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ryn 20 she/they scorpio multi-fan account enfp
masterlists rules recent
🎧: adios! by boynextdoor
📺: pokemon xy
💭: lee yungyu
requests are open !!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝓀ismetㅤㅤ◞ㅤㅤ﹙𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫﹚myungjae
☆ : myungjae is famous on grunge tumblr for the way he plays guitar and polarizes his seldom life. you send him an ask, expecting anything but a response. ㅤㅤㅤwc.ㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤㅤ???
myungjae x reader ・ooc obviously, idk this man ・ jaehyun can play guitar ・ mentions of other bnd members ﹙riwoo specifically﹚ ・ no formal use of y/n ・ inspired by that one live where he wore the flannel ・ jaehyuns whipped here but i can't promise it later on ・ slow burn! my bad. and it starts here...kind of ・ part 2...? part 2.
🎧 : w.d.y.w.f.m? ◞ prey ◞ female robbery ◞ colors
it started with a picture. a simple one, one of jaehyun leaning back against the poster-ed wall of his bedroom, red checkered flannel wrinkled and open, an old Nirvana shirt peeking through the slim opening. his camera faced downward, capturing the old black acoustic guitar that needed a new pick guard and the old stickers peeling off at the edges. it was a little worn, a little old, and honestly? incredibly performative on his end.
but really, how performative was it? he knew how to play guitar, unlike all these other poser wannabes (that followed and idolized him). was he so wrong for wanting to use a talent to his advantage? sanghyeok would've said yes, that he should try to exubate more personality than every other guy on tumblr. but what did his tiny ass know? he was more of a facebook guy.
just as expected, within the hour he posted it, the picture already has over 2,000 likes, 600 reblogs, and even some not-so-savory comments that would get flagged on any other site. the attention made his skin burn hot, as if vibrating in his bed from the sheer anticipation of thirst comments wasn't enough, he watched the number on his inbox tick up. and up, and up, and up. each number that passed stroked his ego just a bit more, even if all of them were anonymous.
until one of them wasn't.
with furrowed brows, he guides his mouse to click your ask, suprise etching in the lines of his face as he reads your ask in his head:
"you always post that guitar but never any music. you wanna cover nirvana sooooo bad 🙏"
he's a little taken aback, but not by too much. he gets thousands of comments like this every other day, but what gets him, is that he has a face to match the words to. a very pretty face at that.
the next hour of his life passes in a blur of your tumblr posts. it's mostly all reblogs, but he'll occasionally stumble across one of your face, maybe of your hobbies or a photo with your friends. is it bad to feel like you're looking at the love of your life through a screen? through a tumblr blog?!
maybe, but he doesn't care.
when you had sent the ask to jaehyun, you hadn't expected him to answer.
he was just someone on this godforsaken site that you had eyed for a moment too long, and then obsessively became his number one fan. but it was a total accident! in your defense, he was hot. and knew how to play the guitar.
so maybe it was all entirely shallow, maybe you did choose to ignore how he responded to comments or how his posts always had some allusion to his broken heart (that wasn't real, he just wanted the attention). and yeah, maybe if you got to know the real jaehyun, you wouldn't like him half as much as you do. so you stuck with making goo goo eyes at the person he pretended to be on the internet.
so imagine your surprise when you get a notification, refresh your dashboard and see a response to your ask.
your eyes nearly pop out of your head like one of those old cartoons, mouth dropping open. your tongue might as well have lolled out while you were at it.
he answered, actually fucking answered, with a video no less! still dressed in his clothes from the picture, as if it had been recorded within the hour (it was, you didn't need to know that). his flannel was rolled up to his elbows, accentuating the better parts of his forearm adorned by bracelets, and the chipped black nail polish on his fingers.
you don't know whether to start drooling or scream. your fingers are tense on the keypad of your laptop, your hand holding its stiff shape for a moment. what if it's a prank? what if he rick-rolls you? or plays a singular chord before telling you how weird you are?!
but why would he waste a minute of his time doing that? you think. once you've convinced yourself that it's real, after mulling it over in your head for about 15 minutes and taking a deep breath, you finally hit play.
the sound of Heart-Shaped Box being played gently on the worn strings of his guitar quickly fills your space. you inhale softly, almost a gasp as your eyes widen slightly at the song, fully convinced he'd cop out with something like Breed. but instead, it's one of the prettiest renditions you've ever heard.
sure, it's a little muffled through your speakers, and you can tell when he hesitates on a note. but it's real, it's raw in a way you can't explain. maybe it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from being noticed, or maybe you truly do believe it's a work of art.
when the video ends, you catch the small smirk on his lips as he leans forward to stop the recording. you wanna stare at that frame alone forever.
jaehyun's a nervous wreck, not that he'd ever admit it, but it's clear. he won't stop refreshing tumblr, begging to whatever higher power that you'll see it and not find him too forward. when he finally gets the notifications for your like, reblog and comment, he wants to pass out.
his heart feels like it's beating out of his chest for a stranger on the fucking internet. god, how pathetic can he get? he hopes a little more before you go offline.
he decides to give you a little slack on his line, waiting for maybe about thirty minutes before he actually realizes what you commented. when he finally looks at it, his heart just about stops before it soars into outerspace.
"i've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks <3"
he doesn't give it enough thought before he's leaping off his bed, grabbing his phone to text everyone about how so super totally in love he is. because now, jaehyun's decided that you're a conquest. or the prize he gets at the end of his journey, something akin to a holy device he'd drop everything for.
and what myung jaehyun wants, he gets. no matter how impossible it may seem.
© shuacupid 2026, do not translate/reupload without consent, copy, steal or feed to ai. heavy on that last one.
ot8 ateez x reader (separately)
reader loses their phone
requests are open !!
your lie in april
hueningkai x reader
hueningkai, a former piano prodigy who loses the ability to hear his own playing after his mother's death. his life changes when he meets a free-spirited violinist who forces him back into the spotlight.
wc: 2.6k
warnings: character death x2, kai has an abusive relationship with his mother, obviously based off of your lie in april so angst
kai used to hear the world in measures. in conversations, in laughter, even in the scrape of chairs against the floor. it was all in tempo and in rhythm to him. the precise ticking of a metronome that lived permanently somewhere deep in his mind. when he was young, his mother would press two fingers against his sternum and say, “listen. even your heart keeps in time.” and kai learned very early that love sounded like discipline, like correction.
by seven, he could play chopin without looking at the keys. by ten, judges called him miraculous. by twelve, they called him untouchable. but then his mother got sick and everything changed.
the curtains were drawn more often. the piano lid stayed closed longer. hospital pamphlets replaced sheet music on the kitchen table. kai didn’t understand the word terminal, but he understood the silence. he understood the way his mother’s hands trembled when she tried to demonstrate a passage but couldn’t. he understood the way she grew sharper, colder, and more desperate.
“if you stop, you’ll fall behind,” she told him once, voice thin from exhaustion. “the world doesn’t wait.” so he practiced until his fingertips bled and the keys felt like bone instead of ivory. he practiced until he stopped crying when she struck his knuckles with a pencil for hesitating.
love sounds like correction and pain.
the last time she heard him play, she was too weak to sit upright. he played beside her hospital bed instead of on a stage. there was no audience, no judges, and no applause. just the faint beeping of machines and the hollow echo of a child trying to be enough.
she died in the middle of spring. cherry blossoms bloomed outside the hospital window like nothing had happened. kai stopped hearing the piano a week later. like the world was torturing him for not playing ‘well enough’. kai could no longer hear the art that used to bring him so much comfort and pain at the same time. everything sounded like he was under water.
the doctors said there was nothing physically wrong. his ears worked and his brain processed sound just fine. but whenever he sat at the piano and pressed a key, the note felt like it dissolved before it could reached his ears. he could see his fingers move, he could feel the vibration through the strings, but the sound itself slipped somewhere he couldn’t follow. at competitions, he relied on muscle memory, and on counting. but eventually, even that began to fracture.
until one day, during a performance, the world went completely silent. his hands were moving, the audience was watching, but he was drowning in quiet. after that, he quit playing for good. he simply closed the lid and never opened it again.
the world drained of color. not metaphorically, literally. the sky dulled, the grass faded to a pale green, even food tasted boring. his friends stopped asking when he would play again, and venues stopped trying to reach out to him. kai became something else, not a prodigy, not even a pianist. he was just a boy who used to be one. he was nothing more but a normal high school boy now.
you enter his life the way spring does. without permission and without warning. spring was coming whether he had a say in it or not and that's exactly how he felt about meeting you. kai is sitting in the park because it’s easier to exist in open air than in the suffocating quiet of his house. children are running around. petals are falling in pale pink flurries. the air smells like damp earth and sweetness.
he stares at nothing, then something collides into him, almost knocking him over. it was you. you stumble backward, nearly dropping the violin case slung over your shoulder.
“watch it!” you snap instinctively. kai blinks. you look at him properly then, and your irritation dissolves into curiosity.
“oh,” you say. “you’re not a tree.”
“…sorry.” you tilt your head. your hair catches sunlight perfectly, like a painting that's meant for a museum.
“are you okay?” he nods and you squint at him.
“you look like someone who swallowed a raincloud.”
he doesn’t really know how to respond to that. before he can attempt it, you’re crouching down, opening your violin case right there in the middle of the park like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“listen to this,” you say, not ask if he wants to or not. you just lift the violin to your shoulder and begin. it’s not careful or restrained. the horsehair of the bow bites into the strings with reckless joy. people turn to stare and a child starts laughing, an old man even frowns at the public noise. but kai freezes. the sound is wrong, technically speaking. your tempo wavers, you add flourishes that don’t belong, and you lean into notes that should be passed gently. but it’s alive, the sound is free. it feels like color splashing against a gray wall.
kai’s chest tightens. he hears the sound so clearly. when you finish, you grin at him expectantly.
“well?” and he struggles to breathe.
“you… changed it.”
“i know.”
“that’s not how it’s written.”
“i don’t care.” you shrug and step closer to him.
“what’s your name?”
“…kai.” and your eyes widen.
“kai? like hueningkai?” he flinches slightly at the recognition.
“i don’t play anymore,” he says quickly, before you can say it. your expression sharpens.
“who said anything about playing?” he stares at you as you largely grin. “come to my recital.” and just like that, his carefully constructed facade begins to crack. you don’t ease kai back into music, you drag him.
the first time you show up at his house, he thinks it’s a mistake. you’re standing outside his gate with your violin case and a paper bag of cream buns like you belong there.
“how did you–?”
“i asked around,” you say brightly. “you’re not that mysterious.” and kai considers closing the door, but you wedge your foot in before he can. “rude.”
“what do you want?” you peer past him into the house.
“where’s the piano?” he stiffens.
“i don’t–”
“don’t lie,” you cut in gently. “your fingers still curve like you’re holding invisible keys.” kai’s throat tightens. you step inside like you’ve been invited, even though you weren't. the piano sits in the corner of the living room, lid closed, untouched, and collecting dust. you walk toward it slowly like approaching something sacred.
“open it,” you whisper, but kai doesn’t move. you turn towards him now, facing away from the piano.
“kai.” your voice isn’t teasing now, but it isn’t loud. it’s careful, almost fragile. he doesn’t know why his hands start shaking when he crosses the room, doesn’t know why it feels like he’s lifting a coffin lid instead of polished wood, but he does it. the hinges creak, and the familiar black and white keys stare up at him.
“play,” you say, but he can’t. his pulse is already loud, making his ears ring. his mother’s voice is already crawling through his skull.
“i can’t hear it,” he says quietly. you nod like you expected that.
“then feel it.” you place your violin on the piano and climb onto the bench beside him without asking.
“i’ll count.”
“i don’t need–”
“one,” you begin, your bow touching the strings of your violin.
“two.” and he presses a key, but the sound still vanishes. he frustratingly inhales sharply.
“three.” another key and still nothing.
your violin sounds bright and insistent. it's loud enough to drown out his memories.
“don’t listen to the ghosts,” you murmur and lean closer to him.
his fingers move again, the sound is distant and warped, like it’s underwater. but your music wraps around it, pulling the sound of his keys upward. for the first time in years, he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t slam the lid shut and run away. he plays until his breathing steadies and your arm trembles from the weight of the violin. eventually, the sound collapses into messy silence. you lower your violin and smile like you just won something.
“see?” you say softly. “you’re still here.” he doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear off his cheek with your thumb.
you insist he accompany you in the upcoming competition. not because you need him, because he needs it.
“it’s a duet,” you say. “violin and piano. i already told them my accompanist is confirmed.”
“you what?”
“relax,” you grin. “i have faith in you.”
“i don’t.”
“you can borrow my faith, then!” you practice every afternoon, sometimes in the music room at school. you don’t follow the sheet music precisely, you bend it, stretch pauses longer than written, and you rush through sections because you feel like it. and it is driving kai insane.
“that’s not the tempo,” he mutters.
“it is now.”
“that’s not how it was composed.”
“then the composer should come argue with me.” he stares at you and you laugh. but when he isn’t looking, your hand trembles slightly on the bow. when you think he’s distracted, you press a hand to your side like something aches. but he notices, he always does.
you collapse for the first time during rehearsal. not dramatically or theatrically. you just… sit down mid-piece, your bow slipping from your fingers.
“y/n?” you blink up at him, confused, like your body betrayed you without permission.
“i’m fine,” you insist immediately and try to stand, just for you to fall right back down. kai kneels in front of you.
“you’re not fine.”
“it’s just anemia,” you say too quickly. “i forget to eat.” but he doesn’t believe you. he wants to, but something is telling him that there is more to the story then just ‘anemia’. he helps you up and you keep playing.
the night of the competition, the air feels too thin. kai stands backstage, staring at his hands. they look smaller under stage lights, like they belong to the boy who used to practice until they bled, who tried to earn love through perfection.
“are you scared?” you ask. you’re sitting on a folding chair, tuning your violin. your fingers are steady, but your breathing isn’t.
“yes,” he admits.
“good.” you smile.
“good?”
“fear means it matters.” you stand and step close enough that he can see faint shadows beneath your eyes. “kai,” you say softly. “if you lose the sound again, follow me.” he nods. the announcer calls your names and the stage curtains open, the lights swallowing you whole. the first note is yours. it’s bold and unapologetic. kai follows and for a few measures, it works. he hears enough, feels enough. but then the silence creeps back in. it was subtle at first, and then suffocating. the sound of the piano becomes hollow and his hands begin to shake. the audience blurs and his mother’s voice whispers from somewhere deep in his mind. kai falters, misses a note, and then another. panic claws up his throat, why can't he hear it? suddenly your violin swells louder, fiercer. you step closer to him on stage, close enough that your shoulder nearly brushes his. but you don’t look at him, you look forward. you play like you’re setting the air on fire, like you’re daring him to stay. kai closes his eyes and instead of trying to hear he remembers the park, the cherry blossoms, your laugh, the way you said music wasn’t a cage. he stops counting, stops chasing perfection and he starts to play for you. not for judges, not for applause, but for you. the sound starts to come back. it's not crisp or clean, but it is present. and when the final chord echoes through the hall, the silence that follows feels deafening. but then the applause crashes down, it’s thunderous and overwhelming. kai doesn't know why, but he starts crying and he doesn’t care. he can finally hear the keys again.
you collapse backstage again and this time, it’s violent. your body hits the floor and your violin clatters beside you.
“y/n!” everything moves too fast after that. ambulance lights, white ceilings, the sterile smell of hospitals. kai stands outside your room while doctors speak in low voices. he catches fragments of what they’re saying. surgery, condition worsening, high risk. his ears start ringing trying to figure out what all of that could possibly mean. when he’s finally allowed inside, you look smaller, fragile in ways you never did before.
“hey,” you whisper. you smile like nothing happened, like you didn’t just shatter his world in a different way.
“you heard it,” you say weakly.
“what?”
“the piano.” he nods, scared his voice would come out as fragile as you look right now. “good,” you murmur. “that’s good.”
“what aren’t you telling me?” he grips the edge of your hospital bed. you stare at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights reflect in your eyes.
“…i’ve been sick for a long time,” you admit softly. the words fall like glass. kai doesn’t breathe.“i didn’t want to be just a patient,” you continue. “i wanted one spring where i was selfish. where i played loudly. where i chose who i stood beside on stage.”
“and you chose me?” his hands tremble.
“of course.” you smile faintly. he wants to say he loves you, but the words burn in his throat. it feel too heavy and too late. “there’s a surgery,” you say. “they think it might help.”
“might?”
“don’t make that face,” you whisper. “kai. promise me something.”
“anything.”
“if i can’t play… you’ll keep playing.”
“don’t.” kai could feel his heart drop to his stomach.
“promise.”
“…i promise.”
“good.” you say as you close your eyes.
the surgery is scheduled for early june. the cherry blossoms have long since fallen, spring is ending. kai sits in the waiting room for hours, each tick of the clock sounds like a countdown. he replays everything, the park, your recital, the way you forced him to open the piano, the competition stage, and your shoulder brushing his when he almost lost the sound again. but then doctor finally emerges. his expression is too careful. kai knows before he speaks, and the world turns gray again.
when he goes to school again, there’s a letter waiting for him addressed in your messy handwriting. he opens it with shaking fingers and reads. you write about seeing him for the first time years ago at a competition and how he looked lonely under stage lights. how you fell in love with his playing before you even knew his name and even pretended to like someone else just to get close to him. you wrote about how selfish you were and how you wanted to leave a mark on his life before yours ended. signing it at the end with ‘i love you, kai.’ she thanked him for giving her one more beautiful spring, a spring where she got the be free and selfish. she tells him to continue playing, even if it hurts, because that means you’re alive. he doesn’t realize he’s sobbing until the paper starts to blur.
april comes again the following year, the cherry blossoms bloom. kai stands on stage alone, the piano waiting for him. he sits, presses the first key, and the sound rings clear. and somewhere between the notes he swears he hears a violin playing with him. it's soft, bright, and wild just like you. he plays for you, for april, and for the color you left behind.
requests are open !!
sticky like
jo x reader
jo gets very shy and blushes every time you kiss him.
wc: >600
warnings: none :3
jo has always been a little shy. shy in the way that shows up in the way he laughs quietly, or how he ducks his head when someone compliments him. but nothing, and the members will swear on it, is worse than when you kiss him. it doesn't even have to be anything serious, just a quick peck on the cheek will have him blushing.
"hey," you say casually, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you pass by and immediately jo freezes.
"ah-!" and it was like someone hit the pause button on him. his ears turn red first, then his cheeks, then somehow even the tip of his nose and down his neck. he brings a hand up to cover the spot you kissed like it burnt him.
you blink. "what? i just-"
"y-you can't just do that!" he stammers, voice cracking just a little. he won't even look at you now, eyes glued firmly to the floor. from across the room, a chorus of laughter erupts.
"there it is!" maki calls out. "he's red again!"
“bro, it was just a cheek kiss!" nicho said, laughing with maki. jo groans, burying his face in his hands.
"stop it.." you try not to laugh, you really do, but it's kind of impossible. he's just too cute.
"what? i'm your girlfriend. i'm allowed to kiss you." he peeks at you through his fingers, still flustered.
"i know that... but not when everyone's watching..."
"ohhh," koga teases, "so it's okay in private, huh?"
"i didn't say that!" jo shoots back instantly, which only makes things worse and makes everyone laugh harder. you step closer to him, tilting your head.
"so if i do it again..." you lean in slowly, giving him plenty of time to react, “...what happens?"
he stiffens immediately. "don't-" but it was too late. you press a quick kiss to his forehead this time. he genuinely makes a small, startled noise, like he forgot how to function entirely. his face turns an even deeper shade of red, which you didn't know was even possible. he takes a step back like you've short-circuited him and the room explodes.
"all that over a forehead kiss too?!" maki says, pointing and laughing.
"someone get him water!" ej says as he now joins in on the teasing. jo covers his face again, shoulders hunched as he tries (and fails) to hide.
"i hate all of you.." you laugh softly, reaching for his wrist and gently pulling his hands away from his face.
"hey," you murmur, quieter now, ignoring the chaos around you. "you're really that shy about it?" he hesitates, then nods just a little, eyes still avoiding yours.
“...it just catches me off guard."
"even when it's me?"
“...especially when it's you." that makes your smile soften. the teasing in the background fades a little as you step closer again, this time more gently, giving him a chance to breathe.
"okay," you say, voice warm. "then i'll warn you." he looks up, suspicious but curious. "warn me?"
"yeah." you lean in just slightly, stopping before you touch him. "i'm about to kiss your cheek again." and his entire body tenses instantly.
“...you're warning me but i'm still not ready," he admits, barely above a whisper. you giggle and then kiss his cheek anyway. he lets out a soft, helpless laugh, face getting red all over again as the members start cheering like it's some kind of show. but this time, instead of hiding completely, he stays where he is, hand lightly brushing the spot you kissed. he's still blushing and still very shy, but he's smiling brightly.
requests are open !!
yall bouta hate me on april 1st
I'd still read and write for you, Lee Heeseung.
here's how you can support the ongoing protest against belift. let's please not stay silent about this.
how to mail belift/hybe
sign a petition on change.org
donation for protest trucks
please repost to spread we need your help
plsplsplsplspls PLEASE send in requests 🙏
drama club
yuma x reader
you don't know how many rumors you can take while dating yuma
wc: 1.1k
warnings: idol life, talks of rumors, talks of cyberbullying, angst, breaking up, cancel culture
the first time i saw his name trending, it felt like someone poured ice-cold water down my shirt. yuma doesn’t even have to say anything, i already know. i’m lying on our bed, phone hovering above my face, watching the hashtags climb in numbers. blurry airport photos, a slowed-down clip from a fansign where he leaned too close to a female idol, and people dissecting the way he smiled at her.
“they’re definitely dating.”
“he’s changed.”
“cancel him.”
i toss my phone onto my pillow, but the words don’t leave with it. they cling to my skin, they’re a sin burned into my brain. being in love with an idol is like being in a play, i wanted to be a main roll but instead i got ensemble. i don’t get any lines, i don’t get a name. i’m just the stagehand in the dark, moving props while the audience screams for the real star. the star is always yuma and whatever female idol he was half a step too close to.
he calls me twenty minutes later. i don’t answer the first or the second time. but on the third try, my guilty conscience caves in.
“hey,” he says softly when i finally pick up. he always sounds smaller on the phone. less like the glittering performer under stage lights, more like the boy who falls asleep on your shoulder with his mouth slightly open.
“i saw,” you whisper.
he exhales. “it’s not real.”
“i know.” that’s the worst part. i know. i know the way his hands tremble after practice. i know how he forgets to eat when he’s stressed. i know how he curls into my side like he’s trying to disappear from the world. but the world doesn’t know that. the world only knows the version of himself that he lets the cameras see. and lately, they’ve been tearing even that version apart.
i know he loves me, i know the rumors aren't true. but that doesn't mean seeing them doesn't hurt.
a week later, and everything gets worse. someone leaks blurry photos of him walking beside me at night. it’s barely recognizable. our faces are half-hidden by masks and shadows, but the internet doesn’t need clarity. it needs a villain. and, of course, that villain becomes me.
“who is she?”
“she’s using him.”
i watch strangers dissect my body, my clothes, my posture. they zoom in on my hand brushing his sleeve like it’s evidence in a court trial. yuma’s company releases a statement the next morning that is vague and dismissive. ‘the rumors are unfounded.’ no denial but no confirmation, just them throwing gasoline on the fire.
i don’t leave our apartment for three days. when he finally comes home, it’s after midnight. hoodie up, mask on, and large bags under his eyes. he slips past the front door like he’s trespassing. like loving me is a crime, something that needs to be done carefully in secret.
“i’m sorry,” he says before i can even look at him properly.
i shake my head. “it’s not your fault.” it's not his fault, it’s the industry, it’s the fans, it’s the cameras, and it’s the way idols aren’t allowed to be human. but a part of me can't help but blame him. it's easier than blaming myself. he steps closer, reaching for me, but i hesitate. it’s small and barely noticeable, but he feels it.
“don’t,” i murmur. his hand drops. silence stretches between us, heavy and thick with tension. “i can’t do this anymore,” i say with a pit in my stomach.
his eyes widen. “what?”
“i feel like i’m in some drama, yuma. like everyone’s watching, waiting for the next scandal. i can’t breathe without wondering if someone’s filming me.”
he runs a hand through his hair, pacing your tiny living room. “it’ll calm down. it always does.”
“and then what?” i ask. “another rumor? is someone gonna try and cancel you again? another apology video where you look like you’re about to cry?” he flinches, because he knows i’m right. i’ve watched him sit under harsh studio lights, reading from a script, apologizing for things he never did. how many times is he going to have to apologize for existing wrong?
“i can handle them hating me,” he says quietly. “i just- i can’t handle losing you.” my throat tightens at his words.
“i’m scared, yuma… how much longer until they find out who i am?” i say with a shaky voice. i used to be loud, i used to laugh without checking who was around. now i double-check windows before turning on lights.
“i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says, voice cracking. “i wanted to protect you.”
“by pretending i don’t exist?” the words come out sharper than i intend. yuma looks shocked, almost like the words slapped him across the face.
“that’s not fair.”
“none of this is fair,” i snap, tears finally spilling over. “i have to pretend i’m not the person who loves you. i have to watch you smile at cameras and act single and available. i have to read people saying they hope you end up with someone better.”
he crosses the room in two strides, grabbing my shoulders gently. “you are better. you’re the only real thing in my life.” his words aren't comforting like he meant them to be. real things don’t get hidden in the dark, locked away to never be seen by the public eye
“if i stay,” i say shakily, “i’m always going to be your secret.” he doesn’t answer right away and that silence tells me everything. his career is fragile, one confirmation could shatter it. one photo, one confession, one reckless moment of honesty. he’s worked too hard and sacrificed too much. i know what the right choice is, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.
“maybe we need a break,” i whisper.
his grip tightens, desperate. “please.” i’ve never heard him beg before, and it almost makes me think twice.
“i love you,” i say, and it feels like swallowing glass. “but i don’t want to be part of the show anymore.”
he pulls me into his chest, holding me like if he squeezes hard enough, i won’t leave. i bury my face in his hoodie, breathing him in like i’m trying to memorize the scent. in this small apartment, under dim living room lamp, is just two people who loved each other at the wrong time.
when he finally leaves, he doesn’t look back, and i tell myself it’s better this way. no more hiding, no more scripts, and no more pretending you’re okay while a fandom decides my fate. still, when my phone buzzes later with another notification about him trending, my heart aches as if i am still part of the story.
requests are open !!
happily ever after
hongjoong x fem!reader
hongjoong planned an anniversary dinner away from the kids
wc: 1.1k
warnings: mentions of having kids, food/eating/cooking, brief mentions of smoke, slightly suggestive at the end
the house is quiet in that rare, impossible way. you step through the doorway with one hand still clutching the diaper bag, the other nudging the door shut with your hip, already preparing yourself for the usual chaos: toys on the floor, a half-finished drawing taped sideways to the fridge, one toddler chanting a new word like a spell while the other refuses to wear pants for the fourth time today. but none of that greets you. instead, it’s warm and soft, the hallway glows with tiny shadows, and you freeze for a second, blinking until you realize why. it's candlelight.
you catch the faintest trail of something rich and comforting, it smells like garlic, butter, and maybe rosemary. your stomach does a confused little flip as you toe off your shoes. you’re not sure whether to smile or panic, because hongjoong has many talents, but cooking without setting off at least one smoke alarm hasn’t historically been one of them.
“joong?” you call quietly, balancing the diaper bag on the hook. there’s a soft shuffle from the living room, the gentle thud of a cabinet closing, and then he appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. his hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all afternoon, and there’s a faint smudge of something on his cheek. flour, maybe mashed potatoes? he’s dressed nicely, too, in a fitted black shirt rolled at the sleeves, the kind he usually only wears for photoshoots or formal schedules.
“you’re home,” he says, voice warm in that way that makes your shoulders drop without you realizing they were tense.
“yeah,” you breathe. “i… what is all this?”
he steps toward you, eyes softening as he looks you over. the tiredness, the stray crayon mark on your forearm, the way you’re still half in mom-mode. he brushes a hand over your cheek before leaning in to kiss you, slow and gentle.
“happy anniversary,” he whispers against your lips. “i know we can’t go out. and i know it’s not the same as the things i used to promise we’d do, but… i wanted to make tonight special.” you feel the words settle somewhere deep in your chest, warm and a little aching.
“the kids?” you ask.
hongjoong’s lips twitch into a proud smile. “i dropped them off with wooyoung and san for the night. they won't be back until we pick them up from school tomorrow.”
you laugh, the sound coming out softer than you expect. “you’re both brave and insane.”
“i’ll accept both,” he says, offering you his hand. “come on.” he leads you into the dining room, and your breath catches. the table is set with two plates. real plates, not the mismatched ones you usually grab in a rush. each have carefully arranged food. candles flicker from every safe surface, turning the room gold and soft. there’s music playing low from his phone, instrumental and warm.
you squeeze his hand. “hongjoong… you did all of this?”
“i tried,” he says sheepishly. “i might’ve panicked halfway through and called seonghwa for instructions, but i promise i cooked it myself.”
“that explains the lack of smoke,” you tease, but your voice wavers with something like awe. he pulls out your chair for you, and you sit, watching him take the seat across from you. for a moment, neither of you speak, you just breathe, letting yourselves exist in the soft quiet, the kind you haven’t had in months between his schedules and the kids needing something every thirty seconds.
you take your first bite, and your eyes widen. “joong. this is actually good.”
“actually good?” he gasps dramatically. “you sound surprised.”
“i am surprised!” you say with another laugh, the sound mixing with the music and candlelight until it feels like the room is smiling with you. the world shrinks down to the clink of forks, the brush of his foot nudging yours under the table, and the way he watches you like every second of this is a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved.
after a few minutes, he leans back slightly, studying you. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs.
your fork pauses. “for what?”
“for being gone so much, for being tired when i’m home, for not planning something bigger, something… more glamorous, i guess.” he huffs a quiet breath. “you deserve the world, and i feel like i keep giving you just whatever pieces i can between schedules.”
you set your fork down and reach across the table, taking his hand. “hongjoong, this is literally everything i ever wanted.” he swallows hard, thumb brushing your knuckles. the candlelight makes his eyes look soft and young.
“you still want this?” he asks quietly. “us? the way we’ve had to adjust everything?”
“of course i do,” you say without hesitation. “and i don’t want you to adjust to anything alone. we built this together, we take care of it together.” his shoulders relax, the tension melting like the candlewax. the conversation slips into easy warmth again, little updates about your day, small jokes about the kids, and stories he couldn’t tell you earlier because he didn’t want tiny ears overhearing them. you watch him as he talks, hands moving, eyes bright, the corners of his mouth lifting in that unmistakable hongjoong smirk. and slowly, the air shifts. it’s subtle at first: his knee brushing yours more deliberately, the way his voice drops a little lower when he says your name, and how his gaze lingers on your mouth for a second too long. the candles flicker like they can feel it too.
eventually, you stand to clear the plates, but hongjoong rises at the same time, stepping close enough that the warmth of him sinks into your skin instantly. he takes the plate from your hand, sets it aside without looking, and then he’s leaning in, brushing a slow kiss against your cheek, then your jaw, then just below your ear.
“thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm. “for being here, for loving me, for everything.”
your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “you don't need to thank me,” you whisper back. he pulls back only enough to meet your eyes, his own dark and soft and undeniably wanting. you feel your pulse skip, heat curling low in your stomach. hongjoong flashes another another smirk with a small chuckle.
“mm,” he hums, brushing his lips against yours. “and i was thinking maybe we could spend the rest of our anniversary somewhere other than the dining room.” your breath hitches as he takes your hand again, thumb stroking over your skin with deliberate softness. “come with me?” he asks.
you don’t hesitate. you nod, and he leads you down the candlelit hall, the door to your bedroom clicking softly shut behind you.
requests are open !!
new myungjae theme :3
○˳ B l u e d i v i d e r s﹒﹒꒱
꒰ ﹒ made by me﹒credit and reblog to use﹒first and last ribbon dividers have no transparent bg﹒📨
these r so angelic too!!!!!!!!!!!
using them <3
dividers for new theme.... ahhaah
requesting event masterlist!
request anything with any of the idos in txt, ateez, stray kids, enhypen, p1harmony, or boynextdoor and i'll post as many as i can every sunday!
sunday funday starts on nov. 9 and ends on dec. 7 but you can put in your requests at any time!
theo x reader forgotten anniversary
rockstar! mingi x reader meet cute
this will also be on my anime account @lovely-ryn if you want to request anything there too!
sunday funday starts tomorrow again!
requesting event masterlist!
request anything with any of the idos in txt, ateez, stray kids, enhypen, p1harmony, or boynextdoor and i'll post as many as i can every sunday!
sunday funday starts on nov. 9 and ends on dec. 7 but you can put in your requests at any time!
theo x reader forgotten anniversary
rockstar! mingi x reader meet cute
this will also be on my anime account @lovely-ryn if you want to request anything there too!
sunday funday is still open for the rest of the day! get your requests in!
hii!! for your sunday fun day request, would it be possible that you could write smth about boyfriend theo being so swarmed in work he forgets their 2 year anniversary and realizes a bit too late but somehow makes it up? maybe with a cozy date night? just some fluff and bit of angst but if not i totally understand!! stay safe & healthy 🍓
cliché
theo x reader
theo forgets your anniversary but is able to make it up to you just in time.
wc: 1k
warnings: angst with comfort, mentions of idol life
you don’t want to admit that you’ve been watching the clock all day. it’s embarrassing, a little pathetic, even. you keep glancing at your phone, refreshing your messages, checking your notifications as if one of them will magically appear from him. from theo. you’ve been together for two years today. two years of late-night takeout on the floor, quiet mornings with coffee and sleepy laughter, months of distance patched up by hurried video calls and “i miss you”s that sounded smaller every time he had to hang up. you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating an idol, you really did. but still, you thought maybe he’d remember this day.
by the time the sun dips behind the buildings, your hope fades with it. your dinner sits half-eaten on the table. the candles you’d set up, stupidly optimistic, burn low and uneven. you laugh softly to yourself, the sound thin in the quiet apartment. maybe you were expecting too much. maybe he’s still at practice or filming something. maybe he doesn’t even realize what day it is.
you scroll through social media. the group’s official account posted earlier. behind-the-scenes clips of a photoshoot, theo smiling into the camera. his grin is effortless. you can almost hear the director telling him, “one more shot.” and you can almost hear him saying, “of course.” he always gives everything to his work. it’s one of the things you love most about him. and right now, it’s the thing that hurts the most, too.
you set your phone face down. it buzzes once. then again. the first message is short. “i’m so sorry.” then another, “give me 30 minutes. don’t go to bed yet, okay?” you sigh. your heart aches. not from anger, but from the quiet sadness that comes with realizing how easy it is to forget the small things when your life is constantly on display.
when theo finally arrives, it’s past ten. he doesn’t bother with his usual “i’m home” shout. instead, he slips through the door quietly, holding a paper bag and wearing that same guilty expression you’ve seen a few times before. his hair is damp, his hoodie half-zipped, and there’s exhaustion written all over his face.
“hey,” he says softly, almost breathless. “you’re still up.” you want to be mad, but seeing him like this, worn down and pleading eyes, your frustration melts into something gentler.
“yeah,” you say. “you told me not to sleep.” he nods, sets the bag down, and pulls out snacks, your favorites. chips, candy, a tub of ice cream that’s slightly melted from the walk. and then a stack of dvds, old ones you’d watched together back when things were slower.
“i… messed up,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “i thought i’d have time earlier. we had a meeting and then a shoot got pushed back, and i didn’t even realize what day it was until jiung mentioned it.” he laughs weakly. “i felt like an idiot.” you stay quiet. he moves closer, his voice softer now. “i know that’s not an excuse. you deserve more than this. but i wanted to do something anyway.”
you watch as he arranges the living room. dimming the lights, tossing pillows onto the floor, cueing up your favorite movie. he’s trying, and that effort alone tugs at something deep inside you. when he finally settles beside you, the two of you wrapped in a shared blanket, he looks at you and whispers, “happy anniversary.” it’s a small thing. just two words, quiet and late. but they still manage to sting and soothe all at once.
“you forgot,” you say, not accusingly, just truthfully.
he winces. “yeah. i did. and i hate that i did.”
you lean your head against his shoulder. “i know.” for a while, neither of you speak. the movie plays softly in the background, flickering light across his face. his arm finds its way around your waist, tentative at first, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. you don’t.
“you’ve been working so much,” you murmur. “you look tired, theo.”
“i am,” he admits, voice barely a whisper. “but i missed this more than sleep.” that’s what makes it hard. the way he means it, because you know he does. because every time he’s home, he gives you everything that’s left of him, even if it’s not much. and you take it, because you love him. but sometimes, you wish you didn’t have to share him with the rest of the world.
when the movie ends, he turns to you, eyes glassy from exhaustion and something more. “i don’t know how to make it up to you,” he says. “but i’ll keep trying. i’ll always try.”
you smile faintly. “you’re here. that’s enough tonight.”
he pulls you closer, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. “next year,” he murmurs, “i’ll plan something big. no schedules, no cameras. just us.” you don’t have the heart to tell him that promises like that rarely stick in his world. instead, you nod, pretending that it’s possible. that next year, things will be different. as the night stretches on, theo drifts off first, head resting on your shoulder. you trace patterns on his arm absentmindedly, watching the city lights through the window.
you look down at him. this boy who’s trying so hard to balance two worlds. you whisper, “happy anniversary, theo.” he doesn’t hear you. but that’s okay. you say it anyway. and when his fingers tighten around yours, even in sleep, it’s enough. for now.
sunday funday event
requests are open