walked over to you and hugged your back. Your body shook as you cried, but feeling Felix’s arms around you helped to ground you. 

You let out a small gasp of breath. Felix loosened his grip a little as he felt you moving to stand properly. 

“What happened?” He asked you, his voice soft.

“Nothing is going right. It’s like every cooking-related bone in my body decided to leave. Everything is either burnt or not even close to being cooked. I just…I messed it all up.” You told him, the tears freely running down your face. 

Felix’s heart broke. He quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped your tears away. “It’s okay. These things happen.” He told you as he gently stroked his thumb over your wrist. 

“I just wanted everything to be perfect. We’ve all been working so hard. You guys deserve a good meal.” You told him as you looked down in defeat. 

Felix shook his head. “You always give us amazing meals. Let’s order something this once. We can cuddle and forget about everything for a while.” He pulled you out of the kitchen and to the couch. He tapped Changbin on the shoulder. “We’re gonna order food instead.” 

Changbin raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless. Felix sat down on the couch and pulled you so you were between his legs, your head on his stomach. He immediately began playing with your hair. 

Changbin got his phone out and picked what he wanted before passing the phone around the room. He ended up going to the kitchen. He quickly cleaned up. 

Meanwhile, I.N. texted Chan and Minho to let them know that plans had changed. You stayed on the couch, slowly relaxing as Felix made sure you were okay. Han came to sit with you both, his hands gently rubbing your back.

—------

Seungmin noticed you were shutting down during an interview. He was sitting on your left, Chan on your right. You hadn’t been yourself all day. You were fidgeting in your seat. Your fingers came up to play with your locket more times than not. Playing with your locket often helped to ground and calm you. However, Seungmin noticed it wasn’t exactly working as well as usual. 

So he gently placed a hand on your thigh and rubbed his thumb in circles. The touch helped you to come back to reality. You looked at Seungmin and smiled gratefully at him. A second hand came to rest on your opposite knee. Chan had noticed what Seungmin was doing and wanted to help as well. However, he decided to let Seungmin handle this; he would be ready to step in if he needed to. 

Seungmin smiled at you. He continued to stroke your thigh as the interview continued on. He watched as you slowly let go of your locket after a while. You moved your hand to rest next to Seungmin’s. The male linked your thumbs together. 

As the interview continued, you felt a lot calmer. All because Seungmin was keeping you grounded. He didn’t make a big deal about it. He didn’t draw attention to it. He just comforted you in the best way that he could in that moment. 

Chan looked over at Seungmin, giving him a thankful nod and a proud smile. 

—------

You didn’t want to move. You should have been up an hour ago. But you were still in bed, curled up on the bed. You were trying to will yourself into moving, but it was like your body didn’t want it. Like it just couldn’t. So you just lie there. Chan was already at the studio, having left early for a meeting. 

However, the rest of the boys were still home. Jeongin had noticed you hadn’t come out of your room yet. Breakfast wasn’t made, and coffee wasn’t made. You weren’t humming in the kitchen or packing everything you needed for the day. The Maknae stood in the middle of the living room in confusion. Had you left with Chan this morning? No. He knew you hadn’t because you always left him two bento boxes and a travel cup of coffee when you left early with Chan. And there was no note saying so on the whiteboard that was on the fridge.

I.N. turned to look at your and Chan’s room. He walked over to the door and knocked on it before opening the door. He poked his head in and spotted you under your duvet. I.N. stepped into the room. 

“Are you okay, Noona?” He asked, worry and curiosity filling him. He walked over to the bed and sat down on Chan’s side.

You shook your head. Tears are already filling your eyes. 

“Did something happen?” He questioned. 

“No, baby. I just..I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You felt tired. You felt like moving was your biggest enemy right now. But you had to move. You knew you had to. The boys needed you. You all had dance practice today. 

I.N. shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. You’re allowed an off day. We can just stay in bed today.” He said as he lay down next to you. He took out his phone and texted the group chat. He let them know what was happening.

Baby Fox 🦊: Mama Bear isn’t feeling well. 😭 Fairy Prince 🌻: Is she okay? Can we help? 🩵 Personal Trainer 🐰: Does she need anything? 🫶 The Alpha 🐺: Let her stay home today. I’ll handle things on this end. Baby Fox 🦊: Can I stay with her? I don’t want to leave her alone. She’s really down. She looks like she’s going to cry. CatDaddy 😻: Yeah. Keep us updated. Tell her we can do the choreo tomorrow.  Artsy Prince 💐: Tell her we love her.💕 You'd better pamper her. Puppy 📷: Make her tea. Squibble 🐿: We’ll bring home food.

I.N. put his phone to the side and looked at you. “We’ll have a self-care day. The guys have everything covered.  Minho-hyung is going to go over the dance with us tomorrow. Nothing to worry about.” He told you. 

You slowly nodded. You felt guilty. The boys were still working, you were keeping I.N. from cleaning up the dance with the others. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. You’re allowed to have a day off. The others won’t be mad. They love you too much to ever be mad at you.” He told you as he sat up. “I’ll make us both a drink, and I’ll get the ice cream.” He leaned down and kissed your temple before leaving the room. He went to his room and changed into his pyjamas. I.N. then went to the kitchen. He made your favourite drink as well as his own. He then grabbed your favourite ice cream from the freezer as well as his own. He put everything on a tray and went back to your room. He set everything on Chan’s bedside table. He sat on the bed and looked around for a moment.

He had always liked your room. It was welcoming and filled with memories. On three of the walls were the paintings that Hyunjin had done for you. Above your desk was the painting of the boys all holding something that was presented to you. Above the bed was what Hyunjin named the ‘Family portrait. Beach edition.’ It was your favourite by far. On the wall to the right was a wall filled with not just paintings but pictures. Pictures of you and your family, Chan and his family. There were pictures of each of the guys, their pets. Pictures from the Kingdom and important milestones for the group. It was a real family wall. One that you took pride in. Your bed was incredibly comfortable. You seemed to have the best blankets. The fluffiest ones, too. 

I.N. got comfortable before handing you your drink. He watched you slowly sit up. “How about we watch something?” He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He quickly found your comfort movie. ‘Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island’, He then opened an arm to you. 

You took the opportunity to snuggle into I.N.’s side. His arm wrapped around your shoulder. He wasn’t big on touch, but he knew you needed it right now. 

“Thank you, Innie.” You spoke quietly, but still loud enough for him to hear.

I.N. nodded his head with a smile. “Of course, anything for you. You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.” You had. He knew he could count on you. So he wanted to let you know that you could count on him as well. 

Later that night, you were feeling a bit better. You had napped. You had watched so many movies and cackled at YouTube videos with I.N. You had done face masks, and I.N. had painted your nails. Innie felt proud of himself when you perked up a little as time went on. You’d had a nice bath whilst I.N. made lunch. The day had been perfect. 

So when the boys all piled into the dorm once they had been dorm for the day, they all relaxed seeing you snuggled up with I.N. You head rested on his chest as he pointed at the screen. You were watching Ben Kim. A YouTuber.

“I.N fit now, though. I.N.’s super fit now.” Ben said on the screen as he leaned close to the camera. 

“See, he gets me.” Innie connected as he picked up a spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into your mouth.

You let out a laugh and shook your head.

“Can you try not to choke her.” Seungmin spoke as he walked over to the couch and sat on your other side.

“Welcome home.” You said to the seven males. 

Chan walked over and kissed your forehead. “We brought food. How are you feeling, my love?” He asked you as his hand stroked your hair.

“I feel better. Innie really helped.” You said honestly. 

Chan nodded his head. “Good. Now, how about you go to the table? Minho and Binnie are setting the table as we speak.” 

You nodded your head and let Seungmin drag you off the bed and to the dining room table. 

Chan placed a hand on I.N.’s shoulder. “Thank you for looking after her today.”

Innie nodded his head. “Of course, I just wanted to see her smile again.”

Chan’s eyes softened as he smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Those four words were the cherry on top of a pretty awesome day for Jeongin.

-----------

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[crowfish-brainrot]

LaDs Men When You're Ovulating and Feral

I should be chained to a tree when I'm ovulating. I'm like an omega in heat. So, in honor of my feral energy, here's what I think the Love & Deepspace Men would do when you're ovulating and feral with need.

MDNI. Explicit! Smut! Breeding, overstim, bratting, rut instincts, and idk, lots of horniness, d/s dynamics if you squint. Lemurian!Rafayel, dragon!Sylus so maybe some light monsterfuckin? Entirely unedited. You get this raw (like our Lads!)

XAVIER

He's in heaven when you're ovulating. He might be an alien but he's got that bunny energy. He will put you through your mattress over and over again, until you're both slick and breathless.

Will match your energy until you're too tired to move, but if you let him, he'll continue doing all the work.

Breeding is definitely on the table (though it's just talk until you don't want it to be)

Not done until you can't take anymore, then it's food and cuddle time.

"Xavier!" you moaned, your voice hoarse. You lost count of how many times he made you come. Your thighs trembled, slick and sticky with your arousal, yet he showed no signs of stopping.

He rolled his hips, shoving his cock all the way inside you. You choked around your moans, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then peppered more down your hickey-covered neck. "You can still talk. I'm not done with you yet."

He throws your legs over his shoulders and pushes them down to your chest as he leans over you. His cock hits so deep, almost too deep. Sweat has his pale blonde hair clinging to his forehead, and his big blue eyes are dark with his lust. His gaze doesn't leave your face, not that you know, you can't keep your eyes open. It's too much pleasure.

"Look at me, bunny," Xavier commanded, his voice firm in your ears.

You struggle, but you open your eyes, meeting his unrelenting gaze. The way he looks at you, flushed, sweaty, and almost drunk of pleasure does you in. You come around his cock and scream his name. He curses under his breath, and as your walls convulse around his cock, you beg for his come.

"Want me to fill you up? To breed this needy little pussy?" Xavier groaned as he railed into you. You nodded, and he shoved his cock all the way inside you with a curse. "Take it all, bunny. Take every drop of my come."

ZAYNE

Handles your feral brattiness with the most patience. Tries to get home at a reasonable hour to take care of you.

Leaves detailed instructions on what to do until he's with you. You should follow them, but if the horny demons win you're going to bend those instructions to get him riled up.

Ties have more than one use. He doesn't play about breeding, so be sure you want that if you're going to ask him for it.

Not stopping until you're melted in a puddle, then he'll feed you chocolate and praise you

You broke the rules, and now you were paying for it with every sharp clap of Zayne’s hand across your ass. You were supposed to edge. Only twice — Zayne was merciful, most of the time — but you didn’t listen. He took to long to get home to you, and instead of edging and waiting for him like a good girl, you came. Squirted all over the sheets. You were meant to wear your vibrating panties out tonight, but you greeted Zayne naked when he came home. Why? You wanted his attention, of course. Well, now you had it, and you weren’t getting away.

You were bent over his lap, naked. Zayne was still dressed, his pressed clothes as perfect as ever, his glasses perched perfectly on his nose. Your hands were bound behind your back with his striped tie, the only thing he’d taken off so far. Another sharp smack landed across your ass, and you wriggled in his lap. Zayne’s free hand held his tie that bound your arms to still you.

“You wanted to misbehave, though you knew the consequences. Don’t try to escape your punishment, darling. You won’t get far.” Zayne’s calm, cool voice pulls goosebumps to the surface of your skin. He continues the smacks across your ass, and soon you’re fully writhing in his lap. You’re so wet it’s dripped down your thighs and onto his dress pants. Your ass is bright red by the time he’s delivered his punishment.

Two fingers dove deep into your soaking cunt and fucked you at a rapid pace. Your walls fluttered around his fingers and you arched, the stimulation too much. Yet, Zayne held you there until you came across his fingers. You sobbed as your release took you, and once you came down, Zayne withdrew from you. He helped you stand on trembling legs, then pulled his pants down. He pulled you into his lap, and you both hissed when his big cock slipped inside you.

“You wanted to come, darling? Then come. Don’t stop. I’ll tell you when you’re done, just keep coming for me,” Zayne said as he settled his hands over your hips. He pounded into you for hours, and that was the first time you realized too much pleasure was its own form of punishment.

RAFAYEL

If his Lemurian rut and your ovulation week lined up neither one of you would see the outside world for an entire week. He's always a little feral for you (he did wait 800 years) & seeing you equally as feral for him? Yeah. You're going to need to call out of work until he's done with you.

Will go until you're too sensitive. He'll pout, but he'll give you a few to recover. Maybe an hour, max. Then he's back at it. You switch who's in charge every few rounds, but he'll take over once you're too tired.

He talks about breeding you all the time. If he's in his rut? It's not just talk anymore. He wants to breed you.

He'll give you a relaxing bath after to help your tired muscles, but while he might be a fish he's also got that bunny energy so expect a few more rounds before you both pass out.

You’re fucked out. Sweat has long since slicked your skin. You’ve gone from the bed, to the bath, and back to the bed again. Rafayel came into his rut along with your ovulation week, and it was almost as if another force possessed him. Like he couldn’t stop. You were just as bad. You needed him inside you more than you needed air. You had to take a few days of leave from the Association, because there was no way Rafayel was letting you out of his sight right now. Not when you needed him as badly as he needed you.

“Fuck, cutie, you feel so good. Can’t stop fucking this perfect pussy,” Rafayel babbled as he fucked you with long, deep strokes. “Need more. So much more. Can I take you into the sea, cutie? Please? Need to take you beneath the waves. Need to breed you. Fill you up. Over. And. Over.”

He ended his plea by punctuating each word with a firm thrust of his hips. All you could do was nod, too blissed out to do anything more than feel. And that felt right. Like it was supposed to be. You and him, beneath the waves. With your agreement, he lifted you into his arms, pulling out just for a few moments. You whimpered at the loss of him, and he cooed soft assurances into your ear. His private beach opened up behind his house, and it was only a matter of moments before the cool water hit your overheated skin. He kissed you as he dragged you below the waves.

On the soft, sandy seabed, he fucked you in his true form. So massive he blocked out the sight of anything else. His tail wrapped around your legs, holding you in place as he fucked his dual cocks into you. They were so massive you didn’t understand how they fit, but you were his bride, his bonded, and you would forever give yourself to him as a form of worship. Feeling both his cocks inside you, stretching you, using you, was everything you didn’t know you needed. You begged for him to come, to fill you up, to breed you. Rafayel lost it, pounding into you with an almost feral growl.

“Take it. My beloved bride. Mine. Take every last drop of my come. I’ll keep fucking you just like this till it sticks.”

SYLUS

He's having a blast. You're marking him up and he's so happy. He's got tools to keep you occupied if he has to go somewhere. Will wear your favorite outfit of his just to tease you.

He's so hungry. He'll use his evol to pin you in place while he eats. This is his happy place, and he'll stay between your thighs as long as you let him.

Dragon nesting/rut instincts might be a thing. I can see him giving you extra gifts or making his bed extra comfy for you as a means of soothing those instincts. Breeding is on the table if you want it.

He's only stopping once you've both had your fill, then he's going to give you the BEST snuggles because next to eating your pussy, his favorite thing in this world is probably holding you close tbh.

Sylus’ fingers squeezed your writhing hips as you left yet another mark along his collar bone. You covered his neck and chest in your love bites, staking claim to your territory. Marking him as yours. The bed was a mess of silk sheets, comfy pillows and dim lighting. Everything made softer, more beautiful, all for you. The best gift he’d given you, though, was the silver chain wrapped around your wrist that tethered to the collar at his neck. He gave you control, and he loved how you used it.

You pulled on the chain, dragging his lips to yours. You kissed him like you were starved. Like he was your sustenance as much as you were his. You ground down into his lap, taking him in to the base, your hips flush against his. Your thighs burned from riding him so hard for so long, but you couldn't stop. His cock felt too good, he split you open too well. Every time the head of his cock pressed against your cervix you saw stars. You clutched onto the chain, keeping him close as you used him to come.

You came with a scream that he greedily swallowed. Your hips stilled, but he took over, fucking into you with greater force. He pulled away from your lips with a low growl. "Can I come inside you, sweetie?"

You agreed with a sharp yes, begging him to come inside you, to breed you. To fill you up. He chuckled into your neck, the sound dark and rich. "If you want me to breed you, kitten, hold on tight." You did as he said, and a wave of his evol rushed over his body, and he seemed bigger somehow, both inside you and around you. You moaned and opened your hazy eyes, seeing his dragon form. Black scales, horns, and long claws. You moaned at the sight of him, and something hot and swollen pressed against your opening. Sylus gripped your hips and pulled you all the way down. His knot slipped inside you, and you screamed as you came once again. He growled into your neck, sharp teeth biting into you as he came. Hot, thick spurts filled you to the brim.

"You're the one who wanted to be bred, sweetie. Now we're going to be stuck like this all night. I'll make sure you get what you asked for."

CALEB

He matches your feral energy 100%. Nothing you could say, do, or ask for is too much for this man. Anything you say you want, he's doing to/for you.

It's a messy, sweaty, marathon run. King of "just one more" & that's SAYING SOMETHING with this group!!! You'll hit every stable-enough surface in his house at least once. Maybe three times.

Puppy-eyed, he'll ask to breed you. It's all he's ever dreamed of. If you let him, he WILL go feral. He says the most unholy things tbh.

When you physically can't take anymore, he'll wrap you up in his arms, feed you, and hold you close bc that's his happy place.

You'd come so many times your brain has melted out of your ears. Your throat is hoarse and dry from screaming so much, and the entire room smells like sweat and sex. You don't think you can come again. Your body is sticky all over from the combination of sweat and come, his and yours. Still, Caleb can't stop, he's fucking into you hard. Right now, you're bent over the back of the couch as his hips relentlessly thrust inside you. You meekly tell him you can't come again, and his fingers immediately go back to working your clit.

"C'mon, princess. One more for me, please? Just one more. One more and I'll put you to bed. Just come one more time for me." He begged so sweetly, how could you deny him? It didn't matter that he swore the last six times he needed "just one more", not when he moaned. Not when he fucked into your sloppy cunt like that was the only thing he lived for.

"One more," you agreed. "Last one." Caleb cursed under his breath as he pounded into you. His big hands spread your ass apart so he could watch himself sink into your pussy over and over again. Your body didn't want to let him go, despite how wet and raw you both were. Every thrust further fried your nerves, all of them overstimulated and too sensitive.

Caleb flipped you around and held you in place with his evol. He shoved his fat cock as far into you as he could go, and you whimpered. Overfull and sensitive. He leaned down and brought his lips to yours in a heated kiss. "Can I breed you? Please. Gods, I need to come in you. I need to. Please, princess. Please let me breed you. Please, please. I need to feel you milk my cock, please." His panted breaths and the big violet puppy eyes did you in. You couldn't say no to him. You choked out an agreement, begging him to come inside you, to fill you up, and he broke. Three hard, sloppy thrusts, then he came inside you. So much more than he had earlier, filling you up to the brim. The throbbing of his cock sent you over the edge a moment after, and you screamed his name.

"That's it, princess. Milk me dry. Take all my come. It's all yours, pretty girl. You've earned it."

A/N: This is filth. Pure filth. Brought to you by the ovulation demons that make me want nothing else but to be fucked all day for like a solid 3-5 days a month. On those days, I'm delulu enough to think I could handle all 5 of these men at the same damn time.

Anyway, Mistakes Were Made Set 2 is coming soon. In the meantime, you get my headcannons.

[booksandteaandtears]

Sunday Kind of Love

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

A short fluffy piece because the weather has been lovely where I live and I'd like to spend it with someone. Also because Robby deserves some rest and peace and if the show won't give it to him then I will.

I hope you had/are having a lovely Sunday!

Summary: How you and Robby spend a slow Sunday

I really loved writing this one <3

(It's not grammatically correct at all, but ignore that please...)

Masterlist

Although Robby wasn't free every Sunday, you had perfected your routine for when he was available.

You'd start the day in bed, not awake so early that it felt like getting up for work, but not so late that you'd missed half of your precious Sunday rotting.

You'd usually roll out of bed first, your bladder forcing you. Robby had trained his during busy ER shifts. Afterwards you'd crawl back into bed, your head resting on his chest, trying to cuddle impossibly closer to him. His hand would draw figures across your back lazily, still half asleep.

You always snuck a cold foot in between his warm calves. You'd think he'd gotten used to it, but he was not really awake yet at that point and not aware enough to defend himself.

He'd suggested you use house slippers when you went to the bathroom, even buying some in your favourite colour for you, but you refused to use them. He secretly liked it as well, he liked feeling you try to warm up your body on his. It was your joke, your very own performance that made him smile every time.

He'd get out of bed to make coffee, whistling on his way down. By the time you had put on your socks and followed suit your cup was ready on the kitchen island. He always smiled when he saw you coming down the stairs in his hoodie.

You pulled a chair out and nestled yourself on to it. He'd start breakfast, usually something sweet. There was a little bluetooth speaker on the island, right next to you, there especially for this moment. You'd choose something soft and you'd hum along with the music, while appreciating the view of Robby's back while he cooked.

You'd move to the couch to eat, catching the news while you enjoyed your breakfast. Sunday mornings were the only time Robby was in charge in the kitchen, he relied on your superior cooking skills the rest of the week.

It was your task to bring the plates back to the kitchen and clean up. You would inspect the fridge and make a grocery list before flopping back onto the couch with Robby. He always pulled you closer to him and thanked you for cleaning up.

When the news was over you tippled back upstairs to grab your books. You were elbow deep in a Kirsten Hannah novel, Michael would switch between medical journals and, more recently, a couple of books about people struggling with their mental health. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was on his bedside table.

Robby was usually working on your second cup of coffee when you came down. He'd hand you a glass of water as well, always concerned you weren't hydrating.

You'd spent a couple of hours like that, just being next to each other, both wrapped up in your own book. The music was still playing in the background, occasionally one of you put your book down to tell the other an anecdote about the song playing, or cite a beautiful line from your books.

You'd get up at some point, taking the stairs up to your ensuite to start the shower. You'd wash your hair, and when you were almost done, your hair mask marinating, you'd hear a knock on the door.

Michael would join you in the shower, kissing your shoulder and singing sweets songs to you. He'd make you laugh. By the time you rinsed the mask out he was done as well and you'd get out of the shower together.

You'd dry your hair, get dressed and head to a nearby farmers market. You both loved the walk over there, holding hands, stopping to talk to the neighbours, pointing out what flowers had been growing in the gardens around your place.

You'd do a quick loop of the market before settling in one of the cute cafés around it, too hungry to focus properly on all the market goodness. You'd have lunch while people watching, pointing out cute dogs and kids. Robby would tell you about his week, about funny things that had happened, times he was proud of how one of his residents had handled a situation. He talked about some of the tougher cases that week, young kids that were ill, people saying goodbye to their loved ones in a brightly lit ER. You would rest your hand on his knee, showing him you were there, you were listening to him. He'd grab your hand and squeeze it, forcing a small smile back onto his face.

After that you'd take a longer time at the market, talking with vendors, buying a sourdough loaf with a new, interesting flavour (and always a backup in case you didn't like the exotic combinations). You'd look at jewellery, LP's, olive oil's, fruit and veg, meanwhile checking your grocery list for what you needed.

You'd drag Robby away from the stalls where someone was selling some bullshit miracle ointment for some ailment, not wanting to get into it on your calm Sunday. But you'd write down the name of the product and leave reviews online about the lies they were spreading. Michael would sign the reviews with John Carter, MD, a nod to an old TV doctor that he used too look like.

You would stop by the grocery store on the way back, making sure that you were all stocked up for another busy week. Usually you took that moment to fill each other in on what you'd be doing that next week, figuring out when the two of you would have time for each other, Robby mentally taking notes on what days you'd have difficult work days.

You'd make soup with your fresh vegetables when you were home, enjoying it with the loaf of bread. Robby would set the table and pour the wine. You always tried to keep the Sunday evening meal simple, a little full from lunch still, but you couldn't contain yourselves at the market and always came home with a bunch of cheese, olives and dips. And you couldn't possibly wait another day to try them.

After dinner it was Robby's turn to clean up. You'd hop onto the kitchen island, talking while he was scrubbing a pot, the speaker playing another playlist. You tried to take sip of wine while he made you laugh and you nearly snorted it into your own face. He laughed even harder at that.

You'd take a sunset walk after dinner, too full to do nothing all evening, feeling that some movement is necessary for a good night's sleep. He'd pull you closer to him when the air would start to cool, offering you his jacket. You declined, not wanting him to get cold and preferring to get closer to him for warmth, snuggling up into his side while walking.

You'd put on a film when you got back. Sometimes you had enough mental capacity for a good film, one you'd heard your friends rave about. Most times you just wanted something simple, so you'd turn on one of your trusted favourites, one that you knew almost every line of.

Michael almost always fell asleep halfway through the film. He denied it, but you could feel his heartbeat slowing down, his breath growing deeper. You'd snuggle up, watching the rest of the film. You'd wake him when the end credits would roll, telling him it was time for bed.

He brushed his teeth half asleep, somehow managing to look cute doing it. He'd be in bed before you, fighting to stay awake until you were in his arms. "I love you." He'd whisper when you planted your face in the crook of his neck. "I love you." You'd whisper back at him. He always smiled when he heard you say it, even when you could have sworn he was already asleep.

[jungkoode]

WE GREW UP SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY | 02

˗ˏˋcorporate hellscape & theoretical arrangements ˎˊ˗

"Despite every rational thought screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself agreeing to the most ridiculous professional arrangement in the history of professional arrangements."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: corporate hellscape survival, Dave Davidson (yes that's his real name), theoretical modeling arrangements that feel less theoretical by the minute, meeting Momo the sugar glider, apartment tours, domestic intimacy disguised as friendship, emotional whiplash, and Y/N making questionable life decisions while simultaneously insisting they're purely professional.

Kiki Nation's discussion thread for this chapter.

✧ author's note ✧

Okay so first of all *turns microphone on, taps twice, clears throat aggressively* 🚨 WE HAVE AN OUTLINE FOR WGU, PEOPLE. I REPEAT. WE HAVE AN OUTLINE. 🚨

Which means this fic is now officially going to be 30 chapters long and highly likely somewhere between 200-250k+ words, so buckle your seatbelt, tighten your shoelaces, and kiss your emotionally stability goodbye. We're going full send.

This is wild because… I never outline. I’m not built like that. I am a write-by-the-vibes, stream-of-consciousness, playlist-induced fugue state kind of girl. I daydream entire scenes while brushing my teeth and then rearrange them mentally like a madman pinning red thread to a corkboard. The closest I’ve come to a “structure” before this is just knowing what general direction I want things to go—like I might know, “at some point they’ll kiss in the rain,” but no clue if that’s Chapter 5 or Chapter 17 or a hallucination I made up in REM sleep.

But now? Now I know what happens in every chapter. Not just plot beats, but character turns, internal shifts, thematic echoes. And y’all… it’s life-changing. It lets me plant narrative seeds that will grow into devastatingly beautiful emotional collapses later. Like, suddenly I feel like an actual architect instead of a raccoon with a pen. Still feral. But, you know. Feral with a floorplan.

And because I'm me, this story is now also structured into four volumes, because it needed to be arch-y like that. Big arc energy. Arcs that make you cry in the club. I genuinely think this might become my most emotionally textured fic—because I'm working with intent instead of just instinct. Both are good. But together? They go feral. Together they write this fic.

I love it so much. I love them so much.

NOW. About this chapter.

I absolutely love their interactions in here. The way Y/N is simultaneously trying to maintain professional distance while also being completely unable to resist Hoseok's chaos is so her. She's all "this is purely professional" while literally agreeing to the most unprofessional arrangement imaginable. And Hoseok! God, Hoseok in this chapter made my heart ache. The way he talks about his work—trying so hard to convince himself and everyone else that it has artistic merit while clearly struggling with what he's had to compromise to survive. There's this beautiful tension between his genuine artistic passion and the reality of what pays his bills. When he talks about wanting to draw "realistic" expressions and movements, you can see how much he actually cares about his craft, even when it's wrapped up in work he's ambivalent about.

The corporate office scenes were painful to write because they're so real. Dave Davidson (and yes, his parents really were that creative) represents everything soul-crushing about modern work culture. Y/N's first day is this perfect encapsulation of how foreign everything feels when you're trying to build a new life—not just the language barriers but the social dynamics, the unspoken rules, the way exhaustion seeps into everything when you're constantly translating your existence for other people.

But then we get to the izakaya scene and everything shifts. The alcohol loosens Y/N's defenses just enough for her to make this completely insane offer that sounds professional on the surface but is loaded with so much subtext. She tells herself it's just helping a friend with a work problem, but we all know there's so much more brewing underneath. The way she rationalizes it—"it's just work, it's professional, it's no different from life drawing class"—while simultaneously knowing she's crossing a line she can't uncross.

And Momo! Sweet little Momo who immediately sees through Y/N's bullshit and gives her the cold shoulder. There's something so perfect about Hoseok having this tiny, discerning creature who's protective of him. It adds this domestic layer to his character that makes him feel so much more real and vulnerable. Plus the way Y/N gets personally offended by being rejected by a sugar glider is peak Y/N behavior.

Next chapter we get to see this "professional arrangement" in action, and let me tell you, the tension is about to become unbearable. Y/N thinks she can maintain clinical distance while posing for intimate scenes. Hoseok thinks he can separate his artistic process from his growing feelings. They're both about to learn how wrong they are.

Thanks for reading, and prepare your emotions because we're just getting started.

⋆｡°✩ read on ✩°｡⋆

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ao3

Your alarm goes off at 6:30 AM sharp, dragging you from dreams about okonomiyaki and stupid orange beanies.

The corporate world of Osaka doesn't give a shit about your jet lag, your existential crisis, or the fact that you spent half the night staring at the ceiling wondering why Jung Hoseok draws porn for a living.

You stumble through your morning routine in the cramped bathroom, squinting at yourself in the mirror that's too small and positioned at the wrong height. Your reflection looks like it's been through a blender—hair doing its own thing, eyes puffy from restless sleep, and that general air of 'please don't perceive me' that seems to be your default setting these days.

The shower barely produces lukewarm water, and you're starting to understand why rent was so cheap. Everything in this apartment operates on the principle of 'technically functional but aggressively mediocre.'

You throw on your most professional-looking outfit—a navy blazer and matching pants that felt impressive in Sydney but now seem inadequate for whatever corporate hell awaits you. The fabric wrinkles the moment you sit down, because apparently even your clothes are nervous.

The commute to Umeda is a forty-minute journey that involves two train transfers and a ten-minute walk through streets that all look identical in the early morning light.

Everyone around you moves like they're on a mission or part of a James Bond movie (hard to tell, honestly)—briefcases and designer handbags clutched like weapons, faces set in expressions of determined politeness.

You study the other foreigners on the train—scattered among the sea of black-haired commuters like misplaced chess pieces. A few Western faces here and there, all wearing the same slightly overwhelmed expression you suspect is plastered across your own face.

The building housing Synergy International Marketing is a gleaming tower of glass and steel that probably looked cutting-edge in 1995 but now seems like it's trying too hard.

The lobby has that corporate smell—air freshener mixed with coffee and the faint anxiety sweat of people pretending they know what they're doing.

You present yourself to reception, where an immaculately dressed Japanese woman greets you with the kind of professional smile that reaches exactly nowhere near her eyes.

"Y/N-san? Welcome. Please wait here. Tanaka-san will escort you to orientation."

Tanaka-san turns out to be a harried-looking man in his forties who speaks English like he's translating every word in his head before letting it out.

He leads you through a maze of cubicles and conference rooms, explaining company policies in a tone that suggests he's given this speech approximately ten thousand times.

"International Communications Department is on seventh floor. Your desk will be in shared workspace with other English-speaking staff. Please maintain professional appearance and punctuality at all times."

The elevator ride up is silent except for generic jazz music that makes you want to throw yourself out a window.

The seventh floor is an open-plan nightmare of beige cubicles, warm lighting, and the aggressive clicking of keyboards.

It's honestly like someone took every stereotype about corporate offices and decided to make them reality.

Your desk is a small corner space next to a window that looks out onto another building approximately six feet away

The previous occupant has left behind a stress ball shaped like a hamburger and a coffee mug with 'I want to drown in coffee' printed on it in faded letters.

Inspiring.

"Your immediate supervisor is Davidson-san," Tanaka explains, gesturing toward a tall man with prematurely gray hair who's currently engaged in what appears to be a heated phone conversation in English. "He will explain your duties. Please make good impression."

Davidson finishes his call and approaches with the kind of smile that suggests he's simultaneously relieved to see you and already exhausted by your presence.

"You must be our new copywriter! Dave Davidson, department head. I know, I know, my parents were very creative." His handshake is firm but sweaty. "Ready to dive into the wonderful world of international marketing?"

Aaaand… That's how you spend the next three hours in meetings that could have been emails, learning about 'synergistic brand integration' and 'cross-cultural consumer engagement strategies.'

Your role, as it turns out, involves translating Japanese marketing concepts into English copy that doesn't sound like it was written by robots having a nervous breakdown.

Your colleagues are honestly a mixed bag—two other foreigners who look like they've been here long enough to develop thousand-yard stares, and several Japanese staff members who speak perfect English but seem perpetually confused by your presence.

Lunch is a sad bento box eaten at your desk while reviewing client briefs for companies you've never heard of selling products you don't understand.

The work itself isn't terrible, just mind-numbingly ordinary.

Write copy for a new line of beauty products. Edit brochures for a tech company. Make everything sound 'dynamic' and 'innovative' without actually saying anything meaningful.

Marketing, as it is.

By 3 PM, you're wondering if this is what death feels like—slow, bureaucratic, and accompanied by the sound of printers jamming.

Your phone buzzes with a message that makes several of your new colleagues glance over disapprovingly.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢? 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝? 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝! (◕‿◕)

You glance around to make sure no one's watching before typing back:

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙰𝚠𝚠𝚠 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢! 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝! (╥﹏╥)

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜! 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢! 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑? 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛!

You look around the office—at Davidson explaining synergy to a potted plant, at your coworkers staring at their screens with the enthusiasm of people watching their own funerals.

It feels like watching dead insects.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟻:𝟹𝟶 𝚒𝚏 𝙸'𝚖 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢. 𝟼 𝚒𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 '𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗' 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝! 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝟼! 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝, 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔?

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚊 𝚑𝚊, 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢, 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍, 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚙𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝? (𝙸 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘!!)

You put your phone away and try to focus on the task at hand—writing compelling copy for a line of anti-aging moisturizers targeted at 'modern Japanese women who demand excellence.'

The irony isn't lost on you.

At exactly 6:07 PM, you escape the corporate hellscape and find Hoseok lounging in the lobby like he actually belongs there.

He's wearing ripped jeans, a faded band t-shirt, and that same orange beanie, looking like he wandered in from a completely different universe.

Several security guards eye him suspiciously.

"Capy!" He jumps up (and you want to slap him) from the leather chair he's been sprawled across. "You survived! I wasn't sure you would make it out alive."

"Barely," you mutter, adjusting your blazer. "This place is where souls go to die."

"Harsh. But accurate, probably." He looks you up and down with an expression you can't quite read. "You look very... professional. Like you could fire someone and feel nothing."

"Don't tempt me. I already have a list."

He laughs, falling into step beside you as you head toward the exit.

"That bad, huh?"

"I spent six hours learning about 'consumer-focused brand narratives' and I still don't know what that means. Also, my desk faces a wall."

"Sounds like you need alcohol and carbohydrates. Lucky for you, I know just the place."

You follow him out into the early evening chaos of Umeda, where salary men in identical dark suits stream past like schools of depressed fish.

The contrast between Hoseok's chaotic energy and the rigid corporate atmosphere is so stark it's almost funny.

Almost.

"So," he says as you navigate through the crowd, "tell me about your coworkers. Anyone interesting? Any office romances brewing? Workplace drama?"

"It's been one day, Ott. I barely learned where the bathroom is."

"Details, Capy! I need details! Is your boss hot? Is there office gossip? Do people eat lunch at their desks like sad robots?"

"Yes to the sad robot lunches. No to everything else." You side-step a group of tourists taking photos of street signs. "Although Davidson—that's my boss—seems like the type who has strong opinions about proper email formatting."

"Davidson? What kind of name is Davidson for a boss? He sounds like a middle management villain."

"Davidson Davidson, actually."

Hoseok stops walking entirely.

"You're joking."

"I am not joking. His parents named him Dave Davidson. He acknowledged the lack of creativity himself."

"That's the most tragic thing I've ever heard. No wonder you looked dead inside when I picked you up."

"I didn't look dead inside."

"Capy, you looked like someone had surgically removed your will to live. Which, honestly, is understandable after spending eight hours with a man named Dave Davidson."

You can't argue with that assessment.

He leads you to a small izakaya tucked between a convenience store and a shop selling nothing but different types of socks.

The interior is all dark wood and paper lanterns, with the kind of cramped seating that forces strangers to become uncomfortably intimate with each other's elbows.

"This place doesn't look like much," Hoseok says, sliding into a booth that's clearly designed for people smaller than either of you, "but they have the best karaage in the city, and the beer is cheap enough that you can afford to forget about Dave Davidson's existence."

"I can't get drunk. I have to work tomorrow."

"Who said anything about getting drunk? I said forgetting Dave Davidson exists. That only requires like, two beers, max."

The waitress appears—a woman who looks like she's been working here since the restaurant opened sometime in the Meiji era.

Hoseok jumps in, ordering in fluent Japanese that flows so naturally you almost forget he's half-Australian. 

His mom made sure he was bilingual from the start, but hearing it now, surrounded by the actual language and culture, makes you realize how much more connected to this place he is than you.

"What did you order?" you ask when she leaves.

"Food. Beer. Trust me."

"That's not an answer."

"It is now, Capy. Live a little."

You lean back against the booth, feeling some of the day's tension leave your shoulders.

The izakaya is warm and dim, filled with the comfortable buzz of people unwinding after work.

It's the first time all day you've felt like you could breathe properly.

"So," you say, "how's the porn business?"

Hoseok nearly chokes on the water he's sipping.

"Jesus, warn a guy before you just blurt that out."

"What? You brought it up yesterday. I'm just making conversation."

"It's... fine. Good, actually. I just finished a commission that's probably going to pay my rent for the next two months."

"What was it? Wait, do I want to know?"

He grins.

"Probably not. But I'll tell you anyway. It was a twelve-page story about a librarian who discovers that late-night study sessions can be... educational."

"Oh god."

"Hey, don't knock it! The characterization was surprisingly deep. She had a whole backstory about her graduate thesis on medieval literature. Very sophisticated stuff."

"You're defending the artistic merit of librarian porn to me."

"I'm defending the artistic merit of all my work. Just because it's explicit doesn't mean it lacks substance."

The food arrives—platters of fried chicken, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and enough beer to drown a horse.

Hoseok immediately starts dissecting the chicken with the precision of a surgeon.

"The thing is," he continues, apparently not done with his professional defense, "most hentai is garbage. No character development, ridiculous scenarios, anatomy that defies physics. But I try to make mine actually... realistic, you know? Like, what would these people actually be thinking? How would they really react?"

You take a long drink of beer.

"Realistic hentai. That's your niche."

"Mock all you want, but it's harder than you think. Especially drawing women. Like, actually making them look like real people instead of inflatable dolls with anatomically impossible proportions."

"I imagine that is challenging."

"It is! I spend hours looking at reference photos trying to get facial expressions right during…" He clears his throat. "…intimate moments. And body language! How do people actually hold themselves when they're vulnerable? What do real emotions look like on someone's face when they're—"

He stops mid-sentence, looking suddenly self-conscious.

"When they're what?" you prompt, more curious than you want to admit.

"When they're... you know. Experiencing pleasure. Real pleasure."

There's something in his voice—a genuine frustration that catches you off guard. Like this actually matters to him beyond just paying rent.

"That does sound complicated," you say, surprising yourself with the sincerity.

"It is. I mean, I can draw bodies fine. Anatomy, positioning, all that technical stuff. But making it feel real? Making the characters seem like actual people instead of just... vessels for fantasy? That's the hard part."

The beer is making you bolder than usual.

"So what's the problem exactly?"

Hoseok fidgets with his chopsticks.

"I think... I think I draw women the way I assume they should look and feel, instead of how they actually do. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of. Like you're working from secondhand information instead of... primary sources?"

"Exactly!" He leans forward, animated again. "I'm always guessing. What would her face actually look like in this moment? How would she really move? What would be going through her head?"

You take another drink, processing this unexpected insight into his work.

"And you can't just... I don't know, watch porn for reference?"

"Porn is the worst reference possible. It's all performance. Fake expressions, exaggerated reactions, completely unrealistic scenarios. If I based my work on porn, it would be just as terrible as everyone else's."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh." He picks at his food, suddenly looking younger than his twenty-six years. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up on trying to make it realistic and just draw ridiculous tentacle monsters like everyone expects."

"Don't do that."

The words come out more forcefully than you intended, and he looks up with surprise.

"I mean," you backtrack, "if you think realistic is better, then... keep trying to make it realistic. Right?"

"But how? I can't exactly ask random women to model for explicit manga. That would be weird and probably illegal."

You're quiet for a moment, an idea forming that you immediately try to dismiss.

But the beer and the warmth of the izakaya and the genuine frustration in his voice make you consider it.

"What if..." you start, then stop.

"What if what?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Capy, what were you going to say?"

You drain half your beer in one go.

"I was going to say, what if you had someone to model for you? Like, someone you trust who could give you actual realistic reference?"

Hoseok stares at you. Frowns, like genuinely, actually frowns (and isn't that the first time in his adult face you've seen it?)

"Are you... are you offering?"

"I'm not offering anything. I'm just saying hypothetically, if you had access to realistic references, your work would probably improve."

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically."

"And this hypothetical reference model would be...?"

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and blame it on the alcohol.

"I don't know. Someone who understands that it's just work. Professional."

"Professional reference modeling for hentai manga."

"It's not any weirder than your current career path."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"You're serious," he says finally.

"I'm drunk," you correct. "There's a difference."

"But you're serious about being drunk."

"Shut up, Ott."

But he's grinning now, that stupid, wide grin that takes over his entire face.

"Capy wants to model for my sexy manga!"

"Keep your voice down!" You glance around the izakaya, but everyone seems too absorbed in their own conversations to care about yours. "And I didn't say I wanted to do anything. I said hypothetically—"

"You offered to pose for me."

"I offered a theoretical solution to your creative problem."

"By posing for me."

"By... providing realistic reference materials in a professional capacity."

"For my hentai manga."

"For your... adult-oriented sequential art."

He's laughing now, delighted by your obvious discomfort. "This is the best day of my life. Capy is going to be my muse!"

"I am not going to be your muse. And stop calling it that."

"What should I call it? My artistic collaborator? My reference consultant? My—"

"Your friend who's had too much beer and suggested something stupid."

"My friend who's going to help me create the most realistic romantic manga Osaka has never seen."

That stops you.

Because he…

He's just said the word 'friend'.

And you hate how that made something twist in your chest.

"I haven't agreed to anything," you insist. "We were just talking theoretically."

"Theoretically, when would you be available for our first session?"

"Theoretically, you're an idiot."

"Theoretically, you're avoiding the question."

You finish your beer and immediately signal for another.

"If—and I mean if—I were to consider this theoretical arrangement, it would be purely professional. No weirdness."

"Define weirdness."

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't. Are we talking about no inappropriate comments? No lingering stares? No—"

"All of the above. It would be like... like life drawing class. Clinical. Professional."

"Have you ever taken a life drawing class?"

"That's not the point."

"Because life drawing classes can get pretty—"

"Hoseok."

"Right. Clinical. Professional. Got it." He's still grinning. "So when do we start?"

"We don't start anything because this is a hypothetical conversation about a theoretical arrangement that will never actually happen."

"But if it were to happen theoretically?"

You look at him across the table—flushed from beer and excitement, eyes bright with possibility, that stupid beanie slightly askew.

He looks exactly like the kid who used to convince you to climb fences and steal apples from the neighbor's tree, all mischief and misplaced confidence.

And despite every rational thought in your head screaming at you to shut this down, you hear yourself saying:

"Tomorrow night. After work. Your place."

His grin could power the entire city.

"Theoretically?" he asks.

"Theoretically."

"This is going to be amazing, Capy."

You signal for another beer.

You're going to need it.

The thing is, he looks genuinely excited. Not the performative, over-the-top excitement he uses to annoy you—but the real kind.

The kind that makes his eyes go bright and his whole body lean forward like he can't contain whatever stupid idea is bouncing around in his head.

It's the same look he used to get when he'd convince you to sneak out and explore the construction site behind your neighborhood, or when he'd drag you to that weird arcade with the broken claw machines that somehow always gave him exactly what he wanted.

Which means this theoretical modeling arrangement is either going to be completely innocent or a complete disaster.

Probably both.

"You know what?" he says, peeling the label off his new beer bottle in strips, "you should see my place tonight. Get the full Osaka experience."

You nearly choke on your karaage. Because what did this nuthead just say?

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? It's still early!"

"It's past nine, Ott. That's not early. That's nighttime. When normal people go home to their sad apartments and contemplate their life choices."

"Since when are we normal people?" He grins, that stupid, infectious grin that probably got him out of trouble his entire childhood. "Come on, Capy. When's the last time you had a proper house tour?"

When's the last time you crashed at a guy's place just because he asked? When's the last time you did anything without calculating the exact social implications and potential for regret?

"When's the last time you cleaned your house?" you counter instead.

"That's… irrelevant."

"Everything about you is irrelevant."

"Harsh but fair."

The waitress brings your beer, and you immediately take a long drink because this conversation is heading somewhere you're not sure you want to follow.

The alcohol has made everything slightly fuzzy around the edges, but not fuzzy enough to make this seem like a good idea.

Actually, that's a lie.

The alcohol is making it seem like exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive thing you would have done when you were seventeen and thought the worst thing that could happen was your parents finding out.

Now you know better.

Now you know that the worst things are usually the ones that feel like coming home.

"I'm not going to your apartment at nine-thirty at night after we just agreed to some theoretical professional arrangement that I'm already regretting," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

"But you haven't seen where the magic happens! Where your theoretical modeling will theoretically take place!"

"The magic happens in your bedroom, doesn't it."

"Well, yeah. Better lighting by the window, and I can spread all my references out on the bed—" He stops mid-sentence, apparently realizing how that sounds. "Wait, that came out wrong."

"Everything you say comes out wrong."

"Fair point." He demolishes another piece of chicken. "But seriously, you should see the place. I've got it set up pretty nice now. Real drawing desk, proper lamp, even organized my reference materials into folders like a functioning adult."

"Your porn collection, you mean."

"My professional research library," he corrects with mock dignity. "Very different thing. Alphabetized and everything."

The image of Hoseok carefully organizing hentai manga by genre and artistic merit is so ridiculous you almost smile.

"Plus," he continues, voice quiet and not meeting your eyes while he picks at the label on his bottle, "you could crash there tonight. Save yourself the train ride back to your shoebox apartment."

And there it is. The real reason behind this sudden house tour enthusiasm.

"My apartment isn't a shoebox."

"Capy, you described it yesterday as 'slightly larger than a coffin but with worse lighting.'"

"That was… accurate but not the point."

"The point is you're probably dreading going back there alone. New city, new job, everything unfamiliar." His voice gets softer, less performative. "Wouldn't hurt to have somewhere comfortable to crash."

There it is again—that stupid, genuine concern that always catches you off guard. The way he can shift from ridiculous to sincere in half a sentence, like he's got some kind of emotional whiplash disorder.

It's the same tone he used when you were thirteen and crying because your parents were fighting again, when he climbed through your window and sat on your floor for three hours without saying a word. Just… present.

Just there.

And that's the problem, isn't it?

Because it's been five years since anyone was just there for you. Five years of being the competent one, the reliable one, the one who has her shit together and doesn't need anyone to sit on her floor and not say anything.

Five years of being completely, utterly alone.

"I'm not crashing at your place, Hoseok."

"Why not? We're friends, right?"

There's that word again—friends.

Like it's simple. Like five years of radio silence and separate lives can be erased with one dinner and too much beer.

Like you can just slip back into being the people you were before you grew up and moved away and learned how to be strangers.

"Are we?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks up from his bottle, label half-peeled and hanging like a sad flag of surrender.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" You gesture vaguely between you, encompassing the izakaya, the theoretical modeling arrangement, the way he's looking at you like you're still seventeen and nothing has changed. "This. Whatever this is. Are we friends? Or are we just two people who used to know each other pretending nothing's changed?"

He blinks at you. You blink at him. And suddenly the two seconds of silence that pass by feel like an eternity.

"Do you want to be friends?" he finally asks quietly.

"I don't know." The honesty surprises you. "I mean, yes. I think. But I don't know if we can just… pick up where we left off."

"We don't have to pick up anywhere. We can start over."

"Start over as what?"

"As…" He shrugs, that careful casualness that means he's thinking harder than he's letting on. "As whatever we want to be."

But that's the problem—because you don't know what you want to be.

You don't know if you want to be the girl who crashes at her old friend's apartment because she's too lonely to go home, or the woman who keeps appropriate boundaries and doesn't complicate things.

You don't know if you want to be someone who can trust that easily again.

"You still bite your lip when you're thinking too hard," he observes.

"I do not."

"You're doing it right now."

You immediately stop biting your lip, which only makes him grin wider.

"Some things don't change, Capy. Even when everything else does."

"Don't get philosophical on me, Ott. It doesn't suit you."

"What does suit me?"

The question catches you off guard.

You look at him—really look at him—taking in the way five years have sharpened some edges and softened others.

The boy you knew is still there, buried under layers of adult experience and professional disappointment and whatever other things happen to people when they stop being kids and start pretending they know what they're doing.

He's still too thin, still too energetic, still wearing clothes that look like he grabbed them off his bedroom floor.

But there's something different in his eyes now.

As if he's been waiting for something for a long time and isn't sure it's coming.

"Chaos," you say finally. "Chaos suits you."

He laughs, loud enough that several other customers glance over.

"I'll take it."

"Good, because that's all you're getting."

"For now."

There's something in the way he says it that makes your stomach do a small, traitorous flip.

You blame the beer and the warm lighting and the fact that you've barely slept in three days.

"I should go home," you say, but you don't move to leave.

"You should come see my apartment."

"Those are opposite things, Ott."

"Not if you crash at mine."

"I'm not crashing at your place."

"Why not?"

"Because…" You fumble for a reason that doesn't sound ridiculous. "Because it's weird. We just reconnected yesterday. Normal people don't sleep over at their childhood friend's house after one dinner."

Because it feels too much like before.

Because you're scared of how easy it would be to fall back into old patterns, old dependencies, old ways of needing someone.

Because you've spent five years learning how to be alone, and one night on his couch might undo all of that.

"Normal people don't agree to model for hentai manga either, but here we are."

"That's different. That's professional."

"Right. Professional." He draws out the word like it's a foreign concept. "Professional modeling, professional friendship, professional distance. Everything professional."

"There's nothing wrong with professional."

"Course not. Very sensible. Very mature."

He's grinning again, but there's something underneath it that you can't quite identify.

You feel, surprisingly, it's shaped like disappointment.

"Very unlike the Capy I remember."

That makes you swallow.

It's unfair, how he can say shit like that and have your chest cave in.

"People change, Ott. We're not kids anymore."

"No," he agrees, and his voice goes quiet. "We're not."

The way he says it makes you look at him again, and what you see in his eyes looks like he's grieving for those kids too. Like he misses them as much as you do.

Like maybe he's been just as lost without them as you have.

"I have a surprise," he says suddenly, changing direction so fast you get conversational whiplash.

"I hate surprises."

"I know. That's what makes this one perfect."

"That logic makes no sense."

"Trust me."

"I don't trust you. You tried to convince me that eating chocolate for breakfast was a balanced meal because it contained milk."

"It does contain milk! And calcium! Very nutritious!"

"You were seventeen, Hoseok. You should have known better."

"I was a growing boy! I needed nutrients!"

You laugh despite yourself, and the sound echoes off the low ceiling of the izakaya.

It's embarrassing how easy it is to fall back into this rhythm with him, like your brain has been storing all these conversation patterns for five years just waiting for him to come back.

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind you'll only find out if you come see my apartment."

"That's manipulation."

"That's incentive."

"That's emotional blackmail."

"That's friendship."

Fucker.

You drain the rest of your beer in one long pull, partly for courage and partly to delay having to respond. The alcohol seems to have erased your usually reliable sense of self-preservation.

And maybe that's what you need right now. Maybe you need to stop protecting yourself from every possible disappointment and just… see what happens.

Maybe you need to remember what it feels like to trust someone who used to know all your secrets.

"If I come see your place," you say carefully, "and if I hate your surprise, I'm leaving immediately."

"Deal. But you won't hate it."

"I probably will."

"You definitely won't."

"I have a very high hate-to-like ratio when it comes to surprises. Remember my sixteenth birthday?"

His face changes. "Oh. Shit. Yeah, I remember."

Of course he remembers.

He's the one who spent three hours sitting outside the bathroom door, talking to you through the wood while you had a complete meltdown because your mom had thrown you a surprise party and invited half your class and you couldn't handle being the center of attention like that.

"Your mom meant well," he says quietly.

"I know she meant well. But I told her I didn't want a party, and she threw one anyway because she thought I was just being shy. And then I locked myself in the bathroom like a lunatic while twenty people ate cake and wondered where the birthday girl went."

"You weren't a lunatic. You were overwhelmed."

"I was pathetic."

"You were sixteen and dealing with more shit than anyone knew." His voice has gone serious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. "And I should have known better than to help her plan it."

"You were just being a good friend."

"I'm still trying to be a good friend," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes you look up from your beer.

This man who used to be a boy who used to climb through your bedroom window just to sit on your floor and read comics. Who used to walk you home from school even though his house was in the opposite direction. Who used to know exactly what to say to make you laugh when you were crying about some stupid teenage drama.

Who disappeared from your life for five years and somehow found his way back in the span of twenty-four hours.

"Fine," you say, and immediately regret it. "But I'm taking the couch."

His smile is so bright it should be illegal.

"Deal. But you're gonna love the surprise, Capy. I promise."

"I doubt that."

"You love being wrong about things."

"I love being right about you being an idiot."

"Same thing, really."

He signals for the check, already bouncing slightly in his seat with excitement.

You watch him count out bills with the kind of gesture that suggests his porn money isn't quite as abundant as he likes to pretend.

His apartment is probably just as small and depressing as yours.

He's probably just as lost and lonely as you are.

He's probably just as scared of growing up and becoming a real person with real responsibilities and real consequences.

But at least you can be lost and scared together.

At least for tonight.

"Ott?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still like strawberry milk?"

The question comes out of nowhere, surprising both of you.

But something about the beer and the warm light and the familiar rhythm of your bickering has loosened something in your chest, some speck of control you've been maintaining since you walked into that izakaya.

His smile goes soft around the edges.

"Yeah. I do. Do you still put way too much sugar in your coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

It's such a small thing—strawberry milk and oversweetened coffee—but somehow it feels enormous.

Like proof that some essential part of each of you has remained unchanged despite everything else that's shifted and grown and broken apart.

Like maybe those kids are still in there somewhere, waiting to be found again.

"Ready to go?" he asks, standing and pulling on his jacket.

"No. But let's go anyway."

"That's the spirit, Capy."

You follow him out into the cool Osaka night, where the neon signs reflect off wet pavement and streets are full of people pretending they know where they're going.

And for the first time since you moved here, you think maybe you don't need to know where you're going.

Maybe you just need to trust that wherever Hoseok is leading you, it'll be worth the trip.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

Four flights of stairs later, you're questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"Exercise," you mutter, gripping the railing as Hoseok bounds ahead like some kind of demented mountain goat. "Right. Because what this night needed was cardio."

"Almost there!" he calls back, not even slightly winded. "Just think of it as pre-modeling conditioning!"

"I'm thinking of it as cruel and unusual punishment."

His apartment door is covered in stickers—anime characters you don't recognize, band logos from groups that probably broke up in 2001, and what appears to be a holographic Pikachu giving a thumbs up.

It's aggressively juvenile and somehow perfectly him.

"Don't judge the door art," he says, fumbling with his keys. "It came with the apartment."

"It absolutely did not."

"Okay, fine, I may have added some personality over the years. Sue me."

The door swings open and you step into what can only be described as organized chaos.

The apartment is small but noticeably bigger than your shoebox—which isn't saying much, but still manages to feel spacious by comparison.

Manga volumes are stacked in towering columns against every wall, art supplies scattered across a desk positioned near the window, and clothes draped over furniture like fabric ghosts.

"Welcome to Casa de Ott!" he announces, spreading his arms wide and nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. "Home sweet chaotic home."

You scan the space, taking in the details.

The couch looks like it was salvaged from a 1980s office waiting room. There's a small TV balanced precariously on a stack of manga, and the kitchen is basically a corner with a mini-fridge and what might generously be called a stove.

"It's…" you start.

"Terrible? Depressing? A fire hazard?"

"I was going to say small."

"Small is a nice way of putting it. I prefer 'cozy' or 'efficiently designed.'"

Your eyes land on a red sketchbook lying open on the low table, pages covered in detailed drawings that make you stop mid-step. You can't make out the specifics from this distance, but before you can guess the contents, Hoseok is screeching.

"Oh shit," Hoseok says, following your gaze. He lunges forward and slams the sketchbook closed, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "Those are, uh, not for virgin eyes."

"Virgin eyes?" You raise an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-six, Ott. I've seen naked people before."

"Yeah, but not my naked people. These are my professionally naked people. Very different."

"I'm literally going to model for this stuff, remember?"

He freezes, sketchbook still pressed against his chest.

"So we're not doing hypothetical anymore?"

Shit, he's right—somewhere between the beer and the banter and the way he looked at you when you called him your friend, the theoretical became decidedly less theoretical.

"I…" You falter, suddenly aware of how close you're standing. "Beer. You mentioned beer."

"Right. Beer. Very important. Life-sustaining beverage." He's still holding the sketchbook like a security blanket. "Kitchen's over there. Help yourself. I'm just going to put this away where it can't traumatize anyone."

He disappears down a narrow hallway, and you make your way to the kitchen area.

The refrigerator is covered in delivery menus and what appears to be a drawing of a cat wearing a top hat.

Inside, there are exactly three items: beer, leftover ramen, and a container of something that might once have been vegetables.

"Your food situation is concerning," you call out.

"I survive on convenience store cuisine and pure artistic passion!" comes his muffled reply from what you assume is his bedroom.

You grab two beers and settle onto the couch, which is actually more comfortable than it looks.

The apartment feels lived-in despite its chaos—or maybe because of it.

There's something appealingly unpretentious about the space, like Hoseok just exists here without trying to impress anyone.

"Okay," he says, emerging from the hallway with his hands behind his back and a grin that should probably be illegal. "Ready for your surprise?"

Every muscle in your body tenses. "I told you I hate surprises."

"And I told you this one's different. This one's going to change your entire worldview on surprises."

"My worldview on surprises is based on sound psychological principles and extensive personal trauma. One cute whatever-it-is isn't going to—"

He brings his hands forward, revealing a small, furry creature with enormous dark eyes and a long, fluffy tail.

You stop breathing.

"Capy," he says, his voice soft with obvious pride, "meet Momo."

The sugar glider—because that's clearly what she is—sits perfectly still in his cupped palms, studying you with the kind of intense curiosity usually reserved for wildlife documentaries.

She's tiny, maybe the size of a hamster, with gray fur and cream markings that make her look like she's wearing a tiny vest.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Language," Hoseok scolds, but he's grinning. "She's a lady."

"You have a sugar glider."

"I have Momo. She's not just any sugar glider. She's the most perfect sugar glider in the history of sugar gliders."

As if hearing her cue, Momo shifts slightly in his palms, studying you with what can only be described as deep suspicion.

"Can I…" you start, then stop. "Is she friendly?"

"She's cautious with new people, but she's never actually bitten anyone. Well, except that one time with my neighbor, but he deserved it."

"What did your neighbor do?"

"Tried to pet her without permission. Momo has very strong opinions about consent."

You extend one finger slowly, and Momo sniffs it delicately, her tiny nose twitching as she processes your scent.

After a moment of consideration, she pulls back and immediately scurries up Hoseok's arm to perch on his shoulder, as far from you as possible.

"Well," you say, trying to keep your voice casual, "that's… fine. I don't care if a rodent likes me or not."

"She's a marsupial, actually. And she just needs time to warm up to new people."

"I said I don't care."

But there's something distinctly annoying about being rejected by something the size of a hamster.

You're a perfectly likeable person. You've never done anything to offend small mammals.

"She's very discerning," Hoseok says, clearly trying not to laugh at your obvious wounded pride. "High standards."

"So you rescued a sugar glider."

"I rescued the most perfect sugar glider."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. Look at her little hands! And her tail! And the way she tilts her head when she's thinking!"

You look at him instead—at the way his entire face lights up when he talks about Momo, the gentle way he cradles her, the obvious pride in his voice.

This is a side of Hoseok you've never seen before, tender and protective and completely unguarded.

It's dangerous how much you like it.

"She's nocturnal," he continues, settling onto the couch beside you with Momo still in his hands. "So she's most active when I'm working late. She keeps me company during those long drawing sessions."

"Does she approve of your career choices?"

"She's very supportive of the arts. Aren't you, princess?"

Momo makes a soft chittering sound that might be agreement or might be a request for food.

Either way, you can't deny it's adorable.

"How long have you had her?"

"About eighteen months. She was really skittish at first—wouldn't let me touch her for weeks. But now…" He strokes her tiny back with one finger. "Now she's spoiled rotten."

You watch as Momo climbs onto his shoulder, then leaps gracefully to the back of the couch. The movement is so fluid it barely registers as motion—one second she's with Hoseok, the next she's exploring the cushions near your head.

"She's showing off," he says fondly. "She likes to glide around the apartment when she's skittish."

"Glide?"

"Sugar gliders have these membranes between their legs—see? She can glide from the bookshelf to the couch, couch to the desk, basically anywhere she wants to go. It's like having a tiny flying squirrel roommate."

As if to demonstrate, Momo launches herself from the couch back to Hoseok's shoulder, the movement so quick and graceful you barely catch it.

"That's incredible."

"I know. She's basically a superhero. A tiny, adorable superhero who costs me a fortune in specialized food and vet bills."

The beer is wearing off, leaving you feeling suddenly, acutely sober.

Clear-headed enough to realize what you've gotten yourself into tonight—agreeing to pose for Hoseok's hentai manga, coming to his apartment, letting yourself get charmed by his ridiculous pet.

"Ott," you say carefully.

"Yeah?"

"I was drunk earlier. When I said I'd… help with your reference situation."

His face doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture.

"How drunk?"

"Drunk enough to suggest something stupid."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sober enough to know it was stupid."

He's quiet for a moment, watching Momo explore the couch cushions.

When he speaks, his voice is casual in a way that doesn't fool either of you. "Too late, Capy. I'm already planning our first session."

"Hoseok—"

"Think about it. Professional artistic collaboration between old friends. Very sophisticated. Very mature."

"Nothing about this situation is mature."

"I'm hurt. Deeply wounded by your lack of faith in my professionalism."

Despite yourself, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. "Your professionalism in drawing pornographic manga."

"Adult-oriented sequential art with emotional depth and realistic character development."

"You keep saying that like it makes it sound more legitimate."

"Because it is more legitimate. You'll see when we start working together."

The assumption in his voice—that you will, in fact, go through with this insane arrangement—should annoy you.

Instead, it makes something flutter in your chest that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

"I didn't actually agree to anything," you say, but the protest sounds weak even to you.

"You suggested it. I accepted. Contract sealed."

"That's not how contracts work."

"It's how friendship contracts work."

Friendship contracts.

As if you're still twelve and sealing deals with pinky promises and shared secrets.

Except you're not twelve anymore, and this isn't about friendship.

Or maybe it is, and that's what makes it dangerous.

"I should get going," you say, making no move to actually leave.

"It's late. Train's probably stopped running."

"It's not even eleven."

"But you're comfortable now. Look, Momo likes you."

You glance down to find the sugar glider eyeing you from the floor.

"She's still giving me the cold shoulder."

"She usually hides when strangers are here, so this is actually progress."

"Great. I've been upgraded from 'immediate threat' to 'tolerable presence.'"

"It's a very exclusive club. You should feel honored. You've basically been officially approved for apartment privileges."

"What kind of privileges?"

"Sleeping on the couch when you're too tired to go home. Raiding my refrigerator. Critiquing my life choices in person instead of via text."

The casual way he lists these domestic intimacies makes your chest tight.

Like he's already decided you belong here, in his chaos, part of his routine.

"I'm not sleeping on your couch, Ott."

"Why not? It's surprisingly comfortable. And I'll be in my room working when you get lonely and need someone to bother."

"I don't get lonely."

He gives you a look that suggests he sees right through that particular lie.

"Fine," you say, because arguing seems more exhausting than just giving in. "Now shut up and give me another beer."

"Can't. You said you're sober now. Can't have you making any more questionable decisions."

"I make excellent decisions."

"Says the woman who just agreed to sleep on a stranger's couch."

"You're not a stranger. You're Ott. Annoying but familiar."

He grins at that, wide and pleased, like being called annoying is the highest compliment you could give him.

And maybe, in your particular language, it is.

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[towasdandelion]

Vagastrom, Sinostra and Obscuary ghouls when someone shames them for a lipstick stain on their cheek/lips

Sho is not going to hear the end of it from Leo.. the devilish influencer is having so much poking his friend and teasing him endlessly, says how lame he looks. Sho is not going to take any of it to heart though, but he can't help but point out that your kiss did not go unnoticed. He can't exactly blame his friend. After all, if Leo had such a cute loving girlfriend, he's sure he would end up feeling a little jealous too. Luckily you're his.

The roles are reversed now! Usually Leo is the one "lovingly" bullying others. But now he's the one being teased! He doesn't like getting a taste of his own medicine and will blame you for making him look stupid. What's worse? He can't even get the lipstick off and he actually needs your help.. And then a small lightbulb goes off over his head. Why not milk this for views? He will go live, supposedly 'forgetting' to wash off the stain just to get questions about it. He's going to laugh innocently while barely bothering to answer any of them.

Alan's patience is starting to thin when the two other ghouls just won't leave him alone. With a sigh he has to remind himself he's more mature than them, doing his best to ignore whatever they're saying. He's not mad at you though. He could never be. If anything, he's grateful he has someone who loves him by his side. He doesn't expect the guys to understand that feeling. The warmth after the loneliness he experienced before you stepped in his life is something he always struggles to describe.

Honestly, you're pretty lucky you're even allowed to touch Romeo freely, especially his face.. I think that alone proves how much he loves you. But the stain just staring back at him as ge looks into the mirror is just too much! It's embarrassing, humiliating when he realizes you actually has him wrapped around your little finger. He immediately shuts both Taiga and Ritsu up, simply throwing them out of the room. At least he was able to wash ot off, thanks to his exquisite skincare products. But that doesn't mean that he's going to forget the whole situation anytime soon.

Taiga is amused, more than anything. What the hell is everyone getting so embarrassed for? It's just a small stain. He doesn't seem to realize that the power of his own words is only adding to the already embarrassing for you situation. To him t's just a kiss though. He would much more prefer have you mark him with your nails when he- cough cough anyways. I feel bad for Ritsu because his attempts at lecturing the Captain of Sinostra just backfire, leaving the poor guy embarrassed.

Ritsu is not going to be very bothered. Sure, the situation is a little awkward but it's not something he wouldn't be able to handle. He's always able to save face after all. If he's feeling like it he might even end up getting into an argument with Romeo, pointing out that affection is something common and normal in relationships (he's going to keep the "if you were in one you'd understand" to himself) and therefore there is no point making a huge deal of it. Be prepared for him to ask for more. For reaserch purposes of course!

Even if no one really notices, Ed would make sure someone actually will! He wants, he needs to flaunt it. And poor Lyca becomes his victim. He tries to make fun of Edward, only for it to backfire badly. The vampire is not going to spare him from all the details regarding your love life... Yeah, he's going to reveal it all, and he's not going to bad about it. He just wanted to teach Lyca some things, he says! And so what if it comes at the price of having to listen to your scolding afterwards? He's only going to smile slyly, always ready to divert your attention to something else before you get too worked up.

Rui is a bit.. concerned? But only about Ed potentially pestering you with questions as well. His stained lips only make him smile, reminding him how passionate you two were just moments ago. But back to the matter... He's going to do his absolute best to get rid of Ed just so he can go back to his work peacefully. As much as he would sometimes like to share his happiness, he knows that sadly, Edward is not the right person. After that small incident, Rui is going to make sure you don't have to visit Obscuary for a while. Better to play it safe.

Lyca doesn't understand. I mean he does, but not that deeply yet. But he's not a kid anymore! He doesn't need Rui asking him questions that just weird him out. He's not going to answer any of them! He knows what he's doing after all, Subaru taught him (much to Hotarubi's Captain embarrassment..) most of it. So he's not going to be very embarrassed, maybe just a little grumpy that people around him are just so nosy! God forbid if Edward finds out, then it's over for our werewolf boy.

[deansbeer]

HIIII idk if u remember me but i dm'ed u about ur 40s!dean bot couple of months ago or smth(⁠T⁠T⁠) love ur works and bots queen!!!

so since ur reqs are open now i wanna ask if u have any thoughts on young jensen like in his late teens-early 20s because im wild about him in this era. fluff or smut doesn't matter I'll eat anything with this man on it

hi, sweet angel, i do remember you!! thank you so sooo much 🤍 since you gave me free will, i paired him up with model!reader, since i feel the 90s were very fashion and modeling centered (???) i don’t know lmaoo, but yeah <3

warnings 𓏵 smut | fluff | mentions of alcohol | industry pressures | struggling times | intimidation/nervousness around successful people | semi-public sex | period-typical 90s stuff (?) | oral sex (both f&m receiving) | overstimulation | car sex. (i’m definitely missing some, but i’m too tired to check)

[ cutesy type shit ]

you meet jensen at some industry mixer in a cramped west hollywood penthouse, the kind where everyone’s trying too hard to look like they’re not trying at all. he’s nursing the same beer all night because he can’s afford another one, wearing a dark flannel that’s seen better days over a white tee. when someone introduces you as “that girl from the guess campaign,” he gets this deer-in-headlights look before recovering with ”oh cool, i think i saw that on sunset boulevard.” (he definitely stared at that billboard every time he drove past it).

he’s so broke in those early days, like scary broke. you catch him at craft services during a modeling gig where he’s doing background work, loading up napkins with bagels and fruit “for later.” instead of calling him out, you just start inviting him to lunch after shoots. he always protests at first — “nah, i’m good, i got...” — until you say it’s your treat. his pride takes a hit but his empty stomach wins.

jensen’s got this beat-up toyota corolla that makes concerning noises when it turns left. you’re used to drivers and being driven around, but there’s something charming about him picking you up for dates in his piece of shit car, apologizing when he has to slam the door three times to get it to close properly. “sorry, she’s temperamental. like an old cat.” the radio only gets two stations clearly — classic rock and spanish — so you learn all the words to the songs that had a catchy tune or beat whether you wanted to or not.

he lives with three other aspiring actors in a two-bedroom apartment. the first time you come over, he spends twenty minutes frantically cleaning, which apparently just means shoving everything into closets and spraying an entire can of febreze. his roommate walks out in boxers halfway through your movie date and jensen looks like he wants to die. “dude, i told you she was coming over!” “oh shit, this is her? nice.”

watching him at auditions is painful in the sweetest way. he practices his lines in the car beforehand, running them over and over until you have them memorized too. when he comes out and you ask how it went, he always shrugs and says “probably terrible”even though you know he nailed it. the day he books his first real speaking role (two lines on sweet valley high), he picks you up and spins you around in the parking lot.

he intimidated by your modeling career at first, not in a macho way but in a “what are you doing with me?” way. you catch him looking at your magazine spreads with this expression like he can’t quite believe you’re real. “you know you could date like... actual famous people, right?” he says one night. you shut him up by kissing him senseless. he never brings up the topic again. and if he does, it’s because he loves when you slam your lips on his as a way of shutting him up.

jensen writes his parents these long letters every sunday, telling them he’s doing great, bookings are rolling in, everything’s perfect. you watch him carefully craft these lies with the sweetest intentions, not wanting them to worry. when he finally books days of our lives, the first person he calls is his mom. you can hear her crying in glee through the phone.

he’s weird about money in that prideful small-town texas boy way. when you try to pay for dinner at nice places, he gets this look like you’ve physically wounded him. you learn to be sneaky about it — “accidentally” leaving your card at the bar, telling him you have a gift certificate that’s “about to expire” he knows what you’re doing but eventually stops fighting it.

late nights at denny’s become your thing. 2am grand slams after you wrap a shoot, him coming from waiting tables at some beverly hills restaurant where they make him wear a lil’ bow tie. he does impressions of the customers, you tell him about the photographer who made everyone do nude yoga, and somehow these fluorescent-lit conversations feel more romantic than any fancy date ever.

the way he looks at your portfolio is different from how other guys in the industry do. instead of that calculating, “what can you do for me” gaze, he studies each photo like it’s art. asks about the locations, the photographers, if you were cold during that beach shoot. he remembers every detail you tell him!

when he’s learning lines, you help him run scenes. you’re terrible at it, of course, making him break character and laugh when you dramatically overact the nurse or secretary role. “baby, that’s not... i’ve never heard anybody talk like that.” “excuse me, i'm giving you range.” he starts requesting you specifically as his scene partner, swearing you’re his good luck charm. and he never ever criticizes your bad acting, always finding it amusing.

jensen gets star-struck in the weirdest ways. not by the big names but by working character actors he recognizes from childhood shows. “holy shit, that’s the guy from murder she wrote!” he’ll whisper-yell in your ear at catering, making you giggle. but when actual celebrities hit on you at parties, he just gets quiet and holds your hand a little tighter.

he keeps every magazine you’re in, even the random catalogs and newspaper inserts. you find them stacked neatly in his closet one day. “it’s not weird,” he defends, ears red. “i just... when you’re famous-famous, these’ll be worth something.” you both know that’s not why he keeps them.

summer days by his apartment complex’s questionable pool become your escape. he’s self-conscious about being pale (tv auditions always want that california tan), so you lie on cheap loungers and quiz him on lines while he slowly burns then freckles. the pool is probably 40% chlorine but it’s free and private-ish, minus the kids doing cannonballs

he practices his headshot poses on you, trying to find his “angles.” you teach him the modeling tricks — how to find his light, the tiny chin movements that make all the difference. he feels ridiculous but listens intently, and when his new headshots book him three auditions in a week, he credits you entirely.

[ freaks come out at night type shit ]

that texas boy thing extends to the bedroom — all “yes ma’am” and polite restraint until you make it clear what you want. then something shifts. he’s got this whole southern gentleman act that dissolves the second you climb into his lap, his hands gripping your hips like he’s been thinking about it all day (news flash, he has).

car sex becomes a necessity when you both have roommates. his Toyota’s backseat is barely big enough but you make it work, windows fogging up in some lonely parking garage at 1am. he jokes about feeling like a teenager until you do that thing with your tongue that makes him forget how to speak.

he’s got a praise kink a mile wide, even if he doesn’t know that’s what it’s called. the first time you tell him how good he feels, how perfect he is, he actually whimpers. gets this desperate look like he needs to hear more, so you tell him exactly what he does to you, how he’s ruining you for anyone else, and he loses it completely.

jensen’s possessive in this quiet, intense way. not jealous of your job — he’d never — but when photographers get too handsy or male models hit on you, you see that jaw clench. that night he fucks you like he’s trying to mark you, sucking bruises low on your hips where they won’t show on camera, making you say his name until your throat turns hoarse.

hotel rooms after your out-of-town shoots become your paradise. he drives hours to meet you in random cities when he can scrape together gas money. shows up tired and scruffy from the road, but the second that door closes, he’s all over you. months of sexual tension worked out on random hotel sheets.

he’s absolutely obsessed with going down south on you, could spend hours between your thighs if you’d let him. gets actually upset when you try to pull him up, mumbling “not done yet, darlin’” against your skin. you learn to just let him have his way, gripping his hair while he takes you apart for the third time.

the first time you blow him in his car after an audition, he nearly puts his fist through the window. “fuck, fuck, baby you can’t— ‘m gonna—” barely gets the words out before he’s coming everywhere, then apologizes for like twenty minutes after. you shut him up by climbing onto his lap and riding him until he stops talking entirely.

he’s surprisingly dominant once he gets comfortable, that whole ‘yes ma’am’ thing morphing into him calling the shots. pins your wrists above your head and makes you beg for what you want. “that’s not very specific, sweetheart. tell me exactly where ya need me.” makes you spell it out while he smirks down at you.

quickies in your agency’s bathroom become risky routine. you on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. the thrill of maybe getting caught, ruining both your reputations, only makes it hotter. he always fixes your hair after, makes sure you look perfect before you go back out.

phone sex while he’s working late shifts at that fancy beverly hills restaurant. he huddles in the back alley on his break, whispering filthy things while you touch yourself in your empty apartment. “wish i could see you right now, bet you look so pretty falling apart.” his voice gets rougher when he’s close, forgetting to be quiet. he almost got caught once by his boss who stepped out for a smoke and he played it off as if he were trying to scare away a raccoon he’d found digging in the trash cans outside.

that texas stamina is no joke. young and eager and so focused on making you feel good. recovers stupid fast, ready to go again while you’re still catching your breath. “just gimme five minutes,” you pant. “i can wait,” he says, then proceeds to kiss down your spine until you’re begging for more and more rounda.

he’s got this thing about marking you where others can’t see. loves leaving bruises on your inner thighs, bite marks on your ribs, fingerprints on your hips. gets off on you being at some fancy shoot, knowing what’s hidden underneath all the designer clothes you wore. “think about that when they’re posing you,” he murmurs, admiring his handiwork.

hotel balconies at golden hour become your favorite risk. you in his lap on some tiny chair, sundress hiked up, him trying to keep quiet as you ride him slowly. the city spread out below, chance of being seen from other buildings, his hands bruising your thighs as he fights not to thrust up into you.

he starts getting more confident as pilot season approaches, that nervous energy manifesting in the best ways. fucks you against his apartment door when his roommates are home, hand over your mouth, daring you to stay quiet. takes you in casting office bathrooms, in his car in broad daylight, anywhere he can get you alone for ten minutes.

the night he books his first series regular role, you celebrate in every room of your quiet apartment. kitchen counter, shower wall, living room floor — he’s insatiable, high on success and possibility. keeps saying your name like a prayer, like you’re his breath of fresh air, like he plans to keep you forever. “gonna move us somewhere better,” he promises between kisses. “gonna give you everything.”

you believe him. because in your eyes, jensen can do anything.

[blueteller]

Cale's antithesis: the Demon King Of Boredom

Today's newest TCF chapter really made me think...

The Demon King is the truest antithesis of Cale we have seen so far in this series.

I thought that role belonged to Adin, or White Star, or both. Each represent a dark reflection of what Kim Rok Soo/Cale "could have been": the White Star with how relentlessly deals his curse as he clings to life and his ambitions, and Adin with his schemes to manipulate others like a puppeteer.

But I was wrong. As opposite as they are to Cale in terms of morality, they're have a lot of things in common regarding their methods... partially. You know what I mean. They're schemers, Cale schemes too but better, et cetera.

Now I have a true example of what Cale's opposite is.

An adrenaline addict.

As much as I make fun of Cale for dreaming of slacker life while ignoring his own workaholic tendencies.... it's obvious Cale was conditions to be this way through his constant struggle for survival. Dude literally never had a break in his life ever since his parents died. There were always obstacles to overcome, such as an abusive uncle, an orphanage, getting by as a college students with side jobs, surviving literal monster apocalypse... trauma, grief, lonelines... Cale NEVER had it easy, ever. That's why he is so freaking tired. He is mad determined to get the peace he wants because his literal sanity is on the line. He cannot stop or turn back, he can only push forward, even if it's the last thing he wants!

An adrenaline addict who has peace but is driven mad by it? THAT'S Cale true opposite.

"The Demon King of Boredom" is someone who is on the exact opposite brink of sanity than Cale. Cale is driven mad by constantly struggling to achieve even a sliver of peace. The Demon King is literally fighting the mundane, because when someone like him has total security and power, it probably feels similar to being trapped under a mountain. It's constantly pushing down on him, like an insurmountable weight that never goes away.

It's no wonder both of them regard each other as crazy. They both are! Two opposite sides of the extreme. They're incomprehensible creatures to each other. Wanting something so desperately that the other has in such abundance that they're drowning in it.

I am on Cale's side on this, of course. I don't believe Cale could ever so hypocritical to become bored of peace, once he achieved it. Yeah, he'd probably go stir-crazy without problems to solve every once in a while, but once he had a longer break finally turn off his PTSD fight-or-flight mode... He would never complain about living in peace, much less selfishly try to create chaos just for the kicks. There are lines Cale would never cross, especially not for the sake of his own gratification.

It makes me wonder though... if the Demon King has potential for growth. Once he gets the taste of that desperate, "interesting" struggle he oh-so-much craves because he's bored out of his mind... Could he possibly grow to appreciate the value of what he once had? The fact that he was so powerful no one could really threaten him? Could he ever grow to miss those peaceful, boring times in the future? The grass is always greener on the other side, after all.

Such food for thought.

[kilesplaysthings]

comforting him

helping him feel better when life gets hard

(there’s so many lovely ideas of how the guys make MC/us feel better when things are hard or when we’re not feeling well, but what about them?)

Please Note: this little series will cover some sad/dark topics, like illness, death and night terrors, but ends with comfort. Just to make everyone aware. :)

soundtrack ref: not alone and a little bit of leave a light on

Zayne | Caleb | Rafayel | Xavier | Sylus

💜⭐️ XAVIER ⭐️💜

It hadn't been that strenuous of a mission. In fact, it was a pretty standard one; nothing substantial to cause alarm. Xavier hadn't even gotten injured. He was doing just find once he clocked out from work and headed home. So why, a couple of days later he was hit with an extreme bout of exhaustion, he had no idea.

It was an exhaustion more severe than he usually experienced. Moving turned out to be difficult. He felt heavy and sluggish. Not even sleeping for hours helped, and when he tried to get ready to go to work, he suddenly found it hard to perform even the most menial tasks like buttoning up a shirt. His mind was also in a constant fog.

"Hello?" A male voice came over the phone that Xavier was struggling to hold.

"Who... is this..?" He wondered. His thoughts were jumbled, but he was expecting to hear Simone or Captain Jenna over the phone. He didn't think he would be able to make it into work today.

"Xavier? Is this some kind of joke? It's me, Jeremiah."

"Oh."

There was a rather pregnant pause. Xavier knew he should tell his old comrade he called him by accident, but he was finding it difficult to get the words out.

"Hello? Xavier? Is everything okay?"

"Uh... yeah. Didn't mean to call you. I was gonna call the Hunter's Association."

"You sure you're okay? You don't sound too good."

"I'm fine. Just... tired."

"Well... Okay, then. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"Yeah, I know."

Once off the phone with Jeremiah, he was able to let those at the Hunter's Association know that he couldn't come in to work before he collapsed on the bed and completely shut down.

.

Xavier didn't show up for work for the next week. He was MIA everywhere. It was getting to the point that Jeremiah was beginning to feel concerned about not hearing from him.

Something's wrong, he thought. He knew that recently, Xavier got tired a lot due to the transparent collar locked around his neck, but he had never been this unresponsive before. No matter how many times he tried to contact him, he never answered his phone.

Is this it? Is he starting to wear down? Just the thought of it made the gardener anxious. He had no way of knowing how much time Xavier had left.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and Jeremiah quickly glanced at it. Could it be? No. It wasn't Xavier, but it was the next best thing.

"Hello! I'm so glad you called! No, I haven't heard from him either. No, I haven't known him to be this quiet for this long before. I really think it would be best if you go check on him; see if he's home. You live below him, right? He'd definitely prefer seeing your face instead of mine... Good. Let me know how he is, okay? Bye!"

Jeremiah hung up and let out a sigh of relief. She would be checking up on Xavier. Everything would hopefully be all right.

.

Xavier's apartment was dark, save for the bedroom lamp that was still lit from the day he called off from work. He was lying in bed in the same position he had initially fallen asleep in. He was awake, but barely so. He was thirsty, but his body felt so heavy, he couldn't reach for his water bottle. He felt both cold and hot flashes but couldn't find the energy to reach for his blanket. He felt miserable, like his body was nothing but a pile of sludge. All he wanted to do was sleep, but even sleeping didn't ease this severe fatigue that plagued him.

This is bad. Really bad, he thought. He had been unresponsive for over a week at this point. He'd heard his phone going off at times, but didn't have the strength to reach out to take it. Then, for a few days, he had even blacked out completely. It was the deepest sleep he'd had in a long while. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had even stopped breathing at some point during the complete blackness. Maybe even his brain had shut down.

He knew he should be concerned, but if he was honest with himself, none of this surprised him. He knew he didn't have a whole lot of time left on earth. Every day was borrowed time for him. It was just the not knowing how long he had exactly that bothered him. That and... her. The thought that one day, she'd look for him and he'd be unable to reach out to her to tell her he was there for her... that instead, he'd be gone, leaving her behind...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to push those thoughts back to the deep recesses of his mind. It wasn't good to dwell on it. There wasn't anything he could do about it anyway. Making sure she was safe was all that mattered.

But how can I do that if I'm too exhausted to even move? He asked himself. He opened his eyes and tried to will himself to move, to get up and go to her - or at least text her - but it was too much to just sit up. It felt like he had a 100-pound weight bearing down upon him.

"Xavier?"

His eyes shot open at the sound of the sweetest voice calling to him from the living room. It was the voice he wanted to hear the most: that of his girlfriend.

She soon appeared at the doorway of his bedroom, her eyes widening at the sight of him sprawled out on the bed.

"Hi," he muttered. He couldn't find the energy to say more, even though the sight of her made him want to cry.

"We haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks now. What's wrong? Everyone's really worried." She quickly approached the bed and sat down next to him. She reached out to stroke his hair.

"M't'rd..." he mumbled. His voice was slurred, as if drunk. "Sooo t'rd." He could barely keep his eyes open but forced himself to keep looking at her.

She frowned. Xavier could get very sleepy to the point that she wondered if he had narcolepsy. She remembered those times in Starfall Forest. But this? This seemed like a whole other level of fatigue. That strange collar around his neck wasn't even glowing red.

"Tired? Are you sick?" She asked, her concern only growing.

"M'thirsty... need water..." he continued to mumble. His mind was starting to fog up again.

She watched as he tried lifting his arm. It raised barely an inch before it fell back onto the bed. He let out a sigh.

"I'll get it," she said softly. She reached out to grab the water bottle from his nightstand.

Xavier watched as she leaned over and took the bottle before sitting back down. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was worried.

"Can you sit up?" She asked.

"No..."

"Okay."

His body felt so heavy. He wanted to move, but he couldn't. She could tell how fatigued he was at the slightest attempt. With a deep breath, trying to clamp down on her growing fear at his current state, she carefully wrapped her arm around him to help him sit up.

He couldn't even hold the bottle properly to take a drink. Shame washed over him as she helped lift the bottle to his mouth.

"Sorry," he whispered.

She worked up a soft smile and shook her head.

"Don't be. Just rest. I'm here. I'll take care of you."

She wanted to ask him so much. She wanted to know why he was like this. What caused him to be so tired he couldn't move his body at all? She was getting scared, but she kept a brave face for him. She knew he needed her at this moment to help him feel better. She pulled his soft, fluffy blanket up to his chest so he could stay warm.

Xavier worked up a smile as his eyes drifted shut. The fact that he had someone to care for him when he obviously wasn't doing well filled him with peace and relief.

"Thank you," he uttered before falling back to sleep.

"Of course," she whispered in reply. She caressed his hair and watched over him. She turned off the lamp to help him sleep, hoping and praying that this exhaustion would leave him soon.

Deep down, Xavier was certain he would recover now that she was with him.

[mejaemin]

sun block - lee donghyuck

wc: 1k summary: caramel hyuck’s favorite thing about beach days is putting on ur sunscreen ♡ warnings: very suggestive, slight nudity, boner, groping !!! hyuck is a desperate, down bad little fuck <3 an: remind me to never go this long without writing for hyuck.. because why did i forget how to ?! i struggled so hard and im sorry 2 my fav caramel hyuck i’ll never do that to u again </3 anyways, this is for wifey @cigsaftersuh !!! enjoy, hyuckie’s favorite and #1 fan 🤍 (caramel masterlist here! ʕ ᵔⰙᵔ⠕ʔ)

“so are you gonna tell me why you bought tanning sunscreen instead of the regular?” hyuck asks, eyebrow raised knowingly.

you flush, giggling as you look away. “i have no idea what you’re talking about..”

he laughs, pulling you into his side with a kiss to your cheek. today, one of the hotter days of the season, you suggested the idea of going on a beach date, to which your boyfriend (suspiciously eagerly) agreed. he’s struggling to carry both the picnic basket and your beach bag, but he refused to let you carry anything and couldn’t sacrifice holding your hand. the most he let you hold is your towel, which didn’t do much but free up the space under his arm.

finally, you find a spot and he starts setting up, yet another thing you’re not allowed to do. you take the admittedly long time it takes hyuck to set up your stuff to take in your surroundings, soaking in the cool, salty breeze. everything’s got a burgundy tint to it, brand new sunglasses perfect for the day. still, you pull them up to the top of your head to allow yourself clear vision.

once he’s done you sit down under the umbrella, immediately kicking your sandals off and laying against your beach towel. he pulls his shirt off and follows suit, sitting criss-crossed next to you. there’s a few people but not many, which is a given considering it’s the afternoon on a weekday. most people are working. it makes you smile, remembering all the other times you’ve been left alone on the beach.

clearly hyuck is thinking the same thing, because he’s grabbing your attention, a cheeky smile on his face as he waves the bottle of sunscreen in front of you. “y’know, baby, i really wouldn’t want you to get sunburnt or anything.. so you should really put this on..” he starts, his tone already giving himself away.

you pause, smirking as you pretend to think about it. his hands, so beautiful, hold the bottle in front of you, connected to his veiny arms, wrist adorning an expensive watch that glitters with the same mischief you can see in his eyes.. yet you can’t help but to comply.

you barely get a second to start nodding your head before he’s already jumping at you, pulling your cover-up off and putting some of the sunscreen on his hands. you roll over onto your stomach and his palms find their way to your shoulder blades, massaging the skin thoroughly.

“your bikini is so pretty, mama..” he starts, running a finger along the strap. “who bought it?”

you giggle, turning your head to face him. he’s so zoned in on your skin, soft and glittery under the bit of sun that shines over it. “it was my boyfriend. he’s so super sexy, and he always buys me whatever i want.. i love him very much.”

he leans down to kiss your nape, chuckling. “hmm, i see. i might have to untie it though, to, y’know, get all of your skin?”

you just hum, clearly unimpressed with his excuses, but let him continue. slowly but surely, he tugs at the string holding your swimsuit to your body until it’s completely undone. letting the strings fall to your sides, the chill of more sunscreen hitting your skin comes, followed by hyuck’s palms warming it up, spreading the product all over your lower back.

the cheekiness in his actions is tangible, quite literally when you feel his fingers slide down your back, pulling away from your ass before falling back down with a crack.

“ouch! hyuck, this is not what applying sunscreen looks like..”

“aww.. but-“ more sunscreen sprays into his hands, you can hear it shoot out of the bottle, before he starts rubbing it into your skin, squeezing the fat of your ass and upper thigh as he does so.

if anyone were to look in on the scene, they’d see him licking his lips every two seconds, fighting the drool that threatens to spill from his mouth that stays hanging open, massaging your skin roughly and staring in awe at the recoil. there’s no way that there isn’t people side-eyeing from afar, but if you said anything he’d likely say something along the lines of: shit, if they had a chance to touch you like this, they’d be just like me.

“ ‘kay, mama, flip over for me?” he speaks softly, breath leaving his lungs when you do, your half undone swim top moving to let your bare breasts peek through. he’s so fucked, he thinks, wishing he was on the private beach you were at all those months ago, where he could have you right where you are.

you watch him, tanned cheeks turning an auburn color at the sight. he shakes his head to snap himself out of his trance, lightly smacking his cheeks before continuing.

as he continues to massage your skin, his watch grazes your skin, freezing cold compared to the hot air, leaving goosebumps in its wake. it glitters in the sun, tiny diamonds shining and looking almost like little stars from the angle you’re seeing it at. it drags up and down the sides of your waist, cool metal tickling your curves as hyuck keeps rubbing it in.

he makes his way back up to your chest, noting the way your nipples harden the second the metal wristband gets close, and it seems like he’s reached a breaking point.

he sits straight and looks around, sighing heavily, “fuck, mama, i’m really in pain right now. can we please, please go to the car?”

you look down, and he’s definitely not lying, his hardness pushing against his swim shorts. you look back up, unimpressed, before fully relaxing into your towel and closing your eyes. “how about no? we just got here, i wanna relax for a bit. and you,” you put your hand on his knee, laughing at how hard he flinches, “need to get in the sun. tan a little. maybe then you’ll get what you want.”

“okay, that’s it then, i’ll go-“ he’s already haphazardly rubbing sunscreen on his own skin when he pauses,

“so wait, you’re telling me i packed the whipped cream for us to not even use it?”

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @cinnayomiroll @prettymoles @jia127zen @polarisjisung @ikozen @tinkerbell460 @ninety-nite-99 @markkiatocafe

[love-bigboss1fan-me]

DS2 spoilers incoming

I’m probably going to get shit for this but I honestly don’t care. If you don’t like Higgs Monaghan that’s fine just understand this is from someone who adores him so I guess warning for an unpopular opinion

To say I’m more than a little ticked off with the Drawbridge crew is a massive understatement. They all have situations similar to Higgs and the only difference is that they get help. I can understand Higgs’s frustrations and pain with Fragile because her willingness to help the others and abandon him makes me incredibly angry with her. This unwillingness to help also makes her look so much worse in DS1 because Higgs has no journal entry of Fragile trying to help him and him brushing her off. It tells me that she didn’t fucking try. The way Fragile and Sam brutalized him is haunting because you see Higgs losing his mind as they do it his laughter and saying “I’ll take the damage and the goods I don’t break that easy.” It paints this horrible picture of him trying to keep himself together as he was on The Beach. Seriously this scene hasn’t left me alone since I have seen it along with the scene of him talking about being alone for “tens of thousands of years” . The fact Fragile and Sam can do what they did makes them the biggest hypocrites I have ever seen. You might think oh that’s harsh or Higgs had it coming. Let me remind you that Amelie in my opinion the next most hypocritical character/ most manipulative who is considered all alone (debatable but I’m not here for her) she with her many crimes is given a hug. A simple hug and someone saying they understand. And what does Higgs get for submitting to loneliness and depression? Death. Just F U FRAGILE AND SAM!!!! F the both of you!!!! Fragile Higgs told you immediately what Amelie was planning and what the F did you do?! You left him!!!!! You left him!!!! Just how Higgs speaks of loneliness just shows how much his biggest fear came to pass. The fact he gave up because he knew no one was coming for him breaks my heart and you can see how much it broke him. The fact he didn’t even struggle or even make a sound when he finally dies just says so much about how he gave up. Hell Sam couldn’t even so much as say his name despite knowing it. I might do a deeper analysis into Peter soon but right now I’m incredibly sorry for him and how he has been alone all his life.

[haryuusart]

Part 3 of "No Chances" a little Klance comic ❤️💙

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This is a scene from chapter 15 of my Klance fanfiction, "If I Lose Myself" on AO3 ✨ (mature, 130k+ words, 16/17 chapters)

Some context for this comic from the story: Keith and Lance have been pining for each other for months, both thinking their crushes are unrequited. Finally, (after numerous occasions where it's clear they're more than friends to everyone except them), they start realising they might be reciprocated, and decide to face their situationship. (This is just the surface... I invite you to read the full story to find out the rest!!)

If you'd like to support me please consider buying me a kofi ☕ or commissioning me on VGen! Currently struggling financially so anything helps. You can also find me as haryuusart everywhere 🫶🏼

[anyoldfandom]

Spoilered for more Isleweaver thoughts!

I think the the "Glory" that was "working" inside us was despair. Another parent dead, one we personally know and love. Because, despite getting mad at us at times - I think Wally doesn't actually wish the Drifter harm.

He mimics us in face sometimes, he turns Rusalka into a host he has never seen before, wears her like we wear our Warframes.

But he also turns into Entrati just as much. He was BORN of Entrati's fears of the Void, both the Void itself and also a manifestation, according to Entrati'a notes and Sythel. And I think it's very relevant to this that Wally has such a focus on parenthood, sees us and Rusalka sympathetically. Wally's own "father" chopped off his fingers, ran in fear from him - how could parents not be failures? This Void manifestation's first moments of "existence" had his father chop off fingers, something Wally returns to over and over again. It's a betrayal, and all parents fear and hate their children. What happened to us was said to be an experiment, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was just born of Wally being a creature of despair and not being able to see past how not just he was hurt by Entrati, but BORN of Entrati's fear - the fear of a character who we are first introduced to as a father himself. And Rusalka, an orphan again who was "failed" by her adoptive parents, not stopped from joining the Scaldra - well, she's sympathetic too, isn't she? A child who spent so much of her life afraid, eventually running into the embrace of despair. A child so like us, an orphan whose new parents (Ordis and Lotus) didn't try to stop from running back to the past to stop Wally alone - something the Drifter does struggle with I think, considering that one convo with Quincy where he (with the best intentions) points out that it is kinda fucked that we were sent to the past, that no one protested or tried to stop us.

But also, we have a special connection to Wally because we were always nurtured by the Void. Even as we piss off and refuse to share with and fight against Wally, he gives us chance and chance again to return - isn't that nice? Isn't that better than any father would be? No matter how much we fight, Wally really does just want us to come home to him.

I think Wally well and truly just...adores us still. Especially the Drifter. We see it with how focused Rusalka is on us too, how the poor naive Orphan in the story just needs to learn the way things work.

I think that explains at least some of the contradictions - Wally hates parents, loves family. At least, he loves what he thinks are HIS family - Rusalka, who embraces him now, and the Drifter, who embraced him (despair) for untold time in Duviri. A runaway child that just needs to come back to him, and he will take away all their anger, their sorrow, fear, jealousy, and fleeting joy.

(The Operator, now, I wonder if Wally still loves them - or views their relationship with Ordis and Lotus, consistently choosing to fill their life with new parents, as a betrayal. Or if attempting to "consume" them, as the Lotus called it, is a way to "bring them back" into the family in their eyes, to return them to the family since they are so stalwart and far less likely to be depressed with their support system. Love putting them out of Wally's reach - just like Entrati says. That also makes me wonder if Wally also hates the Hex so much because of that, uses Rusalka to call them freaks when she asks who's protecting them while we're in Duviri. If the Operator is so far out of reach now, with their parents - maybe Wally is fearing we will be, too.)

(I also think it is ironic but very telling of his origins that despite this hatred for Entrati, Wally still has put himself in a parental role in this hypothetical family. I think, once more, to the repeating idea in Isleweaver - that one day, the spider children will eat their parents and grow stronger for it.)

I want to throw my thoughts out there and gush about how good this update is even though there is no quest

SPOILERS FOR ISLEWEAVER OFC

Lore wise spiders appeared in Warframe a few times (Chains of Harrow*, Lettie using them as a metaphor for depression); the 15 fragments seem to be Rusalka's autobiographical version of the tales of Duviri: she ran away from her emotions untill she had nowhere else to go, nothing to "fill her life up with", and the indifference jumped at her moment of weakness. Ofc the spider (Wally) saying he could "eat up" all of her worries and finally eating her is just a perfect fairytale way to put her fate into words. Instead of fixing the things that make her sad, envious, angry, he "kills" her, then she can't feel bad anymore. Here's a KIM chat with Lettie that explains it well:

Drifter: You've mentioned the spiders before, a metaphor for depression, I assume?

Lettie: Ay si. Something I've had all my life. Stupid little things in my head that tell me lies. Little things that whisper to me things that I believe when I am too stupid and fall for it.

[...]

Lettie: Then you truly understand what it's like, mi corazon. They are little pinches cabronas. But they are liars remember that always. This kind of sadness is small but it can be a poison if you let it get too strong**. Mi mama had it all her life so I have seen the toll it takes.

Lettie: But here is why I call them spiders. Because you can take a newspaper can roll it up into a tube. And CRUSH THEM. They are small and easily broken.

Lettie points out that this destructive force (depression in her case, indifference in the story at large) is not that strong, but it's steady and unrelenting. Kinda like how the murmur's assault on Albrecht's lab is described in the codex. **I also think that Rusalka slowly poisoning herself with effervon is just another nice symbolic layer to this.

When she brings her self-poisoning up, she also says that the indifference offered her new life. It made a pact the same way it did with the tenno, catching her at the lowest point in her life. We have no idea what the nature of her (and ours tbh) deal really is so this is heavy speculation. I don't think Rusalka is all gone (the secret message for her parents and some of her dialogue in Duviri make it seem like she's working with Wally, instead of being a hollowed out meatsuit). The man in the wall is using her, she's sort of given up on herself. She saw no other way out of her situation in Höllvania. She ran off to Duviri with Wally believing there is no possibility of things getting better. The fragments are a tragic realization of what got her up to that point of no return.

*The story of the corpses on the other hand plays well with what we hear from Rell. He mentions baby spiders eating their mother. Wally definitely remembers this since he was stuck hyper focusing on Rell for a long time. Velimir's and Minerva's corpse entries? stories? what am I writing... are obviously both about parenthood.

Minerva's directly mentions baby spiders eating their mother to "become strong" (I don't remember well but maybe Erra says something like that to Lotus... the scope of this post is beyond me rn). I have a feeling that what Wally did with the Tenno was an experiment****. Nature vs nurture sort of thing. How would two identical children turn out if they grew up in totally different environments (Drifter and the Operator ofc). Idk why the indifference decided the parents must die in both cases, at that point, but since the void exists outside of time it's hard to say anything concrete really.

In Velimir's fragment the queen emphasizes how the parents turned on their children first, not just all adults.

(Screenshots from @tennospaceboots)

Tagfer theorized that Wally just wants to know about humans, the real world. So I don't think it's out of the question he used the Zariman as a fucked up experiment on human nature. I think the last line from Velimir's fragment speaks volumes:

The same crack runs through everything, kiddo, she explained. You want to deny it, that's on you.

I think what we see in these fragments is Wally speaking through Rusalka, as opposed to the fragments which are purely Rusalka. In that quote Wally gives his "thesis" on the human condition. Human nature is contradictory, as an outsider he sees all happiness as fleeting, and a cause for further suffering. He cannot wrap his head around this contradiction***, of love causing pain (parents holding themselves to a too high standard [the final secret Kim chat with Minerva and Velimir show that ultimately, even thought their family was torn apart, they still found peace], lovers separated [Albrecht and Loid]), he cannot see how it could be worth it. It's probably by his nature, he's the indifference after all. Makes me wonder if he considers, after seeing the differences between Drifter and Operator, if he could have been completely different if the circumstances of his "coming into being" were changed. If his body wasn't torn and stolen from him, used by unknown others, abused by Entrati. I prefer to interpret Albrecht's first meeting with the indifference as unfortunate, I don't think he could have reacted differently, he was probably like 2% as afraid as were the Cavia when he met face to face with Wally for the first time. I have plenty sympathy for him, which is why I love the story of Warframe so much. You can have sympathy for everyone EXCEPT THE OROKIN, THE HUMAN ROOT OF ALL EVIL.

***As a sidenote maybe that's why he hates us mixing elements into more complicated forms, symbolism etc. idk it's 4 am now.

****I think the line "No one has a greater imagination than a scared child" is backing this up, good God why doesn't the wiki have the quotes yet.... : (

I think when we find out more about his deal with the Lotus this whole thing will be more fleshed out. Is Wally saying (in the Minerva fragment) that we will learn that lesson by "eating" her? (Lotus eaters hello) I sure hope not. The sentients have the most cool, unusual and amazing family relations so I'm excited how DE will explore that.

This could be a whole fucking video at this point, Socratetris and Stallord I'm coming for your gig (no I'm not).

Now for the most important part of the post:

The forefathers of your forefathers looked into the shining heart of an atom, scribbled their clever equations, and ripped it apart. Did they spare a thought for the age-old love between proton and neutron? Or did they only think of the bountiful energy they could harvest?

I've been emotional about Warframe a few times but this hit me harder than a ton of Quorvexeseses. It's so simple yet so beautifully poetic I'm not even going to try to give a shitty explanation. Wally I love you and I'm so sorry.

And here I'll throw some random extra thoughts that are unrefined (I know the shit above is also unrefined but you know):

I think people have a tendency to overcomplicate things with Warframe's story, which I don't blame them, the story is a mess lol. But some of the theories I've seen on Oraxia's origin are jumping through too many hoops (am I a hypocrite now). I think she was a guardian Warframe for Entrati the same way Protea was for Parvos Granum. He was the most important scientist in the empire, seems logical that Ballas would give him a guardian.

Also wtf does Thrax mean that he was the most of a father we ever got.

A strange idea came into the Orphan's mind. The Queen knew at once that the Glory was at work within them, just as it worked within her, but she held her peace. - this line still puzzles me, ofc we see the indifference exercising control over Rusalka and the glory is a name the indifference chose for, well indifference, but what idea came into the orphan's mind?

It's kinda interesting that Wally himself seems kind of contradictive. If he's indifferent why does he even bother interacting with humanity? Why is conceptual embodiment a thing if the void "craves stillness, emptiness". He is so interesting. Maybe he wants to be human. He wants the contrast. He wants what he doesn't, and maybe even, can't have.