[v4mpnicho]

📂 𓂃 BREAKING NEWS: euijoo ate my heart !? 🕷️

★ KAI . she/her . 21 . queer ˚. ✧ ────── ✃ mdni ¡

🐈‍⬛ i <3 asks, so pls send some :3 i promise i don’t bite (wink wink)

^^ no requests atm but hard thoughts are always appreciated !

⋮☰   :    masterlist

[v4mpnicho]

KAIIIII I MISSSED YOUUUU

D MY ANGEL I MISSED U TOO HOW ARE YOU 😣🖤

[v4mpnicho]

V4MPNICHO NATION I MISSED U

[v4mpnicho]

18+ a field guide to bad decisions in shared apartments

roommate!ej who you met through a university housing forum when you were both desperately searching for affordable accommodation. his post had been polite and thorough — quiet, clean, chemistry major, no smoking. you'd signed the lease within a week because he was so genuinely nice about everything.

roommate!ej who turns out to be the most perfect roommate ever. naturally tidy, always does his dishes, and notices the little things without you having to say anything. he makes extra coffee when you have early exams, does your chores when you're stressed without being asked, and remembers the foods you don't like.

roommate!ej who you trust completely. why wouldn't you? he's respectful about your space, knocks before entering rooms, and deliberately looks away if you're in your sleep clothes. you've caught him blushing when you emerge from the bathroom in a towel, but he always quickly excuses himself. he's just... good. kind. safe.

roommate!ej who is, unbeknownst to you, completely losing his mind. it started innocently—appreciating your laugh—but spiralled into something he can't control. now he notices everything: how you stretch in the mornings, how your shorts ride up when you lean forward to pick up the TV remote, and the little sounds you make when concentrating. poor baby feels disgusting about it.

pervy roommate!ej who times his showers right after yours because the bathroom still smells like your body wash. he'll stand there under the water, breathing in the scent of you, hand wrapped around himself thinking about what you were doing in here minutes ago. afterwards he can barely look at you, guilt eating him alive even as he knows he'll do it again tomorrow.

pervy roommate!ej who has stolen your underwear from the laundry more than once. he tells himself he'll give it back, but then he's in his room with the fabric pressed to his face, other hand working frantically as he imagines you wearing them. he can't bear to look at your defeated expression when you realise that another pair of panties has gone missing, so he replaces what he takes, ordering identical ones online so you never notice. isn't he so thoughtful?

pervy roommate!ej who can absolutely hear you through the walls on nights when you're feeling particularly pent-up. sometimes—when you think he's asleep—he hears the quiet buzz of your vibrator, the soft whines you try to muffle. now he eagerly waits for it, listens for the telltale signs, and matches his rhythm to the sounds you make.

pervy roommate!ej whose control finally snaps on a random friday. you'd come home tipsy, fallen asleep on his shoulder on the couch (he didn't move an inch, too worried about ruining your nap), and when you'd stirred awake you'd squeezed his hand and murmured, "you're the best, 'joo." thirty minutes later he hears it — you, in your room, and this time you're less quiet. this time he can hear his name. "ej... f-fuck... ej—" and something in him breaks completely.

pervy roommate!ej who is at your door before he can think, knocking urgently. you open it with your face flushed, sporting an oversized t-shirt, startled and ashamed and beautiful. "i heard you say my name," he says, voice rough. you freeze. "please don't lie to me. i need to know if i heard that right." you admit it — yes, you said his name. he steps inside, "how long have you been thinking about me like that?"

pervy roommate!ej who laughs without humour when you say weeks, maybe months. "you're so cute when you're embarrassed. you think that's weird? princess, i've been listening to you every time you get yourself off." he watches your expression shift from mortified to something heated. "you've been listening?" your lips part as you step closer. "show me what you do when i finger myself wishing it was you, juju." he lets out a wounded groan but you're already reaching for him, and then he's kissing you, desperate and clumsy and full of want.

pervy roommate!ej who takes control despite the obviously needy whimper that escapes him. his hands are everywhere — your waist, your hips, under your t-shirt. "tell me to stop and i will," he pants, but you're pulling him toward your bed. he lays you back, hands sliding up your thighs, and pushing your t-shirt higher. when he sees you're not wearing anything else he groans, "fuck. you were touching yourself like this? nothing underneath?"

pervy roommate!ej who spreads your legs and settles between them. "i need to taste you," he whispers into your skin. "i've imagined it so many times—" then his mouth is on you and he's moaning like he's the one being pleasured. he eats you out like he's starving for it, messy and enthusiastic. he whimpers against you, hips grinding against the mattress. "so, so good f' me," he mumbles. "better than i fucking dreamed—" he breaks off into a whine when you tug his hair, lost in the pleasure.

pervy roommate!ej who makes you come on his tongue and looks devastated when you pull him away. "please, princess. one more—" but you're pulling him up and kissing him to shut him up. "need you inside me," you gasp. he fumbles getting his clothes off, shooting you a shy smile when you help him unbuckle his belt. when he's finally naked, he looks almost nervous. "i might not last long. i've wanted this too much..."

pervy roommate!ej who lines himself up with shaking hands and pushes in slowly, and the moan that tears from his throat is obscene. "ohhh f-fuck—" he's trembling, forehead pressed to your shoulder. "you feel so p-perfect, better than anything i— shit, been dreaming about this every night—" he starts moving with a desperate pace, whimpering with every thrust. "so tight, so wet—" his rhythm falters. "mffngh i'm not gonna last, baby—"

pervy roommate!ej who buries his face in your neck when you tell him you're close. you clench around him and he sobs, hips stuttering. "please, can i— inside, please—" when you frantically answer yes, he comes with a loud cry along with you, eyes rolling back. he collapses on top of you, immediately apologising. "god, i'm sorry! that was so fast. give me ten minutes and i swear—" he stops when he notices that you're laughing, mumbling into his hair that it was nothing short of perfect.

pervy roommate!ej who gets that second round twenty minutes later. this time he's determined to make it last, maps every inch of your body with his mouth. even then, he can't stop the whimpers, the begging — "please touch me, baby. oh god, please, need you so bad—" it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced.

pervy roommate!ej who the morning after looks terrified, clearly expecting regret. instead you press a sweet kiss to his cheek and ask if he wants breakfast. "so we're okay?" he questions carefully, pretty eyes wide and hopeful. "more than okay. though, now that i think about it, a conversation about my disappearing underwear is due." he turns red, stuttering out an apology, "i'm so fucking sorry. it'll never happen again. i promise i'll stop—" you interrupt him with a giggle, wrapping your arms around him and biting your lower lip, "i didn't say stop, juju. just ask next time."

pervy roommate!ej who becomes an even better roommate after that, except now with benefits. still does all the thoughtful things, definitely, but also crowds you against the kitchen counter, leaves marks you have to cover for class, and pulls you into his room whenever the mood strikes (which is basically all the time). and every fuck, he's more pathetically whiny than the last, begs so adorably, and looks at you like he can't believe this is real.

[v4mpnicho]

Hi, I've been thinking about tatted nicho who's just crazy over you and wants to give you the whole world but also just rail you in bed any chance he gets...

YUM YUM YUM I LOVE THIS CONCEPT CAN U TELL THAT I LOVE THIS CONCEPT the duality of tatted nicho is absolutely lethal bcus everyone else is lowk terrified of him right? like he's got the sleeve tats and the edgy fashion and the intimidating vibe and people cross the street when they see him coming buttttt then you show up and he's the softest thing in the world (I'LL D!E WITH THIS TROPE) !! holds doors open, carries your bag, tucks your hair behind your ear with those inked fingers so gently it makes everyone's jaws drop lmfaoo his friends absolutely lose their minds over how different he is with you. his whole face changes when you walk into a room. he'll litr let go of everything the second you need something. but here's the thing — in bed he wants to be so very careful with you. he wants to go slow and vanilla and make love because he's terrified of being too rough :((( except you're kind of a freak when it comes to him (who isn't). poor boy can't wrap his mind around the fact that you want him feral. want him to let go and absolutely ruin you. and it takes a lot of convincing at first lolol he's always cute and hesitant like "are you sure? i don't want to hurt you" even as you're begging him with frustrated tears in your eyes to go harder, faster. HOWEVER when he finally snaps??? god. nothing can save you. those once gentle hands pin your wrists above your head while he's fucking into you with this desperate intensity, voice groaning into your ear and telling you how perfect you feel, how he can't control himself around you, and how you drive him insane. the contrast of how sweet he is in public versus how he completely destroys you in private is enough to make you drool you don't mind at all mhmmm and the way he looks after too—all flushed and breathing hard and immediately checking if you're okay, back to being your sweet bf—yeah that man is dangerous

[v4mpnicho]

18+ i 🖤 my rockstar bf!

rockstar bf!ej's got you on your knees before the door even locks, his hand fisted in your hair and his gorgeous, metallic-black guitar still strapped across his back.

"open," he breathlessly instructs, and you do, taking him into your mouth while he's half-hard and growing. he tastes like sweat, want and the adrenaline that's coursing through both of you from the explosive show his band put on tonight.

"fuck, look at you," his voice is wrecked already, hips starting to rock in time with the distant chants of his fans refusing to leave, begging him back out for more. "on your knees for me while there's a whole venue of girls out there who'd kill to be in your position."

you pull off with a pop! to cheekily say, "but i'm the one who gets to be here," before taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks.

he groans, the sound rough and desperate and everything that you've been dreaming of. "that's right. you're the only one who gets this. the o-only one who—shit—" you hum around him and his grip automatically tightens. "the only one who knows how to make me lose. my. fucking. mind."

you work him painfully slow until he's fully hard. his thighs are trembling by the time he impatiently hauls you off, a string of saliva connecting your plush lips to his flushed tip.

"up. now," he makes sure to carefully ease you to your feet (always the gentleman) and spins you around, bending you over the cluttered vanity. makeup and setlists scatter as he shoves your skirt up and rips—actually rips—your underwear off.

you gasp, turning around to shoot him a glare. "hey! those were expensive!"

"i'll buy you new ones," he waves off your trivial concern, more focused on his fingers sliding through your wetness. and, good lord, you're already soaked. ej lets out a shameless moan at the sight, "babyyy, you're dripping. this from watching me perform or from thinking about all those girls wanting what's yours?"

"both," you whine into your arm as he pushes three fingers inside, no gradual buildup unlike his usual foreplay. "i've been wet since that guitar solo—mffngh—when you looked at me like you wanted to fuck me right there on stage."

"almost did," he pants as he scissors his fingers, stretching you out. "i wanted to drag you up there, push you down on the amp, and make everyone watch while i took what's mine."

the possessiveness in his voice makes you clench around his fingers. "euijoo—"

"tell me what you want," he curls his index finger and you see stars in the mirror. or maybe that's just the glitter decorating your boyfriend's adorable cheeks. "tell me what those groupies don't get to have."

"wan' you to fuck me like you mean it... wan' you to ruin me... wan'—" you can barely think with his fingers working you open, whimpering while your hips chase for more.

he pulls his fingers out and you're about to complain when you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, "yeah, baby? gonna need you loud then. can you do that for me?"

his sweet words are a stark contrast to the way he slams in and you cry out, the fullness intense and perfect. he doesn't let you adjust and starts fucking you with brutal precision, one hand palming your ass, smacking it appreciatively, and the other wrapped around your throat from behind, forcing you to watch in the mirror.

it's absolutely filthy.

"h-hah, look at how you take my cock so prettily," he whispers into the crook of your neck, sucking the sensitive skin there as his eyes meet yours in the reflection. "this what you were thinking about during the show? when i was up there and you were down in the crowd imagining this?"

your eyes roll back at his words, "yesyesyes—fuck—yes—"

"and when those girls were screaming my name, mmffngh, throwing their bras at me, you were standing there knowing y-you're the only one who gets to have me like this," each word is punctuated with a delicious thrust. "the only one who gets to feel me this deep. the only one who makes me this desperate."

his hand leaves your throat to reach around and find your clit, rubbing harsh circles. the other moves to your tit, clumsily getting your band tee and bra out of the way to pinch and pull your nipple. you can tell that your mild jealousy got him extremely worked up. ej did always adore feeling wanted.

"fuckfuckfuck... gonna make you come on my cock where anyone could walk in. the whole venue can probably hear you screaming for me. let them know i'm taken. l-let them know who owns me."

"oh, god, juju—s-shit... you're mine," you blabber incoherently, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "all those girls can look but they don't get to have you."

"t-that's right. all yours, baby," his rhythm gets erratic, harder. "and you're mine, right? gonna fill you up and send you back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs so everyone knows."

the combination of his fingers on your sensitive button and his sinful words and the absolutely punishing pace sends you over the edge. you come with a scream that definitely carries beyond the dressing room, squeezing him so needily he bites down on your shoulder.

"mmffhh you're so tight when you come—g-gonna make me—" he buries himself deep and you feel him pulse inside you, creaming you exactly like he promised.

he stays inside you after, both of you catching your breath, his head resting atop yours while his hands settle on your waist, rubbing soothing circles.

suddenly, maki pounds on the door, "ej! encore! we're on in a minute!"

you giggle at the intrusion. leave it to the youngest to shatter a soft moment. pouting defeatedly, ej pulls out slowly and you feel his cum start to leak down out of your glistening cunt. he sees it too and his eyes go dark again.

"leave it," he stops you when you reach for tissues, discreetly tucking your torn panties into the back pocket of his jeans.

you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "byun euijoo, you're a freak."

"i'm romantic! plus, you love it," he smiles in that disarming way of his as he fixes his clothes and grabs his guitar. you didn't even notice him set it aside earlier, too lost in the pleasure. "come watch from the wings. i wanna see your face when you're standing there with my cum inside you while i play."

"crazy freak," you mumble again, audible enough for him to hear.

"only for you, baby," he slings his arm around your shoulder and kisses you sweetly. "only ever for you."

he heads back out to screaming fans, but everyone know that you're the one he'll come back to after.

the one he'll take home and do this with all over again.

[v4mpnicho]

sorry 4 the lack of posting i’ve been too busy obsessing over fictional men to write anything abt &team #greedy

[kim-jiwoong]

credit

[v4mpnicho]

my rockstar bf <3

[v4mpnicho]

hi pookie how r u 🫰🫰

KAY IN MY INBOX MWEHEHEHE :3

im doing rlly good ^^ getting ready to graduate in just a couple of months + i received 2/3 acceptances for my master’s rahhhh so that’s pretty cool (yeah i ended up applying to only 3 unis rip 🚬)

tysm for asking babe how have u been <3

[v4mpnicho]

wait wait wait wait WAIT you mean to tell me I’m just casually scrolling through the &Team tag and see the genius proposal that is maki as nightwing 😳 oh this is the most big brain moment anyone has ever had I need it canon immediately 👏🏻 spectacular give me 14 of ‘em right now !!!

AHAHAHAHAHA TYSM LOVE IM BEYOND FLATTERED i wholeheartedly believe that nightwing maki is a revolution and i love that so many people agree like yes great minds do, in fact, think alike

[v4mpnicho]

kai. bob or no bob.

bob always.

[v4mpnicho]

🖇️ just having you by my side, we can make anything come true (tw)

k 

he notices before you even say anything because he's observant like that. he picks up on the way you've stopped texting as much, how your smiles don't reach your eyes anymore, and the weight you carry in your silence. he doesn't push you to talk; he just shows up at your apartment with food you didn't ask for and sits with you in the quiet, letting you exist without pressure or expectation. when you finally break down and tell him how dark it's gotten and how, sometimes, you don't want to be here anymore, he doesn't flinch or tell you it'll be alright or offer empty platitudes. instead he pulls you into his arms and says, "i'm here. however long this takes, whatever you need... i'm not going anywhere." and he means it. he starts checking in daily, not overbearing but consistent — good morning texts, casual calls, showing up for movie nights even when you insist you're fine alone. he researches therapists in your area without being asked, gently suggests professional help while making it clear he'll support whatever you decide. on your worst days when getting out of bed feels impossible, he doesn't urge you to push through it. he climbs into bed with you, holds you while you cry, and reminds you that surviving today is enough. "you don't have to be okay right now," he whispers, cupping your face. "you just have to stay. please... stay."

fuma 

he's always been the steady one, the reliable one, so when you confess how badly you're struggling he doesn't panic even though you can see the fear in his eyes. he takes your hands and says, "thank you for telling me. i know that took courage." he becomes your anchor without making it feel like an obligation — he begins incorporating you more into his routine so you have reasons to get up. mundane things like morning coffee runs or evening walks that give structure to formless days. when the anxiety gets bad and you can't breathe, he talks you through it with that calm voice, counting breaths with you, and grounding you with his presence. he learns your triggers, your warning signs, and starts to understand the language of your silence. never makes you feel guilty for the hard days, for canceled plans, or for the times you can't be what you think he deserves. "you're not a burden," he reassures firmly when you apologise for the hundredth time. "you're someone i care about who's going through something difficult. let me be here for you." he goes to therapy appointments with you if you want, researches coping mechanisms, learns how to help without trying to fix. during moments when you can't envision a future for yourself, he embraces you with all his heart, "you don't have to see it right now. just be with me today. we'll worry about tomorrow when it comes."

nicholas 

to be frank, he doesn't really know what to say when you tell him you've been thinking about what you've been thinking about. but, he knows what to do — he holds you so tight, you can barely breathe and says, "don't. please, please don't. i need you here." it comes out raw and desperate because he's terrified of losing you, and maybe that honesty is what you need to hear. he's not good with words but he's good with presence. he starts spending more time at your place, dragging you out for small adventures when you protest — late night convenience store runs, sitting in his car watching the city lights, and random drives to nowhere just to get you out of your head. he makes you laugh when you thought you'd forgotten how, sends you stupid memes at 3 AM when he knows you can't sleep, facetimes you just to show you something trivial he saw that made him think of you. when the anxiety attacks hit and you're spiralling, he doesn't tell you to calm down. he sits with you, lets you grip his hand as hard as you need, and matches his breathing to yours until you can find your rhythm again. "i'm not going anywhere," he promises softly. "even when you push me away, even when you think you're too much, i'm staying. you're stuck with me." and it's exactly that refusal to leave that makes all the difference.

ej 

he approaches it carefully because he knows this is delicate. he knows you're fragile right now even if you're trying to hide it. when you finally admit how bad it's gotten—the depression, the intrusive thoughts, the weight of just existing—he listens without judgment and without trying to minimise what you're feeling. "i'm so sorry you're going through this," he murmurs softly, caressing your hair. "but i'm glad you told me. you don't have to carry this alone anymore." he's beyond thoughtful in how he helps. he pays attention to what actually works versus what merely sounds good — notices that sometimes you need space and sometimes you need company, learns when to push gently and when to let you be. he leaves little notes around your apartment when he visits; small reminders that you matter, that he sees you, and that you're loved. when you can't take care of yourself he does it for you without making you feel inadequate. he brings groceries, helps you clean your space, sits with you while you finally shower after days of struggling. he's patient with the process, doesn't expect linear progress, and celebrates the small victories like getting out of bed or eating a meal. he makes you pinky swear to tell him when it gets really dark because he needs to know you'll be here tomorrow. "healing isn't a straight line," he patiently reminds you when you're frustrated with yourself. "sometimes... it'll be harder. that doesn't mean you're failing. it means you're human."

yuma 

he doesn't fully digest it at first, but he understands that you're hurting and that's enough. when you break down and tell him about the thoughts, he goes pale and his hands shake but he doesn't let go of you. "please don't leave me," he whispers, and it's selfish maybe but it's honest. he starts doing little things to make your world softer — brings you your comfort foods, queues up your favourite shows, sends you pictures of things he thinks you'd like just to remind you he's thinking of you. when the anxiety makes you cancel plans he doesn't guilt trip you, just says, "okay, want me to come over instead?" and shows up with snacks and zero expectations. he's learning as he goes, reading articles about depression and anxiety, and asking how he can help instead of assuming. sometimes he gets it wrong, tries to cheer you up when you need to sit in the sadness; he's trying and that's what matters. on your worst days, he lays with you and talks about the future like it's certain. a little bit of "when we go to that concert next month" and "we should try that new restaurant when you're feeling up to it." planting seeds of tomorrow when you can't see past today and that means everything to you. "the world is better with you in it," he tells you seriously, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "i'm better with you in it."

jo 

he knows what it's like to struggle silently because he's done it too in his own way, so when you finally confess how dark it's gotten he understands in a way that feels different from the others. he doesn't say it'll get better or that you need to stay positive — he gently pulls you into his arms, "i know. i know it's hard, but you're still here and that matters." he becomes your safe space, the person you can text in the middle of the night when the thoughts get loud, who won't judge you for the things you admit in your lowest moments. he shares his own struggles carefully, not to make it about him but to show you that you're not alone in this, that surviving is possible even when it doesn't feel like it. you develop your own language for the hard days — code words for when you're spiralling, check-ins that don't feel invasive, and an understanding that sometimes you just need to exist in the same room without talking. he never makes you feel weak for needing help, for taking medication, or for going to therapy. "there's strength in asking for support," he affirms. "there's courage in choosing to stay even when everything in you wants to give up." when you tell him you're tired of fighting, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, "then rest. let me fight for you until you can fight for yourself again." and he does, consistently showing up, consistently reminding you that you matter, and consistently being proof that someone cares whether you're here tomorrow.

harua 

he's soft with you in a way that makes you want to cry because you're so used to being hard on yourself. when you admit you've been struggling, contemplating whether existing is worth it, he doesn't panic. without hesitation, he pulls you close and says, "i'm here. whatever you need, i'm here for you." he starts learning your patterns, recognising when you're slipping before you do, and reaching out with sweet check-ins that never feel intrusive. he makes your space feel safer. he brings plants for your apartment because "they need you to take care of them," leaves little drawings and notes tucked in random places for you to find later, and plays music that soothes rather than overwhelms. when the anxiety worsens and you can't ground yourself, he uses gentle touch — runs his fingers through your hair, traces patterns on your back, holds your hand and counts your heartbeats until they slow. "you're safe," he murmurs. "i've got you. just breathe with me." he never makes you feel like a burden for needing reassurance. he marks and celebrates the moments when things feel lighter and acknowledges every step forward you take. "you're doing better than you think," he tells you. "still being here, still trying... that's everything." when you can't see your own worth, he reflects it back to you until you start to believe it might be true.

taki 

he's young but he's not naive, and when you tell him how bad your mental health has gotten, he doesn't minimise it. "that's serious," his brows furrow, worried. "are you safe right now? do you need me to come over?" he drops everything when you're struggling, shows up with distractions and comfort and his bright energy that somehow doesn't feel forced or exhausting. he learns what helps — sometimes you need him to fill the silence with chatter, sometimes you need quiet company, sometimes you need him to physically pull you out of bed and make you face the day. he's not afraid to ask the hard questions: "have you eaten today? taken your meds?" because he'd rather be uncomfortable than lose you. when you're feeling particularly bad, he's surprisingly grounding, talks you through it with patience you didn't know he had, uses humour carefully when appropriate to lighten the weight without dismissing your pain. he makes you promise to text him every morning, just a simple "i'm here". "you're important to me," he voices fiercely when you try to argue otherwise. "your life matters. and i know it's hard right now but please keep fighting. please let me fight with you." he means it so sincerely that you start to believe maybe you're worth fighting for.

maki

he notices you're struggling before you say anything because he's always been observant, always watching the people he cares about. when you finally break and admit you've been thinking about ending it, that you're drowning and can't see a way out, he goes very quiet. then he says "i'll never not be scared of losing you. but... thank you for telling me." he doesn't try to fix it because he knows he can't, but he can be present and sometimes that's enough. he starts integrating you into his life more deliberately — invites you to normal things like grocery shopping, includes you in group hangouts so you have connection without pressure, makes sure you're not isolating even when that's all you want to do. when you're too anxious to leave your apartment he comes to you, brings the world in smaller doses so it's not so overwhelming. he's consistent in a way that starts to feel like safety. he checks in regularly, remembers the things you tell him, and notices when you're having a hard time even when you try to hide it. "you don't have to pretend with me," he offers comfort one unsuspecting day. "if you're not okay, just say so. i can handle it." and he can, sitting with you through panic attacks and episodes without making you feel like a burden. when you apologise for being too much, he cuts you off immediately: "you're not too much. you're going through something incredibly difficult and you're still here. that's brave. i see that." somehow having someone witness your struggle without judgment makes it a little more bearable.

[v4mpnicho]

&team with a depressed/su!c!dal reader?? It's okay if they're not the latter but maybe they're really anxious and stuff and the teamies like comforting them? Im a sucker for angst but maybe hurt/comfort??

hiii anon thank you sm for trusting me with this request ^^ before i share what i've written, i want to say something important: if you're struggling right now—whether with depression, anxiety, su1c1dal thoughts—pls know that you deserve endless love. these feelings are real and valid, but you don't have to face them alone. reaching out to a mental health professional or a trusted person in your life can make a real difference. you value, even when it doesn't feel like it.

i've written these headcanons with as much care and sensitivity as i can. they're meant to offer comfort and show how each member might support someone they care about. mental health struggles are serious, and while i hope this brings some solace, it's not a replacement for real support systems.

pls take care of yourselves angels !! only read if you're in a headspace to do so. be gentle with yourself today 🖤

[v4mpnicho]

Do you possibly know where @soeruu may have went….?

I’ve been looking for her, and I think noa deactivated…it’s also weird to me how she deactivated after ruasgrl came back, since that blog was made less than a week after mei deactivated….

hii nonnie i’m probably not the right person to ask about this 🥀 i'm sorry but idk who soeruu is :/ i don’t remember coming across her blog before

i also don’t really want to participate in speculation about where anyone went or what may have happened. all i can really say is that i hope both mei and noa are doing well wherever they are :3

[v4mpnicho]

why the FAWK do i have the immunity of a victorian child

[v4mpnicho]

18+ the forbidden fruit anthology

k

kei runs the tokyo branch like it's his rightful kingdom. and you're his dutiful personal assistant, which means you see sides of him no one else does — the sharp focus, the occasional flashes of dry humour and the way he rolls his sleeves up when he's deep in work, forearms flexing as he writes notes in the margins of contracts. you've been working for him for ten months and you're... professional. completely, painstakingly professional. right up until the company holiday party when you both end up in the coat check room and his mouth is on yours before either of you can think better of it. now, it's tuesday morning and you're in his office for a "briefing", except his hand is up your skirt and you're perched on the edge of his desk trying not to make sounds that would carry through the door. "you're late with the quarterly report," he says conversationally, voice a smooth drawl, like his fingers aren't currently inside you. "gonna need you to work overtime to make up for it." you bite back a moan as he curls his fingers just right, and he smirks because he knows exactly what he's doing. when you come, it's with your hand clamped over your mouth and his name dying in your throat. the sick bastard doesn't even give you time to recover before he's turning you around and bending you over his desk. "be quiet," he orders, clinically undoing his belt. "you know we have a meeting in twenty minutes and i need you coherent." he fucks you hard and efficient, one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping your hip. you have to bite your own arm to stay silent while your boss fights his own battle, desperate pants and groans in your ear betraying how much your soaking cunt is affecting him. after, when you're both straightening clothes, he simply says, "same time tomorrow", and dismisses you with a pat on the ass that's absolutely not HR appropriate.

fuma

having murata fuma as your bodyguard is torture because he takes his job seriously. like, wayyy too seriously. he won't let you go anywhere without him. won't let anyone get too close. and he maintains perfect, professional distance even when you're very obviously flirting. you're a young actress who rose to fame pretty quick — used to getting what you want, and what you want is him. so, sure, maybe you're a little spoilt. but, you genuinely admire fuma as a person and you've been chasing him since your agency assigned him six months ago. it finally reaches a breaking point in your hotel room after a premiere, adrenaline still high from cameras and crowds. you're done playing games. "i need you, fuma," you tell him bluntly. he's standing by the door like always, arms crossed and expression unreadable. "that's inappropriate," he answers robotically. "i'm employed to protect you, nothing more—" you cross the room and kiss him in an instant, cutting off whatever speech he was about to make and, for a second, he's frozen. then he's kissing you back like a fucking dam broke, walking you backward until you hit the wall. "this is a bad idea," he whispers as he's lifting you up urgently, your legs wrapping around his waist. "we could get caught. mffnghh, y-you could lose your reputation." you've gone over the same thing in your head several times. you just don't care. you've been craving this for too long to give a shit about consequences. as soon as you're done breathlessly conveying all of this to your precious bodyguard, he fucks you against that wall still fully clothed, your underwear pushed aside and his pants shoved down enough. it's rough and desperate and everything you've been fantasising about. "been thinking about this," he admits through gritted teeth, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your thigh. "every time you'd smile at me. every time you'd touch my arm. god... you knew exactly what you were doing to me." hearing him confess has your eyes rolling back and your pussy clenching around him. you bite his shoulder when you come, and he follows with a groan that vibrates through both your bodies. after, he sets you down carefully and steps back. you think he's going to say it was a mistake. instead, he surprises you, "tomorrow we're establishing some ground rules because this is happening again."

nicholas

the problem with wanting nicholas is that he's completely aware of it and uses it against you mercilessly. he's your best friend's older brother, objectively gorgeous and he's been off-limits since you were teenagers. now, you're all adults and he's started doing this thing where he stands too close, says things with a double entendre and looks at you like he's thinking extremely inappropriate thoughts. it drives you insane. especially because your best friend has explicitly forbidden it approximately eight hundred times. everything changes at her housewarming party when nicholas corners you in the bathroom. there's no pretense this time. no playing around. he just locks the door and groans—"been wanting to do this for years"—before dropping to his knees and pushing your dress up. he eats you out with your back against the door, your hand over your mouth because your best friend is literally outside mingling with guests. when you coat his tongue with your juices, he doesn't stop. in fact, he makes you come twice more before he even unbuckles his belt and, by the time he's pushing inside you, you're so oversensitive every thrust feels like heaven and hell combined. "this what you wanted, right?" he mutters against your ear, fucking into you with deep, measured strokes. "wanted me to ruin you, baby? make it so you can't even look at my sister without thinking about this?" he's not wrong. you'll never be able to attend another family dinner without remembering this... without aching for it again. once you both finish, he helps you clean up with gentle hands that contrast sharply with how rough he was only a few minutes ago. the moment you rejoin the party, your best friend immediately knows something happened. "what did he do?" she demands, glaring at nicholas across the room, naively assuming that he was bothering you. not that he gave you the best dicking down of your life. "nothing," you lie, trying not to notice the way nicholas smirks at you like he's already planning round two.

ej

the thing about taking professor euijoo's seminar on contemporary literature is that he makes everything sound vaguely sexual. or maybe that's just you projecting because you've had the world's most inappropriate crush on him since the semester started. he's young for a professor—literally only five years older than you—which somehow makes it worse. you're a senior, about to graduate, and you've spent sixteen weeks watching him lecture, staying after class and pretending you need help with concepts you definitely understand. it comes to a head during your final office hours before graduation. you're supposed to be discussing your thesis, but the conversation shifts. "something's bothering you," he observes, leaning back in his chair. "are you facing some trouble with the conclusion we drafted? because i understand some concerns you may have—" you could lie. you probably should lie. but, you've never been the rational type, “after this, i have no excuse to see you anymore." euijoo's rambling stops abruptly. his expression shifts, something heated and dangerous replacing the usual formal distance. "that's... you shouldn't say things like that." however, he's already standing up, moving around the desk to where you're sitting. "like what? the truth?" you stand too, close enough now to see his pupils dilate, “that i've wanted you all semester? that i've thought about you in extremely unprofessional ways? that i've noticed you pay more attention to me because i'm the best in your class?" his control visibly cracks. he shoves his tongue down your throat like he's been holding back for months (which he has, by the way), and before you can process it, you're bent over his desk with your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair. "this isn't right," he's already pushing inside you with a pathetic whine, both of you gasping at the stretch. "i-i'm your professor. i could lose everything." regardless, he doesn't stop. he fucks you harder, one hand covering your mouth because the department head's office is across the hall. when you’re done climaxing the first time, he makes you squirt as you ride him while he watches before he lets himself finish. the whole time he's muttering about how wrong this is, how good you feel, how your pussy is multitudes better than he'd imagined. when you're both fixing yourselves up with shaking hands, he awkwardly clears his throat, "you're graduating in three weeks..." he trails off, but you get it. of course you do. once you graduate, you're not his student anymore. once you graduate, there are no rules. you smile and wink at him, the promise of this happening again lingering in the air.

[v4mpnicho]

asks in my inbox i see u