➳ hey my dudes, so I don’t really know if I’ll keep writing for tbz bc of the whole haknyeon debacle; it’s so fucked up and it hasn’t really sunk in that he’ll seriously won’t come back to the group, and the boys are quiet on it and he has Tor ight this injustice in court and I haven’t really heard any big resistance from deobi either so I’m just kind of fed up with their company and the fandom and the other boys, even or whatever
REQS CLOSED | BETA READERS
about me / rules 𖤐 masterlist 𖤐 bluesky 𖤐 rec directory 𖤐 buy me a coffee (every cent goes to gfm's of palestinian families)
AN: i've finally (mostly) finished the rough draft of this monster, so i hope this teaser will be accurate and i don't have to change even more things btw now and publication of the fic; this was supposed to be 2k max, so..., we'll see how much i'll have overshot by the end; (also this is, potentially, still a working title, jsuk)
I. Mean
The meanest kid in your primary school class was Xu Minghao. He almost never smiled, he never shared his coloured pencils (despite having the biggest collection), and he always made fun of your snacks. You would have done the same to him, if his packed lunch wasn’t always meticulously prepared: fluffy, white rice; star-shaped vegetables; fried egg; and sausages that looked like tiny octopi. All this made him the centre of attention of every lunch break.
Not only was Minghao generally stand-offish and cold-shouldered, he seemed to have it out for you in particular. Even when he wore soft smiles around his other friends, they dropped the second you came into view. Minghao, turning grumpy and tight-lipped, would barely speak and deliberately look anywhere but directly at you.
No matter how much your mutual friends tried getting you to warm up to one another, the relationship remained frosty. Not even Shuomin’s sunshiny nature or Minkui’s adorably clumsy disposition did much to lighten the mood. But the worst part of it all was that Minghao and you hadn’t always been on the warpath. On the contrary, you had crisp memories of days spent together, laced with fondness, laughter, and adventure.
When you first met Minghao, his family had just moved in next door. You were the very first person to make his acquaintance, even before he was officially introduced into your kindergarten class. Your mother had dragged you over to meet the new neighbours that very first afternoon. Stepping into their living room, you were met with a small boy, all spindly legs and scratched up knees. He was peeking out from behind his mother’s legs, black hair unruly and sticking up every which way. Introductions were made by your mothers before an expectant silence descended over the room.
Your mum smiled, nudging you forward, but the boy made no move to meet you halfway. Realising, in that moment, that someone had to take the first step, you made a decision. If it had to be you, bridging that incipient gap, well then you resolved to meet that responsibility head-on. You stepped forward, reaching a tentative hand out to wrap your fingers around his. Staring in a stupor, you realised you had not thought any further than this.
“Hi,” he said, quietly meeting you halfway. For a few seconds, you felt the parents’ stares burn into your head before he continued, “do you want to see my pretty stones? I have a lot now.”
You nodded enthusiastically, and he pulled you outside into their garden. Minghao led you over to a tree in the far corner, explaining how it was a special tree and his new perfect hiding spot for his most important possessions. From a nearly imperceptible hole under one of the roots, Minghao retrieved a smooth little wooden box. He opened it, shielded from your view, and retrieved one stone after the other to hand to you for appraisal.
“This one is the first one I ever found. This one has a hole in the middle! This one is from our holiday in Shenzhen. This one is the colour of the sunset!”
Despite the joy in his eyes, he was hesitant to let you handle the stones. Initially, he watched like a hawk as he dropped them into your palm one by one. But as he saw the genuine care with which you handled them, like holding a week-old kitten, he relaxed. Leaning in more closely, he told stories about how he had found each stone until you reached a small blueish pebble. As you held it up to the light, it seemed to sparkle.
“This one is my favourite,” he admitted in a small voice.
“Wow,” you murmured in awe, “it’s the prettiest stone I’ve ever seen!” Minghao smiled proudly, his cheeks a shade darker than before.
From that day forth, you spent the next few years practically inseparable. You passed every free second together: collecting stones, watching cartoons, dancing, playing beside the brook behind your houses. You were the guest of honour at his Kermit-the-Frog-themed birthday parties, sitting beside him for the entire day. It was like you were glued together at the hips.
And then everything changed in your fifth year. Nothing could have prepared you for falling out of his good graces. Because in the abruptness of its loss, the absence of Xu Minghao’s unconditional and unlimited love felt like a physical thing. From one day to the next, he stopped talking to you, leaving you with the feeling of being pushed into a glacial lake without warning. The break was as abrupt as it was unexpected, as painful as it was unexplainable to you.
And yet, fate did not end its cruelty there. For it seemed hell-bent on pulling you two into each other’s orbits again and again. You went to the same schools, were seated beside each other in class, fell in with the same friend group. Not even university granted that long-awaited reprise, both of you accepted into the same program at ZJU, too driven to let childhood animosity throw a wrench into your futures.
At this point, the enmity was less a reflection of slighted feelings than a force of habit. And as much as your other friends continued their efforts of mediation, there was no smoothing over the long-standing unfortunate rift and the bruised egos. As soon as their backs were turned, old habits resurfaced; the same hurt feelings, seething gazes, and cutting words were slung. It appeared that, no matter how hard you tried or how much you wished for things to be different, you seemed destined to live forever in the disorienting absence of Minghao’s affection.
Behold, all spooky creatures and enthusiasts thereof!
Welcome to the KPOP Halloween Week! This is an open collaboration event and a space to share the Halloween-themed KPOP content.
The event will take place from 25th to 31st October, 2025. During this time, Halloween-themed works of creators (graphic and written) will be reblogged here, on @k-halloween-week.
Any groups and types of works will be accepted, as long as they follow the Rules.
To have your work reblogged, you need to use #k-halloween-week so we can see it! It does not require any form of registration or acceptance prior, anyone can participate!
Every day of the Week will have Themes that content creators are welcome to adhere to. They aren't mandatory, though!
If you would like to take active participation in creation of the Themes, don't forget to fill the 2nd Halloween Survey!
Timeline:
1st - 15th August, 2025 - The 2nd Halloween Survey will be up! Fill it to let content creators know what would you like to see!
10th August, 2025 - The official Rules will be published!
16th August, 2025 - The Themes for each day of the Week will be announced. Get inspired!
Up until 24th October, 2025 - At any point before the week starts, you can post teasers of your works for the week. Make sure to @ our blog so they can be reblogged!
25th - 31st October, 2025 - Halloween time! Post your works and use the # or @ tag to let us know they are up!
After 31st October - You can still post your Halloween works, but make sure to use @ tag so they are not omitted!
Important Links (will be updated as the posts go live):
Reblogs of this post are highly appreciated, and don't forgot to follow @k-halloween-week to see all the updates and the Halloween content as it comes!
old enough to remember when smut was called ‘lemons’ but young enough that i had absolutely no business knowing that smut was called ‘lemons’ at the time
Unholy thoughts of the day, my bunnies: They say all good boys have the darkest and most perverted desires, and Yunho is the nicest boy of them all.
Or your puppy boyfriend might be crazy about how beautifully you cry for him while sucking his big, thick cock.
God, you looked so fucking beautiful. How could anyone resist you when you were like that? On your knees, between his legs, with that sweet, pretty little mouth, completely stuffed with his thick, heavy cock and your glassy, lust-filled eyes.
Your plump lips, sticky with saliva and lacquer-pink lip gloss, were stretched so beautifully around the reddened, swollen head of his cock as you hesitantly plunged the tip of your kitty tongue into the tiny slit oozing with viscous, bitter-sweet pre-cum to taste his arousal.
Long strands of saliva drip from the corners of your mouth, and your long, thickly painted eyelashes flutter as you suck diligently on the head as though it were one of those sugar lollipops you loved so much. Your soft, chubby cheeks are flushed with a rich strawberry blush, all shiny and wet with streaked, smudged mascara and glitter eyeshadow as you swallow, taking his cock deeper into your throat.
You try your best to please him, pampering his massive, veiny cock with your pretty, tiny hands and mouth. But you still have so much to learn.
And yet, what made you almost irresistibly attractive to him were the endless streams of tears that flowed freely down your angelic face. Beautiful? No, you were divine, and Yunho knew he was completely hooked on you.
You were such a cute crybaby with all this whining and whimpering that was driving him crazy, but especially when you were choking on his heavy, slippery length, which was completely filling the narrow, wet space of your small mouth, while the rounded tip of his cock pressed against the back of your throat.
Yunho had never seen anything like it before, and it made him addicted to you.
You always struggled so hard to take all his huge, long dick into your throat until his big, cum-filled balls pressed against your chin and your little upturned nose touched the smooth skin on his pubic area.
Yunho couldn't tell if you were crying out of disappointment because you couldn't give him the pleasure he wanted or because his penis was so fucking big that you kept choking, wheezing, and sobbing while you sucked him off. But he didn't really care. Yunho liked seeing you cry, and he didn't feel bad about it.
Maybe it's true when they say that good boys have the dirtiest fantasies, after all. And Yunho was a very good boy. The best of them all.
'Do you have any idea how beautiful you look, princess?' He asks you, running his thumb over your damp, rosy cheek, while you continue to run your soft, little tongue over his cock. 'So fucking beautiful.'
He wasn't lying; you look like something from his wildest fantasies: that cutie from his favourite hentai anime with crossed eyes, drooling, and wearing the cutest bunny-print panties.
And if you liked it that much, he wouldn't mind giving this naughty bunny the biggest carrot of all.
He was addicted and had the knowledge that he would never get enough.
'Can you take me deeper? Please, princess…" Yunho lets out a breath, taken aback, at the whimper you let out, and you feel his erection twitching on your tongue.
You closed your eyes and nodded obediently. You will try; you will do everything to please him. You will do everything for him, no matter how sore your throat is or how painful your knees are, and he is well aware of this fact.
one of the more bleak things to acknowledge is that if you pirate literally all of your music and then set aside a spotify subscription's worth of money each month to spend on a single pay-what-you-want album, it would almost immediately amount to you supporting those musicians more than streaming does
pirating all of your music and then buying a hat or something four times a year still makes you pull significantly ahead of the person who streams thousands of songs every year. it's not really a fair or good system for anyone
I saw a lot of people reblogging this with my addition two days ago and now I'm afraid some of them might have thought it was bandcamp friday that day lol. So for anyone with post timestamps turned off: I made that addition on Friday March 7th 2025. Bandcamp fridays always fall on the first friday of the month (when they do them) so the next one should fall on April 4th
➳ WARNINGS: death of a loved one; aside mention of a past ED (just one line), sadness, self-harm; this one's heavy my dudes
➳ AN: i wrote this about six months ago when i lost someone really really close to me; this kinda was my way to cope and i wasn't sure if i was gonna post it, but here we are; this one is also written in a very fancy, litfic kinda way; sally rooney would be proud of my refusal of direct speech
masterlist
The room is dark, which is how she prefers it right now. There’s an odd comfort in the ignorance of the passing of time, like you can’t waste what you aren’t perceiving. Her pillow is wet from every conceivable side at this point, and the mountain of used tissues on her bedside table has begun to tumble down to the ground. It has been a blurry amount of hours since she crawled under the blankets and tried to drown out the rest of the world. Her journal lies open on the floor, pages scrawled full of disjointed scribbles, haphazard, bordering on purposeless. Repetitive observations of how life is inscrutable; how its changes come without forewarning or rhyme or reason, sudden as a riptide.
She imagines no one feels good about being at the whims of fate or God or chance or at whoever else’s feet you want to lay the responsibility. But she also knows she has always had issues with control. It showed in her compulsive reliance on routines, her short foray into the world of disordered eating. But other than that, she is faced with the fact that she had neither noticed nor appreciated how life had been, until very recently, oh so under control —dependable, expected, routined. Even daily challenges adhered to the framework of her carefully curated existence. They fit neatly into the scaffolding she had been building up for years, a freedom that adulthood had handed to her.
Now the same places have turned unpredictable. The well-worn paths now call to mind thoughts previously unsounded. This afternoon, hours after the fact, she found herself unlocking her bike from its usual spot, thinking, just this morning I locked it up here, and they were still alive.
Just like their existence hadn’t been isolated, so their death stretches its fingers across her life, snaking through the frames, rattling the scaffold. Time, suddenly, has changed. It is light, escaping her in the blink of an eye. Or it is tar, viscous, thick, obtrusive. Like now, when minutes or hours or a day passed while she was away. Under her blanket, the last structured bulwark beneath the crash of her routines.
She wonders, detached, impassionate like watching a football game, whether it’s past midnight. Whether it’s, technically, no longer the day that they died. Which, of course, would do fuck all to help. Death being continuous, and all.
She returns from the distance to her room when her phone dings, annoyingly. Ideally, she would retrieve into the most profound parts of her consciousness, to the most base electrical signals. Somewhere even deeper inside itself, further from the upside down of life, that teetering reality that has shifted to accommodate the negative space they used to occupy. It dings again. She thought it was on do not disturb. For a second, she considers ignoring it in favour of staring at nothing for another pocket of eternity. But the promise of distraction, and its steady companion—the blissful, temporary reprieve of awareness of the cold, hard facts— proves too strong to pass.
It's Dokyeom, of course, who had been there when she had first found out. Just checking in. Letting her know he’s there for her if she wants it. If she needs it. What she needs, she thinks dimly, is to sleep. But sleep has not come knocking in ages. And the longing to see a friendly face has been returning in waves almost as crushing as the grief. She replies in the affirmative. Before she can realise that it is three in the morning, he has replied with a thumbs up. I’m bringing food.
Time resumes its blurry texture for an indiscernible amount of time until her phone pingsagain. She considers just texting him to leave again for the sole purpose of never having to crawl out from behind her bulwark, back into the concept of reality, which only seems to start outside the safe confines of her bed. That would create other problems, however. Most of them tied to the very probable result of his worry. What gets her up, eventually, is the thought that she hasn’t cleaned since the news broke. The shock of it makes her sit up ramrod straight. On the contrary, she realises. In a fit of irrationality, she had started every hitherto procrastinated project: hair dye, closet reset, painting that poster. There’s old dishes from yesterday still piled in the sink, and dust in all corners of the room. Her phone pings a third time that night. You okay?
Her thoughts are a constant loop as she moves to the front door, mechanically. Unpresentable. I need to clean. She buzzes him in. Her first words are a warning against the onslaught of the mess that Dokyeom will encounter. He smiles softly, shaking his head that he doesn’t mind a little clutter at all.
She sits in between her piles of accumulated life while Dokyeom puts the take-out he brought onto proper plates. For the ambiance, he insists. She shrugs, and he puts on a mindless commentary video on his phone. It strikes her how she doesn’t even have to ask. It’s like he can feel how the silence has grown oppressive in its totality. Like he can feel how it has been expanding for the last hours until it has begun bloating into every corner of her place. They sit next to each other, inches apart because, again, he knows her. Knows how, in these moments, her skin feels raw. As if any sort of contact would scrape off another layer of humanity. Instead, they eat in silence. He points out a few funny parts of the video, encouraged by the smallest nod. Minimal interaction. Silence whose quality has changed. Lifted, somehow. Less like a beam of steal, more like a weighted blanket.
They finish the food and she realises, only when the shaking stops, that she hadn’t eaten in over a day. Dokyeom brings her water and leaves the video running. He scrubs dishes without comment, the kitchen door ajar. Sometimes he throws in a comment about the video content, voice unfailingly soft. Just as the credits roll, he returns.
Do you want help tidying up in here?
She shakes her head, you’ve done enough.
There isn’t really a protocol for this, she thinks. How do you behave in this situation? Does Dokyeom know any better? Maybe he does because he steps closer. He does know. Maybe not the protocol, but she realises he knows her. A blink, and his arms are around her. Like a young fledgling’s first attempt at flight, unsure. More a muted question than an action. Dokyeom does not push the floodgates open, he gives her space to open them as far as comfort allows. For now, it is only a crack. The explosion has already detonated. What remains is the trickling aftermath. She sniffles into his shoulder, tears dripping onto his sweater. His voice is soothing, a soft shushing, a small hum. It doesn’t say ‘stop crying’ or ‘it will be okay’. It says, feel what you need to feel, I will be here either way. They stand like that for a while. Even when her arms drop, he's still holding on. One single sob ebbs out.
It takes everything, but she forces out a thank you. It’s infinitesimal, the syllables broken nearly to incomprehension. But Dokyeom smiles against her hair. His hands are still running over her back. They say, don’t worry about it, I am here for you. They say, you don’t have to say anything, I understand you in every language, even silence. Soothing, she thinks again. She’s reminded of the blinding grief, right at the beginning, that made her feel inhuman. Sobbing, wracked, contorted, unrecognisable to herself in the pain. It turns us into animals, the grieving and the being consoled. But if it is Dokyeom, she doesn’t mind.
He understands. He has space for her, in every form, if he has to carve it out from the circumstance with his compassion. It moulds itself to the exact scope she occupies at a given time, expects nothing less, takes nothing more. Maybe that’s a way to explain it.
Dokyeom lets go. Both hands on her shoulders, anchors. He looks at her face, one hand running down the side of it.
She still averts her eyes. They’re puffy and red, almost to the point of pain. She has spent a big part of the After clawing at her own skin. Not consciously attempting to externalise that which couldn’t fit inside, but using the outlet of physicality all the same. She’d like her chest to cave in.
Should I stay, he asks. Because he understands. She thinks, a second, a minute, or five. Dokyeom stands, at ease. Looking at her but not watching, granting her the respite of solitude, without the weight of loneliness. She nods. The first thing she also knows for certain. He smiles and nods back. Like he knew.
Dokyeom stays while they brush their teeth, he stays to apply ointment all over the irritated skin, no judgement in his fingertips as they kiss the claw marks on her forearms. He stays when another call comes through and she finally learns more. They went peacefully. He stays all throughout the fleeting few hours that are left until daybreak.
She knows, if everyone had someone to hold them through the ache, life would be a lot lighter. And yet, nobody can take the responsibility of her anguish. But if she doesn’t have to go it alone, a part of her thinks it is also a privilege, to get to grieve them.
just read the perfect set series you have and omgggg this is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read 😭😭😭😭😭😭 so excited for the next part (and for them to finally get together!!!!) this is ripping my heart out in such a crazy way
how dare you put this is as anonymous 😭😭😭 i'm almost done with the rough draft of the story, then i can get to editing part 04. i know i'm the slowest writer under the sun, but these messages always give me such a motivation boost!
thank you so much, anon! if i ever find i will have to kiss you on the mouth, sorry <3
also i think i'll just take the time to be candid here, but another reason why i fell out of love writing for caratblr is bc people can be so... non-interactive? readers will spam-like your stories without even a single reblog (the thing that tumblr posts thrive off of btw), and actual comments on the work are hard to come by as well. of course, you're not obligated to do any of these things, but just know that writers aren't obligated to keep pushing out content for free if they don't feel appreciated in the space they share their craft with either.
you liked the writer's work? reblog it. or even leave a reply. it doesn't even have to be a novela-length comment. knowing i'm not just screaming into a void in the tags already means the world to me.
it's sad that even 2 years later, we still need to have this conversation but: please appreciate your writers more.
In the wake of people being so unappreciative they've chased off my favourite svt writer, I reposting this twice to get it though ppls heads. Creatives keep saying again and again that reblogs are so important for exposure and INTEGRAL to tumblr culture.
It's so disheartening to see how much it's died out. Honestly, 99% of the people reblogging are other creatives. The writers themselves are the only ones who appreciate the stories when there's so many lurkers reading them and leaving nothing but a quick, easy like. I've received two actual reviews from people and they've made my year, both times.
Why have people on tumble become so entitled and averse to socialisation.
hi kai!! i know that your requests are closed—AND IT'S TOTALLY FINE I SWEAR, but you're the only person I trust and believe who'll give justice abt this 😞 so, I saw this somewhere in Instagram, and I thought it'll be better as a series or anything. mingyu and reader trying to k!Il (metaphorically) each other in university to be #1 and how mingyu dated the reader to distract her from school so he gets to be the smartest but instead he got distracted first. (YOU CAN TAKE YOUR TIME I SWEAR IT'S JUST THAT YOU'RE THE ONLY PERSON WHO'LL REALLY GIVE JUSTICE TO THIS PLOT) tnx hehe
it feels so childish to be set off by a single (1) ask but please never pull shit like that to any other writer on here :/ not only is it disrespectful but also inconsiderate. do the bold letters 'requests are closed' not make sense anymore? what's more is that, despite my last psa, i've received several asks asking where part 3 of starcrossed losers is without so much as a minimal commentary abt the fic itself and you know what? i'm probably just not going to continue writing it anymore bc of how demanding people can be.
to everyone who showed nothing but love for my writing, all of you who took the time out of your day to reblog, comment, and let me know how much you loved it, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. but i might have to prematurely leave this blog altogether because the resentment i've felt for the way people treat my writing on here outweighs my desire to deliver stories to those who actually cherish them. this is not on you, never on you, but i see no benefit to staying in a space where i haven't felt respected nor appreciated in a long while now.
i hate to leave something i loved so much with so much bitterness for it, but i think it's really the best path forward for me now.
also i think i'll just take the time to be candid here, but another reason why i fell out of love writing for caratblr is bc people can be so... non-interactive? readers will spam-like your stories without even a single reblog (the thing that tumblr posts thrive off of btw), and actual comments on the work are hard to come by as well. of course, you're not obligated to do any of these things, but just know that writers aren't obligated to keep pushing out content for free if they don't feel appreciated in the space they share their craft with either.
you liked the writer's work? reblog it. or even leave a reply. it doesn't even have to be a novela-length comment. knowing i'm not just screaming into a void in the tags already means the world to me.
it's sad that even 2 years later, we still need to have this conversation but: please appreciate your writers more.
This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.
The Protective Boyfriend™: Seungcheol is the guy who will hold your hand while crossing the street like you might just wander into traffic without him. It’s sweet until you realize he’s also glaring at everyone within a 10-foot radius for daring to breathe near you.
Seungcheol’s idea of helping you pick an outfit for date night is standing behind you, his hands on your waist, whispering in your ear, “This one’s nice… but it’d be nicer on the floor later.” Then he smirks like he didn’t just turn your brain into static.
Calls you "jagiya" so often it feels like a title you should put on your LinkedIn. But don’t let that fool you, he’ll pout harder than you if you don’t jagiya him back.
You’re trying to get up after a movie, but he pulls you back down, trapping you in his lap with one arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he teases, his lips brushing your ear. “The credits haven’t even finished yet.” (the credits have been done for 10 minutes.)
He’ll put on his leader voice to scold you for skipping lunch, only to order your favorite food five minutes later and feed you the first bite because you’re too busy to take care of yourself.
This man right here is your personal radiator. Winter nights? Perfect. Summer? Good luck prying his arm off you because "you’re my pillow." (And he snores when he’s comfy, but you’d never admit you secretly love it.)
When you ask him if you’re bothering him by calling for the fifth time in an hour, he deadpans, “No, jagiya, I love being your 24/7 helpline. Shall I install a red phone like Batman?” But then he’s at your door in 15 minutes because he misses your face.
He loooooovessssss when you’re flustered, so he’ll accidentally brush his fingers along your collarbone while adjusting your necklace, all while holding eye contact. And when you stutter something about being ticklish, he just chuckles, “Oh? That’s good to know for later.”
If someone flirts with you, his smile gets tighter than his favorite jeans. He won’t say a word, but he’ll make sure to wrap an arm around you and loudly mention that his girlfriend loves this place.
He’ll kiss your forehead in public just to see you blush, then smirk like he just won a prize. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he’ll whisper, as if your face isn’t already bright red.
He’s not big on flashy displays, but when he kisses you, it’s deliberate, slow, and leaves you wondering how the world managed to keep spinning after that.
Seungcheol knows exactly what he’s doing when he leans in close, his voice dropping an octave to say something mundane like, “Pass the soy sauce, baby.” But the way his lips almost graze your neck? I'm sure that’s not about soy sauce, bro??? (did I just attempt to call him bro?)
He's the type of boyfriend who would die for you but pretends he’s chill. “Of course, I’ll help you move apartments,” he says, lifting all your furniture with a single grunt while you’re holding a throw pillow. “I’m totally fine. This is lightwork.” (I'm telling you, he’s not fine.)
SEVENTEEN is sick of hearing about how amazing, talented, and gorgeous you are but the sparkle in his eyes says he’s never shutting up about you.
Out of nowhere, he’ll text you, “You’re my favorite person.” No context. Just vibes. And when you ask about it later, he shrugs, “Felt like reminding you.”
Seungcheol isn’t just THAT type of boyfriend—he’s the blueprint, the standard, and the reason your expectations are now irreparably high.
OT13 reaction to snapping at their s/o while busy then finding out they were hurt and needed them
Request: Hi, this is my first time requesting with you so I hope I’m doing it right. I tried to read your guidelines but it keeps bringing me to your “THAT Boyfriend” masterlist. I looked through old requests as an example and did my best to make the request clear.
Could I request stressed OT13 SVT’s reaction to S/O calling them while they’re busy, maybe they’re in the middle of comeback prep or maybe their manager has been calling all day, either way they get annoyed and snap that they don’t have time for her. S/O doesn’t want to bother them and apologizes only for bf!svt to later hear from a different member that S/O had gotten hurt at work/home (sprained ankle, cut that needs stitches, something simple) and needed someone to drive them down to the hospital. (after being rejected by bf!svt she just asked a different member or drove herself, up to you)
Hope that made sense. Either way i really love your work and will continue reading!
A/N: OH MY GOD 😭💔 first of all, you did AMAZING on your first request!! It’s super clear, detailed, respectful, and easy to follow. And, when I saw this, I immediately checked the link and it was okay from my side, but I still did my rearrangements.
Snaps → Spirals into full breakdown when he finds out — Seungcheol, Joshua, Woozi
He snapped out of stress not knowing what you were going to say: “Not now. I don’t have time for this, okay?” You quietly just said, “sorry…” and hung up. The moment another member says, “oh yeah, I drove her to the ER, she was bleeding,” he goes silent. Then he’s bolting out the door, doesn’t care about practice or who’s watching. He finds you in the waiting room, sits beside you wiyh his eyes full of shame, “I didn’t even ask if you were okay. What kind of boyfriend am I…?” He won’t leave your side after that even if you tell him you’re fine, he’s not.
Snaps → Regrets instantly → Gets told after you already got home — Wonwoo, Vernon
He says, “I’m busy. Can we talk later?” You go quiet, and he really doesn’t realize what he’s done until hours later, when a member casually mentions: “She was limping so bad, bro. We took her to get checked.” He literally stops in his tracks, “she what?” Now he’s calling you, but it goes to voicemail. So he texts: “I messed up. I’m sorry. Can I come over?” When you say yes, he shows up with a grocery bag full of your favorite food ingredients and medicine, and places a kiss on your forehead, “I should’ve listened. I always want to listen. Even when I’m tired.”
You called him and he was very irritable at that moment and snapped a t you. Then later another member goes: “yeah, she called me. Said you were busy, so I took her to urgent care.” He freezes, and it burns. It wasn't because you asked someone else, but because you had to. He practically barges into your room, “you got hurt and didn’t tell me?? I mean—No. Wait. I messed up. I should’ve been the one you called. I just… I’m so sorry.” You can tell he feels so awful about it and he won’t stop hovering around you like a mother hen for the rest of the week.
Snaps → Finds out from the manager and crumbles — Hoshi, Dokyeom, Dino
You called, but he was flustered and juggling five tasks, “I can’t deal with this right now,” he snapped, not even hearing the panic in your voice. Later, his manager shows him a message from your friend. “Hey, just letting you know Y/N went to the hospital. She said she couldn’t reach [member name].” His whole world literally stops. He doesn’t even ask for permission, and he’s out. He finds you, throws his arms around you, apologizing so fast and so earnestly you can barely get a word in. “You needed me, and I wasn’t there. I’ll never—never—let that happen again.”
Snaps → You don’t tell anyone, he finds out from a bandage on your skin — Mingyu, Minghao
He was so tired and overwhelmed, and didn’t mean to yell, but he did. The moment he yelled, you went quiet and didn’t bring it up again. Later, when he comes home, he sees a thick white bandage peeking out from your sweater sleeve, and asks, “…what’s that?” You try to brush it off with, “it’s nothing. Just a cut.” But he’s walking toward you, kneeling down, touching your arm, “why didn’t you tell me?” You give a sad smile: “I did.” And now he’s devastated, as his voice cracks. “I’m so so sorry. I should’ve listened better. Please let me try again. I'm so sorry.”
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