#this has been in my drafts for a while so :')

[iceemochaa]

WHO KNEW?

Remmick X Reader

A/N: Heyyyyyy, did somebody ask for Remmick Riding Fic??

I want to say thank you to my pookie @fuckoffbard for giving me this idea. She gave me her blessings to write something that was self indulgent and I wanted to deliver it with love. It took me a while to write and I’m so glad I kept picking at it until it all made sense on paper. Lemme go finish my other 5 fics now. Enjoy :)

Warning: MDNI, No use of name or Y/n, reader insert, Reader isnt described, Riding, fem Reader, AFAB, Creampie, slight breeding if you squint, slight blood play, kissing, kissing with blood, Remmick uses his claws maybe once or twice, cursing, dirty talk, P in V (lowkey what’s the difference), Remmick cries cause I love men being pathetic. Slight Cervix fucking if you squint. If you see any grammar or punctuation mistakes, no you didn’t :)

Word Count:3.6 k

The rapid beats of your heart echoes through your ears, your lips begging for you to stop chewing so harshly. It's only been a few short minutes since Remmick had worked his hands all over you— Freeing you of your clothing, tossing them carelessly in a pile somewhere. He whispered dirty things that he promises he’ll do to you— Soon, later, it didn't matter. All you knew was that Remmick was a man of his words.

He had you pressed against him, chest to chest so that he could breathe you in, Rub his scent right against yours. There's light red hickeys along your neck and arms— something Remmick did when he got all worked up, sucking your skin in his mouth to keep from inserting his fangs. Sometimes he went a little overboard, applying too much pressure until your skin underneath turned a deeper shade.

Currently you looked like a painter's canvas that was going through the rough draft stage; Hints of purple and shades of red painted all over your body. You didn't mind— You liked how considerate he was, never too hard but enough to make you feel, even if you did want him to go further.

For now, This was fine.

When he was done marking your body, soothing kisses placed above the marks— feeling almost satisfied, He tossed you on top of him and got real cozy under your weight. He used his slick tone and smooth voice to ask a simple question that left you paralyzed. A question that your brain has been mulling over and over. It wasn't anything bad— well, maybe to you but Remmick hasn't stopped smirking. He looked like a shark, all teeth and beady black eyes and you were the unfortunate fish that was soon to be his dinner.

“Why don't you Ride me darlin’? .” He said with such an enthusiastic drawl.

Since then you've been in a state of panic. Sure, you've done a lot of things with Remmick that you're too embarrassed to admit out loud but your body still reacts the same— it tingles and gets all warm and mushy when he has you pressed against him, with deep kisses lingering on your lip but this? This right here with your full weight sitting on top of his lap is too much.

“What if I hurt you?” you say in a small whisper but Remmick can hear you just fine. He simply looks at you with a hungry stare, He’s watching you, trying to gauge your reaction. Its the look he usually does when he devotes his full attention to you, shifting ever so slightly under.

“Hurt me? Darlin’ you could never.” he chuckles, tracing soothing circles on the side of your hip but then he quickly adds in, “Trust me, I've been through worse.”

“What's worse than this?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

Remmick stops drawing circles to pinch the fat of your thigh lightly, “Besides burning in the sun?” he takes a few seconds to really search his brain for all the times he had to either catch prey or defend his life. Some of those moments really took a lot out of him, sometimes he couldn’t move for days but there was one thing that still gets his brain turning and his teeth aching with burning rage.

“...Maybe being hit with a guitar.”

A singular brow raises against your forehead. “Is that really true?”

“Now your tryin’ to change the topic.”

“Remmick, please, don't make me do this.”

“m’not making you do anythin’,” his says so innocently, making sure to sprinkle in an extra thick southern accent that gets your mind racing. “I'm just enjoying the view from down here, is all.” he says, “If you want to do something then your free to do as you please.”

”O-Oh okay…”

Sensing your hesitation, Remmick shifts your weight so he can sit up, his face only a few inches away. He plants a kiss right against your cheek, it's short and sweet, nothing but burning love flowing. He adds more, moving his lips lower until it reaches your collarbone then he stops to look at you once more through hooded eyes. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, sugar.” He says against your skin then shifts his head back up so his breath can fan against your face. “We've done far worse.” he says plain as day, the worse being even more freakier things he likes to suggest.

“I’ll gladly accept anything you do to me. You could never hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” You ask once more. Insecurity and fear was a glowing white beacon above your head. You believed Remmick, fully and completely, you just didn’t believe in yourself. What if you suck at it? What if he tells you that he changed his mind about this idea and shoves you off? What if he actually doesn’t like it and he fakes an orgasem? It sounds real childish but it could happen. You would rather indulge in those impossible sex positions he likes to purpose whenever he gets way too in his head.

You shake your head, hoping these feelings would somehow remove themselves from your brain. “You know what, maybe we can do this again later-“

Remmick clicks his tongue in slight annoyance, “Hold on now, Don’t give me that talk.” He chastises you but you can hear the softness in his tone. He wasn’t upset, not at all. An easy going smile, soothing hands, a soft hum. He wanted you to know that this was all fine.

Great even.

“Look, If you want,” he says in a sultry lilt, “I can do that thing with my tongue you like so much right after.”

Huh?

“You know, the one where I lick right up agaisnt-“

“Remmick, Shut up.” You sigh.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Well, here goes nothing.

To build some confidence you figured kissing would be a good start— It was easy and you didn’t have to think so hard about it. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands sliding into the back of his head to feel how soft his hair was. Remmick simply hums, leaning into the touch– almost like a cat. Slowly, You ghost your lips over his, your hand tugging his hair back just slightly so he was forced to look up at you. You can see something deep and primal in his eyes, like he was waiting for you to do this. Have him underneath you, have you take the lead.

You watch as Remmicks eyes glide across your face and slowly land on your mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick across his bottom lip like he was starving— He was always starving for you. You can tell by the way drool builds up in the corner of his mouth, his lips opening and closing like a fish. Like he needed air and the only air he wanted was you.

“Your drooling baby.” You note with a grin, observing the way it slowly drips down onto his chest. Remmick merely smirks, his hand coming up to cup your face in a soft embrace.

“That I am.” He says.

You press your lips right against his, You can hear Remmick breathing in your scent. His tongue pressing against your lips, asking for permission to taste you further. When you do let him in, he wastes no time to explore your mouth, his moan vibrating through you with sloppy sounds mixed with drool. Remmicks hand roams around your skin to keep him grounded. He was trying his best not to take control— have you take the lead but it was getting harder. You tasted so divine.

You glide both of your hands up his shoulders and push him down easily. He follows your lead without hesitation. Once you have him pressed against the bed, you finally break the kiss to plant light pecks on his cheek then slowly work your way towards his neck until you reach the shell of his ear. A low groan erupts from his throat when you suck his earlobe, your teeth working its way to tugging and nipping the shell of his ear soon after.

“Shit— where’d you learn that?” Remmick gasps softly.

“I have a good teacher.” You whisper in his ear, heat building on your cheeks, your nerves slowly turning into want and need— Enjoying the way the roles are slowly reversing. It’s usually him making you squirm and get all flushed but now he’s the one coming undone. You pull back to give him a once over, getting one more confirmation that this was 100% alright. Remmick simply nods his head.

“Well?” He says, “don’t stop now.”

You got this, you chant into your head over and over. He’s okay with it. It’s perfectly fine. Just move.

So you do.

You lift up to grab his weeping cock, feeling the way it burns in your hand. You heard a low groan shutter through the air— His chest starts to move quicker, his eyes growing wider, his fingers pressing deeper into your soft skin now. He didn't have to say anything but his body sure loves to talk— You can feel his muscle fidget under the palm of your hand that’s being pressed against his stomach, The growing anticipation too much to bear. You look towards him for any hints of discomfort, Maybe another confirmation that this was a totally bad idea but he's too busy watching the way his cock is getting closer and closer to where he really wants to be.

Okay, you got this.

He said it was fine, right? You take deep breaths, slowly guiding yourself down until the tip presses against your folds. You're already so wet, practically dripping due to Remmick playing with you earlier before this whole internal conflict started. He glides in so smoothly, entering into your warmth inch by inch. The pain of how big he is completely long gone and now masked with desire.

A small hiss slips from Remmicks mouth, his brows furrowing. “That’s it, nice and slow.” He says. It doesn’t take long for you to be fully seated on his lap now. His hard cock snuggled right inside, right where it belonged.

You stop suddenly, fear brewing once more. “I can’t- fuck, it’s too much,“ you choke out, Your nails digging into his chest to keep yourself together.

“Yes you can— your doing it already.” He coos, like he's trying to calm a frightened animal.

Remmick draws light feathered circles against your skin, his eyes fully scanning your face now. “Darlin, Your doin’ so well,” he says tilting his head back just slight. Still watching you, still trying to calm you down, Your comfort being too important to him.

“Whenever your ready. Move those pretty hips for me.” he sighs softly, “I promise im not goin’ anywhere.”

Here goes nothing.

You finally grow some confidence and lift up slightly, testing the waters, Feeling the way his hand clenches to keep a tight hold on Your hips. He doesn’t want to let you go, you don’t want him too. You come back down slowly, feeling the way your walls grow tighter when he enters once more.

This feels different.

Not in a bad way.

Exciting, new, different.

It feels a little overwhelming at first, trying to make sure you're not dropping your full weight on him all while he’s nuzzled inside your cunt but slowly the burning need grows. You do it again, lifting up to come back down on his length. A soft moan leaving your lips at the sensation. It’s usually Remmick who’s taking the reins; the one finding pleasure for you, Moving at his own accord when he wants. He'll find a rhythm that gets his stomach pooling with heat, a position that has your muscles burning, your mind ditzy.

Now?

You're the one holding the reins, Taking control. Before you know it, you're riding him in slow paces. Your hands pressed against his chest to support yourself— hips grinding down so you can find that slight, hot, burn that makes your stomach churn.

Remmick has his hands tight around your waist, his hold almost bruising. You both don’t say anything, nothing but the low grunts and moans echoing throughout the room. For the first time Remmick isn’t talking his head off— too lost in the pleasure, His eyes pinned to the constant exposure of his cock entering your cunt.

Perhaps you should do this more often, you think.

Soon enough the nervousness begins to wash away into pleasure and your moving faster. The sounds of skin on skin begin to mix into the air. You can feel warmth pooling down from your chest and slowly creeping its way to where you're connected to Remmick, like someone lit a fire under a stove. Your hips were being bruised by his hold, his fingers pressing into your skin. The more you ride him the more you start to take note that his claws are lightly scraping against your skin, leaving unruly red marks. They don’t dig in enough to bleed but you can feel them cementing themselves— A reminder that you made Remmick come undone.

“Sugar, m’close, so so close…” Remmick Whines under his breath, his voice dipping into a higher pitch. While his voice only stirs you on, You can’t help but stare at the way his fangs peeks out between his lips, how his tongue presses against them and then lulls out between them.

“Gonna- mhmm - I’m gonna, fuckkkk. Baby-“

“Not yet,” You groan, stopping to grind down hard, making sure he knows he won’t get a reward if he doesn’t listen. “Not until I say so.” You reprimand him.

Remmick throws his head back, a deep rumble echoing through his chest. You can feel the muscles under his skin tense, his hips practically jump in anticipation.

“m’sorry…” Remmick whines, “Please, I’ll be good.“ Pathetic cries begin pooling from his mouth, his head nodding away from the pure bliss he was experiencing.

“I don’t know…” you say offhandedly.

”Fuck, please, I’ll be good! Just— faster.” He begs, He looked good like this, all desperate and pathetic like. Almost like you’ve been withholding this from him for centuries. To think all it took was riding him like there was no tomorrow.

You watch as his eyes shut close, his breathing becoming unsteady. his fangs peeking out to brush against his bottom lip.

“You overwhelmed baby?”

Remmick bobs his head, sucks in a breath when you slam back down.

“Look at me.” You coo softly.

Remmicks glowing red eyes snap towards your own and what a glorious sight it was.

His ruby eyes half lidded but filled with adoration for you. His chest glistening with sweat and some other substance that you're sure is the copious amount of drool that’s been pooling from the corner of his mouth. How delicious he looked, hair tousled and chest heaving in rapid succession.

“Aren’t you a sight.” You chuckle.

“Please Darlin’ m’not gonna last any longer.”

How cute, you think, Remmick who’s always boasting and teasing you for crying and whining that it’s too much and yet he can’t handle it either.

“How about you beg me darlin. Tell me how much this pussy makes you cry.”

Remmicks eyes widen for a moment, His mouth gaping open like a fish. You swear you can hear the gears turning in his pretty little head. His cock throbs inside of you so good it makes your thighs clench around his waist.

“Your doing so…so, so—fuck, I can’t-“ He sobs in broken syllables.

You fingertips glides down the front of his chest, slowly working its way until it stops on his stomach and you press down slightly. “Yes you can, your almost there.”

“I— mhmm, baby, feels so good—“

“That’s it, keep going.”

”Your so perfect— fuck! made just f’me. Never want to let you go—“

You lean down so that your breath fans against his ear when you say, “You want to come inside?”

Remmicks entire body almost lifts off the bed.

“Yes! please!— wanna pump you full, gonna fucking— shit,” he sobs out loud, “Pussy feels so good, made just for me.”

You speed up once more, the sounds of skin connecting and moans mingled together brings hot fire straight into your core— you're getting so close too, his cocking hitting so deep inside it almost makes your eyes roll back. You figured this would be the time to push your limits— have him come undone with tears in his eyes instead. What a pretty sight it would be, a memory you won’t hesitate to bring again later when he says something smart about the roles reversing back.

“You can do better than that.” You say, testing the waters. “Show me how much you want to cum.”

Remmick doesn’t hesitate to follow your orders, his hips lifting so he can meet your rhythm. His hands moving to squeeze your ass— his claws digging into your skin, holding purchase, using your body to bring him to a climax he desperately needs. You can tell he was close, his hips faltering and then picking up again. He’s practically pounding into you, a speed so inhuman that it makes your pussy numb with pleasure.

God, if he kept going like this— his cock pistoning into your cervix once more, you're going to be sore for days. Wobble on your legs like a newborn dear but you won’t complain. Not when the view of Remmick’s blissed out face will be imprinted in your memory.

“N-Now?” he whines, turning his head to suck a deep mark into your shoulders. His nose tucked into your neck once more. You can feel his fangs brush over your skin just slight, his legs tensing everytime they brush against your thighs and the best part of all? The delicious sound of Remmick pounding into you.

“Y-Yeah, fuck— do whatever you want baby. You earned it.”

Remmick thrusts up into your core a few more times, loud moans echos through the room and he cums right inside of you. Pumping you full, making sure he paints the inside of your cunt white. He doesn’t pull out, no, he wants to make sure your filled to the brim. Nothing but him occupying your cunt from the inside out.

“Ohhh—so tight, mhmmm” he cries into your skin, “I’m— fuckkk!” You can hear a slight hiss afterwards, his forehead pressing into your shoulders. Suddenly you feel warm liquid coat your chest, his mouth gliding along your shouder.

When you turn to look at him, you catch a glimpse of red slide down his chin. He was holding back from biting you— the moment too much for him to handle, his fangs practically pierced through his bottom lip.

“You okay?”

Remmick simply nods, too dazed to give a coherent response anyways. You can’t help but eye his lips once more, watch the way fresh blood pools against his skin. The sight of him all bloody and messy makes your pussy clench around him and he groans.

Without thinking, Your hand wraps around his chin to pull him close, your mind racing with nothing but the need to claim him once more. An idea crosses your mind, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and now was the perfect time to act on it. You squeeze his chin softly, leaning down to plant your lips against his, the muscle bloody and almost swollen but you didn’t care.

The taste of iron and drool only makes the craving grow.

Soon enough your teeth come down to replace the indent of his fangs, biting down hard— making sure another wound opens on his lips and then you just tug. Sucking in his bottom lip, the taste of his blood intoxicating.

You let it go, watch as his lip snaps back into place and Remmick almost howls— his hips jerking up into your cunt, his hands shooting to cup your face.

“Fuck, do it again.” He whines into your mouth.

You comply easily, the taste of him is too good to ignore. You press your teeth down In another untouched area and bite down again, until a fresh new wound cuts open his skin, the flow of blood and spit dribbles out from your kiss.

You swear you can hear Remmick purr against your hand.

When you both part your lips, A long drawn out moan leaves between you two— A spit line follows along until it disconnects when you lean back unto his lap again. You can feel the swell inside, his cocked nuzzled deep into your cervix, right where he belongs. When you finally feel like you’ve had your fill of everything Remmick gives you, his entire being devoted and at your mercy, you sit up slowly.

Remmick hums lowly, his breathing at its regular pace again. He looked fucked up but satisfied completely, a goofy grin laying on his face. He looks down to watch the aftermath, The tip of his cock popping out to reveal an overflow of his cum—it practically spills from your cunt, drooling right back on his pelvis.

“You did so well hun.” You say, teasing and soft, copying the warm southern tone he likes to soothe you with. Who knew you had it in you to reduce Remmick to a weeping mess?

Remmick smiles happily at you, sucking in his bottom lip to taste the spit that lingers from your heavy kiss. His hands moving up to massage your hips. He feels the indents in your skin, the pads of his fingers tracing the lines over and over.

You can get used to this, you think.

“Wanna go again?” you smile.

“Yes please.”

[alanisstonedd]

busted | singledad!ony x teacher!reader

an: so cute! i love themmmm. i’ve had this one in the drafts for a while now yall, please enjoy! send me ya nasty asks

cw: fluff, suggestive themes, black!reader, cussing, single dad

you hear a soft knock, blinking up from your laptop a little confused. it’s 1:30 and your kids are in science, currently grading with the little free time you do have today - you certainly were not expecting any meetings.

but when you focus your eyes on the figure at the door, you don’t even know why you didn’t expect that shit. amira’s father is once again standing in your classroom doorway, shoulders broad as hell in a white tee and grey sweats, clutching a little pink jacket in one thick hand. go figure.

you squint, not only at his unplanned appearance at 1:30 on a wednesday, but more so at the jacket “it’s… 85 degrees.” you can already smell the con he came in here tryna fool you with

he shrugs, biting his lip like he don’t even care about the excuse anymore. but he locks eyes with you and steps in slowly like he hasn’t been here a million times already. “mm — yeah, she said she was cold earlier. y’know kids. gotta be on go.”

you fold your arms, smiling despite yourself. he really is relentless — this is like the fourth time he’s been in here this week and you’re only three days in. “they in the art room right now, ony.” you sing-song, standing up and rounding your desk to give him your full attention. i mean he’s already here, smelling like you wanna climb him until your legs are around his head… it would be rude to not give him at least a second of your time.

“oh, word?” he steps farther in, looking around like he’s seeing it for the first time or something. “well… I could just leave it.” he mumbles, licking his lips at you, and it feels like he just turned the heat on in here.

this is precisely why you hate him coming in here like this — because as soon as you see that big ass frame tryna bust out of that white tee, that sweet smile that also somehow says “i’ll man-handle you and wear yo ass out”, and what maybe or may not be a bulge inbetween two huge thighs that you’re unsuccessfully trying to avoid… you fold like a damn chair. your will power is never strong enough to withstand this man and his apparently unyielding desire to see you.

but he doesn’t “just leave it”, of course, the man always has another plan.

instead, he sets it on amira’s desk and plops into the nearest tiny chair. you almost bust out laughing at how ridiculous he looks — this ass big man, all thick thighs and grown-man muscle, folded into a desk built for 7-year-olds.

you lean against your own desk, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but smile at him grinning up at you like he’s so happy with himself. but he knows you already folded.

“you good, mr. ony?”

“mhmm.” he tilts his head, eyes trailing over your frame. drinking you in. wishing you’d move a little closer so he could reach for those hips. “you look real good today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙���. real professional. definitely too fine to be up in this school single…”

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “you here to flirt with me or to bring your child’s unnecessary outerwear?”

“it can’t be both? you know i need my miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ time…” he says, full grin, unabashedly and very obviously undressing you in his head.

“mhm, you a piece of work ony.” you’re trying to keep it together — you really are. hut this man’s sitting there all big and broad, sweats straining against his big ass legs in that tiny chair, hand stroking his sexy ass beard while he watches you like you’re art — eyes shining like the things he’s imagining doing to you right now have no place in this classroom

“so how’s your day been, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he asks, and all the sudden you’re hot with just those simple words, his voice all low and seductive. “you eat somethin’ today? drink your water? anybody holla at you yet or i’m the first lucky man?”

you tilt your head, snickering. “is that how you talk to every teacher?”. you sass back, fronting like you don’t want his flirting but you can’t deny the fanny flutters you get when he comes in thirsty for you.

he leans forward, tryna reel you in even closer than you already are, resting his arms on the tiny desk like it’s the most natural thing in the world. little does he know, you wanna lock that damn door and show him off-the-clock you.

“nah,” he says, eyes glinting with that mischief that makes your clit throb. he knows he got you — or at least got your attention. “just the one i’m tryna take out for dinner… then dessert… and then breakfast.”

your breath catches, and he immediately sees that shit because he’s been watching you like a hawk since he came in here. watching you every move, your beautiful face and all your expressions like he wants to know every single one you have, jealous of the way your hands get to hold your juicy hips and thighs.

he stands up realllll slow, walking toward you, caging you in — close enough that the desk’s edge is flush against your booty, that the heat from his big frame is making your face hot. making all of you hot. you try to stay calm. professional. but his voice drops to that dangerous whisper.

“y’know how hard it is not to grab yo fine ass and kiss you every time I see you?”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck and down into your pussy. his hands on the desk behind you, boxing you in, his hips dangerously close to your hips.

“ony, this is not—”

his hand slides up your thigh slow like he wants you to feel it, hiking your leg up just slightly against his body. he leans in slow enough to show you he’s not scared, lips barely brushing yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he’s starving. he wants you in his bed already. the holding-back is not for him, but if he keeps this up, he might do something regrettable in this elementary school classroom.

then, suddenly, just as you’re about to lean in and suck his tongue like yall are alone, his hands gripping you up and pressing you against him like he craves to do every damn day —

SLAM.

the classroom door swings open.

you jump against your desk. he steps back lightning fast, not ashamed but… you could loose your job right? ‘course he wants to have you, but ideally without that possibility.

amira skips in like she owns the place, completely oblivious to the little situation happening in there just moments before.

“hi miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧! miss smith said i could come get my water bottle!”

she grabs it off her desk, “oh, hi daddy…” and gives you both a sweet little wave before skipping back the way she came in…

but she pauses mid-skip and turns around…she squints at you both like she knows something, then smiles like the devil. she lets out a little “mhm..” before continuing on her way back to science class.

but not before blurting “quit kissin’ on the mouth with the door unlocked!” you hear a sneaky giggle and then she’s skipping right out the door before yall can even speak.

you and ony are still frozen in shock — then BURSTING out laughing. he collapses forward into you, head on your shoulder, muffling a full-body laugh into your shirt while you wheeze with one hand over your heart. she too smart for her age.

you shake your head, smirking. “you ain’t right, mr. ony. almost got our asses busted.”

he grins into your shoulder, like he doesn’t even care. “she really said on the mouth… we wasn’t even…”

© 2025 alanisstonedd. all rights reserved — do not steal, plagiarize, or modify my content.

hope yall liked this! likes, comments, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!

xoxo, lani 💋💋💋

[aubris-fox]

[shipping the BO6 team] and they were rook-mates..

[shosweet]

geto suguru prides himself in cutting his own hair.

… a little too much.

he has never let a single person come near him with a pair of scissors — not his best friend, gojo, and not even you. if he ever did, his body was just simply possessed (lol).

however, after losing a bet to his pretty girlfriend, you decided on something evil, something so sinister not even the devil would try it. 

“please just the bangs, baby,” he begged while holding your wrist and clinging onto your (his) shirt as if he were a toddler going on a rollercoaster against his will. 

“but i wanna cut all of your hair,” you pouted.

“i will smack you upside the head if you do that. just. the. bangs. take it or leave it,” he said with wide, terrified eyes. you roll your eyes at his dramatic display and agree to his little proposition. 

thus, here you are in the bathroom with the lights switched on and several flashlights pointed in sugurus direction — “please you need to see super duper well i’m not exaggerating” pleaded the poor boy — as he nervously bounced his knee on the closed toilet seat. 

“fix your face, sugu, i didn't even start yet,” you stated with frustration. his behavior is definitely something to laugh at, but you really were going to mess it up if he doesn’t just suck it up.

“okay okay fine, i’m gonna close my eyes,” he breathed out in defeat. at his submission, you pick up the little pair of scissors on the counter. using what he’s taught you, you start off by trimming to a working length.

“is this okay?” you ask as the hair falls onto the rugs, softly landing on suguru’s socks. he hesitantly opens his eyes and sighs in relief.

“good, really good. you remember how to frame my face right? use the thinning shears so it’s not blocky. you’re surprisingly doing great, just keep going,” he ranted out in attempts to calm his nervousness. you smile to yourself and pick up the shears, angling it so the result would be of his request. 

huh, this isn’t so bad, suguru thought to himself. maybe he should just start letting you cut his bangs from now on—

“shit.”

suguru perked his head up, eyes still closed because he wants you (and himself) to think that you have it all under control.

“babe..?” suguru asks, patience running thin as panic starts to set in. he keeps his eyes screwed and sealed shut as to not see whatever you just did to his precious hair — out of sight out of mind, right?

“y’know, chopped bangs are kinda in right now—”

“i know you did not just say chopped bangs are you serious— oh my fucking goodness.” he completely turns pale the moment he opens his eyes.

“it’s not that bad!!! trust the process!! maybe if we pin it to the side..”

“there’s a reason why i have bangs! oh my fuck i cannot be walking around with my large forehead.”

“humongous actually.”

“shut the hell up.”

now, you’re walking through a claire’s store for any hair accessories that would help suguru’s awful haircut. you beam as you glide through the store, overjoyed that suguru’s letting you do “girly” hairstyles on him. however, he’s looming behind you, covered in a hoodie and sunglasses, trudging behind your every step as if he’s about to kill someone. 

“you need any help, ma’am?” a kind store clerk asked. “i think those clips on the left would suit you perfectly!” she smiles, trying to ignore negative nancy next to you.

“aw thank you! but it’s not for me, it’s for my boyfriend,” you reply, placing your hand on his chest. after paying for everything and returning home, you have suguru sit on the floor as you sat behind him on the sofa, styling his hair in ways you think would flatter him. 

as he sits, closing his eyes as his scowl softens, he thinks to himself: this actually isn’t that bad… 

will he ever let you be his barber again? hell no, you were fired the moment you suggested it. but, he’d never turn down a free hairstylist. 

silly draft because why have i been writing sm angst lately

[inexplicifics]

I’m also a writer, of both fanfics and works I hope to publish someday, and I was wondering if I could ask your advice. I have a number of larger projects that I want to undertake, but thinking about how long it’s going to take to finish them makes me anxious and then I won’t even start. You’re an incredible writer and you have so many finished works; how do you do it? What would you recommend for someone who feels incredibly daunted by the lengthy and disheartening process that is writing a novel or series?

Also thank you for your Accidental Warlord series; it brings me inexpressible joy every time I read it

Oooh okay this is a complicated one. Let's see.

First off, and this is hard: don't compare your output to other authors. I have what my friends affectionately refer to as Wordy Bitch Disease. I write a lot, I write fast, and I write clean enough copy that Rose isn't doing copyedits, she's doing plot and characterization fixes. I start a new WIP...pretty near daily some weeks, and they do not all get done. My WIPs list is frankly fucking terrifying. But it's important to note that I have been writing pretty consistently for twenty years at least, and I was not as fast, coherent, or skilled when I started. For that matter, when I'm tired or stressed or just feeling blah, sometimes the words don't come, and it's important not to beat yourself up about it when that happens.

Second bit of advice: start smaller. I really, really like flash fic challenges and themed prompt lists and tumblr ask memes, because they make me limit my story to what can be told in a few thousand words. That lets me improve my craft without getting bogged down in enormous plotlines. (Yes, sometimes the story still grows a plot. But it's less frequent.)

Third bit of advice: take little bites, and accept that it's going to take a long time and possibly several drafts. When I started MBTT, I genuinely thought it would be 50K. (I am bad at estimating finished lengths of stories.) But I still took it one chapter at a time, and tried to have each chapter be a coherent whole, a chunk of story that needed to be told. When I'm working on the AWAU, if I think about the whole overarching storyline too much, I get overwhelmed and have to go stick my head under a proverbial rock for a while. But one story is doable, most of the time. I've had to restart drafts for some stories two, three, four times to get the voice and style and plot to cooperate. Be willing to say, That's not working, and try something else, even if you're really fond of what you've written so far.

Fourth bit of advice: learn what style of planning works for you. Some people like to outline in great detail. Some people like a sketchy outline. Some people, like me, can't outline - it kills the story for me. The WIP I started this morning has a notes section for important characterization details and the single plot point "Bandits?" Anything more than that, and I won't write it, because in some sense I've already written it so why bother doing it again?

Fifth and final bit of advice, because this is getting long: if you can find a cheer-reader, cherish them. Having someone in the doc leaving comments or emoticons helps immensely with knowing how my readers will react and with keeping my own enthusiasm for a story stoked high, which vastly increases the likelihood of it getting finished.

Good luck! Be brave! Thank you for the compliments!

I hope to read your stories someday!

[estellan0vella]

It's a Fine, Fine Life: H.H Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader

WC: 17.3K

CWs: Staged Violence, Youth Caregiver, Mild Emotional Burnout, a child being a menace, Hyunjin being a pabo

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The front door to the Alpha Phi frat house explodes open with a thunderous bang that makes the wall vibrate, and Hyunjin barrels through it like a man possessed, a stack of papers clutched in one arm and a rolled-up script in the other. His face is practically split in half by the size of his grin, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, eyes sparkling with the fervour of a man who just saw God.

“I HAVE ARRIVED WITH THE BEST FUCKING NEWS YOU’VE HEARD ALL WEEK.”

In the living room, the TV screen glows with the bright cartoon fires of Overcooked, four avatars running in manic little circles around a cluttered kitchen. Changbin, Minho, Jeongin, and Seungmin are currently yelling instructions at each other while desperately trying to serve dishes on time.

On the couch, Chan has Jisung curled in his lap and Jisung is wearing one of Chan’s oversized black hoodies, sleeves swallowed by his fingers, a drafted article open on his phone as he reads aloud occasionally and nudges Chan with his elbow.

“Babe, tell me if this line’s too direct, ‘Either way, someone’s lying.’ Is that like too on the nose?”

“No, baby. That’s the whole fucking point.”

Jisung hums. “Okay, but I kinda wanna soften it. Like poetic or some shit.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “You’re writing an exposé on financial fraud. Not a sonnet.”

Hyunjin leaps over the back of the couch and lands between them, nearly kneeing Chan in the stomach. “GUYS. LISTEN TO ME.”

“FUCK,” Chan grunts, steadying Jisung, who flails slightly. “Hyun, I swear to god-”

“Guess what just got posted on the drama board?” 

Jisung squints. “A cease and desist letter?”

Hyunjin scowls. “No. The CASTING. For the MUSICAL.”

“Wait,” Minho mutters, twisting to glance back. “Why the fuck are you vibrating like that?”

“Because I’m walking on clouds! Riding unicorns! Dancing with fairies! I’m fucking radiant right now.”

“Why?” Seungmin asks flatly.

Hyunjin practically throws the script down. “It’s Oliver! And I got the role I wanted. I’m the love interest of my crush. This is fate. It’s karma. It’s divine fucking intervention.”

Felix looks over. “Wait, wait, remind me again. Who’s your crush? You change it like once a month, man.”

Hyunjin clutches his chest and sighs so deeply it sounds painful. “L/N Y/N. The prettiest girl on Miroh campus.”

Jeongin tilts his head. “Isn’t she the girl from your freshman jazz elective? The one you literally never spoke to?”

Hyunjin flings a slipper at him. “Shut the fuck up, Jeongin. That was because I was shy, not uninterested.”

Changbin snorts. “Wait, hold on. Is she the one with the kid?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin nods quickly. “Minsu. He’s three. She brings him everywhere. She’s his legal guardian or something. Raises him by herself.”

Jisung raises a hand slowly, blinking. “Not to kill the vibe or whatever, but I saw the 1968 Oliver! movie when I was like, ten. And I don’t remember there being a major romance subplot?”

“I’m Bill Sikes!” Hyunjin announces proudly. “And Y/N is Nancy. The lovers of the story.”

Chan, Jisung, and Felix exchange a look. Jisung mouths what the fuck? Felix mouths back does he know the plot? and Chan mouths clearly not.

Minho claps once. “Holy shit! Good for you, man.”

Changbin grins. “Congrats! That’s huge!”

Jeongin nods eagerly. “You get to be romantic with your actual crush, onstage. That’s wild.”

“Hyun,” Felix says carefully, sitting forward, elbows on knees. “Honeybuns. Have you read the script yet? Or like, the book? Or seen the movie?”

“There’s a book?” 

Jisung gasps. “YES.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Okay, so what happens?”

Chan opens his mouth, closes it, then finally says, “Uh, so near the end, Bill Sikes beats Nancy to death. Like with a metal pipe or something.”

The script falls out of Hyunjin’s hands like it’s been cursed. His mouth opens in silent horror.

“You’re fucking lying,” he whispers.

Chan, Jisung, and Felix shake their heads slowly, mournfully, like they’re announcing the death of a beloved pet.

“Nope,” Felix mutters. “Straight up kills her behind London Bridge. Just absolutely wrecks her.”

Minho, Changbin, and Jeongin all pale.

“What the actual fuck?” Changbin hisses.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Felix already has his phone out. “Hold on. I can show you.”

He finds the clip from the 1968 movie and turns the volume all the way up. The scene starts innocently enough, Oliver hugging Nancy on the bridge, and then Bill Sikes storms in, grabs both of them, and flings Oliver to the side. Nancy fights back, brave and desperate, but he drags her behind the stairs and beats her.

Hyunjin covers his mouth. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “I have to kill the love of my life.”

“You’re acting,” Minho says.

“That’s not the fucking point!” Hyunjin shrieks.

“Okay,” Jisung says, raising a finger, “let us, the knowledgeable ones, break this down for you.”

“Yeah,” Felix adds. “Nancy’s first song is called It’s a Fine Life, and it literally goes ‘Though you sometimes do come by, the occasional black eye, you can always cover one, while he blacks the other one, but you don’t dare cry.’ Like. She’s hiding abuse.”

“She’s a sex worker,” Chan adds. “And she’s in love with her abuser. Or at least, dependent on him. You spend her next solo screaming run, bitch, run!”

Jisung nods solemnly. “Then, after he murders her, Sikes tries to escape over rooftops. He rigs a rope to swing between buildings, gets shot, and accidentally hangs himself. Just fucking dangles there.”

Hyunjin stares at them in horror. “So, not only do I beat a woman to death, I die in the dumbest way imaginable?”

“Yup,” Jisung says.

Chan claps him on the shoulder. “Not the romance arc you thought it was, buddy.”

“Bill may have had feelings,” Felix says, “but his actions? Abusive as fuck. Manipulative. Possessive. Not love.”

Everyone turns to stare at him.

“What?” Felix shrugs. “I had to do an essay on this in Year Ten.”

Chan sighs. “Bill is her lover. Her abuser. Her pimp. All rolled into one.”

“What the actual fuck? I thought this was going to be like, a Victorian La La Land thing. Not a snuff show”

Minho sits up straight. “Okay. Fuck this. We’re watching the whole fucking movie.”

Hyunjin slumps on the floor, dazed by the devastating knowledge that his dream romance role is in fact a cautionary tale about abuse and murder.

And he hasn’t even gotten to act one.

The rehearsal room smells like fresh coffee, printer paper, and the faint sweat of anxiety. It’s the first day, and the vibe in the room is a strange mix of nervous tension and barely restrained excitement. 

Hyunjin walks in, sipping from a tall travel mug, like he wasn’t up until 2 a.m. the night before watching the entirety of the 1968 Oliver! film while screaming into his fists. He’s dressed like someone who didn’t plan to make an entrance but ended up doing it anyway, black hoodie that hangs off his tall frame, blue baggy jeans that fall over his thick-soled black platform boots with just enough chaotic sway, and that short, spiky crop of black hair left to fall however the hell it wants. 

His eyes scan the room quickly, clocking the other cast members chatting in clusters. Hyunjin doesn't care about any of it because his gaze finds you instantly, and suddenly, everything else is static.

You're sitting on the floor off to the side, legs tucked underneath you on a folded blanket. A light blue ribbed knit cardigan wraps around your frame, the long sleeves covering your wrists except where they slip up slightly as you turn a page. It’s tied at the front with a thin bow, the neckline dipping in a soft V that reveals a fitted white tank top beneath. Your skirt brushes your mid-thighs as the chunky chain necklace with the little heart pendant glints in the light every time you move. Your ponytail bounces slightly when you nod along to whatever the tiny human in your lap is saying.

That tiny human, of course, is Minsu. Your three-year-old brother is curled in your lap, totally engrossed in his Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and Megatron figures battling each other. His white sneakers light up every time he kicks his heels against the blanket. 

And right now, you’re voicing Megatron in a gravelly imitation of a villain, dramatically declaring, “Bumblebee, you insolent rust bucket, I will crush you beneath my titanium fist!”

Minsu giggles, delighted. “No, Meggy! No crush Bee! Bee zooms!”

He wiggles out of your lap, scooting forward on all fours before he sets up his figures for an epic battle. He starts arranging them carefully, putting Megatron slightly to the left, Bumblebee centre-stage, and Optimus is overseeing the chaos.

You sip from your Ravenclaw travel mug and glance over your script, distracted just enough to miss Hyunjin coming closer until he’s crouching beside Minsu.

Minsu’s head pops up like a meerkat, eyes going wide. He shoves Megatron into Hyunjin’s hand like it’s a gift from the heavens.

“Hi! You play! I’m Minsu!”

Hyunjin blinks at the toy in his palm, then smiles. “Hey, Minsu. I’m Hyunjin. I’m gonna be working with your sister.”

“Hyuni, look! Shoes!” Minsu stomps his feet twice, and the soles of his sneakers flash in rapid pulses.

Hyunjin gasps, eyes widening like he’s never seen anything cooler. “What the fuck! Your shoes light up? Dude, that’s sick.”

Minsu beams. “Is light shoes! They flash!”

“I see that,” Hyunjin nods solemnly. “I’m impressed.”

You glance up over the rim of your mug at the sound of Minsu’s delighted giggles, take in the sight of Hyunjin crouched next to your brother, boots planted, hoodie sleeves pushed up as he makes Megatron lunge toward Bumblebee with a low growl. 

“Meggy gotta lose,” Minsu instructs seriously, tapping Hyunjin’s hand. “You make Meggy fall. Bee strong today.”

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows. “Damn, alright. Didn’t know Megatron was getting his ass beat this early in the morning.”

Minsu giggles again and flops dramatically onto the blanket, arranging Optimus above like a judge. “You do Meggy voice. Big voice.”

“Big voice?” Hyunjin repeats. “Like scary big?”

“Yah!” Minsu insists, making little fists and flexing his arms. “Scary!”

“Okay, okay.” Hyunjin clears his throat and lowers his voice dramatically. “You dare challenge me, Bumblebee? I am Megatron, ruler of all Decepticons!”

Minsu slaps his knee and cackles. “Better than Y/N Meggy. She no can do deep voice. She sound silly.”

You set your mug down slowly. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

Minsu gasps, tiny hands flying up to cover his mouth, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief. “You make Meggy sound like silly sausage!”

You gape, utterly offended. “You’ve been letting me voice Megatron for like twenty minutes. Why the hell didn’t you say anything before?”

Minsu shrugs, not the least bit sorry. “Hyuni better.”

“I see how it is.”

Hyunjin is on the verge of tears, laughter shaking his shoulders as he picks Bumblebee up and makes a ridiculous little spin in the air.

“Meggy can’t win!” Minsu declares again. “Is Meggy lose day!”

“You heard the boss,” Hyunjin says, laying Megatron flat on the floor in a dramatic, slow-motion collapse. “Megatron, defeated by the mighty light-up shoe king.”

Minsu cheers, throwing his arms up in victory before he grabs both Optimus and Bumblebee and starts making them kiss with obnoxious smooching noises.

You blink. “Dude. What are they doing?”

“They in love,” Minsu explains simply, then uses Megatron’s limp body as a bench for the two other robots to sit on. “Meggy is chair.”

Hyunjin chokes on his americano.

You reach down to ruffle Minsu’s hair. “Jesus, Min. What shows have you been watching?”

Minsu shrugs again. “Optimus kiss Bee. Bee say I love you. Meggy say okay.”

You shake your head and go back to your script, sipping your tea, trying to focus on Nancy’s first line. 

And Hyunjin, without really meaning to, starts hoping this read-through goes on forever.

Two hours later, the room is a mess of stacked chairs, half-drunk coffees, abandoned scripts, and that particular brand of exhausted silence that follows a full-length table read. Most of the cast are busy packing up, voices lowered now that the adrenaline’s burned out. 

You’re crouched by your bag, wrapping your empty tea mug into a thin plastic bag so the dregs don’t soak through your purse and Hyunjin is halfway through stuffing his empty travel mug into his backpack when Minsu’s voice pipes up behind him.

“You’re pretty,” 

Hyunjin straightens, glancing over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Thanks, little dude.”

Minsu tilts his head thoughtfully. “Are you a lady? Or a man? Or a lady man?”

You freeze.

Hyunjin chokes so hard he starts coughing, shoulders shaking as he laughs into the crook of his arm. He doesn’t look offended, but his face is a mixture of startled amusement and pure what-the-fuck delight.

“Minsu!” you snap, nudging his leg lightly with your foot. “That’s rude. Say sorry.”

Minsu instantly pouts, shoulders tensing, his whole little body bristling with the beginning sparks of a full-blown tantrum. His lower lip wobbles. His fists clench. He lets out a tiny warning whine.

Minsu stamps his feet, fists flying, face crumpling into the reddest expression of sheer injustice known to mankind. “I NOT WANT TO SAY SORRY!”

He flings himself onto the floor, his tiny fists banging the linoleum. Someone across the room stifles a laugh and looks away. Hyunjin freezes, halfway between kneeling and standing, wide-eyed as he watches the scene unfold like he’s witnessing a live-action documentary on the toddler species.

With a sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and reach down to grab your wallet. “Guess me and your new friend will just go get ice cream without you.”

Hyunjin gets the memo immediately and falls into step beside you, slinging his own bag over his shoulder and strolling toward the door like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“This is gonna be so fucking fun,” you say loudly, stepping over Bumblebee with exaggerated care. “Just the two of us. No tantrumy little gremlins in sight.”

“Oh my god, yes,” Hyunjin agrees just as dramatically. “Peace. Quiet. Toppings. I love that for us.”

Minsu, now mid-scream, flails harder.

Clearly, that tactic isn’t working. The volume hasn’t decreased. In fact, he’s somehow found an entirely new octave.

“Y’know,” you say thoughtfully, turning slightly to glance at Hyunjin, “Apparently, there's a monster in this rehearsal building.”

“Oooh, I’ve heard about them,” Hyunjin says, catching on fast. “Some fucked-up little monster ghost thing. Real vicious. Lives under the floorboards. Only comes out when it hears children screaming.”

“And do you know what it eats?”

“Little kid toes,” Hyunjin says, dead serious. “Only tantrum toes, though. Screaming ones. It’s very picky. Comes out with big, hairy hands and starts chomping on your pinky toe first.”

Behind you, the crying pauses. You and Hyunjin just keep walking, speaking louder now.

“And once it eats the toes, it moves on to the rest,” Hyunjin says ominously. “Snatches ‘em up like popcorn. No sympathy. Just chomps and crunches.”

“It tried to eat a first-year who screamed during a vocal warm-up.”

“True story,” Hyunjin nods solemnly. “It only spares polite kids. Polite kids are sacred.”

Behind you, there’s a shuffle. Then a sniffling hiccup. Then the unmistakable sound of a small child scrambling to gather their toys in a panic.

“Sissy poo!” Minsu wails, his voice suddenly terrified. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me in here! It’s scary! Monsters will eat my toes!”

You hear the zip of his backpack, the clatter of plastic toys being shoved inside, and the rapid patter of feet behind you.

When you finally turn, Minsu’s running full tilt toward you, face red and blotchy, tiny arms outstretched. You crouch just in time to catch him. He barrels into your chest, breathing hard as you scoop him up.

“You done tantruming now, you little shithead?” 

Minsu nods, lip wobbling as he sucks his thumb quietly. “Sorry for saying you a lady man"

Hyunjin snorts. “Apology accepted, my dude.”

You straighten up, Minsu clinging to you like a baby koala, head tucked against your neck.

“I’ll see you later, Hyunjin,” 

“Hang the fuck on,” Hyunjin says, narrowing his eyes. “I was promised ice cream. You’re not ditching me now.”

You laugh, shifting Minsu on your hip. “Come on then. Let’s get sugared up.”

The walk to the campus cafeteria ice cream bar is short, and Hyunjin makes the most of it, keeping Minsu distracted with a running monologue about his boots, the monsters in the floor, and which flavour ice cream is scientifically the best.

Once inside, you juggle your wallet and Minsu while ordering three bowls of ice cream. You don’t even bother ordering vanilla because you know what’s coming.

“Vanilla’s honk shoo,” Minsu says as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

“Noted,” you mutter, tapping your card.

You find a table and set the ice cream down before grabbing napkins and wet wipes. You gently wipe Minsu’s hands and face, but the moment he sees Hyunjin’s ice cream bowl, he launches himself into Hyunjin’s lap.

Hyunjin looks vaguely panicked but doesn’t protest. Minsu immediately plunges a hand into Hyunjin’s bowl, snatching one of the little wafer sticks and chomping it like a lollipop.

“Hey! That was the best part, you tiny thief!”

Minsu, entirely unbothered by the outrage, starts plucking toppings from Hyunjin’s bowl like it’s a buffet. Marshmallows, gummies, even the crumbled cookie bits disappear into his mouth at lightning speed. 

“He’s gonna make me cry in public,” Hyunjin says mournfully. “Like actually. I’m gonna break down over a bowl of fucking ice cream.”

“Honestly? Fair. He’s a menace.”

“He’s a monster,” Hyunjin agrees, trying to angle the bowl away. “A beautiful, terrifying monster.”

Minsu giggles, face lighting up with evil delight as he dives face-first into the whipped cream.

“Jesus Christ, he’s in it. He’s in the bowl. You’re gonna suffocate.”

You spoon another bite of sherbet into your mouth, watching as Hyunjin tries to defend the last surviving cherry from Minsu’s advancing fingers. It’s karmic, you think. The universe’s way of balancing things. Because someone like Hyunjin, handsome as fuck, with that stupidly flawless bone structure, that spiky black hair that somehow looks perfect without effort, shouldn’t also be good with toddlers. It’s not fair. It’s cheating. The guy’s already tall and charming. Why does he also get to be nice?

But you don’t say any of that aloud. You just smile into your spoon and watch as Minsu steals Hyunjin’s last gummy worm with all the grace of a gremlin in a candy store.

A loud knock disrupts the chill in the Alpha Phi frat house like a gunshot in a library. 

Minho straightens, grabbing the remote to pause the TV. “Who the fuck is that?”

Jisung peeks toward the door without moving from his perch half on Chan’s lap, half off the couch. “Food delivery?”

Chan shakes his head. “We didn’t order anything. Did we?”

Felix holds up his phone. “I ordered coffee an hour ago, but that got here twenty minutes ago, remember? Seungmin drank it.”

“You left it unattended.” 

“I’ll get it,” Hyunjin offers, grabbing his phone and bag. “I’m leaving in a sec anyway. I’ve got the fight scene choreography with Y/N.”

That one sentence is all it takes for the living room to erupt into chaos.

“Ooooooh,” 

“Gettin’ some extra stage combat practice, huh?” 

“Bet it’s not the only thing getting dramatic,”

Hyunjin flips them all off as he walks to the door, the sound of his chunky boots thudding softly against the hardwood floor. His outfit is doing the absolute most, and he knows it, sleek black leather biker jacket layered over a black turtleneck, paired with oversized, acid-wash cargo jeans that sit low on his hips, tucked into chunky black boots.

He pulls the door open. You’re standing there, hand-in-hand with Minsu, and he doesn’t even get the chance to say hi before Minsu launches forward and wraps himself around Hyunjin’s legs like a tiny backpack.

“Hyuni!” 

“Hey, buddy.”

You’re dressed like the cover of a high-fashion pastel magazine, white satin crop top with a deep V neckline, covered by a cropped pink cardigan, and a pink and white gingham mini skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. A silver chain belt with tiny heart-shaped charms loops low on your hips, matching the layers of necklaces around your neck. Your white stiletto ankle boots click on the concrete, and your bag is covered in charms, including one very clearly handmade by Minsu out of beads and macaroni.

“Hi,” you say. “You mentioned you live in a frat, there’s like eight of you, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Hyunjin replies.

“Any of them trustable with a kid? We’re doing the fight scene today, and I really don’t want him to see that. His sitter bailed like forty minutes ago, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Hyunjin thinks quickly. Chan. Obviously. Minho, too. Felix, for sure. Jisung, maybe, if Chan is around. Jisung unsupervised is chaos incarnate. But a supervised Jisung? Fine.

He nods. “Three and a half.”

You snort. “Good enough.”

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside. “We’ll lump him on Chan. Chan’s basically a dad already.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyunjin waves it off. 

Minsu toddles in ahead of you in jean shorts, a white t-shirt under a loose, unbuttoned denim shirt, little white sneakers squeaking slightly, and his cap on backwards. His backpack is bouncing as he marches in like he owns the place.

Hyunjin leads you into the living room. Seven sets of eyes turn at once.

“Guys,” Hyunjin announces, gesturing to you, “this is Y/N and her younger brother Minsu. Y/N, Minsu, these are the idiots. Chan, Changbin, Minho, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin.”

He points at each of them as he says their names. You nod politely, giving a small wave. “Hi.”

Minsu walks straight up to Chan, who’s sitting on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie and promptly climbs into his lap.

Hyunjin dumps Minsu’s bag next to them. “Babysitting duty. Three hours max.”

You raise your hand. “No allergies. Toys are in his backpack. Spare clothes too. His sitter cancelled, and Hyunjin said this was fine.”

Chan blinks down at the three-year-old beaming up at him and poking his face. “It’s so fine. I love kids. They love me.”

“If you run out of ideas, put on Transformers. He’s three. Shiny things catch his attention.”

“Cool,” Chan nods, still being aggressively prodded by Minsu.

Within moments, Minsu has cracked open his backpack and started showing off every single Transformer he owns. Jisung, Felix, and Minho are immediately roped in.

“Make fight fun, not honk shoo.”

Minho blinks. “Honk shoo?”

“He means boring,” you explain. “Like the noise you make when you snore.”

Jisung gasps. “I’m using that. Forever. In my articles. ‘The way the police handled the evidence was complete honk shoo.’”

Felix nods. “Genius.”

Seungmin crosses his arms. “What if he’s a shithead?”

“Tell him there’s a toe-eating monster in your basement,” you say casually. “Or something. I don’t know. I make this shit up as I go. Just nothing under the bed or in the closet. I need him to sleep in his own room.”

"Got it,"

You glance at Minsu. “Also, don’t believe him when he says he can pee alone. He can’t. Someone needs to take him, sit him down, and make sure he stays seated. He might aim at you on purpose. He thinks it’s funny.”

The room goes silent, and Minsu beams. “Wee-wee on walls!”

Chan, Minho, Changbin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin all stare at the child in horror.

“I need to wee-wee now,” Minsu announces.

Everyone turns to Minho, and Chan sighs. “Minho. You’re a vet science major. You’ve handled worse.”

Minsu perks up. “Yeah! Mimo!”

Minho groans, but he scoops the child up. As Minho disappears down the hallway, Minsu babbles nonstop. “Mimo, one time I do wee-wee on mirror and it go splash! Splash-splash! An’ sissy poo scream so loud. An’ I laughed and then da floor get wee-wee too but is okay! Clean with sock! I use my sock!”

Minho nods along. “Incredible. Revolutionary.”

“I do wee-wee in kitchen trash too one time,” Minsu says proudly. “I say it’s surprise. Sissy no like surprise.”

You shake your head fondly as Minho vanishes into the bathroom with him. “Good luck.”

“Bye!” you call, pushing the door open with Hyunjin beside you.

The door slams shut behind you, and silence reigns until the bathroom door opens and Minho emerges holding Minsu’s hand. Minsu is freshly washed, beaming, and talking a mile a minute.

“I do wee-wee in da bathtub one time. Sissy say NO MIN, and I say it’s like swimming pool. But small. And I wee-wee in da potted plant! An’ in da hallway corner! An’ under sissy’s bed but she no find it ‘til it go stink.”

“Okay. No one lose sight of this child. Not for a second.”

You and Hyunjin stand centre stage in the near-empty theatre space, the black-painted floors polished and slick under the fluorescent lights, the muffled thuds of movement echoing in the high ceilings above. The makeshift prop staircase looms to the side, a crude but functional stand-in for the grandeur of London Bridge, and a few stacked chairs and crates mark out blocking for future ensemble scenes. 

For now, it’s just the two of you and a professional fight choreographer with a clipboard and the calm, slightly unhinged demeanour of someone who’s seen every possible rehearsal injury and is no longer fazed by anything short of decapitation.

The director appears from behind a curtain, arms crossed, and eyes you carefully from where you stand with one hand on your hip.

“Miss L/N,” he calls, voice echoing. “Do you have trousers today?”

“Nope,” you answer simply, glancing down at your legs. “I’ve got safety shorts under the skirt though.”

He nods once. “Right. Good. Let’s not have a repeat of the Juliet rehearsal incident from last semester.”

“I was nowhere near that production,” 

“Still,” he mutters, then waves at the choreographer. “We’ve got a fight specialist here to walk you both through the motions. Just follow her lead.”

The choreographer, a woman named Sunyoung with steel-grey hair tied into a tight bun and a body built like she could bench press the entire cast, steps forward and claps once. “Alright, bitches, let’s learn how to fake murder!”

Hyunjin straightens instinctively, eyes wide. You suppress a laugh.

“First things first,” Sunyoung says, pulling a bright purple pool noodle from her duffel bag, “Hyunjin, this is you. This is your murder weapon. For now.”

She tosses the pool noodle to him, and he catches it with both hands, then looks down at it with something between horror and confusion.

“This is the weapon that beats me to death?” you ask, staring at the foam tube.

“Only until he learns to mime the blows properly,” she says cheerfully. “We don’t use the real prop club for rehearsals until you both can get through the sequence without looking like drunk raccoons fighting in an alley.”

You snort, and Hyunjin holds the pool noodle up like a katana. “Do I get to name it?”

“No,” Sunyoung replies without missing a beat. “Alright. So we’re gonna start with blocking. Y/N, you’re leading Oliver to meet Brownlow. They’re not here today, so just imagine they exist, which shouldn’t be too hard since Brownlow is about as lively as a bag of wet towels.”

You step into your starting position, pointing toward the staircase with a flourish. “Right this way, sweetheart. Mr. Brownlow’s waiting just upstairs.”

“Beautiful,” Sunyoung says. “Hyunjin, you’re gonna come in from behind”

Hyunjin snickers and pads a few steps behind you, trying to make his steps quiet despite his combat boots clunking like anvils on the stage floor.

“Grab her by the arm,” Sunyoung instructs. “Don’t yank. You’re a bastard, not a linebacker.”

Hyunjin’s hand wraps gently around your forearm. His fingers are warm, and you glance over your shoulder at him with mock surprise.

“Oh!” you gasp. “A violent man in black leather? What a shocking twist.”

“Focus,” Sunyoung barks. “Y/N, you struggle. Pull away. Maybe get a slap in.”

You jerk your arm back and twist, pretending to stumble.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen slightly at your ferocity, but he stays in character, holding on just tight enough to be convincing.

Sunyoung steps forward. “Now we’re gonna add the next part. Hyunjin, you drag her to the staircase. Y/N, you fight him. Claw, grab, kick. Scream if you want. Just keep it real.”

She demonstrates quickly, hooking her arms over Hyunjin’s shoulders and pretending to pull back, then ducking and twisting to break his grip. Her movements are fluid, controlled, and aggressive in all the right ways. Then she shows you how to use your nails against his jacket, sliding down as if you’re being thrown, her heels scraping along the floor in a slow, staged fall.

You nod, watching every move.

“Okay,” you say, stretching your arms and shaking out your fingers. “Let’s try not to accidentally knock my teeth out.”

Hyunjin positions himself again, and you brace, then act. You kick back into him as you twist, one arm wrenching free, then grab at his jacket as he mimics dragging you toward the prop staircase. The two of you fall together in practised chaos.

“Nice,” Sunyoung says. “Now the real fun. Hyunjin, first blow. You’re not actually hitting her, but I want commitment. Swing like you mean it. Y/N, you’re gonna react like it caught your side.”

She steps behind the staircase to demonstrate the angle, how the audience will only see the weapon coming down, your twitching legs, and hear the sound effects layered on top of it. She hands Hyunjin a set of foam marks to follow, stuck to the floor where each blow should land in space, not on you.

“Hit those. With force. We’ll add the sound cues later.”

Hyunjin nods. His jaw tightens, his expression serious. You see him roll his shoulders, resetting.

You shuffle into position behind the staircase, lying on your back. Sunyoung adjusts your legs, shifting your knees to angle just right, your foot tucked in, toes pointed outward.

“Y/N, when he swings, you’re gonna twitch. Just little flinches. Then full-body shakes. The sound will cue you.”

She hands you a small earpiece, already synced to the system. The first beat echoes in your right ear.

You jump.

“That,” Sunyoung says. “Every time you hear that, you move. Got it?”

“Copy that,” 

Hyunjin lifts the pool noodle, positions himself above the prop space, and waits.

“Three, two, one, go.”

Thunk.

You twitch violently, one leg shifting.

Thunk.

Your shoulder jerks. Your foot slams once against the stage.

Thunk. Thunk.

You writhe, arms flailing briefly before slapping back to the ground. It’s horrible and weird and a little disorienting. You feel sweat prickling along your spine.

Sunyoung holds her hand up. “Good start,” she says. “Y/N, you’ll keep twitching for thirty seconds total. Being beaten to death isn’t fast unless it’s a vital organ. Which it’s not here. We want realism. But we don’t want to scar anyone. This is college. No one paid to see a snuff film.”

You nod, still breathing hard. “Got it.”

Hyunjin lowers the pool noodle, and it flops around sadly in his grip. “I swear this thing is mocking me,” 

A snort escapes you, then a giggle, and then you’re full-on cackling behind the prop staircase, legs still bent at disturbing angles, laughter shaking your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you wheeze. “It’s just this noodle. It’s supposed to be death and it’s fucking flopping like a sad dick.”

Hyunjin raises the noodle and flops it downward with exaggerated force. “Die! Die!”

“Stop it,” you laugh harder. “You’re gonna make me pee.”

Sunyoung doesn’t even blink. “If she pisses herself, rehearsal’s over.”

Hyunjin straightens up, snapping into a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Maximum death, minimum piss.”

“Let’s run it again!"

The spring sun is warm but lazy, hanging high in a cloudless sky over the quad at Miroh College like it’s got nowhere else to be. You’re sitting cross-legged on the grass, your stiletto heels kicked off to the side, one leg lazily jiggling as your fingers flip through your battered Oliver! script. 

Minsu is perched comfortably in the cradle of your crossed legs, a little kimbap lunchbox balanced on one of his chubby thighs as he happily munches his way through lunch. He’s dressed in blue dungarees over a white t-shirt, a matching blue cap sitting backwards on his head. 

Your cardigan flutters in the breeze, tied loosely at the front to show the soft pastel pink lace bralette beneath. Your pants are high-waisted gingham and a pearl belt cinches the waist, and even though your heels are currently off, they sit beside your oversized tote like a fashion-forward threat. 

You're scribbling down notes beside It’s a Fine Life, when Minsu suddenly starts talking with his mouth full.

“Jisu, Mimo, Fefi,” he says proudly, spraying a fleck of rice that lands on your page.

You glance down, not even surprised. “Bless you. Try again, buddy.”

He slurps in the bite like a gremlin and swallows dramatically. “I sayin’, Jisu and Mimo and Fefi, my bestest friends now. They played with me all day. ALL DAY.”

“Wow, all day?”

Minsu nods fiercely. “We do Transformers. Jisu say it so cool he almost cry.”

You laugh. “He almost cried?”

“Uh-huh,” Minsu says, very serious. “And then he show me snack cupboard. It BIG. It got fishy chips, choco pies, honey butter, and ALL the gummies. So many gummies.”

You arch a brow. “He gave you sugar?”

Minsu nods like he’s been knighted. “Mimo say I get crazy eyes and then I do my transformer voice and I go ZHOOOM and Fefi fall down, he fall down right on butt!”

You grin. “They sound like good babysitters.”

He hums in agreement, then drops his chopsticks into the grass and leans forward, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “I know so many swear words now.”

You glance sideways. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Minsu nods. “Jisu say ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘motherfucker’ when he drop rice cup and Mimo go ‘hey!’ and then Fefi say ‘fuck it’ and then laugh. I say it too. Fuck. Shit. Motherfuck.”

You gently wipe a smear of kimchi off his chin as he beams proudly.

“I still like poophead,” Minsu adds thoughtfully. “Poophead is funny.”

“Always a classic,” you say, flipping the page in your script. 

He starts humming something that might be the Paw Patrol theme, watching it on your phone with kimbap still clutched in one hand. But then he suddenly turns to you with wide eyes and says, “Mimo, help me with all the wee-wees.”

You blink. “All the what?”

“Wee-wees!” Minsu chirps. “I do SIX wee-wees, sissy. SIX!”

“Six? In three hours?”

“Uh huh.” He nods solemnly, like a war veteran. “First wee-wee, Mimo say okay, let's go bathroom, and I run and he say no run or you pee pants. I sit. I wee-wee normal. No walls.”

“Fantastic,”

“Second wee-wee, I say I don’t need go but I do,” he continues, licking rice off his fingers. “So Mimo go again and he sing me song so I don’t get bored. I try wee like robot but it not work. I just make noise and giggle.”

You stifle a laugh. “Okay.”

“Third wee-wee, I do fart that so big, Mimo go ‘AH FUCK’ and he cover nose and he go BLEHHH.” Minsu demonstrates the gagging in full dramatic glory, retching and clutching his stomach. “He say I stinky butt and need jail.”

You can’t hold it back this time, you laugh so hard your pen falls from your fingers.

“Fourth wee-wee, I wee-wee on Mimo’s sock,” Minsu says, unconcerned. “I thought I finish. I stand up. But SURPRISE! Wee-wee come again and go on sock. Mimo go ‘ah fuck’ but not mad. He say sock go in spinny washer and he do nakey feets after.”

You nod slowly. “So Minho walked around barefoot?”

“Yeah!” Minsu laughs. “He got hairy toes!”

You bury your face in your hand.

“Fifth wee-wee,” Minsu continues, “I try wee in kitchen pan. Jisu scream. He say ‘what the shit!’ and ‘oh my fucking god no!’ and ‘this kid is feral!’ Then Channie come. Channie say no pee near snacks. That not good.”

“Correct, snacks and pee don’t go together.”

“Last wee-wee, I hide behind couch. I say I secret. Mimo see and go ‘nooooo!’ and he pick me up and run and I almost wee but he make it. He say I crazy.”

You just stare at your brother. “You are crazy.”

He shrugs, unbothered, and shoves another piece of kimbap in his mouth.

You sigh deeply, adjusting your script, but then Minsu gasps and jumps off your lap, hands still full of lunch.

“Hey! Where are you going, you gremlin?!”

Minsu doesn't answer, his little legs pumping fast. He’s abandoned his lunchbox and he's running with full toddler energy like the goddamn wind, but his target is clear. A group of five figures has just stepped onto the quad from the path behind the art building, all holding drinks in takeaway cups. Hyunjin, Minho, Jisung, Chan, and Felix. They’re laughing at something Jisung’s saying, shoulders bumped together casually.

Hyunjin is wearing an oversized plaid shirt, mostly unbuttoned, revealing a teasing sliver of collarbone and toned chest. His ripped jeans hang loose on his hips, and his sneakers are pristine and blindingly white. A black cap shades his face, paired with chunky sunglasses that make him look like he just wandered off a fashion shoot by accident.

Minsu’s squeal cuts through the air like a firework.

“MIMO! FEFI! JISU! CHANNIE! HYUNI!”

All five of them pause, turning in unison. Minho blinks. “Is that-”

“IT’S MY BOY!” Jisung yells.

Minsu launches himself at them, still chewing, arms flailing as he throws himself into Jisung’s legs first. Jisung barely catches him without dropping his drink.

“What’s up, little man?!” Jisung laughs, spinning him around.

Minsu squeals and flails in joy, bouncing from Jisung to Felix, hugging his knees, then to Minho, who scoops him up with practised ease.

“I bring lunch!” Minsu announces, mouth still full. “Kimbap!”

Chan ruffles his hair, and Hyunjin watches, smiling widely under his sunglasses. He excuses himself with a pat on Felix’s shoulder and walks across the grass to where you’re still sitting, kimbap box abandoned beside you.

“Hey,” he says, sliding his sunglasses up.

“Hey,” 

Hyunjin squats and grabs a roll from Minsu’s lunchbox, popping it into his mouth. “Oh my god. This tastes so fucking good. Who made this?”

You raise your brow. “Me.”

He nods seriously, already reaching for another. “Marry me.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Feed me like this again and it’s over for me.”

Just then, Minsu turns and gasps. “MY LUNCH!”

Hyunjin freezes mid-bite, the kimbap halfway to his mouth. Minsu points at him like Caesar at Brutus, betrayed.

Minho gasps dramatically. “FOR SHAME! BOOOOOO!”

Minsu nods aggressively. “Bad Hyuni!”

You sigh. “Hyunjin will buy you pizza.”

Hyunjin sighs. “Yes. Lots of pizza.”

“With cheese?” Minsu asks, eyes big.

“Extra cheese,” Hyunjin says solemnly. “Cheese-stuffed crust.”

Minsu beams.

Chan leans in. “You should ask for ice cream too.”

Minsu gasps. “I like ice cream!”

Felix stage whispers, “And fizzy drinks.”

“Bubble drinks!” Minsu cries.

Hyunjin nods, utterly defeated. “Fucking fine. Bubble drinks too.”

Chan glances at you. “Y/N, you wanna come to the frat house? Hyunjin can order the food there. We can keep Minsu entertained, and you can work on your script.”

Minsu drops to his knees in the grass. “Please! Please! Please! Please!”

You sigh, but you’re already smiling. “Alright. Let me pack up.”

Minsu throws his arms in the air in celebration and runs screaming back toward the others.

You walk through the frat house front door alongside Hyunjin, but the chaos has already begun ahead of you. Minsu is practically flying down the hallway, gripping Chan’s and Jisung’s hands as tightly as his little fingers will allow. Every few steps, the two of them swing him up between them, Minsu’s delighted squeals echoing off the walls each time his feet leave the ground. 

“Higher!” Minsu yells, completely fearless.

“Jesus, kid,” Chan mutters, laughing. “You trying to touch the ceiling?”

“UP!” Minsu demands, wriggling. “I FLY!”

“Flight achieved,” Jisung says solemnly as they swing him again.

“Do you hear how smug he is?” you murmur to Hyunjin as you trail behind, arms crossed. “They’ve turned him into a monster.”

“He was already a monster,” Hyunjin points out, pushing open the door to the living room. “We’ve just enhanced his powers.”

Inside, Jeongin is slouched over one arm of the couch with a bowl of cereal that absolutely isn’t from today, Changbin is lying flat on the floor dramatically like he’s been murdered by laziness, and Seungmin has his head thrown back against the sofa, scrolling through his phone with a face that says he's already emotionally checked out of the day.

The second Minsu enters, everything explodes into motion.

“JJ!” Minsu yells, darting over to Jeongin.

Jeongin lifts one arm lazily in a wave. “Sup, little menace.”

“BinBin!” Minsu screams, launching himself at Changbin’s side.

Changbin groans like he’s being tackled by a small rhino. 

“Minnie!” Minsu grins, flopping down onto Seungmin’s legs.

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” Jeongin replies, still eating.

“That’s the problem.”

You and Hyunjin plop down onto the couch together, shoulder to shoulder. You reach for your tote bag to grab your script. Hyunjin’s already grabbed his from the coffee table, flipping to the Oom Pah Pah scene.

“Okay,” you say. “You know I hate the way I deliver this line, right?”

He grins. “I’ve heard you say it thirty different ways, and you hate all of them.”

“That’s because I sound like a drunk pigeon,”

“I don’t know,” he says, tapping the top of the page thoughtfully. “I think it’s more of a cockney flamingo.”

You laugh, poking the side of his ribs. “Fuck you.”

The two of you fall into that familiar rhythm line by line, flipping through the pages, swapping ideas, mocking each other’s dramatic voice choices, debating the emotional arc of a pub song, and snorting every time Hyunjin does his terrible imitation of your falsetto. The rest of the room fades into background noise, even though the frat is anything but quiet.

Minsu is content and thriving in the centre of it all. Chan has poured him some pineapple juice in a plastic cup and is now crouched in front of him like a very patient babysitter-slash-best-friend, nodding along as Minsu monologues about Optimus Prime. Jeongin is showing him how to scroll through photos on a tablet, and Changbin is helping him stack tiny blocks into a tower that will definitely collapse in ten seconds.

Every time Minsu knocks over a tower, he howls in laughter like he’s just heard the best joke of his life.

“Hey, buddy,” Minho says suddenly, crouching beside Minsu, “you're wiggling pretty hard. You need to wee-wee?”

Minsu freezes for a second. “No, Mimo.”

“You sure?” Jisung asks, narrowing his eyes like a detective.

Minsu squirms. “I need to wee-wee! Really bad!”

“Shit, shit, shit—” Minho grabs him like a football and bolts. “Emergency!”

“Go, go, go!” Chan yells like a field medic.

The rest of the room just dissolves into laughter as the sound of Minho’s feet thunders toward the downstairs bathroom. You and Hyunjin don’t even look up, still locked in a semi-serious argument about Nancy’s choreography.

From the hallway, Minsu’s voice echoes. “Mimo, Mimo, it coming out!”

“Jesus, sit down! Pants down first!” 

“I was having fun, Mimo! I didn’t wanna stop to wee!”

"You know what’s not fun? Peeing on the floor.”

“I no wee on socks this time! Look! All in toilet!”

“Good job, bud.” 

“Uh oh,” 

Minho groans. “What now?”

“I need poopy.”

You can all hear Minho’s defeated groan through the wall.

In the living room, everyone erupts into laughter again. Jeongin nearly spits his cereal, Changbin actually rolls onto his stomach, wheezing, and Seungmin just mutters, “He’s a biological weapon.”

But you and Hyunjin? You’re still in your little bubble, pointing at lines, half arguing over whether Nancy should spin or stomp at the bridge.

Then comes the sound of dry heaving.

“I stinky butt!” 

Minho retches again. “Oh my god, Minsu. What the fuck did you eat?!”

“Rice and juice!” Minsu giggles.

“I think your kid’s trying to kill Minho,” Felix says from the floor.

“He’ll survive,” you mutter, scribbling a note in the margin.

A few minutes pass. You're in the middle of debating whether a spin would be too dramatic or just dramatic enough when Minsu’s voice returns.

“Mimo, you wipe my poopy bum bum now.”

There’s a pause.

“Alright, little man,” Minho groans.

“Wipe proper, Mimo! Or itchy!”

“Yes, boss man.”

“Hurry! I wanna play!”

“Can’t wipe faster than I’m already wiping!”

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. Minho emerges, peg on his nose, holding Minsu’s hand like he’s walking him away from a war crime. Minsu, meanwhile, is beaming.

“Hyuni!” Minsu yells, running into the living room. “Pizza!”

Minho removes the peg and gasps dramatically like he’s been underwater for an hour. “Oh, sweet fuck, fresh air.”

Hyunjin finally looks up from the script and stretches. “Alright, alright, I’ll order.”

He grabs his phone and walks toward Minsu.

“Alright, boss,” he says, crouching to eye level. “Give me your order.”

“Cheese!” Minsu says instantly.

“Obviously.”

“Cheese crust!”

“Got it.”

“Bubble drinks!”

“Fizzy drinks,” Felix corrects from the side.

“Fizzy drinks!” Minsu yells.

“And-” Chan leans down and whispers, “Ice cream.”

“ICE CREAM!” Minsu repeats, raising his hands like it’s the gospel.

Hyunjin mock-salutes. “Understood. Sugar overload incoming.”

He places the order. Everyone relaxes, sprawling out on the couches and beanbags. You scoot over slightly to make room for Minsu when he clambers into your lap with a little grunt.

Pizza arrives fast. You’ve barely finished rewriting Nancy’s third verse when the doorbell rings, and Chan nearly dislocates his shoulder racing to the door. Boxes are opened, sauces are spilt, and the TV is switched on to the animated Transformers series like a religious ceremony.

Minsu sits proudly in your lap, tiny hands full of pizza. He immediately starts sucking the cheese out of the stuffed crust with disgusting enthusiasm, dipping the rest of the slice into garlic sauce with such intensity you'd think he was painting the Mona Lisa.

Jisung watches for a while, then leans over. “So, how much of raising a kid is winging it?”

You take a long sip of cola. “All of it. You think I knew how to potty train an eighteen-month-old? Did I fuck. I made that shit up. Shit hit the walls. Literally.”

Minsu giggles. “Poopy walls!”

Minho nearly chokes on his soda. “Like actual shit on the walls?” 

“Like, piece de reshitstance. Little finger smears, everywhere.”

Felix’s face twists. “You poor thing.”

“I was sobbing,” you say. “Like full ugly cry. And then Minsu sees me crying, and starts wailing because I’m wailing, and the two of us are just in the bathroom surrounded by shit and pain.”

Changbin stares. “How did that even happen?”

“Someone wanted potty independence,” you say, staring directly at Minsu.

Minsu grins proudly.

“So,” you continue, “I let him. He toddles out of the bathroom, all smug, and there’s shit from the base of his back up to his fucking shoulder blades. I go into the bathroom thinking, okay, I’ll wipe him down. What I find is-”

“Don’t say it,” Seungmin warns.

“Horror,” you say. “Literal horror.”

Hyunjin whistles. “Jesus.”

Minsu giggles. “I did it! I made poopy paint!”

Everyone laughs again. You bury your face in one hand while Hyunjin gently pats your back like a trauma counsellor.

And honestly? For a chaotic night with a toddler and a house full of barely functioning college boys, this isn’t half bad.

The theatre is buzzing softly with scattered movement, but the seats are empty, except for the front row, where seven college boys are squeezed together. Minsu is planted firmly in Jisung’s lap, his little green dungarees slightly wrinkled, sneakers lighting up every time he kicks his feet. 

“I sit here,” he tells Jisung, beaming. “You hold me.”

“Forever and always, boss,” Jisung replies with a grin, adjusting Minsu’s weight so the kid can bounce a little as he watches the stage.

Originally, the plan was to leave Minsu at the frat house. Chan had promised snacks, Minho promised fun wee-wee times with songs, and Felix had bribed the toddler with bubble drinks and ice cream. But none of it worked. Minsu had clung to your leg like a koala, eyes filling with fat tears every time you took a step toward the door. So now, the entire frat is at the theatre, serving as Minsu’s personal fan club-slash-childcare team.

Chan’s got the Paw Patrol movie queued up on Jisung’s laptop for the death scene, and Seungmin is already arguing with Felix about who’s going to hold the snacks. Minho, as expected, has stationed himself two seats away like he’s waiting for another possible emergency toilet dash.

You, meanwhile, are backstage. Lacing up your heeled Victorian boots, checking the tightness of your crimson bodice in the mirror, fingers flitting over your neckline to adjust the gingham trim at the cuffs. Your curls are pinned up in a perfectly dishevelled style. The dress is a deep red, and the striped underskirt adds just enough movement when you spin. You feel like Nancy. You feel alive. Also slightly itchy, but you’re pretending that part isn’t real.

“Hey,” Hyunjin calls from the other side of the dressing curtain, his voice muffled. “You alive in there or did the corset claim a victim?”

You step out and there he is: Bill Sikes in the flesh. The top hat is crooked, his coat is shredded at the hems, the maroon scarf makes his neck look longer. He’s got those fucking gloves on and every step he takes is heavy, deliberate, like a man used to making others flinch. His shirt’s tucked haphazardly into those loose trousers, the sash frayed like hell, and he still somehow looks good. It's fucked.

“You look like you’ve mugged three people and robbed a bread shop.”

He grins. “You look like you murdered your last five husbands and buried them in the gin barrels.”

The lights dim, and the show begins.

Minsu’s eyes widen the second the opening scene starts. The stark workhouse setting, the echo of metal bowls, the cry of a little boy asking for more. Minsu leans toward Chan, whispering, “Why he in trouble? He just hungry.”

Chan sighs. “Yeah, kiddo. The people there are kinda mean.”

Minsu frowns. “That’s poopy.”

Felix nods seriously. “Very poopy indeed.”

Scene by scene, the story unfolds. Oliver walks to London, “Why he walking so far?” Minsu asks, voice squeaky, and he meets Dodger. The guys take turns whispering answers, trying not to disturb the rehearsal while still keeping the toddler entertained.

Then comes Hyunjin’s first scene. The crowd onstage parts for Bill’s entrance, dark and looming. He stalks across the stage like he owns it, delivering the goods to Beomgyu’s Fagin. The room chills. The frat boys boo half-heartedly.

“Meanie,” Minsu says, but then he spots you entering the tavern set, walking straight toward Hyunjin.

Minsu shrieks, “SISSY POO!”

Hyunjin visibly flinches onstage as you try not to laugh mid-entrance.

You saunter up to the makeshift bar, pour him a tin cup of gin, slap it down, and launch into It’s A Fine Life. The lights are warm, and the tavern ensemble joins in, the energy growing with each bar of music. 

You bounce across the floor in your boots, tossing flirtatious smirks toward Hyunjin, who leans back in his seat and watches you like a predator. You twirl, flash petticoat, and Minsu is ecstatic. He claps off-beat, legs kicking wildly in Jisung’s lap.

“THAT’S MY SISSY!” 

More scenes pass. Then: the apartment scene.

The set is dim. You’re on stage, humming as you fuss over a pan of imaginary eggs. You move like a woman used to being quiet in her own home, hoping not to wake a storm. Then, Hyunjin emerges from under the blankets, voice thick with sleep.

“Nancy, I’m tryin’ to sleep,” he growls. “Go to Fagin’s. Get the cash.”

From the audience, Minsu gasps dramatically. “WHY HE RUDE?! SISSY POO MAKE GOOD FOOD!”

Minho leans over. “Bill’s a meanie, bud.”

“BOO!” Minsu says, full volume.

You keep playing, voice trembling with just the right touch of desperate hope. “You do love me, don’t ya?”

Hyunjin sits up, dragging the sheets, his tone flippant. “’Course I do. I live with you, don’t I?”

“That’s meanie love,” Minsu declares. “Not nice, love.”

Felix covers his face to keep from laughing, whispering, “Nancy should listen to you, kiddo.”

You don’t look at the audience, but a tiny smile curls at your mouth before it disappears behind Nancy’s mask.

A scene later, you’re with Jiwoo’s Bet, waiting at the hideout to grab cash for Bill. The lights glow golden as you’re joined by the kid playing Oliver and the boys playing Fagin’s crew. You start singing “I’d Do Anything.” You twirl Oliver, sing to Dodger, and ruffle one of the pickpocket kids’ hair.

In the audience, Minsu goes still. “MIMO,” he whispers urgently. “That’s my sissy poo. Why she dance with stinky boys?”

Minho clears his throat. “They’re acting, bud. It’s pretend. It’s her job.”

Minsu squints suspiciously. “But they stinky sausages.”

“Very stinky,” Minho agrees, deadpan.

Minsu leans back dramatically, crossing his arms. “I bet Y/N thinks they stinky sausages too.”

“She definitely does,” Minho assures him.

Satisfied, Minsu goes back to bouncing.

Minsu is practically vibrating in Jisung’s lap, cheeks flushed with excitement as he watches you step into the spotlight, the music swelling beneath your feet. The theatre goes quiet as you begin to sing As Long As He Needs Me, your voice soft at first, trembling with the weight of Nancy’s heartbreak. 

Minsu’s little hands grip Jisung’s shirt tightly. “Why sissy sad?” he asks in a whisper.

Jisung clears his throat, keeping his voice low. “Because her boyfriend’s a dick, little man. She still loves him, but he’s a real fuckin’ asshole.”

“Ass-hole,” Minsu repeats carefully, nodding with the gravitas of a toddler who has just discovered the world is unfair.

Jisung mouths ‘fuck’ to himself and just strokes Minsu’s back, eyes still on you.

You don’t even notice them. You let Nancy’s pain pour out of you, tears catching in your lashes as you sing about loyalty, love, and devastation. Hyunjin stands in the shadows just off-stage, face unreadable as he watches. You sing like you’re begging, not performing. And by the end, when your voice cracks just slightly on the final “as long as he needs me,” there’s a deep, collective exhale from the guys in the front row.

Minsu claps with all his might. “SISSY POO IS BEST!”

Seungmin quickly wipes at his eye. “Dust. Shut up.”

From there, the play surges forward. Oliver is kidnapped in the marketplace, ripped from Mr. Brownlow’s loving care and dragged back to the criminal underworld by Bill Sikes. The cast moves through the scenes with practised urgency, transitions flowing smoothly. The tension builds, and you reappear backstage, breathless as Nancy.

You plot with Brownlow, hiding in shadows, voice hushed and urgent. You’re going to sneak Oliver out. You’re going to save him.

Minsu is now curled between Jisung and Chan, a stuffed tiger clutched to his chest, eyes wide as he watches you prepare for the final stages of your doomed plan.

And then, it happens. The lights brighten. Music crashes in. Oom Pah Pah begins.

The energy in the room shifts on a dime. You twirl into the tavern set like you own the world, skirts flying as the ensemble joins in. You slap the countertop, pour fake gin, and pull Jiwoo into the crowd as you begin to sing. It’s brash and joyful, and the contrast from your last solo makes it hit ten times harder.

Minsu sits up straighter. “SISSY SINGIN’ AGAIN!”

“Yeah, buddy,” Chan says, grinning. “This one’s got dancing.”

“LOOK!” Minsu points with excitement as you hop up onto the fake bar and belt out the chorus. “LOOK! SHE SPIN!”

He’s completely enraptured, little fists waving in the air, eyes shining like he’s watching the greatest show in the world. Which, in fairness, he is. You’re electric, laughing with abandon as you lead the tavern in distraction, all the while scanning the crowd for Oliver, keeping one eye on the back door for escape.

The guys watch too, even if they’re starting to squirm. They know what comes next.

And sure enough, the music fades. The lights shift cold and blue.

Chan and Jisung act immediately. Jisung pulls the laptop from the bag like it’s a defibrillator and sets it on his lap. Chan puts the kid-friendly headphones over Minsu’s ears as Jisung whispers, “Paw Patrol movie, buddy. Brand new. You ready?”

Minsu’s eyes widen. “New one?!”

“Brand new,” Jisung confirms.

Within seconds, Minsu is fully hypnotised by the flashing colours of the Paw Patrol movie, headphones firmly in place. Jisung places one hand on the back of Minsu’s head, another across his forehead like a protective visor, making sure Minsu won’t glance up even for a second.

On stage, Oliver is walking with you to London Bridge. You crouch next to him, whispering lines full of desperation and quiet hope. Just as the embrace ends, Hyunjin storms in from the opposite wing.

He grabs Oliver roughly, shoving him aside.

“Let him go, Bill,” you say.

You shove him back.

The fight escalates. He grips your arm, yanks you backwards, and the pair of you disappear behind the faux stone staircase. The frat guys see only your feet, one boot kicking, the other twitching. The sound cues start: dull, gut-wrenching thuds. Your cries. Bone-hitting-flesh sound effects from the speakers. The guys in the front row all shrink in their seats.

“Fuck, this is worse than the movie,” Changbin mumbles, hands covering his face.

Minho is wide-eyed. “I didn’t think they’d actually do the sound effects. That’s so fucking realistic.”

Jeongin peeks through his fingers. “Why do her feet move like that?”

Seungmin groans. “Because she’s dying slowly, that’s the fucking point.”

Felix mutters something in horror as another blow sounds, and you let out a groan that echoes through the theatre.

Still, Minsu is perfectly content in Jisung’s lap, laughing softly at something Marshall is doing onscreen. He has no idea what’s happening on the stage ten feet away. Jisung holds him steady, keeping his vision locked downward.

Then the scene ends. The lights dim.

Hyunjin stumbles back onstage, running. A mob of cast members gives chase. There’s shouting, chaos. Bill Sikes climbs the scaffolding, slips. The rope catches him around the middle. A loud BANG goes off as the gunshot hits him. He dangles, limp, caught in midair.

“God that was fucking bleak,” Seungmin says, still partially hiding.

Chan looks over. “Minsu good?”

Jisung nods. “Totally. Think he thinks the pups are in danger or some shit.”

Minho mutters, “Wish we were watching Paw Patrol.”

The rest of the show picks up. Oliver is reunited with Brownlow. Fagin slinks away with Dodger, planning their next thefts. The message is clear: bad people stay bad, but maybe the good can still find peace.

And then the music strikes up again. Oom Pah Pah plays one more time.

The lights explode with colour. The full cast bursts onto the stage, singing and dancing with reckless joy. You are front and centre, spinning with your skirts flowing, grabbing hands and laughing with genuine glee. The show is over. It’s celebration time.

Minsu looks up, eyes wide. His mouth drops open in pure joy.

“OOOOOOH!”

Hyunjin dances up to you and grabs your hand. The pair of you spin in unison before he dips you low, one arm firm around your waist. You’re laughing as you belt the final line, and the cast behind you harmonises the last oom pah pah! with a triumphant cheer.

Minsu loses his shit.

“HYUNI AND SISSY POO!” he screams. “THEY DANCE! THEY DANCE!”

Chan starts laughing. “He’s gonna pass out.”

“They look like the final scene of a rom-com,” Jisung says through a grin.

“MIMO!”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Are they gonna kissy?”

Minho snorts. “I don’t know, little dude.”

“They should.”

“Maybe later. You should tell your sissy poo that.”

Minsu nods seriously. “I will.”

Minho chuckles. “Wait till she’s brushing your teeth tonight, okay?”

Minsu holds up his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Minho links pinkies with him and whispers, “You’re a menace.”

Minsu beams. “I a little menace.”

The bathroom is warm and quiet, the soft hum of the fan buzzing lazily in the background. You’re sitting on the tiled floor in your red plaid pyjama shorts and camisole, cross-legged with Minsu curled in your lap. He’s in his favourite Bumblebee pyjamas, the little hood with antennae flopping every time he shifts. You’re gently brushing his teeth, one hand steadying his squirming body and the other keeping the brush moving.

“Spit,” you say, holding out the pink plastic cup. Minsu obliges with an overly dramatic pppthhhhhh sound, completely missing the sink and hitting your thigh.

You groan, wiping it with a towel and shaking your head. “You absolute feral gremlin.”

He just grins, wide and proud, toothpaste on his chin.

“Fank you, no more toofies,” he declares and flops back against your chest like he’s finished a great battle.

You’re brushing his curls away from his forehead when his little hand pats your arm. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thoughtful.

“Yeah?”

“Are you and Hyuni gonna kissy?”

“Wait. What?”

Minsu tilts his head and repeats. “You and Hyuni. Gonna kissy?”

You stare at your three-year-old brother like he’s just recited Shakespeare in Latin.

“Excuse me?”

“I ask Mimo,” he explains, utterly unbothered. “But Mimo no know. Mimo say ask you.”

Of course he did. You can already picture Minho’s smug face. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying not to laugh or die.

Minsu makes a dramatic kissy noise. “Like this,” he says. “Mwah. Mwah.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re three. Why are you asking about kissing?”

Minsu shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You pretty. Hyuni pretty. Kissy, no?”

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throttle Minho. Instead, you just sigh and wrap your arms tighter around Minsu, brushing back a curl that's fallen into his eye. “Oh, kiddo. If only life was that simple.”

He frowns. “But do you like Hyuni?”

You hesitate. There’s no point lying, not to him. “Yeah. I like Hyunjin. He’s really nice, isn’t he?”

Minsu nods solemnly. “And pretty too.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s very pretty.”

“He got nice hairs.”

“He does have nice hair.”

“And big shoes.”

“Yep. That too.”

Minsu sits up a little, serious now, tiny hands pressed to your cheeks. “If you like Hyuni and he pretty and you pretty, then you do kissy!”

You squint at him. “Is this what happens in your three-year-old brain?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Well,” you say, lifting him a little to wipe his face, “maybe you should let grown-ups figure out their own weird grown-up shit.”

Minsu scowls. “You not gonna kissy ‘cause you a scaredy chicken.”

You stare at him, betrayed. “Excuse me?”

“You hear me!” Minsu flaps his little arms. “Bawk bawk! Chicken!”

“I am not-” You can’t even finish because now he’s pecking at your shoulder with his lips like a chicken, full-on clucking into your collarbone.

“You chicken!” he crows between pecks. “Bawk bawk!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you say through wheezing laughter, scooping him up. “Time for bed before I sell you to the circus.”

“You too scaredy to kissy,” he mumbles smugly, letting his head rest on your shoulder as you carry him to bed.

You settle him into his little bed. His nightlight glows softly, casting little robot silhouettes across the wall. You sit beside him, running your fingers through his curls as he watches you sleepily. You hum, low and quiet, the same lullaby you've always used when you can’t think of anything else. 

You smile gently and trace the tip of your pinky down the bridge of his nose. It’s something you figured out by accident when he was two and sick and wouldn’t sleep. For some reason, that soft, repetitive motion calms him instantly. And it still does. Within seconds, his breathing deepens, mouth slightly open, a soft snore building behind his tiny nostrils.

“Night, little menace,” 

It’s not even 8:30 in the morning when Hyunjin, groggy and shirtless in a pair of grey sweatpants, opens the door of the frat house and finds you looking like you've lived through a natural disaster. Your hair is scraped into a messy bun that’s leaning hard to the left, your halter crop top twisted at the side like you lost a fight with a toddler, and your light blue high-waisted pants are crumpled around your sneakers like you've sprinted in them.

Then there's Minsu, practically vibrating beside you in his bright red t-shirt and yellow shorts and a little cap perched crookedly on his head. He looks like a human Winnie the Pooh who’s been fed espresso.

You raise one exhausted hand. “Please. Reprieve. Coffee. Need. Tired. Cried before nine. I’m too pretty for this much suffering.”

Hyunjin snorts, stepping aside without a word and gesturing you in like you’re being smuggled out of a war zone. “What happened?”

“Your favourite tiny terrorist woke up at six,” you groan, dragging yourself across the living room like you’re wading through quicksand. “Threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t let him have ice cream for breakfast. Then demanded to see his Mimo and screamed until I almost lost my hearing. I cried. Like, actual tears.”

Minsu doesn’t even look back as he gallops into the living room, eyes already scanning for Minho. The second he spots him curled up on the couch, he climbs straight into Minho’s lap like a cat with a vendetta.

“Hi Mimo!”

Minho, still blinking sleep from his eyes, instinctively wraps an arm around Minsu. “Hi little dude,” he says, his voice still raspy.

You collapse face-first into the loveseat with a groan that sounds like you’ve been exorcised. Your voice is muffled by the cushions. “End me. I’m done. I surrender. I give up. The child wins. I’m out.”

Minho leans down to Minsu and whispers, “What did you do to your sister?”

Minsu leans in close and whispers back, “I needed see Hyuni for kissy plan. So I made Y/N tired.”

Minho nods slowly like this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Nicely done, dude.” They fist bump in silent conspiracy.

Meanwhile, Jisung appears from the kitchen like a guardian angel holding out a canned caramel latte. “You need this more than I ever will,” he says, placing it in your limp hand.

You lift your head slightly to peek at him, eyes half-lidded. “God bless your gay soul.”

Minsu hears it. His head perks up immediately like a meerkat

Jisung glances over his shoulder. “Chan! She’s required full gay healing powers. That’s like, crying since sunrise levels of damage.”

Chan appears a moment later, tousled hair and bleary eyes, clutching a cupcake box like it’s an offering to a deity. “You cried already?” 

“I cried walking up Greek Row,” you mutter as Jisung pats your hair. “I cried at 6:12. Then at 7:00. He pissed behind the couch at 7:30 and that was it. I decided to come here. I couldn’t survive another fucking second.”

“Oh, honey,” Chan says with pity, popping open the box of cupcakes. “These are from that insane bakery Jisung and I gatekeep. We never share these. That’s how dire this is.”

Jisung nods solemnly.

Chan peels one of the cupcakes and practically feeds it to you, pushing the soft sponge into your mouth.

“There, there,” Jisung croons, stroking your forehead. “So brave. So strong. For real, I would’ve just abandoned him at a firestation.”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a broken “fuck.”

Across the room, Minsu is curled up happily in Minho’s lap, chewing on the edge of his cap and looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Then he turns up to Minho. “Mimo?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“What’s gay?”

Minho freezes like someone just put a gun to his head. “Uh-”

You wave your hand in the air without lifting your face from Jisung’s lap. “Have fun explaining that one. He screamed for his Mimo all morning. I’m clocked out, bitch. This is your circus now. Minsu is your monkey.”

Jisung cackles. Chan starts peeling another cupcake.

Minsu blinks up at Minho with wide, innocent eyes. “You tell me?”

Minho clears his throat, looking like he’s considering just running out the door. “Right, okay, uh- So- gay means when a man bear likes another man bear.”

Minsu tilts his head. “Man bear?”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “Imagine two bears. But they’re both guys. They live in a cave. A gay cave.”

Chan and Jisung start snickering.

“They snuggle?” Minsu asks.

“Yeah, they snuggle.”

“Like sleepy snuggles or naked snuggles?”

Jisung chokes on his laughter, and Chan grabs a pillow to cover his face.

Minho powers through. “Mostly sleepy snuggles. But sometimes they also bake cupcakes and watch cartoons together.”

Minsu considers this. “So… like Jisu and Channie?”

Minho sighs in relief. “Exactly. That’s exactly it.”

Minsu’s face lights up. “So they’re man bear gay cave boys!”

Chan groans. “Please don’t let that be my new title.”

Minsu taps his chin. “I love Mimo and Fefi and Jisu and Channie and Hyuni and BinBin and Minnie and JJ. So I gay?”

Minho runs both hands down his face. “No, bud. You love us ‘cause we’re your friends.”

“But I love a lot.”

“You’re a very loving kid.”

“So I half gay?”

Jisung wheezes. “Oh my god.”

Minho sighs. “No. There’s no math involved. It’s just about who you wanna snuggle forever.”

Minsu’s eyes go wide. “Forever?”

“Yeah.”

“Do man bears in gay cave get tired of cupcakes?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then what?”

“Then they order pizza.”

Minsu gasps. “With cheese?”

“Yes,” Chan says solemnly. “Always cheese.”

Minsu nods with all the gravity of a small pope. “I like gay. Man bears sound nice.”

You finally lift your head from Jisung’s lap, grinning weakly. “That’s it. He’s gone. He’s joining the man bear cave.”

Minho drops his head onto the back of the couch with a groan as Minsu continues his questioning.

“Do man bears watch Paw Patrol?”

“If they want to,” Minho mumbles.

“What if man bear wanna be Skye?”

“Then he can be Skye.”

“What if Skye is girl?”

“Man bears can like girl pups. It’s about feelings.”

“What if man bear wanna wear pink?”

“Then he wears pink, Minsu.”

“Even glitter pink?”

“Yes. Even glitter pink.”

Minsu is quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against his knee. Then he says, “Can Mimo be man bear too?”

Minho looks like he’s seconds from bursting into flames. “Sure, bud. I’ll be whatever bear you need me to be.”

Minsu lights up like a lightbulb. “I be baby bear. You be big bear.”

“Deal,” 

Jisung claps his hands together. “You handled that with more grace than any straight man I’ve ever seen.”

Minho groans. “I am never having kids. Ever.”

Hyunjin, curled up in the beanbag, has been giggling the entire time, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was the most deranged conversation I’ve ever witnessed.”

You lift the caramel latte in a slow, tired toast. “Here’s to the man bear gay cave.”

“Cheers,” everyone mutters, even as Minsu starts chanting it like a war cry.

“Man bear gay cave! Man bear gay cave! With cupcakes and cheese!”

“Please,” Minho begs the universe, “knock me out.”

Minho's salvation comes in the form of Hyunjin standing up to go to the kitchen. Without even a beat of hesitation, Minho seizes the moment, leans close to Minsu’s ear, and whispers, “Kissy.”

Minsu’s mouth parts in slow-motion understanding like he’s just recalled an ancient prophecy. His big eyes flick to Hyunjin’s back as he rounds the corner toward the kitchen, and without a word, Minsu slips down from Minho’s lap like a ninja sliding off a rooftop. He tiptoes after Hyunjin, sneakers lighting up every few steps in bright red flashes, giving him away entirely, but his face is determined.

You, meanwhile, are unaware of the chaos brewing in the next room because you’re currently buried under Jisung’s throw blanket like a corpse. Jisung is feeding you banana slices, and Chan is massaging your temples like you’re a stressed-out housewife who’s just returned from the battlefield.

“I don’t wanna move for twelve years,” you mumble, mouth full. “If a meteor hits, I’ll just die. That’s okay. At least I’ll be lying down.”

“We won’t let the meteor get you, angel,” Jisung says as he adjusts the blanket around your shoulders. “We’ll kiss it to death.”

In the kitchen, Hyunjin is halfway through pouring cereal when Minsu suddenly appears beside him, tugging on his sleeve. “Hyuni!”

Hyunjin looks down, grinning. “Hey, little man. You hungry?”

Minsu shakes his head vigorously. “No! I wanna know why you no kissy my sister!”

Hyunjin nearly drops the cereal box. “I- what?!”

Minsu’s eyes sparkle with mischief and sincerity all at once. “She wanna kissy you! She tell me!”

Hyunjin stares, heart trying to escape his chest cavity. “Wait… what?”

“She likey you!” Minsu announces proudly. “Like how Jisu like Channie! She said so! She say you pretty and nice!”

Hyunjin sways slightly, leaning on the counter. For a second, he forgets how to breathe. He’s been pining after you since freshman year, since you shared that jazz elective. That crush didn’t just stick. It fucking settled into his bloodstream like oxygen.

“You want to kissy Y/N?” Minsu asks, eyebrows raised, toe tapping like he's waiting on a business deal to close.

Hyunjin nods, too stunned to speak.

“Go! Kissy kissy! Smoochie smoochie!” Minsu declares, pushing at Hyunjin’s knees like he’s trying to herd a large sheep toward destiny.

Hyunjin laughs and ruffles Minsu’s hair. “Okay, okay, jeez. No pressure, right?”

Minsu beams and sprints behind him like a bodyguard escorting a VIP back into the living room. As soon as Hyunjin walks in, you lift one sleepy eye to glance toward the noise and immediately spot Minsu grinning like a criminal behind Hyunjin’s legs.

You sit up slowly. “What the hell did you do, Minsu?”

Minsu claps his hands. “You two can kissy now! Hyuni know you wanna kissy him! He wanna kissy you! Say thank you!”

Your soul leaves your body for a moment. You turn your head toward Minho with deadly calm. “Minho. You can keep him forever.”

Minsu beams. “I help you! Say thank you!”

“No,” you reply.

Minsu stomps his foot. “Say thank you!”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Make me, gremlin.”

He gasps, betrayed.

Hyunjin, trying very hard not to laugh and betray his own amusement, clears his throat. “How about, instead of a kissy right now, a date? Maybe tomorrow?”

You slowly lower yourself back into Jisung’s lap and cover your face with your hands. “Let me die first. Then yeah, date sounds cool. Maybe in the afterlife.”

Minsu is undeterred. “Now kissy!”

“No!” you snap.

And that’s all it takes. The tiny stormcloud that is Minsu explodes into a full tantrum, flinging himself onto the floor like a possessed worm, shrieking about how you’re a “stinky meanie” and that you “no say thank you for kissy plan” and that he “worked hard like a big brain baby.”

“Oh god,” you groan, grabbing a pillow and smothering your face. “Let me suffocate in peace.”

Chan winces. “That’s a Category 5 tantrum.”

Jisung strokes your hair. “You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before the glass breaks.”

Minho, watching this unfold, slowly starts to back away. You lift your head just enough to narrow your eyes at him. “No way, bitch. He’s your problem today.”

Minho freezes. “Fuck.”

Then, in an act of desperation, Minho switches sides. He crouches beside Minsu and starts patting his back. “You’re right, bud. Your sister is so mean. She’s the worst. You worked so hard on that plan. I’m mad for you.”

Minsu’s cries lessen just slightly. “She not say thank you”

“She’s rude,” Minho nods solemnly, mouthing sorry at you while validating Minsu’s spiral. “Awful. Just so rude.”

“She mean to me and she look bad!”

Minho cringes but nods along. “Yeah, she looks awful.”

“Poopy bad.”

“Exactly. The worst.”

You glare at Minho as he keeps mouthing sorry while Minsu continues, “She look like poopy ratty lady!”

That does it. You flop back on the couch like you’ve been shot.

Jisung gasps dramatically. “How dare you? She’s beautiful!”

Chan immediately starts stroking your cheek. “You’re a goddess, baby.”

Hyunjin has turned to face the corner, shoulders shaking with laughter. You can practically hear him wheezing.

Minsu’s tantrum eases completely now, satisfied that his Mimo understands the full extent of the betrayal.

“I get you another drink!” he shouts, and before you can stop him, he’s dragging Minho to the kitchen, leaving you lying on the couch like roadkill.

You sigh, rolling your head toward Jisung and Chan. “You two beautiful gays. Listen to me.”

They both sit up straighter, eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Don’t adopt,” you whisper. “Don’t get a surrogate. Just be two man-bears in your cave. Even if all your family members die and there’s no one else left, don’t raise a baby bear. Do not subject yourselves to being called ratty poopy gays after years of feeding and diaper changing. Don’t do it.”

They nod solemnly like they’re receiving sacred instruction.

“Ratty poopy gays,” Jisung repeats softly, horrified.

Chan locks pinkies with him. “Just us. Beautiful gay bears with unshattered self-esteem.”

Moments later, Minsu and Minho return. Minsu proudly hands you a canned latte like he’s just retrieved the holy grail. “Here! Your hair messy too. Fix it. Then you look less poopy!”

You accept the drink, stare at it, then look at the two gay bears beside you.

“No kids,” Chan says immediately.

“Never,” Jisung agrees.

Minsu is oblivious, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s fixed all your problems.

“I come on date with you and Hyuni!” he declares with delight.

You bolt upright. “Absolutely not. You will be having a sleepover with your Mimo.”

Minho’s face drains of all colour. “Wait, what?”

You don’t even blink. “You heard me.”

Minsu screams with glee, throws his arms around Minho’s legs, and starts babbling about movies and popcorn and sleeping on the floor.

Minho stares at you with pure betrayal.

You sip your canned latte. “Your circus. Your monkey.”

Minho groans, but when Minsu hugs him and calls him the “bestest Mimo in the world,” he melts. “Yeah, bud. Sleepover.”

Minsu throws his hands up in the air like he’s won a prize, and Minho scoops him up with a resigned sigh, hugging him close.

Hyunjin barely finishes unlocking the frat house door when it swings open to reveal you standing there, hair loosely curled, face framed by soft tendrils, minimal makeup glowing naturally under the morning light. 

You’re wearing a black tube top that hugs just right and a high-waisted olive green cargo-style skirt with oversized pockets and a belt slung casually at your waist. A pair of classic black high-top Converse completes the look, and you give Hyunjin a lazy little smile like you haven’t been racing around for the last forty-five minutes trying to get Minsu dressed, fed, and packed.

Hyunjin blinks once, taking in the sight before looking down at Minsu, who’s standing next to you, vibrating like a wind-up toy ready to pop. He’s wearing a blue and red Paw Patrol onesie with matching slipper boots that make soft shuffling noises as he bounces on his feet. His overnight bag hangs awkwardly from one shoulder, bulging with toys and snacks and what appears to be a roll of duct tape for some reason.

“Holy shit,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, still absorbing the double impact of adorable chaos and glowing beauty.

You squint up at him. “You better be reacting to the outfit and not the gremlin.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Both. Honestly, both are kind of melting my brain.”

Minsu bounces in place. “Hyuni! Sleepover!”

Hyunjin crouches down to Minsu’s height. “That’s right, buddy. They’ve got a whole setup inside. Pillow fort, snacks, cartoons, the whole nine yards.”

“YAY!” Minsu squeals and sprints past Hyunjin into the house, slipper boots sliding slightly against the floor as he skids into the living room. 

Inside, Minho, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin, Changbin, Chan, and Felix are waiting around a ridiculously elaborate pillow fort. It looks like an IKEA showroom exploded. There are fairy lights strung across blankets, a mountain of cushions, a popcorn machine in the corner, and Paw Patrol blasting from the flat screen.

Minsu launches himself toward the chaos like it owes him money. “Mimo! Minnie! JJ! BinBin! Jisu! Channie! Fefi! Sleepover!” He practically vibrates with joy as each guy greets him with high-fives and fist bumps, shouting greetings right back, matching his volume and enthusiasm with impressive accuracy.

You watch the scene unfold, arms folded across your chest, smiling in disbelief. “Okay, so where are we going?” you ask, turning toward Hyunjin.

Hyunjin, still recovering from watching Minsu crash into Jeongin with the force of a meteor, looks at you with a crooked grin. His outfit mirrors the sleek utility aesthetic, black cargo trousers paired with a black button-down shirt that’s worn mostly open, showing off a fitted white tank underneath. A thick black belt wraps around his waist, accentuating the clean lines of the ensemble. Chunky black boots complete the look, and his naturally spiked hair sticks out in all directions like he walked through a wind tunnel and decided to own it.

“Because your three-year-old brother is not your responsibility until tomorrow morning,” Hyunjin says, motioning toward the chaos inside, “I’ve decided we’re doing something involving alcohol.”

Your eyes widen. “Real alcohol?”

“Very real. And also... pottery.”

You gasp like you’ve just been handed the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Boozy Pottery Emporium. “You hear that?”

Hyunjin raises a brow. “Hear what?”

You tilt your head, feigning serious listening. “That’s my panties dropping.”

You don’t realise Minsu’s just around the corner, picking a toy out of his bag.

Hyunjin snorts so hard he nearly doubles over. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

And with that, you both slip out the door, leaving chaos, cartoons, and one very impressionable toddler behind.

As soon as the door shuts, Minsu glances up from his toy haul and blinks. “Why are Y/N’s panties dropping?”

Seven full-grown men freeze like deer in headlights.

Jisung, the first to recover, goes, “What the actual fuck.”

Minho makes a strangled sound. “Okay! Uh- who wants to play Paw Patrol?!”

Minsu ignores the distraction, eyes narrowed with the focus of a war general. “Why panties drop?”

Chan looks around the room, lips pressed into a hard line. “Alright. Damage control time. Fast. Go.”

“Panties drop when you sneeze really hard,” Jeongin tries.

“That’s hats,” Seungmin mutters.

Felix starts rifling through Minsu’s overnight bag. “Distraction! Distraction! Where the hell is the Rubble truck?!”

Minsu won’t let up. “Why she say panties drop for Hyuni?”

Changbin gestures wildly. “It’s- uh- it’s a phrase. Like- Like rain! It means love rain. It’s raining love. In panties form.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” Jisung cries.

“SHUT UP, I PANICKED!” 

Minsu is now laser-focused. “Is panties like hugs?”

Felix whimpers. “Someone answer this or I’m calling child services on myself.”

Chan takes over like he’s running a hostage negotiation. “Listen, Minsu, buddy. That’s a grown-up thing to say. Only grown-ups say it.”

“Why?” Minsu asks, head tilted like a confused puppy.

“Because if little kids say it,” Minho begins carefully, “the grown-up police come.”

Minsu gasps. “Police?”

“Anti-panty police,” Jeongin says grimly.

“They show up,” Jisung nods, “and they take away your toys.”

“Your cartoons,” Seungmin adds.

“Your Paw Patrol episodes,” Changbin finishes with a dramatic whisper.

Minsu looks like he’s just been told Santa Claus died. “My Paw Patrol?”

Chan nods solemnly. “Gone. Forever. No more Chase. No more Rubble. No more Ryder. Just... silence.”

Felix starts to look genuinely guilty. “Guys, we’re gonna give him a complex.”

“Worth it,” Minho hisses. “We can’t let him repeat that phrase in public. Y/N will cry in the street. She’ll give up on life. She’ll dissolve into dust.”

“Why panties drop?” Minsu tries again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to test the waters.

“You say that again and the anti-panty police are gonna eat your toys,” Jeongin says with the stone-cold confidence of someone who has worked retail during holiday season.

Just as Minsu’s face begins to crumple into genuine toddler heartbreak, Seungmin leaps into action, pulling something out of his backpack.

It’s a brand-new Chase plushie, tag still on.

He thrusts it into Minsu’s arms. “HERE. FOR YOU.”

The tantrum, which had been building like a pressure cooker, dissipates immediately. Minsu gasps, clutches the toy to his chest, and squeals with joy, eyes lighting up like Christmas morning.

“Chase! New Chase! Fefi got me new Chase!”

Felix glares at Seungmin. “You had that the whole time?”

Seungmin shrugs, grinning. “It was too funny. I wanted to see you all suffer.”

“YOU FUCKING GREMLIN,” Chan yells, throwing a pillow at him.

Minho drops his head to the floor dramatically. “I lost six years of my life to that conversation.”

Jisung flops back onto the couch. “I think my soul left my body.”

Jeongin looks at Seungmin with genuine awe. “You are both my hero and my villain.”

Minsu, completely oblivious to the emotional destruction left in his wake, climbs into the pillow fort, new plushie in one arm and an apple juice box in the other. “Let’s do sleepover! Yay!”

And with that, seven grown-ass men collapse into various forms of exhaustion around the living room as Minsu resumes singing the Paw Patrol theme song at full volume, utterly thrilled with life.

Hyunjin and you have only been gone twelve minutes.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.

The evening is warm, the sky still streaked in violet and gold, and the buzz of a Friday night crowd hums behind you. You follow Hyunjin down a quieter side street, away from the traffic and neon lights, to a tucked-away pottery studio glowing softly through frosted glass windows. 

"So you booked us a pottery class? You trying to Ghost me?"

Hyunjin smirks, already pulling open the door and gesturing dramatically for you to step inside. "Only if you promise not to drop your panties when I touch your hands."

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wore my good panties today. You’re not getting near them unless you pay the toll.”

Inside, the space is cozy but sleek, modern wood paneling lining the walls with clusters of ceramic pieces on display. The receptionist beams as Hyunjin checks you both in. He’s reserved the private room in the back, it's quiet, softly lit, and there’s a low table with a full pottery wheel, two stools, and two bottles of chilled soju already on ice.

“Oh, he’s serious,” you mutter, sinking into the stool while eyeing the instructor, a short, energetic woman who introduces herself as Nari and begins explaining the basics of clay handling, wheel speed, and structure. 

You're half-listening, half-watching Hyunjin, who already looks like some tortured artistic genius as he rolls up his sleeves and starts forming the clay into something shapely and even. It's not fair. He looks annoyingly good doing anything.

You, meanwhile, are pouring yourself a glass of soju and topping it off with a splash of wine from the open bottle nearby. “What is this? Bougie alcoholics anonymous for art majors?”

Hyunjin snorts. “Some of us are actually taking this seriously.”

“I’ve had a toddler screaming at me since before sunrise most days. I deserve alcohol, art, and attention.”

Nari chuckles as she finishes her brief tutorial, gives Hyunjin a subtle ‘good luck’ look, and leaves you two alone. You immediately spill a bit of your drink on the table, sigh, and slide your hand into the clay like you're digging through a bog.

“Wow,” Hyunjin says, deadpan. “Are you trying to murder the clay or seduce it?”

“Both,” you say proudly, massaging the sticky mess. “This is abstract trauma. It’s gonna be titled ‘My Three-Year-Old Pisses Behind The Couch At Seven A.M.’”

He laughs and shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile too hard as he leans over to inspect your creation, or lack thereof. “Okay, I can’t let this happen. I need to intervene. This is offensive.”

“Oh no,” you say dramatically. “You’re gonna get behind me and guide my hands, aren’t you?”

“I literally am,” he says, gently placing his hands over your sticky ones. “I’m saving the clay’s life.”

His chest is warm against your back, the smell of whatever woodsy cologne he put on tonight threading through your senses. You pause, feeling the steady way his hands wrap around yours and start guiding you through a smoother, more confident shaping motion.

You squint at the clay, wobbling under the pressure. “This is the most action I’ve had in years.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, seriously. I’ve got cobwebs where my G-spot is. You try gaining a half-brother at eighteen and suddenly becoming a full-time guardian. Boys do not line up for that shit. I’m like a single mom but without the hot divorcee backstory. There’s just me, a very small man with a bladder control problem, and a paediatrician on speed dial.”

Hyunjin laughs against your shoulder, his breath warm, his hands still gently guiding yours on the wheel. “You know you’re completely insane, right?”

“You chose to go on a date with me. So what does that say about you?”

“That I’ve had a crush on you since jazz class freshman year, and I’m incredibly patient.”

You freeze just slightly, blinking at the spinning wheel in front of you. “Jazz class? No fucking way.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now, still casual but sincere. “You were always the only one who could actually follow the rhythm. I looked like a confused ostrich next to you.”

You laugh again, but this time it’s a little warmer, a little more real. “I thought you were just really intense about plies.”

“I was really intense about watching you do plies,” he mutters, and then immediately ducks his head like maybe that was too far.

You glance sideways at him, eyebrow raised. “Well, now I’m going to have to schedule another pottery night just so I can recreate this moment and record your face.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“...Yeah,” 

You blink, but before you can say anything, your over-focused attempt at shaping the clay suddenly warps and collapses inward like a melted ice cream cone. Hyunjin groans dramatically.

“Oh, look, it’s your heart when I don’t text back,” you say, trying to salvage it.

“It’s the clay’s way of asking me to stop flirting with someone who handles ceramic like she’s squishing literal shit.”

You grin, leaning back against his chest again. “Still not the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Tell me the worst.”

“Had a guy ask me mid-dinner if I was still breastfeeding my kid. Minsu was one, and he knew I was the legal guardian. He thought I was just an extremely youthful-looking mom. I asked for the cheque while he asked if he could call me ‘mommy’ in bed.”

Hyunjin chokes on air. “What the fuck.”

You nod solemnly. “I have not recovered.”

He’s laughing now, shoulders shaking behind you as you both lean over the messy wheel, still barely salvaging the misshapen lump of clay. “Okay, in comparison, I’m feeling like an absolute dream right now.”

“You are a dream. A clay-covered, slightly-too-handsome dream with annoyingly perfect bone structure.”

“I will accept that compliment, even though you’re mostly complimenting my genetics.”

“I’m a single guardian,” you say with a flourish, throwing your arms up and nearly flinging clay. “Let me objectify you.”

You both laugh, and it hangs in the space between you, soft and genuine. The wine is starting to hit your system, your shoulders loosening, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re carrying the entire world on your back. Just maybe a small, slightly lumpy ceramic pot and the full attention of a boy who knows how to make you laugh even when your life is a chaotic whirlwind of juice boxes and tantrums.

You reach for your drink again, sloshing it slightly but still sipping happily. “So, what are we naming this disaster?” you ask, gesturing to the clay blob.

“‘Hope and Regret,’” Hyunjin says instantly. “Subtitle: ‘How She Seduced Me Over a Soju Bottle.’”

You snort into your cup. “Please. You were already seduced. You booked a private pottery session.”

He shrugs, feigning casual. “I have to admit, I was kinda banking on the sexy pottery moment.”

You grin. “And did it meet expectations?”

“Exceeding. Except for the clay. The clay is in mourning.”

You tilt your head, mock-pouting. “So you like me for my jokes and trauma, not my art skills.”

“And your stunning fashion sense,” he adds, eyeing your skirt and tube top. “Very no-nonsense hot girl energy.”

“High praise from a man dressed like a K-drama villain with a heart of gold.”

“I’ll take that.”

The music playing from the studio speakers swells into a slow, jazzy tune, and Hyunjin glances at you with a raised eyebrow. “We finished our pots. Wanna dance?”

You pause. “Here? Now?”

“There’s no one watching.”

You narrow your eyes, finish your wine in one long sip, then push back your stool. “Only if you lead.”

“Oh, I always lead.”

You roll your eyes but let him pull you into a clumsy sway in the middle of the pottery room, half-laughing as he spins you slowly in the dim light, your shoes scuffing against the wood. And for a second, just a second, it feels like the version of life you’d never thought you’d have again, carefree, young, selfish in the good way.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice soft now.

“For what?”

“For booking this. For letting me forget I’m raising a toddler for a few hours.”

Hyunjin’s smile turns gentler. “You’re more than just that.”

“I forget sometimes.”

“Well,” he says, spinning you one more time before pulling you close again. “I won’t let you.”

You don’t say anything back, but you rest your head against his shoulder. And for the first time in a long, long time, you let yourself just breathe.

When you and Hyunjin get back to your apartment, the hallway smells like someone down the hall just burned ramyeon, and your arms are loosely linked as you unlock the front door. The moment it swings open, the lived-in warmth of your home washes over you like a soft blanket, soft yellow light from the hallway lamp, toys shoved halfway under the couch, and the distinct trail of small shoes and half-shed clothes leading toward Minsu’s room. It’s quiet. Peaceful. You’re unused to it.

Hyunjin steps inside behind you, slipping off his boots as you toe off your sneakers with a dramatic groan. “Home sweet semi-chaotic home,” you mutter, gesturing broadly like a tour guide who’s lost her patience.

He follows you into the small living room, and immediately his gaze gets caught on the little museum of Minsu you’ve unintentionally curated. Marker-drawn masterpieces cover the fridge and spill onto the walls nearby, most of them done on cheap paper that’s curling at the corners. 

You know exactly which ones are from the ‘unsupervised’ era because they’re directly on the walls, one is just a blue scribble, another is a red monster with big triangle teeth and what looks like either tears or sweat drops flying off its head. 

Hyunjin grins at the chaos. “Okay, some of these look like cursed relics.”

“Oh, fully,” you say, flopping onto the couch for a second. “This one,” you point to a drawing taped eye-level to the wall. “Is called ‘Y/N said the F-word and then stubbed her toe.’”

He laughs as he walks toward the hallway and pauses by the picture frames along the wall. One after another, candid shots of you and Minsu smile back at him. There’s one of you at eighteen, holding a six-month-old Minsu with big eyes and a full head of curly hair, your face blotchy from crying but smiling through it anyway. Another from when he turned one, cake all over his face. Another from when he learned to walk, arms up like Frankenstein as he waddled across the living room. You’ve got your hands just out of frame, cheering. Hyunjin lingers on that one the longest.

“You’ve always done this alone?” he asks softly, turning to you.

You nod, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to your chest. “There wasn’t anyone else left, not really. It was me or the system. And I wasn’t about to let him grow up without someone who gives a shit.”

Hyunjin walks past the hallway and stops at the doorway leading to the kitchen. On the doorframe, there’s a long vertical chart drawn in permanent marker, height lines labelled in messy handwriting. Most are labelled ‘Minsu’ with various dates, almost month by month. But far above them, at the exact same height, are lines labelled ‘Y/N.’ 

“Why are you still measuring yourself?”

“Minsu demands it. He insists it’s only fair. I try to tell him adults don’t grow but he doesn’t give a shit.”

“That’s commitment,” he says, stepping back to admire the doorway like it’s a museum exhibit. “You really do build your whole world around him, huh?”

You shrug, not defensive, not apologetic. “He’s my family.”

Hyunjin nods thoughtfully, turning back to you. “You’re doing really well with him. Except for the pissing-on-the-wall thing. That needs work.”

You groan and throw the pillow at him. “You’re awful,” you say, laughing as you kick off your shoes. “You know what I want right now?”

“More sex?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically.

You snort. “No. Although, yes. But no. What I want is a night of uninterrupted sleep in my own bed, with a beautiful man next to me and no one screaming ‘Mimo’”

Hyunjin taps his chin like he’s considering. “You know what? That can be arranged. Maybe even a beautiful man who watches a movie with you and drinks wine like a classy, exhausted adult.”

You groan in delight, standing up and stretching as you walk toward the kitchen. You reach for the fridge, which has been baby-proofed with a lock you bought online at 2 a.m. one desperate night after Minsu opened it and ate a raw egg.

“I hate that I have to unlock the fridge like I’m sneaking into Fort Knox,” you mutter as you twist the child lock open and grab a bottle of chilled white wine.

“I can’t believe you child-locked alcohol,” Hyunjin says, trailing after you.

“You wanna explain to a three-year-old why he can’t drink the grown-up juice that smells like juice but makes you sleepy?” you say, uncorking the wine like a pro and pouring two glasses. “I didn’t think so.”

You hand him a glass and clink your own against it. “To questionable parenting and fine alcohol.”

“To mildly traumatised clay,” he replies, smirking.

You both head into your room, wine glasses in hand. Your room is cosy, a little messy, with a basket of tiny socks in the corner and a dresser with a makeup mirror rimmed in warm yellow fairy lights. You flop onto the bed with a long sigh, and Hyunjin sits next to you, toeing off his boots with a satisfied grunt.

You reach for the remote and turn on the TV mounted on the wall. A cheerful, high-pitched voice immediately explodes through the speakers. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you groan, fumbling for the remote. “I forgot to switch it-”

“No, no, wait,” Hyunjin says, hand on your wrist. “What if we reclaim it?”

You blink. “What?”

“You watched this as a kid, right?”

You shrug. “Yeah, kinda."

“Then let’s watch it now. But for us. Not for a three-year-old. We’ll drink wine and watch Mickey Mouse like the emotionally complicated adults we are.”

You grin, touched in a way that surprises you. “You’re my dream man.”

“I know.”

You snuggle back into the bed, shoulders brushing as the theme song starts up. You take a sip of your wine and laugh at how ridiculous it is, two twenty-somethings curled up with alcohol watching Mickey Mouse like it’s Oscar bait. But somehow, it feels exactly right.

He leans his head against yours halfway through the second episode, and you don’t move away. The wine is warming you from the inside out, and so is the feeling of someone sitting beside you, not because they have to, but because they want to. Because they like your jokes, your mess, your weird fridge art and sharp mouth and all the soft, tired parts of you.

It’s the kind of night you’ll remember when things get hard again. When Minsu won’t eat anything but ketchup packets, or when he screams in the middle of the night for someone you can’t be. You’ll remember this. You’ll remember that you are still young. Still allowed to want things. Still allowed to be loved.

And when Hyunjin bumps your shoulder gently and whispers, “This is kinda perfect,” you smile.

“Yeah, it really is.”

The morning sunlight is barely warm when you and Hyunjin show up at the frat house, each carrying an iced latte, sunglasses on, steps lazy with satisfaction and sleep. You’re in white linen trousers that swish with each movement, a black halter top hugging you just enough for comfort, and your hair is loosely tied up, still slightly damp from the shower. 

Hyunjin’s dressed in grey sweatpants, a white tank top that clings to him in that annoyingly perfect way, and fresh white sneakers. He’s somehow managing to look like he just walked off the set of a Calvin Klein ad, while you look like someone who’s finally had eight hours of sleep and a night without a toddler kicking you.

He sips his coffee and nudges your arm with his. “Ready to see the aftermath of the Great Sleepover?”

You groan dramatically. “If he’s drawn on anyone’s face with permanent marker, I’m just walking away.”

The door creaks open, and immediately, you're greeted by chaos. Actual, living chaos.

Minsu is sitting trouserless in Changbin’s lap, wearing nothing but his Optimus Prime t-shirt and a pair of slightly skewed Paw Patrol underwear, swinging his legs happily as Changbin feeds him spoonfuls of what looks like cereal with rainbow sprinkles on top. You blink.

“Why is he pantsless?” you ask, more to the universe than anyone in particular.

“Morning!” Changbin says with the haunted look of someone who has seen things. “He said pants were itchy and he didn’t want to wear them anymore. I gave up. I’m just a spoon delivery system now.”

Jisung is in the corner, curled up like a ball of post-trauma noodles, full-on sobbing while Chan kneels beside him, trying to coax him out of it like he’s talking down a hostage. His shirt is wrinkled, hair in wild tufts, and you’re not sure whether his sobs are from exhaustion or something worse.

“Jisung, honey, are you okay?” you ask, cautiously stepping closer.

He shakes his head without looking up.

Chan looks at you helplessly. “So, uh. Minsu forgot where the toilet was. And he didn’t wake any of us. He found a pan.”

You squint. “He pissed in a pan?”

Jisung wails louder, full-on face-in-knees despair.

Minsu, chipper as ever, looks up from his cereal and chirps, “Wee-wee and poopy pan!”

You drop your iced latte. “Oh no.”

Hyunjin is snickering behind you, not even pretending to be helpful.

“He wasn’t in the room when I woke up,” Jisung gasps between sobs. “I thought he’d been abducted by raccoons. I checked every room. Every single room. Then I went into the kitchen, and he was there. On the floor. Shitting in the pan. And he smiled at me. He smiled.”

“Oh, you poor gay,” you murmur, dropping beside him to pull him into your arms. He latches onto you like a drowning man clinging to a life raft.

“I have so much respect for you,” he whispers. “You do this every day. You’re a hero.”

“Thanks, baby,” you say, patting his head.

Chan sighs and scrubs his face. “We just… we threw the pan into the Sigma Chi garden. We didn’t know what to do.”

You start laughing so hard you nearly cry.

Minho is lying on the rug, head casually perched on Felix’s ass like it's the world’s firmest pillow, watching cat videos on his phone. Felix doesn’t even seem to care; he’s scrolling TikTok like it’s a normal Sunday morning. Jeongin and Seungmin are tangled up in a blanket cocoon on the other end of the couch, both mindlessly scrolling as if this is just any other post-apocalyptic morning.

“How was your date?” Jisung asks from your arms, voice muffled against your shirt. “Make me feel better with adult romance stories.”

You lift your chin proudly. “Amazing. There was wine and pottery. I almost had a spiritual awakening. Like, near-tantric orgasm levels. Then we had some adult bonding, and I had a real orgasm.”

“Ooh, that’s hot,” Jisung says, sniffling.

Then Minsu, completely unfazed, cheerily asks, “What’s orgasm?”

The room freezes.

Every single person goes silent. Then chaos. Felix stands up and bolts out the front door. Minho immediately fake snores and goes limp on the rug. Jisung crawls under the couch. Chan vanishes behind it. Seungmin dashes up the stairs like his life depends on it. Jeongin heads to the basement. It’s like a fucking fire drill.

You and Hyunjin flee to the kitchen, iced lattes in hand, crouching behind the island like two fugitives. Changbin is left alone in the living room, Minsu still cheerily perched in his lap.

“BinBin?” Minsu calls. “What’s orgasm?”

“Oh shit,” Hyunjin breathes, covering his mouth to muffle his laugh.

You lean against the cabinets, red-faced, shaking with giggles. You both listen as Changbin valiantly tries to distract the three-year-old with cereal trivia and wild improvisation.

Behind the kitchen island, Hyunjin nudges your shoulder. “Be my girlfriend?”

You blink, a little startled by the sudden shift, but your heart stutters pleasantly at the soft smile on his face. He’s still crouched, hiding like a child who’s broken a vase, but there’s something serious in his eyes. You beam. “Okay.”

He leans in and kisses you, just a warm, smiling kiss that tastes a little like coffee and a lot like relief and affection.

“Yay! Kissy!” comes a high-pitched squeal, and you both turn to see Minsu peeking around the corner.

You groan, tilting your head back against the cabinets. “You still sure about this ‘me being your girlfriend’ thing?”

Hyunjin laughs. “I think I’ve never been more sure.”

Minsu rushes over and clambers into Hyunjin’s lap like he’s a beanbag chair. He immediately tries to reach for your latte.

“Hey, little gremlin,” you warn. “That’s mine.”

“But it yummy,” he argues, trying to sip it through the straw while Hyunjin holds it out of reach.

“Tell you what,” Hyunjin says. “You tell me about your pan adventure, and I’ll share one sip.”

Minsu’s eyes go wide. “Okay! So, I woke up and needed wee-wee and no toilet! I go looking and looking and then ta da! Pan!”

He throws his arms out like a magician revealing a trick.

Hyunjin chokes on his sip of coffee. “You really just picked a pan.”

“It shiny pan!” Minsu insists. “And I sit down and go wee-wee. Then I go poopy. Then Jisu find me! I say ‘Hi Jisu!’ and he scream like monster! Then Channie throw pan over fence! So fun!”

You and Hyunjin exchange a glance, trying desperately not to burst into laughter. Minsu beams, utterly delighted by his retelling.

Hyunjin wraps one arm around your waist and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You lean into him, warm and content, resting your cheek against his shoulder as Minsu babbles on.

“Hyuni,” Minsu says seriously, eyes wide and hopeful, “you play with me lots now?”

“Yeah, little man,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “Lots.”

Minsu looks between the two of you, blinking slowly like he’s processing something big, then whispers, “Y/N, we keep Hyuni?”

You glance at Hyunjin, who looks back at you with a crooked smile that makes your chest ache a little. You whisper back, “Yeah, Min, I think so.”

Minsu grins like the sun.And in that messy kitchen, crouched behind the counter with an iced latte, a half-naked toddler, and a beautiful boy who looks at you like you hung the damn moon, it’s hard not to feel like, yeah, maybe it is a fine, fine life.

3/07 - 5PM GMT - 18+ Patreon Post for It's A Fine, Fine Life

1 Tier - MANIACS

- Access to unique works unavailable on tumblr

- Sneak Peeks Will Be Posted On Patreon to Members

- Requests Can Be Comissioned By Members

- Access to Smut not available on Tumblr

Hwang Hyunjin Taglist: @jchotch726

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24 @bussdownflockiana @wickedbutlovely @bbokarismeow @Matchacha65

Proofread and hyped by the fabulous @hwangjoanna <3

[astraljedi]

Sexo Virtual (Miss American - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI, 18+ only, mention of period symptoms (vomiting, nausea, cramps), fluff, yearning and long distance relationship. Word Count: 2.9K Song: Sexo Virtual by Rauw Alejandro A/N: Finally updated Miss Americana! This has been sitting in my drafts for a week now. Reblog, let me know what you think and ENJOY! Masterlist | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | _

Chief of Shade Podcast DM from Anon says: Any updates on the first daughter? They just announced she's going to be a speaker in one of the biggest tech conventions early next year. Is this her starting her father's re-election campaign? Congrats to Miss Americana for nailing a gig like that! Though, I don't believe this is part of a re-election campaign. But I do have an update on what's going on with her dating life. My sources allegedly say she was seen having a private dinner date at "Emerald" a few months ago. Is the president's daughter dating or was this a casual friend dinner? -

FACETIME CALL May 3rd Duration: 3:42:16 Connected – 6:08 PM EST

“Why are you cubing your chicken so small?” Joaquin scrunches his nose, his face closer on my phone screen as he watches me cube my chicken through his.

“Because I need every piece to be equally small and slightly overcooked so I don’t gag at the thought of eating chicken,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the cutting board and not on my shirtless more-than-a-friend guy as he rocks his ribbed body for me through the small screen. His sweatpants hang low, his curly hair a little damp from the shower he took before we jumped on the call.

It’s unfair to have him like this, miles away from me.

“What?” he asks, still confused. I watch him toss the whole chicken breast into his pan, and the sound of searing fills the room. He readjusts his phone, setting me behind his kitchen sink. I forget about my knife and rest it on the edge of the board, my eyes following the flex of his biceps as he rinses his dishes.

“If I’m cooking chicken, I need to have it in little pieces because the thought of it being even slightly undercooked I will not eat it,” I try to explain, tossing the tiny pieces into the hot pan. I can barely hear him laughing through my AirPods—the searing from his pan almost mutes him. “Hey, don’t laugh at me. And turn down the heat, you’re going to burn your butter.”

“Yes, chef,” he chuckles, actually turning off the stove. “If our cooking date over FaceTime has you this bossy, I don’t want to imagine our actual cooking date when we see each other.”

“As long as you cube my chicken into small pieces, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, baby. I’ll cube your chicken however you want if it means I get to see you like this every time,” he says, a low growl. I blush, my hand flying up unconsciously to fix the skinny strap of my crop top.

Did I throw on the tiniest top and shorts on purpose? Yeah. Am I still blushing like a schoolgirl when he notices? Of course.

I let the chicken sizzle on medium heat and turn off the burner under the pot of pasta. “As long as you bring those low-rise sweatpants, we have a deal.” I wink at him, purposely not adjusting the phone’s angle. I walk out of view with the pan of cooked pasta toward the sink behind me.

I look over my shoulder as I drain the pasta water, catching Joaquin’s eyes practically falling out as he gets a full view of my ass. My tiny shorts barely cover my cheeks.

“Fuck,” I hear him mutter under his breath, and I laugh.

God, I love our FaceTime dinner dates—but I’d rather have him here.

FACETIME CALL May 27th Duration: 00:08:34 Connected – 1:45 PM EST

The familiar FaceTime tone rings through my AirPods, letting me know our call has connected.

“Babe, are you still working on that proposal?” Joaquin asks, resting me somewhere on his desk while sitting down in his office chair.

He was coming back from his lunch break—something I didn’t fully take on my part.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “We start pitching this new, amazing tech to our investors in a few days, and I just want it to be perfect.”

“Did you finish your lunch?” Joaquin eyes me, raising a brow. I glance at my half-eaten Caesar wrap salad in its to-go container, long forgotten on the other side of my desk. I don’t even have to answer—he already knows I completely skipped my lunch break.

“You have to eat something. You can't rely just on your coffee to get through the workload.”

“I also have my water,” I try to be cute, showing him the light pink water jug on camera. He tries to be serious for a second, but he breaks easily, his bright smile tugging at my heart.

“But I’m definitely planning on ordering a huge dinner once I get back home.”

“Good girl,” he smirks, typing away on his keyboard. “What are you ordering?”

“Remember the tacos you brought me last month? I’ve been craving them this whole week. Oh! And the ice cream with fresh churros and the Nutella dip.”

My stomach growls just at the thought of dinner.

Joaquin’s moan fills my ear, and I bring my knees together, forcing them shut as I try to act like that didn’t affect me.

“Those were so good. Now I’m hungry again.”

“Me too,” I laugh, trying to hide how turned on I am.

“I have to call you back—Sam’s calling me.” He leans over his desk, grabbing the phone from where he had it.

“Don’t worry, duty calls.” I smile, blowing him a kiss before the call disconnects.

FACETIME CALL June 9th Duration: 01:10:23 Connected – 10:32 PM EST

I grab the beautiful bouquet of white and pink lilies from my bedside table and place them on my lap carefully. I hold my phone high, trying to get the flowers and my body into frame. 

Joaquin had sent me the bouquet congratulating me on a successful pitch, and I just wanted to send him something back—even if he’s overseas on a mission. The time difference has been hell. We haven’t had a real FaceTime call in days, just some short texts here and there. 

I open my messages and the app opens on Joaquin’s text thread already. I attach the photo I just took and check it before hitting send, making sure it actually looks good. 

You can barely see the white, tiny lace bralette and matching bottoms—the bouquet covering most of my body—but it’s enough to tease him before he starts the day.

iMessage 10:56AM Joaquin:  Finally have service 10:58AM Joaquin: I can try and call you before you go to bed. I miss you 11:01AM Me: I miss you too 11:03AM Me: I’ll text you when I get out of the shower Be safe  10:31PM Me: *Attached Picture* Thank you for the flowers

I place the bouquet back on the nightstand and jump into bed, waiting to see if he replies. Not even a minute later, my phone starts ringing. I smile, my head sinking into my pillow as I answer. 

His face pops up immediately—bare chest in frame, a light glow coming from his bedside table. His hair is messy and his dog tags stick to his skin. Ever since I saw them for the first time, the idea of pulling him down to kiss me by the metal chain haunts me day and night when we talk or when he sends photos.

“Hi baby,”  

“You’re going to drive me insane,” He groans, setting his phone on the nightstand. I stare at his naked torso, the rest of his lower body hidden under his bedding. I don’t even try to hide that I’m staring, I let my eyes trail along his body.

“I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.” I say innocently, resting my back against the headboard. I position my phone at the perfect angle, chest in frame just a little to tease. “You didn’t like the photo?”

“Fuck, no. It’s my new favorite photo.” He reassures me, voice low. “Jesus, the things I would do to you if I was there.” He runs a hand down his face, groaning. 

“Tell me,” I breathe, my body already reacting. “If you were here, how would you touch me?” 

I test the waters, something we’ve been doing back and forth, but in person, we haven’t gone further than makeouts, touching and grinding. But, this is something new. This is untouched territory in our relationship.

“Shit, baby” Joaquin shifts, the hand on his chest disappearing out of frame. “Since you love being a tease, I’d start slow.” 

I place my phone on the nightstand, resting it against the flower vase. 

“I’d pin you down to that bed, kissing every inch of your neck while my hands cup your breast.” Joaquin’s eyes follow my movements. I copy his instructions, guiding my fingers from my neck to my breast. “And with my teeth, I’d slide that thin lace off your nipples and then swirl my tongue over them.”

I free my breast and cup it with my palm, imagining his mouth in place of my fingers. “Joaquin.” I breathe, pinching my nipple just enough to send my hips jolting up from the contact.

I watch him spit into his palm, his phone at a perfect angle to show me everything. He slides his sweats down, freeing his straining cock, leaving me gawking at his size. 

I’ve felt it pressed against me before, but seeing it now? I press my thighs together instinctively.

“No, open those legs for me.” He demands, letting his cock slap against his stomach.

“Still with me?” He asks and I nod, forcing my legs apart. 

“I’d slip my fingers down, pull the lace aside, and circle your clit” he continues.

The softest exhale escapes me as I follow his instructions, middle finger grazing and circling, my fingers soaked with my arousal. 

“Hey—slow,” he warns. “You follow my orders, or I’ll stop.”

I whine, but nod. “Please,” I beg.

“The way I’d already be lost between your legs,” Joaquin went on. “Kissing your thighs, fingers coated in how wet you are. So wet, I could slide two fingers in and let you suck me deep.”

My eyes flutter shut as I slide two fingers in, the sound of his commanding voice nearly enough to send me over the edge. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet, baby.”

Joaquin groans, his jaw tightening. “Don’t rush it. Let yourself feel it—curl those fingers, baby. Tell me what you feel.”

“Fuck,” I whimper. “It feels so good—I need more.”

“What do you need?” He says through gritted teeth.

“You. I need your hands holding me open, your cock filling me up. I’d let you take me any way you want.”

“I need your eyes on me,” he adds, breathless. “I need you to see what you do to me, even miles away.”

I force my eyes open and moan at the sight of him. His hand around his cock, biceps and shoulders flexing, dog tags stuck to his skin and glimmering under the light—nearly makes me cum on the spot. 

“Fuck, I bet you’d ride my fingers so good.” Joaquin pants. “I can’t wait to taste you. Make you cum with my tongue, fingers and cock until I have your legs shaking.”

I bite my lip, and force myself to choke down my cry as I rock my fingers faster. My other hand reaches for my clit, circling the little nub. 

“You sound so pretty like this,” he groans. “Desperate to cum. Aching for my cock to stretch you out.”

I spread wider, pressing deeper, harder—nearly knuckles deep— as my back arches into the pillows.

“Joaquin, I’m close.” My thighs tremble, heat spreads through my body. I squirm, desperate as my hips try to meet with my own thrust.

“I need you,” I gasp. “I need your hands, your mouth—fuck, I need your cock, Joaquin.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he pants.

“Joaquin. Joaquin—” My voice breaks as I tremble, trying to keep my legs spread. Tears burning the corner of my eyes.  

“I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.” 

And I do. 

The white-hot wave crashes through me, and I cry out, letting it take over me. “Fuck, fuck.” I keep my eyes on him as his fist tightens around his cock. I whimper, feeling my walls flutter around my fingers. 

“You did so good for me, baby,” he groans, breath catching. “So fucking good.”

I watch the twitch of his muscles, his mouth falling open as he spills over, gasping my name, eyes on me.

We stay quiet for a moment, just breathing but never looking away. Not even for a second. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, still a little breathless. 

I nod. What are words? Cause I don’t know any at the moment.

Shit, that was hot. 

“I need to hear you baby, I can’t go on with my day without hearing you say it.” 

“Fuck,” I rasp, smiling sleepily. “I’m more than okay.” I rest my hand on my chest, my breath calming down.

He laughs softly, leaning forward to grab his phone. “I miss you. I’m counting down the days until I’m done here.”

“I miss you too,” I sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How much longer are we going to be this far apart?”

“Not much, I promise.” Joaquin gets up from his small bed, dog tags clicking as he moves around the small room. I watch him slide a pair of boxers, then his cargo pants. 

I walk to the bathroom, resting my phone on the vanity. “Did you get some sleep at least?”

“Not much. It’s hot and the bed is uncomfortable. My shoulders ache from training and from the bed.” Joaquin rubs his shoulder, trying to get rid of the tension bothering him.

“I’m so–”

“Torres.” A loud bang cuts me off from Joaquin’s side of the line. “We need you out here. Now.” 

“I’m coming!” He yells back, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll call you later, get some rest, baby.” He rushes, slipping his boots. 

“It’s okay, stay safe.” I managed to say, right before the call disconnected. 

FACETIME CALL June 22 Duration: 05:33:45 Connected – 06:04 AM EST

The bathroom tiles feel cold against my hot sweaty skin as I sit in front of the toilet. I’ve been awake since four in the morning—puking, dizzy and struggling with awful period cramps. 

I lean my back on the wall, closing my eyes while I try to steady my breathing and push down the nausea. My phone vibrates next to me, Joaquin’s contact picture lighting up the screen. My fingers hover over the phone. Do I really want him to see me like this?

But we haven’t talked in days, he’s been having a hard time with the wifi at the base he’s currently at. 

Just as I slide my finger to answer, the awful wave of nausea creeps up from my stomach. I hurl into the toilet, gripping the bowl, leaving my phone unattended. 

“Why am I looking at your ceilin—baby, are you sick? What’s going on?” I hear his worried voice through the speaker, but I can’t respond. Not when my gut is twisting inside me as I try to breathe through it. 

I wipe my mouth with a towel, then grab the phone off the floor and settle back into my spot. 

“Hi,” I whisper. 

“Do I need to call someone? What’s wrong?” Joaquin’s face is pinched with concern. He looks like he’s ready to jump through the screen. He looks too cute when his worried forehead lines show up.

“I already told Carmen I’m not going into work today,” I say, my voice rough. “Just a bad period episode, that’s all.” I push the sweaty strands of hair from my face, trying to summon the strength to crawl back to bed. 

“Does this usually happen?” 

“No,” I admit. “But I think it’s the IUD I got earlier this week.”

I’d had the appointment, something I’d been meaning to do since our last FaceTime—but I hadn’t mentioned that it was for an IUD.

“You didn’t tell me you were getting it. I mean, you don’t have to, it’s totally your choice—but are the side effects supposed to be this bad?”

I chuckle as I listen to him ramble over the phone.

“I didn’t tell you because I did it just in case,” I shared. “Especially after our last few FaceTime calls.”

Joaquin blushes, cheeks and even the tips of his ears turn a cute shade of red. He scratches the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look away. 

“I’m going to bed,” I sigh. “I already called off work.”

I stand up slowly, my hand braced against the wall for support. The nausea has passed, but my head still feels heavy, and the dizziness lingers.

“I hate not being able to be there,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “I’d rub your back, grab the heating pad, feed you comfort food, run you a hot bath—whatever would help.”

“Hearing your voice helps.”

I lie down in bed, grabbing the heating pad and pulling the bed sheets over my body. I rest the phone on the nightstand, finally looking at him better. 

Joaquin is in bed, shirtless, wearing only his cargo pants. He looks handsome, even with his messy hair, his tired eyes and the small constellation of moles on his face. 

“You should go to sleep, handsome.” I yawn, rubbing my eyes. 

“I don’t have to hang up. We can sleep together, baby—fall asleep together.” He yawns too, his free hand resting on his chest.

“I miss you so much.” I mumble, sleep already pulling me under.

“Descansa, mi amor. Te extraño mucho más.” 

It’s the last thing I hear, his soft voice echoing through the phone, before darkness takes over. 

[cissa-calls]

Madel Headcannons Pt.III

Helen has nightmares, it’s the one thing Madeline will never make fun of her for. She just holds her close, “I’m not going anywhere, you’re here. I’m here.”

Madeline is a chronic, constant hummer. The woman cannot shut up.

Matching booty shorts that say: Slut and whore, respectively

Helen trying (and failing) to fall asleep because Mad won’t shut the feck up because yapping is apparently a 3 a.m. sport

Nicknames like Madeline “Ass-ton” have haunted her since middle school (you’ll never who guess doesn’t let the tradition die)

The only thing Helen hates more than Madeline (only sometimes), is LED lighting. Madeline hates overhead lighting (“it ages me!!” “That’s literally not possible”)

The utter disappointment Mad felt when Helen reverted to her turtle necks, blouses, corduroy and tartan skirts. Helen asked: “Did you really think I dressed like a diva all the time??” “It would have been a nice change!!

Even though they don’t age - and birthdays are arbitrary - they still celebrate them

Speaking of, Madeline’s gift one time was: “I’ll do anything you want” “Anything???” “If you can dream it, Hel”…”Would you sign my Dogstronaut poster?” “HELEN SHARP”

Forget Helen, it’s Madeline and her 78 emotional support decorative throw pillows alive forever (and they ALL must be on the bed)

Helen has several Lego botanical flower sets in her office (gifts from you guessed it, Mad. Did you know Mad likes spoiling Helen? A lot?)

Speaking of flowers - Madeline loves flowers. Whenever she does live theatre, at least once a week Helen shows up at the stage door, like the adoring fan she is, with a bouquet for Mad

Madeline still has a princess phone at the house purely for the aesthetic and drama, she loved twirling the cord while she yaps

The library shelves are split between Helen’s book collection, drafts, and manuscripts - and Madeline’s scripts

Madeline unironically, unabashedly thinks Dolly Parton is the greatest gift to humanity

Helen has kept a photo of her and Mad during college in her wallet all this time, one of those strips from a photo booth

They have a bit going where sarcastically Helen refers to Mad as royalty, “Princess Maddy” or “the Queen of Madness” and at first it was a joke until Madeline started going along with it, “yes!! Finally someone recognizes my power! Bow peasant!!” *Helen realizes she made a HUGE mistake*

Matching engraved jewelry that says “my person”

Competitions of sneaky lipstick prints. Once Helen walked around with a kiss on her cheek from Mad the entire day and was ??? at all the weird looks she got

Madeline is INSISTENT that she is in charge of the aux cord. Helen will fully play Vivaldi’s Four Seasons & Billie Holiday in the car at 9 am on a Tuesday…Mad is a sucker for anything ABBA

Helen is so so so in love with animals (an SPCA commercial is her greatest weakness after all) and has several bird feeders in the yard…Mad teases, “sure Hel, you may not age on the outside, but on the inside? Serving old woman.”

Madeline is so passionate about old Hollywood, believes it a tenet of her acting inspiration

Madeline will periodically, out of the blue, renovate the house. “Why is there a chandelier in the bathroom Mad??” “I deserve the luxury of a well lit space!!” “Get a night light then.” Helen is so exhausted

[buckevantommy]

it's WIP Wednesday here atm so have an excerpt from a little ficlet i stumbled on in my drafts. cue domestic fluffy boys.. 😌🫶

Buck drops his bag like a sack of rocks inside the door. Who carries around a sack filled with rocks? Wasn’t there an old nursery rhyme about that? Some guy on a road to somewhere met another guy with seven sacks filled with seven rocks..

Gerrard seems like the type to mandate rock-sack hauls for training. Maybe not rocks exactly, but full gear and dummies and– actually, yeah, he’d totally add rocks to the load and spin some crap about how they need to be prepared to haul rubble away from an incident site. 

[insert scene bridge here]

Tommy's here. He’s here.

Buck didn't really have time to text while on shift and he’d been so exhausted when he climbed into his jeep that he didn’t even think to check his phone. Now, as he drinks in the sight of Tommy standing at his kitchen island, he feels a thirst quenched. He hadn't realised how bad he needed this until he was presented with it and now his brain is catching up to his body reminding him how essential hydration is to one's health and Tommy is a tall goregous glass of water.

He remembers Tommy saying he’d come over tonight so they could have dinner together and he could stay over, even though he has a shift in the morning and Harbor is a longer commute from the loft. 

I want to, he’d said on the phone before Buck started his 48. I don’t want to go almost a week without seeing my boyfriend. In fact, I don’t think I can. It’s a survival issue, really. My doctor should prescribe me Evan Time at least twice a week, make it official. Maybe then we could twist some arms and finally get our shifts to align.

Riiiiiight.. for health purposes.

Heart health.

tagging some folks who might want a nudge (no presh) 💕 @spicycinnabun @firehose118 @alchemistc @rcmclachlan @leashybebes @ladyeyrewrites @beefcakekinard @seen-the-stars @trombonechurchill @ambernotember

[takeariskao3]

i’ve debated on entering this ongoing fandom etiquette conversation because, generally, i don’t think i’m articulate or groundbreaking enough to say something that someone else hasn’t already said… and i may very well regret this but …

when it comes to fic comments:

do this ^^^ not that ^^^^

i received both of these over the weekend by first time commenters on my most popular (and personally beloved) wip that is currently in the throes of a year long hiatus. i won’t get into the in-depth reasons as to why its been on hold because im not asking for pity or sympathy or whatever (the ao3 curse is real) but i am posting this because one of these comments made me want to immediately pick up my drafted chapter 20 and finish it. while the other one made me want to bury my draft in my google drive and never look at it again.

this is a familiar tale, right?? lots of fic writers have exhausted the topic of super motivating and less than motivating types of comments. but i just wanted to add context to why.

first of all, because this is my first impression of both of these readers. one is fresh and exiting and positive! the other is completely disheartening, but why?? because if we infer through the subtext of the second comment that this person is supposedly a long time reader, this is the first time they’ve chosen to interact with me. at all. so my gut reaction is “wtf, i don’t know you, what makes you think you can talk to me like this or that you are entitled to that type of information if you’ve never felt the need to tell me you liked my fic before this??”

not a great feeling tbh! to immediately dislike someone upon first impression? i kinda wanted to block them so they’d never get to read the rest when i do end up finishing the story. because i WILL finish it someday.

but SECONDLY, and this is the part that made me want to put the next chapter away forever, the blunt question of “WHY ARENT YOU POSTING 🤬” literally has the direct response of me reflecting on the shitstorm of a year i’ve had and the four addresses in twelve months, and the fights with my partner that never seem to get resolved, and my daughters health issues and her two hospital stays, and my own career upheaval and how i’m still not really in a job i truly love or feel invested in, and just SHIT!! you know?? sometimes life is shit and hobbies get put on the back burner. i don’t know how else to say this but if you are wanting an update to your favorite fic, be kind!? you don’t know what’s going on in a persons internal life so why wouldn’t you choose to be nice??

no one loves the path from you more than i do, or wants me to finish it mORE THAN I DO!!! you should assume this of every fic writer! those stories mean more to them than any reader or beta. i promise you. and having to reflect on all the conscious and subconscious reasons why i haven’t been able to work on it just makes me more disappointed in myself, which makes me not want to work on it more… and the vicious cycle continues.

so, in conclusion, that second comment up there is not something i would ever expect a person to say in such words or tone if they stopped me on the street so it should never show up in my email either.

a good rule of thumb is: comment like you just ran into the fic writer in the grocery store <3

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Six (BB) 1 of 2

@belsasim, @corrienteallita, @cawthorntales, @hashimasims, @ravingsockmonkey, @pixeldistractions - Sim creators and co-writers

Bright and early, the household wakes up. Room order was randomised with Mariela and Harmony getting the ground floor rooms. A wheel was spun for type of shower the contestants would have (opportunity for energised, flirty or inspired moodlet) and whether they would brush their teeth (possible confident moodlet). Once they are finished getting ready they're sent to breakfast. Autonomy is toggled on and room doors are locked.

The order the contestants arrive at breakfast matters a little. Deanna compliments each of them in the order they arrive. Those who are talked to early seem to have more chance of fitting in autonomous socials with Deanna. They might fit in a joke, flirt or gossip between her complimenting others.

Mariela: Good morning Deanna *hugs*

Deanna: *chuckling* In a good mood I see

Mariela may be first to breakfast but she's followed soon by Harmony and Sarah who grab some of the available french toast.

Sarah: Oh hey the curtains are gone

Deanna: Yes. For the challenge today we'll be at another location so no need to block off that room

Kaye: I hope it's something outside again

Billie: Like who can paint the coastline best

Harmony gets up and hugs Deanna before getting her social for the day.

Dee: Harmony, Kaye and I finally checked out your show, Adventures of Skunkbert

Harmony: Dare I ask what you thought of it?

Kaye: It was great! We only watched three episodes so it's good we've got more to go

Billie: I really like the animation style you've used for it. But how does it keep going while you're here?

Harmony: I work on it on our days off and send the drafts to the rest of the production team

Mariela: If they give you any trouble refer them to me, I'm a pro at protests

Sarah: That's awesome. What have you protested for?

Mariela: *awkward chuckle* You know, I'm never entirely sure...

Kaye: To be fair there's always some protest happening around the city. I seem to run in to one whenever I'm out of the apartment

Sarah: The city seems exciting

Billie: I went to the art gallery last time I visited, it was great but still not much like I do

Dee: That's good though right? Means there's room for your work

Kaye: That's rather mellow for you Dee

Dee: What can I say? I woke up in a good mood. Plus I believe there's nothing you can't do if you just work hard enough for it

Deanna: Interesting theory

Mariela: Not everyone can work though. There's no shame in having conditions that prevent it

Everyone turned to look at Mariela, that was a serious statement from the resident goofball.

Mariela: Take Billie here, she can't help having green hair

Billie: *pulls faces* Don't be silly, it's dyed. No one has green hair naturally

Harmony: You do hear rumors about some spellcasters though...

Kaye: I don't know about just spellcasters, a lot of my extended family have interesting hair shades

Sarah: I like having colour in my hair, but it's definitely not natural

Deanna: I'd never dyed my hair before Devin took me shopping for a makeover

Harmony: I think I got lucky with my natural hair colour

Dee: The red looks nice

While Harmony, Mariela, Sarah and Dee stay chatting with Deanna, Billie and Kaye decide to head outside and play some simbles.

Billie: You're really just human even though your ears are... you know...

Kaye: *laughing* Pointy? Yep. Just human much to the horror of my mother

Devin: Hello everyone and welcome to Tartosa Gym. Today's challenge was picked by our pa, who is a fitness fan. Each of you has been tasked with completing the beginners endurance challenge on the rock wall. Fastest time wins. Good luck everyone

Devin hands it over to Aaron who gives a brief tutorial on how the rock wall works. It operates like a vertical treadmill, ticking over as contestants get closer to the top. Aaron takes everyone through some pre climb stretching to warm up, we need to be safe after all.

Aaron: I've picked this challenge because love is a marathon, not a sprint. You have to keep putting in the work if you want it to thrive. I'm looking forward to seeing who wins

Devin directs everyone to the right walls and the cameras position themselves.

Aaron: Any guesses who might win this one?

Deanna: I'm thinking Kaye. She's adventurous and she loves rock climbing. I mean I would be very surprised if she didn't win

Aaron: Care to tell me who you want to win?

Deanna: *laughs* Again? I'm not going to say it and jinx anyone pa

Mariela: I've seen those machines before. They're quite intimidating! I have to admit... I'm a little scared.

Harmony: I don't think it's a good idea for the clumsy girl to do this. But if it gives me a shot with Deanna I am game.

Billie: Hm. Rock climbing is pretty much the opposite to the painting challenge I was hoping for, but at least there are padded mats around!

Sarah: Whaaaat?!? There's gonna be an ambulance ready for me, right?

Dee: Now this is a challenge I can get behind! * flex *

Kaye: YES! I love rock climbing!

Despite strong starts both Mariela and Dee fall off the wall before completing the challenge. Luckily they make good landings, no broken bones here. Despite being clumsy Harmony does a fabulous job holding on and completes the challenge with a time of 37.58 seconds! Billie also completes the challenge with a slightly faster time of exactly 35 seconds.

Despite Sarah's call for an ambulance she doesn't fall. She completes the challenge in 33.65 seconds! Kaye, to no one's surprise really, is an expert on the wall! Her time? 23.19 seconds! Despite the fastest time Kaye has already had her date this round so it will be bonus points for her and a date win for Sarah.

Dee: I need a cold shower. Don't talk to me.

Mariela: Note to self: Stay away from Mt. Komorebi!

Dee: But we weren't even in Mt Komorebi

Mariela: Yeah and that's why we're not dead. Kaye told me about how her Uncle did on the real mountain *shudders*

Dee: Do I want to know?

Mariela: Despite rumors spellcasters aren't actually mind readers Dee

Harmony: That went about as well as I thought it would.

Billie: I'd rather paint the climbing wall than climb it again. Congratulations to Kaye, they were like a spider up there!

Harmony: She was so fast! Definitely done it before

Billie: But seriously, a painting challenge soon right?

Harmony: I might not do too bad at one of those

Billie: You're a professional animator, you'd be a challenger for sure

Villa renovation by @paracosmic-sims Gym build by @hashimasims

[hanjicakes]

꒰ 𝜗𝜚 ꒱ beware

synopsis .ᐟ - you and chris were never meant to work out, but when he shows up again, can you actually resist?

content info .ᐟ - nonidol!chan x gender neutral!reader, but the word 'girl' is used for reader once but in a slang way yk?, they both ain't shit, lots of mentions of alcohol, reader has canonically been to jail and has an alcohol problem, chris is an alleged cheater, chan referred to as chris

word count .ᐟ - 4.1k words

author ' s note .ᐟ - hey... it's been a while... my phone broke so lowkey wasn't focused but i'm here now!! this was in the drafts for a while and also can we tell i CANNOT write toxicity?? go easy on me guys

my mastrlist ૮₍›ᆺ ‹ ₎ა

You should’ve listened to your friends.

Your subconscious replays those words over and over again. You weren’t made for each other. You were terrible for each other. What made you think this could possibly work? Jealousy seeped into your bones, ran through your veins, and ruined every relationship you ever had. This time wasn’t any different— it never was.

You lean against the cool bar as you down the most recent drink you ordered. You had lost track of the number of glasses you sent back to the bartender. It didn’t matter much, anyways. They weren’t going to stop a paying customer, no matter how intoxicated they already were. The loud music doesn’t help the pangs in your head. The bass rattles through your core. It feels like you’ve been chucked into a giant blender with all the hateful words, the sour tears, and the glass bottles you finished alone and the only thing you can do is continue to drown yourself.

Slowly, you move away from the bar and towards the dance floor. Drunk, sweaty bodies crowd together to thrust and grind against each other in a practice that is nowhere near elegant or appropriate. You know you came with your friends and you glance around in hopes of spotting one of them. You spot one of them squished in a leather booth with a man you certainly didn’t know. Their mouths are connected in an almost animalistic way and they don’t seem to be letting go anytime soon. You look away and shudder slightly. Turning around to return back to your sanctuary at the bar, you recklessly run into a man standing off with his friends.

You barely recognize that you spilled your drink until the coldness seeps through your outfit. You mentally curse yourself for wearing something that stains easily. Your mind whirls with a possible response for this accident and the one you choose is to get defensive. You immediately stand up to your full height and grip your glass.

“Why the hell are you standing in the middle—” You begin, only for the words to die on the tip of your tongue. Bile bubbles inside your gut as you look eyes with the man who wasn’t much of a stranger at all. He stares down at you with a furrowed brow, his plush lips curled downwards into a disappointed scowl.

“You drink too damn much, you know that?” Chris says. His voice is low and you’re sure you are the only person who heard him. Despite all the music blasting, his words rattle through your core and shake your mind into a jumbled mess. You try to speak up again but nothing escapes your mouth except a weak whine. He looks at you as if you were nothing more than a waste of time— a disappointment who drained the life out of him. On one hand, you did. You sucked out everything he had to offer and then more. On the other hand, he made your life a living hell.

Maybe you were meant for each other. In some sick, disgusting way.

The crinkle of fast food wrappers is almost like music to your ears. You and your friends had just spent the last few hours walking around the new shopping mall in your city and were, quite frankly, worn out. You sat on the hard, plastic food court chair, slurping on your slushy while two of your friends bickered over which movie you all would see later. One argued that a thriller was getting better reviews online. You didn’t care too much about what you guys would go see. You reach across the table and break off a piece of the soft pretzel you purchased.

A warm feeling of comfort settles over you as you watch your friends chatter away with each other. Life had gotten so busy for all of you that you rarely spent time together anymore. As the argument over movies gets more heated, you decide it’s time to intervene before they claw at each other’s throats. Parting your lips to speak, a deep masculine voice speaks up and causes your friends to go silent.

“You guys are trying to go see Scream?” He asks. His lips raise into a smile and he shows off a pair of teeth that are white enough to make even a dentist envious. His cheeks dip slightly and two dimples make their appearance. He was undeniably handsome with slightly ruffled hair and loose curls. He had an accent when he spoke, too. You weren’t sure where it was from— it wasn’t British but it didn’t seem American, either.

“Yeah… What about it?” Your friend, Sana, speaks up. There’s a slight smile forming on her face as she looks over him. You almost chuckle at how she isn’t able to hide her attraction. Part of you can’t blame her. He looks like he could’ve been sculpted out of marble. His smile widens a bit at her sharp response. Your head tilts slightly as you watch him formulate a response.

“Me and a few of my mates,” He says, gesturing to two other men sitting in another booth. One wears a black tank top while the other is basically drowning in his hoodie. “We were plannin’ on seeing that movie too, y’know? Thought you guys might want to see it with us.”

You glance over to your friends and raise your eyebrows. You weren’t completely opposed to going out with them… This man— who you still didn’t know the name of, oddly enough— seemed nice enough. You lean in closer to your friends to whisper between each other.

“He’s cute.” You mutter, letting your eyes flicker over his sturdy frame for a second too long. He spots your gaze easily and gives you a small wave.

“Please, don’t start right now…” Soyeon says. Out of the quirky characters that made up your friend group, Soyeon seemed to be the most level headed on. She was headstrong and made the better decisions of the group. Still, most people didn’t take her advice.

“We should go.” Sana blurts out, “Him and his friends are cute. And, the movie theater is a public place. They can’t axe murder us there, right? We could use some fun…”

After a few moments of hesitation, Soyeon nods her head. The three of you pull back and look back at the man in front of your table.

“What’s your name?” Soyeon asks. Her tone doesn’t allow him any chance to avoid the question.

“Just call me Chris, yeah?”

︶︶︶︶

The movie theater is almost dead silent as the audience waits for the unexpected twist. Unfortunately, the movie wasn’t as good as the reviews made it seem. While it did have a few comedic moments, the plot was rather predictable and the same as any other slasher movie. Your fingers drum on the side of your leather recliner and your eyes are glued to the screen. You know if you look away, you’ll make a fool of yourself. After a minor argument with Sana, you managed to claim the seat next to Chris. She and Soyeon sat next to his friends, who were decent guys in their own right. 

You can’t help but steal a glance at him. He seems to be focused on the movie. Your nails dig into the seat before turning back to the large screen in front of you. Just as you were about to forget about the ungodly handsome man beside you, he leans in to whisper to you.

“Are you nervous?” He mutters. His warm breath fans over your ear and you swear you feel goosebumps form over your skin. You take a moment to mentally prepare yourself to look at him.

“No,” You lie. You were nervous, just not because of the film. You were nervous because you were already ridiculously obsessed with a guy you know damn near nothing about. Your mind ridicules you for being so careless with these things but Lord knows you could never stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. “Just… Bored, I guess. This movie is kinda shitty.”

He snickers at your statement and that simple sound sends butterflies whirling around inside your stomach. A small grin forms without your control.

“Shitty, yeah? Well, I’d have to agree with that.”

“Mh…” You hum. “Uh, hey… Where are you from?”

He lets out a faint hum in acknowledgement of your question before actually responding. “Australia. Why?”

“You just have an accent. I couldn’t figure out where it was from.”

“Yeah, I mean, I get that a lot. Have you ever been to Australia?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I could take you, y’know.”

You look over to him and meet his eyes. Something in you tells you he is being dead serious and you furrow your brows.

“Why would you do that? We just met, you don’t know me.”

“Yeah, well…” He murmurs, glancing back towards the screen. The main character is trying to find a hiding place but clumsily trips over a loose extension cord. There’s a few quiet groans emitted from the audience. Chris turns back to you.

“Maybe I want to get to know you.”

The bitter taste of cheap alcohol lingers in your mouth and forces you to lick your lips. Your mouth felt so damn dry, it was insane. You pull your knees up to your chest while shifting slightly over the leather seats of Chris’s car. You weren’t sure when you left the party. Part of you could still hear the music ringing in your ears so mauve you were just parked outside? All you really remember was your friends telling you not to leave.

“Girl, we just got here!” Sana protested. Soyeon stood beside her with crossed arms and a grimace.

“Are you seriously leaving us for a man…?” Soyeon muttered. She sounded like a mother. One who was most certainly disappointed in the choices her too drunk daughter was making. You rolled your eyes.

“We’ll only be gone for, like, five minutes… We’ll come back before the party ends, alright?”

The words were pretty disingenuous. You weren’t sure when you and Chris would come back and, frankly, you didn’t care. He could keep you all night if he really wanted to. You are pulled back to your reality when you feel soft tugging on a strand of your hair. Chris is sitting beside you in the backseat, mindlessly fidgeting with the locks of hair. You brush his hand away and stare at him slightly. The corners of his eyes were tinged with red, but he held a big gummy smile on his face.

You poke your finger inside his dimple and chuckle slightly. “What are you smiling for? We’re just sitting here…”

“Well,” He murmurs, “You’re pretty and I’ve got you in my car. I think that’s a reason to smile.”

“And, why exactly are we in the car…?” You question. Your hand moves down to caress the curve between his neck and shoulder. He leans faintly into the touch and you feel his hand begin to roam over your back. His palms were soft and warm despite the air being on in the car.

“Why don’t you tell me why?” 

The both of you are quiet for a second. The alcohol flowing through you has you feeling a bit bold— more bold than you probably should. You snake your hand into his dark brown locks and tug on the curls. He lets out a faint grunt, one that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if it were anyone but him. It’s like all of your senses are on high alert around him. You don’t want to miss a single detail about him. You pull his head down a bit so you can meet his lips in a drunken kiss. It’s rough at first, trying to guide his head, but you both manage. His lips are soft and the faint taste of bubblegum and beer linger on his tongue. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hip as he leans in closer, absorbing the heat you emit.

“Damn,” Chris mutters. His words only add fuel to the fire inside your gut and don’t let him go— not until you both are breathless and weak.

You pant lightly while pushing back some of your hair. Looking up at Chris sends a slight shock through your body. How could one kiss leave you feeling electrified?

“Do you wanna head back now…?” You ask quietly. The whirl of the air conditioning in his car fills the quiet between your words.

“Nah, I think we can stay here…”

︶︶︶︶

Six months was a hell of a long time. You weren’t sure the last time you committed to something for that long, but you managed to commit to Chris. Unsurprisingly, many people doubted that you would last. Well, basically everyone did. Your friends always told you to take things slow and now to rush things because that’s how you get your heartbroken. It’s safe to say you didn’t listen because after two months of dating, you had already met his parents. Now, on the six month anniversary, you were about to make the biggest commitment of your life.

“A tattoo!?” Your friends say so loud, it makes a few people standing nearby uncomfortable.

“It’s not like it’s going to be his face or anything…” You murmur, stirring around your coffee with a wooden stirrer. “It’s a cute thing, stop acting like I’m fucking crazy.”

Soyeon scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You sure as hell are if you are getting a tattoo with this guy. It hasn’t even been a year! You always rush these things and—”

“You’re going to be looking for tattoo removal places in three months, y'know. Your relationships never last…” Sana says.

You groan heavily. “You guys always do this. I’m happy with Chris, alright? Stop meddling, we are fine… Maybe for once, you guys could be supportive?”

Sana and Soyeon share a concerned glance before Soyeon speaks up. “You know, the last time we did that, we had to bail you out of jail.”

“That guy was an asshole! Chris is different…”

“Maybe,” Sana says. “But, you are also… Reckless, when it comes to break ups.”

You bite your bottom lip slightly. They were being ridiculous, they always were. You never did anything that was unjustified— at least, in your eyes they weren’t unjustified. Maybe you did have a problem. Everyone else did. You raise your coffee mug to your mouth and continue your outing in uncomfortable silence.

Maybe you were too reckless.

The bright light from your phone screen illuminates your face as you scroll on Instagram. Okay, scrolling is a slight understatement. You were stalking. A bad habit, you know, but it was necessary.

You shift under your blanket as you scroll through your boyfriend’s following list. Your eye twitches whenever you see him following another girl, but you try to ward off that feeling. Eventually, you decide it’s time to give up. You didn’t have any reason to be worried, after all. You power down your phone and begin to focus back on the movie you had turned on. It was a Scream sequel, and it was just as bad as the original. While you reach for your bowl of chips, your phone vibrates with a message from an unfamiliar account. You stare at your phone for a while before picking up the device and reading over the message.

"hey, ik u dont know me, but ik chris and like hes been flirting with this girl all night and ik u two r dating, so i thought u should know"

You chuckle slightly at the message, not completely believing it at first. This was just some random person trying to ruin your day. You begin to type out a response to give them a piece of your mind when another message pops up. A series of photos, all of them depicting Chris being comfortable with a pretty girl in a green dress. Too comfortable, you think.

Your eyes scan over the photos again and again. It looks like Chris, but maybe it’s photoshop. Maybe it’s AI. Maybe you are just being paranoid. But, you remember seeing him leave in that jacket earlier. And he’s wearing the same watch he always does. Your lungs hitch when you see the final detail— a dark butterfly tattoo on his wrist. One that matches the butterfly on your ankle. It seems like the world around you quiets and disappears, leaving only you and the images. After that, all hell breaks loose.

You barely have time to think when you open your contacts and press the dial. You call his phone again and again to no response. That’s when you open your messages.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

R u joking me rn? Ur fucking CHEATING on me??

U have to be insane

This is crazy

UR CRAZY

Do u want me to die?? Is this how u treat me??

Answer ur damn phone Chris

Miserable fucking bastard

Chris <3: What the hell are you talking about?

Answer my damn calls

Where are u right now??

Ill find u rn

Im going to kill u

In the middle of your next spew of texts and violent threats, your phone rings. You hardly think before pressing the answer button and immediately yelling into the speaker.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? After everything I’ve done for you—”

“First of all, you haven’t done shit. Why are you blowing up my phone?”

His voice is quick to cut you off and his tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard. He’s pissed off, probably just as much as you are. Your grip on the phone tightens.

“Why am I blowing up your phone…? Are you serious? You’re out all damn night, feeling up other girls, and I should just stay quiet? What, did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I’m not with other girls? I told you I was going to Changbin’s party. Stop acting fucking crazy.” He retorts.

“Crazy?” You repeat. Something about the word sends waves of heat running through your body. You push back the blankets and sit up. “You think I’m crazy? I’ll show you fucking crazy. Don’t call me again.”

There’s a faint scoff on the other line. The sound of house music can be heard muffled in the background. “Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”

︶︶︶︶

You weren’t ready to accept that your friends were right. You fell in love too fast and ended up getting burned. The last few days have been spent hiding away in your apartment, trying not to rip your own hair out. Part of your heart yearned to crawl back to him, like a dog looking for water in Arizona heat. Another part of your heart wanted to watch him suffer the same way you were. You still watched his stories on a burner account. Seeing him still go to parties, still visiting friends made you outraged. You were supposed to be the best thing that happened to him—  He got a tattoo for you, after all. You were supposed to mean something to him.

The familiar taste of hard liquor helps you manage the stress, though. As unhealthy of a habit it was, it worked surprisingly well to help you forget. Well, you could never forget. You could never forget the lingering kisses and longing touches that set your skin on fire, but you could numb the pain of missing it.

You fidget with the empty, your mind blurred with heavy thoughts. You couldn’t understand the strange feeling of grief in your heart. How could you miss someone so badly when they only lived a few blocks away? At the thought, an idea pops into your head.

You slowly move from the couch and towards the storage closet in the hall. It was just as messy as your life was, but that wasn’t the point. You search deep into the back until you find exactly what you were looking for. Your old softball bat.

The walk to his house felt enthralling. Your entire body buzzed from head to toe with adrenaline and it seemed like for once, you were able to forget all about how upset you were. You could hardly care about the time of day, or night for this matter. Your feet drag along the concrete as you turn the block and spot the house he shared with a few buddies. Parked just outside the garage was Chris’s car. The same one that you shared your first kiss in. That was where you bawled your eyes out or indulged yourself in all his sweetness. The sight of it brought back a disgusting amount of memories. Memories you were ready to destroy.

Approaching the vehicle, you glance up towards the house. All the lights were off, so you assume everyone must be asleep. You let out a shaky breath and wind your arm back before swinging full force. The way the steel warps from the hit is almost mesmerizing. You wind up again and take another hit. This one sets off the blaring car alarm. You could care less if someone wakes up from it. You move to the side and take another hit, knocking out the passenger window. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

You are pulled from your stupor at the sound of someone yelling at you. Not someone, Chris. You could tell before turning around and even then, the sight of him looking at you from his open window brought a drunken smile to your face. His brows were so furrowed that they basically became one. He still manages to ignite such a fuzzy feeling inside of you no matter how much you convince yourself you hate his guts.

“Get the hell away from my car!” He shouts out, his hands gripping the windowsill. A few of the neighbors have begun to peer their heads out their doors or look through the blinds. You could care less about their eyes watching you. All you could focus on was Chris.

“I told you I would show you crazy, didn’t I!” You reply to him, holding out the bat for him to see. “This is your last time calling me crazy!”

Chris stares at you for a moment, completely bewildered. He grunts before slamming the window shut. You can only assume he’s coming down to stop you so you get your arm ready for one last hit. You raise your bat before slamming it down on the windshield. The glass cracks around the spot of impact and just as the front door opens, you take off running.

In a split second, you are returned back to that club. And he’s in front of you again, staring at you like you are nothing but garbage from his past. Your mouth is suddenly dry and it feels like no amount of alcohol will help it. You finally break eye contact and look down at the ground. In your peripheral, you noticed his bare wrist. He must have rolled his sleeves up. Despite that, something sticks out to you.

“You kept the tattoo…?” You murmur, looking back up at him. His face relaxes slightly and it was obvious he wasn’t expecting that question from you.

“Reminds me not to make mistakes. Like you.” He says, his tone flat.

“Geez, you’re still a dick…”

“You broke my fucking car windows.”

“I wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t cheat on me.” You say. His lips twitch slightly like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. The air settling around the two of you is heavy.

“Something tells me you aren’t ready to let go.” He says as if it were fact.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, really.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. Something in you didn’t completely trust him. You know you shouldn’t. But, you know he’s right. Even months later, you weren’t ready to let go. You weren’t ready to let go of the memories and the dreams. You weren’t ready to let go of the man who gave you the best few months of your life.

“You ruined my life.” You say.

“You ruined mines, too. Let’s call it even.”

“... So I can call you again?”

Chris tilts his head at your question. After a moment, though, a sly smirk forms and you catch a glimpse of those beautiful dimples.

“Yeah, you can call. Only if you lay off the alcohol.”

[jamieroyjamieroy]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @bidisasterevankinard 💜

This has been sitting in my drafts for a little while and here is a snippet for you.

Tommy has seen some crazy shit in his time with the army, as a pilot and firefighter. Been part of some crazier shit *cough* stealing helicopters *cough* *cough* committing domestic terrorism *cough*. He’s also been dating Evan Buckley for over a year (this time around) so nothing phases him anymore. Nothing is too crazy to witness. Nothing is too crazy to hear. Nothing surprises him. Not anymore. Tommy has learnt to roll with the crazy and shrug it off.

His co-workers sure like to try to get a reaction from him though. Coming up with more and more outlandish ways to spend their time off so when they share their stories with him they get more than a “oh wow” or a “yeah that sounds like a regular Tuesday for me and Evan”. The last one often accompanied by an affectionate sigh and a look of fondness.

It’s driving the Harbor team up the wall that nothing they do can ruffle the cool, calm and collected exterior of one Tommy Kinard. So much so that they have been banned from participating in extreme sports or activities by their captain (who was sick of having to find cover for the injured firefighters.)

No pressure tagging @chococara25 @atevanfool @beanarie @thevoiceofriesling @owlgirl495 @betterthanfakemouthstatic

[alllgator-blood]

I need to ask, because of it I CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT.

How do you make, not only long comics, but also VERY FAST. Like- I read one part that has 2/3 like pictures and then next day are again 2 or 3 and I'm like grabing my head and just screaming HOW??? (Also these comics are very yummy and I feel like getting stabbed after each one but in a good way cuz I like being stabbed (Kallamar got a bit too relatable in that one comic 💔))

THAT'S REALLY IMPRESSIVE AND ALSO SHOCKING FOR ME. Like- what is your secret??? 🤨🤨🤨

HAHAHA OH GOD I DID NOT THINK I WAS VERY FAST BUT- I'll try to do a list of tips I thought of off the top of my head, in case any of these help you or anyone else??? I try to not gatekeep anything I do because I think the world needs more comics honestly, so I tend to ramble a lot when giving advice.

click the read more to unleash many paragraphs of tips:

Okay these tips aren't 100% about being fast but also being efficient/keeping a good pace, I hope that's okay!

1: Originally the first tip was "draw every day even if only a little bit, so you don't lose steam" but I'm sure everyone has said that at some point. So I'll just say I Pavlov myself into drawing better by having little "rituals". Liiike...the only time I have energy drinks is when I draw. Or the only time I light candles is when I draw. I have specific songs I put on when I START drawing to get me into the Zone. I find that when certain circumstances are met, it helps the time fly by 'cause I stay focused enough to keep a steady pace. After a while of doing those things when you start drawing for the day, it tricks the brain into going "oh shit, we're drawing now? aight bet" and then you just. Go

2: SETTING DEADLINES FOR SURE HELPS. It's definitely nice hearing from people that there's no Real Pressure on me when I post comics...for free...of characters I have no obligation to draw...just for the enjoyment of doing it. BUT I work best when I have a fire lit under my ass, so I set deadlines like "I need to post this on saturday/sunday at noon so the algorithm will actually let people read this comic". I usually slip those into a description so it's a very casual announcement and I feel okay with postponing it if necessary, rather than making a text post like "NEW COMIC SATURDAY!!1" and then feeling terrible if I can't finish it in time. Lmao

3: I just fuckin GO when I make a draft. Like for this new comic I'm working on, I just sat down and started drawing like the world was gonna end; there's a lot of panels with very off model characters/wonky anatomy because I just wanted to sketch enough for future me to get the idea. I try not to look back on my progress for any reason besides continuity, because then I see how long the comic's getting and I sweat bullets. Literally so many comics have been ditched because I got spooked thinking about how hard it'd be to finish them. So if you just shut your brain off and don't think about the technicalities of it, just keeping mind the story you want to tell- it's SO much easier to complete. Breaking comics into parts is ABSOLUTELY necessary for completion :')

4: Maybe the most important piece of advice I learned from a published comic artist, is that people are gonna look at your comic panels for an average of like 10-20 seconds and will move on to the next. You don't wanna spend hours on a single panel that basically only exists to convey a tiny bit of the plot. So I like to draw just *enough* to convey the general environment/mood, but not feel obliged to put in a million little extra details. I really hate doing backgrounds but my art, to me, feels incomplete without them. So I'll add like PART of a room or a general Nature area just to say hey, this takes place in the temple/outside/whatever! As long as your story is engaging and the pacing is comfortable, I don't think people will mind (or notice) if you take shortcuts.

5: I listen to specific things to help maintain a good speed while not being distracting or understimulating. During the sketch stage, I usually have something slow/instrumental going so I can focus on the little movie that plays in my head and draw what I feel like a scene would look like. It also helps not distract me from what they're saying. For tasks like lining/coming up with color schemes/reworking dialogue, I have something more stimulating playing but not like distracting, so a video essay I've already watched or fast music I already heard a lot of times. THEN for the absolute fucking slog that is the coloring stage, I blast shitty breakcore or put on an actually interesting video so I can zone out while I click my mouse ten billion times to fill in all the colors >:)

Basically, comics are funny to me because it's like a frantic fucking race to the finish line before your motivation completely abandons you. There's been a few comics where I was ABSOLUTELY sick of even looking at them, I think it was specifically "in little ways, everything stays" where the comic itself is sweet and inoffensive but OMFG. I WAS SO TIRED OF DRAWING GRASS AND REWORKING DIALOGUE. KALLAMAR AND LESHY JUST HUG IT OUT ALREADY SO I CAN STOP DRAWING.

This post probably reads like "I HATE COMICS!! I HALF ASS THEM TO GET THROUGH!!" but I really do love making them and it's kinda the only thing I like doing nowadays, so the other aspect of why I get them done fast comparatively is just that it's what I spend all my free time doing. Some comics take weeks of me working on them daily to finish them, because working on them is my main coping skill rn so it always feels worth doing. I know it can't last forever so I try to just get as many stories as I can out before my circumstances change! Maybe don't be motivated by fear of the future though. Just do these because it's fun and people love reading your comics :') I KNOW I DO

In any case- here are the lines for the beginning of the new comic, I KNOW you love the funny squid so here's mine as a kid flexing on narinder for being able to summon his crown weapon:

[rafesbabygirlx]

Saying goodbye to my writing (for now, maybe)

This is me biting the bullet because if I don’t do it now I won’t do it. This needs to be done. After yesterday, my choice was ultimately decided.

I’ve loved writing in here for the past 8 months, I’ve loved reading everything that others have created, I’ve loved becoming friends with all of my mutuals and followers who’ve supported me, I’ve loved being apart of this community.

I’ve come so far in the short months that I’ve been on here. I am so grateful to have been apart of this. But I genuinely think that I am done. I no longer feel motivated. I feel like I have no fresh ideas, the ones that I thought were great weren’t that great at all. I’m hating everything that I’ve posted and although I am grateful for everyone, I see this blog going no where from this point. I almost feel like I’m going backwards. I’m sorry if things have been left unfinished. Clear indication of where my head is at. I hate looking at the number of my drafts and seeing what I have incomplete, but they’re going to have to sit there for now.

I want to thank my mutuals who have been there for me forever I love each of you so much. You’re all so talented. I’ll still be around, just to read what your brilliant minds curate. And if you’ve also decided to take a step back from writing, my DMs are always open to talk. 🩵

@cherrywriterrr @whytheylosttheirminds @writingroom21 @rafesplaymate @ivysprophecy @rafesteddy @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @inthelibrarybtw @maybejj @papercranesandinkstains @angel06babysworld @starkeygirlposts @starkeynation @drewsephrry @drewssgirl @frankoceanluvr11 @rafescokewhore @memoirofasparklemuff1n @angelicameron @rafecameronssl4t @zyafics @moondustbaby @anacamofficial @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @littlelamy @rafeysvenicebitch @nemesyaaa @maybankslover @cokewithcameron

Same goes for any of my followers. You are always able to come and talk with me. Just because I am stopping writing anything else does not mean that I want to shut off from here completely. I love every single one of you. MY DMS ARE ALWAYS OPEN.

I’m hoping that I get over this hump because I genuinely love writing. Just right now this feels like the best step for me. I could ramble on for hours, but this is where my heart is at the moment. I’ll probably keep coming back and adding mutuals in or more words.

Also

Please never be this type of person, to those who take the time to put their hearts and hard work into their writing. This is a decision that I’ve been battling with for a while now and getting messages like this:

don’t help with anything. And then when you try to back pedal and say this:

you’re not just asking. You were very clear in your original ask what you thought of my work. Why would you think I would want to continue? Why would you think that comment would make me or anyone feel good about what they do? Then when I sit here and defend myself I get this:

None of this has anything to do what I’ve been going through. But all of this yesterday only helped to solidify my decision. I’ve seen too many amazing talented people run off this app or broken down over the dumbest things. Anons complain about everything and can be so nasty. You don’t know what the one thing with be that will make a person hate what the used to love. It’s not that hard to be a nice person.

[mastermicd]

well hey, strangers. it's been a minute.

my ridiculously full queue has continued to run one post a day in my absence, but i honestly haven't actually been here for a long while. i've had a lot going on, most of which i won't bore you with. but one factor of my disappearance is the fact that my external hard drive has decided to give up –– which stored my whole indie life. my dearest beloveds ( @bruiseeasily & @krys4lis ) have encouraged me to return despite this.

so i've pulled together some (super rough) new graphics and banners to use, and while i don't have the energy or muse to completely rebrand, i'm hoping that by dipping my toe, the muse might come back!

i plan to continue leaving my queue running as is, and the threads sitting in my drafts will be responded to and dropped into it, though if muse comes back i may look to increase the post frequency. thank you to everyone that has taken the time to reply to things while my only presence has been one post a day. i'm going to really make an effort to engage with the memes my mutuals post to encourage interactions (as i haven't been the best at that, and i can only apologise) and will be keen to get some new things going. new threads won't be put in the queue, at least not at the moment, to not keep you waiting any longer than i already have.

big ramble over! i'd appreciate it if you engaged with this post in some way if you'd like to write –– i'll come and message you on here, or on disco if i have it, to get some things moving again. you might see some memes drop into your inbox over the next few days too. i appreciate you all ♡

p.s. what do you think of the new headers?